Chapter Two
Arraon
To become a knight, it was required that two tasks be completed; the hopeful in question must be acknowledged as having completed a task worthy of the great honour by any knight from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard to the lowliest Hedge Knight. The second requirement was standing a vigil in a Sept for seven days and seven nights to demonstrate your devotion to the gods, the seven patrons of each aspect of life in the Six Kingdoms where the Faith was practised. Arraon and Jaime had always dreamt of becoming the greatest pair of knights in the realm – Jaime as Lord of Casterly Rock and Arraon as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. Jaime had always knew he was an expert fighter, he called himself an artist with a sword and there was no denying it. When he griped the handle, he would paint any arena with a sharp brush in the deepest red. Or some other poetic nonsense.
Arraon, on the other hand, saw himself as a singer with swords. For his ninth nameday, their father had two identical swords prepared. One was for Jaime, a hilt with a Lion's jaw devouring the blade made of castle forged steel with Casterly Gold in ornate designs around the hilt with a diamond imbedded in the grip, bound by leather and Arraon's was the same though he only used his for decoration. Instead, it was his Uncle Tyg who had given Arraon the blades that he preferred to use. These were not Westerosi longswords but based on the designs of weapons in "The Paths of Warfare." Katana was the closest translation available, they were longer, sharper and thinner than most swords available as they were folded over in the smithing process more. Their blade was flat and single edged, and yet they cut faster, harder and sharper than the Longsword, in Arraon's experience.
Arraon always fought best when he had two swords in each of his hands. Their pommels were identical, a full lions head with an outstretched jaw, a red ruby at the back of its throat. Instead of a hilt, there was only a small circle where most swords had a cross guard, brandished with a crimson metal. Over the circular hilt was brandished a golden design that resembled a Lion's mane. He was eternally grateful for his uncle and for the time being, so he could show his skills to his Father. Father was now staying at Casterly rock again as Lady Joanna was heavily pregnant with their new sibling.
"Up! Down! Block! Parry….Parry, strike Arraon!" Ser Benedict, Casterly Rock's Master-At-Arms, told the two of them as they trained in the training ring, throwing slashes and cuts at each other. Jaime's nameday sword flashed across from the hold Arraon held it in, a series of flourishes whirling around them and a successive chain of parries clinking across their weapons and Jaime proving to be that much quicker as he was able to knock the blade in Arraon's left hand out of his reach as Jaime spun around and locked his sword in a duelling pose. "Push harder!" Ser Benedict urged. It was Jaime who acted on his advice and caused Arraon to tumble over himself onto his back, barely clutching the blade as Jaime pressed his sword to his brother's throat.
"Do you yield?"
"For now." He smirked as be brushed the blade away with his own as he accepted Jaime's outstretched hand. "I don't see why we should be practising like this. I think it's obvious I'll never be good as you."
"As long as you're better than everyone else, I don't think it matters." They laughed as Jaime slapped a hand on his back. They locked their swords away as Lady Joanna walked up to the ring. Ser Benedict took his leave at that point.
"Jaime, Arraon, the Septon wants to see you." The two boys exchanged a look of confusion.
"Why mother?" Jaime inquired.
"He wants to educate you on the rites of knighthood. Your father wants you to learn them." She explained, as she placed a hand on her lightly swollen belly. The two of them journeyed together to the sept. It existed on the side of the Rock, the only place that light could enter the castle for the windows that let the grace of the gods into the sept. As Arraon and Jaime passed through the door emblazoned with the star of the seven upon it, they walked through the pews of Septon Johan and the various septas that passed throughout the rock. The sept was the most unnatural part of Casterly Rock, the brown rock was barely seen. Most of the room was covered in white slate brought in from elsewhere in the Kingdoms, great pillars covered the great hall but at the uppermost part of the hall was the central piece of any good sept; the figures of the Gods.
As they walked up to them, they noticed Septon Johan at the foot of the statue of the father, likely praying upon his knees. The worship of the Gods was an important aspect of Arraon's life, just as he knew it was a necessary imperative for any true southron. They were good and just and kind, they would likely give anything to the devout who requested it. As they completed the walk tote uppermost point beneath the flight of steps leading to the effigies of the seven, the sounds of their boots echoing throughout the gallery. Johan stepped up and turned to face the lordlings.
"Lord Jaime, Lord Hill." He smiled down at them. "For millennia our holy faith has instituted the policy of Knighthood, those who are blessed with the warrior's skills and exercise the other virtues our most holy Gods hold dear. For any young man, the honour of knighthood is not a burden to be taken lightly. For all your lives, short as they may have been blessed, you have honed your skills in the ways of the warrior's sons and your lord father has decided it is high time the rites of this holy blessing were bestowed unto you as well. Now, what do you know about the ceremony of knighthood?"
"What don't we know?" Jaime teased as they explained all they knew. There was little and less that the two of them did not know about the ceremonial requirements of Knighthood. If the right man touched your shoulder with his sword it could only be a while until the best had their names on the tongues of singers. Either of them could list the names of any knight from the past. Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, Ryam Redwyne, Syemon Star Eyes, Aemon the Dragon and Duncan the Tall to name but a few.
For as long as Arraon could remember, he and his brother had dreamed of the day they wold be knighted and the songs that would be sung of them. Though his ambition had already been set and he knew their song; 'The Western Lord and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.' It had long been another of Arraon's aims to join that venerated order. Jaime was to be the Lord of the Rock, what could he have? Some minor holdfast along the border with the Reach? He wanted to do his duty to House Lannister and his Family. To make his Father proud, to look at him the way that he looked at Jaime.
"Yes, a worthy and honourable deed will earn you a knighthood to be sure but you are aware of the connections with our Holy Faith?"
"The Faith? But, doesn't the mother's book condemn violence to her children?" Arraon asked.
"Very good, Lord Hill, yet the Warrior's Book allows such actions in the name of our good gods. Such was the foundation for the Warrior's Sons. Knights are the most noble and venerated warriors, selected for this sacred duty. Now, it is high time you learnt these rites and not an old man's prattling. After you have been knighted, you must be presented to a sept and anointed in the oils of our seven gods. Then, you must stand for a whole night in the sept before the sight of the warrior. Are you aware of the vows you must take?"
Jaime gave Arraon a confused look and he returned the gesture. "Ah, evidently not my lords; no matter." Johan cleared his throat.
"In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just.
In the name of the Mother, I charge you to protect the weak and innocent.
In the name of the Maiden, I charge you to defend all women.
In the name of the Crone, I charge you to keep wisdom and honour.
In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.
In the name of the Smith, I charge you to remain strong.
In the name of the Stranger, I charge you to be prepared for death in the name of upholding your vows.
Now rise, Knight of the Realm and defender of the faith." He concluded.
"These are the most important words that must remain throughout your lives as knights of the realm. Keep these vows close to your heart always, and keep the love of the Good Gods there as well. Learn them, for one day you must be prepared to speak them before any agent of the most devout. I believe that is all for today, you are free to leave." He smiled at them as he returned to his prayers. Once the two of them had left the eyes and ears of Johan they continued on their way.
"Well, that was a waste of a morning." Jaime grumbled.
"To be fair, it is something we need if we're gonna be knights someday." Arraon argued.
"What do we need to know about being knights but lances, swords and favours?"
"The Gods might just play a small part in the vows we swear to them." He returned.
"Hm, perhaps if the Kingsguard doesn't work out, you can become the High Septon." He laughed.
"What do you have against the faith?"
"I don't have any problem with the faith."
"The gods?" Arraon smirked, as his brother's died in the process. "Let me guess; "You shall not share the blood of those wrought from the same line; it is an abomination to mother and maiden alike. These offenders shall be put to death." He responded, all too aware of the smug grin plastered over his face. It was Jaime that stopped by a nearby pillar showering his face from view.
"I love her." He whispered.
"Gods, you haven't stopped have you?"
He turned back to face him. "I can't help it, I see her when I close my eyes, and I dream about her, I see her when I look in the mirror." "Being twins will likely have that effect." Arraon silently thought to himself.
"Look Jaime, I know I'm not some sort of mind-Maester but this can't be good. Just leave it and you'll forget about it." He assured him.
"But I can't, I just can't." he verified for Arraon, sulking off. This was hardy going to be something that went away quickly, he as well aware. It didn't matter where they were or who they were with; it was apparent his siblings were going to be connected for the longest time. He wouldn't have cared one way or the other but the problem was laid out in the Holy Book. Relations of this level are a sin unto the Gods and if they were truly good enough to allow him his own life, surely all should give them praise and honour their commands?
He knew that both he and all people owed them their very lives and everything else besides. Not only that but he made a promise to Lady Joanna, to avert Jaime from this path. He owed it to her, to father, to House Lannister, to the Gods to make an effort to end this 'union.' He feared for Jaime's soul especially, the Gods punished those who defied them but that was only just. In their kindness and wisdom, the Seven gave humankind the foresight to avert themselves from these destructive paths. The Gods are good.
"No, no, no, no." Arraon's father simply responded to Creylen's solemn news. He cast a look around the chamber, his family all bearing the same horrified look etched on their faces. None of them could bring themselves to believe what the Maester was reporting to them: Lady Joanna had died in childbirth. Whenever they so much as scraped a knee and tears might have begun to well up in either of their eyes, Father would explain to them that 'Lannisters lack common fragility, be strong where they would break.' At this moment his father was showing that weakness, tears slipping out of his pale unfleckled eyes. Covering them in his hands, he found the eyes of his children and brothers focused on him and he raised his head again.
"Bring him to me, bring me my new-born."
"Lord Tywin, I would not advise-"
"Now Creylen." He seethed, his eyes not filled with a golden fleck but a raging fire. The Maester withdrew and returned just as quickly clutching a bundle of cloths, a rather abundant bundle now that Arraon observed it. What could he be hiding? Father stepped out of his seat and moved towards the Maester, clutching onto the cloth reaching out a hand to pull the cover back but fear and despair burst in his eyes. "Seven Hells…" he gasped, staring down at the mass unseen from Arraon, Cersei and Jaime. For what seemed like an endless age this dynamic played out until Father glared up at Creylen, whispering in bated breaths. "Are you telling me that my wife lies dead, torn and ripped apart from the inside and all I have to show for it is this misshapen demon?" It was the most terrifying combination of silence and anger that Arraon would ever hear, for even Creylen could not manage a response.
"Tywin-" Uncle Kevan began, reaching out a hand to his shoulder, but father flinched away almost throwing the child into his arms.
"I am not to be disturbed." He commanded, storming out of the room. Kevan's lip quavered as he gave an unsure look to his nephews and niece.
"Would you like to see the babe?" he asked, smiling through his golden beard. They did not even have the will to nod. He knelt down to allow them to see and it was plain father was not wrong regarding the baby's state. As Cersei let out a gasp, practically a shriek, at what a misshapen demon he was, Arraon observed him. A stunted thing, one of his sleeping eyes was bigger than the other. His thin hair was pale gold yet containing flecks of deep black. His forehead was brusque and crushed together yet his most obvious feature would be obvious for all his life; he was a dwarf. As the baby opened his eyes, it was even more peculiar. One eye was the Lannister green but the other was pitch black, yet there was still that childish innocence in them.
"That thing killed our mother and will live?" said Cersei.
"I wouldn't bet on it, my lady. With his deformity, he'll have passed away in the crib soon enough." Creylen explained
"I hope it'll be painful." she whispered.
"Cersei, that's a bit-" Jaime began, but was just as quickly cut off with a wave of her hand. She did not respond but simply turned and ran from the room, but no tears. He did not think it possible for his half-sister to shed tears. Uncle Kevan told them they were free for the day, the only thing Jaime would do was practise swordplay. Whenever he fought, it seemed as if he went away somewhere else. Arraon wished he could do that, yet today it was evidently biting away at him.
They practised on wooden figures that day, but Jaime struck them with such unbridled fury and rage he caused a splinter in them screaming as he tore it apart. Arraon, meanwhile could not find the energy to lift the blade; there was something that was towering over him about this. It wasn't that he felt sad about Lady Joanna's death, he was not spiteful to the babe as it was with Cersei. He did not feel the need to lash out in anger as with Jaime. He felt the exact opposite; he felt nothing.
He hated himself for it. What sort of person hears about the closest thing they have to a mother dying and acts as if a wayward servant spilt wine on a new rug? As he wrapped his fingers around the sword again and tried to raise it up, he realised that was exactly the problem. Lady Joanna never had been his mother, whoever she was she had not been there like she had been .He felt sick of himself. What sort of cold, heartless person would react like that? "A bastard, that's who." the voice crept back to him. He didn't want to train anymore.
As he slid his foreign styled blades back into place, he heard a scream. He spun around to see Jaime swing a final strike, knocking the dummy off its balance as he threw his word against a rocky wall and leapt onto the figure punching any remaining life out of it. Arraon ran up to him and pulled his enraged brother from the ground begging his name. Eventually, he managed to get him under control. "Jaime, calm down!"
"How?!" he shouted, finally lowering his arms. "How can we just go on?! She's dead!" The tears were streaming down his face, unashamed.
"Jaime, I don't know how to-"
"No, no you don't. You're not even part of our family, you're just a bastard. Maybe Cersei's right; what place do you have here? Just get out, even your whore mother didn't love you enough to stay around!" he screamed in his face, placing his hands on his brother's chest and pushing him to the ground before storming off in a frenzy. Arraon simply sat in silence as he lay in the dirt of the deserted training ring. He didn't care that his leg might be sprained, he didn't care that his back was in an ache from the fall, he cared about what Jaime had just told him. All his life, Jaime had been there. When Lady Joanna had come calling, when Cersei was bored, when one needed the others help they had been as brothers should be. Until now that is. Had it all been a lie? He wasn't quite sure how to think. He was torn between screaming to himself and crying. There was only one place he could go now.
"You think they can hear you? You think bowing your head and pleading with them will bring you anything?! They're gods, they have no mercy, and we are but their playthings. THAT is why they're gods!" Lord Tywin seethed to his daughter, dressed in white cloth and on her knees before the maiden's statue.
"But father-" she pleaded.
"Go. Don't let me catch you here again." She hurried away from the sept through the main door as Arraon observed the scene from the balconies on high unseen from his father and sister. Once the gate closed behind the distressed Cersei and left the sept empty and silent. Father turned around and walked up to the statue of the father. He did not kneel, instead he just looked up at those great eyes as if they were those of an equal, not an aspect of the Divine. "
Why? Have I offended your precious followers in some way? Is this retribution? Payment for my sins?" he spoke aloud, mostly to himself was what Arraon assumed. "I would assume this is to be some lesson in humility; I have watched my House return to glory. In return, you take my wife and force me to watch as that beast will doubtless wobble about wearing the golden lion of my father, and his father before him. And all to teach me loss. No Septon who preaches your benevolence can be believed, you are less than the shadows of what you set yourselves up to be." He turned his head to leave but stopped for one last remark. "Burn in your own hells." He strolled out of the rock-enclosed sept. Arraon was left alone in the Sept, which was illuminated by the rising stars through the windows and glass ceiling above. He suddenly felt a need to take a walk to the Gatehouse.
As he walked through the endless corridors of the Rock, Father's words struck a chord with him. He had come to the sept to pray, not for the Lady Joanna's life as doubtless Cersei was. It was for healing, he intended to pray for their healing. To recover and come to terms with her death was what he wanted. Perhaps Jaime's words might have faded with the day, but it was father's words that concerned him. How could it be that it conflicted with Johan's? The old Septon's words had gave him an encouraging feeing; that the Mother's kind eyes were watching, the crone gave him the wisdom he needed and the warrior gave him his skill in the training arena.
Even the Stranger, dark and unknown as he was, was comforting as all devout followers knew he was the guide through the eternal darkness. Contrasted with father's words, it did not appear as clearly now. "I would assume this is to be some lesson in humility," gave the impression the Gods could do this as they pleased. Why would they though? It made no sense. They were supposed to be good and just and kind; not indifferent and distant. Yet if they had torn apart his family, the mightiest House in the Realm, Arraon had to question the most basic precepts of the Faith.
Were the gods truly good after all? They took Lady Joanna, a kind and undeniably beautiful woman. Taken in childbirth and her son was cursed with deformity. That would point to them being cruel. Were they kind; would they deprive two children, riddled in sin, of their own mother and the bravest man in the Kingdoms of his wife? That seemed to show they were deceitful, betraying the Maiden's promise. Were they just? What was just in the death of a woman who would accept him as one of her own; nothing. As he crossed the empty courtyard, it finally occurred to him that the Gods were a lie, told from birth. They were the anthesis of what the Holy Books pointed them to being. "Hey, watch where you're going!" a gruff, rough voice called out to him as he looked up and saw a man he was about to walk into.
"Oh, my apologies." He smiled, looking up at the man. Form the way he was dressed it was certain that he was a Northman. A wolf skin cloak, leather padded boots and gloves and a silver clasp around the cloak bearing the seal of a direwolf. He wore rugged clothes and apparently cared little for how he was dressed. That was typical of the north uncaring for the 'comforts' of the south, instead presuming to stand strong among the snow worshipping trees. This was a younger man, past his twentieth nameday, yet not past his five-and-twentieth. A stout man with broad shoulders, well-trimmed hair and the starts of whiskers sprouting out.
"Who are you boy?" the northerner asked.
"Arraon Hill." He responded
"Ah, the hand's ba, - uh 'natural' son. Yes, where is your father?"
"He should be in his solar but he won't talk to you."
"Why is that?"
"You haven't heard?"
"Apparently not." The Northman responded, gritting his teeth.
"Lady Joanna recently died in childbirth." He confessed.
"Ah, I understand."
"I can pass on your message to Ser Benedict if you want."
"Just tell him Ser Cassel's making a duty call." He announced, puffing up his upper lip.
"Ser? Are you a knight?" he asked excitedly.
"A cavalryman, young one."
"Cavalryman? But you said you were a ser."
"Aye, in the north we have the same title as your prancing knights."
"But the Septon" he hesitated at the very word, "says the only way to become a knight is to be anointed in the name of the Gods."
"The Southron Gods, cavalrymen serve the old gods of earth, river and tree."
"The old gods? You mean the white trees, like in the stone garden?"
"Tree worshippers!" he laughed. "No, little lion. It is not the trees we worship in the north; it is the gods. The gods of the children, the gods of the first men, the gods of river, root and stone. The weirwood trees are simple faces they use to watch us. The old gods are watching, ancient and eternal. We don't have any of your Septons, no holy books, no sacred rites. Only three tenants and one lesson. Now, if you'll excuse me." He moved to leave but Arraon called after him.
"Can you tell me about them, the gods?"
He sighed but turned back to face him. "I suppose. If you want to worship the old gods there is only one thing you need do; believe. Beyond that, there is little you need do. Simply remember; "The old gods are watching the kinslayer, for no man is as accursed as them. The old gods are watching the slavers, for all men are equal in their gaze. The old gods are watching guests who have taken right, for defiance of that contract is the greatest offence. The old gods are watching, so we must listen." Do you understand?"
"I think so, then there's nothing else?"
"Only this – we Northmen and our gods may have a simplistic faith but it is an honourable one. Farewell, little lordling." The cavalryman with the direwolf brooch disappeared from view, Arraon never saw him again but he now knew what it was he had to do. He quickly ran back to the training ring and grabbed one of his nameday swords and headed towards the place he had spoken of.
The Stone Garden was so named because it was one of the few godswoods in the kingdoms that was artificially made for the Weirwood tree at its centre, surrounded by a stone circle as if it was protecting it. Stone paths, stone walls, stone doorframes. Yet what attracted the eye of all was the tree. White as snow with leaves red as the colour of his father's house, a face was etched upon it. Ancient and unmoving, the weeping eyes looked as if they were watching Arraon as he moved closer clutching his steel. As he passed beneath the first branches of the tree, he drew the sword and knelt before the tree as he began to pray to these northern gods as he would have to the gods of his forefathers.
"Gods of the north," he said to himself, extending his sword before him. "I'm not sure if you accept prayers like the Seven, but I'll do my best. For years the agents of these gods have told me of their mercy and justice. I have never known a mother, but the closest thing I have known is the Lady Joanna. I do not come to you to ask for her life, though House Lannister would be in your debt if you would. Instead, I come to ask for my brother's. I beseech of you, let Tyrion live. Let him grow to be a boy she could be proud of, let him live to prove he deserves it. Let him live to be a Lannister. If he dies, I will not care but if you hear my prayer I pledge my worship to you. I will forsake these false seven and kneel at these trees for prayer and hold you above all. This is my promise, my debt, to the Gods of the North."
He concluded his prayer as he lifted his head and a shiver crept up his spine and a gust of wind entered the Godswood. The red leaves of the withered sapling blew in the wind, towards the right pointing Arraon in that direction. "Have the Old Gods answered my prayer?" he pondered as he cast a look in that direction. If he was correct, that direction would be to the North. If it was the Gods, he could only assume they had some greater purpose there? But what, what was north of their rock that could possibly be of significance to them? Castamere? The Crag? Faircastle? No, that made no sense. It wouldn't be within the Westerlands that much he could guess.
Did they have some purpose on the Iron Islands for him? No, no. They worshiped neither the old nor the new. The Twins? Moat Cailin? Flint's Finger? Winterfell? No. Beyond even the Starks and suddenly it became clear. And then like the blowing of the wind, Arraon Hill knew what he had to do as he remembered the words that he had read so long ago, clear as day now; "Upon the wall, even a bastard can rise high."