Shadows of War

Chapter 2 - Ominous Signs

The sunset glow bathed the purple-hued stones of Winterfell in an ethereal light as Cregan paced restlessly along the battlements. Below, the castle bustled with activity as preparations were made for the coming dark. But within him, all was shadow and turmoil as Jon's inexplicable murder weighed heavy on his mind.

A rustle of chainmail signaled Jacaerys' approach. "Any word from your bannermen?" Cregan questioned without looking up. "They have my commands to maintain vigilance and report anything amiss."

Jacaerys nodded. "The mountain clans have observed strange companies passing through the high passes. Wildlings have seen glittering armor and heard an strange tongues amongst their rangings beyond the Wall. It seems this threat spreads its tendrils far."

Unease gripped Cregan's heart at these revelations. To sow such unrest so near the North's borders boded no good. His steely gaze surveyed the lands stretching into Shadow Towers' majestic peaks fading into the gloaming. "This was no mere thug or brigand. They struck with purpose and precision, yet left no clues as to their allegiances or motives. I fear greater forces are at work here."

A piercing cry rang out from the rookery, echoing against the stones. Cregan and Jacaerys exchanged solemn looks before breaking into a run. Within the rookery, Maester Luwin surveyed dozens of ravens agitatedly fluttering in panic. The old maester's brow was beaded with sweat. "More ill omens, my lords. Ravens bearing dark news from across the realm."

Sure enough, black-fletched messages bound each raven's leg displaying various signets. Cregan began untying them with steady hands as Jacaerys surveyed the maps. "Word from the Vale - a strange sickness has taken hold of the Eyrie. Hallis Mollen writes of nightmares that drive men mad in Karhold. White Harbor tells of a great squall destroying three longships without warning." Each message revealed new portents of an unseen darkness tightening its grip.

Cregan's jaw tightened. "And in the south?"

Jacaerys' indigo eyes were grave. "King's Landing bears the worst news of all. It speaks of shadows falling over the halls of the Red Keep. Madness has taken the King..."

A sudden discordant shriek drowned out further speech, piercing the stone walls like a blade. The three men burst from the Tower to behold a terrifying sight - darkness had fallen much faster than natural, shrouding the hills in an impenetrable murk lit only by the setting moon's pale glow. Against this foreboding gloom, seven great winged shapes swooped in from the mountains, raining down howls far more feral than any wolf or man.

Wild dragons. Here, in the North. Despite all records suggesting the last had perished long ago.

For a heartbeat, no one moved as they registered this nightmarish aberration. Then Jacaerys leapt into action, shouting orders in the Old Tongue. Immediately, a squadron of guards poured oil onto the battlements while archers readied flaming arrows.

"Light!" Jacaerys roared. At his command, torches blazed to life, illuminating the dragons' reptilian forms rippling with corded muscle beneath glistening hide. Ranging in size from the largest the size of horses to the smallest little more than hounds, each bore strange empty saddles and eyes blazing with an unnatural malevolence chilling to the bone.

Their malefic shrieks rent the air with an unearthly din as the beasts spotted the defenders atop the walls. With hideous squawks, the dragons folded leathern wings and dove with claws extended, belching jets of pale blue flame. Immediately, arrows arced skyward to meet them, many finding their marks in leathery membranes or flesh.

Two screamed as they spiraled out of control, colliding on the training yard in ruinous heaps of twitching muscles and shattered bone. But the rest pulled up before impact, banking away to regroup for another pass. Jacaerys bellowed an order, and oil-soaked rails were engulfed in roaring orange fireshrouds.

Before the beasts could turn for another charge, a mighty howl arose from the godswood. From the flare-lit murk, a towering grey direwolf leapt onto the battlements, hackles raised and eyes blazing blue as sapphires. At its side loped three more of the direwolves, one of which bore silver fur and crimson eyes marking her as one of the children of Nymeria's litter.

The direwolves joined the fray with eerie cries, hurling themselves at the dragons with tooth and claw. Steel, fang and fire met in a savage symphony of rage and violence beneath the blackened sky. Cregan gaped in disbelief at this impossible sight before composure regained its hold.

"The godswood - now!" he rasped, spurring Jacaerys into motion. Together they raced across the curtain wall and vaulted recklessly into the concealing shadows of the ancient weirwood grove. What sinister wrongness was unfolding here? And how came these fell beasts this far north when none had been seen in millennia? Most disturbingly of all - why were the direwolves aiding in the aerial assault? No answers were forthcoming yet in this one terrifying night, signs abounded that something had awoken which should have remained buried in the annals of forgotten days.