296 AC, The Twins

" Oww! Oww! Uncle, my ear, my ear! Please! Be gentle with it!" Brynden was dragged by the ear across the busy hall of the Twins by his uncle, Lame Lothar, the steward of the twin castles. Today was not a good day for Brynden Frey, as he had finally tested his cannon, designed and constructed with questionable memory of his past life. But it had failed spectacularly, the body of the cannon had exploded into a spectacular array of iron and flames when the fuse was lit. Brynden was lucky that he hid behind a stone half-wall, a piece had flown over his head and nearly grazed his hair.

But two of his cousins were not so lucky, Ser Ronel Rivers had lost his right leg when a piece of metal sliced it clean through, and Aegon "Jinglebell", who stood next to the cannon, was completely decimated by the blow. Brynden only had a chance to glance as he was grabbed away, but Aegon was Aegon no more.

What had gone wrong? Perhaps the body of the canon was not thick enough? Or maybe it was the impurity of the iron? Or the formula of gunpowder? How was he going to get himself out of this one?

Lothar dragged him into his study. "What the fuck happened, boy?" Lothar shoved Brynden onto the floor, and took on a seat behind his desk, his pudgy face sweaty after the whole ordeal. Lame Lothar was the first son of Lord Walder's fourth wife, Alyssa Blackwood.

Brynden stood up, " It was a new innovation of mine, a cannon I called it. It can spit an iron ball of fire into our enemies. A tremendous idea, however, perhaps slightly lacking in approach. I can remedy this uncle, just give me another ch-"

" I've given you enough chances, Brynden. Do you know how many times I had to defend you in front of the others? They think you are mad like Jinglebell. Now that Jinglebell is no more, perhaps you can be the fool."

His uncle sighed, his entire form drooped into his seat, his beady eyes laden with stress. "I pleaded for you when you poisoned three smallfolk from Norbury, or the time you stole Maester Brenett's glass wares, and don't forget when you convinced the rest of the boys to blockade the green fork with wood."

" To be fair to me Uncle, the "liquor" in which I have created was from grain sold to me by a questionable character traveling from North. Had you given me some wheat from our stores, that entire disaster could have been avoided." Those words were pure lies, he had stolen Lothar's keys when he was drunk and broken into the stores. To this day he did not know what went wrong with his grain alcohol. The yeast? Or did his patrons just drink a little too much? One of the eight mysteries of the world.

" Watch your tone, boy. I am your elder. And right now, I am the only one on your side. Stevron wants you dead, and Hosteen wants you to go to the wall," Lothar stroked his chin. "After some convincing, we have decided to banish you from the Twins, count yourself lucky. "

" Allow me to petition my Lord Grandfather," Brynden said.

" He would do the same, but beat you bloody before he kicks you out. The tensions between us and my half-brothers were already high. Stevron has always been the amiable one, but now you killed his son, a dim-witted son, but still his son."

" Seven hells, Brynden. You are a smart boy, I know it. Truly gifted with numbers you are. But your smarts are misplaced in bizarre fantasies and strange sciences. I have but four daughters, you are like a son to me, " he looked at Brynden disappointingly. "Here, have this." He wiggled a small ring off of his pinkie and passed it to Brynden.

It was of silver make, no gems or rubies or anything like that, but the center had a craved sigil of the Blackwoods." It's my mother's, no one to pass onto. Now it's yours," his uncle reached under his desk. " And here, enough coins to settle down somewhere, but your place is no longer at the Twins. Now go say your farewells to your father and your brothers, then go, and never look back."

…

His younger brother, Walder, nicknamed Big Walder by his cousins, was a small and witty boy of six. But he was not to be mistaken with little Walder, who was the only son of fat Merret, the Ninth son of Lord of the crossing by His third Wife, Amarei Crakenhall. It is a little confusing… since Big Walder was little in size, and little Walder was Big in size. But since Big Walder was older by fifty-two days, he was dabbed the name Big, and little Walder the name little.

A system that Brynden devised to remember every blood relation within House Frey was to separate them into different branches based on Lord Walder's different wives. Ser Stevron, Lord Walder's first son and heir, and his full-blooded kin are the Bronze Freys, after his mother, Perra Royce. Ser Jared and Septon Luceon, the sons of Cyrenna Swann, Walder's second wife, and their kin, are the Swann Freys.

Lord Walder and his third wife, Amarei Crakehall had many children, Brynden named them the Crakehall Freys. Or the Pig Freys, as Brynden sometimes liked to call them, unlike the weasely appearance of the other Freys, the Crakehall Freys are big, burly, fat, and strong, much like members of their mother's house.

Next, Lord Walder and his Fourth Wife, Alyssa Blackwood's three sons lead the Blackwood Freys. Lame Lothar was the eldest, a cunning man who would eventually mastermind the plot of the Red Wedding. Ser Jammos was the second, who happened to be Brynden's father. Ser Whalen was the third, the smallest of the Blackwood sons who resembled a rat. Brynden also had two aunts, Morya and Tyta. Morya married some knight in the Westerlands and had three children. Tyta, on the other hand, was nicknamed the Maid, for she was close to thirty and had yet to wed.

The different lines of Freys were perhaps a little too complicated by now, and that was only considering the children of Lord Walder, not his grandchildren.

Moving on, Lord Walder's fifth wife, Sarya Whent, had no children, so that made things easier, not by much mind you. His sixth wife, Bethany Rosby, however, birthed four sons and one daughter. All of them pretty as a flower, so they are the pretty Freys. Lord Walder's eighth wife, Annara Farring, 's children, were nicknamed, between the Blackwood Freys at least, the Bastard Freys. For there was a keen rumor that she bedded not with her husband, but instead with his first son's first's son's second son, Walder, also called Black Walder by many, for he was black of bread and blacker of heart.

But He supposed, it was useless to remember all these names now, for he will soon be out of here. He entered the chamber that was shared between him and his brothers. Big Walder was playing Lord of the crossing with Dickon and Mathis over a fake bridge on a fake river drawn with chalk. A game only played among the Freys. The "Lord" of the crossing, Big Walder this turn, held a staff taller than him and stood in the middle of the bridge. As the lord, he would ask the passengers who they were and why they were allowed to pass. The passenger can lie in their answers, but not in their oaths unless they could sneak in a "Mayhaps". Once the Lord was knocked off the bridge, the passenger would become the lord, but only if he said "Mayhaps" in his words prior. It was a game of brawling and strength disguised as a game of wit. Dickon and Mathis were no match to Big Walder. Though Big Walder was considered little among boys his age, he was still bigger than the twins who were much younger than him. So Big Walder was indeed Big when usually, he would be little.

"Walder! Dickon! Mathis!" Brynden called. The boys ran to him.

" Did you get in trouble?" Walder asked.

" I think I might have overplayed my hand this time, boys. Uncle Lothar told me to leave the Twins and never return again." The young twins were teary-eyed and hugged Brynden with all their strength.

" I suppose that means I'm moved up in the line of succession," Walder said. His words were cold, but his eyes were teary all the same.

" Come here, Walder. Give your big brother a hug." The four brothers embraced. The weasels were thought by many to be schemers and plotters, little more than up-jumped toll collectors, but weasels can love too.

" Mayhaps I will come back when I make something of myself," Brynden said.

" IF you make something of yourself you mean?" Walder said. The corners of his mouth turned up.

" What a fine jester you would be." Brynden turned away and left. He did not spend as much with this family as his family of old. But he cared for them just the same, he would miss them, that he knew. One of the twins cried aloud now, but Brynden did not look back.

…

" Father, Mother." He greeted his parents. Ser Jammos Frey was a classic weasel, short and slight, but unlikely some of his cousins who became fat and lazy during their middle years, he had a sense of nimbleness to him. He was the thirteenth son of Lord Walder, so he would have no land to his name when his father passes. Ser Stevron was a generous man, who would no doubt allow all his half-siblings to reside in the Twins when he becomes Lord of the Crossing. But now Brynden was not so sure if Stevron would be so generous as to host the father of the murderer of his son.

His mother was Sallei of House Paege. House Paege was a small knightly house serving under House Frey. She stood half a head taller than her husband, but was meeker than Ser Jammos. Hmm… Perhaps I can go to my grandfather's land to plead for refuge. Hopefully, my reputation did not reach there.

Neither was the talkative kind.

" I have something for you." His father told him. He walked to the back of their room and retrieved a sword. It was an arming sword, shorter than a long sword, and usually used with one hand, but for Brynden's slim and weak stature, it would require the strength of two.

" My old sword, I've sharpened it for you. I know you are not a fighter, but sometimes wearing raw steel can deter bandits and outlaws well enough."

" Or attract more of them.." His mother said. She looked to her feet.

" It will do, thank you, father," Brynden replied.

" I have something for you as well," Sallei grabbed Brynden's hands and gave him something small. It was a brown lock of hair, tied with two thin strings. One of red and one of white, the colors of House Paege. "May the Father guide you to the right path, and the Mother shield you from dangers ahead."

" Thank you, mother." He held the lock close to his nose, it smelled of her. A good reminder of home, he shall need it.

Kaa! Kaa! He heard a raven's cry at the window. Kaa! The raven turned its face to the right and looked at Brynden with its left eye. " Brynden! Brynden!" The raven shouted. Or was it a crow? How do you tell them apart again? Wait, could this be... "Brynden!" The raven shouted one last time and flew away.

He left their chambers and moved on. What else is there left to do? The smartest thing was probably to scam some of his cousins since he wouldn't be back any time soon anyway and many of them would perish in the war years later. Which one of them is both rich and gullible? Petyr Pimple? Or Rhaegar who would eventually end up in a pie? Worthy Candidates all.

" Young Brynden." Maester Brenett, the double-chinned maester of the Twins stopped Brynden in his thoughts. His cloak was stained with raven droppings, and his hair was mostly gone from balding.

" What is it, Maester?" he said.

" Before your untimely departure, I would like to inquire you in regards to the formula of the "fire alchemist powder" that you have created." The maester said as he held a parchment and a quill, ready to jot down everything.

An opportunity to exploit. " Whatever do you need it for? Maester Brennet?" he said.

" The attitude of a good maester is to learn, young lord. I strive to test on your formula, and write to the Cit-." Brynden knew why the old fart needed it.

" One gold dragon," he cut off the maester.

" A man of my position does not have that sort of Wealth, Brynden. Perhaps, you can look through my study and find whatever you desire within it. Would that suffice? " The maester said. His face grew worried the longer Brynden pondered on the deal.

" I've always fancied your far-eye," he smiled as he said. That could fetch a good price at the right places. He doubted the maester had anything more valuable than that. " And draw me a map of Westeros as well. A small one that can fit into my pouch." That would definitely prove helpful in his journeys. "Oh, and also you need to credit me in your research…"

" Of course," the Maester said.

Brynden had put one hand on his chin, and tried to recall the formula. What was it again? Sulfur, charcoal… and nitrate. The proportion of which and which he definitely forgot. Was it eighty percent nitrate, or seventy percent nitrate? Or was it sixty? It was definitely the majority of the mixture. Time to make things up, he supposed, here's to hoping that the maester tested this before sending anything to the Citadel. " So first, you need some urine…"

…

The gate of the south fort closed on him. There would be no more looking back from now on. He wore a slightly worn but clean tunic and pants, a nice set of durable boots, a thin cloak of muted grey, and his father's old short sword. Within his pouch, he possessed the lock of his mother's hair, a terribly drawn map of Westeros by Old maester Brennett as well as his far-eye, smoked hare meat enough to last five to six days, ten silver stags, and seventeen copper stars.

He knew not what his destination was. Seagard maybe? A town that was closest to him now, but directly faced the iron isles. Probably not, Brynden had no wish to be a potential thrall. What other towns or cities are close to him? The path to Gulltown had too many mountains, so that would not be it. Saltpans? Maidenpool? King's landing maybe? He shall decide later, but now, he shall head south.

…

Pain was what he felt, pain in his knees, pain in his feet, and pain in his back. The first night was terrible, he slept against a dry tree bark, uncomfortable but endurable. Misfortune struck again, however, when a small drizzle of rain woke him, not enough to completely wet him, but enough to annoy him. In the mornings his body felt raw and strained.

Now it was the third day of his exile, and he pushed himself hard. Judging by the make-shift map with his eyes, he's around half a day away from the Hag's Mire. A sizable village and the seat of House Nayland, a small knightly house. What was known about House Nayland and Hag's Mire, he tried to think. Muddy, small ponds, leeches, that was about it. But to Brynden now, any semblance of civilization was welcome.

Clop. Clop. Clop. Clop. The sound of horse hooves from behind could be heard, more than one horse it sounded like. Clop. Clop. Clop. There was only one rider, but two horses. One of them was a chestnut palfrey with white markings on its right, the other a grey-colored pony. The rider on the palfrey wore knightly armor, greaves, plates, gorgets, and all. He bore a long sword on his side and a shield on his back, but neither on the horse nor his person was a sigil. A hedge knight? The armor seemed too expensive for a regular hedge knight. All the hedge knights Brynden saw in his lifetime were gruff, grumpy, and smelled of cheap wine. This one was different.

As the knight came closer, Brynden also saw his face. He seemed too young to be a knight, two years older than Brynden at best. Perhaps he was the greatest knight there ever was, a Barristan the bold and Jaime Lannister reborn… Nope, nowhere near as handsome. He just looked like a regular kid.

" Greetings, good Ser." Brynden spoke first.

" Greetings." The young knight replied. His open-faced helm was a little too big for his head, and slid slightly in front and blocked bits of his eyes. He used his hand to push up the helmet.

" What is your name, True knight?" Brynden said.

" Ser Chyswyck Summerchild." What the fuck kind of name is that? Brynden had never heard of a House Summerchild before, not in the Riverlands at least. However, that vacant pony looked like the sweetest ride that Brynden could imagine.

" And where do you hail from, Ser Chyswyck?" Brynden said.

" From Seagard, but my family claims roots from the Westerlands." Ser Chyswyck said.

" Ah! I've never visited Westerlands, but some of my cousins live there. A beautiful place I hear!"

" Of course! You should visit Lannisport if you have the chance. And the sunset sea, I claim it as the most beautiful sight a man can ever see! Not to mention Casterly Rock and its gilded Lion's mouth, a true display of splendor. " The boy spoke with enthusiasm. At least, now Brynden knew he was not lying.

" And what is your name?" The boy asked Brynden.

" Brynden Rivers, good Ser. My father is of House Blackwood." he lied, it came easy to him, using the name Frey in the right situation is crucial. " Might I ask you a question, Ser Chyswyck?"

" Of couse, Brynden Rivers," The young knight said.

" Are you a hedge knight seeking a tourney for glory?" said Brynden.

" Most Certainly, I wish to make my name in the lists in the tourney held by Lord Smallwood."

" Then Perhaps You are in need of a squire. Someone who could fix your armor up and tend to the horses. You look like you are freshly knighted. A proper knight always has a squire, and a great one with at least two." Brynden said. Something on the young knight's face told him he was filled with naivety.

"Right… So you wish to be my squire? I don't have gold or nothing like that." Oh, liar. I know you do.

" Nothing of the sort, Ser Chyswyck. I simply see a bright youthful knight full of vigor, and wish to follow him to see his many victories." Brynden smiled. Asskissing always worked.

The young knight stayed silent for a few seconds, stewing in his own thoughts. " Why not. Come ride on this pony. I'm in need of a companion anyway. These days of traveling alone are becoming frightfully dull."

He smiled. No more walking for Ol' Brynden Rivers!

Notes:

This is just something on the side I whipped up as I was working on my fic. If you enjoyed it, leave some comments, thoughts, and suggestions. Personally, I don't have a solid direction on where the story will go. The tone is aimed to be light-hearted, low-stakes, somewhat whimsical, and Dunk & Egg-isc. If you have some ideas, feel free to just talk to me, I'm pretty active on this site.