The sound of boot on stone echoed through the icy cavern, syncing perfectly well with a hum. The man walked alone, humming a tune under his breath until he stopped before a gate. It was made of white weirwood, an old face carved on it, pale, shrunken and wrinkled. When the man had gotten close enough, its eyes opened to look at him, eyes that were white and blind.
"Who are you?" the gate asked, glowing in the darkness of the cavern.
"I am the watcher on the walls" the man replied. "I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers. I am the shield that guards the realms of men."
"Then pass," the gate said, its lips opening wider than it had until it was a great gaping mouth in a ring of wrinkles. The man smiled, walking right through the gaping mouth whistling his tune once more.
Below the red leaves of the Weirwood Tree were two young women. One was laying down, her head on her companion's lap while the other read from a book.
"Did you read it?" the girl with the book in her hands asked.
"Of course, I read it" the girl on her lap answered.
The one that sat looked sceptically at her friend, before gazing at the pages of the book in her hand. "When Princess Nymeria arrived in Dorne who did she take to husband?" she asked.
"A man" her friend answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"Whose name was…?"
"Lord Something."
"Lord Something" the questioner almost chuckled at the response, "Septa Marlow will be furious if you answer with "Lord Something", Rhaenyra."
"She's funny when she's furious" the one named Rhaenyra quipped.
The questioner looked at her friend for a bit, before turning her eyes away from her face. "You're always like this when you're worried," she said.
"Like what?" Rhaenyra asked.
"Disagreeable" the girl answered.
Rhaenyra finally met her eyes, looking into them for a moment before she looked away once more. "I worry for my mother" she answered finally.
"Is that all you worry about?" the girl asked, raising an inquisitive brow.
"Only my mother" she assured her friend, "I hope for my father, that he gets the son he's always wanted. As long as I can recall, it's all he ever wanted."
The brunette's brows furrowed confusion palpable in her expression. "You want him to have a son?" she asked. The answer to that she would not get, for the sound of a shoe on stone interrupted them both.
"I am sorry to intrude" the one that interrupted spoke, "I was hoping to pray to the Old Gods. I could come back later if it pleases the Princess and the Lady Alicent."
"No," Princess Rhaenyra stood, dusting her dress clean. "We were done anyways" she held a hand to the brunette who went by Alicent. The young lady took her hand and stood, but her eyes were on the stranger.
He was tall, easily touching six feet if not more. He wore a simple grey tunic that looked worn out, the same as the pants he wore. His hair was a dark brown and his skin pale. He was handsome and had a Northern look to him. But his eyes unsettled her. It was like looking into pools of blood.
"Come on" the Princess whispered harshly, having been trying to get her friend to move from her spot. Alicent seemed to snap out of her thoughts then and went away arm in arm with the Princess. It was only after they entered the Red Keep did the thought strike her. How had he known her name?
"Be Welcome!" the King roared a greeting to his honoured guests and spectators. "I know many of you have travelled long leagues to be at these games. But I promise, you will not be disappointed" he looked at the Knights gathered with a smile. "When I look at the fine Knights in these lists I see a group without equal in our histories. And this great day has been made more auspicious" his eyes followed his daughter as she ducked and ran to her seat, his smile only growing at the sight of her, "by the news that I am happy to share. Queen Aemma has begun her labours!" a round of applause and cheers went about in the crowd. "May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!"
The thundering of hooves followed the declaration of the King. The lists had begun and the combatants looks violent and ready. The first to be unhorsed was a Tarly of Horn Hill. The victor came from a lesser-known house, riding to the stands and bowing his head gracefully.
"A mystery Knight?" the Princess asked.
"No, a Cole, of the Stormlands" answered her Lady friend.
"I've never heard of House Cole" the Princess replied.
"Princess Rhaenys Targaryen" called the next combatant that sported the sigil of House Baratheon. "I would humbly ask for the favour of The Queen Who Never Was."
The crowd erupted into cheers, while said Princess looked stoic. She looked to her cousin, The King. The man smiled at her before she moved to greet the Baratheon.
"Good fortune to you, cousin," she said, sliding the wreath down the shaft of the lance. "I would gladly take it if I thought I needed it" they share a smile before the Princess walked away.
"You could have Baratheon's tongue for that" the Hand of the King whispered to the King.
"Tongues will not change the succession," the King told him boldly, meeting his eyes with a smirk. "Let them wag" he turned back to the lists on the field. The drums thundered a welcome for the next bout, between Baratheon and Cole.
"Lord Stokeworth's daughter is promised to that young Tarly squire" the Princess spoke, motioning to the man that lost to Cole. "They're to be married as soon as he wins his knighthood."
"Lord Massey's son?" Alicent asked and Rhaenyra nodded. "Best get on with it. I heard Lady Elinor is hiding a swollen belly under her dress" her statement drew a shocked look from the Princess, making Alicent smirk at her.
The bout began with a roar when the Baratheon charged the Cole. The lance hit clean, splintered and unhorsed the rider. Cole had won another round, much to the joy of the crowd.
The Princess turned around and the Knight behind her knelt to hear her speak. "What do you know about this Ser Criston, Ser Harrold?" the Princess asked the Kingsguard.
"I'm told Ser Criston is common-born, son of Lord Dondarrion's steward," said the bald Knight. "But other than that, and the fact he's just unhorsed a Tarly and a Baratheon lad, I really couldn't say."
The Kingsguard stood and stepped away, and the Princess turned her attention back on the tourney ground. Ser Criston had removed his helm and approached the stands. "Gods. He's Dornish" the Princess heard her friend whispered.
"I was hoping to ask for the Princess's favour," Ser Criston said. The Princess smiled at him, walked to her seat and returned with her wreath. She threw it at him and he caught it with ease.
"I wish you the best of luck, Ser Criston" the Princess smiled.
"Princess" the knight bowed and walked away.
The banner for House Baratheon remained, but the one for House Cole was replaced by one that nobody recognized. "A mystery Knight" the King stated, a grin adorning his face. A mystery Knight was always a memorable thing in any journey, always talked about. Especially if they end up winning glory. He wasn't sure whether this one would, but he was expecting good things from him for some reason.
"I don't think I've seen that one before:" the Princess whispered to her friend.
"Me neither" Alicent spoke. "A mystery Knight?"
"Probably" Rhaenyra shrugged.
The sigil they were talking about was a single crimson-eyed white raven on black.
Once more the drumming welcomed for the match to start, and both participants charged. The mystery knight made quick work of the Baratheon, unhorsing him with his lance and slamming right into the middle of the man's chest plate. The Baratheon man flew back, hit the ground with a thud and groaned in pain. The crowd gasped and cheered as the victor was declared.
The victor rode up to the stands, "Lady Alicent" he declared, much to the shock of the woman in question. "Would you do me the honour of bestowing your favour for the tournament? Sure enough, I would win it all if I have you on my side."
The Lady Alicent took a moment to move. But when she did, she moved with easy grace, her wreath in her hands. She threw it at him and he caught it with ease. "I wish you good fortune Ser," the woman said with a smile.
"I'm no Ser, mi Lady" the man smiled and rode off to the side. Alicent returned to her seat, rolling her eyes at her friend's smirk.
The next bout had a change of banners from both ends. Once more the drums beat and the thundering of hooves welcomed a group of participants. "Prince Daemon of House Targaryen, Prince of the City will choose his first opponent!" the announcer declared. The stands erupted in cheers as the sigil of House Targaryen was put in place and Prince Daemon made his entrance. The Prince brought his gallop to a slow movement, eyeing all participants before stopping. He pointed his lance at his chosen participant before he rode off to his side, his chosen riding to the opposite.
"For his first challenge, Prince Daemon Targaryen chooses Ser Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown, eldest son of the Hand of the King" the announcer declared, the King and Hand sharing a look between them. One was jolly the other strained.
The horses charged when the bout began. The first round went to Gwayne, who smashed his lance into Daemon's shield. There was no unhorsing, but there was a wobble. The second time around Daemon weaved out of the way of Gwayne's lance, his lance tripping the horse the Hightower rode. The horse fell, as did its rider. Daemon was declared victorious with no deaths luckily.
The next bout began, but the King wasn't present for it. He was called by one of the Maesters that served under the Grandmaester. This bout brought about the first death, a Knight of House Darklyn killed by a hedge Knight.
The blazons changed once more, this time Cole put against the mystery Knight. Both combatants stared each other down before charging. The first bout had them both smashing lances against the other, no unhorsing. A similar result followed in the second and third bouts. Both combatants remained unmoved and motivated to unhorse the other. The fourth bout had both of the lances splintering once more, but there was an unhorsing this time. One lance smashed against a shield, while the other found the smallest gap in defence when their horse stumbled, slamming into the other's chest. Ser Criston fell with a thud, groaning from the impact. The mystery Knight was named the winner of this round.
"Our Mystery Knight will now tilt against Ser Daemon Targaryen, Prince of the City!" the man declared and the Crowd roared out their excitement. Both combatants got into position, each sporting their shield and lance. Their eye contact never broke, staring one another down until the very last moment of the tilt. Horses charged and the two clashed, Ser Daemon's lance smashing into the mystery fighter's shield. It splintered and jarred the combatant, but no unhorsing. They both took another lance and charged, this time the mystery combatant's lance smashing into the Prince's side. No unhorsing this time as well. Once more they changed lances and charged. The lance hit true and hard this time, above the shield and into the left side of his chest. Prince Daemon fell to his side, shield and lance lost from his grip. His body still strapped to his horse he ground against the metal rail until he fell over when there was no more of the rail to grind against. A squire came to help him up but the man pushed him away.
"Sword!' the rogue prince screamed and his sword was brought to him. Dark Sister, the other Targaryen family heirloom.
"Prince Daemon Targaryen wishes to continue in a contest of arms!" the announcer declared, effectively sounding the start of the mêlée. The mystery combatant was given a sword as well, not a Valyrian Steel one of course. It was a normal sword, made of iron. They both met halfway into the ground, eyeing each other before engaging in a clash of swords. They danced around one another, dodging and weaving around each other's strikes. Prince Daemon had the first clean hit, slamming his sword into his opponent's shield before slamming his own shield into his opponent's sword. He kicked the man back and charged once more. The block was sloppy from the mystery combatant and the Prince overpowered him easily because of it.
"Yield," Daemon Targaryen said, Dark Sister at the mystery man's throat. The man lifted his chin and moved his head forward, the tin cutting his skin. The Prince's brows furrowed in confusion, staring into the man's crimson hues questioningly.
"I yield" the combatant declared and the crowd roared their cheer. Prince Daemon had lost the joust but had won the mêlée.
A day had passed since the end of the tourney since the Queen and heir had died. The King was a broken man, guilt eating at him for what had happened to his wife. He shouldn't have pushed her as he had, he should have chosen her over anyone else. Aemma was tired, she had told him many times. But he had not listened. And now she was gone, the love of his life was gone. But that was not all the loss that he endured.
His brother, the man that he loved so much, support him through so much more, the man had cut him deeper than any blade or even the throne ever had. In his anger he had banished him, removed him as Heir and named Rhaenyra instead. It hurt him to do this to his brother, but he just couldn't defend him after everything.
The Kingsguard opened the door for him when he reached his bedroom, and he thanked them for it. He entered his room sullenly and stiffened right away.
"Your Grace" a man with dark brown hair and crimson eyes greeted.
"Who are you? And how did you get in here?" the King questioned, pulling his dagger out of its sheath. The man looked unarmed, but the man was not taking any chances.
"I am sorry for your loss, your Grace. Of your Queen, your heir... and your brother" the man tipped his head and the King blinked in surprise.
"Daemon is still alive, what are you talking about?" the King growled, gripping the knife harder.
"You sent him away, yes? When your Hand informed him about what you said?" the man asked. "It is a form of banishment if you think about it. Forever barred from the only home he's ever known, only place he's ever felt love and comfort."
"He has a wife" the King ground out, the guilt in him growing with the addition of more from the man.
"A wife he does not love, a wife that does not love him back. Both are stuck in a marriage yet to be consummated because he feels nothing for her."
"How do you know it's not been consummated" the man narrowed his eyes.
"I have my sources, your Grace" the man smiled and the King heard a raven caw. "He did not mean it the way you were told. "The Heir for a Day" comment I mean. He mourned in his own way as he has told you. Though the circumstances of his grieving were queer, surrounded by whores and lickspittles. Then again your family has queer ways to grieve. You for example have not spoken to your daughter since the funeral. She does need her father now more than anything. You're all she has left."
"Enough!" the man roared, "who are you and how the hell did you get in here? And who do you think you are, telling me how I should father my child!"
"I meant no offence your Grace" the man held both his hands up, "I am merely making conversation. But I did need you to listen to me. I have important things to tell you."
"And what would that be?" the man asked. The answer he received made him drop the dagger he gripped till his knuckles were white. "How do you know about that?"
"I know about a lot more, your Grace" the man replied with a smile. "And I am here to swear my allegiance to you and prevent a disaster that will ruin House Targaryen."
"Who are you?" the King swallowed, his face pale and hand shaking slightly.
"My name is Brynden, your Grace" the man, known now as Brynden, smiled.
