Hello there, I'm currently stockpiling and trying to find the right direction to do.
For now, I want to know what you think of mc having Keizer Ghidorah as a familiar.
Though, it's weaker and smaller but still bigger than Balerion.
Also, it's NOT king ghidorah but Keizer Ghidorah from Godzilla final wars.
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- Arya -
Arya Stark is the youngest daughter and third child of Lady Catelyn and Lord Ned Stark.
Arya was born and raised at Winterfell. She has an older sister, Sansa, an older brother Robb, two younger brothers Bran and Rickon Stark, and a "bastard half-brother" Jon Snow.
Arya rejects the notion that she must become a lady and marry for influence and power.
Instead, she believes that she can forge her own destiny. She is fascinated by warfare and training in the use of arms, and is bored by embroidery and other "lady-like" pursuits.
She takes after her father and has a quarrelsome relationship with her sister Sansa, due to their contrasting interests and personalities. She is close to her "half-brother" Jon, who is also something of an outsider.
Like every Stark, Arya blames the Lannister, especially Joffrey Baratheon who had her father executed and went to war with her brother.
She had experienced many things, namely having to be cupbearer for Tywin Lannister. Arya was fortunate enough to escape and was helped by a man named Jaqen H'ghar.
After many brushes with death and facing even more traumatized events, Arya had reunited with her mother.
However, not before watching her brother's corpse defiled by the Frey and Bolton displaying and mocking it.
Fortunately, justice came swift and gave judgement through a man who wields supernatural powers. There had been rumors about magic but to see it first hand was astonishing.
Arya walks through the camp seeing men briefly resting heading to the riverrun to resupply and gather more support. She is looking for the man responsible for saving her mother and avenging her brother.
She saw how people were busily attending to their task with some training, others were skinning a recently hunted elk and others were simply resting. They were organized and given appropriate tasks.
Arya had found from his mother that he was a man beyond Westeros and Essos which made her curious about the rest of the world.
She also wanted to thank him personally for the things he had done for them.
It didn't take Arya long to spot him.
Near the heart of the camp, Mattias stood in his crimson armor a striking sight against everything
The red plates shimmered faintly under the sunlight. Even among a sea of soldiers, his presence drew every gaze commanding yet composed, regal without a word.
He moved through the camp with steady, deliberate steps. Officers trailed close behind, taking notes as he issued instructions with calm precision.
"Check the condition of the supplies," he said, his voice carrying easily over the clamor of men and horses.
"I want accurate countsfood, arrows, horses, and medicine. We don't rely on guesswork."
"Yes, my lord!" came the immediate reply before the men scattered to carry out his orders.
Mattias stopped beside a group of soldiers unloading a wagon. He glanced at their dented gear, then raised his hand slightly. A faint hum filled the air, metallic, sharp, and unnatural.
The men stepped back in surprise as several chests appeared beside them, as though they had been there all along.
When opened, they revealed perfectly forged armor, polished blades, and shields gleaming in the dull northern light.
Arya's eyes widened. The weapons were uniform and flawless crafted with such precision that not even the forges of Winterfell could produce their like. She wondered how he managed to create or procure them so quickly.
"Distribute them evenly," Mattias ordered, crossing his arms.
"No one goes into battle with cracked steel or mismatched armor. If it doesn't fit, report it immediately."
"Yes, commander!"
A few soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, whispering quietly among themselves about the sudden abundance of gear. But no one dared question him aloud. Mattias's tone left no room for curiosity, only obedience.
He moved on, inspecting carts of food, checking the straps on horses, and calling out to a passing scout.
"Send word to Riverrun. I want updates on their readiness before nightfall."
"Yes, my lord!"
Arya stood half-hidden between the tents, watching him direct the camp with effortless authority. The soldiers obeyed without hesitation, their movements sharp and orderly. There was no chaos, no shoutingonly discipline.
Her gaze trailed back to the crates of weapons.
'Where did he get them?' she wondered.
'It would take weeks to forge so many, even months.'
But no one questioned it, not when the man in red armor walked among them like some silent storm given form.
"My lord," Arya called out softly as she approached, her voice cutting through the low murmur of the camp.
Mattias turned at once, the faint light from the torches glinting off his crimson armor. His golden eyes met herscalm, unreadable, yet disarmingly warm.
"Ah, Lady Arya," he greeted with a faint, charming smile that seemed out of place amid the clamor of soldiers and steel.
"Is there something I can do for you?"
"A-Ah, well… actually," Arya began, her fingers tightening around the hem of her sleeve.
"Could we speak privately?"
Her voice wavered slightly despite her effort to steady it. There were things she wanted to sayneeded to saybut not with dozens of eyes and ears nearby.
Mattias studied her for a moment, his expression softening with understanding.
"Of course," he said simply, inclining his head before gesturing for her to follow.
He led her past the rows of tents, where the noise of the camp into quiet murmurs and sound of weapons being sharpened. His quarters were spacious but simple earth structures.
"Come in," he said, stepping aside for her. His voice carried no hint of command, only calm assurance.
Arya hesitated at the threshold before entering. The air inside was cooler, filled with the faint metallic scent of armor polish and parchment. Her heart thudded in her chestnot from fear alone, but from the overwhelming presence of the man before her.
This was the man who avenged her brother and saved her mother. The man who summoned weapons from thin air and commanded armies as easily as breathing.
Yet now, standing within arm's reach, Arya realized how little she actually knew about him.
She swallowed, glancing at his imposing frame as he removed his gauntlets with deliberate calm.
He didn't seem cruel or unkind, but there was a weight to his silencea reminder that if she said the wrong thing, she might not even see it coming.
Careful, she told herself. Don't test his patience.
"Now then," Mattias said, turning to face her once more, his tone gentle but firm.
"What is it you wish to speak about, Lady Arya?"
Her throat tightened. Whatever she had come here to say suddenly felt heavier than she imagined.
"Ease up, Lady Arya," Mattias said, his voice calm and smooth, the early morning light spilling through the tent and glinting faintly off his crimson armor. His tone carried a trace of amusement. "I'll say again what I told your motherrelax. You don't need to be so formal when we're alone."
His words were meant to reassure, and though Arya tried to steady herself, instinct told her to show respect. Instead of answering, she surprised him by lowering herself to one knee, her gaze steady and sincere.
"I wanted to thank you," Arya said quietly.
"For saving my mother… and for avenging my brother."
For a moment, Mattias was silent. Then he exhaled softly, a faint smirk curling on his lips.
"You're welcome," he replied, his tone calm but measured.
"But don't mistake my actions as charity. I'm not doing any of this for free or without reason."
Arya looked up at him, brow furrowed but curious.
"Yes, my mother told me… you intend to kill that monster Joffrey, rescue my sister, and" she hesitated.
"set yourself as the new king of the Seven Kingdoms."
Mattias laughed at thatlow at first, then rich and unrestrained, the sound echoing faintly against the earthen walls of the camp.
"Ha! Indeed," he said at last, brushing a hand through his dark hair as the morning breeze drifted in.
"But do not think for a second that I crave the comfort of a throne. No… what I seek is the challengethe thrill of shaping a better world."
He stepped closer, sunlight gleaming on the red metal of his armor, his golden eyes burning like molten gold beneath the shadow of his helm.
"Highborn or smallfolk," he continued.
"It makes no difference. What gives a kingdom strength is its unity. That, Lady Arya, is what I intend to forgea realm rebuilt from the ashes of its own corruption."
His voice carried conviction, steady and powerful, but there was something deeper beneath his wordssomething dangerous.
If anyone were to glimpse his true thoughts, they would realize that Mattias viewed the game of thrones as just thata game. A pastime.
He could take what he wanted, whenever he wishedand no one alive could stop him.
And yet, what truly thrilled him wasn't the taking. It was the waitingthe long, patient play.
"You know," Mattias began, his tone thoughtful as he stared out the tent flap at the camp, "it's astounding to me that the Seven Kingdoms were ever allowed to fall into such a pitiful state."
Arya turned toward him, brow furrowed. His gaze was distantsharp, but heavy with quiet disbelief.
"How does a culture last for ten thousand years," he continued, "with so little change… and still call itself great? It's as if the gods themselves shackled Westeros to its own ignorance. Not just this landall of Planetos, really."
Arya blinked, uncertain what to make of his words.
"I… I don't understand," she admitted softly.
Mattias gave a low chucklenot mocking, but weary, almost pitying. He turned his golden eyes to her.
"I'm comparing your homeland to the one I came from," he said, voice carrying the weight of something ancient and far beyond her knowing.
"In my homeland, everything changed within ten thousand years. We rose from stone and mud to reach the stars. We built cities that scraped the sky, crossed oceans in hours, landed men upon the moon."
He raised a gloved hand, flexing it slightly, as if remembering power lost to time.
"We learned to command fire hotter than the sun… to erase cities with a gesture… even to craft life itself from nothing."
He let his hand fall, the faintest trace of melancholy shadowing his smile.
"And yet," Mattias murmured, his voice soft but cutting.
"For all that progress, humanity still devoured itself in the end. Power without wisdom always leads to ruin."
He looked back at Aryahis gaze calm, knowing, and faintly amused.
"Your people haven't reached that point yet. You still have time to learn."
This revelation widened Arya's eyes hearing his homeland achieved the impossible. If this was true then…
"You're homeland, My lord? Why are you telling me this?"
Arya asked since this is a craucial information!
"I find it trivial and simply venting my disappointment. And I can see in your eye you are curious about what lies beyond the sea."
Mattias smiled, entertaining a young girl like her. She was only 3 years younger but he was wiser and more knowledgeable than her.
"I-I see, thank you for sharing, My lord." Arya said as she began to stand up and Mattias nodded.
"Come, join me as I wish to take a walk."
The two left Mattias's quarters, walking through the camp as the morning sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across rows of tents and soldiers at work. Their conversation meandered idly until Arya spoke up, curiosity getting the better of her.
"My lord, were there any female knights in your homeland?"
Her tone carried quiet determination the same restless spirit that always set her apart from her noble-born peers. She had no wish to be married off, no desire to be someone's wife or broodmare.
Mattias glanced at her, amused but thoughtful.
"If you mean actual knights, sworn to kings or queens, then… no. My homeland no longer has such things."
Arya frowned slightly, puzzled.
"No kings? No lords?"
He chuckled softly.
"A few, here and there but not in the way you know them. We call it monarchy rule by a single person, often by birthright. My homeland cast that aside long ago. The people chose to be ruled by their own, through councils and laws instead of crowns and bloodlines."
Arya blinked, trying to wrap her head around the idea. "So… no one sits a throne?"
Mattias smiled faintly, shaking his head.
"Not one throne, no. Power shifts hands sometimes wisely, sometimes foolishly. But even without kings, people still find ways to fight wars, to chase power, to shape empires. Some things never change."
Mattias said, his gaze turning thoughtful as he recalled figures from a distant past.
"However, there were a few remarkable women in our historywarriors, leaders, and conquerors in their own right. Women not unlike your Rhaenys Targaryen during Aegon's Conquest."
His voice carried a quiet reverence as he spoke, each name like an echo from another place.
"There was Joan of Arc, a peasant girl who led the French army, which is a country from my homeland, to several victories during the Hundred Years' War, guided by her faith."
Arya intently listened as she never heard female warriors being written except for a few.
"Unfortunately, she was betrayed by the people she tried to protect and burned at the stake and defiance, later revered as a saint."
Mattias inwardly shook his head at the hypocrisy of people's faith. He intends to remove the Seven from Westeros if they interfere with his conquest.
"Why? Why did they betray her?" Arya asked, anger and disbelief burning in her voice. The thought of a woman so brave being condemned by her own people made her blood boil.
"Those who fear what they cannot control," Mattias said sternly, his gaze distant as if recalling something from experience.
"They would rather destroy what shines brighter than them, than admit their own dimness."
He paused, his tone lowering into something colder almost contemptuous.
"Men like that are insects dressed in crowns trembling before the light they cannot match."
Arya fell silent, struck by the venom in his words. She had never heard someone speak of kings and lords that way not with hatred, but with complete dismissal.