(Erlend Mudd, Braavos)
Troublesome. He was behind a desk again.
Erlend was presently going through a complete report of all the contents within the Sealord's official treasury.
Not to be mistaken with Antaryon's vault, this one had all the treasures that the rulers of Braavos had collectively gathered in the past few centuries. It was where a Sealord would traditionally place official gifts, coinage, and ceremonial objects.
It was also technically Braavos's last line of defense against bankruptcy, aka when the Braavosi Treasury was empty, the ruling Sealord was obligated to withdraw the contents of this vault and use it to keep the Free City afloat while it got its shit together.
So why was he placing so much emphasis on the vault? Couldn't he just merge it with his family's treasury in Firmridge and be done with it?
He was going to do that, but first, he had to go through all its contents to make sure there were no malicious curses placed on any objects within it before absorbing it. Curse magic was a very prominent part of this world, just ask the Rhoynar and Hoares.
Five interesting objects caught his interest.
A goblet made out of Blackstone, one that shared the same restraining properties as his Blackstone did. Three Valyrian blades, one of which was none other than Lamentation itself.
Excluding the Valyrian blades, Blackstone seemed to be the most unique material this world had to offer so far and quite flexible in its usage. Malora had experimented more on it, but he had dabbled in its usage.
Looking over the goblet, Erlend could conclude that this specific goblet was aimed to keep its owner safe from curses and poison. Not that every Sealord had done so or even believed in its power, but those that did tended to remain healthy and long-reigned.
Ironically, they were also the ones that conflicted the least with his ancestors.
In Lamentations case, there was no doubt that some enterprising figure had snagged the Royce sword during the chaos and had sold it to the Sealord for a hefty sum. Only an idiot would keep the ancestral sword of one of the most powerful noble Houses in Westeros.
House Royce would have something to say about that once he returned their ancestral sword to them. If it were to be filled with loyalty charms and runic arrays, well, that was hardly his problem.
The other two were neither famous nor had names that tickled any of his memories. If he had to guess, then it likely originated from when his ancestor went through a Dragonslaying spree and was thus gifted to the then Sealord as a gesture of reconciliation.
The final object was a jet-black diamond that sucked all the light from where it was placed, according to the records it originated from the Asshai, and had been a gift from a mysterious spellsinger. Those who have guarded the treasury claimed to have heard shrill sounds coming from the area where the stone was placed.
The thing was seen as cursed as far as most people were concerned. Yet, none of the Sealords ever tried to get rid of it, due to its immense value and the unnatural beauty it held.
Erlend planned to have Melisandre go over the diamond, suspecting that it would be incredibly useful to his fanatical redhead and might even empower her to a certain extent.
His gut encouraged him to do so, and he was one to trust it.
There would be no need to look for Blackfyre; Visenya had stated that she already had her ancestral blade and that she rarely used it due to its unwieldiness. This only served to encourage him to seize Darksister from Bloodraven's corpse. It's not like the old geezer had any use for it, what with him being a talking tree for all anyone cared.
His beloved deserved to have her trusty sword back in her hand. After a generous amount of cleaning charms and washing, of course.
There was a bit of good news to assuage his annoyance over the paperwork. Word had begun to trickle in towards his Realm and the wider world of his accomplishments in Yi Ti.
Talk of his battle with the gods, or powerful sorcerers as many commonly believed, had dominated both continents. The wholesale slaughter of armies, often in a single move, had many shitting themselves in fear, according to Ed's patronus and his imprints.
While his court was incredibly loyal, compared to its counterparts. Politics was still a nasty game, and word of his feats had managed to create a lasting peace within it. It was hard to jockey for power when both the King and the Crown Prince were unresponsive and could afford to not give a fuck.
More importantly, several bloodlines had been cleansed, and Yi Ti was in no shape to form a coherent and stable state any time soon. So there would be no enemies emerging from there.
The Orange 'Emperor' was in a precarious situation; he had done nothing to defeat his two rivals, and all claims of being the one to receive the mandate of heaven would fall on deaf ears. Several princes had come to realize that Erlend wanted them divided, and unity might bring his wrath upon them.
They weren't wrong in that, but Erlend wouldn't object to a shaky unity either. Both circumstances could be beneficial. It was only a strong Yi Ti that could now force him to take action, otherwise, there was no point.
The illusion of strength and unity would make Ed's conquest more interesting once his son decided to deal with them. These were free experience bags for Edmund, after all.
Many quickly realized that Erlend had shown mercy in the past by letting the Banners contribute to the Conquest. A painful truth that many of his vassals were coming to accept, was that Erlend didn't need armies or dragons to dominate his territories. He alone was sufficient to force them to submit to his rule. Luckily for them, there was no way in hell he would become a King of Ash and Stone.
It was an undisputed and unspoken fact that Westeros was now the de facto Hegemon of this world. Of the three states that could have opposed him, one was destroyed and its territories assimilated. The other had submitted, and the last had been shattered beyond repair.
Volantis, Braavos, and Yi Ti.
Originally, he only intended to use Yi Ti as an example for the remaining free cities to stay in line. His actions after dealing with the Imperial Family were something made purely in the spur of the moment, as he realized the immense value of using those minor gods as testing products.
Erlend couldn't forgive himself if he placed those he cared for in real danger by playing with the divine souls of being like R'hllor and the Horse God. Better to use it on weaker deities who even Firmridge could easily subdue on her own and any oubrust could be contained.
His success against the two major gods was due to many factors, all of which came down to careful planning, lack of accurate information on their part, and the support of the world itself.
Otherwise, it would have been a genuine headache to subdue R'hllor without killing it, especially in the Valyrian Peninsula, of all places, where its powers would normally be amplified since it didn't need to contest control over the volcanic lands from the deceased Valyrian pantheon.
Granted, luck was an important factor in achieving victory.
Hmm, things were wrapping up quite nicely, it would only be a matter of time before he'd be able to complete his main goal, as everyone got their shit together. Letting his vassals and the rest of the world stew on everything that has occurred these past few months seemed to be the best option.
Now, all he had to do was capture a few wights as proof of the Long Night, and everything would be dandy.
He hoped his squadrons beyond the wall completed their tasks.
…
(???, ???)
The chains that bind him were breaking.
Weakened by the folly of his kin and the decline of those tree monstrosities.
Slowly, but surely, they were overwhelmed by the ice that empowered him. Destroying any semblance of authority the runic bronze held over him.
His legs had been the first to be freed, and his soul no longer shackled to the whims of those pitiful creatures.
The forgotten Stark had already commanded his vanguard to raise an army worthy of his majesty. Harbingers of Death and Winter, spreading throughout the land of always winter, destroying settlements, and enriching his ranks.
They would serve him without question. As was right.
A pity his hands remained chained. The only thing keeping him from personally commanding the legions of the undead. There was no satisfaction to be had in staying behind.
He savored the promise of devastation, the destruction of the seasons, the eternal night that was promised.
It mattered not who stood in his way. The Wall was not without fault, the child of ice and fire not without weakness, and the gods with all their self-assured arrogance and pride.
Everything will fall. Everything had to fall.
That was what was promised to him, and it would be what he sought. This pale world needed no life; all it needed was him and the eternal winter.
He could feel it deep in frigid bones, his beloved caressing him from beyond the veil. Demanding that he fulfill their cherished promise and break the cycle.
Death was not the end, for he was its master.
…
(Benjen Stark, Winterfell)
Startled and afraid, the Lord of Winterfell rested on his bed, his hands wiping the sweat from his forehead.
Familiar cold blue eyes haunted him once more, forcing him to wake from the living nightmare.
He glanced to the side and stared warmly at the sleeping woman beside him, one who healed his heart.
Benjen understood what he wanted, and he knew he needed to protect. For his family, he needed to remain strong, to fight against the unending tide that promised to swallow them all. A bitter pill to swallow once he realized that he and his kin could not escape blame from this.
It was their kin, after all, who wanted to bring Winter to a world that neither desired it nor cared for it.
Scouts sent beyond the wall kept disappearing, and those that made it back looked like they were seconds away from the Stranger's grasp.
Only with the support of the Crown and the Night Watch did they finally manage to capture irrefutable evidence of the crisis. Enough to force those unruly savages beyond the wall to come to heel.
Men had been lost in the process, a necessary sacrifice to ensure that everyone did their part. Unfortunately, they had to settle with mere undead as evidence. The legendary walkers are far too strong to be captured alive.
The Night Watch was in a frenzy, armed to the teeth and prepared to throw everything they had to give humanity a chance of survival. At least that was when they weren't feuding with their allies by circumstances.
Benjen could swear that if not for the presence of the Banners, the two uneasy allies would have already come to blows. His vassals were no better, fanning the flames of division in their misguided way.
He understood their misgivings, but that did not mean he approved it. This was hardly the time to be fighting amongst themselves, not when every living being saved was one that they didn't have to face in the future.
Mass burnings had become the norm, with Benjen even going so far as to order his ancestors' crypts to be opened and their bones burned to ash for the safety of all. The King had already made clear that the Wall was not impenetrable and that the North could not allow tradition and pride to get in the way of their continued existence.
Having the jailed wights, as his King called them, regularly paraded among the men served as a stark reminder of what could happen to them if they didn't follow protocols.
No one wanted to face their friend, kin, or ally in battle if they could help it. So they did as they were told.
Even the unexceptional Galbart, Lord of Deepwood Motte, had shown adamant support to the King's policies, going so far as to get into a fistfight with his fellow lords when they grumbled too loudly for his liking.
Greatjon could certainly attest to that, having first-hand experience with the man's fists of loyalty.
That didn't come as a surprise to Benjen. King Erlend had personally raised House Glover's status from a masterly House and rewarded them richly for their contribution to the Realm.
Normally, that would be a violation of his authority, but considering the circumstances and the close relationship he shared with the Crown, Benjen could only accept it.
He wanted to look into his sister's head to see how it worked, it was her suggestion after all that saw the Glovers rise.
Surely her friendship with the late Bethany Glover, deceased wife to that fool Jorah and sister to Galbart, couldn't have been that strong? He knew that the two, as well as Maege, shared a deep friendship.
Deciding to forget the matter entirely, Benjen stroked the silken hair of his wife. Attempting to forget those cold blue eyes that displayed only hatred and vengeance. Whatever his ancestor had done, it had left its mark on their enemy. One strong enough to fuel its rage for thousands of years.
Enough to see the world freeze.
He just hoped those southern lords who were now mobilizing wouldn't add any more chaos to an already delicate situation.
Benjen wasn't sure if the North could handle it.
======
Note: Callback to the 'random' promotion the MC gave to many Houses, as for why Lyanna is the one who gets the blame, it seemed appropriate since most are keen on shirking blame and making use of scapegoats. Don't worry; I won't delve too deeply into Edmund's future conquest, just giving you a general idea of what happens to this world after the finale.