Errol II

Storm's End, 297 AC

The library

"...and so it was that Durran, who was by now already known as Godsgrief, began the construction of what would become his family's seat. Seven times the gods of wind and sea tried to destroy it, and seven times Durran built it again, until finally the castle stood proudly on the northern shore of Shipbreaker Bay..."

Errol closed the thick tome and coughed as a little cloud of dust reached his face. Gods, how many years had passed since someone had last opened that book? He suspected that at least half of its weight was due to the layer of dust that had formed over the decades. The trails his fingers had left had to be at least a few inches deep!

He yawned loudly. He had spent most of that day between the shelves of the castle's library, moving, cataloguing and sometimes reading the books, and now he felt tired. So tired, that he had to exercise all his will to stay awake and not fall asleep face first on the table.

Cressen could have sent you somewhere else, his inner voice said suddenly. Why did he have to pick the library, of all places?

Someone has to take care of it, and he had other matters to attend to. Errol was grateful for being assigned that task. He loved books more than anything else in the world, and over the years had often spent entire days reading alone in his room. He was so unlike his father. He too had been at the Citadel, then leaving out of boredom. Errol never got bored of reading and learning, and had no intention of abandoning what was his life's dream. And where Oberyn Martell was tall and impulsive, Errol was short and quiet. As quiet as an empty grave, as sometimes his older sisters liked to tease him.

He felt a pang of nostalgia at that thought. Sometimes he missed his old life, his sisters especially. They had taken after their father way more than Errol himself, although their relationship had always been good. When he was still a child they would often play with him, comfort him after his frequent fights with their father, and cheer him up when he needed it.

The only thing he didn't miss, was his father. It had been a few years since they had last seen each other. For all he knew, he could even be dead, but Errol still wouldn't care about him. It was sad for a father and a son to be on short terms, but he supposed that sometimes, family love just didn't develop for some people.

At least he didn't abandon you. Say whatever you want about Father, but he never shied away from his responsibilities as a parent. He raised you as best as he could, and gave you a chance to forge your own path in life.

Errol shook his head angrily. How he hated when his inner voice was right! Why couldn't it be wrong, sometimes?

You need someone to tell you the harsh truth, you idiot. For all your wits and knowledge, sometimes it's as if you had a veil over your eyes!

Enough! Errol had grown tired of that banter. Could you please shut up until tomorrow morning? I don't want to end up with a headache, or worse.

As you wish, Your Patheticness. And then, finally, there was silence. Errol breathed a sigh of relief and took the volume he had been reading. He put it back in its place and made to leave the room. He had completed his task. If Cressen had no more need of him for that day, he could go to bed a little earlier.

However, things didn't always go as one hoped or planned. For just after he had closed the door to the library behind his back, a guard rushed toward him.

"You are to come with me, Maester Errol. Maester Cressen requires your aid." Errol felt anxiety creeping into his heart. Had Cressen fallen again? The old man walked with a cane and was always especially careful when walking the stairs. He knew that another fall like the one that had preceeded Errol's arrival could very well kill him. If that was the case...

"What happened?"

"I don't know, they just told me to come fetch you."

The guard led him not to the maester's cell, like he had expected, but to a lower level of the tower, the one where the bedchambers were located. It was after entering into one of them that Errol finally found out why he had been called.

"A hunting incident, boy. The boar they had cornered had enough energy left to charge at them." Cressen explained as soon as he saw him. The old man had a look on his face that spoke of something terrible. Errol had never seen him like this. "I can't do this alone. It's a bad wound, we must act quickly!"

Errol couldn't agree more. The wounded man laying on the bed in front of them was in such a bad shape that he wondered how he could be still alive. His face was pale like the moon, blood flowed copiously from a wound on his belly, his eyes were half closed, and he kept on muttering curses that made Errol's ears turn red.

"Fucking bastard...that hurt...what a feast it's going to be when..."

"Hush, my lord. You need all your strength right now. Don't waste it cursing a dead animal." Cressen whispered to the wounded man. "Help me clean the wound, boy. He has already lost too much blood."

Errol did as he was told. Luckily, his studies at the Citadel had sometimes implied dissecting corpses or healing wounds. He was used to the sight of blood and human organs.

He and Cressen spent what looked like an eternity around the bed, doing their best to heal the wounded man. However, it seemed that fate, or the gods themselves, had something different in store for them that day.

"GODS, NO!" Cressen screamed, and Errol's face mirrored the old man's feelings. It had all been in vain. In the end, their efforts had amounted to nothing.

Lord Brandon Stark was dead.

AN: Brandon isn't going to be the last one to die. You see, there's a reason why I called this part of the story "Blood, sweat, and tears".