Chapter 68 - Unveiling the Future
125 AC
Ulf Pov
My eyes fluttered open, and I found myself gasping for air. Panic surged through me as I frantically scanned my surroundings, struggling to piece together where I was and what had transpired. The world around me swirled in a disorienting blur, leaving my mind reeling for answers.
My heart pounded in my chest as I grappled with the realization that my memories were a chaotic jumble, fragmented and elusive. How had I ended up in this desolate place, devoid of context or explanation?
With trembling hands, I instinctively checked my body for any signs of injury, relief washing over me as I found none. I took a moment to assess my attire, which stood in stark contrast to the grim surroundings. I was clad in an extravagant white doublet paired with trousers adorned with the emblem of a majestic, silver dragon, its wings outstretched in regal splendor.
Despite the urgency of my situation, I couldn't help but marvel at the intricate embroidery and fine craftsmanship of my clothing. It seemed out of place in this enigmatic setting, a stark reminder of the incongruity between my attire and my surroundings.
Summoning every ounce of strength, I forced myself to sit up, my muscles protesting the sudden movement.
Questions swirled in my mind like a tempest. Who had dressed me in these luxurious garments, and why?
As I cautiously began to walk, my eyes wandered along the walls, tracing the vivid crimson hue that adorned them. There was an inexplicable familiarity to the surroundings, an eerie sense of déjà vu. The entire expanse of the corridor was cloaked in that unsettling shade of red, and it took me a moment to realize the undeniable truth—I was inside the Red Keep.
The realization hit me like a sudden gust of wind, leaving me breathless with astonishment. How had I ended up here, in the heart of the Red Keep.
My steps grew hesitant as I approached a colossal pair of oak-and-bronze doors, their imposing presence demanding reverence. These were the doors to the Great Hall.
As I stood before those grand doors, a subtle but unmistakable scent wafted through the corridor—a metallic tang that sent a chill down my spine. It was the scent of blood, unmistakable and haunting. The realization that something ominous had transpired here, something that now lingered in the very air I breathed, gnawed at my senses.
I hesitated for a moment, my hand trembling as it reached for the ornate handle of the great door. The shadows danced eerily around me, and a profound sense of foreboding settled over me like a heavy shroud. But my curiosity was insatiable, and I could not resist the urge to uncover the mysteries concealed beyond those ominous doors.
With a slow, deliberate push, I creaked the doors open, revealing a scene that sent shivers cascading down my spine. The Great Hall stretched out before me, a cavernous chamber drenched in a blood-red glow. The grandeur of the space was undeniable, with towering pillars and a vaulted ceiling that seemed to touch the heavens.
Yet, it was the floor that arrested my gaze—the marble expanse was marred by crimson streaks, a grotesque tapestry of violence that spoke of untold horrors. The scent of blood hung thick in the air, and an unsettling silence enveloped the hall.
With a sense of trepidation, I ventured deeper into the Great Hall, my footsteps echoing ominously against the bloodstained marble floor. My gaze was inexorably drawn to the numerous lifeless forms strewn across the ground. The sheer number of bodies was staggering, a haunting testament to the magnitude of the tragedy that had unfolded within these crimson walls.
Then I saw the Strong princes lying still on the floor.
I rushed to them as the blood on the floor splattered.
"Lucerys," I whispered desperately as I knelt beside him, gently shaking his lifeless form. It was a chilling revelation that struck me to my core. He looked as old as me, and the weight of years had settled upon his features. Lucerys' skin had taken on an eerie pallor, and his vacant eyes stared up at the sky, a silent testament to the cruel fate that had befallen him. The truth was painfully clear—this was what happened when someone drowned in water, the life extinguished from their very soul.
I turned my attention to Jacaerys. His lifeless form lay nearby, and a heavy, foreboding feeling washed over me. A brutal wound marred his chest, a gaping hole that penetrated through his heart. The agony of his final moments was etched into his features, and it seemed as if a sword had struck him down in an act of unforgivable violence.
Then there was Joffery, the youngest. His once youthful and vibrant body now bore the cruel marks of a merciless end. Numerous stab wounds crisscrossed his form, a testament to a savage assault that had left him no chance of survival.
"The fuck happened?" I muttered incredulously, my voice trembling with a mixture of shock, anger, and despair. The events that had unfolded before me defied reason, a nightmarish tableau of death that left me grasping for answers.
I rose to my feet unsteadily, my legs trembling beneath the weight of the grim discoveries that had unfolded before me. With each hesitant step, I continued to walk through the chilling tableau of death that had overtaken the once-hallowed ground of this place.
And there, amidst the lifeless forms, I came upon a body shrouded in green, its attire instantly recognizable despite the gruesome sight that met my gaze. An arrow, cruelly embedded in his head, marked the tragic end of a young life. It was Prince Daeron, the youngest child of King Viserys, and the sight of him lying there sent a shiver coursing through my spine. The innocence of youth, extinguished by the merciless arrow, had left its mark on this tragic scene.
My heart weighed heavy with sorrow as I continued, only to stumble upon yet another horrifying sight just a few meters ahead. It was a man I knew all too well, Aegon, and the brutality of his demise was impossible to ignore. His head had been gruesomely severed from his body, a macabre testament to the savagery that had unfolded in this accursed place.
Nausea welled up within me, threatening to overpower my senses as I bore witness to the horrors that had transpired. The stench of death hung heavy in the air, and the grim tableau of bodies left me with a profound sense of dread.
As I pressed forward through the gruesome scene, my heart clenched with every fallen noble I passed. The fiery red hair of House Tully and the glistening blonde locks of House Lannister mingled with the lifeless bodies, each a stark reminder of the devastation that had befallen Westeros. Desperation clawed at my throat as I prayed fervently that those closest to my heart had somehow escaped this dreadful fate.
But then, amidst the sea of death, my eyes landed on two figures that sent a shiver down my spine. "Harlon, Hugh!" I cried out, my voice echoing through the hall as I rushed toward where they lay.
Time seemed to slow to a torturous crawl as I drew nearer. My worst fears were realized as I took in the ghastly sight before me. Harlon's eyes, once filled with life and laughter, now stared out in terror, his body grotesquely maimed, a cruel testament to the brutality that had befallen him. Hugh, too, bore the scars of a vicious assault, his body riddled with multiple sword wounds.
"Ulf," Hugh's voice came as a soft, fragile whisper, and I dropped to my knees by his side, clasping his trembling hand in my own. Tears streamed down my cheeks, unchecked and unrestrained.
"What happened, Hugh? Who could commit such horrors?" I implored, my voice quaking with a potent mix of sorrow and rage.
"Why?" Hugh uttered, his voice barely a whisper, as the light slowly faded from his eyes. His final word hung in the air like an unanswerable question, an agonizing plea for understanding.
"Noooo!" I screamed, the anguish welling up within me, a raw and overwhelming torrent of grief. The weight of loss bore down on me, threatening to crush my spirit as I cradled the lifeless form of my dear friend in my arms. In that moment, the world around me faded into a distant haze, leaving only the searing pain of loss and the bitter taste of unanswered questions.
The anguish of losing my two friends still pulsed within me like an unending scarlet wound. Their absence weighed heavily on my heart as I pressed on, their memory a haunting presence that refused to fade.
As I continued my solemn journey through the carnage, the pain of losing Harlon and Hugh still clung to my soul like an unyielding shadow.
I passed the fallen Kingsguard, their once-vigilant ranks now reduced to a somber display of lifelessness.
I soon came across the body of Otto Hightower, a figure of authority and influence, but in my distraught state, I couldn't spare a second glance for him.
"Please, not her", I whispered the words like a mantra, praying against all odds that she had escaped unscathed.
The bodies of the fallen began to thin as I pressed on, a small glimmer of relief in the midst of the relentless despair. Yet, the dread that gripped me refused to relent, leaving me to brace for the worst.
And then, in a cruel twist of fate, I came upon two charred corpses, the flames having consumed them with merciless intensity. Their once-vibrant forms now reduced to ashen remains. From the faint outlines that remained, it was clear that one of them was the Queen who never was her regal presence now reduced to ashes. The identity of the other unfortunate soul remained a mystery, a cruel reminder that in the chaos that had unfolded, the innocent and the guilty alike had fallen victim to the ruthless hand of destiny.
In the distance, a familiar figure came into view, a beacon of recognition amidst the desolation. "Prince Daemon!" I cried out, my voice tinged with desperation as I sprinted towards him. His once-proud form was now a mangled, twisted mess, and a hateful expression etched upon his face added to the haunting sight.
My heart ached with sorrow and disbelief as I knelt by his side, determined to pay my respects to the man who had once knighted me. I gently closed his lifeless eyes, hoping to grant him a semblance of peace in the afterlife. The weight of his loss hung heavily over me, a stark reminder of the brutality that had consumed this place.
As I stood up, my eyes fell upon another grim sight. Nettles lay before me, her body crushed and broken.
As I took a few more agonizing steps forward, my heart sank to its lowest depths when I encountered Rhaenyra's lifeless form. It was a gruesome spectacle, her body brutally torn into three separate pieces. An expression of terror marred her face, etching a cruel and haunting final memory onto her features.
I continued my solemn journey, each step a painful reminder of the horrors that had unfolded. It was then that I spotted a young man, his Valyrian features unmistakable even in death. My heart plummeted as I drew closer, and the realization hit me like a relentless wave—it was Addam.
Overwhelmed with grief, I fell to my knees beside him, my trembling hands reaching to gently close his lifeless eyes. The weight of his loss, like a crushing boulder, settled upon my chest, making it difficult to breathe. My voice cracked with anguish as I scream profanities.
In that moment, the world seemed a cold and desolate place, where tragedy and sorrow knew no bounds. The fates of those I had known and cared for had been cruelly extinguished, leaving me to grapple with the overwhelming sadness that now enveloped me.
My heart weighed heavy as I continued my anguished journey, the relentless tide of sorrow pulling me closer to a dreaded truth. And then, there she lay, the woman I had loved with all my heart, my Helaena.
"Helaena!" I screamed, my voice torn apart by the torment within me, as I rushed to her side, passing three small lifeless forms, each bearing the unmistakable Targaryen hair. My breath caught in my throat as I cradled her lifeless body close to my chest, and the tears flowed freely, bitter and relentless.
Her once-beautiful dress had turned a cruel shade of crimson, soaked with the blood that had robbed me of her forever. I clung to her, desperate to deny the reality of her absence.
"Ulf," she whispered, her voice fragile and soft, and I opened my eyes, praying to every god in this forsaken world to spare her from the fate that seemed so irrevocably sealed.
"Helaena," I said softly, my voice trembling with emotion.
"I can't see you, Ulf," she replied gently, her words a devastating confirmation of the wound that marred her head. The realization that she had lost her vision shattered my heart into a million pieces.
"I am right here, my love," I assured her.
"You came back", she said.
A soft smile graced her lips, a fragile glimmer of hope in the midst of despair. But as the tears fell from her unseeing eyes, a profound sense of helplessness washed over me.
"I did," I said, my voice filled with longing. "And I will never leave again, I promise."
Her smile persisted, a silent acknowledgment of my pledge, but it was a fleeting moment of solace. As her body grew cold in my arms, the harsh reality of her passing descended upon me like a suffocating darkness.
"Noooo, gods, why her, why her, fuck!" I cried out, my anguish echoing through the empty halls, a lament for a love lost to the cruel whims of fate.
"Who did this, who the fuck did this?" I screamed into the void, holding Helaena's lifeless body tightly against my chest, my heart shattered and my soul consumed by a seething rage that demanded answers in the face of an unspeakable tragedy.
I rose from the ground, guilt and grief weighing heavily on me as I gently placed Helaena's lifeless body onto the blood-soaked floor. Determination surged through me as I moved closer to the two figures who stood near the Iron Throne, their presence a enigma in this chamber of death.
One figure, a man, stood with his back to me, his gaze fixed intently upon the Iron Throne. His face was concealed beneath the shadowy helm he wore, lending an air of mystery to his identity. In his hands rested Blackfyre, a sword of legendary power and significance.
Beside him stood a woman, bearing the unmistakable colors of House Targaryen. Her attire was a striking homage to the house's history, and she carried the legendary blade Dark Sister, an emblem of their lineage. She was clad in armor, her determination palpable, and together they seemed to be immersed in a profound purpose that eclipsed my presence entirely.
It was as if they had not registered my arrival, their focus unwavering, their intentions shrouded in secrecy.
The woman approached a body lying near the throne, and as she turned it, I recognized the face of Aemond, older and more weathered than the last time I had seen him, but unmistakably him. Yet, he too had succumbed to the relentless tide of death. The lady removed the crown from his head with a sinister smirk, an unsettling sight. Then, with a vicious grin that sent shivers down my spine, she unsheathed Dark Sister and severed his head from his body.
My heart pounded in my chest, and a profound sense of shock rippled through me as the woman turned towards me. Her face bore a scar, and one of her eyes gleamed with an unsettling amethyst hue, a distinctive combination that sent a shiver down my spine. It was a visage I could not mistake.
"Rhaena," I whispered in horror, the name falling from my lips like a prayer for salvation.
She regarded me with a twisted delight, her intentions shrouded in the depths of her gaze. Without hesitation, she approached the man and placed the crown upon his head, a gesture laden with significance. Their kiss, once an expression of affection, turned into an act of betrayal as he thrust a dagger into her, and she fell to the ground with a look of profound betrayal etched across her face.
As he ascended the steps of the Iron Throne, claiming its power, I remained motionless, my mind reeling from the staggering revelation of Rhaena's involvement in this macabre sequence of events.
Unable to comprehend the enormity of what had transpired, I walked towards Rhaena, my voice trembling as I asked, "Did you kill them all?" I gestured towards the hall, where the lifeless bodies of nobles and kings lay in grim testament to the carnage that had unfolded.
She did not answer, her breath ragged as blood poured from her mouth.
I raised Dark Sister, its blade glistening ominously in the dimly lit hall behind me. The scene of death and destruction, the people I had lost, it was a nightmarish tableau of horror that would haunt me forever. Even my own clothes had turned blood-red, stained by the gruesome events that had unfolded.
My gaze settled upon the man seated on the Iron Throne, a sense of rage and despair welling up within me. "You did this, didn't you?" I accused him, my voice quaking with anger and sorrow.
He responded with nothing more than a chilling grin, a macabre gesture that spoke volumes about the darkness that consumed him. "You think this is a joke?" I screamed, my words a desperate cry for answers.
"I'm going to kill you, do you hear me?" I vowed, my resolve unwavering despite the horror that surrounded me. "Show me your face, you bastard," I demanded, my voice laced with fury.
The man rose from the Iron Throne, and as he removed his helm, his white hair and familiar face became visible. Horror coursed through me like a chilling current. "No, it can't be," I muttered, disbelief and dread intertwining.
A cruel grin adorned his face, his amusement at my shock evident. "You must be fearless, my dear man," he taunted as I fell to the ground in shock, unable to comprehend the nightmare that had enveloped me.
He descended the steps with an air of malevolence, revealing a truth that I had refused to accept. "I am you," he declared, his voice dripping with dark humour.
"No, it cannot be, it cannot," I protested, my world unraveling in a cascade of disbelief and despair.
His laughter echoed through the chamber, a maddening crescendo, and then he hurled Blackfyre with deadly intent. I was immobilized, unable to evade the oncoming doom, and the blade pierced my body as I was thrown backward.
"No, gods, no," I whispered, my silent weeping a lament for the inexorable fate that had befallen me.
"Wake up," a voice urged, a lifeline in the darkness, and everything faded to black.
I gradually opened my eyes, my breaths coming in ragged pants as I jolted awake from the nightmarish abyss that had consumed me.
"Nonono," I repeated in a frantic, broken chant, my hands trembling as I clutched my head, desperately trying to distance myself from the horrors that had plagued my slumber.
"Calm down," an impassive voice called out, grounding me in the present moment.
I closed my eyes, willing myself to find serenity amidst the chaos that had gripped my mind. With each measured breath, I fought to quell the pounding of my heart, until, finally, I succeeded.
As I opened my eyes once more, I found myself in the presence of the ancient weirwood tree, its gnarled branches and blood-red leaves a silent witness to my turmoil. It was then that I realized I was in the godswood of Winterfell, a place of solace and reflection amid the storms of life. The stark contrast between the nightmare I had just endured and the serene beauty of the godswood left me with a profound sense of relief, as if the heart of Winterfell itself had offered me refuge from the terrors that had haunted me.
"Good," the man spoke, and I turned my gaze toward him.
He was clad in black robes, his bald head and aged countenance marking him as a man who had seen many years. When our eyes locked, I couldn't help but notice the striking resemblance he bore to the Starks, his eyes sharing the same shade of grey that seemed to run through their bloodline.
"White Knight," he addressed me, his tone carrying a hint of disdain.
"Greenseer," I retorted, my anger not concealed in the slightest.
"What did you do to me?" I demanded, my frustration and confusion boiling over.
"I showed you the future," he replied with a sinister grin.
"Find it funny, do you, you old bastard?" I shot back, my emotions unbridled.
He continued, his tone chillingly calm, "You know what I find amusing? The fact that you've disrupted the entire Song from ever happening."
"We have a lot to talk about," he asserted.
My curiosity piqued, I listened intently as he shifted the conversation.
"What do you know about the Corpse Queen?" he asked, his voice turning cold and calculating.
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Last_Quincy
Last_Quincy I hope you guys liked the above chapter it was quite an emotional rollercoaster to write. Let me know your thoughts on what you think the future holds
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