Rise of Silverpine chapter 50

I do not own WoW/Warcraft or GoT/AsoIF

Arya stood in the old throne room, starring at the derelict piece of stone that once would have been the throne of Lordaeron. A small voice, deep in the far corners of the back of her head echoed:

'My throne.'

In truth, who was going to oppose her? The vast majority of the former lands were already administered by Silverpine. Only a formality was keeping her from the title.

'Our title.' she reminded herself, thinking of her sister, probably the only person she could trust. But Sansa was not here now. She would be lying if she said she was not annoyed at Sansa having gotten pregnant. It was such a Sansa thing to do, the little queen though. Arya did not take her sisters' condition seriously, in the beginning. Almost like, haha, you are pregnant, now what?

But the few times she was able to see her sister in the last few months, the increase in her belly size was noticeable every time. Arya like Lor'themar, but the elf was distant, visited rarely despite it been a public secret that it was his child growing inside Sansa. And oddly enough, her sister, the ever-enamored song-filled girl was fine with that or atleast she did not show anything, even to her.

A rumbling above was the only warning she had before chunks of the ruined dome began falling, Arya managing to sidestep them and getting ready for a fight only for nothing more to happen. Quiet had descended over the ruined capitol, as the soldiers of the combined army wearily explored the ruins above, silently preparing and dreading the venture into the undercity.

Few enemy soldiers were present, as expected awaiting in ambush in narrow hallways and corridors. It was poisons and plagues that inflicted most of the losses so far. The whole thing seemed like a massive bomb with a skeleton crew to draw them in. With every distant scream that quickly died down and returned to silence, Arya wondered if it would not be better to continue the bombardment and later on, somehow flood or burn the undercity. Not like there was anything of value down there anyways. She half expected Sylvanas to be long gone too, away from this cursed city, probably laughing on a nearby hill as they stumbled in the ruins blindly.

"So much for a grand final battle." Half-whispered, half-cursed Arya.

Out of a hallways to her left she saw Varian, Anduin and a small party of Stormwind knights emerge. After quickly scanning and room and giving her a brief nod, all of their eyes were drawn as well to the old throne.

"The above ground is cleared…mostly." Said Varian after a pause. "We believe we found the entrances to the undercity." He continued.

"I am not sure if we should go down there…" said Anduin. At the half-glare that Arya gave him, he quickly elaborated.

"I mean, what is there? Empty halls at best, more undead and light knows what experiments and horrors at worse."

"That…is precisely while we must do it." Almost hissed out Arya, her hatred for the undead or rather the Forsaken burning.

Oh, how Arya hated the Forsaken. Even now, after all this time, there were groups throughout the Alliance that advocated for peace with them, saying that they are still humans, that they are good. But Arya knew better. For her, the Forsaken were worse than the Scourge. While the scourge were mind-controlled monsters, all they did was because of their masters.

The Forsaken were free. All they did was because they chose to make it so. And what they did was terrible. The silver eyed queen did not spend years fighting the Forsaken just to be told by some morons that have never seen a real undead, let alone a real battle that she was in the wrong. That the whole Alliance was in the wrong.

"The undercity must be cleared out." She stated with fierce determination.

"Maybe, but at what cost? We lost…so many to a handful of defenders. Surely there must be another way?" pressed Anduin.

"Maybe we can flood the city? Or drop lit barrels down the hatches? Or maybe we can simply collapse the entrances…"

Letting our a loud sigh, Arya barely resister throwing up her hands in exclamation.

"None of these would work. You cannot drown an undead, dropping down barrels would only create a small fire at the entrances and if we were to collapse them, they would simply tunnel another way out…. No, it must be done…properly."

"Fred not, friends." A sultry, yet distinctly young voice said as everyone turned to the red-clad form of the Scarlet high inquisitor entering the chamber.

"My brave knights have already entered the debts of this accursed place. Let us pray it would soon be cleansed!"

"Lady Whitemane, surely a more cautious approach would be wise?" pressed Anduin.

A dark look settled over Whitemanes' painted face. She approached the prince, the white-haired girl towering over him despite there not been that much of an age difference.

"Caution, little lion? No, final victory is almost with out grasp and it will be the scarlet banner of the crusade that flies over Lordaeron."

"The crusade?" questioned Arya, stepping forth. "The crusade, which had done nothing, but hide in that monastery while Silverpine fought and won battle after battle. We are here only because of me!"

"Lordaeron is ours by right!" rebutted Whitemane

"Right? What right? Are you a Menethil? Are you not from Sou-"

"Do not speak of that accursed family!"

A wolfish predatory grin spread across Aryas' features.

"Exactly. The claim to Lordaeron rests with them and if you denounce them….well…."

Arya began to walk out of the throne room towards the small courtyard outside, her inside boiling with rage.

'How dare she?!' the young queen knew that she should have expected such things from the crusade, but no amount of preparation could have made her ready for the Scarlet leadership. The last few days in the council were straining, but now, when they so openly declared their intention….. A part of her expected it, a larger part hoped that the crusade will fizzle out and nothing would come of it.

And then she remembered her talk with Lord Bolton.

'Let them go first.'

It would seem she did not even have to lift a finger to do so. They were already in the undercity. Let them weaken themselves trying to cleanse it. What little remained, the combined army would sweep in and destroy.

"And what is your claim, then?" an angry shout came from behind her, Whitemane's voice reaching her just at the doorway. "By proxy of you been queen of Gilneas? Those traitors?"

Arya pondered her answer for a moment. Just what really was her claim. We are better than you? No…. Finally and without turning she responded in a whisper that resonated across the still chamber.


Reaching the outside, she again stopped, taking in a deep breath to calm her nerves. She had, in a way, finally admitted the truth. Not so much to Whitemane and the Stormwind royals but rather to herself. She had no claim here. The people, the locals, what few there were, did not necessarily want her. She was not invited like Southshore.

'But It is mine.'

The few birds that were among the silent ruins all took flight at once, creating a cacophony of flapping wing. As her eyes tracked them, a deep rumble was heard, Arya feeling the ground move beneath her boots.

And then, she saw it.

Over the walls of the courtyard, somewhere in the distance, yet still in the city, a pillar of green and orange, fire and plague erupting as one. Panicked screams and shouts filled the air but were quickly drowned as more and more explosions rocked the city.

As a small puff escaped one of the nearby sewer grates, did Arya realize.

'It is not the ruins above, but the Undercity!' Arya did not hear herself say "Run" to anyone, nor did she remember ushering people out. All she remembered was the blind dash away from the former capitol as the ground split apart beneath her.

The outer courtyard was suddenly packed as people pushed and shoved over each other, trying to exit the city through the main gate, Elune knows how many getting crushed beneath the frantic mob.

Unable to exit, Arya was in the courtyard in the middle of the mob when the large dome that covered the throne room erupted in an unholy blaze. Large chunks of masonry began to rain down on her men, each fallen stone taking a soul with it.

The frantic pushing escalated to a desparate fight for survival, Arya's small frame been squeezed so hard she found it hard to breathe. Few mages tried to raise shield and they did block few of the smaller chunks, but it was all in vain.

The last thing Arya saw before her world turned black was the white wolf on a nearby Silverpine banner turned red with blood.

"Not how I imagined my first battle to go." Mumbled Myrcella as she idly cleaned her hammer-head with a peace of cloth, doing so only to be busy so that she may ignore the throbbing of half her face. If the princess was to look at a mirror, she would have seen her left cheek been purple in color and a swelling around her left eye.

Things were going….well, if the blond was to put a mark on it. She had managed to slay two undead ambushers with her hammer, her wild swings managing to catch them even in the small confines of the corridor that they were in. A third had managed to shove her from the right, slamming her against the wall before her uncle decapitated the creature. As the Kingsguard fretted over her like a parent over a child, they both saw the hideous explosion that engulfed the courtyard to which they were headed.

A mad dash the return way, they exited the city through one of the many holes in the outside wall, just in time before the inferno truly took place. Clearing the city by quite a few paces, they both collapsed and watched in morbid fascination as more and more explosions rocked the city.

They had been doing that for close to two hours now, both standing in silence.

"We have a few health potions… maybe we can help someone." Finally said the girl, standing up from the ground.

"I don't think a health potion would be enough for this." Somberly said Jaime.


Dipping his head, the Lannister got up as well before following his princess.

They headed vaguely towards the main gate and the closer they got, the more Jaime was reintroduced to a smell he hoped to never again meet – burned flesh.

A frenzy of activity was in between the ruins and the camp, stretchers running back and forth as sparse puffs of healing golden light lit up the battlefield, the sun blotted out by the smoke. Managing to catch fleeting glimpses, the golden duo saw that while some had horrific burns, many had limbs missing, crushed, severed or otherwise.

"Stark!" her uncle suddenly shouted, startling her. They saw the northern lord, standing on the slope leading to the main gate, idly shouting out orders, worry and concern on his otherwise grim face.

"Stark!" Jaime said again as they got close. The man turned to look at them and it seemed a few moments before he "saw" them. His grey eyes idly wondered to the bruising on Myrcella's face. After a few more moment, he managed to say.

"It is good that you are alive, my princess."

"What happened, Stark?" pressed her uncle. Eddard in turn let out an uncharacteristic huff.

"What happened? Who knows. Maybe there were bombs above. Maybe there were bombs below. Maybe there were suiciders. I don't know." The northern lord deflated.

"All I know is that my daughter is unconscious and that a good part of my army was inside when this happened."

"What can we do to help?" asked Myrcella, stepping forth. Jaime saw a look pass over the northerners eyes. A look that screamed: Get out of the way. But in the end, the lord of Winterfel simply said:

"Help carry those still alive back to camp. Heal people if you have a way." And without another word, he turned and moved towards the ruins.

Jaime and Myrcella looked at each other before the princess led the two of them back into the city. As they entered through the gate and into the wide square a carnage was revealed to them.

Many of the bodies near the gate were already moved, yet blood and pieces of armor still remained on the ground all around them. Screams of anguish echoes as their eyes fell on both the Scarlet Inquisitor and the Stormwind prince, working in unison to heal. Myrcella considered rushing to Anduin, if only to hug him, but she stopped herself.

For one, there were plenty of bodies between them and also she did not want to distract him. The girl rummaged through her pack on her hip without looking, idly pulling out handful of potions before handing half to her uncle as they both set to work, trying to give a potion to anyone still…alive.

The girl fought back tears, her mind repeating her that she should not be here, that she should have left long ago. All the while, her hands tried to pacify a northerner who was shaking, be it in shock and pain, his eyes unfocused, his jaws unmoving as the left half of his body almost sizzled.

The princess was falling into a panic, the events overwhelming her.

'This is not how it is supposed to be!' she raged inside 'There wasn't even a battle!' she complained, but there was no one to hear.

"This is wrong" she whispered, her voice drowned by the screams and moans.

Raising her green eyes again, she saw once again Whitemane and Anduin. She stood for a moment, observing as the scarlet inquisitor used her staff to channel her magic before an idea emerged in her head.

Myrcella picked up her hammer and moved to the middle of the clearing. Wondering just what to do, she raised it above her head, she closed her eyes and began praying. Not a specific prayer, but a desperate one.

'This is wrong.'

'Heal them.'

'This is wrong.'

'Heal them.'

'This is wrong.'


A burning sensation enveloped her, tortured her, her muscles screaming in agony as a wail of pain, agony, guilt and desperation left her own lips. She barely heard a panicked Anduin telling her to stop. She barely felt the strong form and familiar presence of her uncle taking her and supporting her up as she collapsed in his arms.

She opened her eyes for barely a moment before she lost consciousness and in that moment, she saw a fading light, brighter than the sun, leaving the courtyard.

A month later

"Again, I am sorry the queens could not be here to see you two off." Said Elida, looking at the Lannister duo.

The docks of Southshore were now quite busy, the survivors of the Northern host boarding ships to return to their home.

"How is Arya? We haven't seen her since the battle." intoned Myrcella.

The elf in turn winced.

"Broken leg and ribs. She won't be moving for some time, even with magic healing."

"I would imagine Stark isn't happy about this." Idly commented Jaime.

"I have never seen that man happy" joked Elida, sharing a laugh with the two humans before her. "He is insistent on staying, especially with queen Sansa been due soon…"

Neither of the two humans knew exactly how to comment on that matter. A slightly tense silence befell the group.

"And what about you? I would imagine you would be happy going home." Asked the elf.

Jaime and Myrcella shared a look. Before the battle, Myrcella would have strongly denied wanting to go home, but now, things were…different. More complicated, even. She saw the true horrors of war and battle. Oh, she had heard them plenty of times, but somehow never believed them. But the combination of plague, undeath, war, carnage, explosions quickly wore on her enthusiasm. Somehow, she found herself been less and more afraid of battle at the same time.

And that is not to mention her new…status.

The Holy Princess

That day, when she tried her stunt with the hammer, she blacked out shortly after. But her uncle later told her that all the moans of pain and agony stopped all around the ruined city. That everyone was healed, to some degree and then put to sleep. Some of the more…lowborn soldiers even claimed she brough the dead back to live.

And no small part of those healed were northerners. And thus, they both knew it won't be long before her 'glorious tale' was spread around Westeros. Her uncle even jokingly retold her a particularly overexaggerated tale he heard, of how she smited undead with her hammer, blasting them to bits. How any foe that got close to her was turned to dust in a holy fire and how those she touched were instantly healed of all their ills.

"I…I don't know. I like the freedom that I have here. I am…proud of what I have achieved."

"As you should be, Holy Princess." Half-teased, half-complimented the elf, causing Myrcella to pout.

"The people have been kind to me here. I mean, it sounds strange, I know. I am a princess. I am used to been pampered, to receiving gifts." The blond rambled on.

"But all those were by people wanting something from me, expecting a gain or simply having to do so based on their station." She let out a sigh and a gentle smile crept on her features. "And yet everyone here helped me because they wanted to. I mean the Stormwind knights gave me a new armor after the battle, a sign of gratitude they called it."

"I-I don't know what to think, anymore!" she finally exclaimed. "My mother would be greatly displeased by everything and I fully expect her to try and take everything. The hammer, the armor. Father… I would imagine he would either not care or give a quick passing half-hearted compliment."

"I am not sure I want to go back, but I…want a rest." Myrcella finally admitted.

The elf's ears twitched as she looked at the princess before speaking, Elida uncharacteristically speaking slowly, choosing her words.

"You know…before the queens…this was a land of darkness, of fear. The town we are in right now was the last proper town remaining and people were leaving it every day. And then, they came. Don't get me wrong, they were not perfect, they still aren't, but…" a smile crept on the elf's face as she looked around, the sun illuminating her face.

"They started from nothing and achieved this. From nothing. Not so bad if I say so myself."

Jaime found himself, despite all his cynicism, agreeing:

"Not so bad indeed."

"Aye." Elida said, looking at the knight before her gaze shifted to Myrcella. "And you already are a princess."

"You don't like something? Well, do something about it."

"I think…I needed that reminder." Returned Myrcella after a while.

"Safe journey to you two." Said the elf before her eyes widened.

"Oh, oh, before I forget!" she rushed back to her horse, standing a few paces behind her and untied a small barrel from behind the saddle. She passed it onto Jaime, the thing been small enough that one can easily carry it in just one arm.

"Give this to Tywin." An incredulous look settled on Jaime's face. The fact that one so casually addressed his father, the great lion and even more so… that someone was sending him a gift.

"What is it?" he finally managed to get out.

"Dwarven mead." Responded the elf with a mischievous smile.

Tywin made his way to the throne room, having been notified of the return of that party he sent out over a month ago. He was surprised at how quickly they had returned and a part of him was preparing to be angry, for seemingly this was too quick. Maybe they failed?

No, he told himself. If they had failed, they would not have bothered to come here. A sense of urgency settled over him, Tywin finding his pace quickening, his bold and quick stride causing servants to almost jump out of the way.

Finally, he made into the throne room.

The party of five plus the Crakehall knight stood in the middle, surrounding a non-distinct crate. The closer he got, the more he began to feel it, the smell of rotten flesh. Occasionally, a faint sound would be heard from inside, the crate moving, if only a little.

Hearing his approach, the dwarf, the leader turned to him. Where as in their previous meeting there was jolly laughter in his eyes, now there was grim determination. Finally, he spoke:

"Call the Alliance, call the Horde, call the dragons, call fucking everyone."

AAAAAnd done.

I don't… I don't even know. For me, atleast, this is straight up an accomplishment. I know, the story is not that great or creative, the grammar is even worse, but it my story and I do feel atleast proud for finishing it. No joke, I will pour myself a drink and toast.

In the end, it was funny, really. I had hundreds of ideas how to end it, but I just…didn't write down anything (not that I forgot them or anything, I just…didn't write.) and that went on for months. And yesterday, I started writing and writing and writing.

I really do want to thank everyone that stuck through all this time, especially those rare one that are here from the beginning. Like seriously, thank you. I did start the story because of a crazy idea I had and I did start it more for myself, but as time went on and more people came and people discussed the chapters and topic and even more general world stuff. I did read all review, I really did.

I have many ideas for a sequel but I don't know when it will start, nor how often it will be updated if it did start.

I really don't know what to say.

Maybe I'll quote Gandalf. That is a good way to end.

"Here, at last, on chapter fifty, comes the end of our fellowship."

Thank you for sticking around and goodbye.