Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and all rights for characters, plots and settings belong to G.R.R. Martin and FromSoftware. I have no ownership.
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"The ability to destroy a planet is insignificant next to the power of the Force."
Darth Vader
"I remember the first time my father took me to court, Robert had to hold my hand. I could not have been older than four, which would have made him five or six. We agreed afterward that the king had been as noble as the dragons were fearsome. Years later, our father told us that Aerys had cut himself on the throne that morning, so his Hand had taken his place. It was Tywin Lannister who'd so impressed us."
Stanis Baratheon
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There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.
There is no fear; there is power.
I am the Heart of the Force.
I am the revealing fire of Light.
I am the mystery of Darkness
In balance with Chaos and Harmony,
Immortal in the Force
Je'daii Order Code
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Westeros, Gulltown
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Old Lion
Tywin wanted to let the fury burning within him explode. To scream, shout, and destroy the things in his tent, but that wasn't his style. Even in his House's moments of greatest humiliation, when they were little more than a laughingstock under his feeble father's rule, he never allowed himself to lose his composure.
His clear and cool head ensured he'd made it this far, and the Lannisters were respected and feared, rather than ridiculed. His plans and ambitions saw them reach a pinnacle they hadn't reached even in their best days.
Now his ambitions and attempt to reach too far could cost him not only everything he had built over the years but also everything that had been accumulated by countless generations of Lannisters.
Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, one hand clutching the wrist of the other, he irritably stared at the heavily annotated map of western Essos spread out on the table before him. Practically the entire western coast, from Braavos in the north to Lys in the south, was marked in purple, clearly signaling who owned these lands now.
Raevan the Undefeated Prince, Second Conqueror, Dragon Reborn. These were just a few of the epithets the young Targaryen came to be called. Even among his own people, he heard excited tales spreading of the conquest of Pentos and Myr and of the mighty, divine miracles the prince had performed there.
Even those who were not friendly to Raevan, likely paid by Balish, began calling him Witch King, not only to emphasize his ungodly abilities but also to try to put a wedge between him and his father and brother.
Tywin, however, saw Littlefinger's plans backfire when the title became popular among the soldiers, but not in a negative light. The levies, descended from the smallfolk, spoke the title with reverent awe and a touch of fear. They believed that under such leadership, not only could they not lose, but immeasurable glory and the untold riches of Essos awaited them.
And Raevan proved himself worthy of such a title at every turn. Tywin witnessed a letter Eddard Stark received from his nephew in which, in addition to issuing the appropriate orders, the prince described in detail what he had managed to accomplish in that short time.
Tywin himself was impressed, though he found it difficult to admit. Not only had the young prince somehow convinced Braavos to side with him, but capturing Pentos and Myr couldn't have been easy, especially the latter, which was not only well-fortified on both land and sea but also housed the main mercenary force that would be the vanguard of the Free Cities.
While Taj admired Raevan, especially his ruthlessness and pragmatism, he couldn't say the same for his allies across the sea. Of course, he wasn't sure how to fight against someone like Raevan, for even in his worst fears, he hadn't considered the terrifying power he possessed.
His gloomy thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a sheet being lifted at the entrance to the tent, and his brother appeared, a worried look on his usually calm face.
"Kevan," he greeted him with a slight nod. "I take it the news is not good for us?"
Kevan stopped just inside the entrance, then sighed heavily, shaking his head slowly. "No, they are not, brother. Lys has been conquered, and a bloody rebellion has broken out in Tyrosh. More than half the city belongs to slaves, and Tarly has sent forces to help them capture the rest of the city."
Tywin felt dizzy at the sound. He leaned against the table, gripping its edges tightly in his hands.
The situation grew worse with each passing day, and soon they too would be setting out for Lorath, and then inland towards Norvos. At this rate, Raevan would crush the Free Cities, leaving Volantis and Ghis for dessert.
The only consolation was the fact that holding and governing such vast territories, while fighting on multiple fronts, was incredibly difficult.
But the problem was the prince's terrifying powers, which seemed more and more absurd with each exploit, if rumors and information from spies were to be believed.
Where were these so-called "Those Who Dwell in Shadow"? What about their promise to deal with Raevan? There was no trace of them. They were either hiding or had already been crushed by the prince in Pentos or Myr.
"Do we know anything about Raevan's further plans? What is he planning now? Will he sail to Volantis?" he asked Kevan, but the man merely shrugged, pulling a parchment from the bosom of his jerkin.
"A message from Gerion... from Pentos. He is currently in the city."
Tywin quickly approached his brother, snatching the parchment from his hand, and began reading.
Brother.
After the great successes of the campaign, the morale among both the soldiers and the freed slaves is indescribable. The freedmen are practically beginning to revere the prince, especially since many in both Pentos and Myr have witnessed his godlike powers.
In addition, the prince's men have quickly begun to administer both cities and the territories belonging to them, which the troops are constantly liberating. The prince is operating with extraordinary efficiency.
Nothing is certain, but rumors are circulating among the soldiers that Raevan plans to march east along old Valyrian roads to Ghoyan Drohe, and then on to Qohor. But from what I understand, the army under Stark's command, which you are a part of, was responsible for this.
The prince is scheduled to return to Pentos any moment now. When I know more, I will let you know.
As we part, I beg you once again to consider confessing your sins and begging for forgiveness. Perhaps that will save our House. After what I have seen and heard, I would be a fool not to believe the prince knows where your loyalties lie.
If not family, consider the Legacy you so fondly speak of. Position and wealth can be rebuilt, but a slaughtered House cannot be brought back to life.
Give Kevan my regards.
Gerion
Tywin crumpled the letter and threw it into the burning brazier, then looked at Kevan. "Have you read it?"
His brother nodded. "Right after questioning the man who delivered the letter. He's one of Gerion's men, before you ask. I've seen him in the Rock more than once."
"Good. What do you think of the letter?' Tywin asked coldly, though he was no more anxious than he let on. Gerion's words about legacy had hit home more than he could have imagined.
Kevan didn't answer immediately, considering exactly how to respond. It was a trait Tywin respected in him; there were too many fools in the world who babbled whatever came to mind without even thinking about their response.
"On the one hand, I agree with our brother, but on the other, it's not that simple. The fact that Raevan is winning the war already works against us, as we'd look like mutts returning with their tails between their legs. And there's still the matter of Lyanna Stark..."
"The fact that we were involved in the conspiracy that led to his mother's death. Do you think the prince won't forgive us?' Tywin finished for him, raising a slight eyebrow.
Kevan nodded firmly. "I'm sure of it. Would you forgive people who were involved in our mother's murder, or even Joanna?"
"No," he replied curtly, knowing the answer perfectly. He didn't even have to think.
"No," Kevan agreed, "and Prince Raevan reminds me of no one more than you, though I must admit he surpasses even you in many ways, and I'm not just talking about his magical abilities."
"The fact that he's not afraid to get his hands dirty is impressive." Tywin admitted with a touch of irritation, "He can be ruthless when necessary." Moreover, he can so manipulate the opinions of both lords and smallfolk that they still praise and admire him for it."
"In Pentos and Myr, Raevan put all the slave owners and their families to the sword, except for the youngest children, who were still manageable. Thousands of people. The only ones he allowed to live were those whose slaves themselves had vouched for them. That was a small number," Kevan said and then frowned as if unable to grasp something.
"But I don't understand one thing. Isn't he afraid that because of such actions, the elites in the other Free Cities and Ghiscar cities will fight him even harder, fearing for their lives?"
Tywin clenched his jaw, for unlike his brother, he more or less understood the prince's plans, or rather, his intentions.
"He doesn't care, for he's creating a new order of things. To build something, you have to tear something down. Raevan intends not only to bring his enemies to their knees, but also to shatter the old system and build a new one in its place. The best solution is to get rid of those who benefited most from the old system."
Kevan looked at him in surprise, then sighed. "I suppose then that the lords of Westeros should be glad that the prince doesn't want to replace the old system here with a new one."
Tywin looked at his brother in disbelief, unable to believe that he hadn't yet seen it. "You are mistaken, brother. Don't you see that everything they have been doing in recent years, what Raevan is doing, is aimed at centralising all power in the hands of the king and stripping it from the lords?"
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Westeros, King's Landing
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Rhaegar Targaryen
With a frown, he read the reports coming to him from the front. The fall of Lys and the rebellion in Tyrosh were incredibly good news, but the speed at which they were moving made him feel uneasy.
If they tried to swallow everything at once, they might choke. He knew, that nothing he said would change his son's mind. Raevan had a vision and an ambition no less ambitious than hers, and combined with his desire to exact revenge for Lyanna's death, Rhaegar doubted he would stop.
However, if Raevan's plans for the Rhoyne River were feasible, the situation would be entirely different. After conquering Volantis, they could pause to reorganize all of Essos west of the Dothraki Sea.
His son would create his own empire and organize it as he pleased so that similar changes could later be implemented here once Rhaegar abdicated and Aegon relinquished power.
This last part, for now, was thoughts he shared only with his eldest son. Aegon himself recognized that Raevan was everything their ancestors had dreamed of and could elevate their House to heights unmatched even by the greatest Dragonlords.
Moreover, it was a logical move considering the times they lived in and the adversaries they faced. And while Aegon, like his other children and Daenerys, learned the use of the Force from Shiera, they would never even approach the level Raevan embodied.
A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.
"Come in."
The silhouette of his once-great-great-uncle appeared in the doorway, moving with a briskness and enthusiasm surprising for someone his age.
Aemon, like Rhaegar himself, knew he could afford to mourn despite the tragedy that had befallen their family as they fought the greatest war since the Second Spice War.
So while Raevan fought on the front lines and was the mastermind behind their campaign, they handled all the logistics and management of the war.
Moreover, Aemon was implementing Raevan's inventions and plans, which would have stretched on for years had this conflict not occurred.
Uncle. What's happened? Do you have any more documents to approve?" Rhaegar asked, unable to think of anything else, as the Small Council meeting had ended less than two hours ago.
"I have a letter from the Wall from Lord Commander Jeor Mormont. He writes of increased activity among the Wildlings, who are beginning to migrate south in larger groups."
Rhaegar raised an eyebrow. "It's probably nothing unnatural. We know the summer won't last more than a year or two. It's normal for them to migrate south, escaping the even greater cold."
Aemon shook his head, however. "That's not the same. I know Jeor; he certainly wouldn't have written about this if he didn't consider the situation serious," he replied, handing him the letter.
Rhaegar quickly scanned the letter, then looked at Aemon. "A new king beyond the Wall? Why now? Could such a long summer have something to do with it?"
Aemon shrugged. "Who knows? Perhaps after a long summer, the Wildlings will anticipate a long, hard winter and try to get through the Wall. That was always the only reason these proud people agreed to elect a king."
"Jeor wrote that he sent a similar letter to Winterfell, where, in Eddard's absence, Robb Stark rules under the protection of his mother. Perhaps it would be worth writing to him to look into the matter," Rhaegar said, rubbing his clean-shaven beard thoughtfully.
"I hope this turns out to be just a clan migration and this king is quickly killed. We don't have time to think about what's happening at the Wall. Besides, over 15,000 Northmen are with Ned in Gulltown, and they'll soon be crossing the Narrow Sea with the forces of the Vale and the Westerlands."
"Perhaps we should write to Lord Eddard about what's happening?" Aemon suggested after a moment. "He's a dutiful man, and Lord Royce could lead the expedition. He's an experienced commander."
Rhaegar looked at his uncle, shaking his head. "That's impossible. Didn't you see Ned's fury at Ly's funeral? He thirsts for the blood of those bastards as much as I do. And only the knowledge that my son will punish them beyond anything I could do keeps me here. Ned won't back down now "
"I will write personally to Lord Karstark to accompany and advise young Robb. Let them deal with the matter of the Wildlings. We must prepare everything necessary if Raevan's plans for the Rhoyne prove possible," he added, glancing at the mass of papers before him.
"This will put a significant strain on the treasury, but the benefits to our House, should it succeed, will be immeasurable," Aemon admitted, sitting down across from him with obvious relief. Walking was becoming increasingly painful, but his uncle could be as stubborn as any Targaryen.
"While I'm here, let's go over the supply statistics to make sure everything is correct," his uncle suggested, and Rhaegar nodded. It was tedious but necessary work.
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Essos, Ghoyan Drohe
Year 298 AC (After Aegon Conquest)
Raevan
Raevan didn't like commanding from the rear; on the contrary, he wanted to be the spearhead who struck the enemy with the most pain. Not only did it spare the lives of his soldiers, but it was also the most effective.
This combined with his ever-increasing proficiency in Battle Meditation, which was even beginning to show its effects passively. Furthermore, his mind could encompass the entire city they were currently clearing and control the situation, issuing commands directly to the minds of his soldiers.
He casually reached out his hand toward a dozen or so enemies in the alley ahead of him and snapped their necks as easily as snapping a thin twig.
Ghoyan Drohe was once a magnificent Rhoynish city, home to hundred thousand inhabitants. The numerous palaces, temples, and other various buildings crisscrossed by canals must have been awe-inspiring.
Now the canals were filled with mud and weeds, and most of the buildings were in ruins. Of course, such conditions didn't stop numerous bandits and other outlaws from nesting here, as if in their own cozy nest.
So, clearing the city was a time-consuming endeavor, especially since all those "rats" thought they could hide from it.
The city was so vast that there were plenty of places to hide, and the only consolation was that the ground seemed so waterlogged that the buildings either lacked basements or had long since flooded.
Raevan, of course, also got rid of his biggest problem immediately after his arrival. It turned out that Force Drain was extremely effective at getting rid of insects, especially flies and mosquitoes.
These creatures were so small that even a brief contact with him would be enough to drain all the life energy from their bodies.
The city's greatest plague, therefore, the hundreds of billions of insects that filled the city and surrounding areas, fell dead within minutes of their arrival.
Raevan, by this very act, earned even more respect from his soldiers, who were beginning to believe he was not, as he had declared, the Anointed of the Seven, but one of them, or perhaps all of them.
In his last conversation with Shiera, he learned that someone in Westeros was spreading rumors, calling him the Witch-King and a Hellspawn, trying to discredit him. But the people liked the title enough to call him that with pride.
Raevan was no fool, like many of his ancestors. He gave the people what they wanted: bread and circuses and a place to work on his numerous projects, now overseen by Aemon.
Of course, the final decisions rested with his father, but he never stood in his way; quite the opposite. Raevan was confident that together they would build something that would last for millennia.
With these thoughts, he returned to his current position, moving forward towards one of the larger palaces on the eastern edge of the city, where he sensed the presence of a large group of enemies who had retreated there, or perhaps it was simply their base.
It was the largest concentration of outlaws they had encountered here, over two hundred people, mostly men. Raevan, not waiting for his men to follow, moved forward.
Dozens of arrows flew towards him from various windows and openings in the palace walls, but they stopped in mid-air, returning a moment later to the people who had fired them.
Moans of pain and cries of anger came from within, but by that moment he was already inside the building, beginning the slaughter. His Valyrian blade dismembered bodies with ease, striking terror into the remaining enemies, but he, using the Force, blocked all exits from the building with invisible barriers.
He saw himself finally beginning to experience his prime in this new life, surpassing his former self. He knew that with his current level of abilities and experience, he would be able to defeat Vitiate single-handedly.
He couldn't help but wonder at this thought. Had this potential always been within him? Or was it a consequence of being reborn in a new body after uniting with the Force?
He supposed the latter, especially since it was the very union of his soul with the Force that had shown him the utterly absurd things it allowed. The Jedi and the Sith were simply so blinded by their traditions and shortsighted that they failed to see the immense possibilities the Force offered them.
They spent the next two days restoring the city to order. Thirty thousand soldiers and another four thousand from the logistics division worked tirelessly to ensure that several hundred men could defend it against a much larger army, especially the Dothraki, who usually passed through these areas on their way to Pentos.
The Dothraki are another problem on his hands. They were currently arguably the worst enemy to wage war against, due to their immense mobility. And the Khalasar could number in the dozens, large and small, travelling at will across the Sea of Grass.
However, that remained a problem for later. When he encountered them on the battlefield, he would ensure that none of them escaped.
"Eric", he turned to one of his trusted men, "I will leave you six hundred men, and when my uncle arrives here with a permanent garrison, builders, and materials, you will join us at Ny Sar. I will open a path for us through the surrounding forests."
"I will not fail you, my prince," the man replied, pressing a fist to his chest.
Raevan placed a hand on his shoulder. "I know that well. That is why I entrust you with this task. I intend to spend about half a moon in Ny Sar before moving on to Qohor. You will make it in time."
With these words, Raevan began issuing further instructions before setting out. A much more difficult journey awaited them now, and the next moon would test their fortitude. But with Ny Sar, an extremely strategic point, and Qohor, his plans would gain momentum.
When his uncle Ned also manages to capture Norvos with its massive deposits of stone and metals, these combined with the virtually unlimited timber from the Forest of Qohor, the largest forest in the known world, his plans to rebuild the cities of the Rhoyne and make them the heart of his fledgling empire would be possible.