Cedrik
Cedrik sat in the small garden of Stonehelm. There was a small pond, nothing really compared to the froth and crash of the seas, but it gave him a strange sense of comfort, considering how far inland he was - a few leagues, but he missed the sea. He picked up the great oaken shield and held it carefully. Picking up the brush, he began to scrub vigorously. Holding it up in the waning sunlight, he nodded in satisfaction. Picking up the set of plate armor, he placed first the breastplate in the sand and began to scour it. The process was slow, and honestly a nuisance, but when he had complained Gulian had told him it would 'build character and strength' whatever in the Seven hells that meant.
When the sunlight was beginning to eke out it's last few rays for the day, Cedrik finished up, with no small amount of relief. Perhaps he could catch the last dregs of dinner afore Gulian sent him off to sleep. Why do I have to go to my bedchambers so early? He scowled at that thought and put the sword he had been polishing in the pile, crossing his arms. He didn't want to do this stupid squiring thing, but Stannis had insisted. He wished Robert were back from the Vale, he would have treated Cedrik better. At least one day he would be knighted, perhaps given a keep to hold by Robert. He would have his own gleaming set of armor, and his own squire to do all the stupid chores for him. For a glorious and brave knight like him, he would ride off in tourneys, clashing lances with the likes of Arthur Dayne and Barristan the Bold, fighting in great battles and winning glory.
He was so caught up in his thoughts he hardly heard Gulian tromp up to him. "You're late for dinner, lad. You'll need the food if you're going to grow, so come along. I trust you did scour my armor and polish my weapons?" Gulian looked down at him over the bridge of his nose, squinting. Cedrik scowled and looked up at him, meeting his stare for three, four moments, before he averted his gaze finally. "Yes, my Lord." Gulian nodded his head satisfied and looked up. "You may think these things I am making you do are stupid. In truth, I hope my fears to be but folly. Unfortunately for you and I and the realm as a whole, the state of relations is fast deteriorating. I am no master of the whispers, but from what I hear, the King and the Prince are having difficulties, which may turn into war. These training regimens and the lot are for our welfare."
Cedrik paused to take that in. "Truly?" Gulian nodded his head without any eagerness. "Truly." Cedrik paused for a moment. "If this war were to come… who would you fight for?" Gulian paused, looking about. "I would fight for whomever my liege lord fights for, of course. Though… I do favor Rhaegar." Cedrik nodded, understanding it. He was a bit scared, but also excited for the prospect of fighting in a war. "Well, come along then, lad. You've got a good distance to walk back to the castle." Cedrik nodded, feeling this was not as stupid as before. "Let me gather up your items, my Lord." Gulian nodded, heading off down the path. Cedrik gathered up the plate armor and shield into a burlap bag, strapping on the sword. It made him feel like a true and proper knight. He made his way along the path, the night beginning to come forth from the east.
"Stop right there, pretty boy, or I'll knock yer teef right out." A short pale man exited from a particularly thick wooded, a rusted knife in hand. "Hand over all them shiny armor and sword and the like, might be I won't mash your face into a pulp." Cedrik turned and looked at the man. Dropping the sack of armor and the shield, he unsheathed the sword as quick as he could. The robber charged at him, swinging with his knife. Cedrik used his arm to hit the mans wrist, stopping him from impaling his neck. The knife seemed to move slow as molasses as it moved upwards, piercing lightly into his face. The knife felt like it was cleaving through his face. The knife exited then, and as hot blood began to soak out of the wound and into his left eye, he stabbed at the man. Just as quick as it had started, the man was dead. He slumped over onto Cedrik, and Cedrik, coughing an holding a hand to his face shoved him off. Collapsing into the mud, he groaned and searched for a moment. Grabbing at his tunic, he ripped off a long strip and applied it to the wound. Resheathing the sword and picking up the armor, he held the rag to his face and walked. He stumbled and tripped,landing on the ground. Picking himself up and grasping at the sack, he heard footsteps. Tensing up, he grasped at his sword and looked up. Gulian was running towards him. "Cedrik! Cedrik, what in the seven hells happened, boy?" Cedrik opened his mouth to talk, swayed, and crumpled to the ground, passing out.
Cedrik was in the woods, grazing on grass. Wait, this wasn't right. He looked up and saw an ancient tree, white as winter with an angry face upon it. It's trunk was as wide as three men, and the branches bore red leaves the color of blood. "You? You do not belong in this story. No, no, your existence.. All wrong. You could cause my successor to remain unborn. No, You must leave. Leave! Now!" A crow squawked from the branches, angry. "Leave!" It fluttered from the branches, squawking angrily, pecking at him. He turned, tried to run, but he was running on all fours, and his head was so heavy! He ran through a landscape of such a wintry manner that it seemed as if the sixth hell itself had manifested.
He saw images he understood not, a brown haired boy speaking to a robed woman in red. He saw a boy with a crown of bronze and iron sitting upon a throne, but his head was that of a wolf. He saw a white haired lass with pretty violet eyes surrounded by three dragons. He saw a host of men with no shadows and black hands before a looming structure he could not see... and then he saw Stonehelm in the distance and he awoke, gasping for breath.
Maester Borrel turned towards him from where he had been mashing herbs into a paste and paused. "Cedrik! You are awake. You suffered quite a nasty wound, lad. Unfortunately for you, I must reapply this paste and give you new bandages. It will be somewhat painful, but it is necessary for the wound to heal." Cedrik nodded his head, a dull throb in his head pounding away. Maester Borrel grabbed some new cloth and unwrapped his head, the bandage sticky with some remnants of blood.
Borrel took a bit of the paste in his fingers and applied it to his wound, causing a sting in Cedrik's face. Cedrik squinted and grabbed at the bed he had been sleeping on. Borrel finished and applied the cloth bandage to the side of his head. "You are quite lucky, lad. Had the knife gone just a little to the right, you would be blind in that eye." Cedrik nodded his head. "Maester Borrel, may I leave now? I feel for the most part fine, and I want to get back up and about." Maester Borrel paused at that, considering it, before nodding his head and shooing him with his hand. "Come back to me in three turns of an hourglass so I can check your bandages."
Cedrik was pleased with that and near sprinted downstairs, almost tripping. After that he moved slower, getting used to his head. He exited the Maester's Tower and went across the way, entering the kitchens through a back door he had discovered a couple weeks before. Moving underfoot and ignoring the whispers of the cooks and their assistants about his scar, Cedrik snatched up a couple of rolls and a few pieces of bacon, heading into the hall to eat. The cooks did not stop him, just watching. "Baratheon" "Scar" "n's squire" and other whispers were quite audible, and he ignored them all the same.
The hall was of an average size, just as Stonehelm was. The oak table could not have been more than three average sized men long. There were eight chairs, with the Lord's chair being the most prominent. The lighting in the room was mostly windows at the top of the hall, but a couple of braziers still burned from the night before. In the front of the hall six tables were placed at the side of the room.
He sat where he regularly sat and began to eat. Gulian entered from the front door, flanked by the captain of the guards. "Cedrik, excellent. It is good to see you up. Alen, you have my leave." The captain left and Gulian sat down in the Lord's seat. "I have news you may wish to hear, lad. Your brother sends words from the tourney of Harrenhal." Gulian grabbed the letter from his belt and handed it to Cedrik.
Little Brother
Things are going well here. I've won a good few tilts, but the melee today was where I shone. I took down all the others and won a mighty prize indeed. Stannis sends his regards too. I hope all is well with you and Gulian. I hope to tilt against Rhaegar, maybe knock some humility into that family of his!
Robert Baratheon