Chapter 14: The Thousand-Year War and the Immortal Lord
The Siege and the Legend's Birth (Circa 3,500 BC - 2,500 BC)
The declaration of House Leywin's dominion over half the Riverlands, enforced by the terrifying annihilation of the Andal fleet at the Gods Eye, was a defiance that echoed across Westeros. It was an insult to the Faith of the Seven, a challenge to the burgeoning Andal kingdoms, and a stark promise of protection to the First Men. The construction of the Grand Castle of Leywin, rising from the earth with impossible speed and strength, became a symbol of this new, unyielding power.
Andal pride, however, could not long tolerate such a blatant challenge. Their zealots preached crusades against the "demon of the Gods Eye," their warlords, emboldened by their victories elsewhere, scoffed at the whispers of a single, monstrous entity. They were armed with iron, superior numbers, and a fervent belief in their divine right to conquer.
Thus began the Thousand-Year War between House Leywin and the consolidated Andal warlords. It was not a continuous conflict, but a sprawling, intermittent series of campaigns, sieges, and brutal skirmishes that defined the era. Arthur, Regis, and Ceara were at its heart.
Regis, in his spectral form, would often scout ahead, his sarcastic observations cutting through the tension. "They're still sending armies, Princess? Haven't they learned that charging into a living nightmare is bad for their overall mortality rate?"
Ceara, ever the strategist, managed the mundane defenses, directing First Men levies, organizing supplies, and training them in tactics that defied conventional warfare. She taught them to respect the land, to utilize its natural defenses, and to understand the overwhelming, if sometimes subtle, power of their guardian.
But it was I, Arthur Leywin, the Gods Eye Guardian, who faced the hosts. Andal armies, numbering in the tens of thousands, marched upon the Grand Castle. They brought siege engines, ladders, and their famed iron discipline. They were met not by conventional defenses, but by a living force of nature.
I unleashed torrents of aether-infused lightning that fried entire columns of soldiers before they reached the walls. My elemental earth manipulation, amplified by Aether, caused the very ground to liquefy beneath their feet, swallowing entire battalions, or rising into impossible walls that trapped them in deadly canyons. Forests around their encampments would erupt in aether-fire, incinerating their supplies and horses. The very air around my castle became hostile, permeated by aetheric pressure that crushed morale and caused men to collapse from exhaustion.
They never breached the walls. Not once. Their siege engines crumbled to dust under aetheric decay, their supply lines evaporated, their commanders driven mad by inexplicable phenomena or simply vanished into thin air. Tales of Leywin the Soul Reaper spread like wildfire, painting a terrifying, immortal image. He did not simply kill; he erased. He consumed the very essence of their armies.
"They're starting to get the message," Regis observed, his voice a low chuckle, after one particularly spectacular display where an entire Andal cavalry charge simply ceased to exist, swallowed by an aetheric void I had briefly opened. "This 'Thousand-Year War' might finish early if they keep running like chickens."
The Immortal Lord and His Legacy
Generations of Andal warlords rose and fell, their ambitions shattered against the impenetrable might of House Leywin. Their early aggression was replaced by caution, then by superstitious dread. The Grand Castle of Leywin, seemingly built by giants or gods, became a stark monument to their failures, and my presence within it, seemingly unchanged by the passage of time, solidified the legend of the Immortal Lord of House Leywin.
The smallfolk and First Men who sought refuge within House Leywin's protection thrived. Free from Andal oppression, they cultivated the rich Riverlands, rebuilt their villages, and worshipped the Old Gods openly, or simply lived in peace. My rule was absolute, but benevolent. I established simple laws: protect the land, defend your neighbors, and respect the ancient ways. There were no taxes, only the expectation of loyalty and courage when needed.
Under my guidance, and with Ceara's practical assistance, they learned new agricultural techniques, honed their fighting skills against bandits and remaining Andal skirmishers, and fostered a strong sense of community. The name Leywin became synonymous with justice and unwavering protection. It was the birth of a new, distinct culture within the Riverlands, fiercely independent, deeply loyal to their unseen guardian, and quietly defiant of both Andal and even some First Men kings.
My interventions extended beyond mere warfare. I ensured that the land itself flourished. I cleansed areas scarred by conflict, restoring the flow of mana, invigorating the ancient ley lines. The Riverlands under House Leywin became a vibrant, magically potent region, its forests deep, its rivers clear, a natural haven for the Old Gods' essence.
The Rekindled Spark: A Shared Eternity
Through the long, brutal centuries of the war, the bond between Ceara and me deepened into something profound and unbreakable. The initial tentative touches, the shared glances, blossomed into an unspoken understanding, a love forged in shared battles and the immense solitude of immortality. She was my anchor, my confidante, the only one who truly understood the weight of my past and the burden of my present.
The conversations between us often stretched late into the night, discussing not just strategy, but life, meaning, the horrors we'd seen, and the small joys we found. We were two souls from a distant world, forever bound by fate to this one.
"Sometimes," Ceara confided one evening, her hand resting in mine as we watched the moon over the Gods Eye, "I still feel like a dream. Like I'll wake up and be back in Alacrya, fighting Agrona's forces. But then I see this," she gestured to the castle, to the peaceful lands beyond, "and I remember this is real. And you… you're real."
"More real than anything else," I affirmed, my scales softening slightly under her touch. "You and Regis. You make the eternity bearable. Meaningful."
Regis, ever present, materialized beside us, lounging dramatically. "Oh, please, Princess. Don't go all sappy on me now. We all know I'm the real reason you're not a raving lunatic after all these centuries. My charming wit and incredible intellect are what kept you sane."
Ceara chuckled, rolling her eyes. "He does have a point, Arthur. Your inner monologue must have been pretty depressing without him."
I merely smiled. Their presence was a constant comfort, a reminder of the life I had almost lost. The Immortal Lord of House Leywin, the Gods Eye Guardian, was not alone. The Thousand-Year War had tested my power, cemented my legend, and forged an undeniable legacy for House Leywin. But it had also allowed a deeper, more personal bond to flourish, a shared eternity between companions in a world that would forever bear the indelible mark of Arthur Leywin.
What impact will this thousand-year war have on Westeros's broader history? How will the Valyrians or other powers react to this powerful, immortal entity?