Gormon II

Pyke, 298 AC

"BASTARDS! SONS OF POX-RIDDEN WHORES! YOU..."

A mailed fist collided with Lord Rodrik's jaw, interrupting his stream of furious curses and causing blood to come out of his mouth. A tooth followed suit as the aforementioned fist descended and hit Lord Rodrik twice in the stomach, then taking care of the rest of his body. Throughout all this, never once did Lord Rodrik cry out in pain, instead just staring with burning hate at the bald man hitting him. Gormon was sure that, if it wasn't for the two guards and the heavy chains holding him, Lord Rodrik would have turned that man into a bloody pulp.

"Poor Lord Rodrik." whispered Helya. The old woman was staring at the beating with horrified eyes, clutching Gormon's arm. "Why are they doing this to him?"

"They don't just want him gone, Helya." answered Gormon, patting his friend's arm. "They want to humiliate him."

"I think it's enough." said the bald man after a while, looking at his work with the proud eye of an artist. "Unless he needs a little more...softening."

Lord Rodrik spat a mouthful of blood at the man. "You filthy..."

"You are still talking? I have to admit it, you are thougher than they told me." the other man said with a grin, just before hitting the lord of Pyke right in the face and breaking his nose. "But it doesn't matter anymore, "my lord"." he said mockingly. "Now, we will be taking you out for a little swim. This room has already seen enough death." He briefly gestured to the corpses of Dagmer Cleftjaw and his men, laying on the other side of the room. They had fought fiercely, but in the end it had all been for nothing.

Now, Pyke was in Lord Maron's hands.

The two guards forced Lord Rodrik to move. The bald man turned to Gormon and the rest of Pyke's household. "Now, you will leave this room until we tell you otherwise. And don't even think to try anything funny. Stay here, and you will be fine." The other guards in the room looked menacingly at them. "Except for you, maester. You are to come with us."

Gormon was left speechless by those words. They wanted him to come with them? Why? So far, they had basically ignored him.

"But...why?"

"Just follow us, greenlander." Gormon decided it was better for him to not upset the bald man. Who knew what he would do to him, or to Helya and the rest of the household. He had no choice but do as he was told.

"I will be back soon." he said reassuringly as he let go of Helya's arm and followed Lord Rodrik's captors. He made sure to show more confidence than he actually felt, knowing that Helya and the others would look up at him for reassurance.

In truth, he was anything but confident. He didn't know what those men wanted of him. Perhaps he was going to share Lord Rodrik's fate? He shuddered at the thought. It was likely, but not too much. Lord Maron had no reason to want Gormon dead. At least, that's what he hoped. He slowed his breath as he walked, trying to calm the storm of fear and uncertainty that was raging inside of him. Whatever they want of me, I'm going to find out soon.

He followed the four other men outside of the room. All the while, Lord Rodrik kept on sending hateful glances to his tormentors, and occasionally to Gormon, too. Gormon shied away from his liege's stare. I'm not a warrior, my lord. I couldn't help you. He thanked the Seven that Lady Cerenna and her son were safe in Lannisport.

After a few minutes, just when Gormon was beginning to wonder when they would stop, they left the tower and reached the first of the three bridges that led to the Sea Tower. The sky was ash-grey, with an occasional thunder accompanying the noise of the raging sea beneath.

"Stop." the bald man said.

"Is this the place?" asked one of the men holding Lord Rodrik.

"It's as good as any." He then produced a small knife from one of his pockets. "I will make this quick, we have already wasted too much time." He turned to Lord Rodrik. "Rodrik Pyke, for usurping your brother's lands and titles, I sentence you to death."

"The only bastard in here is..." Lord Rodrik's words were abruptly cut off when the bald man sliced his troath. Blood poured from the wound as Gormon gasped and took a step back.

Then, the bald man did something totally unexpected. In a motion so swift that they never even had the time to react, he did the same to the two guards.

What? Why would he kill his own men?

The two guards and Lord Rodrik were then pushed over the bridge by the bald man. The sea beneath swallowed them like a hungry mouth.

Gormon's heart stopped as he took in what had just happened. What in seven hells did he do it for? Am I...am I next?

The bald man noticed the fear in his eyes and chuckled. "Don't worry, old man. He wants you alive. For now, at least."

Gormon had no doubts who he was talking about. It can only be him. And suddenly, he knew what their destination was.

In fact, after a very long walk (so long that, by the end, his legs hurt like hells. Gormon tried his best to ignore the pain, longing for his younger days when such walks were easy), they finally arrived at the top of the Sea Tower, where the lord's solar was located. Then, the bald man left and Gormon went into the room, finding two men already in there.

One was a tall man, clad from head to feet in black, his face hidden by a mask resembling a raven's head. He silently stood in a corner of the solar, his hands resting on a walking cane. Gormon didn't know who he was, but it wasn't hard to guess. His robes and blue nails could only mean that he was the mysterious Qarteen warlock that was rumored to advise Lord Maron.

And then, sitting at the desk, there was Lord Maron himself. He didn't seem to have aged much since the last time Gormon had seen him. He smiled as he watched Gormon arrive.

"My lord." he said, bowing.

"Here you are, maester. Glad you could join us.

"I don't want to waste time with pointless chatter, so I will get straight to the point." Lord Maron said. "My bastard brother may be dead, but my rule is not yet undisputed. There are still people who oppose me. I will be quite busy for the foreseeable future, so I need someone to manage the daily affairs of Pyke in my name." He paused, looking straight into Gormon's eyes. "The question is, can I trust you with this task, maester? Will you serve me, your rightful liege, just like you served the usurper? You didn't know the truth, so I won't hold that against you, but I can't afford to keep a snake in my own home."

Gormon had never felt so much distaste for a man. You monster. He was sure that, sooner or later, Lord Maron would get what he deserved. Such actions couldn't go unpunished.

Still, there was nothing he could do to change things right now.

"My lord...as you know, the members of my order are loyal to the castles they are sworn to. I'm sworn to Pyke, and now...now Pyke is yours."

That seemed to satisfy Lord Maron, for he gave a cruel smile that deeply unsettled Gormon.

"Your Grace." he suddenly said. Gormon just looked at him in confusion.

"From now on, you will address me as "Your Grace"." he clarified. "I'm to be king of these islets, after all."

AN: Things are getting quite interesting on the islands. Though I'm sure Rodrik would disagree.

Also: in Gormon's previous POV, I mentioned Old Wyk as having been assigned to Maron. However, I just remembered that the island is ruled by House Drumm. So, how do we solve this issue? Simple, with a little retcon: years ago, Lord Drumm and his sons were escorting a merchant ship from Lannisport to Braavos, were attacked by pirates and died in the fight. There was a minor branch of the family that could have inherited Old Wyk, however Rodrik decided to give it to Maron, who had married Lord Drumm's only daughter.