And they all lived happily ever after, the Narrator wrote. When she had finished, the Narrator glared at those words, hating every syllable of them. The Narrator had lost count of how many times she had written those words, so mocking of the Narrator’s life. The Narrator wanted to tear up the page, and throw it into the fire that crackled next to her, but she knew that it would be no use. The flames were enchanted to not burn anything, and if the Narrator drew attention to herself, than all of her carefully laid plans would be found out. The Narrator would not let the last three thousand years of subservience be wasted.

     Instead, she refocused her anger on the true cause of her imprisonment. A long long time ago, before even the Narrator’s immortal uncles and aunts could remember, some grandfather or grandmother, spilled the brazier of fire from the sky, and down to the humans below. Whether it was on purpose, or an accident, no one of the Narrator’s family quite knew, as the gods had immediately killed the unfortunate ancestor, along with their spouse. But, that wasn’t enough. The Narrator’s fists clenched as thought of the supposed benevolent gods. They had decided to stop the ‘wicked gods’ from crossing dimensions to the iron world where the two servants’ family lived. No, instead they entered that iron realm for their own revenge. The Narrator closed her eyes and instantly saw the moment when everything in her life had unraveled.

     A curse, the gods had declared, on the Arryn family. Each to their own personal hell. The Narrator had not believed then that anything could be that bad. She had been wrong. And the worst bit, was that thanks to a ‘gift’, from those gods, the Narrator could see the punishments of each member of her family. An uncle who was an advisor to kings whom he loved, but whose advice was always ignored, to the said kings’ perils. A father who led wicked armies into battle to pillage and harm the innocent. An aunt trapped in the frozen wastelands who over the centuries had slowly gone mad. It was no surprise when she had saved a boy that had been trapped in the endless winter, bringing him to her empty ice castle as some company. Only to have him cruelly snatched away. Each of them lived in misery, until the gods gave them some snatch of hope. And then crushed it.

     Those pretentious, bickering, good for nothing, gods, the Narrator thought, thinking the last as though it were a curse word, causing her to sneer. But never mind. She must be good. After all, she was almost ready. The moment that the gods looked away, convinced that she had been broken by this chilly mountain cave, with its endless library of Happily Ever Afters that she could never hope for, she would strike. Carefully, the Narrator listened, craning her head to see if she could hear the wings of Har, the minor death god who guarded her door, the perfect keeper. After all, she was meant to be entombed here for eternity. Who better than a death god to ensure that she didn’t escape her living burial.

     But now, his fluttering was less frequent, the flap of the wings only happening every few seconds, just enough for him to stay afloat in the air. He was drunk, as he often was, as cursed as she was in being stuck in a place where nothing happened. But, the Narrator didn’t feel any sympathy. He had chosen to be here. She had been trapped here. So, quietly, the Narrator set down her quill, and instead unearthed a book that she had found just a few centuries ago. She opened it to the page that she had memorized, and smiled. Freedom was within her grasp.

     A loud thunk filled the room as Har finally fell asleep. His drunken stupor won out, causing him to crumple to the ground. Smiling, the Narrator crept softly around his bony figure, as she edged closer to the door. As softly as possible, she pushed the large, wooden door open. He had left it unlocked, just as she knew that someday he would. Grinning from ear to ear, the Narrator stepped outside, and then quickly closed the door behind her. She heard the lock click into place, and the Narrator laughed. That would slow him down a bit.

     Then, she turned around to trek down the mountain where she had long been imprisoned. The sharp, almost unbearably cold wind felt wonderful against her skin, and raked its claws down her lungs until they were bloody. And yet, it felt wonderful, this pain, for the air, though thin, was so much better than the stale air that had sustained her for millennium.

     When the Narrator finally touched her bare feet to grass, she smiled and looked back at the mountain. She pulled out the book and flipped through it until she found the page that she wanted. She didn’t have to do this, of course, as part of her punishment had been the ‘gift’ of omniscience, or all knowing. The Narrator smiled in glee as she let her mind wonder back to the cave when Har was now howling in fury. The gods had never considered that giving the Narrator such a powerful ability would end up biting them in the back end. Still smiling an eerie grin, the Narrator turned around, her black hair flying out behind her, as she turned her abilities to the book. Six magical relics, that was all she needed. Six, and freedom could be hers. The Narrator could feel the invisible chains that still bound her to the gods’ will. They wouldn’t for much longer.

     The Narrator had returned to the mountain which she had left just six months ago in this world’s time. She stood on a ledge of the mountain, gazing down at the two armies that had gathered in the valley below, all thanks to the gods’ machinations. When the gods’ wanted blood, they got blood. The Narrator shook her head in disgust at the display, and proceeded to continue with her work. She would need to make the spell perfect if she wished to topple the gods. Only objects made by the gods had enough power to destroy their ties to this world. Only when they could no longer touch the Narrator and her family would they leave them alone.

     Gently, so as not to awaken their latent magic too early and bring attention to herself, the Narrator placed each holy object in a perfect circle. First, the roses of the goddess of love. Then, the gauntlet of Gunn, the scepter of Reah, the shield of Dorwin, and the unholy dagger of Ferro. Lastly, the Narrator placed the yolk of Agrara, and she was finished. All that was left was to activate the circle.

     Stepping inside the circle, the Narrator summoned the magic that she had been quietly cultivating for years, allowing it to merge with the power of each relic, creating an unbreakable circle to protect her while she completed the ritual. “Lass!”

     The Narrator swung around to see who had called her, and her heart almost stopped in shock. There, standing in the snow, was the girl who had been practically her sister, who had fought alongside her, who had defended her. This was a girl whom the Narrator loved, and for a moment she was confused. After stealing the last relic, she had closed off her omniscience, not wanting to see the hurt that she had caused those she had betrayed. Like this girl.

     “Lass”, she called. “Please, stop”.

     “I have to do this Idris”, she called back, unsure of why she felt compelled to respond.

     “No you don’t”, Idris called, her features calm. “The gods will free you from whoever has imprisoned you. They are just and kind. Just come back”.

     Idris was holding out her hand, but with those words of her blind faith, the Narrator felt nothing but rage. “The gods stole everything from me”, she screamed. “Let them come, I will tear each of them apart from their home, just as they tore me from mine”.

     Idris seemed shocked, likely because she had never heard such blasphemy. The Narrator turned back to her work. Fueled by her rage, she gathered the relics’ magic, pulling it inside her, until she felt bursting with the raw power. Then, something slammed against the shield, allowing a little bit of the magic to slip through her fingers. Idris was pushing against the shield trying to get through. “You can’t do this Lass”, she called. The word Lass only pushed the Narrator to gather the magic even faster. Lass wasn’t a name but a placeholder. She had had a name once, before the gods. “Please Lass”, Idris cried again. “You don’t understand what you’re doing. You will throw the entire world into anarchy!”

     The Narrator didn’t care. She wanted freedom. With a wave of her hand, the Narrator shut her out, raising a shield around Idris that not even sound could penetrate. Instead, the Narrator gazed down at the battle below. The archers were pulling back bows, the knights readying to charge, and there, down below, was her father, reluctantly readying for another forced battle. The Narrator sensed her chest filling with magic, she felt as, at last, the relics were empty. Then, she used her omniscience, and saw the chains that bound her to this world. They looped around the mountain, before shooting up to connect to the heavens above. With pleasure, the Narrator took the chain the led to the sky, and pulled like it was an obnoxious weed. She felt the roots of the chains rip out of the mountain, and out of her body in a burst of pain. She heard hear the cries of rage echoing down from the heavens as the gods turned their attention from the battle about to unfold, to her.

     Even down on the battlefield, the fighting stopped, as they turned to face the shining star that shone from the mountain above. Quickly, the Narrator searched the world for the other chains that bound the heavens to this wretched world. She pulled up every single one, noting as her family collapsed in relief from the loss of their binding’s weight. As she finished, she pulled the magic back inside her. Finally, she stood still, reveling in the cold mountain wind, and the sunshine on her face. In the cries of joy and dancing of her family throughout the world. The Narrator ignored the screams that echoed through the world as temples collapsed, and magic failed. She ignored the panic, and the fear, instead reveling in a new feeling she hadn’t felt in millennium. The feeling of belonging. Of a name. In that moment Julia Arryn was the most powerful being in the world. In that moment, Julia Arryn was free.