"So, let me see if I have the gist of this? You mean to tell us that not only have the Maesters - the country's doctors, scholars, and messengers all rolled into one - been robbing every single great house in the Seven Kingdoms, but they've robbed the Hightowers (their bloody patrons) and House Blackfyre, who are, as I understand it, descended from House Targaryen and could have had a better claim for the Iron Throne than the current Targaryen line if they hadn't died out. But to add onto the madness, because all of that obviously wasn't enough, these Maesters went and committed actual treason by robbing House Targaryen, the absolute power in Westeros? Did I miss something or does that sum it up?" Uncle Andrew asked because the ridiculous situation was ridiculous. It was so ridiculous that as soon as Harry and Rickard returned from looting the Citadel, they had gone to Winterfell and retrieved Dad, Ryan, Uncle Andrew, Aunt Jessica, Andromeda, and professor Flitwick to listen to what happened. Mom, bless her, wouldn't have taken well to this kind of meeting but she adored Winterfell's glass gardens so we left her at Winterfell with Rebecca and Jennifer so someone could keep an eye on Lyanna - with Teddy watching the trio from afar with an eye always kept on Brandon's whereabouts.
"Essentially, yes, Master Stark," Rickard replied calmly but you could see the tension marring his face. Grashnog had delivered an enormous table to one of the caverns above the forge for the few of us invited to have this little meeting. Mercifully, only Ryan hadn't used the drop shafts before and he was an adrenaline junky anyway.
"So, what happened?" Ryan asked with a cocked eyebrow. "Oh come on. It's like Uncle Andrew said, these Maesters committed treason. What happened?" That was actually a strangely good point that I had never considered before - granted, I was still half asleep having had Dacey wake me up and half drag me to where this meeting was. I was still exhausted from whatever the hell those visions did to me.
"We stole the rest of their things and scared the Hell out of them," Harry grinned fiendishly. I ran a hand down my face as I looked over at Rickard, silently asking him to explain,
"Harry was insistent we take their more valuable items and in the process, we came to find several Valyrian daggers and other trinkets scattered throughout hidden safes and vaults throughout the Citadel. They were hidden in various well hidden places but we were able to find all of them. None were found in the Cathedral - as Harry has taken to calling it - itself. When we went to exit the building, it was well past dawn and Master Potter wished to… What was it?"
"Scare the shit out of them," Harry said with another evil grin on his face.
"Yes, of course. Well, in short, we succeeded," Rickard said with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. "An Archmaester was passing the bookshelf as we exited the vaults. Harry captured and interrogated him, putting him to the question as to find who else knew of the Cathedral's existence, Master Potter found his word to be true, by what methods I would rather not know. Together, we snuck this Archmaester out of the Citadel and brought him before Lord Hightower, the overlord of Oldtown, so he could question the Archmaester himself. Lord Leyton, a good friend of mine but one I had not seen in many years, was confused as to why I was there and why I claimed the Archmaesters were traitors and spies. To prove our claim true, Master Potter came prepared with evidence from within the vault - in particular, a rather interesting shield from House Hightower's vault that Lord Leyton was very happy to see back. Though, the height of his relief was only matched by the depth of Leyton's rage. He demanded to see this supposed vault and we obliged him. Of course, Lord Hightower brought a good portion of his men along with him to the Citadel, arresting seven of the twenty-one Archmaesters and the current Seneschal of the order. As of now, it appears that the only ones who knew of the existence of this vault are limited to former Seneschals. That bit of information certainly made the hunt for other traitors easier. Lord Hightower rallied his men and brought the treasonous Archmaesters back to the Hightower where they were tried by Lord Leyton. Curiously, all seven admitted quite adamantly that there was one more who knew - the Grand Maester. Anyone else who knew have passed. It seems this plot was orchestrated by the Seneschals and Grand Maester of the Order to keep the lords of Westeros compliant - and this extended to the Iron Throne. Leyton sent the Raven to King's Landing himself, it seems he is quite good with them. Though, I do not believe he placed the shield down throughout this whole debacle other than when he asked to borrow Ice from me so he could execute the traitors. I obliged him."
"The traitors are dead and Ice was the blade that killed them? Fitting," Buln growled.
"Aye, but there was something strange about that shield," Rickard said as he scratched his beard. "It feels strange to admit this, but it felt like that shield was glad to be in my hands - that it was relieved to be in the Hightower again."
"Wait, a magic shield?" I asked sharply, getting everyone at the table to look at me with raised eyebrows except Dacey whose eyes were wide in shock.
"You think it was the same shield from your vision?" She asked quietly as I leaned heavily on the table. I nodded slowly.
"It makes sense… I saw Winter's Bane there, the Hightower's magic shield could have been too."
"You may have the opportunity to study it more, Ben," Rickard said with a slight slump to his shoulders. "As I mentioned, Lord Leyton is a good friend but one I have not spoken to often over the years, he too helped fight the Blackfyres at my side. He wished to unite our houses in honor of this friendship and in thanks for exposing this plot. As such, I agreed to betroth Benjen to Lord Hightower's… I think it is his fifth daughter? She is of an age with Benjen and a beautiful, happy girl. Their match will be a good one."
"A wise pairing, my lord," Dacey said with a small smile. "The wealth of Oldtown will be a boon when we begin our trading expeditions."
"I agree, but I'm not a huge fan of these arranged marriages," Dad said quietly, not that I disagreed. While Dacey and I are happy, I wouldn't want anyone else to be forced into a marriage. "But I have to admit that it's put us in a better position… What vision is Dacey talking about, son?"
"One I had last night, dad," I said, rubbing my head lightly. "I touched something called a glass candle and was tossed into the wildest vision I've ever heard of."
"Tell us about it," Andromeda said sternly but kindly. I just shook my head.
"It would be easier to show you." Andromeda inclined her head and snapped her fingers - instantly, a House Elf with a pensieve appeared and bowed to the Lady Black before disappearing. I stared owlishly at the pensieve on the table and then glanced back up at Andromeda. "You brought your house-elves?"
"As did I."
"Me too," Harry and Uncle Andrew said one after the other. I just placed my head in my hands one more time.
"Awesome. Bloody awesome," I muttered before looking at the three of them. "And how many do you have?"
"Two," Harry said.
"Three," Andrew said.
"Two," Andromeda said and I could have sighed.
"Seven house elves and a whole new world to conquer… Want to send them to King's Landing? I'm sure they would love that vacation. The shitty- sorry, city - would smell like roses in a week."
"I am sure, but I believe you are ignoring the point of discussion, Lord Stark," Andromeda said as she looked at me sternly. I sighed and drew my wand, summoning the memories and dropping them into the bowl.
"Y'all go ahead," I said as everyone waited for me to put my finger in, "I'm not living that again." Apparently, that was what it took to get everyone concerned - right up until they touched the bowl and were immediately spat back out. I couldn't help my look of utter disbelief as a ghostly white fog branched up like a tree from the bowl, depositing the memories directly back into my head - and they were clearer than ever. I could have screamed in frustration but I kept myself calm - or at least tried to.
"It appears you must tell us what happened, Lord Stark," Rickard said slowly, even as he was paler than the tree that just appeared. "The old gods have spoken."
"Of course they bloody have," I muttered, rubbing my eyes tiredly as I launched into the retelling of the vision. When I was done, Flitwick was the first to speak.
"Seven weapons were mentioned by this… voice you heard. Are we to assume that Winter's Bane and this shield of the Hightower's is another?"
"Aye, though these visions with the wolves… Those frighten me for true," Rickard said quietly, looking at me with an expression I had never seen on him before: Terror. "The one with the Pale Wolf in particular. You believe it was a Stark?" I nodded slowly.
"I think all the Wolves - well, the Direwolves, that is - were Starks, my Lord. The first thing I saw was a Stark boy I didn't know standing beside an old man with one eye but I think they could see me," now Rickard looked really scared.
"By the gods… Greenseers? They were thought long dead," I shrugged helplessly at Rickard's stunned expression.
"Maybe they are, maybe they aren't. I don't know when I was seeing anyway. I plan on changing more than one of those visions if I can bloody help it though," I growled.
"Lyanna?" Rickard asked, his voice breaking slightly. I nodded once in response.
"Lyanna. That Targaryen, or Blackfyre - whatever kind of Dragon the bitch was, burning King's Landing. Whatever explosion that green fire was in the same damned city… Your Death and Brandon's. I refuse to let that happen, fuck whatever fate says," I growled as the rest of the group nodded in agreement.
"But back to the Pale Wolf," Grashnog interrupted, turning back to Rickard. "You make it sound important. Why?" Rickard almost shrunk in on himself as he clenched his jaw a few times.
"There are legends, legends of a being known as the Night King - or the Great Other. The legends are not clear on his name, all that is known is that he was once the leader of the Others Beyond the Wall in the first Long Night," Rickard almost whispered. "Beings of Ice with the power to reanimate the dead… These Skeletons you spoke of and the smaller wolves of ice, I believe those to be the wights and other White Walkers…"
"Will we have to fight them?" Buln growled, staring at Rickard intently, but it was Jessica who cut in instead.
"Prophecy is a fickle mistress, but Ben's vision was markedly clear - and Ben's not a seer. Having a vision without the sight means something, but is it a warning or a promise of things to come? We can't be sure but we can be prepared. How were these Others defeated the first time?"
"They weren't, not permanently," Rickard said and the room descended into a silence so profound you could have heard a pin drop across the Moat. "In the first fight against them, a time in the Age of Heroes known as the Long Night, the Others were held back but no one who lives knows how. No one knows who built the wall, truly. There are legends that it was Bran the Builder who did. Could he be this Black Direwolf?"
"Maybe… If these Others really are coming back then we have massive issues. I'm worried," Uncle said quietly, looking at all of us intently. "A man's body with a direwolf's head, Rickard and Brandon and Lyanna all dying, the Stags, Dragons, and all the other symbols… This supposed Night King, the other wolves that could be Starks… There's more to this, but what?"
"All good points, but will these visions of the future come to pass?" Dacey asked quietly, getting a surprised look from me. "He saw the past and future, yes. But he saw nothing of the present. Is it truly that in flux? What if these visions were of futures never to come?" Dad and Uncle shared a surprised look but both of them nodded hesitantly.
"It's possible…" Uncle said quietly, "Nothing is certain with prophecy."
"Yeah, but there's almost certainly a Blackfyre out there still going on these visions," Ryan said casually and I looked at him in surprise, thinking furiously before realizing it.
"The black dragon?"
"In the red cloak. What's House Blackfyre's sigil again? A black dragon on a red field? If it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it's probably not a dog." Ryan said as he leaned back slightly, looking up at the ceiling while gathering his thoughts. "There's also the Targaryen in the picture. Since we know there are already Targaryens in Westeros, here are the questions: is that Blackfyre already alive or not? And why is that one particular Targaryen so important?"
"I'm not sure," I said slowly. "I get the rest of what I saw, assemble the weapons to fight the Night King - simple enough. But it's these other visions I don't understand. Why show me these other Starks? The Doom? What's the point?"
"The old gods are fickle, Benjamin," Rickard said quietly. "Yet they touched you - why? Is it a warning of what is to come? A future that shall not be? A past long forgotten? All three? I know not. If it is a warning of things to come, we must prepare. Be it a sign of what to avoid, we shall be watchful. I have been lax with you, Lord Stark, we must prepare. The castles, canal, and the refurbished Moat are a good beginning but Winter is Coming. We need men."
"Men we'll have marching North in thirteen days," I said resolutely. "Tell me, how many call King's Landing home?"
"Seven hundred and fifty thousand strong," Rickard said with a raised eyebrow. "What bearing does this hold?"
"Well…" I rubbed the back of my head and Uncle Andrew just groaned. "I may have asked Tywin to send Heralds through the city asking for smallfolk willing to come North for the reward of guaranteed room and board if they work."
"How on Earth are you going to guarantee that, boy? We barely have enough to feed our own! To house our own!" Rickard hissed and I just grinned as I picked up a bag of my own. Carefully, I pulled out twenty-five books and laid them on the table.
"Codex Alera, the Ranger's Apprentice, the Inheritance Cycle, the Lord of the Rings, and a Roman history book," I said almost reverently, separating the book series from each other. "I've already been teaching Grashnog some of the Ancient Language of Eragon but each of these books have different ideas we can use - especially Codex Alera and the History book."
"What in the name of the gods old and new are these?" Rickard asked as he took the rather intricately covered books and examined them closely.
"Fiction books," I shrugged, "mostly fantasy but they've given me good ideas on more than one occasion," I activated my vibranium armor and took off my helmet, laying it on the table. "For instance, this is based on a whole different set of works but it's functional and looks awesome. So, what can we learn from these? For starters, the North, no offense, my Lord, needs a new form of governance. Your authority is not to be questioned, obviously, but your current system is inefficient. In Codex, there is a system of towns called Steadholts. These are small villages ran by a single person - either a man or woman - called the Steadholder who are the regional Lord's representative and answer directly to him. On their steadholt, they're the equal of a noble. For example, in the first book, there's a Steadholder named Bernard - he's the leading character's uncle - and he answers to the Lord of Riva (the regional lord) who in turn answers to the First Lord (who is basically the king of Alera)."
"An interesting idea, but one that would anger many of my Lords. They don't give up their power lightly," Rickard said carefully but I just grinned.
"Not if you shift to a fiefdom system," I said with a wicked grin that the Stark took notice of. "From what I can tell, you use a very rudimentary system of one but it can be improved. Of course, this will mean drawing actual territory lines for your lords."
"They won't like that, not a bit," Rickard winced.
"You're their lord," the Prince spat. He had been silent up until now but I couldn't help but smirk at his intrusion. "If they have an issue, then they will bear it in silence or be punished. Have you a map, Lord Stark?"
"Aye, here," Rickard said, pulling a roll of parchment from his pack. "It is as accurate a map of the North as I have ever seen." The Prince took the map and snarled at it.
"You Northerners are bloody idiots," the Prince growled as he traced his finger up the left side of the map. "You leave your entire Western coast unguarded!? Where are the defensive positions!? Holdfasts!? Forts!? You have Nothing!" The Goblin prince roared as he tried to burn a hole through Rickard with his eyes.
"House Glover is be-"
"Deepwood Motte would fall if a spark fell on it," the Prince snarled. "You expect one wooden palisade to hold against the wrath of the Vikings of the Iron Islands? Raiders and rapers who could take axes to the wall and bring them down as if they were tissue! Deepwood Motte is not the answer, my Lord. There needs to be a better defense." I just grinned and pulled Eragon toward me.
"Sea Dragon Point is going to need a harbor city - the Glovers and the Mormonts are supposed to be working on it but we all know the rivalry between your houses, Dacey." My wife didn't look happy but nodded in reluctant agreement. "Most likely, all that'll get done is a shipyard and a handful of ships from it by the time the castles at the Bite and Saltspear are complete. There'll need to be a proper city there."
"I'd take it," Ryan said with a smirk and I just shook my head in amusement.
"It'll have to be built first. But who's building it?"
"You have six thousand men at your command, Stark," Grashnog said in disbelief. "And not to mention the residents of King's Landing you have marching for Moat Cailin."
"No one's marching anywhere yet, master," I said quietly. "And those builders are hardly guaranteed to have any sort of skill besides being able to dig and lay rocks. We'll need to teach them what to do - especially if we want to make a properly defended, planned city. We all know that King's Landing practically cropped up overnight when Aegon decided to be ironic and use the place the old Storm King's used as a fishing retreat and decided he was going to land an entire fucking army there. Oldtown was built up around the Hightower, and Lannisport was only half planned out and then exploded in size. What we need is something defensible, strong, and able to accommodate thousands of people," I picked up Eragon and rapidly started flipping through the pages until I found what I was looking for - pushing it to Grashnog whose eyebrows flew up as he read it.
"Oh, yes… That could work indeed…" He muttered. "A tiered city on a harbor? Yes… Yes, that will do well. But we would need a natural deep-water port to accommodate what you want, other than that, this Teirm would be quite formidable."
"Teirm?" Ryan asked with a raised eyebrow. "What's that?"
"A three-ringed city with a large keep in the center of it… Though, I would like to see Minas Tirith built into the Mountains as a true home for the clans as well," I said as I leaned back in my chair.
"You'd build the capital of Gondor?" Dad asked in surprise as everyone turned to him in confusion. "What? Those are my copies of Lord of the Rings. Ben and I watched Star Wars, the Lord of the Rings, the Hobbit, and the Eragon movie-"
"Of which we shall not speak," I said sagely.
"Together. Where do you think he got the inspiration for his helmet? And wasn't it Eragon that got you into smithing, son?"
"Brisingr, yes," I said with a nostalgic grin. "Though Percy Jackson helped too - still working on trying to make celestial bronze though."
"Any luck?"
"No, I can't get it to glow without hellishly difficult runes," I sighed and rubbed my forehead, jumping slightly as I felt the metal of my gauntlet press into my skin. I grinned sheepishly and banished the armor, pulling the history book to me. "But we need to talk about what we want to do with these incoming men. We're going to need builders, first and foremost, but we need to feed them as well."
"Our nation has that well in hand," Grashnog waved his hand with a look that said 'do you really think I hadn't thought of that?' "I've sent Goblins to start the rail-line and underground, automated gardens for each of the major castles in the North. The construction began at Winterfell and over our very heads here. It may take some time to get the gardens up and growing but we have beans, corn, and squash ready to be planted immediately. There are also plenty of potatoes, tomatoes, greens, and peppers ready to be sowed."
"Excellent!" I grinned broadly as Grashnog simply nodded. "How many men will you need when they're ready to harvest?"
"None," the Prince said. "Magic is used in the harvest, none are needed to reap."
"Even better," I grinned before the smile fell slightly. "But these are going to be huge projects, we're going to need to spread men out to do it all. That leads me to this," I said laying a hand on the History book and Codex Alera. "The Legions."
"Legions? Such as the Lockstep and Iron Legions of the Ghiscari?" Rickard asked with a raised eyebrow and I just stared at him flatly.
"They have legions here too?" I shook my head and sighed. "Well, maybe? I doubt they would be operated the same way. Ours will have men divided into groups so we can make sure there's a proper way to get everything done. If it does become a military institution? Well, all the better. The North's army is horribly undeveloped."
"The Targaryens do not allow any of the Lords Paramount to hold a standing military, it was one of the Conqueror's first declarations. House Stark used to have an army loyal to Winterfell and only to Winterfell. We would be defying the laws of the Realm," Rickard said nervously but I just scoffed and stood up.
"Defying the laws of the realm, he says. We're already passed that Lord Stark, we're talking about breaking faith with the realm," Dacey said in my place. "We sit underneath the testament to that. House Mormont knows no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark [1]. House Mormont has not forgotten. Where House Stark goes, Bear Island will follow, my Lord Stark."
"My wife has the right of it," I said grimly, "but that doesn't mean we have to fight right now. We have every advantage - save numbers but those may be swung in our favor soon. If the South wants to invade the North, first they'll have to take this castle unless they somehow come up with enough wood to build ships for… how many?"
"Two hundred thousand," Rickard said quietly, "without the North, the King can assemble that many to his cause if he so chose."
"Then let him choose - but not yet. The Legions aren't going to be a military unit right off the bat, as I said before, but when they do? We can possibly have the best trained army in the whole of the world."
"The Unsullied would disagree with you on that score, as would the Knights of the Vale," Rickard said calmly but he was tense.
"The who?" Ryan asked bluntly.
"The Unsullied, slave soldiers with a terrible name," Dacey spat. "Well, they can't sully themselves with women. The Good Masters of Astapor see to that when they cut off their cocks as boys or babes." I couldn't help but wince at that. "They're said to be the lockstep legions of Old Ghis come again. They feel no pain and will never break. They will win or they will die and they don't die easily."
"Interesting," I muttered, wondering what kind of monsters these good masters really were.
"Bah," Buln snarled, "cockless wonders then. No, the legions we will build would route them. I've read this Codex Alera, thanks to the Dragon Smith, and I have studied old Rome. I can see what you wish but it would not work the way you believe. Keep the weapons, aye, but for the North, you will need clothes to fight the weather as well."
"Which are being provided by Lord Hornwood," I said easily. "Furs also aren't hard to come by here. I spoke to Lord Hornwood and he's going to be on the hunt for fox, wolves, rabbits, and anything else he can make furs from - we're certainly going to need that come winter. There's not too much I can do other than that, people will freeze if they're not properly clothed but they'll die if they're not armored and trained. But for right now, we need building crews not an army. Lord Tywin is sending his stonemasons and carpenters to build the new castles now - they're supposed to be done in five years and will no doubt send the layout to Lord Tywin. That won't be an issue once I'm done reinforcing and arming them. Tywin might think he's the mightiest man in Westeros but I've got more than a few surprises for him."
"Like what?" The prince snapped gruffly. I just grinned.
"I'll show you."
XXX
"Dragons… Bloody dragons… Hearing you say they hatched is one thing, seeing them? That's another." Harry muttered as Inferna sidled up to him like a dog begging for a rub. "They don't act much like dragons though, do they?"
"No they don't, they're remarkably calm actually. Though, I'm surprised they're taking to you all this well," I said as I watched the little dragons clamber over the rest of the room's occupants like limpets - though Ancaleon was his normal, calm self on my shoulder. But he was getting much too heavy to sit on my shoulders like he always liked to do - which was a shame because the rest of the (smaller) dragons hadn't even quite gotten to the size Ancaleon, Inferna, and Oramir were when Dacey and I were married while Ancaleon was nearly the size of a full grown mastiff. More importantly?
"Can they breath fire?" The Prince - who was one of the few people in the forge the dragons had not taken to - asked nervously, glancing around the room wildly as a cage animal. I just grinned blood thirstily and turned to Ancaleon.
"Dracarys," was all I said as Ancaleon chirped happily and let off a small, but intense, gout of orange flame aimed toward the ceiling.
"Excellent!" Rickard bellowed with Ootun on his shoulder, chirping just as happily as his brothers and sisters. "Can they all?"
"No, not yet," I said exasperatedly, "only Oramir, Inferna, and Ancaleon can right now. I think I named Inferna aptly, she was the first to breath fire."
"Was she?" Harry asked as he stroked the dragon's chin thoughtfully.
"She was, though they still won't be ready to ride for a few years at the least."
"Years? By the way they're growing, the biggest three will be bigger than ponies in a moon! You make plans for armies but these little ones will not remain little so long," Dacey chortled happily and I just shook my head, though I couldn't disagree. The Dragons - really needed to come up with a name to distinguish the breeds, actually… Anyway, the Dragons were growing faster than I could have ever anticipated. Most hatchlings took six months to get to the point where they could fly on their own power - these guys were all already airborne and loving it. Though, they were a bit behind the dragons back home in fire power - though I guess that has to do with the fact that they can melt bloody castles at full size. I had seen Harrenhal and the towers looked like burned down candles than towers when I flew over it the first time. If that's what Balerion the Dread could do when he was fully grown? Well, I would hate to see what Ancaleon and the other two would do when they were angry at that size - especially when that wrecking ball on their tails was large enough to do some serious damage. If I was a betting man, I'd say we wouldn't have much of a need for battering rams with the three of them around. Though there were some things I was going to need to do to make sure they weren't hit by lucky ballista bolts like whatever her name's dragon was in Dorne.
"Maybe not that soon," Uncle Andrew chuckled. "Do you have any idea why they're two different species altogether?"
"I haven't a clue," I said helplessly. "Any documentation the Valyrians had is likely gone with their continent, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to go hunt for some of it. I planned to head to Essos after the crews were all assembled and starting the roads but now it looks like I'll have to wait on the men marching on the moat."
"Why wait? Couldn't you make a portkey back here and apparate over?" Ryan asked and I could have smacked myself in the forehead. "You didn't think of it. Well, you better get going!" he grinned.
"It's over a thousand miles just to get to Braavos from White Harbor," I said flatly. "And I'd be flying purely over water for five hours at best. And then, then I'd have to go a thousand more just to get to Valyria, though I could apparate to Myr and then to Volantis before hitting Valyria."
"That would take you what? Six hours?" Ryan scoffed but Rickard looked like he was about to have a small panic attack.
"Six hours!? Six hours to Reach Valyria!? It's over two thousand miles away!" He squeaked as Ootun wrangled himself from Rickard's arms to his shoulders. I just shrugged.
"Eh, airplanes could get there faster but I don't know how to build one. I don't think any of us do for that matter," I said rubbing my chin thoughtfully. "Though, I do need to find a man in Braavos…"
"Who?" Dad asked with a bewildered expression on his face, I just grinned.
"The man I want to be Lord of Eastern castle. But before I go, what did you manage to steal from the Citadel?"
"Books, books, books, books, books, some more books! Everything in the cathedral, the glass candles, books, a knife or two, but then there was this and I found it in Winterfell," Harry said as he gently moved Inferna to his lap to pull something out of his pack. I felt my eyes widen in shock at the familiar ring of bronze with spikes of iron reaching up to the sky.
"By the gods," Rickard whispered, utterly entranced, "where did you find the Crown of Winter?"
"Behind a pile of rocks in some cave below the castle, bunch of statues. Wasn't quite sure why they were there though. I just kept walking and clearing rubble while placing in new supports for the ceiling as I went. Looked like someone tried to collapse the place intentionally." Harry said while scratching his chin. "I had managed to find this," he held up the crown and offered it to Rickard, "before I was growled at by a bloody wolf patronus - thank you Andrew," he snarked with a roll of his eyes.
"Yeah, yeah," Andrew shot back. "Obviously this thing's important, but what is it?"
"I saw it," I said shakily and instantly everyone turned to me, "the Black Wolf was wearing it, it fell out of a weirwood tree and landed right on his head."
"Interesting… Legend says that Bran the Builder founded House Stark but your vision says that another wolf - a grey one? Yes? Ran back south and dropped the crown before turning North waiting?"
"Aye," I nodded once to Lord Stark who rocked back on his heels.
"And the Black Wolf never left the wall?"
"Not that I saw," I said quietly. The old wolf just frowned heavily.
"Riddles upon mysteries… Take the crown, Lord Stark," Rickard said, dragging a hand down his face. "It was hidden for a reason."
"So someone wouldn't take it… Why go through all the trouble for a loop of Bronze though?" Ryan asked as I took the crown from Harry, trying to decipher the runes.
"I can't make heads or tails of these runes," sometimes all you could do was admit defeat. I hesitated briefly before lifting the crown and placing it on my head. Nothing happened. It was just a heavy, awkward piece of metal. I shook my head and took the crown off, passing it to Ryan with a smirk. "Go on, I have a crown welded to my helmet. I'd like to see you in this ridiculous thing at least once in my life," I grinned as he took it exasperatedly while Guntoph snoozed lazily in his lap. Though, something strange happened the second he put it on. I could only watch in fascinated horror as Ryan's eyes flashed white as he slumped over. More surprisingly, Guntoph - the laziest of the thirteen - snapped awake and was looking around wildly before he caught sight of Ryan's passed-out form and screeched violently. He scrambled out of Ryan's lap and screeched again as Dacey finally came to her senses and yanked the crown off of Ryan's head. Instantly, Ryan's eyes changed back to his normal color as he screamed once again - but this time it was coherent.
"... IN THE NAME OF BLOODY FUCKING HELLSHIT JUST FUCKING HAPPENED?"
"Ryan!" Dad snapped and Ryan immediately fell silent but his eyes were still rabid.
"You warged…" Dacey said in awe. "Bear Island knows of magic but I have not seen a warg in my life. How? How can the crown force someone to warg?"
"It didn't affect me, though," I said confusedly. "Why?" Dacey said nothing, just placing the crown on her own head. Nothing happened.
"Neither of us are wargs. One in a thousand is born a warg, one born in a thousand-thousands is born a greenseer," Dacey said before steeling herself for what she was about to say next. "But rarest of all are they who can change their shape. They who can be neither skinchanger nor greenseer."
"Yeah, animagi," I said with a wave of my hand. "Harry, Uncle Andrew, and Aunt Jessie are all animagi and have been for years." Dacey's eyes were the size of saucers as I grinned and warped into my Direwolf form. I felt a weight settle on top of my head and suddenly there was a black, maced tail swinging in front of my eyes. I barked once to try and tell him to get off but quickly realized that I didn't have actual vocal cords. Ancaleon just chirped as the rest of the room watched, utterly dumbfounded.
"You- you're a shapechanger?!" Rickard squeaked, the man was pale as a ghost but looked overjoyed all the same as I changed back to human.
"I am, and I assume you are too?" I asked my wife with a grin. She looked at me in shock before transforming into the largest grizzly bear I had ever seen and roared in my face. A beat later and Dacey was Dacey again and looking at me with a grin stretching across her face.
"What other shapes have you mastered?" She asked excitedly, changing into a horse and one of the ugliest cats I had ever seen (not that I would tell her that) in quick succession. The cat was a strange one though, it was a black cat with white tiger stripes marking it's thick pelt but the fangs jutting over the bottom lip of its smushed face were most unsettling.
"Uh, a direwolf?" I said but it was more of a question. The other animagi in the room were just as stunned.
"Hold on Ben," Harry said with a raised hand as he turned to Dacey. "Animagi aren't skinwalkers," he said firmly and I felt myself freeze at the term. That gift was huge but the price was too high.
"Skinwalkers?" Dad asked owlishly. "Those are real?"
"As real as Thunderbirds and Horned Serpents," Harry said seriously. "I apologize but this will require a bit of backstory. In our home, quite like here, there is a land to the west," he said simply and I could have scoffed at the massive understatement. "Our peoples had never met before as they were far to the west, incredibly far."
"Such as the sunset sea?"
"Aye, it's possible," I said quietly, looking at Harry to carry on.
"But it's not feasible yet. You would need galleons with months upon months of provisions to cross it. Anyway, we were talking about skinwalkers, yes?" He didn't give anyone time to answer. "From what I know, the Native Americans - the people who lived in the land across the sea at the time - came up with their own answer to the Animagus process. It allowed them to become any animal they chose but they couldn't do any other magic besides. Of course, that was what made their Jaguar warriors so fierce - they thought they were directly blessed by their gods as they could take the skin of any creature that walked the land, hence the name skinwalker. Anyway, the priests were the real magicians that committed blood sacrifices to do what they needed. It was undoubtedly effective, the priests were said to bring rain in the middle of a drought, turn hordes of locust to dust, and change the course of a famine with a willingly given sacrifice - unfortunately, there weren't too many of those. The sheer amount of unwilling sacrifices they committed are what are sinking Mexico to this day, and it killed most of the skinwalkers." He said gravely, "but those it didn't kill wish they had died. They were transformed into abominations of man and animal, but there are still some who attempt the process and end up losing their magic and their minds. Far safer to try for an animagus form and keep your magic than manage to be the first in seven centuries to be a perfect skinwalker - yes, the Aztecs did the horribly botched ritual to try and beat back the Spanish. It failed miserably. I think the records say they sacrificed five hundred skinwalkers to try to let one man skin walk as a Dragon? It doesn't really matter now as shapechanging obviously hasn't been perverted here like skinwalking had back home. But this skinchanging thing is what really interests me. Ben, have you seen anything like it before?"
"No, but I'm not sure why Ryan can do it but I can't."
"Beloved," Dacey chuckled as she rested a hand on my arm. "A skinchanger cannot be a shapechanger and a shapechanger cannot be a skinchanger, it is known. The North has known few shapechangers in our history but there are rumored to be some remaining in Asshai by the Shadow - where nothing is forbidden. We know that one who has one gift cannot have the other." I bit my lip and nodded slowly, taking the Crown from Ryan and handed it to Andromeda. She lifted an eyebrow and I grinned.
"Call it testing a theory, if you would. I'm a Wizard and an animagus, Ryan's a squib, and Dacey's a shapechanger. You're a Witch and not an animagus - if you can warg then I have a theory." Andromeda nodded and put the crown on gracefully. Nothing happened and she took it off.
"Did that help?"
"Yes, Lady Black," I said with a grin, "if you can do magic like we can then you have the potential to become an animagus. If Harry's to be believed, shape-changing is one step beyond the animagus process - if you sacrifice your magic, then you can skin-walk. Here, it seems to be a born sacrifice. A Warg can't be a wizard or a witch but a witch or wizard can be an animagus but a squib can be a warg. I think there has to be at least a latent bit of magic in a man in order for them to warg. But, I'm not sure what would happen if a wizard had no affinity for an animal transformation. Could they become a shapechanger or would they be a warg?" I asked Harry and he just looked at me like a deer in the headlights.
"Don't ask me! I just make the potion," he said with his hands in the air. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the sight as Ancaleon huffed in annoyance at the Professor's antics.
"Oh come now, professor," I said with a grin, "you obviously do a lot less now."
"I resent that!" Harry snapped and Ancaleon barred his fangs and growled quietly at the shout. The professor's eyes widened slightly before holding his hands up in surrender, appeasing the incredibly loyal dragon. I grinned and scratched Cala's chin gently, smiling widely as he purred under my touch.
"Lady Black," I said quietly, turning to the Lady who had a grin across her face as well at the professor's misfortune as our eyes met. "I believe there's one Stark left here who would probably want to wear the crown. Isn't that right, Rickard?" The Stark lord's eyes bugged out of his head as he nodded hesitantly, standing to take the crown. He held it between his fingers reverently before reaching up and placing it on top of his head – his eyes erupting in white fire but he remained on his feet.
"Gods," he gasped, "I can see through the dragon's eyes…"
"Can you control them?" I asked curiously. His lips thinned as he nodded slowly, reaching up to take the crown off his head.
"Aye, I could have – but not the one on yours or Dacey's shoulders. Nor master Potter's. Their minds are an inferno I dare not touch," he said, placing the crown down on the forge floor.
"Is that so…" I said quietly, looking at the Black Dragon on my shoulder. "Lord Stark," I said as we met eyes. "I cannot wear that crown, it's true. I doubt any of my children would be able to either, but as of right now I'm still a Stark – I would change that."
"Ben-" I held up my hand as dad tried to interrupt and grinned lightly.
"Everyone calls me the Dragon Smith anyway, I might as well head it off my way," I smiled at him and turned to Rickard. "Besides, I can't think of a better time to bring this up. Lord Stark, from this day, I ask to be known as Benjamin Agonstark of Moat Cailin."
"Agonstark?" Rickard asked, blinking owlishly before the realization hit and he grinned with me. "Benjamin Dragon Stark, eh? Aye, a fine name, lad! Greatjon would have saddled you with it one way or another if he found out about the little ones here," Rickard boomed merrily. "Anyone else for new names?"
"Seastark," Ryan said with a grin just as wide stretching across his face, "if you're going to saddle me with a city on the sea, I want a name to go with it!"
"Suppose I ought to take it as well if I'm to be the admiral of your fleet, Lord Stark," dad said in return.
"Just as good, lads. Hail, Lords Seastark and Agonstark. Now, Lords Seastark, now we need to get you, Ryan, a city to rule and a fleet for you, Lincoln, to command… Though, the Lords will want to see Lincoln take command of the city." Rickard tangled his fingers in his beard as Ryan frowned but dad shrugged.
"You're not wrong," Dad said. "I wouldn't be opposed to becoming Lord while there's still no fleet."
"Damn," Ryan sighed. "Well, if nothing else, I do need to learn how to run a city…" I stood with Ancaleon on my shoulder all the while.
"Right," I nodded to my brother who returned the gesture. "Would this be acceptable, Lord Stark?"
"It would be, lad. Your brother is your father's heir, if he wishes to step down to allow Ryan to command it is his right."
"Excellent!" I grinned as Ryan nodded slowly. "Now I suppose I need to prepare for a trip to Braavos?"
"And a visit with the Iron Bank," Garstal growled. I felt my eyes widen slightly.
"Did you think we wouldn't make overtures, Dragonsmith?" Grashnog asked with a small snort. "I have done business with the Braavosi bank before, that should be enough to gain us an audience."
"I will be in attendance," Garstal growled as Grashnog simply bowed his head.
"As you wish, my Prince."
"When are you leaving, Ben?" Dad asked quietly. I just shrugged.
"I suppose I need to be going now if I'm going to get there anytime soon. Lord Stark, by your leave?"
"Of course, Lord Agonstark," Rickard said as we all stood up, the dragons still perching on their chosen pillow. "Fair winds to you."
"And a fair trip to you as you return to Winterfell. We will discuss the crown in more detail later, there's too much we don't know about it and without knowing what those runes mean I can't tell you anything about what it does aside from what we have seen here."
"Unfortunate but not unexpected. Go, Lord Agonstark, it seems you have a long journey ahead."
XXX
Braavos…
And boy didn't I? After seven hours - ran into some bad weather halfway between Westeros and Essos - I finally made it to Braavos and was able to convert one of the many portkeys I had to the Moat to a two way Portkey and activated it. After collecting Grashnog and Garstal, Grashnog led the way to a large marble building that actually quite reminded me of Gringotts had the Goblin Bank not had the melted wax appearance to it. Apparently, that was due to a Short Snout and Horntail that got loose sometime in the seventeenth century… But anyway. Grashnog was easily allowed entrance and that led us to right now. Standing in a large hall in front of a table with three thrones behind it and two simple, stone benches in front.
The power plays were sickeningly obvious. But this was a bank so I suppose it made sense - not that I liked being forced to wait for three hours by a trio of jumped up bank tellers. Finally, we were graced with the presence of three men in simple, brown tunics and breeches. I'd say the clothes were humble even, but the Renaissance ruffs they were all wearing killed that notion as soon as I thought about it. All three were rather forgettable faces but I could have laughed at their seating arrangements - the one with a waist length beard sat at one end of the table, the middle wore rather well groomed, thick stubble, while the last man was either clean shaven or too young to even have a beard in the first place.
"Welcome to the Iron Bank. Please, sit," [2] the man wearing the close-cropped beard said as he smiled after he and his companions sat at the table opposite of Grashnog, Garstal, and I. We easily sat down on the stone benches provided while the three of them sat in their thrones.
"Thank you for meeting us on such short notice, master…?" I asked, forcing myself not to even show a hint of irritation as I sat on the far left bench while Grashnog and Garstal took the center for themselves, none of their spells were in place as we met the Iron Bank.
"Nestoris, Tycho Nestoris. These are my colleagues Brusquo Dimmitrios and Jaquar Otherys. Master Grashnog, welcome back. It has been quite some time since we last met," he said with a smile on his lips that stank of greed.
"Aye, Master Nestoris, it has. How are my accounts?"
"Flourishing and providing the Iron Bank with quite a bit of interest by themselves, for which we thank you. Who are your companions, Master? We are aware that this is one of the renown Starks of Winterfell but your other companion is unknown to us."
"Of Moat Cailin, actually, and not a Stark anymore," I replied with a forced smile, "Benjamin Agonstark, at your service. It seems you already know Grashnog, High Blacksmith and senior counselor to King Aluneas of the Goblin Nation, but this is Garstal, King Aluneas' seventh son and nominal head of the Goblin Nation in Westeros." The bank's representative raised an eyebrow.
"I am afraid I have never heard of this King Aluneas, or Goblin Nation. From where do you hail?"
"Somewhere you've never heard of, lad. Somewhere far, far, away," Grashnog said gruffly and the representative's smile just grew.
"So you are building an empire and require funding, then?"
"Bah," Garstal grunted. "We have plenty of gold. No, we're here to propose a partnership." The previously jolly representative's eyes were narrowed now as he leaned across the table.
"A… Partnership? On what grounds? The Iron Bank is the foremost and preeminent banking institution in the known world, why would we need a partnership with you, Master Grashnog?" Nestoris said with a lifted eyebrow.
"Not when we're done," Garstal said with a feral grin. "You see, Benjamin here, has… what was it in their golden Dragons, lad?"
"Five hundred and seventy-eight thousand golden dragons," the Banker's eyes flashed at the amount but he calmed down rather quickly.
"The totals of the Iron Bank-"
"Are significantly higher, yes, but it's enough to open a new branch of Gringotts. Not to mention the services we intend to provide go far beyond simple money tending." Grashnog interrupted the man on the far left with a wave of his hand. "We know that House Lannister's fortune alone is quite a bit higher than what I assume Ben has, perhaps larger than the sum of my personal fortune combined with his. But our gold is not sparse, 'twould be a shame if I were forced to transfer my own significant reserves to make sure our Bank was able to rise to its feet. Though, what you don't know - and neither do we, for that matter - is how much gold is in the mountains of the North. You see, the Mountain Clans have given Rickard Stark permission to begin mining operations whenever he pleases." Now all three reps were uneasy as they looked at the goblin pair.
"And how much gold would be in these Mountains, if you were to guess?" Nestoris asked nervously, ignoring Grashnog's threat and glancing at me. I just shrugged.
"More than what Casterly Rock holds by itself, possibly more than all of the Westerlands seeing as those Mountains cover quite a bit of land."
"House Lannister has been mining Casterly Rock for four thousand years and there seems to be no end in sight, nor bottom to those mines. Your mines are not even open yet," Nestoris said nervously and I couldn't help but scoff.
"No one in this room believes that a gold vein is endless - after all, that would be bad for business. Lord Lannister's house and the house before his have been digging in that rock for over eight thousand years, they're due to hit bottom at some point - some point soon. Not to mention that Tywin himself would empty his coffers if it meant his House would be on top. Hell, I nearly forced him to dump them into mine myself," I couldn't help but grin at the alarm on the faces of the reps.
"What did you sell him?" the furthest left rep asked quietly.
"A sword. A sword he and House Lannister have been after for a very long time," my grin grew wider as the reps paled significantly. "So you do know about that monstrosity of Valyrian Steel and gold the Lannisters were always so proud of? Well, I found it and returned it to him for what he probably thought was a steal - he thinks I'm some green boy but he has no idea I bought off three other houses with the same offer, well, four if today goes the way I think it will."
"You found other blades? Or have found a way to recreate the lost steel, Master Grashnog?" The Braavosi was nearly leaning across the table as I scowled and looked at my hands briefly. I looked up in time to see disappointment flash across his and his companions' faces. "Oh. I see."
"Actually, we're getting close to reproducing it," I said, pulling the first attempt Grashnog and I created that day two months ago from my belt and laid it on the table - much to the reps' shock. Nestoris picked it up with trembling hands and examined the dagger closely.
"It's just as light if not lighter than Valyrian steel, though the pattern is slightly off… It's the best imitation I have ever seen and I have seen my fair share of Valyrian steel. Of the two hundred and twelve in Westeros, eighty-seven have passed through the halls of the Iron Bank - for a fair price, of course. But of all of those I have held, this is quite possibly my favorite… How does it differ from the blades of Old Valyria?"
"We don't know," I said honestly, the banker looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "We're still trying to reverse engineer the true steel. But, if you're asking about this metal's properties - it will stay ever sharp, never rust, and you feel how light it is. As of now, it's rarer than true Valyrian Steel so it's going to start expensive, but I can make more at any time I want. If this partnership turns out, I'm willing to let the Iron Bank have first rights to selling anything made from this - be it cutlery, candleholders, or chandeliers. It's yours to commision and sell. I only ask for a ten percent cut of the profits or any Dragonbone that passes through the bank."
"How generous of you, Lord Agonstark… How is it made? I take it that Dragonbone is an integral part of the process in the metal's creation, is this correct?"
"Wouldn't you like to know?" I answered easily and the banker just laughed softly.
"Yes, indeed I would. Though I would be remiss in leaving the question unasked… What are your terms, Garstal, son of Aluneas. We will hear them."
"Excellent, Lord Agonstark, you are free to roam the city. We will be here for quite some time," Grashnog said, screaming at me to leave just with his expression. I balked for a second and then realized I could explore Braavos or sit in this hell of finance… A ridiculous decision, really.
"Masters, I thank you for your time. Master Nestoris, please, keep that dagger for yourself. Think of it as my gift to you as we start this new partnership."
"Thank you, Lord Agonstark. You are most welcome in the Iron Bank whenever you are in Braavos. Am I to assume Master Grashnog is authorized to negotiate on your behalf for the metal?"
"He is," I said simply and the representative's grin became a full smile as he bowed his head to me.
"Then we will meet again, I will be your liaison to the Iron Bank and throughout Essos - perhaps Westeros should the opportunity arise. Ours will be a most profitable partnership."
"I certainly hope it will be, good day, Masters," I said as I stood and gave a half bow to the three men and two goblins before turning on heel and marching out of the hall as the negotiations began in earnest.
"And Lord Agonstark?" I turned to look over my shoulder as the clean faced banker stood, "there is a tourney beginning at the Sealord's Square this afternoon, I believe it is to start at the first hour. I see you wield the sword, all comers are welcome in this tourney."
"I do not believe I am interested in competing, but I may know of a man," I said with a grin and a nod of the head as I strolled out of the room easily, the man sitting back down as I turned my back. I took a small coin out of my pocket and flipped it up in the air, catching it with a hook behind my navel.
"Dragonsmith? Are your negotiations finished so soon?"
"Mine are, Warmaster. How would you like to fight in a tourney?"
XXX
"Hah! These Braavosi are good! What was their style called? Water fencing?"
"Water dancing, I believe, Warmaster," I smiled as the Goblin picked up his axe and shield, his goblin silver lacquered draganium plate shining like moonlight in the Braavosi sun. He upturned his canteen and snarled slightly as it came up empty. He had just finished his third match of the day and was due to compete in the semifinals.
"Useless," he growled, snatching the second one I held out to him.
"Like that kid you just beat down?" I asked with a lifted brow. Buln spat to the side and took his place at the bench reserved for the fighters and their shieldbearers - not that many of these Braavosi actually carried shields. Buln did but he was fond of a brick wall defense before turning into a living hurricane with that axe he was so fond of - especially since he had me rehaft his favorite head with an ironwood handle.
"No, the boy was worthless against me but worth his salt to have made it his far. What was his name? Reyes?"
"Rhys, actually," a familiar voice said behind us. I couldn't help the smile that crept up my face as I turned to face the shock of red hair - well, two. The man and his son both had identical shocks of red hair. "Benjamin Stark, I presume?"
"Lord Benjamin Agonstark of Moat Cailin now, Lord Reyne," I grinned and offered my hand to him. "It's good to meet you face to face. I'm sure you remember Buln?"
"Aye, I do, little bugger would have killed me if it weren't for you and your shield. But it seems you've done well for yourself, my lord," he said with a grin. "Though, I'm still naught but a Lord of water and ash."
"That could change," I said easily. The man's eyes narrowed as I glanced down at his son. "But Rhys, you said? Well met, I'm Ben. You put up a good fight, kid."
"No, I didn't. He beat me like I was nothing!"
"He beats me like I'm nothing and he's trained me for years. You're what? Thirteen?" The kid nodded and I shook my head at the Goblin who was just amused now.
"He has potential, more than you do if you're not using that hell sword of yours that is," Buln grunted as he tested the edge of his axe. "At least the boy has speed and agility but most of all, he fights smart. If I remember correctly, you came at me like a bull in our first fight."
"Last I remember, I shortened your axe by a head and you were forced to take up a sword to fight me - and to beat me you dove through my legs."
"You were using the hell sword, you're thrice as good with it as you are with any other weapon besides your hammer. You put even Grashnog to shame with what you can do with that and an anvil now, lad," Buln said and I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smile on his face.
"Wait," Robard interrupted us, "what do you mean that I could-"
"And now! We move to the final bouts of the day!" a Herald cut Robard off just as easily as he cut into mine and Buln's conversation. "Buln Shegret of Myr will be facing Syrio Forel of Braavos! Entiran Ultiahs of Braavos will duel Reginald Sand of Dorne! The first match shall be between Shegret and Forel!"
"I believe that's my cue," Buln said cockily as he pulled on his helm and strode off to face the swarthy, stocky man that Buln was almost the same height as. I couldn't help but narrow my eyes in confusion. The Braavosi wore nothing but lamellar over a gambeson that stretched down to his thighs for armor and his colichemarde was still in its scabbard - thankfully he was wearing a helmet, if it could be called that. For once, I found something a bit ahead of its time in Forel's helmet - a seventeenth century Morion helmet. In comparison to Buln in his full plate, shield, and axe, Forel didn't even appear to be a player.
Looks can be deceiving.
Robard, Rhys - his son assumedly (the red hair was rather distinctive), and I didn't say a word as the judge dropped a handkerchief, we simply watched as Forel moved the second it hit the ground. I felt my jaw drop as Buln was barely able to get his shield up in time to take the first blow - not that it stopped the return shot that hammered into his other side ineffectively. The biggest thing Buln had going for him right now was the Draganium of his plate mail. It wouldn't absorb impacts perfectly, but it would be a hell of a lot better than taking a straight hit to the ribs or a weak joint in the armor. There would always be weak spots - but we made sure to counter those as best we could. His armpits were pure ice vibranium and segmented, nothing was getting through that notorious weak joint. The real problem was that Forel moved like lightning. He was fast, smooth, and didn't look like he was ever going to tire.
All men do.
Soon enough, the man was forced to slow down as the onslaught of hits and taps just rang through the air as they made contact with Buln's armor - unfortunately for the Braavosi, this was a knockout, first blood, or submission contest. Hits didn't matter if they didn't put your opponent down. This Forel may move like a demon but he would have been better off to use a heavier sword to at least try and hurt Buln a bit instead of just leaving a few bruises at best. I've seen the goblin fight through broken bones, a few light bruises from the particularly strong strikes were all the Water Dancer would leave for Buln to remember him by.
The Braavosi would never forget what Buln left him.
Buln swept his axe up from the ground, the poll making solid contact with the brim of Forel's helmet but it held on - if just barely. The helmet made a resounding clang as Buln followed through and brought the axe back down, making the helmet ring even louder. Forel crumpled to a knee but he wasn't out of the fight quite yet - not until Buln levelled his axe at Forel's neck.
"Yield." Buln said calmly. The dazed Braavosi looked up, looked down at his sword, and back up at Buln.
"Syrio Forel yields." Silence reigned through the tourney ground as the herald called out for the next match and called for Buln to stand by him. Buln agreed while the Water Dancer staggered to his feet and limped in our direction. I vaguely realized that the docks were behind me but in that moment all I cared about was the fighter staggering directly toward me.
"You did well," I called out as the Braavosi took his helmet off and shook his head.
"Thank you, friend. But Syrio Forel came to win, not take third best. Your man will win, will he not?"
"I think we both know the answer to that."
"Match! Sand draws first blood!" the herald called out. I forced myself to blink as I saw the other Braavosi bleeding from a long cut on his left arm seconds after the match started.
"Perhaps not…" Forel grinned as Buln stepped forward with the Dornishman. "Your man is good, but his armor… His armor gives him protection unmatched. I could not find a single gap in the plates."
"Just as I intended," I said smugly. Forel's eyes flashed in surprise as a blinding smile appeared on his lips.
"You are a smith then, yes? A Westerosi smith?"
"Benjamin Agonstark, at your service," I said with a rather forced grin.
"And who are the Agonstark's companions?" he asked casually, just as the first clash of steel on steel rang through the tourney grounds.
"Robard Reyne and…" I trailed off, looking at Robard with an expectant look.
"Rhys Reyne, my son and heir," Robard said softly as the Dornishman jumped and twirled through the air, spinning his spear like a whirling wheel of light. He'd be a bigger problem for Buln if the Goblin Warmaster was hit with the spear at full reach - but Buln was already closing the distance.
"Ah, a Reyne? Forgive me, even in Braavos, a man has heard tell of the Rains of Castamere… It was thought your family was destroyed?" I felt my eyebrow lift as Buln got a hit against the Dornishman's ribs. I had heard of the Rains of Castamere and even met with Tywin but I had yet to hear the song.
"It was, but I was in Volantis with my mother when Tywin destroyed House Tarbeck root and stem and attempted to do the same with mine. My mother died many years ago and I've been hiding in Essos ever since."
"Wait a second," I turned away from the fight and looked at the Reyne and Water Dancer in shock. "Tywin committed genocide, twice! And now he's Hand of the King?"
"Aye, he's one of Aerys' closest, oldest friends." Robard spat and I just shook my head.
"Not anymore," I muttered as the three of my newest companions looked at me curiously. I sighed and pushed a hand through my hair. "I met with Tywin, recently. That thing I mentioned about changing your position? I managed to get Tywin to build two castles on the East and Western most points of the Neck - both at the mouths of a Canal currently being dug. Tywin was insistent that a Westerman controls the Eastern castle and I agreed. Unfortunately for him, he never said what family that Lord couldn't be from. House Reyne, as of now, is still a Lordly House of the Westerlands but you have no castle. How would you like to be Lord of this new one?" Robard's eyes widened in shock and so did his son's, but Syrio looked mildly interested as well.
"Wh-when will the castle be… be built by?" Robard managed to stammer out.
"No later than five years, no sooner than one. In those years, I'm hoping to sway those masons Tywin's sending. After all, why would I let him keep twenty-five hundred skilled laborers when I can use them?" I grinned and Robard returned it weakly. "If you want, Moat Cailin is quickly approaching the final stages of construction on the Keep. House Agonstark would be willing to house you until such time you are ready to be Lord of the East. Is this acceptable?"
"Yes," he blurted out. "I-I need to find my wife… I'm going home?"
"You're going home," I smiled at his painfully hopeful expression as I heard the Dornishman cry out in pain. I turned back to the battlefield to see the Dornishman clutching at an obviously broken arm that was dripping blood.
"Winner! Buln of Myr! The Sealord will see Buln of Myr and Syrio Forel in his court! Reginald Sand, you are to be given a purse of a hundred golden dragons for your trouble and your health. We wish you good fortune and recommend you see healer Tyloral in the House of Red Hands." The dornishman scowled but nodded, walking away a bit unsteadily with a few people helping him along the way.
"Ah! Would you like to join us? It is rare the Sealord gives an audience, but this is a special occasion!" Syrio said with a hopeful smile on his lips. I lifted an eyebrow but shook my head.
"Thank you but he asked for you and Buln, I'll get Robard, his wife, and Rhys ready to make the trip across the Narrow Sea. If you're looking for a place too, Moat Cailin will welcome you with open arms."
"Syrio Forel will keep this in mind," he said, scratching at his beard. "It seems your friend has already left, I should not keep the Sealord waiting!" I chuckled as he sauntered off to the palace doors - Buln nowhere in sight.
"What will your friend do if he becomes first sword?" Rhys asked innocently. I paused and looked at him with my eyebrows scrunched, an uneasy feeling welling up in my gut.
"First sword?"
"First sword to the Sealord of Braavos. This was the elimination tourney for an audience with the Sealord to determine the candidacy. If your man's chosen, then he'll be obligated to serve at least a one year term and can stay for as many years as he liked. The old first sword died just a moon ago, this was to see who would be worthy to replace him." Robard said, I felt my blood run cold as I ushered Robard and Rhys away from the palace.
"Which way is it to your wife? We need to get her and get to the Moat as soon as possible," I glanced over my shoulder and at a worried Robard before realization dawned on him.
"You didn't know?"
"No, I didn't, and neither did-"
"DRAGON SMITH!" I heard Buln's voice ring through the city like a thunderclap. I felt the blood drain from my face and turned to run but that wasn't going to help because Buln was already there in front of me. "WHY THE FUCK DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THIS WAS A TOURNEY FOR A JOB!? AND ONE I'M BOUND TO FOR A YEAR!? DON'T TELL ME YOU ASKED ME TO COME TO BRAAVOS FOR A TOURNEY YOU KNEW NOTHING ABOUT! DAMN IT ALL TO THE FIRE! THAT'S EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, ISN'T IT?!" He said, pushing a finger into my chest.
"I… I'm sorry?"
"SORRY?!" The warmaster roared, "Sorry is what you'll be once I'm done with this term of office and then I'll have a Dragon skin coat I tanned from your sorry hide! Damn you, Dragon Smith, damn you!" he growled, pushing his finger into my chest. "If you die while I'm not there, I'll find a red priest and have them resurrect you so I can kill you myself!" I just gulped and nodded, glancing at an ashen Robard and terrified Rhys. "Now go! I have to stay and be a glorified bodyguard to the Sea Lord. You can tell Prince Garstal why I'm not his bodyguard for a year! Better you to do that than I. The Braavosi I thrashed will be joining you-"
"Now!" Syrio said as he stepped out of an alleyway. Buln turned and glared at him, getting Syrio to bow. "First Sword, may your blade stay sharp." Buln just grunted and glared at me one last time before turning and marching back to the First Lord's palace.
"Well…" Robard said nervously. "That could have gone better…"
"Aye… Come on, let's go find your wife and a ship to White Harbor."