Valyria was a strange land in Isaac's eyes. He had traveled extensively in his past world, explored its lands, seen its cultures and civilizations nearly as much as Master Dracula had, and when he came to this world, he had assumed they were inferior.
The North was barbaric, filled with primitive men and women trapped in the Stone ages. Hector was doing an impressive job at speed running their development, but it remained to be seen if they could keep up the progression when they eventually left the Free Folk to their own devices.
South of the Wall only seemed marginally better in his opinion. Those folks were closer to what he knew, even if most of their achievements seemed to be relics of a bygone era, namely their architecture. However, Valyria was drastically different.
Despite the Doom, despite the destruction and catastrophe that the land had suffered continuously for the past four hundred years, if you knew where to look, it couldn't be more glaring how advanced they were as a civilization. It was a truly superior and magical civilization, the likes of which Isaac had never seen, and he wasn't sure he would ever see again.
Isaac walked up a set of stairs that he wouldn't have found strange to see in Castlevania, with Archmaester Marwyn trailing him. He stared at the tapestries and pictures that hung on the wall with enchantments that allowed them to move, but like everything else in the manse, time had taken its piece of flesh. The enchantment had deteriorated, and the moving image of a man saddling a gigantic winged beast kept stuttering halfway through, with the dragon never taking off.
"Absolutely magnificent," Marwyn said with joy in his tone as he saddled up behind Isaac. The strange man cleaned his visor to better see the enchanted image, and when he stretched out a hand to grab it, Isaac caught the arm partway.
"We do not know what manner of traps might be here. Unless it's worth it, I suggest we resist being... handsy."
Marwyn nodded after a brief second, and Isaac turned away and continued walking. He had a feeling he would be doing that a lot, curbing the maester's unfathomable thirst for knowledge, but he would suffer it, as long as it allowed his master some time to himself.
They reached the top of the stairs and found themselves in a long corridor lined with doors. Most hung open or had been torn from their hinges, revealing chambers beyond that had been stripped bare or reduced to rubble. But one door, near the end of the hall, remained closed.
Another look clarified things; it was not just closed, it was barricaded.
Isaac's hand instinctively went to Longclaw's hilt as he approached. He was not used to fighting with such heavy garments, but he would make do if he was forced to.
He turned his attention to the barricade and glanced through the cracks in the wood. It was made of heavy furniture that had been piled against this door from the inside, creating a makeshift barrier. Just like the previous rooms they had passed, the doors had deteriorated, so this barricade was the true first and last line of defense. It also seemed to be done by the same person who barricaded the main entrance.
"Interesting choice," Marwyn murmured, his crossbow held loosely in his hands. "Why seal one room and not the others?"
Isaac didn't answer immediately. He was listening, his senses stretching out the way Master Dracula had taught him. There, beyond the door he could hear movement, feet scuffing against the ground. Then, shallow breathing. And finally, there was something else, a sound he couldn't quite place. Metal scraping against stone, perhaps.
"Something's alive in there," Isaac said quietly.
"Should we—"
The decision was made for them. From behind the barricaded door came a sound that sent both men into combat stances, a low, guttural growl that held something disturbingly human within it. Then came words, broken and rasping, as if the speaker had forgotten how to shape them properly.
"Mine... all mine... can't have it... won't let them..."
Isaac and Marwyn exchanged glances. Then Isaac stepped forward, sheathing the forge dagger and gripping Longclaw with both hands. He assessed the barricade with a practiced eye, then chose his angle carefully.
He swung the Valyrian steel blade, and it cleaved through the wooden barricade with disgusting ease. That done, he shoved, throwing the full weight of his body against the weakened barricade.
The furniture were pushed away from the door in a shower of splinters and dust. The door itself, weakened by time and magic, tore free from its hinges and crashed inward. Isaac was moving before it finished falling, Longclaw raised, ready for whatever lurked within.
The room beyond had once been luxurious, a bedchamber, judging by the remains of silk hangings and the massive frame of what had been a canopied bed. But now it was a cave, a lair. Treasures had been dragged into this space and piled haphazardly—golden plates, jeweled goblets, bolts of preserved cloth, even pieces of armor torn from corpses. All of it gathered and hoarded like a dragon's hoard in miniature.
And in the center of it all, rising from a crouch, was a man.
Or what had been a man.
His armor marked him as Westerosi, the red and gold barely visible beneath layers of grime and dried blood. A lion still decorated his breastplate, though it had been gouged and scarred by what looked like familiar claw marks. His face was gaunt, skin stretched tight over skull, eyes wild and fever-bright in the dim light. Matted golden hair hung past his shoulders, tangled with bits of fabric and bone.
But it was the sword in his hands that truly commanded Isaac's attention.
It was a greatsword, its surface rippling with the same wavy pattern that adorned Isaac's blade. The pommel bore a roaring lion, and despite everything that had befallen its wielder, the sword itself remained pristine, unmarred, and perfect.
Valyrian steel. And not just any Valyrian steel blade.
"Brightroar," Marwyn breathed behind Isaac, recognition and surprise mingling in his voice.
The mad thing that held the legendary Lannister greatsword fixed its wild eyes on Isaac. For a moment, something that might have been sanity flickered across its features. Its mouth worked, trying to form words, and when they came they were slurred, broken, the accent thick with the West.
"Mine... mine... mine by right... my legacy..."
Then the sanity fled, replaced by pure animal cunning and rage. Gerion Lannister, Isaac guessed or what remained of him, let out a shriek that barely sounded human and lunged.
The man was faster than Isaac thought. Beneath the grime and battered armor was a gaunt figure that lunged like a snake. Isaac raised his sword in a half guard and blocked the lunge, then his dark eyes widened as he was pushed back. A combination of an unholy amount of strength alongside the power of a greatsword surprised him, especially since he held his own blade with a single hand.
Instead of allowing the force of the blow to disarm him, he staggered back and broke contact, then unsheathed his foge knife and moved to bury the small blade into the man's unguarded neck, but hesitated halfway before retreating once more. This man was the first sentient person they had encountered on the island. What were the odds they could find another? Isaac didn't think they were very big. He immediately sheathed his dagger and held his sword in a two-handed grip. He needed to incapacitate without killing the man.
"Mine! Mine! Mine! I won't let them take it from me. I won't let him have it. Never!"
With another howl, the man lunged forward again, but this time with an aggressive overhead blow that sought to cleave into his shoulder. Instead of blocking, Isaac angled his sword and deflected it to the side. Once again, the sheer strength that the gaunt figure packed in the blow surprised him.
If he was truly Gerion Lannister, he was strong, far stronger than his wasted frame suggested. Whatever had happened to him in this cursed place, it had changed him, twisted him into something more and less than human.
Unfortunately, what he gave up for strength was clear in strategy and restraint, as his deflected blow slammed into the ground. If it had been a normal steel sword, the blade would've simply bounced off the ground, but Brightroar was no normal sword. It was a magically sharp blade, powered by inhuman strength, so it dug into the stone and was trapped for a second.
Isaac took his chance. He took a step forward and swung down hard, using the flat side of the blade and slamming it into the man's hand. The blow was strong enough to weaken his grip on the sword as one hand left the hilt and swung with a wild punch. Isaac slipped by it with ease, then spun to the side, swinging Longclaw in that same moment, and the flat side of the blade slammed into the man's head, enough for him to stagger away. Yet despite what should've been a devastating blow, the man refused to let go of the blade.
"You cannot have it!" Gerion screamed, his voice cracking. "I suffered for this! Watched my men die! Months in this hell! It's mine! MINE!"
His body twisted back as if he was about to fall, then with inhuman savagery and a howl, he ripped the greatsword out of the ground and swung it as he fell, aiming to take Isaac's hand off at the shoulder. But even cumbered and weighted down with his gear, Isaac was still faster and better trained. With a grunt of effort, he deflected the blade upward with enough strength that the sword was finally forced flying out of the man's hand, only to slam into the roof. The sword got stuck in the partially collapsed debris of wood and stone while Isaac moved forward.
The man had fallen on his back, and before he could force himself back to his feet, Isaac appeared before him. With a brutal stab, he pinned his right arm to the floor with Longclaw, then rested the full weight of himself and his gear on it. He unsheathed his forge dagger in one fluid motion, his left leg pinned the man's other arm, and he held the forge dagger before the man and whispered.
"If you truly are a rabid mad man, then I would put you down like one. But if there is even a smidge of rationality left in your head, indicate as much."
The man froze for a second. His green eyes were bloodshot and fever wild, yet he stared at Isaac with an intensity, an intensity that told Isaac there was no hope for the man, that all he could offer him was a quick death. Before Isaac could plunge the dagger into the man's eye and straight to his brain, he heard the sound of footsteps beside him, and then Marwyn dropped.
"Give me a second," Marwyn said, and Isaac nodded, despite the way the man struggled beneath him. Without the leverage to use that inhuman strength, it was basically useless.
The maester pushed his heavy cloak to the side to reveal a bag that he had strapped to his side, then he opened it and began to rifle through its contents. He searched for a few seconds, while mumbling beneath his breath, before he finally came up with a vial.
Rough hands held the man's mouth open before the contents in the vial were roughly shoved into his mouth. The trapped man didn't seem to enjoy its contents, because his struggles doubled, and even with leverage robbed from him, his desperate strength was almost enough to buckle Isaac off his body, till Marwyn clamped down on the man's legs, revealing his strong and toned arms.
Together, the forgemaster and Archmaester held the man down till his struggles ended and strength left his limbs.
Isaac kept his grip strong and weight firmly pressed upon the man for a few extra seconds, till he was certain the man was unconscious. Only then did he ease up, as he forced his body up with a sigh while he breathed hard. The fight was harder than he expected. Even if he won handily in the end, there were few humans who could match him in a fight.
"What did you give him?" Isaac questioned as he turned to the Archmaester.
"A pinch of sweetsleep mixed with some dreamwine. The sweetsleep should calm him enough for us to hopefully communicate with him when he wakes up, while the dreamwine forced him to sleep." The archmaester replied, straightening up. "By the time he wakes up, we can feed him another pinch or two of the sweetsleep, depending on how his body must've changed due to being exposed to these lands for years. If used lightly, sweetsleep can help to calm the body and mind, much like the milk of the poppy, but without the side effect of dampening higher brain functions."
"And what are its side effects?" Isaac asked, as he pulled Longclaw from the man's forearm, cleaned the blade gently, before sheathing it back.
"It is said that a pinch will slow a pounding heart and steady a man. Two pinches will grant a night of deep and dreamless sleep. Three pinches will produce a sleep that does not end."
Isaac nodded in reply as he watched the man's wound. A wound that didn't seem to be bleeding as much as it should've. The blood that escaped the injury was blackish and congealed as something wiggled beneath his skin.
"You handled that well." Lord Dracula's voice came from the hallway, and Isaac turned at once in surprise. He had not heard the vampire move or even appear behind them.
"Master Dracula, I hope we did not worry you."
Dracula stared at him with those unfathomable and unreadable crimson eyes, then he did something rare, something that used to be more common years ago. He smiled, and it was not the empty-eyed predatory smile he used to cow people. It was a soft thing. A kind thing, one that Isaac wasn't sure he deserved.
"You did not."
Dracula turned from him to the figure on the floor.
"So this is Gerion Lannister." His lord started as he walked to them, stopping in place for a few seconds, hand outstretched. Isaac looked in confusion till Brightroar slipped from its perch and landed in Dracula's hand. Lord Dracula caressed the blade, the greatsword looking like a bastard sword in his hands.
"It is a different blade, changed somewhat... Hmm, curious. Truly curious." Red eyes shifted to them, then nodded as if he finalized a decision neither of them were aware of. "Bring your guest along. I found a hidden vault beneath the manse that I believe would be a better camp than this... room."
With that closing statement, he left them and trailed down the stairs, his focus still on the blade. Isaac and Marwyn looked at each other for a brief moment before nodding and lifting the body up and following after him.
x
They got to the vault beneath the manse, and Isaac ignored the two skeletons resting against the wall. Instead, he turned to where Master Dracula had pulled up a seat and sat, still observing the blade. Isaac turned back to Marwyn to see the Maester running a quick check-up on Gerold. They had managed to bind him with mundane pieces of curtains and tapestries that had somehow survived the doom. Isaac didn't expect it would hold against the inhuman strength he had experienced for long, but he expected it to hold for long enough.
Isaac sat in a meditation pose for what felt like an hour, calming himself and going over the past fight. Reviewing the mistakes he had made, such as starting off with trying to dual wield the sword and dagger. That in itself was not a mistake, but he had also been indecisive. It had taken him too long to decide if he was going to kill the man or not.
That was the mistake. He could not serve Lord Dracula if he was not focused. He had not practiced self-flagellation in a few weeks, he realized with a frown. He had been so busy organizing trivialities that he had let the practice fall to the side. He vowed to himself that the first moment he got alone back in the castle, he would wash away his sins and renew his focus and commitment in the only way he knew.
That vow made, he gently opened his eyes and was greeted to Lord Dracula staring intently at the still bound figure of Gerold Lannister, while Marwyn went through the books on the shelves on the side of the wall with an enthusiasm that could not be matched. Isaac returned his gaze to Master Dracula and the bound figure, wondering why he was staring at the man so intensely till he caught it.
A twitch of the arm. Then before Isaac could move to his feet, Gerold Lannister snapped upward, green eyes wide in shock and panic, but none of the madness and intensity that Isaac had witnessed previously.
Bloodshot green eyes trailed the three figures before finally coming to a stop on Master Dracula. In response, Dracula smiled. It was not the comforting smile he had given Isaac earlier.
"Welcome back to the waking world, Gerion Lannister."