Lost in Sothoryos | A Game of Thrones fanfic

(Location: Winter Throne)

(Time: Midnight)

"King..."

The woman's voice, as she whispered to Daeron, carried an alluring melody—a delicate yet powerful enchantment. Her words dripped with temptation and mystery, drawing him deeper into her realm. With a chilling elegance, she uttered a single word that resonated with both desire and danger.

"King..."

She said again Daeron eyes glowed the same brilliant blue as hers the fog from his breath began to intensify as if the temperature around him was dropping.

In that moment, Daeron resolve faltered as he leaned in, drawn irresistibly towards the woman's enchanting presence. Their lips nearly touched, the forbidden temptation lingering in the air. But in a sudden surge of clarity he thought of Rhaenys, Sansa and Joy and then he pulled away, the weight of duty and consequences crashing upon him. Regret mingled with relief as he resisted the dangerous allure that threatened to consume him.

As their connection broke, an unspoken tension filled the chamber. Daeron retreat left a lingering sense of longing and unfinished desire. The woman's gaze, a mix of disappointment and lingering fascination, followed his every move, imprinting upon him the lasting impact of a choice narrowly averted.

Though it seemed the woman wouldn't take no for an answer As she put her lips onto his, their lips converged, an icy tendrils of sensation cascaded through Daeron being, engulfing him in a surreal fusion of desire and dread. The Woman's kiss, like a wintry breeze, held an otherworldly power that seemed to drain the warmth from his very core. It was a touch that whispered of desolation and enchantment, a paradoxical blend of captivating allure and bone-chilling detachment. In that fleeting embrace, Daeron felt himself entangled in the enigmatic embrace of a queen whose icy passion promised both ecstasy and peril, leaving him with a lingering ache that echoed long after their lips reluctantly parted.

As she went in for more it the air shifted with the sound of glass shattering an explosion of flames hit where the woman was throwing Daeron backwards. Feeling disoriented Daeron tried to get his bearings as he struggled up on the slippery ice, snow crushing beneath him.

Looking at where the woman once stood there was only ice, littered around like shattered glass, Daeron unsheathes his sword getting ready for a fight, he finally spots the man responsible.

Seeing the cloaked figure for the first time inspires feelings of awe and trepidation. As he catches sight of the mysterious individual, his eyes widen with a mix of fascination and fear. The figure's concealed face and dark garments leave Daeron with a sense of unease and uncertainty.

A sense of foreboding fills the air, and Daeron takes an involuntary step back, his heart quickening its pace. The figure approaches, each step deliberate and calculated, emanating an aura of darkness that sends a shiver down Daeron's spine. The absence of any discernible features behind the hood only adds to the enigma, leaving Daeron with a deep curiosity tinged with a healthy dose of caution.

Daeron's gaze remains fixated on the cloaked figure, trying to decipher any hint of identity or purpose. The unknown intentions and the palpable air of mystery make him simultaneously intrigued and wary. He finds himself captivated by the figure's presence, unable to look away despite the growing unease that gnaws at him. Daeron's mind races with questions, eager to unravel the secrets concealed by the cloaked figure's veil of darkness.

"Come boy we need to leave" The mysterious figure says but Daeron points his sword at the cloaked man before he could touch him. The man stepped back, he avoided the dark rippled blade like even being in its mere presence hurt him.

"We need to leave before she returns, your brothers have already left days ago" The man continues.

"Days ago!" Daeron shouts out in disbelief, he narrows his eyes towards the stranger.

"I got here less than an hour ago, there is no possible way what you say is true" Daeron spits out.

"Then let's leave and go back to the village, if you don't believe me perhaps you will believe your own eyes" the cloaked man states.

Narrowing his eyes at him Daeron considers the likelihood that it was a trap.

'He could've attacked me when I was disoriented' Daeron thought to himself as he looked to the stranger.

"Very well let's go, you're in front, if i sense there is any danger I will run you through" Daeron says sternly towards the stranger who nods and heads in the direction he came from.

'There must be another entrance' Jon thought to himself. As they both walked out of the chamber. Coming out into open air, Daeron noticed something strange, it was a large elk but it had been saddled as if someone rode it.

"Do not fear he will not hurt you as long as you don't hurt me" The man says to Daeron giving him some reassurance.

They continue walking the way back to the village, Daeron just has to trust that they are going the right way as he stupidly ran off without knowing how to get back. It was a moonless night, Daeron remembered his uncle Benjen had once told him that a wise man always feared a moonless night.

*Jon a wise man fears a moonless night for it is only those who seek to do us harm that hide in the shadows and once the light turns it's back on us those of the night have free reign*

A long time ago Daeron may have thought that his uncle meant those who schemed or assassins hiding with daggers, but now he sees there is a lot more in the dark than he knew.

Daeron had lit a torch using his finger a stick and some wrapped cloth, however he didn't need it for sight, for some reason his eyesight was as clear as it was during the day, but a wise man fears a moonless night and what creatures come with it, so Daeron had a fire ready in order to scare these creatures away.

They had finally come to the village where the Nights Watch should currently be camped but as the strange man had said it was currently empty, even the fireplaces were completely burned out, there should be signs if they had left in a hurry but there were nothing, the tracks looked old. Daeron just stands there in disbelief, he had really been gone for three days, but his body didn't feel hungry wouldn't he feel thirsty if he had been in that cave for so long.

"Are you ready to listen?" The strange man said while Daeron was still trying to gather his thoughts. Though Daeron did hear him and sheathed his sword nodding his head at the man.

"Come we may as well camp here tonight" the man says to him before going to a nearby campfire and sitting in a log nearby. Daeron sees some of the fuel is still unspent so he uses his finger to light it, starting the fire again.

"I'm sure you have questions, ask" he simply says to Daeron.

"Who are you" Daeron says bluntly not even skipping a beat.

"My name... it has been a long time since anyone has used it, it doesn't matter anymore you may call me Coldhands" Coldhands states to Daeron. This doesn't help Daeron feel less suspicious about the man.

"Why are you even out here, are you a wildling, it seems strange to live beyond the wall alone" Daeron questions.

"I'm afraid I have little choice in the matter, the realms of men are not made for the likes of myself" Coldhands says with a shrug. Though this makes Daeron narrow his eyes slightly.

"Are you alive?" He asks sternly to which Coldhands doesn't answer for a moment.

"Mostly" he simply replies.

They sit there in silence for a while the wood of the campfire crackling, Daeron didn't even know why he had made the fire, he wasn't cold and he could see, though it would keep away some predators.

"What did she do to me" Daeron asks Coldhands.

"Finally noticed did you" Coldhands states.

"I can see in the dark and I don't feel cold" Daeron states.

"Check your eyes" Coldhands simply says to him. Daeron frowned before getting up and walking over to a bucket of water, using the butt of his knife he breaks the surface as it had frosted over.

He almost falls back in surprise when a familiar sight greets him, the same ethereal crystalline eyes that he had seen on the woman looked back at him. They seemed to glow with an otherworldly light, Daeron almost fell backwards in shock.

"What's happening to me!" Daeron shouts out looking at the cloaked man still sitting at the campfire.

"Did she kiss you?" Coldhands asked bluntly

Daeron doesn't answer as he picks himself up and goes back to sit in front of the camp fire.

"You don't have to answer… you were in there with her for three days, to be quite honest you should be dead" Coldhands says to Daeron

"I still don't understand how I was gone for three days" Daeron says still in disbelief at the situation.

"In the list of your current problems right now I don't believe that ranks very high" Coldhands says in a monotonous voice.

"What is happening to me!" Daeron asks sternly.

"She awakened your Stark magic" Coldhands simply says. Though Daeron looks confused at this.

"What do you mean awakened?" Daeron asks.

"Starks have a history with the others and the children of the forest, their magic runs strong and deep and most Starks are able to use skin changing magic with a rare few being greenseers, though when your magic awakens you gain the affinity for ice that was hidden in your blood" Coldhands explains.

"That doesn't make any sense, I could use ice magic before I even came beyond the wall" Daeron exclaims, this causes the first visible reaction that Daeron had seen in the cloaked man.

"I see…" Coldhands looks to be thinking, he looks up to a tree, Daeron follows his gaze and he sees a flock of ravens fly off.

"I need to go" Coldhands simply says to Daeron before getting up.

"Wait! What's going to happen to me now she awakened my magic" Daeron says desperately. Coldhands stops and looks at him.

"You'll either get lucky and become like me or you'll be exactly what she's looking for" he states ominously before whistling, his elk rushes through the trees coming before him.

"It seems your men have just left Crasters Keep, they will soon arrive at the fist of the first men, and soon after they will be released from their vows" Coldhands states pointing in the direction they headed.

It takes Daeron a second before he understands his meaning, his eyes widen before he gets up running in the direction of the Nights watchmen.

(Kings Landing)

The city is a decaying labyrinth of narrow streets and crumbling buildings. Poverty and desperation are rampant, crime thrives in the shadows, and the ruling class is corrupt and manipulative. The air is filled with foul odors, and the people struggle to survive amidst overcrowding and unemployment.

Those who live in the Red Keep often forget about the people below them the suffering they endure, dozens die every day in the city and yet the select few that are chosen to run the kingdom won't notice as the small folk are in abundance.

The small council room is a dimly lit chamber with a large oval table at its center. Surrounding the table are high-backed wooden chairs, each assigned to a member of the small council. The walls bear faded tapestries depicting the symbols of the Seven Kingdoms. Maps, parchments, and scattered scrolls cover the scarred and worn table.

The small council room was alive with fervent discussion as the members delved into the matter of Daeron Targaryen. Passionate voices filled the chamber, debating the potential implications of his presence and the challenges it posed to the stability of the realm. Opinions clashed, ranging from cautionary warnings to ambitious suggestions, each council member seeking to assert their influence and sway the outcome in their favor.

Amidst the intense deliberation, a heavy silence fell upon the room as the doors swung open abruptly. The air turned tense as Robert Baratheon, the king, stormed in, his face etched with anger and disbelief. In his hand, he tightly gripped a letter, its contents unbeknownst to the council members, but the sight alone enough to ignite a fiery wrath within the king.

The small council members swiftly shifted their attention from Daeron to their enraged monarch, their faces reflecting a mix of surprise and trepidation. The room seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the king's next move. His footsteps echoed heavily against the floor as he approached the table, his gaze piercing through the gathered council members.

"I use to sleep at night and I would dream of killing Rhaegar, caving in his breastplate, killing that fucker every night is my reward for dealing with you scheming shits in here and my miserable cunt of a wife" Robert says to the men of the small council.

"Now here I am finding out that NOT ONLY HAS ONE OF RHAEGARS SPAWN HAS SURVIVED BUT TWO" Robert shouts his hand hitting the table almost breaking it in half as he slams a letter down, in front of Jon Arryn.

Jon Arryn the Hand of the King takes the letter and reads it, his eyes narrow and a frown mares his face.

"If this is true then we are in trouble" Jon states severely.

"What does the letter say" Stannis asks in a gruff voice devoid of any emotion.

"Aegon VI Targaryen lives, he travels around with Jon Connington and a few others, he has monetary support and the golden company" Jon reads the most important parts of the letter.

"May i see the letter Lord Hand" Varys asks reaching for it, however Jon Arryn snatched it away at the last second. He shares a look with Robert that the rest of the council seem to miss.

"Varys you're my spymaster and you let not only one BUT TWO TARGARYENS SLIP THROUGH YOUR FINGERS!" Robert booms.

"I'm sorry your grace but my little birds sing no songs of any Targaryens apart from the ones we already knew about" Varys says regretfully. Jon and Robert share another look though this time Stannis catches it.

"Who cares? This boy may have the golden company but that won't be enough to conquer the seven kingdoms" Renly adds his feet up on the desk.

"Don't be an idiot boy, it starts with the golden company but don't think others won't flock to him, the cunts in Dorne, the other white haired fucks in the crownlands" Robert says to his younger brother.

"The Tyrells could offer a marriage alliance, they can field the greatest army if Aegon were to secure an alliance with them then we'd go from having the advantage to being disadvantaged" Stannis adds.

"What! We'd still have 4 kingdoms to their 2" Renly shouts out in disbelief.

"You really are a fool! Look at the kingdoms they'd have! Dorne and the Reach! Now look at where Kings Landing is! The only kingdom in any position to help us would be the Westerlands and that's if they could get to us in time" Robert shouts out as he chastises his brothers foolishness.

"We have to do something, we can't let this Targaryen get any stronger" Robert said as he stroked his beard.

"What about the other one, the bastard of Lyanna and Rhaegar" Renly asks.

"Forget the cunt, we will deal with him later keep the bounty out for him but right now he's up north freezing his balls off in some hole while his brother rises against us! We will smash down the elder brother first and then I will kill the other one myself" Robert says maliciously

"If I may ask, who sent the letter" Varys asks in a slimy voice. Robert and Jon looked at each other again.

"It didn't say" Jon replied.

"It seems awfully convenient that this letter should show up now, are we sure the information is valid, it could be an attempt to draw attention away from Daeron Sand" Varys states.

"I believe the letter more than speaks for itself" Robert says in an unnervingly calm voice as he looks directly at Varys.

Stannis had a frown on his face, he could tell more was on the letter than what was said, his brother was acting unusually.

(Crasters Keep)

Daeron had ran for most of the night reaching what has to be Crasters keep.

Craster's Keep is a desolate, ramshackle fortress. It is dimly lit, with rough-hewn walls and minimal furnishings. The atmosphere is eerie and secretive, surrounded by a makeshift encampment. It symbolizes hardship, evoking a sense of dread and desperation.

Approaching it he can see the sunken earth and footsteps in the ground signifying a large number of people travelled through here. As he approached the main keep he saw a few women walking from another building.

Though as soon as they saw Daeron they screamed and ran inside, which confused him a little. Knocking on the big door to the keep he could hear the crying and whimpering of women inside.

"P-p-please i was just coming to offer my s-s-son to you" Daeron heard an old man's voice that trembled with fear.

Having had enough Daeron opened the door surprised they had neglected to lock it. Though as he stepped into the door wag the women screamed once more.

"What in seven hells is wrong with you lot" Daeron says shocking the entire group of women and the old man.

"A-are y-you n-not an other" one of the younger girls squeaks out her fear spilling out of her throat.

"What? How could you think that" Daeron said only to remember that his eyes were currently an ethereal blue, but how would they know what it looks like.

"I apologise, I had forgotten about my current appearance, needless to say I am alive and am not an other" Daeron says reassuringly.

"I'm looking for the Nights watchmen who came through here" Daeron asked.

"Oh those fucking parasites, they left yesterday and good riddance too, coming here eating my food and looking at my daughter wives" Craster spit out.

Daeron knew it was hypocritical of him to judge this man but taking a closer look at the women cowering on the floor he could see half of them covered in bruises. He also could see a young woman who looked to be sweaty and her belly was swollen it seemed like the baby the man had just tried to offer to Daeron was hers.

Daeron had already made his decision when he had seen the clear signs of him beating his daughter wives but this just solidified it. Craster had already dropped the baby into the mothers arms again before taking a seat and drinking deeply from his goblet.

Daeron walked up to the man punching him in the face, he screamed in pain but holding his now broken nose, Daeron drags him out of his keep tossing him into the snow.

"WHAT'RE YA DOIN' YA CUNT" Craster screams out while holding his face in pain. Daeron draws his sword.

"You have two choices, fight or be executed" Daeron said in a calm voice.

"Hehehehahaha you're full of shit boy I know you can't hurt me your Lord Commander would have you hung" Craster says with a viscous smile.

"Perhaps he would, but you've missed out on something" Daeron says in an unnervingly calm voice.

Thrusting his sword forward it goes directly into his chest penetrating his heart.

"I'm not a member of the Nights Watch" Daeron says eerily, the last thing Craster sees in this life are the Cold crystalline eyes that promised never ending winter. The old man collapses on the floor the light finally fading from his eyes.

Daeron wipes his sword on the dead man's body then heads back inside, the women are still cowering, he tries to give them a small smile to help reassure them that it's okay but his eyes seem to be triggering their fear.

"I killed your husband, I apologise but you deserve better than being beaten and forced to sacrifice your children" Daeron says to all of them.

He can see looks of relief on a lot of the women's faces but one looks terrified as if she knew something the others did not.

"The Others will come!!!" She screams out.

"We didn't sacrifice a son, they will come for us all!!" She cries out making the other women start to panic.

"CALM YOURSELF!" Daeron shouts at them, getting their attention.

"I will stay tonight, if something comes I will deal with it" Daeron says sternly getting a nod from the women.

Daeron takes a seat where Craster sat and waiting for the inevitable conflict that was about to occur.

(AN: Will Jon turn into whatever Coldhands is, will he find out his real identity, Will he catch up to the nights watch in time, will he beat whatever comes to pick up crasters son, will he fuck gilly before Sam, who wrote the letter addressed to the king. All good questions sadly I'm discontinuing this fic.

Just kidding but I may not upload tomorrow for work reasons.

Next chapter.

Battle at the Fist of the First men