Chapter Text
It was the sound of absolute silence that first greeted them when consciousness slowly returned. It was an anomaly, the sound of silence, something that didn’t make sense. How could silence, the absence of sound, have a sound? And yet I was a thing! Silence did have a sound, and it was the sound of a body humming against in the dark.
Then came the sensation of touching something warm and cold at once, accompanied by fragmented vision. And the final sense to come back to was smell, and the smell of the earth and wildflowers was strong.
Slowly, the people gathered began to wake, heads aching, eyes burning. The chambers were too bright, illuminated by a light that felt as if the sun were right before them.
“I don’t think they can see well, my love.”
“That may be on me. Give me a moment.”
The light dimmed, the shadows grew, and the eyes began to ease. Vision slowly cleared, fragmentations focusing into a single clear vision. They were in a chamber of pure whiteness, as if snow stuck to the floor, walls, and the ceiling. And before them stood two people, a woman and a man.
The woman had soft, oval features and clear, fair skin. Her hair was long, chestnut brown, and loosely waved, parted at the center and drawn back slightly at the sides, and restrained rather than flashy. Her eyes were a rich and translucent amber, like the sap of a tree. There was a depth to them, layers suspended within layers. They felt warm rather than piercing, not soft exactly but rooted. She wore a structured, elegant gown in forest emerald with intricate embroidery across the bodice, delicate, almost vine-like patterns. The neckline was modestly low but refined, not ostentatious.
The man was a striking contrast that many inhaled sharply at. He had long silver-white hair that was tied in a neat bun. His face was angular and sharp, with high cheekbones, a strong jaw, and a straight nose. His eyes were an unsettling royal purple, not bright like gemstones, but deep, like bruised twilight just before the night claimed the sky. There was a strange luminosity to them, as if light gathered there rather than reflected them. His expression was controlled, almost severe, with a stillness that read as disciplined rather than cold. He was dressed in dark, heavy leather armour reinforced with studs and layered plates.
“Welcome, heroes,” the woman said with a smile.
The man snorted. “You can hardly call them heroes. Failures fit them better.”
The gathered people stared, the insult burning at their skin.
The woman gently slapped the man on the shoulder. “Behave,” she said softly, before turning to the people gathered. “I apologise for my love. He is a rather grumpy thing.”
A few of the gathered people snorted, looking to their loved ones who fit that description.
“You may all be wondering where this is, how you are here, and why you are here. All good questions. Let me answer them.”
The chamber slowly hummed before it changed to a great snowy wasteland. There was a rough wind blowing, a blizzard so intense that they all saw the trees freeze and shatter. But none of them felt the bite of the cold. And they, with the blizzard, all saw it.
Tall, gaunt, with pale flesh and cold blue eyes. They wore reflective, colour-changing armor and wielded a sword so thin that they did not look like they would make for good weapons. They rode horses, giant ice spiders, and mammoths. And behind them followed an army so vast that the people couldn’t help but gape.
One of the gathered people, a young man no older than sixteen, stepped closer to take a better look and gasped.
The army, the mounts, none of them were alive.
The specters turned, and their cold blue eyes stared at the young man.
And just like that, they were back in the snow-white chambers.
“I will answer the why. You have all been brought here for the simple reason that you have all failed.” The woman’s voice was not unkind, but there was an edge in it. “So lost in your own squabbles and the unnecessary drama of your world, you have all forgotten the bigger enemy, some more than others. And it all collected, like a pebble falling down a mountain and creating an avalanche. Your world was ill-prepared for what was coming for them, and it perished because of it.”
“But you will have one more chance to remedy this. We, my dearly beloved grumpy puppy,” the man grunted with a playful glare at the woman, “and I have summoned you all here to show how exactly it is you lot have failed. Which is the question to your how,” The woman smiled. “And as to the where, this is a chamber that exists in between worlds, a chamber untouched by time and space. Here, time does not flow; here, you will not feel the urges you would usually feel while in your world. A perfect place to sit and learn about your mistakes before you commit them, no?” The woman asked with a smile.
A woman with violet eyes raised her hand, and the woman with the amber eyes nodded at her. “If you are showing us our mistakes, that must mean that we have or will commit them. What would the point be then to see the things that are set in stone?”
“Ah, but it is not set in stone,” the amber-eyed woman smiled. “Nothing is ever set in stone. Everything can be erased and rewritten with the right amount of struggle. Which is what you will do here, though the struggle is of the mind rather than the body in this place.”
The violet-eyed woman nodded.
A man with purple eyes raised his hand, and the woman nodded at him. But his eyes were on the man. “You are a Targaryen. Or a Valyrian at the very least,” said the man with the purple eyes.
“Is that what really matters right now? That I look like your blood?” the man snorted harshly.
The man with the purple eyes sneered, hand clenched in a fist.
A woman with auburn hair raised her hand. “Are you two one of the Seven?” she asked, making many snort.
“No, but we know them,” the amber-eyed woman smiled. “Lovely people.”
“Some of them,” the male muttered.
“You say that because they want to bed me,” the woman giggled.
The auburn-haired woman just stared in shock at how lightly these two beings talked about her gods, like they were just normal people of her world.
A young girl with lilac eyes raised her hand, and the amber-eyed woman warmly gave her the silent confidence to speak. There was a stutter when she started, though it eased out when she cleared her throat. “What do we call you?” she asked.
“Our true names are, well, to say it lightly, you will bleed even trying to say one alphabet,” the woman said kindly, “So for now, call me Silva and this grumpy one Innanis.”
The purple-eyed woman from before suddenly widened her eyes, as if the names were familiar to her. Which they were. But when Innanis met her eyes, she suddenly felt lightheaded.
“Now, none of you asked how it is that you will be watching your mistakes, which is a tad disappointing,” Silva sighed, before summoning a thick tome in one hand. It was the thickest anyone had ever seen, and no doubt the heaviest. But Silva was holding it with one hand with absolute ease. SO perhaps it was not so heavy. “This book contains the future that is currently written. For some of you, this is history, because we have brought you in groups, from different points in time. So, should one group fail, the other can stand and fight.”
The book floated to the middle of the chamber, and under it appeared a long table made from wood that looked like Ironwood. Chairs appeared around the table, made from the same material.
“Though I would suggest that you lot mingle. It would be easier for the duration of time you spend here. And you may learn new perspectives in doing so. I can assure you that a fresh perspective would go a long way in finding a way to solve a problem.”
Silva stepped back and took her husband’s hand, smiling warmly at him. Innanis smiled back, the coldness melting.
And then they both vanished.
The people all stood and stared at one another, some awkwardly, some in a friendly way, and some as if they had better things to do. Then the tall man with short silver hair cleared his throat.
“Let us introduce one another before we begin,” he said, “I am Aegon Targaryen, Lord of Dragonstone. These two are my wives, Visenya and Rhaenys.”
The rest startled and stared in shock. Before them stood three legendary figures, the first King of Westeros and his Queens.
A young boy, probably no older than fourteen, was the first to recover. He cleared his throat. “I am Jaehaerys Targaryen, and this is my wife Alyssane Targaryen.”
People gaped at another legendary couple.
“I can’t believe this,” said the woman with dirty blonde hair. “They are so… tiny.”
The man beside her gently tapped her on the shoulder.
“I am Aemon Targaryen. This is my wife, Jocelyn Baratheon. And those two are my siblings, Baelon and Alyssa. They are married as well.”
Three of the group of four next to them stared in longing silence. Until Alyssa snapped at them. The lean and tall of the three snorted at that.
“I am Viserys Targaryen, this is my brother Daemon, and our cousin Rhaenys.”
Jocelyn tilted her head, taking in the sight of Rhaenys. There was something familiar about her that struck the woman in an oddly warm way
Rhaenys’ eyes met hers, and she smiled at the woman warmly.
“Dunk and this is Egg,” said the tall, awkward knight.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” a stern-looking man with silver hair asked, disgust, surprise, and a hint of amusement in his voice.
The boy called Egg flinched.
“I am Baelor Targaryen, and this is my brother Maekar.” Baelor pushed through with a smile before pinning a fond look on the boy. “And that is my nephew, Aegon.”
“Your Grace, you’re mistaken. This boy is a inn keeps son who tagged along with me along,” Dunk explained, but then gaped when ‘Egg’ gave him a guilty look. “You-”
“I am Rhaegar Targaryen,” the man with the silver long hair said. “And this is my wife, Elia, and my…”
“Lover,” Elia said with a roll of her eyes.
“Lyanna Stark,” the girl with the grey eyes and dark hair spoke.
Lyanna turned to the last and the largest group, as did the rest. But all of them were in shock, all for different reasons. The eldest of them spoke first, clearing her throat and whacking the man with golden hair on the shin. The sound of his yelp broke the rest from their shocked stupor.
“I am Olenna Tyrell,” the woman said. “This is my granddaughter Margaery.” Her critical eyes then went to the rest.
“If my memory serves me right… That Dornish is Oberyn Martell,” Elia gasped.
“This man is Jaime Lannister. And the couple there are Lord and Lady Stark.”
Lyanna tilted her head. Lord and Lady Stark had to be Brandon and Catelyn then, because Lyanna was certain her mother did not have red hair. But… the man wasn’t Brandon. He was older and looked too much like-
“I am Eddard Stark of Winterfell. This is my wife, Lady Catelyn Stark, nee Tully. These are my boys, Robb and Jon.”
Lyanna froze. If Ned were the Lord of Winterfell, married to Catelyn, that could-
“Let’s get this over with so we can return home and unfuck our fucks.” Daemon cut through sharply, taking his seat with a scowling, brooding look.
“I see where you get that, brother,” Baelor said with a gentle chuckle as he took his seat. Maekar only grunted in reply, taking the seat beside Baelor and yanking his son Aegon beside him. The hulking knight sat awkwardly on Aegon’s other side.
The rest slowly sat down, too intimidated by Daemon Targaryen to argue about reunions with fallen family.
The book swung open, the pages flipping through in a smooth motion, before stopping. The book then flew to Aegon, the elder one, not the child with the shaved head.