Tyrion paused, resting a hand against a pillar that was no longer quite solid. "You know, Ser Jorah, Valyria is a comforting thought for a man like me. It proves that no matter how powerful, how clever, or how convinced you are of your own superiority, the world can still decide to end you without explanation. It is democratic in that way."
He smiled thinly, though his eyes never stopped scanning the shadows. "These people believed themselves closer to gods than men. Dragons at their command, blood magic in their veins, slaves by the thousands. They built roads that never cracked. Cities that defied time. Then one day the earth disagreed." He tapped the stone. "Judging by this, it disagreed violently."
Nicholas watched, glued to his screen, every second of the tv show flowing through his head and glueing itself to his mind.
Behind Nicholas was a wall planted with figures of Daenerys to Cersei.
Tyrion stopped and looked out over the broken city. "Still, I cannot help admiring the ambition. To build something so vast that even its corpse inspires fear. That takes vision. Madness, perhaps, but impressive madness." He exhaled. "If this is what remains of the greatest empire the world has known, I suggest we keep walking. Ruins have a way of reminding men how small they are, and I have had quite enough of that lesson for one lifetime."
Nicholas took everything in, his eyes, although burning from being forced open to watch all the tv series up to this point for over two days, were forced to stay open.
Tyrion adjusted his cloak and continued forward, his voice quieter now. "Just keep your sword ready. Valyria may be dead, but it has a reputation for refusing to stay that way."
Nicholas, continuing to watch the show on his televsion had little chance of hearing the sound of glass breaking.
"Ssshhh He's watching the tv" A group of men in full black quietly moved into the living room as the group's view of Nicholas came into view.
Nicholas, standing at 6,2 at 200lbs of muscle, looked both dangerous yet pacified as his eyes were glued to the constantly talking tv.
"NOW!" The leader of the group yelled as they all jumped onto Nicholas.
"What?" Nicholas roared as he felt the full weight of five men atop of him.
"Get the Fuck off me!" Nicholas shrieked as the men pulled him from the couch, moving furniture as they strappled him to the ground.
"Mighty Sword collection you have, Nick," The leader of the group said as he moved away from the dog pile and began looking around the room at the swords hung.
Each is made from real metal look brand new, like they had been forged just a few hours ago.
"What's this one's name?" The man asked.
"Get the Fuck Off me!" Nicholas roared as the four men, one for each limb, stopped him from moving.
Being forced belly down with four men strapping him made Nicholas feel weak and scared.
"Blackfyre, I think this ones called" The leader spoke as he pulled the sword from the wall and further from its scabbard.
"You know. I wanted us to be friends once." The man's tone, low and soft, spoke of a path like brothers rather than enemies.
The man inspected the sword, noting its red gem at the centre of the blade and its perfect balance within his hand.
Nicholas head rearing towards the man standing in front of him turned red as he tried to break free.
"Who are you!"
The room was silent, other than the noise from the tv. All the lights were off, leaving only the faint dark outline of the man in front of him.
"It matters little who I am." The leader spoke as he moved closer to Nicholas.
"But it does matter who I work for."
At that, the leader pulled his sleeve to reveal a snake with two heads, which formed a semi-circle.
"What does the Maekers want with me!" Nicholas, seeing the tattoe yelled as he once again tried to break free from the group.
"A bounty was placed, and I was sent that all I can really say."
The leader spoke in a voice even lower.
From behind the group, blasting from the tv's speakers came the song 'Rains of Castamere'
Nicholas, even being held to the ground, realised from the music that this wasn't the song which should play at the end of this episode.
This inconsistancy however, was overlooked by Nicholas, as the leader holding Blackfyre moved the blade over Nicholas's neck.
"Any last words, Nick?"
The man waited. Nicholas could feel the cold steel emanating from the blade he had forged. Every nook and crevice within the blade was felt on the nape of his neck.
"Go Fuck yourself"
Nicholas's voice was rough and final as a small laugh emanated from the leader's mouth.
"I'll see you in hell"
The leader pulled his arm back as he swung.
The feeling of steel slicing flesh was the last thing Nicholas felt as his once boiling blood rapidly cooled. His eyes rolled back as everything went to black.
Nicholas woke with a sharp intake of breath that did not hurt. That alone told him something was wrong. There was no pressure on his chest, no weight pinning him down, no heat nor coldness from blood pooling beneath him.
Instead, there was air, clean and cool, carrying the smell of grass and animals. His eyes opened to a sky the colour of washed steel, cloudless and vast, stretching without limit. For a moment, he lay still, waiting for pain to arrive and claim him. It never did.
He pushed himself upright. The ground beneath his palms was soft, springy with short grass that bent and returned as his fingers dug in.
All around him, goats wandered in loose clusters, their bells chiming softly as they moved. Some grazed without concern. Others watched him with flat, assessing stares, as though he were another feature of the field rather than an intruder.
The landscape rolled gently in every direction, hills rising and falling like a calm sea frozen in motion. There were no buildings, no roads, no sign of the room where he had died.
'Died.' That word lasted long within his mind.
Nicholas looked down at himself and froze. His hands were not his hands. They were longer, the fingers leaner, the skin pale to the point of translucence, white like fresh snow untouched by dirt.
Veins traced faint blue lines beneath the surface. He lifted his arms, turning them slowly, as if movement itself might undo the illusion.
His forearms were smooth, unmarked, lacking the scars he had earned over years of training and careless confidence. His chest rose and fell beneath a simple tunic of dark fabric that hung loose on a frame slimmer than the one he remembered inhabiting.
He staggered to his feet. The world did not tilt. His balance felt perfect, effortless, as though gravity itself had been tuned precisely for this body.
A curtain of hair slid forward over his shoulders, catching the light. Nicholas grabbed a handful of it, breath catching in his throat. Platinum. Not blond. Not silver. Platinum, pale and luminous, curling in long, loose waves that brushed his chest. It felt cool between his fingers, almost unreal.
He stumbled towards the nearest goat, driven by a need he did not yet understand. The animal did not shy away.
It simply lifted its head and met his gaze. Nicholas leaned closer, peering into its eyes, expecting the dull brown he had seen all his life in creatures like this. Instead, he saw himself.
The reflection stared back at him with eyes the colour of deep amethyst, pure purple, unbroken by flecks or rings. They were sharp, alert, and entirely unfamiliar.
He recoiled as though struck, heart pounding, though even that sensation felt distant, controlled. He reached up and touched his face, tracing cheekbones that were too defined, a jawline too clean, lips thinner than his own had been. This was not a dream built from fragments of his memory. This was something else entirely.
A shout cut through the open air.
"Brother!"
The voice was young, breathless, and edged with urgency. Nicholas spun toward the sound. A boy came running over the crest of a nearby hill, sandals kicking up clumps of grass as he descended. He looked no older than seventeen, lean and long-limbed, with simular platinum hair pulled back in a rough tie that bounced against his neck as he ran. His clothes were practivcal obviouslyt made from goat hide.
"Brother," the boy shouted again, waving an arm. Relief broke across his face as he closed the distance.
"Slavers have attacked the village! They've taken Saera!"
Nicholas stood frozen. 'Saera?', 'Village?' What is going on?
"Wh-what?"
The boy hurriedly moved to begin pulling his brother.
"We need to hurry! We need to retaliate, brother! Casper and Mealer are trying to defend the church as we speak!"
The boy continued to pull Nicholas as they began traversing the endless countryside.
Nicholas didn't oppose; he was still in shock at his appearance and transportation. But then suddenly came the sound of screams.
Of women and children crying, and the sounds of men being torn asunder by blades. Although the shock was still present, the sounds activated something within Nicholas.
"Blades?" Nicholas asked the man dragging him.
"Near the Home, Brother, come quickly!" The boy replied as the two began rapidly moving towards the burning town.
Nicholas and the boy running through the burning town could hear the screams coming from the more centre of the village.
Things like "Stop!", "Please!", "Why!" Were all to hear as the two moved to a wooden shack with a chest already open.
The two hurriedly scanned the chest as Nicholas saw a one-handed bastard blade.
"Quickly take me to the church!" Nicholas roared.
Although his mind still believed this was all a part-time near-death vision, his mind, trained by decades of battles, forced that non-believing part to the far reaches of his mind.
The boy nodded as he spoke. "Come its only around the street!"
The two took off again with blades in their hands. Reaching the corner, Nicholas saw a scene which would make an ordinary human throw up.
Bodies carved into ornamental pieces. Women and Children cut apart with men without arms, screaming and bleeding.
Then came the church. Made from wood and stone, there was a large group which slammed axes into the doors.
"COME OUT YA BASTARD!" Some within the group roared as others began taking the unlucky few villagers who didn't make it into the church back to the boats.
Some within the group saw the boys and Nicholas's arrival.
The men, tanned with black and brown hair, showed crooked teeth as they pulled their swords and began to charge towards the two.
The boy gulped as fear came fully into his mind. Nicholas, however, charged towards the enemies.
His blade moved like a flower; he felt little opposition as his blade moved through clothes and flesh alike, like that of a hot iron upon snow.
"STOP HIM!" Some within the group attacking the door peeled away as they too charged at Nicholas.
Nicholas, seeing these attackers with axes, picked a blade near his feet from the destroyed corpses of his previous enemies.
He threw the blade in one stroke. The blade curved within the air as it landed within one of the axer's heads. Blood began oozing from the wound as the pressure became too much.
The others watched in awe as Nicholas charged.
His blade, akin to a petal in the wind, flowed easily. Wood and metal held little as his blade carved through like a painter on a canvas.
His blade met into one of the men's necks as blood completely covered Nicholas.
"Monster!", "Run For Your Lives!", "Back To The Ships!"
The remainder of the slavers seeing nearly forty of them cut down like cattle, were rattled as they began running.
The boy, still standing just a bit away, looked in awe at his eldest brother, never in his life had he seen his brother act like this, and he truly believed that at that point, his brother was more akin to a god than a man.
Nicholas, standing in a pile of slavers bodys, was covered head to toe in blood. His clothes, stained red, showed little in deterioration as not one blade managed to hit him.
His air once platinum, was burned red and black as metal chunks and wooden splinters from the axes and swords he had cut through managed to make their way into his lush hair.
A creaking sound resounded as the church's doors opened to reveal hundreds of people, with five boys at the front.
"Brother!" Two called out as they rushed from the door to meet there blood covered brother.