A year and half later
Allyria looked on at the large field, where her bethroted was practicing the bow, as he did every morning.
He had been at it for a while, if the abused targets were telling the truth of it.
Wooden targets, about two hundred paces from the Dondarrion were riddled with arrows, all bunched up in the bullseye.
There was always a certain sensuality in the way her beloved went about picking an arrow, notching it to his monstrous practice bow, before sending it flying into one of the battered targets.
Despite the cool morning, sweat glistened off of his bare chest as his muscles coiled and relaxed as he went through the well-practiced movements.
She was truly a lucky woman, she thought, looking at her future husband, a slight fire kindling in her stomach pit.
"My lady", the man said, bringing out her out of her reverie, " with the way you are looking at me, I fear for my chastity." He was looking at her now, vibrant blue meeting lilac.
Allyria Dayne fought the furious blush creeping on her face, to no avail.
"Stop it, Beric... You make me sound like a woman of loose manners." she said, cupping her heart-shaped face, blushing up a storm. "What ever my dear father would have said or done, if he had heard such word spoken about his daughter?"
Beric chuckled at her reaction. "I'm only saying that because when you give me those looks, I know what comes after. " He said, as he approached, toweling his chest with his discarded shirt. " Truly, you kindness is only matched by your beauty..." He reached down, tucking a strand of loose ebony hair behind her ear, as he smiled coyly,"And your passion."
Allyria's heart skipped a bit. That man could make her balance on cutlery, with that smooth tongue of his.
"With those sweet words of yours, no wonder Essosi women sing the praises of Beric the Bard." she retorted, slapping him playfully on the chest, feeling his hard muscles under his cool skin.
Beric laughed hearthily, a boisterous laughed, that would sound obnoxious to some, but Allyria loved it because she was the source of it.
"I sing for them, my love. But the best song of them all, is the song you sing for me." He said, towering over her, with the sun at his back, turning his hair into golden fire. He grabbed her by the waist, pulling her tight into his chest. "When you sang for me in that tower, with those beautiful legs wrapped around my head, I thought I died and went to the halls of my fathers.", he said his deep smooth voice caressing her ears.
"Beric!" she whisper shouted, false outraged in her voice, though she made no effort to step away from him.
"Well, to be fair, you wouldn't let me come up for air, so that is probably not too far fetched."
"Stop, you demon!", she giggled, peppering his chest with half-hearted slaps. "What if someone hears you? What would they think of me?"
"They'd think you the luckiest woman in the world." he said, looking down at his little woman.
She groaned at that. "You're so full of yourself, Beric Dondarrion."
"You love me anyway."
A small blush crept on her face. "Yes. Yes, I do", she said, a titter escaping her lips, as she leaned into him and rested her head on his cool chest.
They stood there quietly, basking in the feelings they had for each other.
"That is good beer, my son. You truly are a man of many talents." Leo Dondarrion as he sipped from his mug, the beer foam marring his salt and pepper bushy moustache.
They were sitting on the balcony, the two Dondarrions. enjoying a quiet night, looking at the stars while enjoying some of now famous Dandarrion Beer.
Beric only smiled at the man, basking in the praise. You goddamn right it was good beer. He brewed after all. He was born with a stirring spoon in hand.
The older Dondarrion looked as his son, pride feeling his chest.
"You know, ever since you were born and I saw those big blue eyes of yours, I told your mother you would bring great honor to our family.
I still remember you, running about, acting like you were too big for your breeches, getting into all sorts of troubles." He chuckled, eyes lost in distant memories.
"Father..." , Beric began.
"No, no", his father waved him off. "I know I haven't been the most loving father. Or the most involved, whilst you were a growing boy.
You always seemed to always know what to do, sometimes even better than your sweet mother and I.
All those years ago, you left a boy, full of potential. Now, look at you. The most famous Dondarrion in the Seven Kingdoms." the older man said, swallowing back his tears.
Beric was at a loss for words, which didn't happen often. His father was usually loving, but in an aloof way. He would seldom open up like this, especially when the two of them were alone.
"You know, when the other lords and the smallfolk speak of the Hawk of Blackhaven, or Beric the Bard, I hear such reverence in their voice. And also envy.
And all I can think is, yes, that's my boy. That's my little Beric." Leo said, as he patted his son on the arm, before taking another sip of his beer.
The younger Dondarrion looked at his father, his blue eyes shining in the candelabre's light. "I did not know you thought so highly of me."
"I plan on making you Lord of Blackhaven, son. I think it's high time new blood takes over." Leo continued, heedless of his son's word.
Beric's eyes widened at that. Him, an actual lord with lands? but he was only two and twenty, and his father was yet a strong and healthy man.
"Don't try", the older Dondarrion said. "I've made up my mind. My lady wife and I have long thought about it. You are an accomplished man with more to his his name than most men acquire in life.
You have a bethroted of good stock, and a fast growing beer trade. You are more than ready.
It'll give me more time with my horses, anyway" he finished chuckling.
"Alright. But it'll have to wait." Beric said, as he nodded to his father, causing the older man to frown.
"I plan on taking Allyria to King's Landing for the Hand's Tourney."
Leo's brow rose at that, before a smile crept on his features.
" You mean to crown her your Queen of Love and Beauty." He induced from his son's words, receiving a quiet nod in confirmation.
He barked a laugh at that. " You sly devil! You truly take after your father. She will be all but melted butter in your hands for as long as you two are alive! And maybe even long after."
"Very well then, son. Have at it. Crown your queen, then come back to us get what is yours." he laughed, smacking the young man on the back. He looked into his glass mug, looking at the brown liquid it contained.
"For some reasons, I can't help but worry." the old man, said, his mood much subdued than it had been before.
"Worry about what?" Beric enquired, taking a sip of his own drink.
" You're so young... You've... You've accomplished so much, so fast. I fear..." The man stopped, letting the pregnant silence convey his fears.
"You fear that I would be akin to a candle, burning twice as bright than the others, yet twice as fast?" Beric proposed, gleaming his father's thoughts.
The old man could only nod at that.
"By making me the Lord of Blackhaven, I would be tied to those lands, safe behind those walls." he continued, looking at his father.
"Beric, you must understand..." the old man began, only for his son to interrupt him with a hug.
"I understand, father. I love you too." His father simply nodded at that, showing his naturally reserved disposition.
"If anything ever happened to you, I don't know what I would do. It would kill your mother."
"You need not worry,father. I will always come back. I'm the best at what I do.
" And what would that be?", the old man asked, a small, prideful small on his face.
"I am a Dondarrion, father. I Strike Swift and True".
"Come on, soldier! five more!" Beric yelled, his slavedriver mode initiated.
Edric Dayne was not having a good morning. He figured he would've been used to it by now, but one never truly did. Lord Beric always drove him hard, but never hard enough break.
"Alright, take a breather." His lord said, and the squire unceremoniously dropped to the ground, his last "burpee" done.
He fought hard to catch his breath, the morning air burning his lungs. This was a kind of pain he didn't mind.
His legs were shaky, and his tunic drenched in his sweat.
When his aunt had told him they would be going to Kingslanding for the Hand's Tourney, he had been overjoyed. To travel with the man he looked up the most with, to serve as his squire in the king's court, to see the legends and great names in the flesh, it was a dream come true.
It was a dream, yes. But the getting there was more akin to a nightmare.
Every morning for the past six days they had been on the road, Lord Dondarrion had put him through various forms of rigorous training. Even more rigorous than his already heavy regimen.
Some mornings, it was the sword, other the bow and arrow. Others were as today. Conditionning, he called it.
He would be put through a vicious series of exercises, all created in the deepest pits of hell, existing for the sole purpose of gifting him pain and suffering.
He turned his head to the side to see his aunt still struggling through her own sets of exercises.
He'd seen how Lord Beric was around his aunt. Always affectionate and attentive to her needs, the picture perfect of what proper knight ought to be.
Gone was that loving and kind knight. The man in front of him seemed to take a sadistic pleasure in tormenting the woman he claimed to love more than life itself.
If anyone had told him that the "Flower of Starfall", "The Princess of the Torrentine" would break down into tears because of her bethroted, he would have fought valiantly for his lord's honor.
Yet, this was the spectacle that greeted his tired eyes.
"I'm tired, Beric. No more, please!" the dusky woman pleaded, arms shaky from exhaustion. Her cries fell on deaf ears however, as her love would not let her quit.
" No, Ally.", he stated his voice invited no arguments. "We started this, and we are going to finish it. No shortcut, no surrender!"
Tears of resignation streamed down the face of the Maiden of Srarfall, as she nodded at her slavemaster, knowing he was right.
She had wanted this, begged him to make her strong. And in turn, he had warned her, that once they started, there would be no quitting, rain or shine. She had agreed blindly, happy to have had her way.
She regretted her bravado every day since, cursing her past self, condemning her to the most horrible punishment the gods could muster, for what she had done to her.
She'd only wanted to be like the shieldmaidens of the stories, who were so dashing and graceful with the bow.
"To shoot the bow, you've got to be strong", he had said to her.
"I am strong!" Allyria had protested, rather petulantly.
With a rather patronizing tone in his voice, he had patted her on the head, like she was some housepet. "Yes my love, you are so strong... On the inside."
Now here she was running around in a forest, with her beloved cracking the metaphorical whip, egged her forward.
"What do we say soldier? He yelled, his voice commanding.
"No shortcut! No surrender!" she yelled, her voice cracking with heart wrenching sobs.
Beric seemed to take pity on her after a while, as went to pick her up, craddling her tired form into his chest.
"You dig good, my love." he whispered in her ear, answer by a sniffled "thank you" followed by her blowing her nose in his tunic .
" Edric, to me!" the young lord called out to his squire, who hurried after him as fast as his tired legs would allow him.
Nodding to the guards as they went back in their small camp, Beric entered the tent where Allyria slept-They weren't married after all. It would be highly improper- alongside her lady in waiting, a young wisp of girl from House Yronwood.
"Make sure she is cleaned and fed, please." he said to the girl, who quickly bowed with a "yes my lord", dismayed but the state her lady found herself.
Beric quickly left the tent and walked to the captain of his guard, ser Rickon Peasbury, younger cousin of Robin Peasbury.
"Tighten the guard." Beric said. "I'm going hunting."
The face of the captain darkened at that. "Enjoy, my lord", he answered with a vicious smile that mirrored the one on his liege lord's face.
He didn't even bother bringing his bow, opting instead for his throwing knives.
He counted aixteen men, from robber knights to common rabble. He had eight throwing knives, his two custom made kukris and his longsword. That'll have to do.
Beric had first spotted them two days ago, as they passed Summerhall. It was to be expected. The Boneway stopped hugging the coast and made inland instead.
From Summerhall, the closest town was the Griffin Rost, a good day and a half away of hard riding. A slow moving caravan like his would seem like easy picking for those highwaymen.
Beric Dondarrion could've let his men dispatch the vermin, but he had to admit to himself that he craved a bit of violence. And these men would serve as entertainment until they reached Kingslanding.
It was near noon when the slaughter began.
"Hello there", Beric Dondarrion said, approaching the small gathering of men.
"Well, what do we have here, boys?", the supposed leader asked.
He looked to be a black haired man, clad in mismatched pieces of armor. He was rather tall, with features some would call handsome.
The man was looking at Beric, clearly gauging him, to see how much of a threat he was.
The blond newcomer was standing, in a relaxed pose, his arm resting on his greatsword. He was wearing a dark colored brigandine, bearing the purple forked lightning bolt of house Dondarrion.
This was caught the robber knight's eye. "Well, if it's not the bloody Hawk of Blackhaven." the man said, with a whistle. "Thought I saw the Dondarrion banners, but imagine my surprise when it wasn't some little lord, but the man himself." he finished with a cackle.
Beric bowed theatrically to the group. "Well met, friends." He said, amiably. "I seem to be at a disadvantage, however. You know my name, yet I'm not sure what to call you."
This elicited a mocking laugh from his audience.
"Oh, my lord," the still unnamed brigand said, as he casually unsheated his sword. It was a surprisingly good looking weapon, no doubt scavanged from the corpse of some poor soul unfortunate enough to have crossed the bandit's path.
"I'm afraid this might be the least of your worries. Though I shall thank you for saving us the efforts of picking your retinue one by one. I'm sure you would be worth a pretty penny to your lord father." he continued slowing walking towards him, his band of merry comrades spreading around him.
"Or maybe we should still try and get that Dayne bitch of yours. I wouldn't dare separate such a beautiful couple."
Beric sighed at the man's gall. He unbuckled his greatsword from his hips, leaning it against a nearby tree.
"You might be needing that soon, my lord" the man said, as the whole group laughed again. "Or is that you surrendering? You have some sense in you, after all."
Beric was planning on sending them to the Wall after a good beatdown, but he could never suffer scum for too long.
Three men behind the leader fell to the ground, blood spurting from their throats as throwing knives found their way in their jugular.
He watched as Dondarrion barely moved as he casually dodge the arrows loosed his way, before three more men fell to his throwing knives.
The man casually dispatched the men who found themselves in his path. The archers fell first, all three of them.
They had been some of the best shots he had ever met. Yet here they were on the floor, drowning in a pool of their own blood.
One by one, they were picked off, until they were just eight of them standing, his other brethren lying on the forest floor, dead or dying.
The confusion soon made way to anger and rage. Some of his men rallied around as Dickon tried sneak up on the man from behind, no doubt in the hopes of slitting the man's throat
It happened quickly. Too quickly. One moment, the mousy blond man was creeping behind the Dondarrion, the next he had been screaming bloody murder as he held his bleeding face.
"My eye!!" the man screamed. "You fucker!! you put a coin in my fucking eye!!"
"Stop, you monster!" One of the highwaymen shouted at the knight. "There seven of us and only one of you." Though he was correct in his assessment, the man couldn't help the way his sword shook in his grip.
"When you put it like that, it seems hardly fair. The odds really aren't in your favor." Beric said as he moved away from the wailing man who was still yapping on aboit his lost eye.
He unsheathed his kukris from his waist, giving them an exoerimental twirl.
"Go on", he goaded the small group in front of him, smiling coyly. "Give it your best shot."
Hesitation gave way to wounded pride and anger. Three of the seven rushed him, seemingly the bravest of the bunch, or maybe the most foolish.
One carried a spear, while the two others wielded crude bastard swords.
As one, they ran at him, intent on gutting him for his troubles.
Spear- Long range, short stature. Will think himself safe if he stays at distance. Likely will act as a annoyance, attempting to catch me unaware as I fight off his comrades. Threat level low
Sword- large build. Likely uses his strength as substitute for technique. Missing teeth an damaged left eye. Brawler. Threat level low.
Sword. normal build. high emotional response. likely to resort hack and slash. Favours left knee. Probably hip impigement. Threat level low.
Engage in a ten foot radius.
Beric chucked one of his blades into spearguy's skull, as he came within four paces of him. The blade cleaved its way halfway into his skull, as Beric expertly moved to the left of the larger man, dodging his wild swing.
A quick stab to the side of the neck sent the man to his ancestors.
Beric smoothly leaned out of the way of another wild slash from the last attacker, before kicking him in the side of his knee. causing the limb to bend abnormally.
The man let go of his sword with a grunt as he fell. Beric deftly caught it, and impaled the man in the forest floor at the same time his back touched the floor.
Three seconds. The whole sequence lasted three whole seconds.
The four remaining bandits just stood there petrified, not knowing what to do or how to react.
Damian Storm wondered when it all went wrong.
Was it when he killed that tavern wench's brother? What was his name again? Adrian? Alec?
He had a good trade before that, set to become smith.
Was it when he stole that horse?
Maybe when he...
No, it had gone well until then. He had been a free man, leader of his own little band of brothers.
It had all gone wrong when that demon crossed their path. Slaughtered his men like they were no more than sickly animals.
Yes, he thought. He hadn't gone wrong anywhere. That tavern wench had it coming. Her brother challenged him. The horse he stole was more useful to him than that fat lord anyway.
The people he stole from were just unlucky. Plus he needed to survive too, didn't he? Why were his brothers knights and maesters while he was to be but a common craftsman? Why couldn't he be a lord as well?
Why did the fucking Hawk of Blackhaven come all this way to make him suffer?
He'd done nothing to the man.
The whole fucking world had been against him since his lord father left a baker's daughter with child.
It wasn't fair!! It's never been fair!! Why would nothing go his way for once in this twice-damned world?
"Mercy, my lord! Have mercy!"
The shouts of his remaining men brought him out of his ranting mind.
His three remaining men had thrown their weapons to the ground , kneeling in front of the somehow still immaculate Dondarrion.
The man casually retrieved his discarded knife from the fallen spearman's brain matter before making his way towards the last survivors.
"Do you also surrender" Beric asked the leader who still held on to his sword for dear life.
The outlaw was quiet for a moment, contemplating whatever it is outlaws contemplated, before dropping his weapon as well, head hung low in defeat.
The Dondarrion nodded in satisfaction before turning his back to the man, seemingly looking for his other weapons.
"Fool!!" Damian roared in his mind. He quietly unsheathed his trusty dagger from his boot, before lunging at the man, eager to plunged his steel in the son of a whore's flesh.
Beric rolled forward, expecting the attack, and quickly grabbed a pebble from the ground. He casually flicked the rock in the open mouth of the yelling criminal, cutting the noise abruptly.
Damian Storm wasn't sure what the issue was. Well, he sort of knew. He was choking. He just wasn't quite sure why.
As he clawed at his throat in a vain attempt to find air in his burning lungs, the last thing he saw was a tall man with golden red hair looming over him. Cold. Unblinking. Unmoving.
" Ah," he thought, as his vision slowly darkened, "This must be the Stranger."
Four men were tied to a horse. One of them with a coin sticking out of his bleeding eye socket. Another small cart carried the bodies of twelve other men.
"Bring them to the Griffin's Roost post haste", the captain commanded his men. "We will meet you by Storm's End in no later than two days."
As he watched the small delegation leave, Beric couldn't help but feel that something was amiss.
"My lord", Edric said to his mentor, clear worry in his voice, "Are you harmed in any way?"
"No, not at all, my boy.", he said, yet a small frown was still on his face.
"Lady Allyria requested your presence, my Lord."
"Very well, Edric. I shall be there in a minute." The man looked lost in thought for some reason.
The boy nodded, before turning away, walking back in the camp.
"Ah shit!" Edric heard lord Dondarrion mutter. "I never got his name."
The end.
Hope you enjoy.
Though I picked ASOIAF as the fandom, I'll still keep major parts of the tv show untouched. Mostly for the sake of simplicity.
I don't have the talent nor the time to create new plotlines in a story as big as GOT...
Also Beric doesn't know much about the storyline beyond what one would naturally gain through osmosis from hearing people talk about it. He knows Geoffrey is a bastard, that Cersei and Jaime are cucking the king. He knows about Dani's dragons, and vaguely knows about ice zombies in the North.
Beyond that he is flying blind.
Do the commenting and the liking, s'il vous plait. That'd be really nice of ya.
