Author's Note's: Holy cow, I've never had so many reviews/favorites/followers before at the beginning of a story like this. Keep it up, guys!

I know it's been a while since I updated this story, but try to understand that I have four active stories, I beta for a friend of mine, and I just recently got my internet connection back. That, combined with school and trying to get a job makes my writing time little to none. I'm trying, I promise, so just hang in there.

You should all go check out The Colors of Darkness by Dreaming of the Sky. Pretty good story, there. Also, I'm kinda co-writing a story with the author ShoredKafka. It's a Naruto x Inheritance Cycle crossover featuring Hashirama Senju. You might like it, so go take a look. It's called A Fallen God Rises by ShoredKafka. I just got started, so the first chapter (which is the prologue) is purely ShoredKafka, but I will be helping him write it from now on. It's an interesting idea to say the least.

Special thanks to my beta, Dreaming of the Phoenix.

The Last Son

Chapter Four – Pain Cometh

The Lannister fleet was gone, set aflame by Euron and Victarion Greyjoy, brothers of Balon. Lannisport had been raided, giving the Ironborn freedom to both launch an attack against Seagard, seat of House Mallister on Ironman's Bay, and raid the coastline. It was a clever, extremely tactical move no doubt devised by Euron Greyjoy. The man was a strategic genius, and had proven himself such in multiple battles. If Seagard was lost, the enemy's morale would skyrocket, and the Iron Throne would look incompetent. While Robert was considered King of Westeros by the majority population, some still thought him nothing but a usurper. Losing so many battles to one of his own kingdoms made him look weak, and if there was one thing Robert wasn't, it was weak.

"Are you absolutely sure that Jason Mallister is prepared for battle?" Robert asked his squire, a young Baratheon – one of his many cousins, probably – who was chosen for the job. He had the boy, James was his name, send a raven to Seagard, warning them of the coming enemy.

"Yes, Your Grace." James replied. "We received word from them yesterday. They are fully prepared for an attack. If the Ironborn try to take Seagard, they will surely parish." James seemed like a confident young man, and fit for war. He was the perfect person to squire for the king.

"They'd better be." He said lowly. He didn't have time for unprepared Lords. Stannis, his younger brother and Master of Ships, was already sailing in the Sunset Sea, and would most likely meet the Ironborn fleet somewhere just off the coast of Fair Isle. Robert knew his brother, and even though he didn't much love or remotely care for the man, he knew that he was a decent commander. The Ironborn fleet would be crushed, he knew it.

As James left the king to tend to his other duties, Robert sighed, closing his eyes so that he could better feel the waves that washed up against the ship they were on. Despite his outwardly appearance, he was worried. Sure, he enjoyed war, almost more than anything, but even more than anything, he loved his son, Lyanna's son. Even after all these years – it almost staggered him when he realized that it had been a decade – his heart still belonged to Lyanna Stark, to Marcus's mother. It terrified him, though, because with each passing day, it was harder and harder to remember her beautiful face. He had tried to drown himself in whores and wine, but whenever he saw Marcus look at him with those big, black eyes, all he could see was Lyanna, looking at him in sorrow and disappointment.

He chuckled cynically. Even when she was gone, she still chastised him. But that was okay; he still loved her all the same. It was a reminder, a subtle push whenever he looked into his son's eyes. It helped him stay him, to stay Robert Baratheon, the man who would destroy a dynasty for the people he loved. His name would be remembered for centuries, forever, as the man who could and did conquer Westeros for his one true love, for Lyanna.

His son… Marcus hadn't woken up before he left… He didn't know if he was awake yet or not, and he wasn't sure if he'd ever wake. His son was fighting for his life, and Robert wasn't going to let him do it alone. He'd fight, gods, he'd fight. He'd risk his life right alongside his son, and when he charged into battle against these bastard Greyjoys, Marcus would be in his heart and mind, guiding his blade as he painted the earth crimson. This, he would do for his son. He'd do anything for Marcus. Anything.

That's why he had his best men with him. As much as he loathed admitting it, Jaime Lannister was one of the greatest swordsmen the king had ever seen. He was quick, so very quick, and his skill was nearly unmatched. He'd kill many Ironborn for him, he was sure of it. And when Jaime looks at his son, Robert knew there was something there, something very powerful. It smelt of loyalty and fealty, and it was so much more potent than anything the Baratheon could ever inspire. Ned was the only person who ever looked at him with those eyes, eyes that expressed just how much they trusted him. Eddard Stark would march into the Seventh Hell by Robert's side if he so asked. And even though Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard, and swore an "unbreakable" oath to serve and protect him, Robert knew that lion's loyalty was with Marcus, the King of Kings. That kind of loyalty transcended any man-given oath.

And when the king remembered that Marcus hadn't even made it to his tenth nameday yet, he was truly baffled at how incredible his son was. The prophecy about his son wasn't so hard to believe anymore, not when he'd seen everything his son had done already.

Barristan Selmy was said to be the most dangerous man alive, able to simultaneously fight fifty men. He had slain some of Westeros's most dangerous criminals, and fought in more battles than most men could claim to have even seen. He was faster than Jaime Lannister, and his skill was far greater as well. He had more experience than Robert and Ned combined, and he was still in his prime, easily the greatest knight of the realm, even still. That's why he was chosen to be one of the generals of this war, along with the Kingslayer, Eddard Stark, Stannis Baratheon and Tywin Lannister, but the latter was a case of military support more than anything now that his entire fleet was burning in Lannisport. Funds played a crucial role in war, even someone who wasted more gold than entire kingdoms knew this. And the Lannisters were the richest people in Westeros.

"You alright, Robert?" the voice of Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, spoke out behind him. Ned was like a brother to the king, and the two were raised together under the care of Jon Arryn. If there was one man Robert could trust with his life, it was Ned. Eddard was the most honorable man Robert could truly call friend, and there wasn't a man alive he'd rather go to war with by his side.

"Aye." Robert replied. "Just thinking, is all." He said. His eyes gazed out at the seemingly never ending waters, lost in thought.

"Uh oh…" Ned began. "Careful with that, Your Grace. The last time you had that look in your eye, we ended up killing every Targaryen in Westeros…" Robert was terrifyingly good at war, and even better at killing things. If he was properly motivated, he could do anything.

"Not all of them…" he said casually. He hated the Targaryens, every last one of them, but he was too busy worrying about his son to care about children who had just barely escaped with their lives nine years ago.

"What's on your mind?" Ned asked. The Warden of the North had dropped everything when he received word of the Greyjoy's treason. Marcus was his sister's child, and his nephew. He loved the boy almost as much as his own children, even though he had yet to meet him. Robert didn't even have to ask Ned if he'd join the war. All he sent with the raven was: The Ironborn tried to assassinate Marcus. I'll see you soon. That was it. No royal order, no call of duty, not even a plea, nothing. With those ten words, Eddard Stark assembled his house guard, and met with the king's forces just outside Blackwater Bay. Even if Marcus hadn't been born in the North, he was still of the North. He was still family. And no one fucked with the North. No one.

"I miss her…" Robert spoke. "I miss Lyanna more than I know how to deal with." He had a faraway look on his face. "I promised to take care of our son, Ned. I promised I'd keep him safe, and I couldn't even do that right." His hands tightened, turning into fists. "They tried to hurt him in my own backyard." He finally looked at the Warden of the North. "And you want to know the worst thing?" He asked. "My son had to witness the death of the woman he secretly called mother. He thought I had no idea, but I did. I've heard him call that woman, Arya, his mother more times than he's said Lyanna's name. And they killed her, in front of him." He looked away, ashamed. "I wasn't meant to be a father, Ned… not without her, not without Lyanna keeping me in check. I hate all of this. I hate being king; I hate my wife and our children. I hate King's Landing and I hate all of Westeros. I hate the gods, the old and the new…" he shook his head. "I hate everything, everything except that boy, and I can't even keep him safe…"

Ned had just listened to his friend as he got everything off his chest. Ned knew Robert didn't ever share his feelings with anyone, not even him, but he also knew that a man needed to say certain things sometimes, and he would be the much needed ear for the man he called brother. He didn't mention the fact that his daughter, who was extremely close to her second nameday, was also named Arya.

The king continued. "I wasn't even there when he first wielded a sword, or took his first steps. I'm failing the one person I actually want to give the world to, and I can't seem to stop. I'm slowly losing him, I know I am, and once I no longer have Marcus, I won't have anyone." He chuckled bitterly. "I'll truly be all alone in this shit excuse for a world." Sure, he had two living brothers, and a wife and two other children, but all of them meant nothing to him. It was a sad thing to admit, but Robert was not a liar.

The two men who had utterly destroyed the Mad King and his entire army were silent for a moment, just watching the sun as it set on the horizon, leaving them so that the moon could illuminate them.

Before they could continue, the voice of the king's squire, James Baratheon, was heard, his tone urgent. "My King!" he shouted, holding something. "My King, if it pleases you, a raven from King's Landing arrived!" Robert span so fast he surprised Ned for a moment. Eddard had seen the man move so fast since they were in the heart of enemy territory during their rebellion.

Robert took the message from James and read it, white-hot anger increasing by the letter.

Your Grace, Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm,

It brings me, Jon Arryn, Head of House Arryn and Hand of the King great pleasure to inform you that your son, Prince Marcus Baratheon, has awoken from his slumber a fortnight ago, perfectly healthy and cognitive. We would have reached word sooner, but it would seem the prince has disappeared. His last words were to the High Septon and Queen Cersei Lannister. He proclaimed that he would make the Iron Islands know pain. Whether this was an empty threat or not, we have not been able to locate the prince.

Be well, Robert, and may The Seven watch over you.

A rather long message, and not what Robert was expecting. "A fortnight?" he asked, incredulous and outraged. "My son has been up for a fortnight, and I'm just hearing about this now?" Ned hadn't seen this kind of rage on Robert's face since he learned Prince Rhaegar Targaryen had kidnapped Lyanna.

"Let me see it, Robert." Eddard held out his hand, and accepted the parchment when Robert all but slammed it into his hand. Reading the message, Ned nodded. "I see…" he then looked at the king. "Jon probably wanted to find him first before he gave you the news." He could still see the storm in the king's eyes, proving he was truly a Baratheon. "Calm down, Robert. We'll find him, I swear it."

"How, Ned!?" Robert shouted. "How can you promise me something like that!?" his voice was so loud Eddard could feel it vibrating off his sword.

"He is a Stark and a Baratheon, in case you forgot." Ned said seriously. The wolf locked gazes with the stag. "Just ask the Targaryens, we're bloody stubborn. Marcus will be fine if what you say about the incident in the gardens is true." Eddard Stark didn't know what to think when he learned about Marcus's exploits in what was now being called the Stranger's Meadow, but he also knew that Ser Barristan Selmy was a good man, an honorable man, and he would never lie to the king about such matters. Ned's own father had spoken highly of Selmy, and the Warden of the North never knew his father to be wrong.

As the last rays of light slipped past the waterline, Robert just looked to the darkening skies. "I hope you're right, Ned. I really do…"

Ned had never heard such a gentle, vulnerable tone from the brute named Robert Baratheon, and he didn't know how to react to it. So, he did the only thing he could, he placed his hand on his brother's shoulder and nodded, watching as the uncountable stars began to grace them with their presence.

He was so fast... faster than any ordinary man could possibly hope to move. Such speed was inhuman, and that's what he felt like as he moved as fast as the wind, inhuman.

One

His body just moved on its own accord. He was moving faster than their inferior eyes could see, their men dropping before they knew what was even going on.

Two

They had burnt the Lannister fleet so successfully that they grew arrogant, and arrogance was the downfall of the weak. And oh did they fall, like flies after their brief existence was at its end.

Three

They didn't have any idea what hit them. They had been making their way up the shore to the walls of Seagard, ready to take the seat of House Mallister. Led by their "king's" son, Rodrik Greyjoy, they felt invincible… that was, of course, until their men began to fall, dead before they hit the wet sand. Something was there, with them, slaying them like they were cattle.

Four

Some tried to flee… they were the first to die painfully. The rest wanted to fight, they wanted to face this threat head on in the name of their false king, but they simply could not. How could you fight what you could not see?

Five

A glimpse here, a shadow there, this was all "Prince" Rodrik Greyjoy could catch as his men were all slaughtered before him, their lives ended before they even knew they were injured. This wasn't a battle, or war. Battles and wars meant two sides fighting for a goal, both having some chances of success. No… this was murder, slaughter… this was the epitome of terror.

Six

When the bell in the Booming Tower rang the sixth and final time, Rodrik realized, with no small amount fear and anxiety, that he was the last. He was the last man standing, the rest were just… gone. Five hundred men… He had come here with five hundred men… if he had the time, he would have known that nearly two hundred of those men were lying on the bloodied sand, gone from this world for eternity. The rest were running towards the sea, preferring to chance survival and swim in the pitch black waters of the night rather than die at the hands of a shadow.

"Tell me, Prince Rodrik…" a voice that sounded very young and very cold spoke behind him.

"Are you afraid yet?"

"The Greyjoy are traitors to the crown and have already committed multiple acts of treason against the Iron Throne and royal family, including the attempted assassination of Prince Marcus Baratheon." Jason Mallister, Head of House Mallister and Lord of Seagard spoke to his men. They were all wearing full armor, armed with weapons of war, ready to face the coming battle. "King Robert has graciously warned us of the Greyjoy forces who are planning to take Seagard from us." Jason narrowed his eyes. "Let's show these bloody traitors what we're made of!"

A roar of agreement and loyalty sounded out, the men ready to crush the Greyjoy scum. Jason Mallister, the Lord of Seagard, was a charismatic, strong leader, who had earned his position and titles, being the youngest of his father's sons. He was an exceptional swordsman, and his forces knew it. They would charge into battle next to him not because they were bound to his House, but because they trusted in his leadership and individual skills. He was an excellent commander, and they would all show the Greyjoy they weren't to be trifled with.

When the great gate opened, and the men loyal to House Mallister poured out of the large castle walls, ready to face their enemy, they hadn't expected to see… this…

Bodies littered the shore like stars in the sky, the sands turned red. The moon lit the darkness of the night, showcasing the bloodshed like the owner of a whorehouse did with his women. And in the wake of the fallen, a boy stood, wearing the blood of his enemies like it was war paint, a man kneeling before him, his collar within the boy's grasp.

Jason had seen war before. He had seen the kind of violence men could inflict on one another. He'd seen hundreds of dead, motionless bodies in his lifetime, yet, he'd never seen a sight as truly frightening yet simultaneously beautiful in his entire life. It was like art, the perfect piece of the world today.

It was blood and bone, the perfect cacophony of chaos and war.

The boy leaned down, whispering something in the man's ear, a man Jason recognized as Rodrik Greyjoy, the firstborn son and heir of Balon Greyjoy. Rodrik's eyes widened when he heard what the child had said, and tried to cry out, tried to beg for his miserable existence. But his pleas fell on deaf ears, because mercy was not shown to the man.

The boy slowly slid a small dagger through Rodrik Greyjoy's throat, ending his life. Jason did not miss how the boy kept his eyes on Rodrik's as his life slipped away.

"L-Lord Mallister…" one of Jason's men whispered from his right. "What… is going on?" he asked.

Jason was just silent, watching as the boy took his dagger from the now dead Greyjoy heir's throat, placing it in a bag that was tied to the back of his waist. The boy then turned his head towards them, and that's when the Lord of Seagard saw them.

The eyes that was black atop crimson. Those eyes glowed in the night, staring at them as if they could see through their souls. The fear of god was struck within Jason Mallister that night. Whatever god it was, he wasn't sure, and he wasn't sure if he really wanted to know, but that night, Jason Mallister became a religious man.

And he knew exactly who this boy who had eyes that terrified grown men was. He was their prince, their "King of Kings". He was Marcus Baratheon, firstborn son of King Robert.

The look on Marcus's face was cold, like steel. He turned to the sea, his eyes gazing at the hundreds of frightened men who tried to get away by actually swimming away. Jason and his men witnessed the boy jump, leaping several hundred feet in the air over the sea. He then…

"I-Is he…" another of Jason's men tried to begin…

Marcus landed on the water, standing atop it, as if he were on solid ground. The boy was walking on water like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Crouching, the young prince then touched a single finger to the water, his pointer, and was still for a moment, listening to the screams of the multiple men all around him. Some cursed him, some pled for their lives, some prayed to their gods, both asking to be saved and forgiven for their past sins. None of their words matter, though. Their gods turned from them that night, unwilling to look upon the boy who would soon be able defy the very laws of the world. Nothing they said would reach their gods, and they'd all be gone soon.

Marcus then told them what he had told Rodrik Greyjoy. "Know pain." He whispered. He then sent a wave of lightning through the water.

The men of Seagard watched as the Ironborn traitors were electrocuted, a word most of them didn't even know. Blue light shone, flashing in the darkness, lighting up the sea. The crackle of the lightning was heard by everyone, and the smell of burnt and crisp flesh was strong.

Marcus then turned back to face Jason Mallister and his guard, their eyes locking gazes. And then, Marcus Baratheon flickered out of existence, gone with the wind.

Every soul there would remember what they had seen until the day they took their last breath, and it wasn't because the bell in the Booming Tower had rang for the first time in three hundred years.

They had seen the Child of Prophecy for the first time that night, and the birth of a living legend.

Marcus of the Red Sand was born, his moniker given to him for his exploits that night at Seagard, where he dyed the sands red with the blood of those who would dare oppose him.

"Have you heard, Barristan?" Jaime Lannister asked Barristan Selmy, the two "true knights" of King Robert's Kingsguard sailing in the dead of night. Jaime and Barristan had been the only Kingsguard to survive Robert's Rebellion. After the war was over, the rest of the "eternal" order had been filled with the unwanted guidance of politics, men chosen who weren't particularly skilled or at all honorable, to please some of the noble families. It was idiotic, but most of the time politics was involved, things were seldom logical.

"I heard this afternoon…" Barristan replied to his fellow Kingsguard. Barristan did not agree with Jaime's actions concerning the "Mad King", seeing his act of dirtying his sword with the blood of a king he swore to serve as dishonorable, but he still very much respected him. Jaime was a once in a lifetime swordsman, a man in his own league. Such prodigy was rarely discovered, and Barristan could look past the young man's previous oath-breaking ways, so long as he served their new king with diligence. "It worries me that I'm not more surprised or shocked." He added.

Jaime took a seat in the small quarters that were just for their use below the deck of the ship they sailed on. They were the generals of this war, and were being sent to subdue Old Wyk for the king, meaning, if Stannis Baratheon could destroy the Ironborn fleet and subdue Great Wyk, would pave the way for the Iron Throne to siege Pyke, the seat of House Greyjoy.

"That's exactly what I thought as well…" Jaime replied. He knew how Barristan felt; he had felt the same thing when he was informed. He sighed. Their quarters were small, the beds were uncomfortable, and the entire ship was chilling to the bone. It was the perfect setting for war. "Five hundred men…" the lion whispered breathlessly, shaking his head in disbelief and awe. "I don't think I've killed five hundred men in my entire life…"

Barristan nodded, agreeing with Jaime's inclination. Five hundred men was a lot of men, an entire army, by some standards, certainly enough to take a castle. "He's the real deal, our Marcus." Barristan began. "I have a feeling that this is just the beginning…" They had received a messenger raven that afternoon from Seagard, informing everyone what had subsequently transpired. They had explained that, before they could even begin, the battle had been over, already in their favor. The Greyjoy forces – five hundred strong – had been slaughtered, ruthlessly massacred by "Marcus of the Red Sand", so named for "painting the sands of their shores red with traitor blood". Words like "magic" and "god-like" were being thrown around, and both Jaime and Barristan knew the king would either be relieved or furious – maybe even both. Robert was oddly gentle and caring with Marcus, and while he'd be extremely impressed with his son's achievement, he'd also be worried for the lad. Death and war were not child's play; it had severe psychological effects on one's conscious. He didn't want to lose his son to madness – it would have been the ultimate irony, seeing as how he rebelled against a king filled with madness.

"If he's angry enough to rush into war, then I think you're right." Jaime began. "He's not finished yet, not by a long shot." Barristan saw understanding in the young knight's eyes. "Arya was the most precious person in his life. When his father wasn't there, she was, always at his side. She was like the mother he never had, and they took that from him." A hard look entered the "Kingslayer's" eyes, and Barristan knew exactly what that look was. "They slit the woman he saw as a mother's throat, in front of him." Jaime shook his head. "He's not going to stop until they've paid him back. Blood for blood, that's the only currency that matters to him right now. His new moniker is appropriate, if unimaginative."

Barristan chuckled softly, nodding his head. "You know… I received "Barristan the Bold" when I was only ten years old." He reminisced. "I was trained in the art of combat since before I could walk. It was my life. And when I was ten, I decided I was ready to prove to Westeros that House Selmy – just a small, servant House – could be more than simple servants." Jaime listened with interest, always wondering how the man he was a squire for when he was just sixteen, when Barristan earned his incredible fame by slaying the leader of the Kingswood Brotherhood, Simon Toyne, earned his epithet. "I disguised myself as a knight, and I actually jousted with a Targaryen prince."

"Let me guess," Jaime began, "You knocked the prince off his high horse, and were named a knight for your "bold" behavior?" He asked.

Barristan just laughed. "Oh, if only life was so dramatic." He replied. After he stopped laughing so hard, be explained. "That prince showed me just how valuable experience was by knocking me off my horse with relative ease." He admitted. "I was given "Barristan the Bold" for getting back up and asking to go again." He chuckled. "God, I loved it all. I loved fighting, every kind of it. I was good at it, at war and battle, like our current king. But the older you get, and the more experience you attain, you start to hope that war never happens again. There's too much bloodshed, and with experience, you realize that life is more important than glory, and much more vital than we know."

"It sounds like you dream of peace, Ser Barristan," Jaime said, "A world without war."

After a small pause, Barristan nodded. "Yes." The older man replied. "Peace sounds nice…" But he knew that peace was as foreign as concepts could be. Even when they weren't at war, death and corruption ran free all around the world.

Suddenly, without preamble, the space between them and the door began to distort, causing both Jaime and Barristan to draw their swords. They watched with no small amount of awe as a single figure began to emerge from the "swirl" in the air, twisting in impossible ways as the very air itself spit the man out. They were silent as the man finally appeared, clad in a full length black cloak, red clouds decorating it. The man had a strange mask covering his entire head, like a helm. It was unlike any helm either Barristan or Jaime had ever seen, though. It was completely white, with three commas decorating black ripples that spread over the mask, two of which were how the man saw the world through. The design on the helm… it was the same as Marcus's crimson eyes before that day in the Stranger's Meadow.

"A world without war…" the man began in a deep, menacing voice. "This is what you seek, Ser Barristan?"

Jaime narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?" the Kingslayer asked. "And why have you boarded our ship?" He then remembered how the man just appeared in their room. "Better yet, how did you board our ship?"

"Trivial questions, Ser Jaime." The man replied, surprising Jaime a great deal. He wasn't used to people speaking to him with such respect. Usually, everyone confronted him like he was nothing but the "Kingslayer". "What I seek is much more important."

"He asked your name…" Barristan said. He didn't know why, or how, but this man felt oddly familiar. And the fact that he could stand so relaxed in front of Barristan the Bold meant he was either crazy or very, very confident.

"I am what I wish to end. I am what will end. I am what no man, no matter how powerful, can escape." The man's tone was dark and ominous. "I am what even fearless men are terrified of. I am God." The man explained. "I am Pain."

Barristan and Jaime narrowed their eyes, observing this self-proclaimed god as he stood before them. "And what do you want with us?" Barristan asked. His hand still had a firm grip on his sword, and his positioning made him capable of both attacking and defending on a moment's notice.

The man who called himself Pain was silent for a moment; the quiet washing over the rest of the room like it would overwhelm them. Then, Pain spoke, delivering his message onto the knight's.

"I'm going to make the world know peace through pain." He stated. "And you two are going to help me do that." He added as he slowly began to remove his mask.

The moment the two members of the Kingsguard saw what laid behind Pain's mask, all they could do was gasp and stare wide-eyed.

Mary, a woman in her early thirties, sighed. The wind played with her waist-length, black hair as she walked through the streets of Flea Bottom. She wasn't a particularly poor woman; her father had left her his money when he passed away. And while her father didn't have as much money as noble families, he had saved up a large enough sum that allowed her to buy a small house in King's Landing, and paid for her meals for a few months, enough time to allow her to find work.

And she had. Mary was an assistant of a rather prestigious blacksmith named Tobho Mott. He was somewhat bitter and untrusting, but there was no denying his skill with the hammer. She herself knew absolutely nothing about blacksmithing, but, fortunately, that was not a requirement for her job. She was expected to take care of his financial paperwork, keeping his finances and requests organized. She would also fetch the man tea or dinner occasionally, but only when he was working for hours without rest, and she took it upon herself to look after her boss.

Tobho didn't like her at first, something about her being "too pretty" to work in his dirty old shop. But after he got used to having her around, they got along just fine. And Marry was thankful for that. She needed this job, and she liked Tobho – after he stopped yelling at her every time she got something wrong. It was a small occupation, but she enjoyed it. She wasn't in it for the money, she just needed to survive.

"We just can't afford to hire anyone else." Mary repeated for the fifth time. "You don't take enough jobs to do much of anything after you buy the materials you need to forge." She explained again. Tobho was the kind of person that needed things explained to him multiple times before he actually understood.

With a great sigh, the blacksmith rubbed the back of his head. "Yeah, yeah… It's hard to get customers when it's not wartime." He snorted. "Damn peace! Unprofitable, child, that's all peace is, I swear!" he snarled. "Oh well, I'll just figure something else out then…" he said. "You can go ahead and leave for the day; I'm closing shop early today."

Mary nodded. With an elegance someone of her status had no business attaining, Mary rose from her seat, ready to head out for the day. She was, however, stopped when someone walked into their establishment.

"We're closed for the-" Tobho started, but immediately stopped. "H-High Septon?" the blacksmith stuttered.

Mary's eyes widened. She had never met someone of such importance in her entire life. His white robes and noble demeanor alone was enough to make Mary feel like an insect beneath his feet. The man was tall, and his entire aura spoke of confidence and, strangely, humility.

"I apologize for coming unannounced." The High Septon spoke.

"Don't be silly, your holiness!" Tobho exclaimed. "The leader of the Faith is always welcome here. What is it you wish of my humble skills, if I may ask?"

The High Septon smiled before pointing at Mary. "Ah, it is actually the young woman I wish to speak to, if that is alright with you?"

Silence and confusion filled the shop, with all eyes falling on the woman who had no idea what was going on at the moment.

"M-Me?" Mary asked, incredulous.

Nodding, the High Septon walked over to the woman and smiled. "I have been waiting to meet you for many years, child." Mary stood stiff and still, not understanding why someone like the leader of the Faith would ever want to meet someone like her. "Come," the holy man spoke, "we have much to discuss."

"Are you sure, High Septon?" one of the Most Devout asked. The High Septon had called a gathering, requesting all the Septs and Septas, Most Devout and the Silent Sisters to attend. "Are you truly sure this is what The Seven wish?" They were within the Great Sept of Baelor, in a place only the highest of believers and followers could enter. Not even the king had stepped foot in this room, where Baelor was said to have been graced by the presence of The Seven.

The High Septon, who was a tall man with light, dimming red-white hair that fell to his shoulders, smiled. He was a man so wise; he was chosen to be the High Septon from outside the Most Devout, something that rarely occurred.

"I am sure, my faithful friends." The holy man began. "This is the way it is to be." A gentle, knowing smile graced his face, and his robes were almost as pristine as the day he received them, which was strange, considering he spent a lot of his days in the poverty-stricken areas of King's Landing, such as Flea Bottom. "The Seven have told me so themselves." He finished. This man, this High Septon was special, for he had prophecies and visions. The Seven spoke through him, they had all seen it. He was the one to foretell the coming of the King of Kings, and he was the reason it had spread as far as beyond the wall.

"But to elect a simple common woman…" Septa Unella, a member of the Most Devout, spoke out. "Why would The Seven choose such a lowly peasant to succeed you? Why not one of us? Are we the highest ranking clergy for no reason?" Unella was an outspoken woman, not afraid to say what everyone was thinking.

"Have you already forgotten that I was also a simple commoner, Septa Unella?" The High Septon asked. Unella opened her mouth to retort, but fell short, unable to think of anything. "The Most Devout help govern and council The Faith, your positions are most definitely necessary and crucial for the upkeep of our god." He explained. "But we are men and women, and corruption can still sink its claws into us all." He continued. "Our plight is difficult, but we are expected to overcome the obstacles that are here to test of faith."

"But a woman?" another of the Most Devout asked. "There has never been a female High Septon. Ever." His name was Sept William. Everyone knew that he was a good, faithful man, but looked at women as inferior people. In his eyes, a woman could never lead the Faith of the Seven.

"It is not forbidden for a woman to hold my position, Sept William." The High Septon began. "Three of the aspects of The Seven are female, as you well know." Sept William narrowed his eyes and turned his head away, he, too, silenced by the lack of response. "The Seven have chosen the person they wish to lead their followers. It has already been decided."

"But why must you step down?" Sept Walter of the Most Devout asked.

The High Septon just smiled at the youngest member of the Most Devout. Sept Walter was young, but he was extremely loyal and his faith was firm, which was a major reason he was brought into the order.

"Worry not, friend." The High Septon replied. "The Seven have called for me." Hushed whispers rang out through the dim lit room. After a moment, there was silence once again.

"Are you saying that The Seven have called upon you to join them in the heavens?" Septa Unella asked skeptically. "Careful, your holiness, you are beginning to sound fanatical. We overlook your claims of being a prophet because you showed us proof." She crossed her arms, narrow eyes pointed at the man who controlled the Faith. "What proof do you have to support these claims?"

Curious eyes fell upon the "mouthpiece of The Seven", and the entire room was as silent as a crypt. With the stares of all his people, the High Septon smiled again.

"As you are all well aware, the Child of Prophecy, Marcus Baratheon, not only summoned, but commanded the Stranger in His Meadow."

"So says Jaime Lannister and the Queen." Sept William replied. "But how can we take the word of an oath-breaker and a woman who has no love for her husband?"

"Because the Stranger has told me so, Sept William." The High Septon spoke, surprising everyone. "He has come to me, whispering into my ear what is to come."

"Again," Septa Unella began, "what proof have you?" she asked.

"That is why I have called you all here today, my friends." The most holy man in Westeros began. His eyes began to gaze at everyone present, from the Septs and Septas to the Silent Sisters, and from the Silent Sisters to the Most Devout. "The Stranger, who is neither male nor female, has pledged itself to the King of Kings." He closed his eyes. "It is with us today, in this very room." It was at this moment that a… strange, cold feeling washed over them all. "The Stranger has come to take me, and speak The Seven's words to us." The feeling grew and grew, until everyone – who had previously been sitting – had to stand, unsure what they were feeling. Something… something was with them in that room. "We are the lucky souls of this world, my friends, for we will all meet the Stranger now…"

With those words said, the aspect of The Seven that represented death and the end of everything was upon them. It took the form of a man, with four mighty arms. It was an ethereal spirit, with eyes that glowed a menacing yellow, its body a dark blue-purple. It was giant, its head almost reaching the ceiling. It hovered over the High Septon like a guardian deity, watching the others like they were enemies.

And then, it spoke…

"Followers of the Faith," its voice was booming, shaking the walls of the Great Sept, "This one, which embodies death and the end of everything is among you." They knew exactly what this ethereal warrior was. "I, the Stranger, the sword and shield of Marcus Baratheon, the King of Kings, hereby decrees the one called Mary the new High Septon of our Faith. She will lead humanity to the truth, for you live in lies."

The Silent Sisters, who were considered servants of the Stranger, fell to their knees, silently weeping for the sight before them. They bowed their heads in reverence.

The Septs and Septas visibly cried tears of happiness, considering themselves blessed.

The Most Devout stood, staring at the Stranger in reverence and respect. Their god was among them – or, an aspect of their god – and they would show their gratitude. This was the greatest gift any of them could ever have been given.

"Now go," the Stranger began again. "Spread our word, let the world know. Everything is changing, a new era is coming. The time of peace is nigh. The Child of Prophecy is already among you. He will lead you to the new age of peace and harmony."

Suddenly, the Stranger disappeared, and the High Septon was gone with him.

But even the loss of their leader didn't hurt them, because he was with The Seven.

And there was much work to be done, starting with finding the woman chosen by The Seven to become the next High Septon.

They had to find the one called Mary.

But first, everyone took a seat, silence reigning supreme within the room. They had just seen the Stranger, had just been spoken to by an aspect of their god. Their shock and awe was warranted.

He looked down on them from atop their own ship, a contemptuous air about him. They hadn't noticed him yet, and they never would. His crimson eyes watched them like a god from the heavens, disgusted with what he saw.

The Sunset Sea raged like something fierce, the waters slamming into the ship like angry giants. They were just off the coast of Fair Isle, he noticed…

A fitting burial ground.

The Greyjoy, the scum that had taken away his mother… they would meet their god this day.

He took a moment to center himself, the agony of retribution – even if divine – weighing heavy on his heart. But he needed this. He had to accept the darkness within his soul before he could discover the light. If he didn't… he did not want to become another Sasuke Uchiha…

It was then that the agony vanished, replaced with determination and euphoria. It was time.

From atop the Greyjoy banner that flew strong and proud above the ship's sails, Marcus Baratheon leapt into the air, soaring several hundred feet, before flashing through hand-signs that were foreign yet familiar, and spoke the words of his enemies devastation.

"We have them on the run, my Lord." Paxter Redwyne announced from behind the King's brother, Lord Stannis Baratheon. The Master of Ships was a brilliant strategist, devising this clever trap for Victarion Greyjoy. They had the on the run, and it was looking like it would be one of the greatest naval battles in history.

"Good." Stannis replied. "Do not let up. This battle is ours."

"Of course, my Lord, we will continue our advance." Paxter said before his eyes widened at something behind the young Baratheon general.

"What is it?" Stannis asked, turning to observe what had struck the fear of the Seven in his right hand man. That's when he saw it…

"Suiton: Bakusui Shoha (Water Release: Exploding Water Colliding Wave)."

The screams of the Greyjoy brought him strange pleasure as he showed them their god.

A wave of water so massive that it blocked out the moon and stars came crashing down on the men who would bring pain to the King of Kings. The ocean swallowed them up whole, ships and all.

He let the Drowned God take them away.

And he liked it.

"Pain cometh, False King."

Author's Note's: Yoooo, the next chapter is going to be so cool I can't even explain how pumped I am to write it!

I have so much planned for this fic it's disgusting, so just be patient and kick back, because this is going to be a Naruto x Game of Thrones crossover you'll never forget.

Please review. Please review. Please review. Oh yeah, and please review!

Question: What are everyone's feelings on Madara and Sekirei? o.O *hint hint cough cough*

Fact: My roommate / aunt got me into Game of Thrones. I used to think it was lame because I didn't like shows that took place in fantasy worlds / old ages. But when we lost internet, she went to her sister's place and downloaded seasons 1-4 for me, and I binged watched the living hell out of it. The fact that we're here is proof enough that I liked what I saw.