Author's Note's: HI VINCENT!
Holy cow! This story has gained a lot of attention fast!
I was really shocked with how many reviews, favorites, and follows this story received. It's so awesome to know that my work is appreciated. Thank you, everyone, for such amazing feedback.
Guest: Show me what this God can do – you've unleashed the beast with that little sentence, my friend. It's on. I so hope you can keep up.
Now, there is a character, named Arya, in this chapter, who is Marcus's nanny. She is NOT Arya Stark, nor is she from the North. She's an OC, and her role is extremely important for this story, even if she isn't going to physically be in any future chapters…
I'd like to thank my beta, Dreaming of the Phoenix. Check out his work, you'll thank me later.
The Last Son
Chapter Two – The First Lesson
He walked beside his people, the people he found on his own. The people he grew strong with. The people he loved. That's truly what strength was. Love. By forging bonds and cooperating, he was finally able to fight the one man he wished he'd never have to. All of his hard work, all of his strength, it all felt so shallow when he couldn't even save his own brother from himself. He loved all of his people, all of his friends, but he couldn't save the love between him and his own flesh and blood.
He would fight his brother tomorrow. And they would both die tomorrow. Together.
He was panting. His body ached and burned, like he was on fire. He looked behind him, and his people wept, cursing him for ordering them not to interfere. He looked forward, and his brother was in the same shape as he. Hidden away in the jewel of the giant blue, ethereal warrior, he could see him. He was breathing hard, his eyes narrowed in rage and disbelief.
He looked at his hands, the hands of an adult, and he sighed. He was surrounded in golden flame, his mighty six arms poised and ready to strike or defend at his command. He wished they could just stop, but he knew that was impossible. His brother was bitter, enraged that father named him his successor.
He was his youngest son.
The sword of the titanic entity rose, and he knew his brother was ready.
His six arms came together, a giant sphere of black and gold energy coming into existence. The sphere grew and grew, until it was the size of a mountain. This was it.
Tears fell down his face. "We leave this world together, Aniki." He took a deep breath. "I'll see you in the next life."
He rushed forward, jumping into the air to drive his attack into the jewel of his big brother. It was time to die.
He was Asura.
Marcus Baratheon awoke in his bed, sweat pouring off his skin and tears running down his face.
He was silent for a moment, his eyes wide and his heart pounding. And then, he wept.
He screamed for his loss. He wept at the pain his heart felt for what he had to do. He cried loudly, and then he cried even louder. He killed him. He killed his brother, his family. Indra… Indra was gone…
A figure rushed into the room, her eyes wide in horror. He was screaming and crying uncontrollably. "What is wrong, my Prince?" She asked over his shouting. When she got no answer, she jumped into his bed, her arms wrapping around him in a tight embrace. "Marcus, what happened?" She asked in a shaky voice. Never before in her life as a maid had she ever seen a boy of only seven cry so hard. There was definitely something wrong.
Marcus's little body shook, his lungs screaming for air. He couldn't breathe. He… he... who was he?
"What in the name of the gods is going on in here, Arya?" Another maid who heard the screaming asked. She thought they were under siege for a moment there.
"Get the King! Now!" Arya shouted, her tone urgent. The younger maid nodded, running out of the doorway. "Shh, child, it is alright. Shh…" She tried to calm him with her voice. Her hand rubbed his back lightly and she rocked back and forth.
Suddenly, the boy stopped crying. Arya looked down at him, and was met by big, puffy eyes. And then, he asked her the question for the very first time.
"W-who am I…?"
It wouldn't be the last time he would ask that question.
He had changed. He knew it, and it was more than just physical. He thought differently, clearer. Everything was so much clearer. Colors were so wonderful now, so enhanced, so emphasized. Light was a different thing to him now. It no longer lit the darkness, but was actually visible to him, like he could reach out and hold it. The dark wasn't the same, either. No longer would he stumble in the darkness, for there wasn't a place where he couldn't see perfectly anymore. His perception changed, his eyes changed.
It had started with the burning. Oh, did they burn at first. It was the dreams, he knew it. He wasn't just making them up, how could he? And with them, the eyes that he watched them with changed. After the burning came the clarity. Clarity in both his surroundings and himself. He was weak, a meek child that couldn't defend himself against anything. These were the thoughts he had now, now that his eyes were different. They were such strange thoughts.
Why? Why did he have to get stronger?
He was only a child, but he knew that he was different, and he needed to do something about his weakness. He inhaled, feeling it inside him. He didn't know what it was, or why it was there, but he knew that it was there. Something stirred within him, humming, whispering to him to unleash it, to embrace it. And he could see it, but not just within him, but everyone… within everything. It… it was blue… blue and sometimes green. He wasn't sure why, but it was much larger within him than others, and even more so in the trees. He could spend hours just looking at a simple tree now, marveling at the blue-green colors that seemed to weep for him. It was a strange thought, but that's what he felt. The trees wanted him to command them, to speak to them.
He sighed… if anyone found out what he believed, they'd probably think him crazy, and lock him up in a dungeon somewhere. And then his father would have them all killed for touching him. He loved his father, very dearly, but he didn't like the way he did things. Life was such a precious thing, he knew that now. It was more valuable than gold and jewels, and more precious than anything. He hated death, despised it, even. He had killed so many times in his dreams; in his memories… it was too much. It was a vicious cycle, a cycle of hatred, pain and suffering. That cycle needed to be broken, and he, somehow, knew that he had to be the one to break it.
With every passing day, it grew, getting stronger and stronger. And with each passing day, it became clearer and clearer. He had to do something. That's why his eyes had changed. He was given the power to make a difference, to change it.
To change everything.
So here he was, in White Sword Tower, studying quite possibly the only two men who could help him with his goals. He wasn't an idiot – quite the contrary – he knew that the revealing of his eyes could be used against him, but it was worth the risk. He needed help; he wasn't going to deny it. He was a weak boy at the moment, a rather smart, incredibly perceptive boy, but a boy nonetheless. So he watched.
He watched them swing their mighty swords with great curiosity. His eyes followed the way they moved their feet, like dancers. He watched as they slashed their blades in beautiful arcs. He watched their every move, from their head to their feet, everything. He hadn't been so interested in anything so much in his entire life.
Considering that he was seven, that wasn't such a big surprise.
Jaime Lannister, the "Kingslayer", and Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the King's Kingsguard trained as Marcus Baratheon watched with great excitement. His eyes never left them, the two most skilled knights in all the realm. Jaime Lannister was a member of the Kingsguard when he was only a teenager, the youngest man to ever join the "honorable" group. The Kingsguard was comprised of the seven best knights in all seven kingdoms, supposedly, and they were tasked with defending the King at all times.
Barristan Selmy was an older man, but he was said to be the greatest knight to have been born since Aemon Targaryen. But whereas Aemon gained his fame through his sacrifice for the King, Barristan earned his fame through battle and blood. He had the loyalty of Aemon Targaryen, the skill of Jaime Lannister, and more experience than both of them combined. He was truly an amazing warrior, and that showed as he was watched by a certain raven-haired child.
Before he knew it, the Kingslayer's sword was on the ground, and his hands were held up, a sign of defeat.
Barristan smiled, chuckling. "That was a good spar, Jaime."
Jaime sighed, also smiling. "I'll get you next time, old man." Both men laughed, taking it all in good fun. Not many people knew it, but Jaime and Barristan got along quite well. There was a certain respect between the two of them, Marcus could see it.
"Ah, we seem to have a spectator." Barristan said, turning to Marcus. Jaime did the same, eyeing the boy. "Hello, my Price." The aged knight bowed.
"Hello, Ser Barristan. I apologize if I've bothered your duel…" Marcus replied. The boy was so mature and polite for his age, and his lessons with the Hand showed. He was well educated already; far above the level of the other children his age.
Jaime laughed. "I do hope you keep those manners when you're older." He would never say it out loud, but the way Prince Joffrey was already acting, he knew he'd be trouble. The blond-haired boy was only five years old, and he was already throwing temper tantrums as if he were already King. He did love the boy, though. After all, he was-
"I would like to train as well, Ser Barristan." Marcus interrupted Jaime's thoughts, stating a rather peculiar thing.
Jaime laughed, but Ser Barristan just gave the child a certain look. "You wish to train?" The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard asked. "Why?"
Jaime looked at the older knight, an incredulous expression on his handsome face. "You can't seriously be asking that question to a seven year old." He pointed to the young prince. "He's a little boy, Barristan; the King's favorite son, as well. He'll have both our heads if he's injured playing with swords. And that's only if he can hold one."
"I can hold one." Marcus said with confidence. "And I won't get hurt, either. I know how to use a sword." He stated.
Jaime just laughed at the child condescendingly. "Forgive me, young Prince, but that's impossible. You're only seven years old, and have no previous training." Jaime was no stranger to young prodigy, but even he was only still a child at seven – a rather brave, courageous child, but a child the same.
"I have dreams." Marcus stated, his gaze turning to the lonely sword that sat on the rack. "I'm swinging swords of all kinds in them, fighting hundreds of enemies all at once." Jaime sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Marcus ignored him, continuing. "I'm faster than the wind, and stronger than a hundred men." Ser Barristan looked at the boy with curiosity. "I've killed millions of people in my dreams, and with every new dream, it's another foe…"
"Dreams and reality are not the same, boy." Jaime began. He would not give the King anymore reason to hate Lannisters.
"Dreams, yes… but memories…" Marcus whispered. He was now at the sword rack, his still little fingers tracing the edges of the sword, his eyes falling down the blade as they went.
"You still haven't answered by question, my Prince. Why do you want to train?" Barristan asked again.
Jaime rolled his eyes and turned around, picking up his own sword and sheathing it. As he turned back, he saw Marcus Baratheon holding the sword he was previously touching. And unlike Jaime had thought, he could hold it like it was weightless.
He was wrong, then. He wasn't weak… it could be used to enhance his strength… but still, he needed to be taught. Having a book was fine and dandy, but if you couldn't read it, it was worthless.
Marcus swung the sword in the same fashion as Ser Barristan did when he disarmed Jaime in their spar, surprising both knights with the amount of detail that was in the swing. It was a perfect copy, in perfect form. It was another gift of his eyes; perfect memory. He could copy anything he saw with perfection, even if he only saw it once.
"It's what I'm meant to do…" the boy replied. "And you two were meant to help me." His eyes left the sword and met the eyes of the Kingslayer, and that's when the world first saw them.
It had been thousands upon thousands of years, but those eyes never die. Those eyes that are both a blessing and a curse upon the world, and they were now in the possession of quite possibly the most powerful person alive.
When Marcus's and Jaime's eyes met, Jaime was greeted by crimson orbs, with single commas in each.
The accursed eyes had returned.
Ser Barristan kneeled, his eyes falling to the floor. "My Prince…" he began, surprising Jaime with his show of obedience. "Ever since I saw the High Septon and all those people bow to you, I've known that you were different… special." He rose. "I would be honored to teach the King of King's the ways of the sword."
Not many people knew it – no one at all, actually – but Barristan was a firm believer in the prophecy. He wasn't sure why, but he knew it was his duty to show the Last Son the ways of the warrior. And now, after seeing eyes that no ordinary man could possibly possess… he was never surer of anything in his life.
Both Marcus and Barristan looked at Jaime, who looked as if he wasn't sure of something. He, too, was there when thousands of followers of the Faith of the Seven bent their knee to him. He was there when the High Septon himself touched the ground with his forehead in the presence of the "Last Son", the "King of Kings"… for Marcus Baratheon. He had felt it… that strange feeling the boy produced just by breathing. He was eerily perceptive, and oddly calm, even when being scolded, which wasn't often, the boy rarely did anything wrong. He was no angel, though. He was a child, and enjoyed playing childish games, but there was definitely something different about him.
Jaime Lannister just stared into those crimson eyes, his mind telling him one thing, and his heart another. He didn't know what those eyes were, or what made them so special, but he was a skilled warrior, a knight, and his instincts were telling him that those were the eyes of a predator, and not to be trifled with. It was a strange feeling, for sure. A child's eyes struck fear in him, and he didn't know why. It was like he was made to feel fear in their presence, like it was all around him, pushing down on his very being. "Why?" Jaime asked. "Why show me those eyes? Why ask me for help?" His sister hated Marcus, and the boy knew it, somehow. Why come to him with something like this, knowing that he could very well use it against him?
"Why not?" Marcus asked. "You are my uncle…" such an innocent, naïve answer…
"Why?" Jaime began. "I'm the Kingslayer, for one. A dishonorable, oath-breaker." The tone in his voice was low, ashamed. "And I'm not your uncle. Not really."
Marcus tightened his grip on the sword, closing his eyes and taking in a deep breath. When he exhaled, he opened his eyes and smiled at the blond Kingsguard. "I've heard what the High Septon says I am to do…" the boy looked scared. "I'm supposed to "slay god"…" in that moment, Jaime realized it. "I can't do any of that without help." Jaime realized that the boy was scared. "I need to learn; learn how to use a sword, a bow… I need to learn how to survive. If I'm to do what everyone think's I am, then I can't sit around doing nothing, and you two are the best warriors in all the realm. So please, I'm not asking you as your prince, or the King of King's… I'm asking you as Marcus Baratheon, to please help me." He had dreamt – or was it remembered? – a lot about both Asura and Indra, and he learned one important thing by doing so.
No one could accomplish their goals alone.
Jaime kept the boy's gaze for long minute, searching for anything else within those strange orbs.
And when he found nothing, Jaime Lannister did something his sister would kill him for if she ever found out.
He kneeled to his future King.
He stood on the mighty beast with nine tails, his powerful eyes encasing the creature in majestic attire. His best friend and worst enemy stood on the giant wooden man, the wooden dragon wrapped around its body. He took in a deep breath. This had to happen.
His power surged, the mighty beast stirring with it. And then he leapt, the demons jaws opening, producing a black sphere of energy. The sphere grew until it was bigger than the creature itself.
"We don't have to do this, Madara!" the man shouted at him. "We built the village together! It's our home, our dream!" His friends' words were true. It had been his dream. But it was never his home. His own people turned their backs on him. He was all alone, now. His family was gone, their blood soaking the earth. His brothers were laid in a grave now, and it was all the worlds fault.
The world was a cruel place. There could never be peace so long as they had their freedom. With that in mind, what he had to do was so clear now.
He needed to take their freedom from them. Only then could humanity live in peace, for it was humanity that caused chaos and suffering.
"No…" he started. "We do have to do this, Hashirama!"
With his goal in mind, he let the nine-tailed demon loose the sphere of pure destruction.
His eyes shot open, and he sat up straight. His bed was once again soaked in sweat, and his breathing was labored. He took a moment to calm himself, taking in a deep breath. After letting go of that breath, he closed his eyes, thinking.
'I am Marcus Baratheon. I am the son of the King. I am in King's Landing. I am Marcus Baratheon. I am the son of the King. I am in King's Landing.' Over and over again, he repeated those words. His dreams felt so real that even when he woke, he still thought he was the person in the dream.
Right now, he knew he was Marcus Baratheon, but his mind kept telling him that he was also Madara. He shook his head. No! He was not Madara! He was Marcus Baratheon, and he was the son of the King, Robert Baratheon!
The door opened, and a familiar face greeted him. "Another nightmare, my Prince?" Arya asked. She had a cup filled with milk and honey with her, already used to this. He'd have nightmares every night, and every night, she would be there for him, comforting him. He didn't have a mother, Lyanna Stark was dead, and the Queen didn't care much for the poor child. Cersei would never comfort him. So it was up to the boy's nanny, Arya, who was given the position shortly after the child's first episode by the King himself.
"Yeah…" Marcus nodded. He took the glass of milk and drank it. The cold liquid felt heavenly on his dry tongue and sore throat. "They're still so vivid… Does everyone have dreams like this?" He asked. He was still panting, and his eyes burned. He knew no one had dreams like him, but it helped him calm down when he created conversation. Arya's voice helped him remember who he really was.
"I'm afraid not, my Prince." Arya replied honestly. "I've never seen anyone have such night terrors before." She never lied to him, that's why he respected her so much. Arya was his motherly-figure, and one of his favorite people. "What was it this time?" she asked curiously.
Marcus was silent for a moment, his eyes closing as he remembered the entire dream with great detail.
"I was a man named Madara this time." He began. Arya paid close attention, always fascinated by the boy's dreams. "I was… angry. I was betrayed by my people, and all of my family was dead…" He put his hand on his forehead, sighing. "I think I was a bad person, Arya…"
His nanny shook her head. "You could never be a bad person, child." She spoke softly, rubbing his back lightly with her hand.
Marcus shook his head, though, his face grim. "No… I was…" he whispered. "I was a bad person… I was feared by everyone, and I could kill hundreds with my eyes alone." It was then that he froze, his eyes widening, fear evident in them.
"What, child? What is it?" Arya asked. She could clearly see his fear, like it was palpable.
"The eyes in my dream…" he started, slowly turning to the woman, "They were these eyes…" he whispered.
That was the first time Arya saw the accursed eyes. The eyes that were crimson, and had two spinning commas each.
Flea Bottom, the largest slum district in King's Landing, was a sad, sad place in the eyes of Marcus Baratheon.
Women walked the streets with their flesh showing for everyone to see. Children lay in the street, their dirty, hungry bodies enough to bring tears to the young Prince's eyes. Men fought other men, and people stole from one another. Flea Bottom was almost a completely different country compared to the rest of King's Landing, especially the Red Keep.
"Why do these people have to live like this?" Marcus asked his two companions. To his left was his faithful nanny, Arya, who was more like a mother than a nanny. To his right was Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.
"Poverty is present in every kingdom, child. The rich and powerful just choose to ignore it." Jon replied. The boy was only eight, but he understood more than most.
"Why doesn't my father help them? Isn't there something we can do?" Marcus asked. The smell alone was horrid, and the way the people hurt each other sickened him. "Can't we at least give these women clothes?"
Jon sighed, shaking his head. "Those women are called whores, Marcus. They make money by taking their clothes off…"
Marcus narrowed his eyes. "I don't like that word… they aren't whores, they're people." He crossed his arms over his chest. "There has to be something we can do for them…"
"That is why I brought you down here, Marcus. I have been teaching you since you were able to talk, and this is a lesson I wish I did not have to teach." Jon put his hand on the raven-haired boy's shoulder, a sorrowful look on his face. "I've brought you here so that you can learn that sometimes, there isn't anything you can do. Sometimes, injustices happen in this world, and we simply cannot fix them." The boy needed to learn this lesson soon. There were just some things you couldn't do.
"No…" Marcus whispered. "I don't accept that." His words were too low for anyone to here, but that didn't matter. Marcus Baratheon would never forget what he saw in Flea Bottom that day.
He'd never forget what he had to fix.
His long, brown hair blew in the wind as he stood on top of his mountain. He and his best friend found this place, and their dream was finally about to come to.
The sun was warm against his skin, and his power hummed within him.
Today was the day he created their home.
He closed his eyes and interlaced his fingers together.
Before his very eyes, life was created. Trees came forth, reaching to the clouds. There were at least ten thousand trees, and some of them even bore fruit. And then, wood began to take form, creating buildings, as sturdy as stone and much better looking. He was making his home, his kingdom, with his bare hands. He was creating his dream. He had a goal, and he was making it a reality.
He could feel his energy surging. Kami, he was powerful.
Within minutes, an entire village was created by a single man, by him. The Village Hidden in the Leaves, just as Madara had named it. It was their home.
His home. His precious jewel.
He'd protect this place with all the power he possessed. Nothing was going to destroy Konoha. Nothing.
He awoke, but it wasn't with a start this time. His eyes slowly opened, and he hadn't been sweating, or crying.
He lay there, thinking about what he had just dreamt of. The pure power he just felt under his fingertips alone was so much more than any man in the real world could ever hope to attain. He had felt invincible, unafraid. He was always afraid when he dreamt, but he was oddly at peace with this dream… this memory…
He took in a deep breath and thought of Flea Bottom. If he could command that power again… he could save them. He could save them all.
He would not forsake Flea Bottom like everyone else had. And he would not stop there… he would be the voice for them all, for all of the voiceless.
It was a sunny day in King's Landing. Plump clouds lazed about in the sky, and the sun shone brightly on all of the people. The Red Keep was as beautiful as ever, the colorful flowers and the large stone walls were very pleasing to the eye, and trees swayed in the wind.
Cersei Lannister, the Queen, felt it was a perfect day for a walk, so that's exactly what she did. With her seven year old son holding her hand and nine year old step-son at her side – the latter was not there by her request – the beautiful lion walked the streets of her home. Sandor Clegane, more commonly known as the Hound, walked behind her, always ready to spill some blood. The bane of her existence's nanny, an older woman named Arya, walked with them as well. The woman was always by the bastard's side.
"One day, this will all be yours, Joffrey." The Queen said to her child. Her blonde hair matched his, and the two truly looked like mother and son.
Marcus, on the other hand, was out of place with his black hair and fair, pale skin. The boy definitely looked like his mother, or that's what Robert would go on and on about. Cersei looked at the boy with hateful eyes. The spectacle seven years ago with the High Septon and all the people who came to bend their knee to an infant – fools, in the Queen's opinion – had stroked the flames within the woman at first. She had never been so angry before in her life. Her son was the rightful heir, and would be their King, yet, they bowed to a bastard.
She wanted the boy dead, but knew it was a terrible idea. Robert loved Marcus more than he loved her, and definitely more than he loved Joffrey. If anything happened to him, there wasn't a place far enough from King's Landing for her or anyone to be safe from Robert's wrath. So she had to deal with it, and push it aside. After a few months, most of the fuss died down, the majority of the gathered people returning to their homes. Some stayed, though, and every time a man or woman bowed to the boy while in her presence, it only reminded her of how much she truly despised the pretender. Bastards were not meant to rule, it was common knowledge.
"No one can take this away from you, my precious son." Cersei continued. She never outright showed her hatred for the child, she was too smart to do such a foolish thing. She didn't beat him or have him terrorized, but he knew she didn't like him, she was sure of it.
They arrived at a beautiful garden that she herself had ordered to be made. The cacophony of colors that certain plants and flowers birthed were truly amazing, and Cersei couldn't help but be proud of her decision. As the queen walked about her garden, her true son at her side, Marcus and Arya made their way to the other side. The queen couldn't bar access to the prince for no reason, so he was still allowed into her sanctuary, but that didn't mean she had to walk by his side the entire time.
Marcus didn't mind it much. He quite enjoyed it, actually. Cersei was… a handful, to put it mildly. Marcus was already nine now, and his training in both his body and mind had exceled far beyond that of an average child of his age. He saw the world clearer than most adults now. His eyes had matured remarkably. Everything he could do before with his eyes was now enhanced, so much so that it was frightening, even for Marcus himself. His training with Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime had been coming along marvelously. It would have gone by much quicker if they had let him use his special eyes to copy their movement, but that was one of the rules. There was no "cheating", which meant he couldn't use those eyes to quicken the process.
To Barristan, form and finesse didn't matter. All that stuff came later, after one learned what was truly important.
Instincts.
The skilled knights wanted his body to learn the movements, and then his eyes. They wanted him to be able to work a sword like he had been using one for years, which was no small feat. The kind of skill he was forced to learn was by no means for children, or even teenagers, but Marcus had asked for it. He needed to get stronger, and with each passing day, he was. He could feel his strength increase with every lesson.
"What are you thinking about, my Prince?" Arya asked. Her voice was always so smooth, so loving.
Marcus's eyes roamed the multitude of flowers and plants that decorated the entire place, his face serene. "This really is a beautiful place, you know." He said with a mesmerized voice.
Arya chuckled softly; the wrinkles of old age just starting to show their unwanted heads. "Yes, it is quite beautiful." She looked at the black hair of her prince and future king. "It's not like you to state the obvious, my boy." Marcus loved it when she spoke so affectionately with him. He had always seen her as a mother-figure, and quite possibly the most important person in his entire life. She was there when he had no one since he could remember.
"No…" Marcus whispered, turning to the woman. He took a deep breath, exhaling as he opened his eyes. Arya was met with beautiful crimson orbs, three commas in each eye. The black commas spun in a circle, and Arya knew that happened when her son – no… he wasn't her son, no matter how much both of them wished it were so…
His eyes… yes, his eyes always spun when he was excited.
"Words can't describe what I am able to see..." Marcus continued. "The colors, the energy, the life that flows in this place… it's almost overwhelming." Arya smiled as Marcus reached out to a rather dead looking flower, its color now a dark brown.
"Where there is beauty, there is also the unbeautiful. Perfection does not exist, not truly." Arya said to the boy as he stared at the dead flower.
Marcus observed the flower, his eyes showing it in great detail. It was so sad. The dead, ugly flower sat amongst the living, beautiful flowers, almost like it was being mocked by the others. Marcus took in a deep breath, focusing the energy that ran like a rampant river within him. Still holding the flower, he managed – and this was after two whole years of practice – to direct the energy to the palm of his hand. Arya watched in awe and excitement as a blue flame enveloped both the boy's hand and the plant he was holding. The flame pulsed and breathed as if it were alive, flickering around Marcus' hand like it, too, was excited. It was a feeling Arya couldn't explain. Whenever she saw the blue flame, something deep within her felt warm, like it was calling out to her, reaching into her to caress… something.
Marcus's face showed just how much he had to focus to do what he was doing. It wasn't like his eyes. Once he activated his eyes, they would stay the way he wanted until he deactivated them. The energy within him obviously powered them, but he didn't have to consciously send the energy anywhere, his eyes did that for him. But what he was doing at the moment, he couldn't afford to lose focus, for one slip and he would fail.
His eyes closed, and his breathing became labored. It took so much out of him… Suddenly, the blue flame flickered, turning a deep purple, and much, much larger. After a few seconds, Marcus let go of the flower, almost falling to the ground in exhaustion. He caught himself, holding his hands on his knees, taking in deep breaths. Arya was immediately at his side, her hand rubbing his back gently.
"This takes too much out of you, Marcus…" his nanny whispered in worry.
After taking a few moments to catch his breath, Marcus smirked, pointing at the flower he had just held. And there, where a dead, ugly flower once sat, a beautiful, multicolored flower replaced it, its beauty unmatched by all the rest. Whereas the previously dead flower was mocked by its prettier counterparts, this flower stood tall, and all the other ordinary flowers seemed to weep at its beauty.
"Perfection." Marcus whispered, still catching his breath.
Arya narrowed her eyes at the young boy in faux-anger, shaking her head in exasperation. "You really are a stubborn child, you know that?" She chuckled softly, and helped the boy she thought as a son up, holding him by his arm. "It really is a beautiful flower, though." She added shortly, looking at him out of the corner of her eye with the smallest of smirks adorning her aging face.
Marcus nodded with a giant smile on his face, his childish side slipping through the cracks. After walking some more, Marcus sighed. "But it's not enough…" he said sadly. Arya looked away from him, already knowing his plight. The boy felt responsible for Flea Bottom, and the rest of the places in the entire world that was struck with poverty. He knew that money couldn't accomplish his goals, not entirely. Money couldn't build the much needed homes that the people of his father's kingdom needed. There were far too many homes that needed to be built, and far too little money. Money couldn't buy enough food to feed all of the poor. There were far too many people to feed, and far too little money. That left them with only one other option.
He had to do what that man did, what Hashirama did.
What he had done.
"You are only still a child, Marcus… to do even that is impossible for anyone but you." Arya tried to reason with the boy. But he was a Baratheon, and Baratheon's were all stubborn to the bone.
"The people can't wait for me to learn everything I need to learn to help them. They need help now." He sighed deeply again. "Making a single flower healthy again almost drains me… How can I save the people when I can barely save a single flower…"
Arya was silent for a moment, her mind trying to find the best way to say this. After realizing that there was no "best way" to say something harsh, she just blurted out what she hoped he needed to hear.
"Marcus Baratheon!" she began her rant. "You are just a child! The goals you set are too high, and you will never be able to achieve anything if you don't start somewhere that's closer to your level. You do not finish your dinner in one giant bite. You take your time and finish it bite by bite." She placed a firm hand on his shoulder, her eyes locking onto his crimson orbs, the eyes she always thought were so beautiful. "You can do things and see things that are so beyond everything and everyone else, it's amazing. Don't waste your time beating yourself up because you can't accomplish something right away. You have the strength to do whatever you want. Now stop moping and stand up straight! You're the King of Kings, not a beggar!"
Throughout Arya's scolding, Marcus just stayed silent, watching the woman yell at him for, well, being an idiot. Of course he couldn't produce entire villages and forests with nothing but his will. He was nine, and had no idea what he was doing in the first place…
Arya was right… he was being an idiot. She hadn't said that, but it was implied. He was only nine; he had plenty of time to work on his skills. He wouldn't be breaking his promises if he took his time and really tried to learn what exactly it was he was trying to do. And the fact that Arya was going to be there the entire time, helping him, guiding him through his own stupidity really reassured him. She really was just like a mother to him. Loving and gentle the majority of the time, and stern and strict when she needed to be.
"You're right…" Marcus nodded. "I can't rush this. I want to help these people, not cause them anymore chaos…" He smiled at the woman he yearned to call mother, his special eyes etching her face into his mind. He'd never forget what she looked like. Ever.
"Good." Arya proclaimed, rather happy that her speech got through to the stubborn boy. "Now, we should find the Queen. We wouldn't want her to start to worry about our safety." The deceiving smile on her face made Marcus laugh. This woman really was his best friend.
Together, Marcus and Arya walked side-by-side, gazing at the pretty garden as they tried to find Cersei. They didn't mind being left behind, they preferred it. It was easier to relax when you weren't constantly around someone who hates you.
As they walked, Marcus thought about his training with Barristan and Jaime. He was by no means a skilled warrior yet, but he was definitely getting the hang of wielding a sword. His strength was phenomenal, far greater than anyone his age. Jaime said that not even he had been at the level Marcus was when he was nine. It wouldn't be long. He would soon be the best sword in the world.
His thoughts were interrupted with the sound of Cersei's voice.
He didn't know it – no one could have possibly known – but this was the moment that would give the garden of the Red Keep its name.
For when Marcus and Arya turned around, it wasn't just Cersei who greeted them.
"Grab them!" a large man shouted. He was bald, and was as big as the mountain. He had Queen Cersei in his grasp, his face twisted into a mixture of malice and sick joy.
With his order given, two more large men flanked them, grabbing hold of both Marcus and Arya. Marcus saw the terrified looks of both Cersei and young Joffrey. Tears ran down the blond-haired boy's face, his mouth covered by a big hand. Cersei looked afraid, but not for herself. Cersei Lannister may be many things, many, many terrible things, but a bad mother she was not. The thought of her child being hurt terrified her, so much so that she trembled.
"This is him?" The big, bald man holding Cersei asked. He pointed a finger at Marcus, and Cersei looked at the child with uncertain eyes. Arya narrowed her eyes at the queen as the lioness looked into the pure black eyes of Marcus Baratheon. And in that moment, Cersei Lannister gave him a look he had never seen from her before. It was…
Affection?
"Is that Marcus Baratheon, son of the King!?" The bald man shouted again. This time, he shook the queen for good measure. He grabbed her by the cheeks with his hand, forcing her to look at the child she loathed for so long.
And after a moment of silence, Cersei Lannister did the strangest thing.
She shook her head in the negative. "No." Cersei started, tears falling down her beautiful face. "He's her son." She pointed to Arya. "She's just my daughter's new nanny. I was meeting them here to discuss a sleepover with-"
"Shut your mouth, bitch!" The man yelled, yanking her by the hair. "You better not be lying to me, whore, or I'll rape your daughter and make you watch before I kill her!" Cersei cried out, and her eyes once again met Marcus's.
"I'm telling you the truth… I," she looked away from him, her eyes closing, "I hate the King's bastard. Ask anyone…" As she spoke, Cersei herself didn't know why she was saying what she was saying, and she didn't have time to think about that. She was too busy wondering when the Hound would return with her brother, an order he was given not ten minutes ago, before any of this had happened. He would save them. Jaime would save her. He was always there for her. Always. "Since birth and after death" they would always say.
The man sighed. He shook his head in faux-empathy. "That's too bad, then." He said. "Cause we were told to get the prophesized one…" Arya looked at Marcus in terror. "First." The man finished, and Cersei's eyes widened.
First?
As in…
She looked to her son, and then at the man who was holding him, and saw his sword ready to strike down the boy.
"King Balon Greyjoy sends his regards." The man holding Cersei said for everyone to hear, a sick smile on his face.
"NO!" Cersei screamed, trying to get out the man's arms.
The man's sword rose.
The man's sword fell.
But not on the prince.
Metal falling on stone rang out in the garden, the man's sword falling out of his hands as another was drove through his neck. Blood sprayed out, covering Joffrey, soaking his golden crown red.
"You would dare lay a hand on the King's family in King's Landing?" Jaime Lannister's voice was heard, and the queen's tears began to flow harder. He had come. He came to save his family.
The rest of the men – forty, at the very least – drew their swords, all poised at Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane. But neither man faltered. The Hound feared one thing and one thing only. He looked around. There was no fire here. Jaime just stared at them, his face a stoic façade. He was widely considered the greatest swordsmen in all of Westeros; he feared no man. He was a Kingsguard, and he would not let another man touch his sister.
"You'll die for that one, Kingslayer." The bald man spat as he threw the queen to the side, drawing his sword. He was ordered to kill the children, not the queen.
Blade piercing flesh was heard, and a strangled gasp shortly after. Marcus turned his head, very slowly, to his right. When he saw it, he just blinked. That's all.
He saw it, but he didn't register it. He could smell the blood, but that too was cast aside. His eyes bled red, and he could see the colors fading from her body, but he wouldn't accept it. So he just blinked, his mind blank, his eyes…
Was he crying?
Why was he crying?
Did something happen?
That's when he finally realized it. When he finally realized that it was real.
The man holding Arya ran his blade across her throat, taking away his nan-… his mother. Her body fell to the ground limp, landing in an unceremonious way. The man laughed.
Arya was dead.
They killed her.
She was gone. Forever.
They took her away from him.
People handle loss in many different ways. Some screamed to the heavens in agony. Some lost consciousness, their pain too much to handle. Some couldn't breathe, they were so shocked. Others cursed and blamed the gods, their hate for something when there was nothing so strong. For each person, the method changed.
For Marcus, it was the strangest feeling in the entire world. Never before had he ever felt something like this. His eyes… his eyes burned, and his brain felt like it was set aflame. It hurt, but even still, he didn't show any signs of even being aware of what was going on. He just stood there, his captor already letting him go as he went to slay the Kingslayer. He just stood there like stone. His heart… it felt cold… like it had frozen over. That alone was strange. His eyes and head felt as hot as the sun, but his heart… his heart was colder than winter. Everything just seemed to stop, to halt all motion. His eyes gazed upon what was Arya, her now dead corpse lying at his feet.
He suddenly looked away, gazing at the men who had done this, who had taken her away from him. He didn't even see people. He saw animals, or better yet, bugs. And they were all at his mercy. How, he did not know. He just… he could feel it.
It was his eyes.
'Vengeance. Whisper his name, and it will be yours.' These words were whispered into his ear, the voice unknown but so very familiar. He stared at the men who were trying to kill Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane, before he looked back at Arya.
"Who are you?" he asked the voice out loud. His voice was calm and collected, as if he hadn't lost the most important person in his life just then.
The voice laughed madly, somehow echoing in his head. 'Such a silly question.' The voice replied.
Marcus decided that the voice didn't matter at the moment. He looked at Arya again. "I'm sorry…" he whispered. He knelt down, closing her eyes that somehow still stared at him. She didn't need to see what was going to happen. "Please," he began as he stood, turning away from her to face the men who killed his mother. "Forgive me for what I am about to do."
'And for what I am about to become...'
That's when it happened.
Marcus took in a deep breath, and then, he roared in agony. His voice was so loud, so very, very loud. Everyone in the garden turned to him, shocked. The wind became fiercer, so fierce that everyone had to shield their eyes from it with their arms. All the while, Marcus screamed, and all he knew was pain.
Pain…
Images of red clouds flooded his mind, but he ignored them.
Blue flame surrounded him, circling him in a vortex of energy. It was the first time they had seen the colors like he always had. He'd show them. He'd let them see it before he killed them.
He heard the voice again, but this time, it only spoke a single word. That single word was so familiar, like he had spoken it before, but he was sure he hadn't…
It didn't matter. He whispered it anyways. He brought it back into the world…
He brought him back.
He with the ability to help by all means.
"Susanoo!"
His eyes bled, he noticed. But that too didn't matter. All that mattered was what was his to claim.
Vengeance.
When he spoke that single word, that single name, it appeared. A dark purple, skeletal demon appeared – its form ethereal. It had large, glowing eyes, and a malevolent grin. Horns grew out of its head, and it hovered over Marcus ominously.
His eyes burned so bad now, he could barely contain it, but he pushed that away as well. Nothing but vengeance mattered. He would avenge Arya.
Jaime locked gazes with his student, and when he saw the boy's eyes, he knew that something was different. Where three commas used to spin in each eye, thin loops in a starburst pattern now sat, with blood falling from them.
The demonic entity that surrounded Marcus raised its hand, and a sword, made of the same dark purple energy as the being itself, came into existence. And then, Marcus began to stain the garden red.
A single swing of the demon's mighty sword and ten men were cut in half, dead before they even hit the ground.
Cersei Lannister stood frozen, her legs shaking, her heart racing. What was she witnessing?
Another three tried to run away.
All three were pierced by dark purple arrows, holes the size of giant boulders now through their hearts.
Sandor Clegane let his sword fall to the ground, his eyes not letting him turn away. What was he witnessing?
Seven fell to their knees, praying to be spared.
All seven were shown no mercy, and no longer possessed a head.
Prince Joffrey had already fainted before his Uncle and sworn shield even arrived.
Five held onto their swords, rushing at the demon and its master.
All five died before they even took their fourth step.
Arya's eyes were closed so she did not have to witness what her son was doing. It was better that way.
Fourteen more tried to attack, hoping their numbers would help them kill this thing.
All fourteen were slaughtered like cattle, their blood soaking the beautiful flowers the same color as his eyes.
Marcus turned his head to the last man alive, his eyes piercing through the man like a sharp blade. The man's knees shook, and the smell of urine was strong – and very, very recent – on him. He was covered in blood, the blood of his brothers.
"P-p-please… spare m-me…" he begged, stuttering out of fear.
Marcus began to walk, the giant skeletal demon following him, confirming that he was indeed the master. The eyes of the demon, the eyes that glowed yellow, watched him like a predator, and he was the prey.
"Oh gods… p-please, save m-me!" he shouted to the sky, falling to his knees.
"The Seven aren't with you today…" Marcus whispered, causing the man cower and cry. Susanoo – that's what the entity was called – grabbed the man, taking him into the air. His hands were large enough to encase the man's entire upper body. "What is your name?" he asked.
"D-Daniel, my Lord… o-of the Iron Islands…" the now named Daniel stuttered out.
Marcus stared at the man, his powerful eyes staring into the man's very soul. And then, he spoke. "You killed her…" he said. "You killed my friend." Indeed, this man, Daniel of the Iron Islands, was the one to slit Arya's throat.
Daniel's eyes widened, his heart freezing. "I-I… I'm sorry! I'm so s-sorry!"
A second word was whispered by the voice, and again, Marcus uttered it.
"Amaterasu…"
Sandor Clegane fell back, terrified. He scurried back, away from Marcus Baratheon, fear in his eyes as he watched the man in the demon's hands burned by black flames. The smell of burning flesh was dominant in the garden, and screams of pain and agony was the only thing that could be heard.
After the screams were no longer heard, Susanoo dropped the dead body, letting the flames from hell erase the man from existence.
Marcus watched the burning body for a moment, before he let go of Susanoo, the mighty entity fading from creation, retreating back into the accursed eyes, awaiting for the next time its master would call on it. He looked at those present, his starburst eyes observing Jaime, Cersei and Sandor. He then turned to Arya, and once again he cried, but this time it was not tears of blood, but regular, ordinary tears that mixed with the blood staining his cheeks.
'The first lesson has been completed.' The voice whispered. 'You have become a true avenger.'
Marcus clenched his fists, his face twisting into rage. "Who are you!?" he shouted aloud, frightening Cersei and Sandor. Jaime was just numb, silently staring at the boy… at his King.
'Isn't it obvious, stupid boy?' the voice began.
"I'm you." Marcus spoke the voice's words.
And then, everything went black.
Author's Note's: Before any of you get all upset or pathological over both Susanoo and Amaterasu appearing in this chapter, just hear me out.
Even I know that giving Marcus these things so soon is not a good thing. That's why he won't be able to use them again for a long while. He just awakened the Mangekyo and its techniques due to the shock (like Sasuke with the Sharingan and Itachi massacring the Uchiha) of his mother-figure murdered before his very eyes. It takes up far too much chakra, and it's unhealthy on his body. He's going to be a lot more powerful now, but he won't be Sasuke-like during his final battle with Naruto. I like OP, not stupid.
And in case none of you figured it out, this is the start of the Greyjoy Rebellion. Yay! War! Fun!
Question: Who is your favorite Akatsuki character? (Mine's Pain/Nagato. Always has been.)
Fact: I have a son. His name is Vincent. He's 18. Honest! ^.^
