Still not fully committed to this one, but the more I write and try to work the Bionicle mythos and characters into the Game of Thrones world, the more I realize the amount of room GRR Martin has left for Fan-improv.

'Why is it never a big "grab me" lever?'

He continued down the wall, feeling it up and down searching for some kind of break in the worn stone. He debated going back to the metal structure sitting behind him, at the center of the sanctuary with seven massive statues towering up around him, but he knew the vault was sealed tighter than a maester's robes. He found himself wondering if the old man he'd met in the Dothraki Sea had tricked him, but a sudden give in the wall stopped those thoughts.

"Hello," he said to the dusty air as he noticed the stone flaking away to reveal dull metal underneath. From his back he drew a large greatsword, the rippling of the metal marking the blade as Valyrian steel. He forced the blade's tip into a seam in the metal wall, working it back and forth until a the gap was wide enough he could slip his armored fingers into the gap. This was followed by his other hand, then with a labored grunt he forced the wall apart to reveal the dark tiny chamber lying beneath the false wall. And inside was just what he was looking for: a silvery orb mounted to a mechanical stand.

It took some reaching, but he soon had a hand on the orb, and was able to twist it around until it had rotated completely and he heard a chorus of whirrs and clicks begin. Pulling his hand back for fear of a trap, He saw a light grow behind him, a dull white glow shining off his faded red and gold armor. He had long ago discarded the cloak and helmet, the latter replaced with a newer mask like bronze helm that covered his head and face with only marginal slits for his eyes, nose and red fabric over his ears. On his shoulders and chest though the familiar lion motifs and the deep red and gold coloring remained, his only true link to a past life.

He approached the now open dome like vault, its unfurled form dominating the massive chamber, but it was the vault's contents that drew his eye. One by one he retrieved the precious treasures hidden here so long ago, stowing them in the leather pouch strapped to his back over his sword's scabbard until he came to the sixth, and froze as the tiny sound of gravel falling filled the chamber. With the final treasure still in his hand, he spun around to face the noise, and looked up just in time to see the severed head of the tallest statue come crashing toward him.

He jumped and dived away just before the massive carved stone smashed into the floor, cracking tiles and warping the structure beneath, but that was the last thing on his mind. He stored the last stone in his pack as a grating cackle filled the air.

"HehehAHAHA! The LOST Lion, come out to play! Come out, TO DIE!" There was a green flash from above, and He had to dodge again before a ball of blazing wildfire engulfed him in emerald flames. He Leapt to his feet and took off, wildfire blasts splattering the chamber behind him even as their owner roared orders. He dove into the halls and corridors branching off from the main chamber, hoping to loose his attackers in the labyrinth, but no sooner had his attackers fallen out of earshot than he found himself out in the open.

He was on a rusted metal bridge, one strung between the main building and an outer tower so high up in the air the fog around him felt stretched. He sprinted across the bridge toward the tower through the fog, rusted metal creaking and groaning under him when a green light burst through the mist behind him, revealing the hulking form of a man in heavy armor lumbering at him. He stopped, turning only to see another man stalking across the bridge, thin lightly armored frame illuminated by the blazing Wildfire at his back. The thin man smiled, teeth and eyes flashing green in the light as he aimed a slingshot like weapon at him.

"Nowhere to run now," he sneered as he loaded a round bottle of wildfire into his weapon, his partner chuckling as he swung his stone hammer back and forth.

"Huhu, nowhere to hide neither!" He cheered dimly as the Lost lion found himself backed against the bridge's rusted side walls, which began to crumble as soon as he touched them. He imagined the shards of decayed metal tumbling through the fog as he pulled out his sword, ready to fight when a sudden shift in the fog ahead and an old impulse gave him an idea.

"Nowhere to hide, nowhere run," he said with a sing-song voice, smirking behind his helmet. "But to fall? Now that sounds fun." His attackers only had a moment to realize his meaning before the red and gold armored man threw himself over the edge of the bridge and plunging through the fog.

"NO!" The thin man yelled, running to the spot their prey had leapt from, just in time to be knocked flat on his back as a massive pair of brightly colored bat like wings burst up through the mist. The massive Wyvern's wings beat furiously, climbing with its rider up through the fog and beyond the range of their attacker's weapons.

"That was close," He breathed as his mount's wings leveled , letting him sit up on the beast's worn leather saddle. The wyvern beneath him was unique, not only in that it was one of the few trained to be ridden, but in his dusty gray scales, stained by the same volcanic fires they had found each other in. His wings though, the underside at least, retained the vibrant green, blue and yellow mating patterns of all male Sothoryros Wyverns, made distinct from their valyrian cousins only by their longer antler like horns and the inability to breath fire. He grunted at his rider, the two understanding each other as only rider and mount could.

"You're right," He said grimly as the pair navigated their way through the mist as the towering obstacles hidden within "Seems we can rule out poachers or pirates. Only desperate mercenaries would follow a quarry here." He glanced left as a titanic form loomed out of the fog, smooth edges wrapping seamlessly around its frame as it rose higher and higher, so large you could neither see the bottom nor the top through the mist.

It was larger round than Harrenhal, yet the Coliseum was the least know of the nine wonders made by man, perhaps because no one knew if it was made by men. Rider and mount moved as one, turning and banking through the rusted and cracking spires of the mythical city built so long ago that no record survived of it's builder's name. They were a ghost story told at night by the villagers of the surrounding islands for warnings and wonderment, however the storyteller wished to cast the now long dead people known only as the Great Beings.

Such was the size of the city, the sun was starting to set by the time open sea appeared under his mount's wings and the fog began to thin. He cast a single glance back, into the mist surrounding the island city few ever dared approach, and even fewer lived to tell of, thankful beyond words his actions had saved six precious souls from having to brave the ruined City of Legends.

Now came the hard part though: getting the items he had retrieved to the ones fate meant to wield their power before the enemy found them first.

Much further south, a similar mist sat over the Gulf of Grief, and sat unmoving off the Isle of Cedars. Slowly however a soft glow slunk forth from the fog, revealing thousands of lanterns illuminating a flotilla of massive three masted ships, their hulls as long or longer than their masts were tall. Onboard each vessel dark skinned men were marching up and down the decks, a changing of the watch as each ship's tall sand filled hourglass revealed the late hour. One ship however was larger than all the rest, it's entire length from fore-castle to stern bristling with strange column like metal objects. Weapons the ships commander knew would be a powerful tool very soon.

"Chieftain," A voice called from behind, causing the tall broad shouldered man standing at the ship's front to turn himself to look. The younger man was without their kind's typical armor, though in the heat of Salver's Bay it wasn't surprising. like the chieftain his skin was almost pitch black, broken up only by the whites of his eyes, teeth, and the bright red designs tattooed across his body.

"We've just passed the ruins of Ghozai Sir," he said in their native tongue. "With good wind, we shall arrive in Bhorash by dawn."

"A welcome rest," His Chieftain remarked, looking up at the ship's fan like sails, then back to the sea ahead of them. "Signal the rest of the fleet. Tell the ships carrying our women and children to continue on to Bhorash. All other's will follow in my wake."

"Sir?" The warrior asked nervously, expecting to earn a swing of the chief's infamous cleaver like sword. But what he got was a low dry chuckle.

"There is a new Queen in Meereen warrior," He smiled darkly. "If the rumors are to be believed, she commands three growing dragons. Tell me, if you had beasts such as that at your beck and call, would you consider a few lowly envoys pleading peace a threat?" The warrior hesitated a moment, afraid of a trick question.

"No, no Sir."

"Nor would I. So instead, we shall pay this liberator a visit. And then," He smiled, stretching his tattooed face until the designs seemed they might snap, "we shall give the Mother of Dragons a small display of our might, and show her what real firepower is."