When the Children of the Forest had told the boy that they would take him to the last Greenseer, someone who was waiting for him, he had expected that he would be abducted, bound and gagged so he would not make a noise or stir too much trouble. He had not expected to be fed a paste that started as bitter and then turned sweet and be told to place his hand on the Weirwood Tree. He did as was told, and immediately found being drawn into it. For a moment he saw himself, eyes completely white before his world turned dark.
The cold bit his skin as light invaded his world once more. He was no longer in the Godswood of Winterfell. Instead, he was stood inside a giant cavern as large as the great hall of Winterfell, containing Stalagmites and Stalactites. Before him was a seat made out of tree roots, the roots spreading all around the cavern. Murders of ravens sat on those roots, watching him with their beady eyes as if they were studying him, judging his existence. He did not think about the ravens though, not when he was staring at something that could only be described as a being ripped out of a nightmare.
The seat before him looked more like a throne thanks to what sat on it. The thing is a pale skeletal man in rotted, black clothing, tangled in the roots. His skin was white, aside from the red blotch on his neck and cheek. His pale white hair was long enough to reach the earthen floor. He was missing one eye, the other a deep crimson. The roots surrounded him, growing through his body, including his legs and empty eye socket.
"Cregan" the man spoke, his voice slow and dry as if he had forgotten how to speak. "I have… been watching you. Allow me… to introduce myself. I am… Brynden, and I… require you."
The next morning greeted Cregan with the utmost displeasure. The previous night's feast had gone longer than any feast he had attended, filled with song, food and wine. Though he was not allowed more than a cup, he had been able to swipe a few more when nobody was looking. Too big a crowd, too many people for him to not take the help of wine to calm himself. It had all culminated in this instance in time, a headache he could do without. If it were up to him, he would have remained in bed. But it was not up to him.
He pushed himself out of bed, sluggishly moving to refresh himself and putting on his clothes. The wind bit into his skin when he walked out of his room, but he was unfazed. He had lived in Winterfell all his life, he was used to the cold winds.
He broke his fast in the kitchens with Jon, Bran, Theon and Rickon. His father was with the King, while his mother and sisters were with the Queen. And from there they went to the training yard, Jon included. Cregan would not have his brother miss a day of practice no matter what. But they did not start training yet, not until the Princes had come, flanked by their Lannister men.
"I would like to test the might of the North!" Prince Joffrey declared. "My father, the King always said that North men were vicious fighters. I want to see it."
"Very well, my Prince" Ser Rodrick said stiffly. Bran and Tommen were pushed to trade blows first. The young Prince wore so much protection that he looked less like a boy ready to spar and more like a giant ball of leather with a stick in his hand. Bran on the other hand wore the standard amount of protective gear. The contest ended as fast as it had begun. Tommen was on his back and unable to stand. Bran was decreed the victor.
"That was boring" Prince Joffrey let out an exaggerated yawn.
"Then allow your men to challenge my friend Theon and my brother Jon" Cregan suggested, ignoring the looks of the Master at Arms and Jon. Joffrey's face twisted at the mention of Jon.
"The bastard?" the Prince asked, his scathing tone making Jon flinch.
"His status hardly matters when it comes to how good he is with the sword" Cregan put a hand on Jon's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. "He's the second-best swordsman in Winterfell after all."
That seemed to pique Joffrey's interest, motioning for one of the Lannister guards to pick a practice blade and enter the ring. Jon picked one as well, joining the guard in the ring. The two combatants got into a stance before Ser Rodrick called for the match to begin.
It would have been a tougher fight for a novice like Jon up against a trained guard, had he taken him seriously. The guard was a young man, ready to prove his worth. He charged in thinking that Jon, as a bastard, would not be near as trained as his half-siblings. That would have been the norm had Jon been born in a family not of the North, or a family without Stark blood. The bastard weaved and ducked the swings, studying his opponent closely. When he found the weakness he had been taught to look for, he pounced on it. Disarmed and kicked back, the guard fell on his ass, Jon's sword at his throat. The bastard was declared the winner.
Another guard replaced the one that was defeated, while Theon replaced Jon. Cregan watched the guard that just left flinch when the Prince glared at him. Clearly, the boy did not take the loss against a bastard lightly. Cregan almost felt sorry for the man who was surely going to be punished in some way.
Theon's fight did not go as smoothly. Unlike the last guard, this one did not take it easy, nor did he underestimate the Ironborn. Theon was overpowered easily, thrown to the ground and pinned down by a boot to his chest. The winner was the Lannister man.
Cregan patted Theon on the shoulder when they crossed paths, Theon leaving the ring and Cregan entering it. Joffrey on the other hand did not take the ring.
"This is all you Northerners have?" the Prince said in an exaggerated drawl. "Using blunted blades like children. Is that what you all are? Children?"
The words made the Northerners bristle, but not Cregan who only smiled. "If the Prince has anything better to suggest for our duel-"
"Live Steel!" the Prince cut the heir of Winterfell, drawing the one he was carrying. The Prince expected some form of protest, it was clear in his eyes. But when Ser Rodrick nodded at him and accepted the condition, his hopes to further ridicule them were dashed. And when Cregan drew the blade he had strapped on, it was not a blunted tourney blade as the Prince had expected.
The sword that Cregan carried had a simple hilt and pommel, silver in colour. The cross-guard was nothing special either. The blade was bright silver, shining in the light of the morning sun. Cregan was the only one of his generation allowed to wield a live blade, a testament that the Master at Arms found him ready to wield one.
"Fancy swords will win you nothing" the Prince scoffed, entering the ring this time. They both got into a stance, Joffrey swinging his blade in practice to get some form of reaction from Cregan. Seeing none made him more frustrated, all of them could see it. Ser Rodrick called for the match to begin and Joffrey charged in right away. His hits were hard but not with enough force to push someone of Cregan's build back. He was tempted to take it easy on the prince, not fully apply himself. But something in him screamed at him to do no such and take this match seriously.
"Fight back you coward!" the Prince grunted, wildly slashing at his opponent. Cregan though held his ground, blocked and parried every hit until he found his opening. It was a simple manoeuvre that he did, letting the Prince tire himself out from constantly hitting at him before pouncing on the opening. He shoved the Prince back when the boy readied to strike again, and then used the flat of his blade to slap the sword out of his hand. Joffrey stood there blinking with the tip of Cregan's blade pointed at his throat. The Prince flexed his sword hand, staring at the redness that was developing on it.
"You hit me," the boy said and Cregan was tempted to quip back that getting hit was part of this contest. "I am your Prince how dare you-"
"The challenge was your idea was it not, boy" the gruff voice of the King startled them all. The man was standing behind Jon and the rest, watching in silence all this time. With him was the Lord of Winterfell, stoic but with displeasure in his eyes.
"But father-"
"If you can't beat someone, then do not fucking challenge him" he cut his son off, then turned to his friend. "You've trained your sons well, Ned."
"Thank you, your Grace" the Lord of Winterfell bowed, making the King roll his eyes. "The credit is on Ser Rodrick who has trained these boys."
"Aye, Ser Rodrick" the King turned his attention to the Master at Arms for Winterfell, "we could use a man like you down South."
"Thank you, Your Grace" the Master at Arms bowed respectfully.
"Boy, you're coming with us to the hunt. Maybe then you'll have some maniness inside you. Come on" the King barked making the Prince flinch and follow meekly, not looking at Cregan or anyone else. "Cregan, will you be joining us?"
"I am honoured, your Grace," said the Heir to Winterfell, feeling a little shocked that the King would ask instead of just ordering him. "But you and my father have been apart for so long, I would not want to intrude on you both reminiscing."
"You got a good kid, Ned" the King laughed heartily, making the stoic Lord of Winterfell crack a small smile.
"The Prince will remember this" the House whispered to Cregan when he walked by him, the rest of the Lannister guards having already gone when the King left with his friend.
"Maybe that will remind him to not get hit in actual combat then. Would save his head" the young man quipped back. The Hound stood still and looked back at him from the corner of his eyes. A smirk formed on his face before he walked away.
"Bran, you're staying back to train more" the older brother turned to his younger brother who was about to walk away.
"But I just had a spar!" the boy complained but wilted at the look from his brother.
"Keep at it. And help Prince Tommen train as well" Cregan said, motioning to the younger Prince who had lingered back. "Would you like to train with Bran, Prince Tommen? You'll need to be rid of all that leather and put it into something more fitting for a boy in training. You'll get whacked even and red in places, but you will learn many things from Ser Rodrick."
The Prince who lingered thought for a moment, before finally nodding. "I'd like to join Bran in training please," he said softly. Cregan smiled at him and motioned for Jon and Theon to help the Prince get in armour.
"I'll be back after my prayers. You better be working hard till then" Cregan told Bran, who nodded meekly and put his armour back on slowly.
The sound of drums highlighted the festivities that were happening. Women dancing, the Dothraki men fucking whoever they wished to fuck and battling it out to win a woman. A Dothraki wedding without three deaths was considered a dull affair it was said.
Daenerys in a beautiful ash-blue-coloured gown sat at the centre of attention of it all beside her soon-to-be husband Khal Drogo with wore more gold around his waist and a fresh pair of pants. Gifts were presented to her and she accepted them with a small smile and a nod of gratitude. She was nervous and terrified even at some of the gifts that were presented to her. But she smiled and soldiered on. The food did not appeal to her either, horse meat and whatever other kind of animals they were serving, raw and flies buzzing over it.
"Calm!" the raven cawed, taking Daenerys' eyes away from all that to the bird perched on her shoulder. It painted quite a sight, a pure Valyrian Maiden with a raven on her shoulder beside the deadliest Khal in a long time.
"kazga zir are a mel assikhqoyi" the Khal muttered, eyeing the bird closely. The man had tried to make it go away, but it did not budge from its position on Daenerys' shoulder.
"Black birds are a bad omen, the Khal says" Magister Illyrio translated for the Khal. Viserys looked balefully at Daenerys, only for the raven to caw at him.
"Not this one," the Princess said with a smile to her husband-to-be, gently running her hand over the bird's head and back. The first time the bird had come to her, she was being punished for 'waking the Dragon' as her brother called it. He was drunk as well and the raven had dived in and clawed at the prince until he had run away. Ever since then the raven stood as a protector of sorts for Daenerys, keeping her company and making sure nobody harmed her.
"Jadi, zhey Jora Andahil" Khal Drogo spoke when a Westerosi man came forward with books in his hands.
"Khal vezhven" the man named Jorah bowed respectfully. He approached Daenerys, extending the books to her. "A small gift, for the new Khaleesi," he said softly.
"Bear!" the raven crowed, making the man jump, almost dropping the books in hand. The raven stared at Jorah unblinking. Jorah met the stare before looking away and stepping away once he placed the books at Daenerys' feet.
"That was not nice" the Princess whispered to her raven, which nuzzled her cheek with its beak.
Another gift was brought to her, a big chest made of wood. It was opened to reveal three stones as large as a melon. "Dragon!" the raven cawed as Daenerys took one in hand.
"Brandon Stark!" the gruff and loud voice of Cregan stopped the young Stark, who was halfway up the broken tower. He looked down and saw his brother standing there, his wolf Grey beside him. Slowly he made the climb back down, knowing better than anyone to not anger Cregan or disobey him in any way.
"I remember you promising mother that you would not climb," the older brother said once the younger brother was back on the ground, staring guiltily at his feet. "What have I told you about the promises you make and about keeping them?"
"That a Stark should always keep his word, no matter who he gives it to unless they have a good reason to break it" Bran mumbled under his breath.
"And did you have one?"
"No…"
"Back to the training yard then, a punishment you will train for an hour longer with the bow today."
"But-" the boy looked up at his brother.
"I will hear none of it. You have broken a vow. You want to be a Kingsguard, how do you expect to be one if you can't keep such a simple vow?"
Bran looked back down and slowly walked back to the training yard with his wolf at his heels. Cregan felt bad about doing it to his little brother but had made a promise to himself that he would not let anything happen to his family. There will be no Bran the Broken this time.