Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.
Introduction: This is a rewrite of The Sunset Starks, as pre-warned a month prior the old chapters are deleted in favor of the new updates. I'm rewriting this simply due to the old material not being up to the quality I expect these days, although I am still far from anything professional, the old chapters didn't convey the characters well enough onto paper in my opinion (not that this stopped people liking Willam or whining about him) for various reasons; mostly my own inexperience writing. I still like this concept and have decided to dedicated some newfound free time to actually finishing a fic for once, ideally, maybe...
The 'new' characters may remain or stay similar, at least at first; the rewrite aims to give far more backstory and growth than the original thus early stages of certain characters lives will show more development/growth as characters than previously given. It's also ample opportunity to introduce more characters and depth to the world that was previously only alluded to outside of Westeros prior to Will's arrival - that before just instantly happened.
In short, the rewrite is an expansion on the previously existing story; in more ways than one.
That's all, happy reading...
My regards
- Soul
Chapter 1: The Shipwright
"Across the sunset and unto dawn!"
– King Brandon the Shipwright
It was unlike anything the North had witnessed in living memory as thousands of men, women and children gathered at Sea Dragon Point regardless of status or means; the King had called on all and any with the courage to join him on what he'd declared to be the greatest adventure Westeros had ever or would ever know. They came in droves from far and wide, lords and lowborn alike, all eager and hopeful for their promised futures past the sunset.
King Brandon Stark stood atop the battlements of Fargard looking out over the Sunset Sea with glee, his greatest voyage standing before him; a dream he'd held to stubbornly since he was a wee Prince of Winterfell playing with wooden ships in the safety of home. Now, he stood as King, with the Sunset Sea calling him like a lover.
"Your Grace," came a voice familiar to the king. The boy waited for a response.
Brandon did not turn to eye the boy, looking down instead at the shoreline where his mighty fleet rested, waiting for him impatiently. So many had answered his call. Nobles had sent their third or fourth born sons, or cousins, or uncles, the spares; unable to inherit anything in the North besides the sword; or a black cloak. Few would pick the Night's Watch over a kingly promise of new lands across the sea. "Join me," Brandon had told his people. "Join me and prosper, my people, my companions, my brothers and sisters! Across the sunset and unto dawn!"
He'd always been one for speeches and his people, lords and lowborn alike, loved the man for it. His reign had been a popular one.
That said, not all shared his vision. There were many among the nobility that questioned the wisdom in risking the Western Fleet for such a risky venture; chief among them, the Prince of Winterfell.
"Father?" The boys voice brought a weary sigh from the Kings lips.
"Bran!" The king mustered a smile, ready for another lecture from his son. Gods, how he'd grown…
"Please father?" The boy was a man, with pups of his own in truth; but would forever be a boy in his father's eyes. "It's not too late. Tell the lords it is folly; I beg of you, end this madness!"
"My dear boy," King Brandon turned to clasp his son's shoulder. "you're my greatest pride, you know this, I trust?"
"I-" The Prince diverted his eyes. "Please father, just listen-"
"You and your mother, gods keep her, are my first loves." The wind blew through the old king's grey hair as he spoke with a sad smile. "This venture will be my last. I will succeed, of this I know; the sea is my third love, but I shall not return. I go knowing the North is in capable hands, with plenty of little pups to do better than I."
"You're a stubborn old fool," The boy snarled. "Mother would call you as such and worse, you know it!"
She would indeed. He smiled genuinely at that; as his heart ached, longing to see her again. "She'll curse me soon enough boy," he laughed. "I'll join her with the gods, and she'll scold me dead twice over…"
"Then stay," The boy shrugged his father's hand away. "spend your last days at Winterfell, see your grandson grow, bore him with tales of your damn adventures! Just stay father, for us?"
King Brandon eyed his boy. He'd make a fine king, this much he believed.
"Bran," he held a sword and scabbard in hand now, wrapped warmly in wolfskin.
"You never call me Bran-"
Prince Bran stood wide-eyed.
"Ice belongs to you now," Brandon held out the sword and handed it from father to son gladly, as the Stark kings had done for generations; the blade had always belonged to them since the dawn of valyria. It had cost them a small fortune to forge, but that was a long story for another time. Ice changed hands once more.
"This is yours," the Prince protested, holding the blade like a child might hold a toy.
"It belongs to the King," Brandon smiled at his son's hesitance. It was the crown however that caused the boy alarm, off from the greying locks of King Brandon and into hand; held out as a gift few would refuse.
The Prince didn't move, holding Ice tighter in his grip.
"Take it," Brandon insisted. "You're king now my-"
"No," The Prince shook his head. "No!"
"It's your duty Bran."
"Duty?!" The Prince spat the word like venom. "What do you know of duty, Your Grace?! You who left so often for flights of fancy on your damn ships? You who abandons us now, no matter how hard I try-"
"Bran," The King pleaded, moving his free hand to reach out to his boy.
"No!" The gesture was refused. "Keep your crown father, flee, you damn fool!"
Prince Brandon Stark stormed from the battlements in a fury, grasping onto Ice with white knuckles and a burning rage in his heart. He'd look back on this day with regrets. The last time he'd see his father.
"Your Grace?" A new voice snapped the king from his stupor.
"Rylen," he greeted the man with a weary sigh.
"I see the Prince took things well?" The man grinned half-heartily.
"King now," Brandon explained. "He's your King now Farstark, not I."
"Long may he reign," Rylen Farstark smiled at his old friend.
He was surprised to be handed the crown, half Stark or not. It wasn't the done thing.
"He refused the crown?"
That wasn't good. The lords would not be pleased…
"He's angry," Brandon scoffed. "The boy will settle. You know how he can be Ry."
"Aye," Rylen did know. The wolfsblood howled in that boy since he was a mere pup.
"You will give it to him for me, old friend? Tell him how proud I am? Do this for me."
"I shall," Rylen knelt then; ever dutiful. "I swear it by earth and water, by bronze and iron, by Ice and Fire."
Brandon bid his friend rise. "You needn't be so damn dramatic dear cousin."
Lord Farstark smiled. "Shall we meet your adoring public one last time, cousin?"
"Aye, we shall." Brandon took one last look out over the battlements before they left together. The water was so calm, the horizon calling him, his sorrows all but forgotten for a moment. He'd prey at Fargards hearttree before setting sail, to ask the gods for smooth sailing; but mostly to prey for his boy in the trials he'd have ahead of him.
"Let his reign be peaceful," Brandon the Shipwright would prey.
It would start in fire. King Brandon the Burner would begin his reign on his knees in ashes, his father's crown in hand, howling into the night as in his grief he set light to the anchored fleet at Fargard; and the port with it. None know what truly transpired and why the Burner all but doomed House Farstark to ruin, but the house and its brief legacy faded into history as a result. The Burner would spend his reign fighting a renewed Ironborn threat, all too eager to take advantage of the Norths weakened state. His kingdom would never recover its western strength at sea and Brandon the Burner refused to step foot on a ship for the remainder of his life.
The Shipwright would never learn how the gods had ignored his plea for peace.
Near enough a hundred ships had set sail from Fargard, boasting a hundred crewing most of the larger classed vessels; named "Snows" with their two square rigged masts and double decks. They carried lowborn, nobles, sailors and smallfolk alike, each flying an assortment of banners from Stark to Glover, Mormont, Ryder, Flint, Frost, and many more; including the Grey and Kar and Farstarks who had come to support their kin.
Brandon the Shipwright stood at the helm of his flagship 'the Shipwright' that bore his name, the largest in his fleet and a marvel of engineering made possible only by the aid of Braavos who gifted King Brandon with the ship for his services – a trade the man was all too eager to make. He'd no regrets, believing his flagship to be the envy of others.
There had been no breeze for almost a fortnight before and when the wind had finally returned, the sky turned a red crimson.
"Still no sign of land, father." Prince Varik Stark said, seeming bored.
His father smirked, rolling his eyes at the youngest prince's impatience.
"We've awhile to go yet lad," Brandon told the young wolf. "The Sunset is vast."
"And bloody endless," Varik scoffed.
"Not endless."
They'd been at sea for a week; pushed since the winds returned it had been smooth sailing, but any foolish hopes of finding landfall so soon was just that – bloody foolish. A storm was brewing far in the distance, however, a cause for some concern. The Sunset Sea was known for its harsh storms and sea monsters, though the latter were myth.
"Captain Bolvir!" Brandon called out to the man as his eyes glanced the storm growing ahead.
"I see her Your Grace!" The man muttered, turning his head sharp to order a crewmate.
"Your thoughts good man?" Brandon asked politely, walking to his side.
The storm looked vast, a growing darkness that seemed to blot out the sun, nothing minor; it loomed on the horizon and seemed to taunt the fleet.
"If we sail around, it'll cost us time Your Grace…"
"Or it'll cost us lives'," Brandon muttered. "No. I'll not risk it, we sail around."
"Agreed," The Captain nodded gladly.
The storm grew closer, creeping, crawling as the fleet moved to avoid it.
"Something is wrong," Brandon thought suddenly, feeling a chill in his bones…
The storm raged ahead, like no storm he'd ever witnessed.
"The Farwind!" A cry came from the crow's nest above them.
A chorus of shouts followed.
"She's turning!"
"The flags raised!"
"What in the gods name is he doing?" Varik added his own voice, rushing to the edge of the deck; shoving crewmen aside to get a better view. The Farwind was Farstarks ship, and it was turning; sharp, right towards the storm.
Rylen's boy had either lost his wits to the sea, or something was very wrong…
"More signals!" The watcher in the nest cried out for all to hear, panic growing in his tone.
"Your Grace?" Captain Bolvir asked. "What should we do-"
The crack was deafening, like thunder; a whip cracked out across the fleet and seemed to stun every soul into silence. All whispers died. The Shipwrights crew watched in awe as time seemed to pass slower.
The Farwind was shoved aside, rammed from the far side by some unknown enemy.
"All hands, to arms!" Brandon cried out his order. "We're under attack!"
By what he couldn't say, there were no sails and nothing in sight.
"By the Gods," is all Brandon heard his son mutter, as the whole crew backed away from the ships edge besides his ever-brave boy. The young wolf pup turned to eye his father, with fear fresh in his eyes.
"KRAKEN!" The watchers cry snapped all from their stance, back to reality.
The Farwind had since turned too far, to face away from the fleet, revealing its keel all but shattered; a great oily black monster creature clinging to its hull like a damn leach sucking blood from a man.
"Signal the port!" Brandon commanded, refusing to abandon the Farwind to the depths.
At his orders, the bulk of the fleet fled onward to avoid the storm with the flagship of Mormont taking lead; no use against a damn monster – Brandon wished his people safe. That included the Farwind and her crew, many of whom appeared to have abandoned ship as the Farwinds main mast snapped and fell under the kraken's tendrils.
"Dead Ahead!" Brandon ordered.
"Your Grace?!"
"Ram the bastard, Bolvir!"
The wind was with them in the fury of the coming storm.
"Father!" Prince Varik pleaded. "Corren's on that damn ship!"
Rylen's youngest. Gods forgive him, there was no other choice; the Farwind was lost.
"Dead Ahead," Brandon repeated; louder still. "Raise the white flag, show our intent dammit!"
"You'll destroy her!"
"She's already lost lad," Brandon snapped. "but we can save her crew!"
The Shipwright closed distance with the speed of a raging storm, closer and closer still; straight for the Farwind and the beast that held her in its tendrils. The ship's crew, or those that remained, had abandoned the wreck.
"BRACE!" Brandon screamed atop his lungs, and his crew held firm.
The two ships collided, and the Shipwrights bowsprit speared the gigantic creature like a hot knife into butter, causing the creature to wail and cry out something frightful; worse than any noise Brandon had ever heard.
"STARK!" The cries came as the beast was impaled, dying, black blood flowing into the sea.
"Get the survivors up!" Brandon ordered; his eyes darted swiftly to the storm that now threatened them. "We're not out of the woods yet boys! All hands dammit!"
"We'll never make it," The captain muttered to his king. "Not with the beast weighing us down…"
The beast was still skewered on the Shipwrights bow.
"Gods be dammed…"
The sea was black with blood around them as the Farwind sank like a stone into the depths, the stink of it assaulting all onboard. Two other ships of the fleet had followed the Shipwright, standing by no doubt in awe.
"We'll have to abandon the Shipwright for the Frostbite," suggested Prince Varik hastily.
"There were two," came another voice; from a man drenched in blood; clawing himself onto the deck.
"What?" Brandon asked, eyeing the young man. Something in his eyes spoke of horrors.
"Corren!" Prince Varik rushed the man and embraced him as a brother, despite the smell.
"Two," The blood drenched Corren Farstark snarled more akin to wolf than man. "By the gods and the lives of my crew I swear it. The first was huge, it knocked off my fucking stern! The whole damn thing!"
Silence washed over the ship. That was… That was madness…
"The kraken crawled onto my deck like it was…"
"It was what?" Brandon asked warily.
Farstark's mind seemed to wander off from reality.
"Cousin?" Varik asked his friend, growing all too clearly concerned.
The man never had a chance to explain as the Shipwright jolted, and half the crew lost their footing.
"Corren!" Prince Varik called out to his friend as the man was flung back over the ship, into the blood, into the darkness; followed by more than a few others unlucky enough to fall.
"What now?!" Brandon thought, his wolfsblood raising; this was damn madness. Varik had moved to grab his friend, just in time to watch him fall, and now between the ripples of blood and saltwater he could see a shadow move underneath; larger than anything had any right to be. This was no mere kraken.
Brandon and his crew watched in silence as the Frostbite was hoisted up out of the bloodied sea by a small island of scales and fins, lifting the ship up with unnatural ease and knocking it aside. The Frostbite crew's screams rang out as it fell crashing back down into the sea, splintering, sinking into the depths of blood.
"Gods save us all," Captain Bolvir managed to say as all others began to panic.
"It's a sea dragon!" One of the crew declared in their terror. "We're dead!"
Sea Dragons were a damn myth. This was madness…
"It'll eat us whole!"
The crew continued to panic.
"Madness," Brandon muttered the words, near speechless.
It happened in an instant. There was nothing any mortal man could do as the beast lunged out of the waves, a snake-like head full of razor sharp teeth opened wide to slice through the dead kraken with no effort at all, taking the bowsprit with it and jolting the entire Shipwright in the action; sending men flying this way and that like ragdolls.
The last thing Brandon saw was the main mast as he was flung from the helm.
Voices called out as the world seemed to fade.
"The king!"
"Where's the dragon!?"
"Gods save us!"
The voices faded now.
"Father?!"
He'd been a poor father in life, he feared.
"Get the fucking healer!"
Gods, how had everything gone so wrong?
"Lyla is going to kill me," Brandon would've laughed at the thought of his dead wife killing him a second time over, even smiled at it, but by the gods he was tired; and everything was so heavy.
Brandon the Shipwright went to sleep, lost in the middle of the Sunset Sea.
The gods were cruel to torment him with such dreams.
"Your Grace?" His sons voice called out in a whisper as the old King opened his eyes.
"My boy," Brandon groaned, his headache nearly as vast as the damn Sunset Sea. "I had the strangest dream."
"Oh?" Prince Varik asked, waiting to hear his father's tales; like he was a child in Winterfell again listening to grand tales of adventure. Gods how he missed those days, so much simpler. "What's the story now, old man?"
"Krakens lad," Brandon began warily. "And a sea dragon the size of a damn island, tossed the Frostbite aside like a child's toy; I'd never been so terrified. It was colossal Varik, like something out of nightmare…"
The Prince managed a chuckle. "The Frostbite was shattered," he moved to kneel beside the old wolfs bed. "the Farwind lost; with half her crew too, but we got the kraken at least."
Brandon sighed. "The dragon?"
"It stole our kraken," The young prince laughed at his own jest, though it was hollow.
"Not a dream then?"
"No," Varik denied. "Sadly, not a dream father…"
A moment passed in silence as Brandon tried to remember the details.
"Corren fell," The boy filled the quiet. "too fast, too dark, we couldn't find him."
Ry's boy lost. So many others lost too, nobles or otherwise. Gods be damned.
"Lord Frost is assumed lost with the Frostbite, we've few if any of his crew."
Frost's youngest was on the Seawolf, safe from all this madness, with any luck.
"The storm that followed was hellish."
"The storm?" Brandon shifted himself up in the feathered bed.
"It snuck up on us like a damn viper," Varik explained. "You were knocked unconscious father; we feared the worst. The storm battered us, and the next storm that followed took our fucking foremast as a prize."
"Everything has gone to shit in my absence, I see."
Prince Varik scoffed. "I'd say krakens and sea dragons was fairly shit even with your presence, father; I'd take the storms gladly. Thank the gods the beast seemed content with snacking on the kraken and not us…"
Thank the gods indeed. If that monstrosity had seen them as worth its time? They'd be helpless to do anything besides wait and die.
"What of the fleet?"
"We found the others," Varik explained with a sigh. "but not a day after that, another storm hunted us; stronger than the last. That bastard took a mast and more than one good ship. Others suffered damage akin to our own."
Brandon wasn't sure what had caused more damage, the monsters, or the storms.
"You've been out for just over a week," the boy explained. "slept right through the storms old man."
"I'm old lad," Brandon managed a smile for the pup. "Old people nap a lot. Now, help me to my feet."
Walking out onto the Shipwrights deck, the damage was vast and obvious; although the hull was intact the bowsprit had been ripped clean away; the rear mast a splintered ruin. Brandon's priced flagship was near broken.
"The Greywind has taken lead," Varik explained as he led his father on deck; where the crew greeted him with cheers, glad to see their old king walking among the living. No doubt, they hadn't smiled in some time.
"Greystark didn't offer you command lad?"
"He did," Varik shrugged. "I refused to leave your side, and the Shipwright isn't fit for task besides."
It wasn't. His flagship was barely holding together, a damn miracle she could still float at all.
"Half the damn fleets gone," Brandon realized aloud to his horror.
"Aye," his boy sighed. "The storms father, you should've seen them; it wasn't natural…"
"The gods are with us lad, they must be."
"The gods?" Varik raised a brow, ready to argue. The Old Gods had no eyes at sea.
A bird flew overhead, cawing at the crew.
"Fuck the damn gods-"
"There's a bird?" Brandon stared at the sky in awe, watching the bird fly overhead.
"A bloody gull…"
A horn blew from ahead from the Greywind's crow's nest. Harooooooooooooooooooooo, it cried, it's voice as long and low and chilling as a cold wind from home. Silence broke into cheers as a wave of relief washed over the fleet, as if every man and woman left living was holding a breath they hadn't realized.
Brandon and his whole crew rushed to what remained of the Shipwrights bow.
"Land." The word seemed so foreign, so distant, a hope that had begun to die for many. Surely enough on the horizon a line of white cliffs appeared from the light morning fog. The Winter Fleet rushed eagerly to landfall, to taste hope they'd all but lost.
"It's beautiful," Brandon the Shipwright muttered, falling to his knees at the sight.
"Aye," Prince Varik agreed. "And vast too – I never doubted you father."
"I did," The old wolf thought as the sun raised up above the cliffs ahead of them.
They'd made it, despite everything the gods tested them with; despite the losses and the blood – before them laid the Sunset Islands, future home of those that followed him into the unknown at great cost to themselves.
No venture was without its risk. Nothing worth doing was ever easy, and they'd made it despite the odds. Brandon would be the first to step foot on the beach, his people quick to follow their old king.
"Winter can weather any storm," The old wolf declared proudly.
The Sunset Islands proved a vast and mighty archipelago that Brandon's people were quick to settle. The largest island was claimed by Brandon himself and the fortress of Winterhold would be raised atop the very same white cliffs that had first greeted his fleets arrival. In the years that followed, as his descendants made the Islands home, a town below the white cliffs of Winterhold grew in size and prosperity to become the largest port city in the Sunset Islands; home to the anchored Winter Fleet – as the Shipwrights heirs would never lose their love of the sea; as harsh as it could be to them.
Time passed as it always does, violently, and at first many tried returning east but none would ever survive such ventures and soon enough the idea became one of madness, naught but a cautionary tale for children. Many generations later, with Brandon the Shipwright now naught but an adventure story for young Stark princes; one such prince dreamed of sailing to Westeros, to do the undoable and to escape from his demons.
As the shipwright had done a thousand years before, a Stark dreamed of sailing into the sunset.
My Notes: You know I wrote all these notes once already? The damn site posted Chapter 2 over Chapter 1 and bla bla, angry Soul. I digress. The biggest complaint (that I consider more entitled whining than actual complaint) I've ever had writing was essentially "your OC isn't superman" so I'll touch on that here :) In short, when I write I always consider what is and isn't realistically possible within the realms of logic and don't like to stray into the realms of wish-fulfillment. In longer terms, yes an individual character (OC or Not) can achieve degrees of success, but written well that success is within their capabilities, their personality, circumstances, etc. A bad OC in my view tends to be either 1: Ridiculously powerful or 2: Has 'convenient' knowledge of canon conveniently. In either case they tend to magically fix every problem they face regardless of it making any actual sense; other than "they're so amazing". Just look at the mess Disney made of Star Wars...
That's not to say OC's can't accomplish things, they just need realistic ways to do so. The Red Wedding is a big thing a lot of fanfics "change" in ways I consider wish fulfillment; and that's fine, but "X saves Y because I made X to save Y" is boring and its been done a thousand times. That's fine if done well, what-if scenarios can be interesting, but you'll find my characters are often flawed realistic people that don't tend to do things beyond their capabilities.
Lastly, at that one review about honor: Did you actually read the old material? There has never been an emphasis on honor in any of my characters, especially in Sunset; the Starks have never been all that honorable - more realists. Regardless you'll find the re-write often has the Starks disregard honor. The amusing thing is in my Reyne fanfic I've had one review crying about how the Reyne's are no better than the Lannister's. People will whine about anything these days.
That's all my rambling for now :D Chapter 2 is already up, unless this site breaks again...