Jaymar

Gods, I'm tired.

Ser Jaymar Swayne rode by the Kingsroad. Riverrun was still far, and finding an inn not packed to the brim with human souls was quite challenging.

Seven Hells, the road down the Neck had been a nightmare till now, with Prince Joffrey's name day tourney even the Great Other himself is going south to try his luck at the joust.

Jaymar was a grim fellow, others didn't love being around him, but he surely could impress them with his prowess. He still remembers the day he won the melee during a tourney in White Harbour. At the time, he was just the third son of a masterly house of Oldcastle; he was knighted on the spot by Ser Wendel Manderly after besting two men of the house guard that teamed against him.

And now he was riding south, in the eternal search for glory and gold typical of wandering knights... how times change...

Snapping out of his thoughts, he noticed a small clearing by the woods where three armoured men were cooking a rabbit. Jaymar internally rejoiced at the possibility of rest, so he announced himself to the campers.

"Seven guide you! I'm Ser Jaymar Swayne from Oldcastle, with whom I have the pleasure to speak?" He shouted.

A knight wearing a tabard with an emblazoned blue hourglass answered, "Seven blessings to you, my friend. I am Ser Willem Butler from Strongsong. Would you care to join us? We have bread and salt if you wish."

"It would be an honour!" he answered as he made it to the clearing. The knights handed him bread and salt, and he sat near the Valeman.

"I have some leftover ale. My father gave me a tonne, would you wish to have some?" He asked. The old cunt always wanted Jaymar to open up, and for some reason he thought giving away free ale would help him. Typical Northmen logic.

The men cheered, apparently happy with the news. Willem answered, "Gods be praised! We finished ours yesterday. We would've had to wait till we reached Wycombe to buy more, it looks like we have some for the night!"

They dined and drank eagerly. It was quite some time since Jaymar had a good time around other people; Willem and his squire Penn were good company, and even old Petar had some interesting stories to tell of his time during the war of the Ninepenny Kings.

"So, where is your group headed, Willem?" Jaymar asked the knight.

The Valeman smiled, "We've been on the road to King's Landing, Petar hoped to join the joust with Penn. I am answering the summons of my liege Lord Jon Arryn, apparently he needs some swords by his side."

That was quite peculiar, Willem seemed happy with that summon. Well, serving as a sworn sword for your liege lord was a great honour, but still... Is the Old Falcon feeling unsafe? Something has been stirring down south, it seems. If Jaymar stands out in the tourney, he too could pique the interest of some Lord. Hells, maybe even the King himself.

Jaymar continued chatting with the knights. It was nearly the hour of the wolf when something unthinkable happened.

He looked up to the sky.

A waterfall of colours lit the entire horizon: yellow, purple, red, green, orange, blue... everyone was entranced by the magnificence of this sight.

It was as if all the stars suddenly plummeted, painting the night's sky. Surely, only the Gods could be responsible for such beauty.

The shower lasted an entire hour. When the last star fell, a long silence was drawn. Everyone was left speechless by this wondrous scene.

Jaymar had never felt such strong emotions before, and has been a while since he last cried. The party silently went to sleep, as the fate of Westeros permanently changed.

Robert

King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, gulped another tankard of ale. Others take him, he was truly strained. It all started a week ago, when the stars fell... it was beautiful. While he was staring at the sky he could remember Lyanna, her face... how long has it been since he could recall every curve, every slant of her likeness? Why she didn't survive her time in captivity? She should've been queen, not that cold bitch of his current wife! Damn the Rapist to the deepest pit of the Seven Hells!

Gods, he still killed him every night, again, again, and again.

Robert snapped out of his derailing thoughts. Losing himself in fury was not going to bring Lyanna back.

She would be ashamed of the man I've become...

Robert recalled what happened, and by the Seven if all the people of this bloody city went awry after that damn night. The Gold Cloaks had to stamp out many riots caused by peasants arguing about the motivations of The Fall. Some believed the Seven-Faced God descended to judge all sinners, and thought defenestrating random innocents would ensure their place in the Seven Heavens. Thank the Gods the nobility is the one in charge.

Hells, Janos Slynt has gotten himself killed in all the commotion, the spineless twat he was, and Robert had to take over the command alongside Barristan to quieten the rabble.

After three days, the riots ended. During the following days, Robert had to hold court personally to keep the situation under control, as Jon wouldn't hear otherwise. "Holding court is an essential duty of a King, Robert. Maybe it's time you take your responsibilities more seriously than what you've done these last years. I am not bound to serve you for eternity, the Stranger calls for everyone at some point." He said, and Gods if he was right.

Nonetheless, Robert has never been good at counting coppers. He was a man of action, he couldn't swing his hammer on a sheaf of ledgers, no matter how much he wanted to.

However, since that night, he feels different. As if a great hollow inside himself had been filled with hope. Perhaps he could rectify his behaviour, it shouldn't be hard to at least try...

So he listened to the requests of his people with the utmost attention. After the riots, there was quite an amount of them, and with the help of Jon and his council, he passed fair judgment. Strangely enough, the hours have passed quicker than the last time he remembered. Mayhaps it was time to start thinking with the head on his shoulders, not the one of his hammer, possibly ruling has some similarities to battle after all, only with words instead of spears.

On the fifth day, he had to settle some affairs with the High Septon. Apparently, many were connecting the colours of The Fall with the Seven's Rainbow. Jon said the best course of action was to encourage him to ensure the peasantry stayed calm until all was sorted out.

When Robert entered the vestibule of the High Septon, he scanned his surroundings: the furniture was made of richly decorated oak wood, and various shelves held the many tomes of the Andal holy scriptures. A splendid stained glass window on the roof, painted in the likeness of the Seven Pointed Star, made the light permeate the room as if the Seven themselves were present. The High Septon sat in a chair behind a great desk in the centre of the vestibule. He was a man of girth indeed, being fatter than Robert himself.

"Seven Blessings to your Grace, I presume that The Fall brought you here," the head of the Faith said, "Truly, the Gods must've blessed us with that phenomenon. Many Septons are already philosophising the meaning of this message sent to us by the Seven."

Robert answered, "Aye, it is the reason I came here to discuss" he cleared his throat, "The faithful are restless. I wished to request if your Sanctity would keep the situation peaceful religiously speaking. Perhaps a public discourse should be enough to calm their spirits. Can the Crown count on the Faith's collaboration?"

The High Septon sat again in his chair confidently. Robert could feel there was some request lingering in the air. His Sanctity answered, "Surely the Crown will have the support of the Faith. However, the Most Devout expects that the doctrines of the Faith are to properly be upheld and that any trace of heresy may be stomped out with force if needed. The Fall is bringing many questions, and we can't risk another possible schism of the Faith. Are these terms acceptable?"

Well, these were better terms than he expected to receive, so Robert nodded firmly. "Certainly. The Crown always had the duty to protect the Faith since the days of Jaeherys the Conciliator and always will. I thank you for your availability, your Sanctity."

After discussing some other minor matters, he stood up, kissed the High Septon's ring, and left the vestibule. When he reached the Red Keep, he asked the first cook to prepare the dinner and summon his brothers and Jon.

He took another bite from the chicken leg. Perhaps he was letting himself go awry. Jon has limited Robert from the melee for far too long. If he wished to fight, then he would fight, damn everyone who would go against his wishes; yet he would need to clamp down some weight. This fat does not fit a warrior.

So he stopped eating his chicken and ordered the serving maiden to take it away. Renly eyed Robert strangely, "Brother, are your appetites already satiated? The Fall truly did a miracle then!" He japed.

Robert resisted the urge to smash his face with a hammer, "Renly, I believe you're the Master of Law, not the Court Jester. Seven Hells, I could've left you to dine with that squire of yours. Maybe you could've swallowed something else too."

Renly's face contorted in annoyance while Stannis ground his teeth, "Is it possible to dine in peace?" He growled, "why does every lucheo-" Stannis' complaint was interrupted by a Baratheon guard barging through the door, looking as if he'd run across the entire Red Keep.

"Your Grace!" The man blurted, "Apologies for the interruption. There's a hooded man that seeks your presence. We've tried to stop him from entering, but he wouldn't leave even when threatened!"

Robert could sense the guardsman's distress, so he questioned him further: "Who handled the man then? A man at arms could surely apprehend him, wouldn't he?"

"Ehm- your Grace, Ser Boros tried to subjugate him, but well..."

"But was manhandled himself", Robert interrupted, and the guard nodded. He felt the urge to break something. Why by the Maiden's tits is half of his Kingsguard composed of pansies?

"I don't believe we should see him in." said Jon, "He defeated a Kingsguard, we can't risk bringing him near his Grace."

But Robert would not hear anything, "Bring him in! I wish to meet such capable warrior! Stannis, Renly, get your asses over here! Jon, find that mummer's show of a council and drag them in the throne room."

Jon sighed. He then offered the poor guardsman his cup of wine. "Drink. It's a Myrish delicacy, you can keep the bottle if you wish." He chuckled as the soldier opened his mouth to refuse, "It wouldn't be a problem anyway. My wife can always find another vintage, this could be the only chance of your life to try it." As the soldier bowed his head in thanks, the group strode out of the dining room.

Robert entered the throne room. He suddenly felt a queer sensation, as if butterflies were in his stomach. While scanning the room, he noticed the hooded man the guardsman spoke of approaching slowly with an object draped in some kind of cloth. He stopped in front of the Stag King and kneeled.

Then, with a powerful tone, he spoke.

"My King, it's an honour to be in your presence." He joyously proclaimed.

Robert was unsure of what he should do, so he asked, "Who... are you?"

He felt the man gaze into his soul. "My name is Svemir, one of the last Stormsingers. I've come to undertake my duty, as foretold in the legends."

Edited the chapter a bit, correcting some minor errors. Hope you enjoyed!