This is a fan made story, all rights to Game of Thrones go to HBO and G.R.R.M. The only thing I own is House Karthmere and those associated with it.
This story is made for those 18+ due to nudity, gore, profanity, adultery, rape, slavery, blood, etc.
NOTE! Bold text = Speaking in Valyrian
NOTE! Italics text = Flashback
Enjoy!
Westeros in its current state was definitely no where near its worst. Some would say it was the most deserved peace ever. The days of the Mad King were long gone now, taken over by someone the people would call a 'whoremonger'. Still, it was better this than the mad Aerys II.
Although, the peace would soon meet its end, as the Hand of the King Jon Arryn had been laid to rest. Now in need of a new Hand, King Robert Baratheon had set off to Winterfell in order to give the position to his long time friend, Eddard 'Ned' Stark.
In the end, the Lord of Winterfell did as he was bid, and with him came along his daughters, one of which was now betrothed to the 'Gallant' Prince Joffrey, or so the eldest daughter would say. However, he had his own objective as Hand of the King. To his knowledge, his father figure and mentor Jon Arryn had been murdered, and now he had the chance to find the person responsible and bring them to justice.
The timing couldn't have been worse. His second youngest son Bran had fallen and laid asleep when he had left for King's Landing. Now, he could only pray to the Gods that his son would live.
As soon as they had entered the city, the smell of shit was quick to fill his nose. How the people fared in such conditions, he didn't know, but he respected them for that alone.
"Welcome, Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence is requested." Ned could only guess this was a steward who was passing on this information to him. He turned his head back towards his daughters.
"Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper. And, Jory, you go with them." He commanded, the loyal captain of Ned's guard nodding.
"Yes, my Lord." He nodded, before he began to lead the two as Ned turned back to the steward.
"If you'd like to change into something more appropriate..." The steward began to trail off from seeing Lord Stark's gaze. The Lord of Winterfell simply took of his gloves, showing his clear disinterest as the two began to walk for the council chamber.
Along the way, Ned's eyes traveled across the halls they passed. The intricate designs and details of the Red Keep were beautiful, he would admit. However, the red stones that made up the castle only reminded him of the bloodshed that filled the very castle so long ago.
Eventually, they reached the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne sits. Aa mess us swords melted together to create something that could be considered a chair. Ned could see how a king would cut themselves upon such a seat, given the pointed ends that protruded out of parts of the throne. Although, his attention went to the man lingering on the steps leading up to the throne.
Jaime Lannister, eldest son to Tywin Lannister of the Westerlands. Knighted at the age of ten and six before becoming a Kingsguard to then king, Aerys II Targaryen. A man with a handsome face, clean shaven. Flowing golden blond hair and emerald green eyes. Through and through, a Lannister.
Ned had his opinions of the man, along with the rest of his family, but he had other business to attend to. However, it seemed Jaime felt the need to push the wolf.
"Thank the gods you're here, Stark. About time we had some stern northern leadership." The man said, that everlasting smirk upon his lips.
"Glad to see you're protecting the throne." Ned responded, as Jaime slowly stood.
"Sturdy old thing. How many kings' asses have polished it, I wonder? What's the line? The King shits and the Hand wipes." The jape was clear, but Ned wouldn't give the knight the pleasure of seeing him in anger. Slowly, his eyes turned to the armor he wore.
"Very handsome armor. Not a scratch on it."
"I know. People have been swinging at me for years, but they always seem to miss." Jaime was quick to respond.
"You've chosen your opponents wisely then." Ned did as he would, keeping his replies short.
"I have a knack for it." Jaime's eyes turned to the room around them. "It must be strange for you, coming into this room. I was standing right here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother. Your father too. They didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody deserves to die like that."
"But you just stood there and watched." Ned pointed out.
"500 men just stood there and watched, all the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms. You think anyone sasid a word, lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. 500 men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except for the screams, of course, and the Mad King laughing. And later...When I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned...It felt like justice."
Ned felt his nostrils flare in that moment.
"Is that what you tell yourself at night? You're a servantof justice? That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword in Aerys Targaryen's back?" He couldn't help but question.
"Tell me...If I'd stabbed the Mad King in the belly instead of the back, would you admire me more?" Jaime spoke his own question.
"You served him well, when serving was safe." Ned told him quickly. It seemed that Jaime would respond once more, but thankfully for Ned, someone stepped in.
"How long do you plan to keep him, Lannister?"
Both turned towards a hall connected to the Great hall. Stood in the archway was a young man, one Ned almost didn't recognize.
Midnight black hair, with a small patch at the front left of his head a silver blond color. Golden colored eyes that almost appeared like fire when the light from the room hit them. He had low cheekbones, yes, but most would still say he was a handsome being. A build with broad shoulders that showed the muscle he possesses. His hair was tied back in a high ponytail, leaving the silver blond patch to hang to the side of his face.
"Lord Karthmere." Jaime greeted the young man. Sure enough, Ned saw then who he was. Derron Karthmere, second of his name. Current lord of Karthmere Keep and the son of his once friend, Dreyar III.
"Come along, Lord Stark. The council has waited long enough." Derron ignored the Lannister, eyes focused on Ned. With one last look towards, Jaime, Ned made way and followed after Derron. "Been quite some time since we last saw one another, Lord Stark." Derron spoke up as they walked the hall. The occasional maid would pass by them, stopping and bowing as they did.
"The Greyjoy rebellion, if I remember right." Ned said, earning a nod from the young man ahead of him. "Forgive me, Lord Karthmere, but what are you here for?" He couldn't help but wonder.
"Trust me, I don't wish to be here long, but your dear friend, his Grace, asked for me himself." That seemed to surprise Ned. "I don't know why, but Lord Stannis left King's Landing. So, before his trip to Winterfell, King Robert wrote and ordered me here to take his brothers place."
"I see. What position?"
"Master of Ships. Even if the position doesn't suit me right. After all, my strength lies on battle on land. At sea, not as much." Derron admitted.
Ned knew boy well. His skill with a blade or an axe was almost unmatched in the south. There were only a select few that could keep up with him.
He had certainly grown well, Ned knew as much. 278 AC, the year Rober's Rebellion would begin, and the time Derron would be born. Now here he stood, a man of twenty years at the head of one of Westeros' ten great houses.
He could still remember that small ten and one year old boy leading his own men when the Greyjoy's rebelled. No one thought a boy of his age would do as he did, and yet such actions came to be truths. The 'Blood Eagle' they now called him. That was what he now knew of the boy- no, young man now. He held aliases that inspired loyalty in his allies, and fear in his enemies.
"I didn't know Lord Arryn well, Lord Stark, but I know of the relations you had with him. For that enough, you have my sympathies." Derron spoke again, removing Ned from his thoughts.
"Thank you, Lord Karthmere." Was all he responded with, before they finally reached the small council's chamber, where the rest of the council already stood or sat in waiting.
"Lord Stark." The first greeted. A plump and bald man with a powdered face and equally powdered hands, smelling of lavender, lilacs and rosewater. Rick silks, velvets and soft slippers.
"Lord Varys." Ned returned the greeting as Derron moved further into the room, taking upon the seat suited for the Master of Ships. Without hesitation, he rested his feet upon the table, leaning his head against the seat, shifting into a more comfortable position.
"I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubless on the Kingsroad. We are all praying for Prince Joffrey's full recovery." Varys spoke once more.
"A shame you didn't say a prayer for the butcher's son." He said as he moved past the whisperer, clasping his hands together. "Renly! You're looking well." Ned greeted the next. Robert's youngest brother.
A handsome, clean shaven face, almost resembling a young King Robert. Fine and straight hair as black as jet and coal, falling to his shoulders. Blue-green eyes that seem to change between the two colors depending on his clothing of choice.
"And you look tired from the road. I told them this meeting could wait another day, but..."
"But we have a Kingdom to look after." The voice of Petyr Baelish interupted, Ned's eyes turning his way. "I've hoped to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."
"She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well." Ned responded.
At one point, his now wife Catelyn of House Tully was betrothed to his older brother, Brandon. Unfortunately, that marriage never came to be as Brandon had been killed by the Mad King.
"All too well. I still cary a token of his esteem from navel to collarbone." Baelish responded, gesturing to the points of his body. A long scar he still held from a duel with Brandon Stark for the hand of Catelyn, a lady Baelish was smitten with since they were young.
"Perhaps you chosethe wrong man to duel with."
"It wasn't the man that I chose, my Lord." Baelish responded quickly, with the ever so mischievous smile on his face. "It was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'll agree."
Ned's smile dropped then, but the oldest in the room spoke then.
"I humbly bed your pardon, my Lord Stark."
"Grand Maester." Ned greeted. The elder wearing the dark robes of the Citadel with ever so many chains around his neck. His beard thick and long, low and droopy eyes and an almost fully bald head, save for the hairs pricking at the sides of his head.
"How many years has it been? You were a young man." Pycelle stated.
"And you served another King." Ned brought up, as Pycelle slowly grew quiet. Thankfully, he was quick, reaching and pulling out a pin to which he held out for Lord Stark.
"How forgetful of me. This belongs to you, now. Should we begin?"
Those still standing began to take their seats, Ned growing a look of confusion as he slowly took his own seat.
"Without the King?" He questioned.
"Winter may be coming, but I'm afraid the same cannot be said for my brother." Renly responded, amusement clear in his tone.
"His Grace has many cares. He entrusts some small matters touse that we might lighten the load." Varys added, followed by Baelish.
"We are the lords of small matters here."
Slowly, Ned nodded, getting himself comfortable in his seat.
"My brother instructs us to stage a tournament in honor of Lord Stark's appointment as Hand of the King." Renly brought up the first matters of importance, earning a small chuckle from Derron.
"Another tourney? How many has that been in the last two moons?" He couldn't help but question.
"I believe the number would be five." Baelish answered his question. "How much?" Ned picked up the parchment Renly set near him.
"40,000 gold dragons to the champion, 20,000 to the runner-up, 20,000 to the winning archer." Ned read out, Derron whistling quietly to himself at the numbers he just heard.
"Can the treasury bear such expense?" Pycelle asked, the tables attention turning to the Master of Coin, who sighed.
"I'll have to borrow it. The Lannisers will accommodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin 3 million gold, what's another 80,000?" That question made both Ned and Derron's eyes widen. If he had water or wine in his mouth, Derron was sure he would have spit it out in shock.
"Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?" Ned questioned, disbelief clear in his eyes.
"I'm telling you the crown is six million in debt." Baelish responded, making Derron release a deep breath of annoyance as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. Ned was of the same state, setting down the parchment, his face aghast.
"How could you let this happen?"
"The Master of Coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it." Baelish answered, Ned shaking his head in disagreement.
"I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm."
"Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear his Grace doesn't always listen." Pycelle added.
"Counting coppers, he calls it." Renly brough up as well.
"I'll speak to him tomorrow. This tournament is an extravagance we cannot afford." Ned said, making heads turn his way.
"As you will. But still, we'd best make our plans." Baelish said, before Ned spoke again.
"There will be no plans until I speak to Robert." His voice had been raised, causing silence to follow from the rest. Seeing their looks, he leaned back in his seat. "Forgive me, my Lords. I had a long ride."
"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark, we serve at your pleasure." Varys told him.
And so, the meeting was adjourned.
Derron sat within the chambers he had been provided. He had removed the the outer layer of his clothing, sat at the desk within the room. Nothing was upon it, as he sat in silence.
Being in this city to him, it was a nightmare more than anything else. And yet, here he was under the demand of the man dubbed king. He swore he could still hear him, years later.
Burn them all!
He shuddered at that voice. It was almost as if the color green had filled his vision.
A loud screech took him out of his thoughts. His eyes blinked several times before he stood, a sillhouette filling the open windowed area of the chambers.
Flying into the room was a large and beautiful eagle. It's feathers a deep brown, the near ends of its wings and tail white in color. A dark beak which seemed almost a golden yellow around the face, it's eyes that same golden color. Sharp talons that could obviously pierce flesh.
The bird landed on a perch set near Derron's table, a clear scroll tied to one of its legs. As Derron stepped closer, the bird let out a small and quiet sound that sounded like a whistle. The man scratched at the birds chest slowly, smiling.
"Nice to see you too, Altair." Derron greeted, before removing the scroll. Immediately what he saw, was the black wax seal, the Karthmere sigil stamped upon it. He sat back down, removing the wax and unrolling the parchment.
His eyes skimmed the words quickly, smiling ever so slightly at some of what was written.
Slowly, he set it aside, before setting up his own piece of parchment. He readied the ink, before writing out his own letter. As he did so, he would occasional feed Altair a treat.
He finished quickly, sealing it and tying it to Altair's leg.
"Sorry buddy, but you'll have to fly for me once more." The bird let out a small whistle like sound. "Hmm. Give Aunt Diloreah and Alyxander my regards." And with one last pet, Altair was back out into the skies.
Silence followed, and Derron was grateful for it. But that peace was interupted by a voice behind the door to his chambers.
"Lord Karthmere." With a heavy sigh of annoyance, he walked over and opened the door, seeing the royal steward. "His Grace, King Robert, has requested your presence in his personal chambers." The steward stated.
"Very well, I'll be on my way." Derron closed the door behind him, before walking off.
"If you would like, I can show-"
"I know where it is." Derron interupted without turning back, leaving the steward to stare awkwardly.
True to his word, he found Robert's chambers easily. Stood outside the door was Jaime Lannister, who smirked when he saw Derron nearing.
"Lord Karthmere."
"The king's requested my presence." He responded quickly, leaving no room for anymore talking with the Lannister. Jaime stared for a few more moments, before announcing Derron and letting him enter.
"Ah! There he is!" Robert bellowed at, Derron quick to bow, as per customs.
"Your grace." He noticed the other Kingsguard in the room as well. "Ser Barristan." The knight returned the bow of the head.
"Lord Karthmere."
"What can I do for you, your grace?" Derron returned his gaze to Robert, who was leaned back in his seat, a finger tapping at the arm rest slowly.
"War stories. You remember your first?" Robert asked him. Derron hummed, before he slowly nodded his head.
"Aye. Some random ironborn." Derron responded.
"How'd you do it?" Robert requested more information.
"Blade to the neck."
"Heh, was it slow or quick?"
"The blade ran deep, so I'd like to think it was quick. Didn't pay it much attention, given it was on a battlefield." Derron explained, earning a nod from the king.
"So quick, lucky for you. Mine was some Tarly boy at the Battle of Summerhall. My horse took an arrow so I was on foot, slogging through the mud. He came running at me, this high-born lad, thinking he could end the rebellion with the single swing of his sword. I knocked him down with the hammer, Gods, I was strong then. Caved in his breastplate. Probably shattered every rib he had. Stood ove rhim, hammer in the air. Right before I brought it down he shouted, 'Wait! Wait!'...They never tell you how they all shit themselves. They don't put that in the songs. Stupid boy. Now the Tarlys bend the knee like everyone else. He could have lingered on the edge of the battle with the smart boys and today his wife would be making him miserable, his sons would be ingrates, and he'd be waking three times in the night to piss into a bowl."
Derron listened silently, allowing the king to remember his glory days.
"What about the squids and their little rebellion? Rodrik Greyjoy, was it? Balon's eldest boy."
"I didn't defeat him alone, your grace. Ser Eddin was at my side when it occured. I may have dealt the finishing blow, but most of the damage was done by my captain. As one would expect, given my age at the time of the rebellion."
"Hmm, and yet you were the one to end his life, were you not? What is it, the Blood Eagle, you call it." Derron simply nodded his head. "A boy of 11 years, ending a mans life in that way." Robert muttered with a chuckle.
"I matured rather quickly in my life. Besides...bastard admitted to raping my aunt. Claimed to be the first and last to do so. I say he got what he was deserved." Derron stated, making Robert's chuckle turn to full blown laughter.
"The Unruly Tiger. The Blood Eagle. The Demon of Pyke. In just one war and you earn titles like that. If what you say is true, then so be it. And what of Diloreah now?"
"Still as strong as ever."
"As I would expect from that woman. A warrior if I had ever seen one. Just as much as Dreyar."
"You would know more about them both then I, your grace."
Robert hummed again. The boy had only heard stories of his father, never actually meeting him.
"Your father, now he- he fought with such strength not even I'd ever seen." Robert suddenly stated, catching Derron's attention. "I don't mean physical strength, boy. But, the very aura that man had, it made men want to follow him. I suppose he passed some of that on to me, haha. Gods, if only he'd live to see the war won, then it'd be him sitting in this seat, sitting that damned throne."
As Robert continued to speak, a boy came near with a pitcher, empting what was left into the kings glass.
"Lancel. Gods, what a stupid name. Lancel Lannister. Who named you? some halfwit with a stutter?" Robert said with a hearty laugh, the Lannister squire standing up straight as he tried to hide what he was feeling. "What are you doing?" Robert asked, seeing his glass wasn't nearly filled enough.
"It's empty, your Grace." Lancel stated.
"What do you mean it's empty?"
"There's no more wine-"
"Is that what empty means!?" Robert interupted with his old fierceness, Lancel shaking his head quickly. "So get, more." Lancel made for the door. "Tell your cousin to get in here. Kingslayer! Get in here."
As Lancel left, Jaime took his place within the room, now stood with Derron and Ser Barristan.
"Surrounded by Lannisters. Every time I close my eyes I see their blond hair and their smug, satisfied faces. It must wound your pride, huh? Standing out there like some glorified sentry. Jaime Lannister, son of the mighty Tywin...Forced to mind the door while your King eats and drinks and shits and fucks." Jaime kept his expression straight. "So come on, we're telling war stories. Who was your first kill, not counting old men?"
"One of the outlaws in the Brotherhood." Jaime answered, Ser Barristan turning to him as he did so.
"I was there that day. You were only a squire, 16 years old."
"You killed Simon Toyne with a counter riposte. Best move I ever saw." Jaime complimented the battlehardened knight.
"A good fighter, Toyne, but he lacked stamina." Barristan commented.
"Your outlaw...Any last words?" Robert questioned.
"I cut his head off, so no." Jaime shook his head.
"What about Aerys Targaryen?" Derron's breath hitched in his throat. "What did the Mad King say when you stabbed him in the back? I never asked. Did he call you a traitor? Did he plead for a reprieve?"
"He said the same thing he'd been saying for hours...'Burn them all'." Jaime answered. At this point, Derron was beginning to breath heavy. Both Robery and Barristan took notice.
Burn them all!
"Shit. Apologies, boy. I forget too easily. Barristan, get him out of here, will you?" The Kingsguard nodded, leading Derron out of the room. He led him down the hall, as the lord tried to regain a steady breathing pattern.
"You're alright, Lord Karthmere." Barristan told him slowly, coming to a stop slowly. Derron took in one last deep breath, before releasing and standing up straight.
"Thank you, Ser Barristan."
"Of course."
"Just hearing those words...to think that's enough to make me that weak." Derron spat out with a shake of his head.
"Those words do so for a reason, my Lord. I know more than most within these walls what occured." Barristan said, earning a small chuckle from Derron.
Rather than keep to that topic, Derron thought back to the talk of the Greyjoy Rebellion.
"I do hope hearing of my previous doings during the rebellion hasn't made you change your thoughts on me." Derron stated, confusing Barristan. "I saw it, the look that overcame your face when Robert brought it up, what I had done."
"You did what you thought necessary." Barristan said carefully, searching for the right words. With another chuckle, Derron leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as he did so.
"How my dear uncle would look at me now." His eyes opened, turning to Barristan. "Do you think he'd be upset with me?" He wondered.
"Of course not, my Lord. After what you had been through, you've still managed to get through it all and become a fine lord. You're now leading your house as best you think you can. I would think he'd be more proud than anything else."
"Hmm...Well, if those come from the great Barristan the Bold, then I must believe them to be true." A smile came over the knights face then. "I think I've taken up enough of your time, Ser. I'll find my way."
"Of course." And with a bow, Ser Barristan turned and headed back for the kings chambers. Derron watched for a second, before turning away with a sigh.
And thus ends the first chapter!
So, some obvious changes were seen. Canon, Robert's Rebellion began in 282 and ended in 283. For this story, however, instead of lasting almost one year, it lasted basically four given the date it begins in this story. This was done, simply for the fact of how I've set up Derron's character development in the future of this story.
Also, just so state now that I'll be using the show ages rather the books. So, Margaery will be 22 in this story, compared to the books having her at age 16. This just works better, given Derron is 20 years old. No change was really needed for Arianne, given she's already around that same age.
Wanna put this out now, responding to one of the reviews I recieved. Basically, it was speaking about the supposed Targaryen half of Shiva's blood, and how there were so many other families with that appearance rather than just Targaryen's. To respond to this quickly, again, my knowledge is limited at the moment. This would also go for Valyria and the families and houses of Valyria. At the time when I wrote that section in Shiva's description, it was the first thing that came to mind, and I had meant for it to more be a speculation, rather than truth, that Shiva's mother was a Targaryen. I can see how this would be confusing, so that's on me. I could have simply written the speculation to be that his mother was of Valyria, rather than name that one specific house. Still, to this reviewer, I hope this small little detail doesn't deter you from reading the story entirely, given it was meant to be a small detail.
Overall, hope this chapter was enjoyable, but for now...
That's it, be safe ya'll!