CHAPTER 6 — THE LORD OF EVENFALL HALL
Late 288 AC
Evenfall Hall, Island of Tarth
Lord Selwyn Tarth sat in his solar with the shutters half-open, letting the cool sea air drift in. The afternoon light fell across the reports scattered on his desk. Most were ordinary — harvest numbers, dock fees, a dispute between two fishing villages. One brief note mentioned Ironborn sails sighted farther up the coast, small ships lingering longer than usual. Selwyn glanced at it, frowned once, and set it aside. Scouting, most likely. Nothing that required action today.
He turned instead to a more familiar frustration.
Marriage offers for Brienne.
The latest letter lay open in front of him, the words still sharp enough to sting. Another lord's son had declined with thinly veiled mockery. "A warrior maid," the letter had called her, as if the phrase itself were a joke. Selwyn's jaw tightened. His daughter was nineteen, strong, honorable, and better with a sword than half the knights who laughed at her. She was not beautiful by the standards of courtly poets, but she was beautiful to him — in the way that mattered. He had stopped forcing the issue months ago. If Brienne wished to become a knight, he would not stand in her way. The realm could keep its cruel little jokes.
A knock came at the door.
Maester Alaric entered with a young guardsman behind him. The maester's chain clinked softly as he bowed.
"My lord," Alaric said. "We have visitors."
Selwyn looked up. "Traders?"
"More than traders. Three ships and one far larger vessel — a beast of a ship. They fly no banner I recognize, but the men who came ashore… several have the Valyrian look. Silver hair. Strong features. One in particular is unmistakable."
Selwyn rose slowly. "Targaryen blood?"
"It would seem so."
The lord of Evenfall Hall exhaled through his nose. The last thing Tarth needed was the king's attention. Robert Baratheon's temper toward anything that smelled of the old dragonlords was well known.
"I'll come myself," Selwyn said. "We will not give the crown any reason to look our way."
By the time they reached the port, the sun had begun its slow descent. The docks were busier than usual. Foreign spices scented the air. Merchants crowded around stalls where strangers sold unusual medicines, dried herbs, and small glass vials that glinted in the light. Children from the ships moved carefully through the crowd, watched over by hard-eyed men and women who clearly belonged to the same company.
Beyond the town walls, just outside the port, a large camp had been raised in the open ground. Tents stood in neat rows. Cooking fires sent up thin columns of smoke. Somewhere nearby, laughter and the clatter of practice weapons carried on the wind. The smell of unfamiliar food drifted from the camp — rich, spiced, and nothing like the usual Stormlands fare.
Selwyn rode at the head of a small escort, Maester Alaric at his side. As they approached the main gathering area, the noise of a crowd grew louder. People had formed a wide ring in the dirt. In the center, two fighters moved with sharp, practiced speed.
The woman was Diana.
She was of average height but carried herself with the easy confidence of someone who had survived far worse than a sparring match. Her brown hair was pulled back in a practical braid, a few loose strands framing a focused, freckled face. She wore a fitted set of gold and bronze armor — a short armored top that left her midriff bare, layered leather and metal plates on her shoulders and arms, and a short armored skirt of overlapping plates over chainmail. A red cloak hung from her shoulders, shifting with every movement. In her hands she held a longsword, the blade already nicked from earlier practice.
Her opponent was a mountain of a man.
His name was Khoro, though most of the company simply called him the Red Lion. He stood nearly as tall as Vaelorion himself, with dark bronze skin stretched tight over heavy muscle. Long white hair was bound in a high, thick ponytail that hung down his back. Blue war paint was streaked across his face and the upper part of his chest in sharp, tribal lines. He wore little armor — only a dark leather harness across his torso, heavy belts, and thick bracers. In each hand he carried a long, curved red blade, the steel catching the afternoon light like fresh blood.
The two of them circled.
Khoro came in hard, both blades flashing in a brutal dual-wielding style that would have overwhelmed most fighters. Diana gave ground only when she had to, her longsword moving in tight, efficient arcs. The watchers shouted encouragement — some calling for the Red Lion, others chanting Diana's name.
The fight ended when Khoro overcommitted on a heavy overhead slash. Diana stepped inside the blow, turned her shoulder, and laid the edge of her longsword cleanly against the side of his neck. She was smiling, breathing hard but steady.
"Yield."
Khoro scowled, chest heaving. Then a reluctant grin broke across his painted face. He lowered his blades and gave her a short, respectful bow. The crowd cheered.
A few paces away, Vaelorion Blackfyre sat on a low wooden seat, Blackfyre resting across his lap. The great black lion Araxos lay in the shade behind him. Vaelorion had been watching the spar with open enjoyment, a wide smile on his face. When he noticed the approaching Westerosi riders and the lord at their head, he rose to his full towering height and spoke in a deep, carrying voice.
"Let them through."
The company parted at once.
Lord Selwyn dismounted and stepped forward, Maester Alaric close behind him. The lord of Evenfall Hall kept his tone polite but firm as his eyes moved from the giant white-haired man to the still-breathing fighters and the strange, disciplined camp around them.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Selwyn said. "I must ask, however, why you have come to my land. I see you are trading with my people, and that is welcome enough. But I would rather not draw the king's eye… especially not when a man of clear Valyrian blood anchors so many ships off my shore."
Vaelorion regarded him for a moment, then smiled — not unkindly.
"No need to worry. My people are not here to fight. Not today." He rested a hand on the hilt of the sword at his hip. "I am Vaelorion Blackfyre."
The name landed heavily. Several of Selwyn's men shifted, hands drifting toward their weapons. A low murmur moved through the nearest Black Lions. Vaelorion did not look at the Westerosi soldiers. He looked at his own men and spoke a single quiet word.
"Calm."
The tension eased, though it did not vanish.
Selwyn studied the giant in front of him. Blackfyre. The name alone was enough to make cautious lords nervous. Yet the man did not posture like a pretender. He stood as if the title were simply a fact.
"I will have to inform the Stormlords," Selwyn said carefully.
Vaelorion nodded, as if he had expected nothing less.
"All I want," he said, "is a place for my people. I will serve as your banner man if that is the price. My company will be your sword and your shield. I do not ask for titles or great tracts of land." A small, honest smile touched his mouth. "That last part is a lie. I would like land enough for them to live. To build something lasting. Somewhere they can be safe."
He glanced once toward the tents, where children ran between the fires and the great black lion lay like a living shadow.
"That is all."
Selwyn was silent for a long moment. The sea wind moved through the camp. Somewhere behind them an elephant gave a low, distant rumble. The lord of Evenfall Hall looked at the giant, at the disciplined company, at the freed people and the strange animals, and weighed the risk against the unexpected offer standing in front of him.
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The Red King is taking longer than I expected so sorry but the great bastard will be coming out and sorcerer is coming out as well probably going to take longer on the sorcerer cuz I'm trying to figure out some stuff for that story and I'm am redoing my crossover this will be taking place in house of the Dragon timeline in the character will be placed during the Old Republic