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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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Omen babies have all their horns excised, causing most to perish. These fetishes are made to memorialize them. "Please, don't hate me, or curse me. Please."
Omen babies born of royalty do not have their horns excised, but instead are kept underground, unbeknownst to anyone, imprisoned for all eternity.
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Limgrave, Stormhill
Bernahl
He and the child had spent most of yesterday hunting trolls, and at the very end, Bernahl had taken him to the place where Aerion's final test awaited, after which he intended to make his decision.
Evergaol, the eternal prisons, was one of the cruelest punishments imaginable. Locked in a place outside of time for a literal eternity, with no chance of escape, no hope.
And Bernahl suspected that even if the world were destroyed, these prisons would still exist, suspended in an endless void.
Here, too, the child only confirmed his earlier expectations by defeating the Crucible Knight trapped within. An impressive feat, for although the knight imprisoned in Evergaol was weakened and likely insane, the Crucible Knights were among the most distinguished warriors in the Lands Between.
They were elite knights in the army of the First Elden Lord, Godfrey. Bernahl had the opportunity to serve and fight alongside them in the War against the Giants. At the time, he served directly in Lord Godwyn's battalion. This was long before he followed Lord Godfrey into exile.
So, seeing Aerion dispatch the Crucible Knights swiftly and efficiently, once again proving his strength, Bernahl felt that perhaps he had found a new purpose.
He knew he wasn't strong enough to defeat the demigods, having seen their strength firsthand. But in Aerion, he saw an opportunity. 'You fool,' he thought to himself, 'putting your hopes in a child who was over a thousand years younger than you.'
But now, as he walked along the road leading to Stormveil Castle, he felt he had made the right decision. Even if it was a small contribution, he intended to do his part.
"Remember, Bernahl. Godrick is mine, and I must deal with him alone." Aerion, a few steps ahead, turned to him with these words.
The young Tarnished wanted to prove himself, and Bernahl understood that perfectly. He had fought alongside many warriors who valued strength and courage above all else. Moreover, Aerion needed to prove he could single-handedly defeat a demigod, even the weakest of them all.
"We've already established that," he replied, "but don't charge blindly. I don't like the fact that the entire castle grounds are deserted. No soldiers, knights, or trolls. I smell a trap in the air."
They passed easily through the gate to the outer line of the walls, completely unmolested. But at that moment, Bernahl felt a warning cry from his instincts. He quickly grabbed Aerion's arm, holding him in place.
A moment later, a voice rang out from the top of the castle ramparts directly in front of them, resonating in the air.
"Foul Tarnished, In search..."
"…of Elden Ring, Emboldened by the flame of ambition... and I don't remember any more. " Aerion interrupted him in an excited tone.
"Get down here. I didn't expect to have a chance for revenge so soon."
Margit, who had turned out to be their opponent, jumped to the ground with a thud, blocking their path, and shouted angrily, "It's thou! Impossible! Even with the Guidance of Grace, thou should have remained dead. Damn Greater Will. Have I done so little for thou?" He said the last words much more quietly.
Aerion laughed loudly, even with a hint of madness. "You've lost your chance. Now I'm going to shove that staff of yours where the light doesn't shine. You'll be a good warm-up for the fight with Godric," the young man called out provocatively.
Although Margit had seemingly calmed down, he was clearly seething with fury, which exploded a moment later.
"A WARM-UP?! A WARM-UP?! AS IF THIS RUNT OF THE LITTER WERE STRONGER THAN ME! NO ONE HAS EVER INSULTED ME LIKE THIS!"
Even Aerion took a step back, overcome by Fell Omen's anger.
"I WILL KILL THOU, TARNISHED. AND I WILL KILL THOU UNTIL THE GREATER WILL FINDS THOU USELESS AND DUMPS THOU AWAY LIKE ALL THE PREVIOUS TOYS!"
Bernahl watched all this with the expression of someone who had seen stranger things, but this was the first time someone had unsettled Morgoth. Omen was the most composed of the demigods.
Though he could understand what had so pained the ruler of Leyndell. While he defended the capital and served the Golden Order, Greater Will found another champion. This must have been a painful betrayal for Morgoth.
Placing his Zweihander on his shoulder, he turned on his heel and retreated to the gate, pausing there to await the coming fight.
Aerion shot him a surprised look, to which Bernahl merely replied, "Sorry, boy, but you've brewed the ale; now drink it."
After all, he was almost certain that the Omen King wasn't present in his true form but had merely manifested himself somehow. Moreover, Aerion had just gloated that he could easily defeat him, so let him show what he was capable of.
Contrary to what had seemed expected, the fight didn't begin immediately. Margit, though angry, was clearly wary of young Aerion. A massive sword made of fused melted blades appeared in Aerion's right hand. The legendary Grafted Blade Greatsword from Castle Mourne.
The sword must have weighed dozens of kilograms, but Aerion still held it in one hand with ease. In his left hand, Bernahl saw the red Dragon Communion Seal. Good. Kid didn't underestimate his opponent, going all out right away.
A moment later, Aerion took the lead, lunging at Omen without hesitation. One moment, he was still standing; the next, he was at Margit, swinging low from his side at his opponent's legs.
However, he leaped back, creating a space of several meters between them. This made Omen a difficult opponent. No trace of his earlier anger remained, only a cool focus.
Despite the difference in size and mass, Margit had to be careful, for Aerion's strength was absurd, far exceeding the limitations imposed by his smaller frame.
A dagger of golden light, which could only be holy energy, appeared in Omen's hand, and he then threw it towards Aerion. The dagger, which for a normal human would be the size of a longsword, instantly destroyed the several meters separating the two opponents.
Aerion only tilted his head slightly, allowing the dagger to miss him by a centimeter, maybe two. However, more followed, forcing the young Tarnished to retreat slightly, or at least that's how it seemed at first.
For Omen seized the opportunity, and Bernahl saw a golden flash in his left hand, which a moment later transformed into a golden lightning spear, which Aerion threw directly at Margit, who desperately threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the attack, which struck the wall behind him, tearing a large hole in it.
Bernahl expected Aerion to follow up, but instead, he held off, waiting for Omen to rise. Honorable and arrogant fool.
To Bernahl's surprise, Margit rose, looking at the damage wrought by the attack, then nodded to Aerion in a gesture of appreciation.
"Lightning Spear. Mine brother's favorite incantation. Not only that, but I also see the same foolish honor that allowed him to befriend the Ancient Dragons. Perhaps thou truly are different from the rest of these vermin," Omen said, a hint of respect in his voice.
"I just wonder where thou managed to learn this incantation?"
Aerion merely smiled in response, and another began to form in his hand. Margit wasted no time in throwing the young Tarnished at him, forcing him to cancel the incantation's casting and retreat to the defense.
Bernahl nodded thoughtfully. In a fight against a strong incantation caster, he would have done the same. If Morgott had been here in person, it wouldn't have been a problem for him, as he was one of the more powerful incantation users himself. This form clearly had significant limitations.
This was only confirmed when Aerion began to gain the upper hand, forcing Omen onto the defensive, using, to his satisfaction, the practical advice Bernahl had given him.
The greatsword clashed with the staff with a speed and force that were impossible for ordinary men, even for a Tarnished. Aerion set the pace in an exchange where his opponent should have been many times stronger than he.
One blow from Margit's staff should have shattered the kid's arm and split his skull like a pumpkin, and Bernahl was certain he himself wouldn't have been able to match the Fell Omen blow for blow.
That was why Omen was so feared among the Tarnished. Few dared to face him. And those who did died at his hands, leaving only the memories of their companions.
Bernahl himself personally knew several dozen Tarnished who met their end at the hands of Fell Omen, and worst of all, those he killed, even with the Guidance of Grace, were unable to return to life. Was it Margit's weapon or his power? No one knew. One thing was certain: defeat meant the end.
That's why Bernahl was as surprised as Omen that Aerion had been reborn after his death at the hands of the latter. Though the explanation could be incredibly simple. A Greater Rune belonging to the young Tarnished. The most likely explanation.
His thoughts quickly returned to the fight, however, as it began to quickly tilt to one side.
The fight was brutal. The legendary blade in Kid's hand was devastating to Omen's body, and even his thick skin couldn't stop the dozens of grafted blades piercing his flesh.
His right arm was no longer fit for combat, hanging limply, and Margit had to fight with his other hand, which clutched the staff tightly. Omen's twisted tail was severed in half, and his left side was shredded.
At that very moment, Aerion slammed an air kick into Margit's chest, sending him flying several meters away. This time, without waiting, the Lightning Spear flashed again in his hand, this time larger and brighter than before, reeking of compressed energy.
Several golden dots appeared around the young man, sparking with lightning as well. Without hesitation, Aerion hurled his spear directly at Margit, who was trying to quickly get up, but it was too late for him.
The Lightning Spear struck directly at the right side of Omen's stomach, followed by six more, striking various parts of his body. Then a lightning strike fell from the clear sky, striking Margit, as if ensuring the attack would be final.
Bernahl, however, was certain the first spear had already been enough, as it tore a hole the size of his head in Omen's body, likely grilling his innards. The others only completed the job, and a bolt from the sky reduced Margit to a smoking corpse.
What was this attack anyway? The Knight Lightning Spear? But wasn't it an incantation used by Lord Godwyn himself and a few of his most trusted Dragon Knights? How had Aerion acquired it without even leaving Limgrave?
"I SHALL REMEMBER THEE, TARNISHED. WELL, THOU ART OF PASSING SKILL. WARRIOR BLOOD MUST TRULY RUN IN THY VEINS. COWER IN FEAR. OF THE NIGHT. THE HANDS OF THE OMEN KING SHALL BROOK THEE NO QUARTER."
Morgott's words echoed through the air as his silhouette dissolved into golden flecks.
Aerion stood there, staring at the spot where Omen's body had briefly lain. Then he turned to Bernhold and said, "Well, that was anticlimactic... I guess I expected more after our last fight."
Bernahl shrugged, "You're clearly stronger than you think," he said with a small smile. "You should be proud of yourself. Margit has killed hundreds of Tarnished, and his Night Cavalry have killed thousands more."
"After all, I've avenged hundreds of our kin, haven't I? There's some solace in that."
Bernahl nodded, stepping closer and placing a hand on the younger Tarnished's shoulder. "You must be careful now. Morgott won't forget this, even with the sliver of respect you've earned in his eyes."
Aerion looked at him in surprise. "Why are you suddenly bringing up his name? What does the ruler of Leyndell have to do with Margit?"
Bernahl wasn't surprised by the question. Few knew that Morgott and Fell Omen were the same person. He only knew because he had seen the Omen King before.
"Margit is Morgott, or rather, his manifestation, avatar, or something like that. A much weaker one, too. If the Last of all Kings were here in person, we would both be dead. Everyone talks about Malenia and Radahn as the greatest of the demigods, but they forget that Morgoth forced the Starscourge to retreat from the capital."
In his own opinion, Morgoth was also the only one who kept a cool head when the other demigods were at each other's throats. Who would have expected that a child abandoned to fate would be the one to guard the last bastion of order in this world?
He eyed the child, but the boy took the information surprisingly calmly. He merely nodded to himself, as if in thought.
"It doesn't matter now. Time to cleanse Limgrave of Godrick and his men," Aerion finally said, nodding at Stormveil Castle rising before them in all its glory.
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Westeros, Winterfell
Stannis Baratheon
He gazed with quiet resignation at the walls and buildings of Winterfell, scarred by unnatural fire. Winterfell, which had stood almost untouched for several millennia. Now, however, a third of it was gone.
The northwest side was reduced to molten ruins, and all surrounding buildings had been more or less melted. In this state, the Stark stronghold was indefensible.
Moreover, after what had happened, morale was extremely low, and the people were terrified. Neither he nor Manderly knew how to explain what had happened. Furthermore, the king was missing.
According to some of the soldiers closest to the north plains, Aerion Targaryen was facing some enormous, flaming beast, though what it was was impossible to determine. It was most likely the cause of this cursed, maddening fire.
Yes, this fire was cursed. He was certain of it. He had seen the unnatural fire of Rhllor, wielded by his Red Priests, but what he saw here was far more dangerous. The whispers, the voices trying to claw their way into his head. Many of the soldiers and servants closest to fire fell into madness, and those who survived had to be finished off.
Over the past few days, they'd been trying to get things under control and calm the people, but they could barely keep up. Not only were they unable to explain what had happened, but the king's disappearance had not escaped anyone's attention.
So, remembering Aerion's words, they repeated that he had been taken by the gods to grow strong enough to fight monsters like this one. He himself wasn't sure if he believed the young king's words, for they sounded absurd. But what choice did he have? Otherwise, they were left with despair.
The promise of the king's return was the only thing that allowed them to maintain some control over everything, although most of their plans had to change.
"A good portion of the supplies burned. We'll have to ration food until more arrives from White Harbor," came the voice of Wyman Mandarly, whose heavy footsteps come behind him. "With the amount of snow, I wouldn't expect them until half a moon."
Stannis grimaced at these words, as if the situation weren't already dire enough. He turned and his gaze fell on the incredibly fat lord, asking, "Are these certain numbers?"
Wyman nodded resignedly. "I received a letter from my son. The entire road between Winterfell and qWhite Harbor is covered with a meter-thick layer of snow, and getting the wagons through will be extremely time-consuming."
Before he could comment on the northern lord's words, Mors Umber, approaching from the opposite direction, said, "The direwolf and the king's raven have vanished."
Stanis frowned thoughtfully. Strange. For the past three days, the Targaryens' strange animals had been unusually calm, filling them with the belief, or rather hope, that the king had survived.
But now they were gone. For what purpose or why, neither of them could say. It was simply another of the many minor problems that now plagued them.
"We can't help it," he replied. "If people start asking, tell them they followed the king and will return with him."
Wyman and Mors nodded in agreement. "Yes, that's the best course of action at the moment," the former admitted.
"But what about the plans we discussed with the king?" Mors asked, and Stannis could hear the same weariness in his voice that he himself felt.
"We're waiting for supplies and wildings," Wyman replied with a heavy sigh. He then added, "We'll discuss the details when they arrive, but His Majesty's orders were clear. To completely drive the Ironborn from the North and capture the Dreadfort."
Stannis nodded. "Our most important task right now is to face and ensure the king has something to return to."
With these words, he set off towards the Great Keep, which, fortunately, was far enough from the fire to be undamaged. Wyman caught up with him in a moment, and from the expression on his face, he could see that the Lord of White Harbor wanted to ask something, having seen the same expression on Davos's face more than once.
"You clearly want to ask something, Lord Mandarl? Don't you know how to put it into words?" he turned to the obese lord.
"Aye, Lord Stannis. Forgive me for asking, but a thought keeps nagging at me," the other replied carefully, weighing each word. "Why didn't you try to regain power after the king's disappearance? You had to kneel with us earlier, even though you had proclaimed yourself king."
Stannis pressed his lips together, considering his answer, not at all offended. It seemed justified. But why did he actually kneel?
There were several reasons, the most important being that he knew what awaited them beyond the Wall and that their young king might indeed be the only thing that could ensure their survival. Even now, he was certain that if he even tried to seize power, he would end up at the mercy of the swords and spears of the northerners.
"No one forced me to kneel, but I chose it myself. And I intend to keep my oath until death," he replied after a short moment, and the answer was clearly satisfactory to Wyman, for he smiled faintly.
Then they both fell silent, peacefully reaching the smaller chamber where they had set up their administrative space.
Wyman sat down heavily on the bench, which creaked under his weight. Then he said, "I fear we don't see the whole picture. His Majesty Aerion knows more than he's told us. Is it because he doesn't trust us, believes we won't understand, or because this knowledge is dangerous? I don't know, but I feel we're acting blindly."
Stannis remained silent in response, unsure how to respond to these words. The same thoughts haunted him in both his waking and sleeping states.
"One thing troubles me. Several times during our conversations, instead of invoking or swearing by the Old or New gods, the King used a certain term, or was it a name? Greater Will." Wyman looked at Stannis, distressed. "Is this some new god? Some new religion from the East?"
He just shook his head, not knowing what to think. "I don't know, but I have a feeling this and that damn fire we saw have something to do with the king. I'm starting to worry that the Others might not be our only concern."
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Essos, Dragon Bay
Daenerys Targaryen
The forest of masts stretching before her filled her chest with both pride and uncertainty. Finally, after years of exile, she had a chance to return home, not as a helpless fugitive but as Nymeria of Ny Sar and Aegon the Conqueror all in one.
The over a thousand ships now filling Meereen's coast were the best proof of this.
Having gained the obedience of the Dothraki, she hoped to arrive in Meereen and quickly restore order. The first part of her plan had succeeded, but she could not have foreseen the existence of such a wretched artifact as the Dragonbinder.
Damn Victarion Greyjoy sailed into the bay at the head of his fleet and blew the accursed horn. With horror, she felt her bond with Rhaegal flicker like a candle flame, and the sight of her sons beginning to fight each other to the death tore at her heart.
So she ordered Drogon and Viseryon to withdraw. Greyjoy then tried to negotiate, and even though she was about to incinerate him with dragonfire, she held back, not knowing what would happen to her son.
Who could have expected that a single dream would change everything? Now Victarion Greyjoy was no more, Rhaegal was free, and the Ironborn fleet belonged to her, along with the ships, soldiers, and mercenaries of the cities of Dragon Bay.
But behind those thoughts came another one, one that put her in a much worse mood. She wondered if the price she had to pay for this was worth it.
She unconsciously touched her left eye, sealed with a strange symbol, which still made her feel as uncomfortable as the command she had received at the end of the dream. "It will unseal when you look into Grace's eye. That's the price."
What that meant, she had no idea. She knew it was too late to turn back the moment she accepted the figure in her dream.
"Your Majesty, we have received a reply from New Ghis. Another Iron Legion is on its way. In return, they ask that the city be spared," Ser Barristan addressed her, stepping closer and bowing low.
Though the news was good, she herself had mixed feelings. She had gained another legion, but hearing the distaste and disappointment in her knight's voice made her feel almost nauseous.
Involuntarily, she glanced to the northeast, where the still-smoking ruins of Meereen lay, the ash of buildings mingling with the ash of its inhabitants.
She swallowed hard, remembering the screams of people being burned alive, trying to fight the guilt that washed over her. It was a difficult decision, but if what the figure had shown her in her dream was true, she had no choice. The future of not only one city but all of humanity hung in the balance.
She raised her right hand, and a black flame blazed on it, the same fire that had engulfed both the buildings and the inhabitants of Dragon Bay's largest city the previous night.
With a sigh, she turned and looked west, where her home and purpose lay, and whispered, "Gloam-Eyed Queen, blaze a path for us to survive."