A Song of Sun and Stars [Man of Steel x ASOIAF]

Chapter 29 –

Her ears hurt.

A crow cawed incessantly, even this high up the tower.

The thunder was getting louder, more frequent. The lightning was crackling with so much energy, she was of half a mind to believe that the Ironborn had arrived with the fury of some Storm God chasing after them. The sharp crackles of the green flames, from the signal fire lit on top of the tower were gut-wrenching.

"Mummy, is father going to be alright?"

It took her a significantly long moment to even acknowledge her little Lynesse's question.

"He will be perfectly alright, Lynesse. There is no need to worry about him. Your father is a powerful man, with a mighty force at his back." She replied projecting calm that she did not truly feel.

She needed her daughter's mind off what was happening outside, she needed to get her distracted from worrying for her father "Now, how do you feel about listening to some of the sweet songs from Rosamund that you love so dearly?"

It was fortunate that her daughter was easy to please, that just some rather lovely songs from her handmaiden; or some little trinket of pearl jewellery were enough to garner and hold her attention for a while.

She was glad, perhaps for the first time in her life, that her two sons, Gunthor and Humfrey were nowhere near the city, having been sent for fostering to Houses Fossoway and Cupps.

At her daughter's nod, the handmaiden in question began singing. Lynesse nestled deeper into the covers of her bed as soon as the singing began, and she couldn't help but brush the locks of her daughter's silvery hair.

They were all huddled in the warmth and safety of her bedchambers. Seven handmaidens, her daughter, and herself. Two guards were posted outside the door, standing vigil for any would-be threat that could come for them during such a time.

At any other time of the year, she would say that Rosamund had one of the prettiest of voices in all of Oldtown. But she could not begrudge her upon hearing the cracks that flowed, due to the fear she was certainly trying her best to hide in her sweet voice. She sang one of Lynesse's most beloved songs.

In truth, she was unable to concentrate herself.

Her city was run amock with those filthy savages from the iron islands. Her husband was making preparations to mount some form of counter-offensive into the city, alongside most of his trusted Knights, men-at-arms, and most of the Garrison inside the fortress. And Ser Humphrey Mullendore, their master-at-arms, was leading the rest of the force in their attempts to put out the damned fires in the upper fortress outside.

She had no clue how those wretched half-witted Ironborn had managed to start a fire inside the very tower. Had Maester Walys not assured her that there was no threat of the tower toppling, she would have abandoned the tower altogether. Fled to the courtyard, or joined her husband down in the mazes.

The Maester was absolutely certain that the tower had been built with such ingenuity in mind, that after the burning of the Tower before the era of King Uthor of the High Tower, no force would ever be able to burn it down and topple it again.

She believed in the maester's reassurances, but they would be thoroughly put to the test tonight. The maester had claimed that the fire would soon die, as they worked to smother it from all sides.

Setting fire to just the fortress itself, without the use of long-dead Dragons, had been such a nigh unimaginable idea before the damned Ironborn proved them wrong, that the fact that they were somehow capable of setting a blaze in the very tower that the fortress was protecting was extremely frightening.

And as if all her worries were not enough, as if the Gods above had not made this one of the blackest nights of her life; that fool of a girl, Malora was missing. Her husband's first-born daughter had been searching for her equally foolish, completely simple-minded freak of a handmaiden since early morning.

There was a knock on their door, and she was broken out of her slowly darkening thoughts.

Composing herself, she cleared her thoughts and said, "You may come in!" bidding the latest addition to the retinue of landed knights in the Tower, followed quickly by maester Walys shuffling in behind him.

Ser Elmar would have made for a powerful figure if he yet possessed his right arm. The Knight had been crippled some months prior in what she believed, was the result of some vile Alchemical experiment that the exiled maester, Qyburn had been conducting in his manse, down the Honeywine river.

The Knight himself had sworn to every god imaginable, to whomever would deign to listen that he had been set upon by some Demon that arose from the fires of the Seventh Hell itself. That he had fought it during his attempts at saving the stable boy, Baz from the burning stable.

She scoffed again internally.

Hah.

Demons indeed.

If the Knight had seen a Demon that night, then she was birthed in the visage of the Maiden herself. Demons, and Magic, and whatever other insane indulgences her husband and Malora liked to believe in were just drunken fabrications of men like the Knight before her.

The man had likely been drunk out of the sanity of his mind and had conjured up the entire tale in his stupor. Perhaps as a way to explain away the crippling wounds he received from the fires that night.

Alas, her husband was one of the many fools that the Knight had managed to sway into believing the tall tale.

The man had been rewarded with a small holdfast of his own, given a healthy sum of gold, alongside a permanent position as the sworn shield of her husband's most favored daughter for his efforts. Even Baz the stable hand at the manse, had been raised in station to be trained by the Stable Master of the tower itself.

In times like these, she was glad her husband favored his firstborn daughter, from his first wife; more than any other child of his blood.

At the very least, her children weren't saddled with incompetent brutes with more brawn than brains to ensure their safety. The Knight had managed to lose his sole responsibility. During such a dangerous time like this.

Quickly, she directed them away from her daughter, and her singing handmaidens, and into the often-unused parlor of her bedchamber. She rarely used this bedchamber, often sharing beds with her old husband.

"Well…?" She stretched the word as imperiously as she could manage. "Have you found her? Where is she?"

The Knight in question trembled slightly under her stern gaze, as he fumbled. "M'lady….I, erm…" He stuttered, then with visible effort took control of himself, and continued "M'lady, I have set five men scouring the entirety of the tower for her-"

"So, you do not know!" She cut him off swiftly and sharply. "You have managed to somehow lose the one responsibility you were given, the one person you swore your very life to protect. During one of the worst raids by the Gods damned Ironborn imaginable! Half of the docks are burning, Ser Elmar! I would have your head if even a hair on hers is found damaged come tomorrow morn!"

For all that the girl served as a reminder of the fact that her husband would never love her daughter as much as he did Malora, she did not hate her. She did not wish the fool dead.

If at all, she pitied the girl in truth. Far past marriageable age, at two and twenty, the girl had been denied what should have been rightfully hers, at far too many times in her life.

If she were her daughter, she would have fought tooth and nail to secure the marriage to the Tyrells, that Alerie's mother had managed for her daughter instead. The fact that Malora had no desire for the match, or any match whatsoever was not an issue. The girl could care less if any suitor passed her over for younger sisters, believing her to be a maddened raving witch or whatever else they called her.

In fact, Rhea was almost certain, Malora reveled in knowing what most thought of her behind her back.

"M-m'lady, I can assure you it will not come to that!" The Knight responded almost pleadingly.

She raised an eyebrow at the man. "Can you, Ser? Can you truly? Where does this surety come from, I wonder?"

She did not appreciate false promises and hot air being blown in her face, especially when the lives of any children of her husband were in question. Even if it was Malora out of all of them.

"I am certain that Lady Malora has not left the walls of the tower – nay, the fortress." The Knight tried to sound certain of that "I will have her found within the hour!"

"Which is it? The Tower or the Fortress?" She questioned, and then shook her head "Better yet, why come here at all, Ser? Surely you could be doing that at this very moment, instead of reporting to me?"

And she was truly perplexed by the Knight's behavior. She knew the Knight was incompetent, but he was certainly not a complete fool without a sense of self-preservation.

The Knight took a deep gulp of air, as he corrected what posture he hadn't already in his earlier round of straightening. "M'lady… I believe Lady Malora ran off in search of her handmaiden, Dotty. The girl was last seen by the guards of the treasury in the tower, they think she wanted to see the star metal one more time."

Dotty. The freakishly simple-minded handmaiden that her husband had assigned to Malora at the girl's request. The girl would rarely ever speak. If she ever did deign to utter a word, it would be so low that one would have to quieten everything else and strain their ears as far as possible to make sense of what was said.

Most of the time, the girl would be staring with her eerie moon-like eyes at whatever caught her fancy that time of day.

Often those fancies revolved around whatever harebrained scheme that Malora had cooked up in her observation chamber, just a floor below the signal fire of the Hightower. Or she would stare at Malora herself.

At times she was almost certain Malora was a saddle licker, with the way the two would just stare at each other at odd times of the day, often lost in worlds of their own.

"And why would I need to know where that foolish girl's little simpleton was last seen? You do not know where either of them are now, do you?!"

This time, maester Walys, who had been shuffling from foot to foot beside the crippled Knight, replied, "Lady Rhea, the fire inside the tower began somewhere near the treasury, and we believe that it occurred around the time she was last seen nearby…."

"You believe that Dotty had a hand in setting the fire….?" She had never heard a more absurd theory, and she had heard her fair share of them during her time when she sat by her husband as he handled court. "That girl doesn't eat without Malora by her side, she doesn't take a shit or piss without Malora knowing about it, she doesn't even sleep without Malora being somewhere nearby….and you would have me believe it was that simpleton that set the damned treasury on fire?"

She shook her head in complete disbelief.

The Knight she could understand, but the maester too? Had the maester fallen to the Knight's ravings and delusions as well? The maester should be with Ser Humphrey, assisting the master-at-arms in extinguishing the fires, not here chasing after batty little girls, and throwing accusations with no basis to stand on.

"What else am I to believe next?" She screamed at the fools standing before her, "Did she lower the boom and chain in the bay too? Prepare a welcoming ceremony for the damned Ironborn up in her chamber? Are they all up there, sharing a warm meal, drinking ale, and dancing away while the city burns around us as we speak?!"

There was silence as the incompetent fool of a Knight, and the apparently extremely gullible maester took in her words.

The crow flying outside cawed by the window.

She could see the fire eating away from the center of the docks.

From the peasant's port in the far distance, the entirety of the harbor street, the spice markets, the Sept of Arrivals, the Temples of the faiths, the Merchant's district, the Dock whorehouses, everything was set on fire. Crawling with the damnable Ironborn.

The harbor was swarmed with their fleet, on guard against any retaliatory force her husband could mount.

She had too much to be worried about this night, she did not deserve this.

Damn Malora for her wilfulness. Damn Dotty for her foolish naïve half-wittedness. And Damn these fools for not understanding the severity of the situation unfolding around her, and acting with the seriousness it deserves.

She turned around to face the two standing in her parlor.

She made to admonish them one last time and send them away out of her sight to do what they should already have been doing. But she paused, when what little color had that yet remained on the Ser Elmar's face after her tirade completely washed away.

The man trembled where he stood like a twig amid a strong breeze. His one remaining left hand reached for the sword at his belt, fumbling and failing to extract it from its sheath.

The maester beside him was staring wide-eyed, horrified behind her, at the window; and she couldn't help but turn around.

The first thing she saw were its eyes.

Two blazing coals of searing, molten red. They seethed with a depthless fury that no mortal could ever possess. They were not the eyes of a man. They weren't even the eyes of a beast.

No, no beast had ever been born with eyes like that. Those were the eyes of something born in suffering, forged in wrath, and let loose from the pits of the Seven Hells. The glow flickered like molten magma, making its twisted face seem to shift and writhe as if it were barely contained within its own pale skin.

It was hunched low on the stone sill, framed by green flickering firelight and the crackles of frequent lightning. Shadows clung to it like a second skin, its form half-swallowed by darkness, half-revealed in the glow of the distant green flames. It was small — too small for a man — but it held itself with a beast's predatory stillness, every muscle coiled and tense, like it was waiting for the perfect moment to spring. Water dripped from its form, steam rising in faint tendrils where droplets hissed against the skin near its eyes.

Her breath hitched. Her knees buckled. She stumbled back, her hand clutching the corner of the table like it was a holy relic. Her voice caught in her throat, a dry rasp that refused to form words.

Its snarl deepened.

Sharp teeth bared behind thin, its lips pulled back in a feral, inhuman grimace. Not a snarl of rage, no — worse than that. It was a snarl of disgust. Disgust at her. She could feel it. It hated her.

No, not her.

It hated everything it saw. The rain, the fire, the tower, the very world itself. She swore she could hear it breathing, heavy and labored, a beast crouched at the edge of the hunt.

"D-demon! DEMON! GUARDS! GUARDS!"

"No... no, no, no, no, NO, NO, NOOOO!" She didn't know if it was her, or the Knight who screamed louder. "NOT AGAIN! THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING AGAIN!"

Whoever it was, caused the entire chamber to fall into pure terrified chaos.

The handmaidens stopped singing, one of them peeked in from the bed-chambers and quickly fell on her back as she crawled away shrieking uncontrollably.

The Knight had finally managed to unsheathe his blade, and had it held trembling terribly in his left hand as he placed himself ahead of her.

She could hear the shrieks of the rest of the girls just beginning to sound, and the dull thuds of boots on stone as the guards stationed outside began to barge in as quickly as they could.

The door burst open. Her heart lifted for half a breath — they'll kill it. Whatever it was, it needed to die!

In a remarkable display of bravery, the Knight charged the thing. "D-DAMN YOU! GO BACK TO THE DEPTHS OF HE-"

But then it moved.

It moved in an angry demonic red blur. The air cracked like thunder. The stone of the window cracked.

The sword was gone from Elmar's hand, now embedded halfway into the stone wall with a shuddering clang. The Knight himself was a pained heap on the ground clutching his last remaining arm. The maester had been knocked off his feet by the sheer pressure it exuded as it moved. The guards staggered, gasping, swords shattered at their feet as they groaned in pain on the ground clutching at their hands and fingers, their swords were broken, snapped in half before they could even think to take a swing.

The thing was now at the door.

The door to her bedchamber. The door that led to her little Lynesse!

Her heart stopped. Lynesse was in there.

Her daughter's hiccupping scream; the handmaiden's shrieks reached her ears, sharp as a blade to the heart. Her lips parted, but no sound escaped.

The thing didn't move. Its back faced the door, shielding it. Its eyes flickered, those burning embers watching her intently.

"Tell me where is the main garrison?! How do I free them?!" it said, its voice far too calm, far too human. Almost pleading? "Where are they stationed? Why can't I see them? Where are they?! Tell me, Please!"

No one answered. Everyone stared. Ser Elmar and the guards groaned in pain on the ground. No one else even dared to breathe.

The maester stammered, shaking like a leaf on the ground, crawling away to the far wall. His voice cracking, as he screamed in horror, "W-why? W-why would a d-demon like you want to know? What v-vile things have you p-planned d-demon?!"

The thing's frustration was clear to her, she was just beginning to make out more features on its drenched pale face. Angry red pulsing lines were crawling the pale pasty skin around its eyes. The lines crinkled and deepened as an angry snarl formed on its short face.

"There isn't any time!" The thing roared, as it gripped the stone frame of the door between the bedchamber and her parlor. The stone in its grip smashed into fine dust. It's hot glowing eyes intensified in heat, pulsing with barely contained malevolence. "Tell me where they are, and I will leave!"

For a moment, she stood stock still under the creature's terrifying gaze.

She couldn't breathe. She needed the thing away from her daughter. Somehow, some way, she needed it far away from her Lynesse!

She could not think clearly. She was terrified that it would burn her alive from the inside, the angry fire in its eyes promised a painful, scorching death.

She had to do something.

Her husband was in the mazes underneath the fortress. Making way to the remaining fleet docked under the safety and security of the old Black Stone Fortress. Could she let this thing know that?

What would it do then? Massacre all the men, like it so effortlessly dealt with the plated Knight alongside the armed and armored guards?

The maester responded "W-we will not tell you! Y-you will not have them! The Light of the Seve-"

Thunder crackled, the very tower rumbled, there was an ominous thunderous groan from somewhere as it swayed and shook.

What was the wretched thing doing?!

It looked very intently at the floor, its wet dark hair cascading around its pale face, as its glowing red eyes narrowed dangerously, the pulsing veins around them writhing with increased intensity.

The moment it vanished, the world held its breath.

Then came the screams.

"HE TOOK ROSAMUND! LYNESSE! OH GODS!"

Her heart stopped. Cold dread spread through her chest, rooting her to the spot. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps. No. No, no, no.

She rushed through the door to look for her daughter, to be certain that she was still there. That this was all a cruel jape.

Her handmaidens broke into blind panic, shrieking and scrambling over each other like frightened hens. Dresses tangled, limbs clawed, and bodies collided as they clawed for the door, desperate to escape.

The air shifted. A baleful gale swept the room, bringing with it the crack of thunder.

A flash of searing red. Another scream. Two more handmaidens gone.

Then it happened again.

And again.

And again.

Her mind refused to comprehend it. Her legs buckled. Her chest heaved. The icy grip of despair sank deep into her gut. I should've told it. I should've told it where Leyton was. I should've—

The air split apart.

A crushing force seized her by the shoulder. Her feet left the ground. Her world spun violently as the air itself howled in her ears. Rain slapped her face. Her stomach lurched, twisting into knots.

I'm falling. I'm falling! Oh, Gods, I'm about to die.

Her scream caught in her throat.

She hit the ground hard, knees buckling, shoulder throbbing from the brutal grip that had held her. Mud splattered up her legs, seeping into her dress. Cold. Wet. Sharp. Somehow, she didn't feel the pain from such a fall.

Her lungs burned as she gasped in shock, heart hammering like a drum. She looked around wildly, eyes darting, vision swimming.

Her daughter, Lynesse.

Caked in mud, eyes wide with terror, she was bent forward, gagging, retching into the dirt. Her tiny frame heaved with every sobbing gasp.

"Lynesse!" Her voice cracked. She crawled toward her, limbs shaking, fingers clawing at the slick ground.

Her hands reached her daughter's face. Warm. Alive. Tears poured freely down her cheeks as she pulled her in, crushing her to her chest, sobbing uncontrollably.

There was another loud crack. A dull thud.

The ground cracked under the force of its landing. Mud splashed in every direction as two bodies slammed into the dirt beside it—Ser Elmar and Maester Walys.

Both men screamed. Walys crawled on his hands and knees, retching violently into the mud. Ser Elmar rolled onto his side, cradling his arm, his breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. His eyes darted wildly, glazed with pain and terror.

Before she could even register it, the thing was gone again. Just a blur of red infernal heat.

Rhea gripped Lynesse tighter. Her heart thundered in her chest, her breath shallow, every muscle in her body trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. Her eyes darted to the spot where it had been, to the two writhing men it had left behind.

"What is it?" Walys croaked, his face still buried in the mud. "The Seven save us… what is it?!"

Ser Elmar's breath came in ragged heaves, his fingers clawing the dirt. "The demon… It's back. It's back. It's come for us! GODS, PLEASE! NO!" He sobbed into the ground, his face streaked with blood and grime.

Another loud thunderous crack. Another dull thud.

Two more bodies fell with it. The Guards. One guard groaned, clutching his wrist bent at an unnatural angle.

"W-what… what happened?! Where am I?!" he gasped, his eyes darting wildly as he blinked away shock. Another guard gagged, hands gripping his chest as he vomited onto his armor.

The demon-child blurred away again.

The courtyard was slowly filling up, becoming crowded by all the souls the demonic child dragged out of the tower. All her handmaidens, Rosamund, and the guards who had been working hard to fight the fires set on the fortress walls poured in around them.

"W-what… what happened?! Where am I?!" one of the guards gasped, his eyes darting wildly as he blinked away shock. Another gagged, hands gripping his chest as he vomited onto his armor.

The demon-child blurred away again.

Another crack. Another thud. More bodies hit the ground.

The cooks this time. Two women and one of the boys from the scullery. The boy curled into himself, face twisted in pain as he clutched his ankle. "My leg! My leg!" he screamed, voice shrill with agony.

"Where am I?! What's happening?!" one of the cooks shrieked, her wide eyes locking onto Rhea like she was supposed to have answers.

"Oh gods!" another woman screamed, scrambling backward on all fours. "The squids have sent a monster for us all!" She gasped as she glanced up at the tower. "It's climbing the tower! It's dragging us out!" Her voice cracked with hysteria, hands clawing at her face.

Another crack. Another thud.

The steward of the tower, More servants. More guards. A chambermaid, tears streaking her soot-stained face. She fell hard, hitting the ground with a pained cry.

"HELP ME! PLEASE! WHAT IS THIS?!" Her eyes darted in every direction. "What's happening?! WHERE ARE WE?!"

"GET BACK! ALL OF YOU, GET BACK!" One of the older guards tried to shout, but his voice was hoarse, broken. He coughed hard, spitting mud as he dragged himself to his feet. His eyes locked on the tower, his face pale as bone. "Oh, Gods, It's coming back!" he croaked, his voice cracking in terror. "It's COMING BACK!"

Another crack. Another thud.

More guards. Their armor clattered like falling pots. Groans. Gasps. Panicked shouts. She twisted to see up the tower.

The thing was climbing up the side of the tower. Punching its fists into the stone as it scaled the tower like a beast of legend. Each strike shattered chunks of stone, sending dust and debris raining down from above as it created ledges for itself in the thick stone walls of the tower. It moved with inhuman speed, its body taut with tension, every motion sharp, precise, and furious.

Green firelight bathed its figure. Rain streaked its skin.

Now, from the distance between them, it looked so much more like a child. Panicked, in a desperate frenzy as it returned again with more souls from within the tower.

But its eyes.

Those eyes, that were now burned in her memory. Seared into her very soul. Red, blazing, and angry. Framed by wet dark hair, upon a pale ghostly face.

Now, with her daughter clutched tightly in her hand, she almost believed that it looked quite remarkably like the Weirwood faces the savages from the North worship and prostrate to.

Was it a retaliation from the Gods of the North then? The wrath of the Old Gods, in divine retribution for sins of Andals long past? Or was it a more recent slight against their divinity? The attempted abduction of one of noble Stark Blood, Lyanna Stark, from the heart of a Weirwood forest? Were they the ones to pay for the crimes of the Targaryen mad prince?

The tower shuddered and groaned terribly. The creaks echoing from some levels up,

Cracks formed, the stone melted due to the inferno roaring around the levels that secured their treasury. From here, she could see the blazing hot fire roaring out the windows around that level.

That should not be possible! Only Dragon fire was known to melt stone that thick!

What had the pea-brained Maester claimed? No force possible even in just thought would ever be able to burn it down and topple it again.

The Demon leapt out through one of those very stone walls, as if it were made merely of thin, flimsy parchment. High up the tower, where the beacon was still blazing away, he was falling toward the earth, clutching the very familiar form of a woman in his two arms.

Finally, Malora was here. Caked in mud, and heaving into the dirt. All it had taken was a Godly Demon from the very bowels of the Seven Hells to find her.

This time, the demon did not move. It stood stock-still in the middle of the courtyard, observing the tower intently with its wispy fiery eyes.

Nobody spoke. Nobody dared breathe.

CRACK.

The sound came from above. Every head snapped up. There was a massive crack in the stone structure of the tower.

"THE TOWER! THE TOWER, ITS GOING TO FALL ON OUR HEADS!"

"IT'S CLIMBING AGAIN!" someone shrieked.

Her breath caught. She craned her neck, eyes wide, heart racing. Her chest felt tight, like a rope had been pulled taut around her ribs.

And yet again, there he was.

Climbing. Punching, his way up the tower. Each blow was a thunderclap, each leap more frantic than the last. Shards of stone rained down, splashing into the mud below.

"HE'S BRINGIN' THE TOWER DOWN!" a voice howled, high and raw with fear. "GET BACK! RUN!"

"NO! NO! NOOOO! GODS!" another voice cried. "THERE'S NOWHERE TO RUN! THE FORTRESS IS ON FIRE, THE BRIDGES ARE OVER RUN! WE'RE TRAPPED!"

"OH GODS, THE STRANGER HAS COME FOR US ALL! WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

"MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!"

They scattered. Like ants scattering beneath a descending boot, they bolted in every direction.

But Rhea couldn't run. Her daughter was screaming in her arms, no matter how much she tried she couldn't get herself to move.

She watched, holding on to her wailing daughter. Her eyes stayed locked on him as he reached the breach in the tower wall, his small frame perched at the edge peering intently into the inferno.

She had forgotten the fire was even there, she hadn't expected to be burning that high!

What was he doing?

She held her breath.

The boy leaned forward. His blazing eyes pulsed with anger, determination.

A sharp, icy wind howled down from above. Her breath fogged in front of her face. Cold. It was so cold.

More gasps. More shouts.

"WHAT IS HAPPENIN'?! OH GODS, FATHER HAVE MERCY! WHAT IS IT DOIN'?!"

"IT'S— IT'S DARK MAGIC!" a man stammered, stumbling back. "HE'S MAKIN' ICE MAGIC! HE'S FIGHTING THE FLAMES WITH DARK ICE MAGIC!"

The flames flickered. Shrunk. Steam hissed from the breach.

Her breath hitched. Her heart leapt to her throat. He was fighting the damned inferno.

The wind grew stronger. Steam poured from the breach, twisting like ghosts through the stormy night air. She felt it bite at her skin, sharp and hot, as it poured with the rain.

The inferno roaring in the tower fought the boy's magic. It sizzled, it roared but the chilly winds did not subside. The boy kept clung to the melted stone edge of the opening, as he poured what she could almost feel was every ounce of his magic in quenching the flame.

Slowly, the massive flame lessened, the flame flickered, ash rose to the air like a thick blanket, and ice settled on the sides of the tower as the last of the fire died out.

For a moment, all that remained was the pouring rain, the ash in the air, and the distant green flame that was still burning away atop the top.

"H-he… d-did he save us from the fire?!" Someone voiced what everyone was thinking.

"Oh, gods…there's so much pain…so much ash…" another moaned.

Every soul in the courtyard, from the cooks to the cleaners, to the guards, to the servants; all were staring at the massive, frozen hole in the side of the tower.

She could see clearer now.

The ash had settled underneath the strong, chilly wind, under the force of… whatever it was…under the force of its magic. The thick stone had been melted clean through. Massive sections, multiple levels of the tower had simply turned to blackened slag. Cracks had formed in what remained from the upper quarter of the tower and would have toppled sooner rather than later had the fires not been dealt with.

No fire should have the strength, the intensity to melt that much stone. Not unless there were Dragons involved, and those were long dead. Unless there was something else the heavens, or hells had in store for her, some other earth-shattering revelation she was soon to be a witness to. That stone should have never been melted.

Either way; come hell or high water, she would have the maester's head when the night ended. If it ever ended.

She had trusted the man's judgment and placed her safety, her daughter's safety atop the tower when a massive section of it was engulfed in such a terrifying flame based on his arrogant, foolish assessment that it would dealt with with ease.

People were crying, huddled amongst each other, as their minds reeled catching up to what had happened to them, how they had nearly survived dying a most gruesome death.

Then, as if the night had not been enough already, they had not suffered enough as it is.

The remaining, frozen stone around the breach of the tower cracked. The tower groaned loudly. Stone ground against stone. Wooden beams that formed its internal supports bent, and what remained of its charred husk gave away.

Almost like a single reed under a slow breeze, the frozen stone cracked. The tower leaned forward. Small chunks of it started falling to the ground.

The tower tipped like a tall reed in a slow breeze.

Stone scraped against stone, a deafening. Cracks spidered around the frozen breach, snapping like whips. The tower leaned, slow but inevitable, like a great tree bowing to the axe.

Screams erupted.

"OH BLOODY HELLS! IT'S FALLING! RUN! RUN!"

"FUCK ME! MOVE!"

People shoved past her. Boots trampled over hands. Someone's knee struck her cheek. Mud caked her face as she clutched Lynesse tighter, her heart hammering in her chest. She crawled, nails clawing at the wet ground, gritting her teeth as she took blow after blow from the frantic crowd.

"MOVE! MOVE!"

"GET OUT OF THE WAY!"

"GODS I DON'T WANNA DIE!"

Her breath came in sharp gasps, lungs burning as she dragged herself through the throng, shielding Lynesse with her body. Her daughter's sobs cut through the chaos, sharp and broken.

Then—

BOOM.

The shockwave hit her chest like a warhammer.

Her ears rang. Her heart skipped.

Her head snapped up. Her breath caught in her throat.

The Godling….what else could he be at this point?

He was a fiery streak that tore through the sky, a comet of blazing red. He'd launched himself off the wall, soaring in an arc that left trails of burning red behind him, a scar against the night. He was heading straight for the mass of the crowd.

Her heart froze in her chest. She could see it in his red angry eyes, even from this distance — he knew. He knew what was about to happen.

Chunks of stone rained down, crashing into the courtyard with bone-shattering force.

"LOOK OUT! MOVE, MOVE, MOVE!"

"THAT THING'LL CRUSH US ALL, RUN!"

"RUN, DAMN YOU, RUN!"

The boy shifted midair. The fire of his eyes burned brighter, hotter. Furious.

Then—

CRACK. He was on the ground.

Then her world spun. Her whole body jerked backward, weightless for a heartbeat. Rain slapped her face, wind howled in her ears. Her scream caught in her throat, eyes wide with shock. She was flying.

Her dress whipped in the air. Her arms locked around Lynesse.

No, not flying. Falling.

She hit the wall with a crunch. Her bones sang with pain, ribs crunching against stone. Her other shoulder popped with a sharp crack, the pain blinding, breath knocked from her lungs.

Her scream came out as a weak, breathless rasp. Her legs crumpled. She hit the ground, curling herself around Lynesse as they slid down the cold, wet wall. Her heart pounded, her chest heaving as she fought to breathe.

Lynesse whimpered, her little arms squeezing her like a vice.

He had pulled them away. The Godling had saved her life.

Her eyes darted up, wide and wild, just in time to see it—

Fiery Red streaks. Everywhere.

People vanished and appeared around her, smashing into a heap at the wall away from the center of the courtyard. Flashes of crimson, he moved faster than a horse in the throng, pushing people away with such force that her mind refused to believe it was even happening.

Men were snatched out of the falling tower's path. Women. Children. Their screams echoed. Their confusion was palpable. She saw a guard land hard in the mud nearby, gasping, his armor twisted at an odd angle. Another stumbled to his feet, staggering, eyes darting wildly. A woman sobbed into her hands.

She heard Malora scream as she too was thrown into the wall by her side.

Others were crushed under the falling debris. Screams of pain, terror, and despair filled the courtyard. Stone smashed flesh, bones snapped like twigs. But the Godling saved whoever he could.

CRACK. BOOM.

The fiery trail shifted. A flash of blazing red, cutting across the sky. In a single spectacular jump. One Singular bound. One impossible leap that left cracks in the very earth. The Godling launched himself upward, soaring in an arc so high it left streaks of burning light against the stormy night.

He reached the top wall of the upper fortress, slamming into the stone with a deafening THUD, on his knee, one hand steadying his fall. Dust and debris crumbled around him.

He stood up, a fiery sentinel. Perched high, framed against the storm, rain dripping down his pale, sharp face. His fiery red eyes never left the tower.

It was still falling.

The top third of the tower lurched toward him, slow but unstoppable. Chunks of stone broke away, spinning as they fell, and at its peak, tumbling end over end, was the green fire of the beacon.

A weaker, less potent mix of wildfire.

But it didn't need to be strong. If it hit the walls, it would ignite everything, spread everywhere. The courtyard would be a sea of fire. Every soul trapped within these walls would burn alive, as would those unfortunate enough to be between the walls of the fortress itself, mounting what defense they were against the raiders outside, or fighting the fires sprung there.

Her breath stopped. Her heart seized in her chest.

Surely, he would die.

The tower was too large. Too heavy. Nothing could survive such a massive structure falling on their head!

He's going to die.

The boy didn't move. His jaw tightened, eyes locked on the falling mass of stone and fire. The glow in his eyes intensified, bright as molten iron.

He's going to die.

He raised his arms.

No, no, no—

He braced himself. His hands open, palms steady.

Surely, he doesn't believe he can withhold that!

BOOOOM.

Stone met stone. The world shook. The fortress wall shuddered. Cracks webbed through the stone as a deafening, world-ending crunch echoed across the courtyard.

She flinched, eyes wide with horror, breath frozen in her throat. Lynesse whimpered in her grasp, Malora weeped beside her.

The tower's top third lay ruined, shattered across the wall. Great chunks of stone hung on the edge, some tumbling down in slow, deliberate rolls.

But the green fiery beacon spun through the air like a loose wheel, rolling and rolling—

SPLASH.

It tumbled beyond the walls and into the dark waters of the whispering sea. Green fire flickered once on the surface, then vanished beneath the waves.

Silence.

Her ears rang. Her heart thudded in her chest, sharp and loud in the absence of sound. Her lips parted. Her eyes darted to the wall.

Nothing moved. No sound. No red glow.

The Godling was dead.

Her breath hitched. Her chest heaved.

The silence in the courtyard was absolute.

A lone crow cawed in the silence.

x ------ x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x ------- x

(A/N)

Well then!

Caelum played volleyball with a flaming beacon. (My estimate is that it would weigh the same range as a bus. So well within his strength range at the moment)

Here we are. I had most of this chapter pre-written a LONG time ago. A lot of the beginnings of the next are already jotted down. Initially the plan was to cover everything in one single chapter.

But as I kept writing, I realized there was more and more to cover, more that needed to be addressed. This entire scene deserves the detail I am currently trying to give it.

Now.

To head off certain questions.

Caelum cannot see beyond the black stone of the lower original fortress, on which the Upper new fortress and the Hightower are built. Because it's made of magic rock. He had jumped to the island, specifically to set the garrison free, to get some form of counter-offensive going. He's essentially placing his trust in the adults in this way.

But well, the Garrison he'd been looking for wasn't visible to him, and bro often can see everything. He essentially missed the giant blind spot in his search. Probably looks black matching the ocean floor or something.

Headcanon time!

I believe inside the maze of the Lower Fortress, there is space for yet another smaller fleet of ships. A good place to hide a reserved fleet. Leyton Hightower and the main garrison is there. Caelum had initially been searching for them.

Now, the collapsing of the Tower.

The Maester is not stupid. Lady Rhea Florent is not stupid.

Normally, you don't stay on top of a tower that's partially on fire. You evacuate immediately. Problem is, the fortress on the outside is on fire too. And heading into the maze down below is…. an extreme last resort.

The maester had deemed that a fire inside the tower could easily be killed if you cut off its supply of air. Which is how the High Tower was built by whoever built it, be it Bran the Builder, Garth Greenhand, or whoever else was a magic Bob the Builder in the ASOIAF of those times. It was designed in such a way that all ventilation to fires in the tower could be cut off.

This fire however was set precisely in the best location to collapse the structure and its supports from the inside. It was set up somehow. Some way to be the hottest fire in existence, without using dragons, or Wildfire.

Magic baby!

Who set it, how, that's all next chapter. Where, hopefully, I will wrap this up.

I've written the reason for the tower being on fire since MONTHS! I just need to finish the rest of it. And close all lose ends.