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Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction, and all rights for characters, plots and settings belong to G.R.R. Martin and FromSoftware. I have no ownership.
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Having slaughtered countless champions during the Shattering, the Fell Omen has become a horror to those who harbor ambitions for the Erdtree, or for Lordship.
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Weeping Peninsula, Castle Morne
Aerion
"Someone must extinguish your flame. Let it be Margit the Fell!" The creature's powerful, low voice rang out one last time, followed by silence. Margit seemed to be in no hurry, not attacking immediately, merely staring at him as if he were some curious animal specimen.
This also gave Aerion time to carefully examine his opponent, whose earlier words had dispelled any doubts as to why he had appeared.
Omen, a tall, hulking figure with numerous horns protruding from his head and body, towered significantly above Aerion, and his eyes glowed with a golden light, reflecting his holy magic and connection to the Erdtree, much like himself.
He wore a tattered, brownish-yellow cloak made of rough, fur-lined fabric that concealed much of his form, and in his right hand he held a wooden walking cane the size of Aerion.
"The Great Rune of Life in the possession of an unknown Tarnished is some cruel joke on the part of Greater Will." The omen spoke and then slowly began to walk around him, as if observing some wonder of nature that had no right to exist.
"You shouldn't be here; you are a wild card in the Land Between, a tear in the web of this land's fate. Yet you share the same fate as the others. This fire of ambition must be extinguished before it consumes all that remains of this shattered world."
Aerion watched Margit closely, analyzing both his words and his posture and movements, ready to go on the defensive at any moment, at the slightest hint of an attack.
"You are silent?" he continued, his ugly face twisted in disdain. "Have you nothing to say? Any last words before I lay your ambition to rest?"
"I am Aerion," he introduced himself calmly, but inside he felt tense like a taut bowstring. "What do you want from me, Margit? Are you coming to avenge your two cavalrymen? If so, let's not waste time chatting." He replied, summoning twin Ornamental Straight Swords to both hands.
"Hahahaha. I don't know if you're that brave or just stupid," Omen laughed, though there was no genuine humor in his laughter. "But I admit, you have piqued my interest. When I heard that another Tarnished had started prowling Limgrave, I ignored it, expecting someone to kill you quickly, maybe a Tree Sentinel."
At that moment, Margit fell silent and stopped, looking directly at Aerion, particularly at his left eye, which held the Great Rune, with curiosity and something he couldn't decipher. Was there longing, jealousy, or a sense of betrayal? He couldn't tell.
"It wasn't long before it turned out that this same Tarnished was not only alive but also turning Limgrave upside down. Not only had he defeated Tree Sentinel and the dragon Agheel, but he had also killed my two Night Cavaliers. That's when I realized thou weren't like the others, and that, horror of horrors, I might be dealing with another Vyke."
"Vyke?" Aerion interjected, "I've heard that name before."
The omen's face twisted into a grotesque smile. "I'd be surprised if thou haven't heard of him. He was the Tarnished closest to becoming an Elden Lord... or so they say, but before he could face truly powerful opponents, he descended into frenzy."
Upon hearing this, Aerion immediately recalled Hardhome and the flame of chaos, the Frenzied Flame. Could he suffer the same fate as his predecessor? Threatening to madness?
"Thou know what I'm talking about, do not thou?" Margit asked, then brought his face close to his and inhaled the air several times, as if smelling something. "I smell the stench of the Yellow Flame of Frenzy on thou. Thou have been touched by Chaos and fear it will consume thee... But thou don not have to. For today thou wilt fall by mine own hand, and I will take the Great Rune from thy dead body."
At that moment, Aerion was certain the time for conversation had ended, and all that remained was to survive the impending battle. Margit charged at him in the blink of an eye. One moment he was still standing calmly a few meters away, and the next moment she was beside him.
Aerion ducked at the last moment, feeling the air slap his face, and a gnarled wooden cane the size of a young tree trunk, hurtling toward his head, clattered to the ground with a thud. He swallowed, realizing he was facing an opponent unlike any other. Of course, his opponent's name alone clearly suggested he was dealing with someone truly powerful.
Margit the Fell, the Omen whom the Night Cavalry served. A being who commanded such powerful and fearsome opponents had to be even stronger. And he was learning this firsthand, being pushed back, trying not to be killed in a single blow.
The fight with Leonite Misbegotten and the ease with which he had cleared Castle Mourne had over-bolstered his confidence, and he began to think that perhaps it was time to kill the weakest of the Demigods, Godrick. But now he realized that he had truly underestimated the strength of the other beings who had not only survived the Shattering but were also at home in this even more brutal new world.
He focused on dodging and avoiding the blows, keeping range between himself and the omen. He tried to adapt to his opponent's movements, catching the pattern of his attacks, but Margit seemed to be toying with him too, and the pressure began to mount on Aerion.
His opponent's attacks grew increasingly fierce and powerful. When he parried one, his hand momentarily lost feeling. Which simply meant he had to change tactics. He sent one of the blades away, and instead, the Academy Glintstone Staff appeared in his hand. Its turquoise crystal glowed with light, firing Glintstone Pebbles from it, one after another, as he continued to dodge the Omen's attacks.
However, this spell proved just as effective on him as it was on the Night Cavalry, except that while on the riders, the armor absorbed it, while here it simply dissipated on Margit's skin, who shot him an irritated look and responded with a spell of his own, or perhaps it was an incantation; he didn't know. Omen had no staff or seal.
Daggers, seemingly made of golden light, flew toward him, and with the distance between them still perhaps ten feet, Aerion had even less time to react than he would have liked. He dodged one dagger by tilting his head, parried a second and a third with a metallic clang, but the fourth slashed through his side, easily slicing through his armor.
Aerion, parrying another blow of his staff, this time sent Glintstone Arc, hoping that the cutting power of this spell would have some effect, but Margit simply caught it in his hand and shattered it, dissipating its energy.
He didn't even have time to be shocked by this display of force, as his opponent pressed relentlessly toward him. He didn't even attempt to switch weapons, realizing that only his evasions and occasional parries separated him from death. In desperation, he tried to send Crystal Barrage at Margit, but Margit dispelled all the crystal projectiles with a swing of his staff.
At that moment, Aerion changed tactics completely, and, sending his blade and staff back, a moment later the Grafted Blade Greatsword appeared in his hands. He jumped back and, remembering the sword's special ability, activated Oath of Vengeance.
The surge of strength was incredible. It felt as if he had gained dozens of levels. He felt an increase in all his attributes. His strength, dexterity, vitality, and endurance all improved significantly. The same went for the other four attributes.
Convinced he had nothing to lose, he decided to seize the initiative and attack. Although the blade was heavy and massive in his hands, it seemed to fade into a blur, and even his opponent seemed to take his attacks seriously.
The greatsword and the wooden staff collided with a bang, the force of the impact shaking his arms repeatedly, but he didn't let up. At that moment, he seemed to be neck and neck with Margit.
"Well, thou art of passing skill. Warrior blood must truly run in thy veins, Tarnished. Show me the flame of thy ambition," Omen exclaimed, and for a moment Aerion had the impression that he was beginning to enjoy their fight.
But it didn't last long, for as if his opponent's words were some kind of signal, he sent daggers of light at him once more, and when Aerion dodged them by jumping aside, a luminous hammer appeared in Omen's hand.
Margit leaped into the air and fell on him like a mountain, swinging his hammer, which struck the ground, shattering it where Aerion had been moments before.
At the moment of impact, he jumped back and leaped forward once more, swinging his Grafted Blade Greatsword, striking Margit in the side. A gasp of pain and disbelief escaped the omen's mouth as the grafted blades pierced his skin.
But at that same moment, Aerion realized something was wrong. He looked down and, with slight disbelief, saw a spear of light protruding from his chest, where his heart should have been. A moment later, it dissipated into golden particles.
He tried with the last of his strength to summon the Flask of Crimson Tears, but he couldn't concentrate. He felt his knees buckle, and he fell to the ground.
The last thing he remembered as his life ebbed away was Margit's words, "I shall remember you, Tarnished. Smoldering with your meager flame. Cower in fear. Of the Night. The hands of the Fell Omen shall brook you no quarter."
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Darkness fell, followed by a blinding golden glow, and he awoke at the Morne Moangrave Site of Grace, where he had fought Leonite Misbegotten.
He sighed, his back sagging. It was a painful defeat, but perhaps a necessary one. It made him realize that perhaps normal humans and other beings were no longer a challenge for him; there were a whole host of more powerful opponents.
Margit had made him realize this, showing him how far he had to go before he could face beings even stronger than Fell Omen.
He soon left the protection of the Site of Grace, but spent the next hour hoping Margit would leave. He didn't feel even remotely ready for another fight.
When he later broke through the castle and reached the gates, he didn't see or sense Omen's presence, but then again, Omen had caught him by surprise.
He lurked near the gate for another few minutes, but there was no sign of Margit. Without hesitation, he rushed toward the runes that lay several dozen meters away, where he had previously breathed his last.
He felt with relief as the lost runes now filled him anew. There were so many of them that if they were lost, it would be a painful loss.
Wasting no time, he moved to the Site of Grace in the Church of Elleh and quickly used his accumulated runes there.
Name: Aerion Sand
Title: Tarnished of no renown
Level: 93 → 97
Runes : 22 484
Runes required to level up: 28 833
Attributes:
Vigor: 26 (+1 from EF, +2 from Crimson Amber Medallion)
Mind: 26 → 28
Endurance: 26 (+1 from Erdtree's Favor)
Strength: 30
Dexterity: 30
Intelligence: 23 → 25
Faith: 36 (+10 from EotG, +5 from Marked by Flame)
Arcane: 25
Resistance:
Poison - 26%
Scarlet Rot- 26%
Madness - 11% → 13% ( -15 from Marked by Flame)
Sleep - 26% → 28%
Blood Loss - 26%
Frostbite - 76% (+50 from Song of Ice & Fire)
Death Blight - 25%
Damage negation:
Holy - 25%
Fire - 76% (+50% from Song of Ice & Fire)
Lightning - 36%
Magic - 23% → 25%
His plans didn't change after encountering Margit. Omen seemed convinced he had killed him for good, without the possibility of rebirth. Since it was known that as long as the Tarnished were guided by Grace, they were reborn, this meant Margit must have had a way to permanently kill the Tarnished, but it didn't work on him.
Aerion opened the map that materialized before his eyes, or rather, his left eye, and then took another look at Weeping Peninsula.
He intended to scour the area thoroughly, collecting every valuable item, every spell, incantation, and Ash of War, and certainly acquiring as many runes as he could. He would be stronger and better prepared the next time he encountered Margit.
Finally, his gaze fell on Oridys's Rise, the place where he had left Irina and where Edgar was heading. Without hesitation, he moved to the nearest Site of Grace, located north of Lookout Tower.
He summoned Torrent, mounted him, and rode south to his destination, urging his mount on, realizing that at the moment of his death, the Banished Knight Oleg, who had been guarding Irina, had also been sent away.
At Torrent's full speed, it took him only a dozen or so minutes to reach the destination, despite having almost 30 miles to cover. Right at the tower itself, he dismounted and raced inside and to the top, taking the steps a few at a time.
To his relief, at the very top, he found Irina sitting there, safe and sound, though clearly exhausted, but she wasn't alone. To his surprise, Edgar was already there, along with two of his soldiers.
"How did you get here so quickly?" The first thing the man addressed. However, both he and Irina were clearly so surprised by his sudden appearance that he didn't know what to say.
"We found stray horses that fled the castle during the rebellion... and I know this area well enough to have made my way here from the south through the hills," Edgar replied, rising from the floor.
"What happened to you, my lord? I expected you to arrive before us, and when my daughter told us how the spirit you left to guard her disappeared three hours ago, we began to worry."
He looked at them and felt a slight pang of shame at the thought of his defeat at the hands of the omen. He wasn't going to hide it, though, even if his image would suffer in their eyes. This would also be an experience for him, perhaps more than just another victory.
"Margit. He was waiting for me at the gates of Castle Mourne when I left," he admitted, and a gasp escaped the girl's lips.
"The Fell Omen? Here?" Edgar asked, his expression a mixture of disbelief and respect. "Margit doesn't venture this far south; that's why he has his Night Cavalry. He's never left the Altus Plateau or the capital area in recent years."
Aerion shrugged. "Well, I was clearly unlucky. For he sought me out, found me, and defeated me." His tone clearly conveyed how despondent he was that the man had to notice.
"That changes things, my Lord. I don't think you understand the significance of his actions. Margit doesn't hunt anyone alone, not even the Tarnished. He has countless servants in his service for that. What's more, he's one of the most powerful beings in the Lands Between. Even Lord Godrick avoided angering him the one or two times he's appeared at Stormveil Castle in the past," Edgar explained, his tone suggesting his appreciation for Aerion had only grown.
"Lord Aerion, if Fell Omen came this far specifically for you, it means he considered you a serious threat that needed to be destroyed before you grew stronger."
Aerion pondered and had to admit he hadn't seen it that way. Perhaps the knight was right, and Margit's own words suggested as much. He had come looking for him on purpose.
"Thank you for sharing this information with me. It clarifies a lot of things for me," he said after a moment, then looked at them both more closely. "What are you planning now? You're not likely to return to Castle Morne, are you?" he asked, to which Edgar only shook his head.
"No, we don't want to go back there, but traveling to Stormveil Castle is also out of the question, as only death or worse awaits us there for losing the castle and the Grafted Blade Greatsword," the man replied, then took his daughter's hand, squeezing it in a gesture of support.
"We intend to stay here for a while," Irina explained, a small smile playing on her lips. "Father says it's quite safe here now, and there's plenty of game around."
Edgar nodded and added, "For now, it's a safe place. Better than most."
Aerion understood their decision perfectly; finding a safe haven in these lands was next to impossible.
"Once I have decapitated Godric and cleansed Stormveil Castle, I will need a capable commander and castellan to take care of its defense and management," he said, looking pointedly at the knight. "If by then you still haven't found a peaceful place for yourselves, there will be a place for you."
"Thank you, my lord," Edgar replied, bowing his head slightly.
Irina echoed him with a radiant, innocent smile, "Thank you, my brave tarnished. For everything. If it weren't for you, I probably would have died, or something much worse would have happened to me." A lone tear rolled down her cheek.
Aerion knelt, taking her hand in both of his, and smiled at her, even if she couldn't see it. "It was a pleasure, my lady. For now, I plan to explore the Weeping Peninsula, so I'll probably visit you again before returning to Limgrave. But for now, I must leave you."
Rising, he nodded to Edgar and the two soldiers, then left the chamber, and then the entire tower. Time to head west, but he planned to give the village whose inhabitants were possessed by the Frenzied Flame a wide berth.
Although it killed most everyone, many other creatures, even the insects that inhabited it and its surroundings, were also affected by the chaos flame.
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Westeros, Beyond the Wall
Bran Stark
He was beginning to feel seriously worried. When Jon, having trouble adjusting to thinking of his brother/cousin as anything other than Jon, told them everything that had happened to him after he was murdered by the Night's Watch Brothers, he found it hard to believe.
And this after everything he had seen and experienced. Greenseers, skinchangers, and even Others were one example. Everything, however supernatural and fantastical, was part of their own world.
But the tales of a completely different world, even more astonishing, full of dangers, magic, and gods, were simply too fantastic. Had he heard it from anyone other than Jon, he would have been certain it was all made up.
Moreover, his last doubts were dispelled by Brynden, who, fascinated, seemed to believe Jon without a trace of doubt.
Why Jon had ended up there and seemed to keep returning was a mystery to him. However, two things were certain. In this new world, his brother was growing stronger, surpassing what humans should be capable of.
And secondly, he was late. He said he shouldn't be gone for more than a few days. But almost 11 days had passed since his disappearance, and Bran was starting to get very worried.
He feared that something had happened to his brother and that he was powerless to help him. Meera, Jojen, and Brynden tried to comfort and encourage him. Leaf and the other Children even mentioned repeatedly that Dawnbringer would surely return soon and lead them beyond the Wall.
Bran's only relief seemed to come from further lessons with Brynden, but even they reminded him of Jon, whose presence had completely obscured his greensight.
He was haunted by memories of Jon's parents, Rhaegar Targaryen and his aunt Lyanna. The moment they met at the tourney at Harrenhall, their growing love, their escape, and Jon's birth.
All this was interwoven with dreams that haunted Rhaegar, the prophecy of the promised prince, passed down through the Targaryen line. Rhaegar's quite justified fixation on the approaching Long Night and the dreams and prophecies associated with it.
And much, much more. He learned much, much more than he would have liked. For example, the fact that two septons refused to marry the prince, and fearing they would reveal their location, he ordered Ser Oswald Whent to behead them.
As soon as Jon... Aerion, he reminded himself, returned, he intended to tell him everything he had learned. Those responsible for the deaths of his half-siblings, and much more.
Just as he awoke from one of his visions and tried to piece together what he'd seen, he sensed something happening. A strange turbulence of magic, a pressure on his own mind, and then a rift opened in the fabric of the world around him. Just as it had when Jon disappeared.
And indeed, no more than a few seconds later, a small tornado of golden luminous particles swirled in the center of the cave, forming the silhouette of his brother.
Jon seemed slightly dazed for a moment and began to look around, as if unsure how he had gotten there. His confusion, however, didn't last long. Soon his gaze fell on Bran, but he remained focused on the changes he sensed in Jon.
His brother's presence seemed more powerful, similar to that of the Others, inhuman. Jon also seemed taller, no more than a few centimeters, but still, for such a short time, it was a significant change.
But what caught his attention most was the growing back of his brother's now short hair, beard, eyebrows, and eyelashes. A fundamental change had taken place, however; now, instead of the previous brown color, they were a silvery gold.
Before Bran could comment on this change or even greet him, Jon quickly approached him and, taking him by the shoulders, asked, "Bran, how long have I been gone? How many days have passed?"
"Eleven days," Bloodraven's voice rang out before Bran could register the question.
Jon's expression darkened. "That's what I feared. It's been as long here as there. We don't have time; we must leave immediately."
"Go. I've given Bran as much knowledge as time allows; now it's his turn to aid you in the War of the Dawn, my prince. From now on, he will be the Three-Eyed Crow," Brynden replied, but Jon's face became thoughtful.
"You know, while I was in the Lands Between, I thought about your situation, and I have a proposition. Since you can't leave anyway, how about I chop off your head?"