Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, other than my own the original character(s) in this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so don't expect anything worthy of GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions/questions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but I have no real schedule. Please review as I'd love useful thoughts :) feedback goes a long way to encouraging my writing.
Chapter 8: Unto the Dawn
"If it offends you, then stop me."
– King Brandon the Bloody
Wrightport proudly boasted some two hundred thousand souls living within its walls at last census, nestled under the shadow of Winterhold; its inhabitants lived a relatively peaceful existence far removed from any conflicts – outside of piracy at least, the people had little troubles. The streets of well-kept cobblestone had trees besides the gutters, leading one way or another to the docks; lively with traders and fishermen and sailors alike. The air was sharp and salty, as the city lived and breathed the open sea, housing the Winter Fleet at anchor in all its majesty.
The city was ruled between three families, all beneath Winterhold's shadow.
House Wright was one of the three, and perhaps the weakest, although that was a matter of some debate – especially of late, as last Winter had taken its toll. The Wrights were descendants from a bastard son of King Varik Stark, the Shipwright's heir, so boasted some Stark blood; but weren't officially considered among the cadet branches of the royal family due to the bastard decent. They were Shipwrights by trade, overseeing the construction and maintenance of the Winter Fleet.
House Sunstark was another of the three. If you heard it from a Sunstark, they were the strongest of the cadets; with sword and shield – they provided security to Wrightport and organized the town guards, training volunteers to wield a sword, shield, axe and to shoot a bow. They were funded by a princely third son of King Varik's and were thus, unlike the Wrights, among the cadet branches. Last winter had seen the family lose its heirs, with only a bastard son standing to inherit.
House Seastark, lastly but by no means least, was the youngest but proudest of the cadets. Founded by a second son of King Cedric the Seawolf, his descendants boast of being the first Lord Admirals of the Winter Fleet; although the title is not in fact hereditary. They are masters of the sea, providing a great deal of the fleet's sailors and mariners. The Seastark's are proud beyond measure.
Winterhold looks down over these families and the city they called home, an ever-looming shadow; gazing down at its wayward sons and daughters like a watchful parent with unruly children. Lord Hodir Wright couldn't help but agreed with that sentiment while going over his tall pile of written reports, even if such things weren't officially his jurisdiction – it often fell to a Wright man to mediate between the Seastark and Sunstarks; especially of late…
"Father?" Arthur Wright spoke, getting his greying father's attention.
Hodir looked up at his youngest and managed a smile behind a sigh, putting down the latest report of disturbances to the king's peace in favour of his boy's news.
"Lord Fisher is here to see you," Arthur took his opening. "I invited his party inside the manse, and they're in the lobby awaiting an audience father. His youngest is with him."
Fisher? Here? The man was far from his western venture…
"Call them in lad, we'll not keep his lordship waiting."
"At once father," the boy hurried away dutifully.
Fisher's presence meant only one thing. Trouble.
"Odyn!" Lord Wright got up from his seat to greet his old friend.
"Hodir," Odyn Fisher shook the man's hand gladly with a sile on his lips. "It's been too long old friend, your boy Arthur greeted us – he's grown well that boy!"
"Tall as an Umber that one, to the envy of his brother."
"My Lord," The young man beside Fisher bowed his head.
"Edwyn Fisher," Hodir smirked at his friend's youngest son, having not seen him since he was a child. "You've grown well yourself lad, caught the eye of any pretty girls of late?!"
"None yet My Lord," Edwyn smirked at the jest.
"You should meet my niece lad," Hodir's face twisted with cunning. "She'd made a fine wife for-"
"Odyn," Lord Fisher laughed aloud at the awkward expression on his son's face. "Stop torturing the boy for a moment. How old is your niece now, at any rate? Too young surely."
Hodir allowed himself a chuckle, sitting back down in his chair.
"She's old enough for a betrothal," He defended with a shrug. "But aye, I jest lad – for now at least!"
"You honour me Lord Wright," Edwyn replied dutifully, as was expected of him.
Wright gave a simple nod before turning his attention back to the boy's father. "So, pleasantries aside old friend, what brings you so far from your venture on the edge of our fair seas?"
It had to be something of import to come all this way, surely; Fisher would've passed up his family port to sail here to the capital – and Wright doubted it was purely a social call.
"Royal business, I'm afraid; as charming as your company is..."
"Royal is it?" Hodir paused in thought. "I see…"
Lord Fisher sighed, eyeing the look on his old friend's face; as wise as it was wrinkled. "You've heard already I assume then, knowing you Hodir? Tell me."
"Just rumours," Lord Wright shrugged.
"And those are what exactly?"
The grey-haired man smirked.
"Wayward wards of the royal variety," He moved some papers aside on his desk, reaching for one mark by the broken seal of House Stark. "His Grace knew before even the rumours – had me searching incoming vessels but was quite clear in his belief that I'd find nothing of value."
It had almost been like the king knew the rumours were just hearsay.
"And did you find anything?"
"Not a thing," Hodir shook his head, handing the royal orders over to his friend to read. "I searched every vessel that dropped anchor; much to the merchants dismay. Nothing was found."
Aside from some smuggled goods in a deck or two, there had been nothing of note.
"My nephew has led us on quite the chase…"
Edwyn scoffed at that. "It's Will we're talking about father."
"The Wanderer boy lives up to his reputation it seems," Lord Hodir smirked at the notion. The youngest prince of Winterhold was all too popular a story in Wrightport. The Wanderer, Wraith, Wild, Stray, Frostbane or even simply the Mad – although none used that last one in polite company, least they find themselves short a head. "So, you're here to tell the king you've lost his son?"
Odyn scowled. "It seems he already knows. No surprise, but still-"
A knock at Wright's door demanded attention.
"M'lord, it's urgent!"
"Enter!" Lord Wright barked.
A woman in simple chainmail with the Wright sigil on her tabard near barged into the room, bowing her head as a show of respect; clearly winded from a sprint.
"Speak."
"Lord Seastark and Lord Sunstark are bashing heads again m'lord!" The woman explained frantically, regaining her composure. "They're in the royal district and-"
"Nothing new there," Hodir mumbled to himself wearily.
"-it's bad m'lord. Your son sent me; the lords won't listen to him!"
Good gods, if they could go a week without a squabble in the streets…
"Uther can't handle this himself?" Hodir sighed, disappointed in his eldest.
"He's trying m'lord but it's Lord Snow you see; he drew steel and-"
Just another brawl in- wait. What?
"He did WHAT?!"
Lord Fisher frowned at that.
"Lord Seastark is furious m'lord, he isn't-"
"Gods damn them all," Hodir got up from his seat in a huff, knocking his fine wooden chair backwards as the man stormed through his study door and out into the lobby. The royal district was a short walk – or short storm in Wright's case – away from the wright district; in the centre of the city and property of the royal branch of Stark.
The shouting could be heard quickly enough as they neared the commotion.
-"blood for this Arlan!"
"Your runt should hold his tongue Bran!"
That didn't sound good at all.
"What is the fucking meaning of this?!"
"Put your damn steel away boy," Lord Fisher added atop Wright's barking.
Loken Snow practically growled over at the new arrivals, his bloodied steel in hand; in a flawless stance – across from the terribly angry looking Seastark party.
"They started it!" Loken spat, pointing his steel at his enemy.
"And I'm bloody finishing it," Lord Wright had stormed in between the two groups without a care for his own safety. "That is, unless you'd rather the King deal with this madness?!"
There was a scoff from the other side that could only be described as arrogant.
"I've already sent word," Lord Brandel Seastark said, grinning wide.
Lord Hodir groaned. He'd hoped to avoid involving the royals…
"Steel away, damn you boy!" Lord Fisher barked at the young bastard Snow.
"You don't order-"
The words "do it," were all Lord Sunstark offered his son; as the boy obeyed.
Lord Seastark raised a hand, issuing the same order of his own men.
"Now," Lord Hodir looked to his eldest son. "Tell it true lad…"
Uther Wright sighed in relief. "Their lordships were arguing father, things became heated, some foul words were exchanged – all the usual. That was until-"
"Until the bastard attacked me from behind, Lord Wright!"
"You insulted the dead," Loken Snow looked ready to bloody his sword again. "You fucking honourless Searat! Hold your tongue before I cut it out!"
"Keep your bastard on a leash Arlan!"
"Keep a muzzle on your sons," Lord Arlan Sunstark scoffed in reply.
"I'm my father's Heir," Loken added, white knuckles wrapped around the handle of his sword.
Lord Wright looked about ready to smack each and every one of them around the head. "Then act like it boy," He looked to the boy's father. "You know better Arlan. I know you do!"
Lord Arlan at least had the common decency to divert his eyes for but a moment.
"He mocked my dead brothers," Loken Snow was red with a boiling anger. "My brothers, my sisters; the babes in the damn cribs – all of them! This fucking rat!"
The rat in question, Jorg Seastark, sat on the cobbled stone held by one of his brothers; with quite the nasty looking scar across his cheek. The boy hadn't moved from that spot since Wright's arrival – aside from the odd outburst taunting Loken with his bastardry.
"Fight me without my back turned, you bastard!"
This one seemed incapable of coming up with insults beyond the word bastard.
"Gladly," Loken Snow slowly drew his steel again. "This time I'll cut out an eye you little shit!"
The sound of hooves thundering on cobblestone came towards them with a horn blast that sounded deep, cutting through the air like a winter wind. In its wake came the royal direwolf of Stark and shadows of grey. The man at their head looked every inch a king; although he wasn't quite one.
At his side sat Maric Seastark in his saddle, looking grimly at his little brother.
"Son," Lord Seastark called on his familial ties to the crown prince all too eagerly. "You've arrived quicker than I'd hoped – we were just about to put an end to this before you arrived…"
Prince Rodrik had dismounted, strolling over between the gathered nobles and silently locking his grey-silver eyes onto Loken Snow. Rodrik was far taller than him at over six foot, lean yet thick with muscle and raven dark hair; where a silver-and-obsidian circlet at atop the prince's head.
He said nothing, stepping to face Snow; gazing downward at him.
"My Prince," Loken instinctively took a step back as the prince neared him.
Rodrik said nothing as he halted, eyes darting obviously to the bastard's naked steel.
"The Seastark boy mocked my dead kin," Loken began frankly; though his previous bravado seemed to waver under the prince's gaze. "I only acted in defence of the family honour!"
"Sword," Rodrik spoke simply, betraying no emotion.
"Drop it boy," Loken's father growled at his heir.
The clang echoed against cobbled stone as Loken dropped it, relaxing his hand.
Rodrik held the young bastard-heirs gaze for a moment, looking into the future lord's brown eyes, though it seemed a far longer time than it was. "I knew your eldest brother; did you know that?"
Loken shook his head, feeling as if it wasn't an invitation to speak.
"Orrin was my friend," Rodrik afforded a smile at the memory, though it died as quickly as the winter chill had sadly taken Orrin's life; along with a number of his kin – leading many to believe the Sunstark's had angered the gods. "He was like a brother to me. You and I are kin too, correct?"
Again, young Loken nodded a reply, growing confused.
"My Prince, if we could-" Lord Sunstark tried to interrupt.
A look was all it took; one glance of Stark eyes to hush the lord. "You and I are family," Rodrik knelt down, picking up Loken's sword. "And so is Jorg Seastark – young fool that he is, even still he-"
"You cannot-"
"Silence boy," Jorg's father barked at his boy.
Rodrik ignored that, as Seastark's bark had silenced the outburst.
"As I was saying," Rodrik held out the blade for Loken. "He is still Stark blood."
"I-" Loken slowed his head slightly, taking back the sword.
"You'll be lord someday Loken Sunstark," Rodrik had used the young man's legitimate name; although it was not yet his to claim. "And you'll be expected to act like a lord…"
The bastard raised his eyes, with some glint of pride in them.
"I understand," He replied too quickly.
"No," Rodrik frowned. "You don't. Not just yet."
Rodrik knew Loken Snow well, at least through reports; as was his duty as Crown Prince to know the lords he'd one day rule. Loken was a master with a blade, but well so with his mind.
"Now then lad," Lord Seastark had taken steps forward to his son-in-law.
Rodrik ignored his father-in-law entirely, walking past the man over to his youngest son; still on the floor holding the shallow cut on his cheek as if it were some grievous wound when in reality, it would at worst leave a faint scar. Nothing to whine about. "What did you say to Lord Snow?"
Jorg didn't seemed to understand the question, looking to his father for help.
"I don't-"
"Tell me," Rodrik said firmly.
"Jorg," Lord Seastark glared at his son, willing him to answer.
He gulped at that. "I- I said that the gods frowned on his family, that they weren't-"
"My daughter," Came the voice of Lord Arlan from behind them as the man made his way over to the prince. "Tell the prince what you said about my little girl, boy."
"Well?" Rodrik waited patiently as the young Seastark's eyes darted to his father.
No help came from there. Lord Seastark had only hardened his gaze.
"I- I'm sorry, Prince Rodrik-"
"You said you're sorry?" Rodrik scoffed at that.
"He called her a whore," Lord Sunstark spat the word like venom.
Now that was nonsense. Randvi Sunstark had married his brother Artos only to die in childbirth, a regrettable fate for a girl who was by all accounts a sweet young woman.
"Father," Rodrik called on Lord Seastark, using his familial ties against the man as he himself so often called upon. Two could play at that game. "Is this how my noble brother-in-law was taught to act?"
"No lad," Lord Brandel Seastark. "I was not aware of that part…"
"Randvi Stark was a Princess," Rodrik declared rather loudly for those gathered. "She gave our family a fine young prince. All of our family; not just the crown. Each and every one of you here!"
Jorg had lowered his head, red faced as everyone looked to him.
"I'm sorry Prince Rodrik," He muttered the words, wishing to be anywhere else.
"Speak louder little brother," Rodrik glanced at the young boy-lord of barely four-and-ten that had before so clearly thought himself a grown man. "And speak to Loken, not I."
"I'm sorry," Jorg repeated, on his feet now; his new scar still bleeding. "Lord Loken."
Not a lord, but Rodrik wasn't about to correct him on that technicality.
Loken Snow had stepped up to his father as several emotions raged on his face – somewhere between anger and an icy calm; where pride demanded he act the part.
"I apologize also," Loken managed to say with a sigh. "I shouldn't have reacted as I did."
"We're family," Rodrik added, eyeing Sunstark and Seastark and Wright and Fisher all; including the guardsmen and the smallfolk gathered for the spectacle. "We should all act like it…"
"Well said nephew," Lord Fisher spoke for the first time since the prince's arrival.
"Uncle!" Rodrik's demeanour seemed to change from stern to joyful in a heartbeat, clasping his aging uncle on his shoulder happily. "I didn't know you'd arrived!"
"Only just this morning my boy," Odyn smiled wide at his nephew.
"Scolding them with honey," Lord Wright chuckled aloud.
"It was nothing," Rodrik shrugged the praise away, glancing at the Sunstark and Seastark party beginning to disband; back to their duties. Lords Arlan and Brandel were discussing something off to the side. "I'm quite certain you would've handled the situation, my Lord Wright."
"With far less grace than yourself I fear, my Prince."
Wright wasn't known for his subtlety, true enough; but it was his boldness men respected.
"It's good you're here, Uncle. My father hadn't named you, but he has something to discuss with our fair lords." Rodrik looked to Wright and smirked knowingly. "You should join us."
"The King has need of us?" Lord Wright asked, curious. "All of us, you say?"
Rodrik gave a nod, glancing over to the party of Greycloaks that had arrived with him to the district. "Urgent business, afraid I hadn't originally come down here to settle disputes…"
"Prince Rodrik," One of the Greycloaks walked up to their prince, hand on the pommel of his sword; adorned with the silver head of a wolf – glinting with small obsidian eyes.
"We're coming Trian," Rodrik replied warmly to his guardsman, patting him on the shoulder. "Give word to the others, would you my friend? My uncle will be joining us too."
"My Lords," Trian Greystark bowed politely before taking his leave, walking up to Lord Seastark and Sunstark as if he were a prince himself; giving them orders from his charge.
Prince Rodrik turned and walked to his fine stallion, mounting it wordlessly.
The ceiling of Winterhold's great hall was high, with thick oaken rafters holding up a steep roof. The dais was wide and vast, large enough that a dozen could be feasted on the high table in comfort and a thousand more beneath the salt; or maybe more if they removed the proud statues that lined the walls. Tapestries rot, paintings fade, but statues were forever; as the saying went. The grey stone walls were draped with the banners of all Winterhold's bannermen.
The banners of House Stark itself were hung proudly behind the weirwood throne that King Brandon the Bloody now sat upon; awaiting the arrival of his eldest and their kinsmen. The sound of children's laughter echoed in the air, floating around the rafters. King Brandon allowed himself a rare smile as he watched his grandchildren at play, an all too rare respite of genuine peace.
"I want to be Prince Damon!" His youngest granddaughter complained with a pout. She was eight, young and carefree; eager to join her kin. "It's no fair Darry! No fair!"
Darion Stark was affectionately named Darry by his cousins, and he was smiling as his other cousin Brandon laughed heartily. Their pack of Stark wolves was a large one.
"Very well," Darion bowed gracefully and befitting of a princeling. The boy was four-and-ten, the spitting image of his father both in look and spirt; with his raven locks and stark grey eyes.
"That makes you Emperor Wun then cousin," Brandon the Younger told his princely cousin; though he was a year or so older than Darion in truth.
"So be it," Darion agreed simply with the flicker of a smile.
"I'm the empress!" Solana Stark declared, raising her hand up high in declaration.
"Your Majesty," Solana's little sister, in her chosen role as 'Prince Damon Stark' bowed as well as any child of eight could bow. Their roles were that of an old story dating back some hundreds of years.
"Careful dear cousin," the young Bran smirked, his wooden practice sword resting atop his shoulder with all the pride of being true steel. "The Empress had quite the desire for our fair Prince..."
Solana's cheeks turned a bright pink.
"Shut up Bran," Darion rolled his eyes.
"Shh," Bran smirked, holding a hand up to cup his ear mockingly. He darted his eyes around playfully as if looking for something. "Do you hear that cousin? I hear wedding bells!"
"Bran!" Solana gasped in fright, beyond embarrassment.
He ducked when Darion swung his wooden sword, air rushing through Bran's hair as the swing missed him by an inch. "Too slow cousin," Bran declared to laugher.
"I don't hear it," The youngest girl looked up to the blushing Solana with confusion.
Solana smirked at her little sister, pushing her embarrassment aside for the moment. "Oh sweet Calia," She ruffled the little girls hair. "Your cousin is just being silly..."
Bran and Darion had entered mock battle.
"I don't get it," Calia Stark pouted.
King Brandon watched them with interest from atop his giant weirwood throne, the roots tangling around white marble. The great white stone-and-iron doors of the hall swung open as a large party of men strolled into the hall in greys and blacks and silvers and blues.
"Lad," Prince Rodrik halted at the children, who had ceased their childish games. "I must speak to your grandfather, go see your cousins out will you?"
"Yes father," Darion nodded, darting a look to young Bran that said all it needed to say.
"Coming along ladies," Bran remarked joyfully, waving them over as he began to leave with his cousins. He had a plan to fulfil! "Let's go annoy Serana!"
"My lords," Solana curtsied swiftly to Rodrik and the others before leaving.
"Father," Darion bowed slightly before joining his cousins.
"Uncle Roddy! Uncle Roddy!" Calia ran up to her princely uncle, uncaring about the lords or their silly grownup business. "Bran said there's bells; but I don't hear bells..."
"Oh?" Rodrik smirked down at his littlest niece. "Is that so, little wolf?"
Calia nodded furiously. "Solana said he was being silly! Was he being silly, Uncle Roddy?!"
Rodrik picked her up easily as the lords behind him fought the urge to laugh.
"What else did young Bran say?"
"He said the Enpriss desire Darry," Calia said, pouting; uncertain if that was right.
"Empress," Rodrik corrected her use of the word. "And what empress was this little one? The Empire has an Emperor at the moment. Do you know his name?"
Calia hummed. "Emperor King!"
"Qing," Again he corrected. "Enjoying your history lessons little wolf?"
She shook her head. "Father says I have to or I not allowed a sword when I grow..."
Rodrik chuckled at that, putting the girl back down to the floor. "Quite right, a sharp mind is as good a thing as sharp steel little wolf. Your father's right."
"Yes uncle Roddy!"
Trian Greystark poorly suppressed a laugh.
"Greystark, my dear friend!" Rodrik's smirk turned dark, looking to Trian. "Why don't you escort the little wolf here to her cousins and watch them for a time?"
"Uncle Grey?" Calia tilted her head in question.
"Yes," Rodrik chuckled. "Uncle Grey is all yours little wolf, he has to do anything you say-"
"Now let's not be hasty my Prince!"
"-for the whole day!"
Trian's light faded. He hated kids...
"Come on Uncle!" Calia had grabbed his hand, tugging him along, bombarding him with questions as they left the hall. He'd be stuck with her for hours and hours until the girl grew bored.
"You're a cruel man lad," Lord Wright was laughing the moment the child left, loud and boisterous.
Rodrik shrugged as he walked to his father.
"My son," King Brandon spoke from atop his throne; leaning forward slightly at their approach.
"Your Grace," Rodrik and all those present knelt before the throne, heads hung low in respect. "The Lords of Wrightport as you ordered – and my uncle Lord Odyn Fisher."
Brandon eyed them all kindly, pausing before deciding to speak. "Lord Odyn, unexpected but always a welcome sight. What brings you so far from your venture?"
He knew exactly why the man was here, but he wanted to hear the words.
"I regret to inform you that my ward and nephew Prince Willam has gone missing, Your Grace."
"Missing you say?"
"I accept full responsibility for-"
King Brandon waved it away. "Willam has always been spirited. Not even you could keep that boy caged forever, my Lord; it's a testament to you having kept him for as long as you managed."
"With you leave I can continue the search to bring the Prince home safely, Your Grace."
"No," The King denied with a sigh. "That won't be necessary, I know where the boy is..."
"You know, my king?"
"Where is my brother then?" Prince Rodrik asked plainly, curious. He'd kept his peace until now; content to listen. "He should be here with his family father."
"His Majesty the Emperor Qing sent word some days prior to now," Brandon said as if it wasn't important. "He and I have reached an understanding, considering the past; the future must be handled differently if we're to avoid repeating mistakes."
"I'll fetch him," Rodrik declared with a sigh. "His place is here father, you know that."
Brandon once thought the same thing and would have agreed wholly, but every attempt to force the boy to do anything always ended up pushing him further away.
"It is your mother's dearest wish that your brother Willam be allowed the freedom his heart wishes, my boy." It wasn't a fair thing, truly; the grimace that flash on Rodrik's face said he disagreed with his mother's sentiment – but he wouldn't argue it. She was his mother.
"He is safe, at least?"
Brandon gave a stern nod in reply. "The Emperor has given me every assurance that my son will be treated as befitting his birth. He will want for nothing."
"If this is your will, Your Grace..."
"It is," King Brandon confirmed. He would listen to his wife's counsel here; as perhaps he should've done long ago. She was always far better at matters of the heart. "Let us leave it at that, for now."
"Father," Rodrik bowed his head in acceptance.
None present here dared to question the king further.
"Now," Brandon shuffled on his throne slightly, uncomfortable from having waited so long on their arrival. "To the business concerning you all my Lords of Wrightport..."
A greying Lord in grey finery stepped out of the throne's shadows with a scroll and few words. He was Endrin Greystark, the eldest and lord of his branch.
"Your Grace," Lord Endrin bowed, handing the scroll over to his king without another word. He stood aside and waited for the king to speak his peace on the matter.
"These are the reports of disturbances in our fair city over the last month," The King said aloud, his eyes noting how both Seastark and Sunstark shifted uneasily on the spot.
"My King," Lord Seastark dared to speak first, but that was a surprise to nobody that knew the man. "Have our own quarterly reports not been sufficient of late?"
Brandon eyes the lord blankly.
"If there is some trouble-"
"Trouble?" King Brandon scoffed at the notion. That was an understatement. "I should say so, My Lords. Twelve accounts of drunken brawling, six of property theft, eight of assault and at least two instances of bloodshed with steel; all of which exist within the last month alone..."
"There must be some mistake, if-"
"The mistake Lord Seastark," Brandon narrowed his eyes at the man. "I'd wager is that over half of these incidents aren't recorded in your own reports!"
"Three instances of steel," Rodrik corrected that part, having dealt with the third. "There was a dispute upon my arrival to fulfil your summons, father..."
"By the gods," Brandon groaned aloud, but this did help prove his point.
"Your Grace," Lord Sunstark stepped forward. "If I may?"
"You may Lord Arian, I did not summon you here to tie your tongues – as it seems there's been far too much of that already without me doing anything!"
"I can only speak for myself," Arlan eyed his fellow lords. "And I can only say, if anything was brushed aside; it was only to lighten your burden Your Grace."
Brandon scowled at what some of the stupidest nonsense he'd heard this week. "I am your king Lord Arlan, it is my duty to carry such burdens; not to be sheltered from them."
"Forgive me Your Grace..."
"I shall not," Brandon scoffed in refusal.
"The discrepancies shown correspond with incidents in Lord Wrights reports," Lord Endrin added from his stony stance. "All these instances share one distinct similarity..."
"They all involve violence between your two houses," Brandon finished for the man. "So, it seems I am only lightened of burdens that make you look bad, Lord Arlan."
"It was never my intention to deceive!"
"I must confess," Lord Seastark moved to admit, no doubt seeing how the tides were turning. "I too may have left out certain details in an effort to not waste time with what I consider trivial matters..."
Brandon shook his head. "Ordinary my lord I too would consider your houses bickering just that and left it be as I have, and my grandfather did; but this last quarter has gone too far!"
Lord Seastark had the decency to look ashamed. "I agree, Your Grace. This morning in the square with Prince Rodrik made me see things have... escalated..."
Brandon fought the urge to get up and hit the man. He was caught, he knew it; thus he jumps eagerly to show regrets and invoked Rodrik's name by virtue of marriage and blood. Lord Brandel Seastark was grasping, ambitious and proud, and he was equally sly too.
Arlan Sunstark was too blunt to be sly, a trait Brandon found he preferred.
"You ass kisser," Lord Arlan scowled at Seastark.
"Your bastard cut my son," Lord Seastark frowned a well-practiced frown. "I at least have the decency to see things have gone too far you fool!"
"I never said they hadn't gone too far!"
"ENOUGH!"
Brandon the Bloody had raised his voice, a thing few heard and lived to speak about. "You bicker like children even now, making my decision now all the easier!"
"Decision?" Seastark seemed equal parts eager and concerned. He knew his position was beyond any severe punishment, his grandson would be king one day after all; but still – he wasn't fool enough to not be cautious of the king's wrath.
"Tell us then," Sunstark replied, standing proud; barely pushing down his anger. His position was far less secure, and he knew it, even if Prince Artos had married his daughter and given him a son he was not destined for the throne. Still, blood was blood; the King wouldn't do anything too rash.
"What is your degree, father?"
Brandon eyed Rodrik then, knowing that the boy knew full well of his plans. That this increase in boldness and stupidity came about upon stripping Artos of his position was no coincidence.
Lord Admirals had served since their inception not only as heads of the Winter Fleet but as mediators, guardians; lords above politics. Prince Artos had even stripped of the title for his shortcomings, and these lords had circled like vultures since. There was only one option.
It hadn't been a move Brandon wanted to make, but Ryder had all but forced his hand.
"Lord Hodir Wright," He declared; having stepped up from his throne. "Step forward."
Wright's reports had been accurate to the point of including even drunken incidents involving his own people. He was blunt, like Sunstark; but without the rage. He was loyal, like Seastark; but without the ambition. He was old too and wouldn't survive next winter. All things of note.
"Your Grace?" Lord Wright knelt, confused as all hell.
"I, Brandon Stark, King of Winter and head of the royal sunset branch of House Stark, do hereby name you Lord Admiral of the Winter Fleet; to hold until such a time as of your death, or until you are decreed unfit for to maintain the honour."
That last part was a mark against Artos, but a necessary one.
"I-" Wright didn't have the words for this honour, as it hadn't been given to a Wright in hundreds of years. "I don't know what to say Your Grace..."
"Accept," King Brandon replied simply. "Rise and accept my decree."
"I accept this great honour," Lord Wright rose, shaking off his shock. "I shall not disappoint!"
"Congratulations," Lord Seastark spoke somewhat reluctantly at the news.
"No," Sunstark however snarled like a kicked beast. "This is an insult! First you strip my son-in-law of the position then you hand it to a damn boat builder?!"
Lord Wright scowled. "You doubt my capabilities Arlan? You believe yourself better suited?"
"I do not," Lord Arlan shook his head in denial. His face was red with fury. "The position never should have been stripped from Prince Artos, it's an offence to-"
"If it offends you," King Brandon spoke calmly. "Then stop me."
Anger had its place in things but often he'd found that men understood anger; and feared more what they didn't understand. He stayed calm and steady as stone.
"I-" Sunstark seemed to realise he'd raised his tone, and how the King had gotten a little too close for comfort. "No, I have spoken out of turn Your Grace..."
"You dishonour yourself with such an outburst Lord Arlan. It is not becoming; as you know Lord Wright very well, I'd say – is he not fit to the position my lord?"
"He's a fine man..."
"So, it is not him that's an issue?"
"No," Arlan sighed, his boiling blood fading quickly. He was not a bad man in truth, King Brandon knew this well; but he'd grown angry and bitter since last winter.
The King didn't blame him, but he'd scold him all the same.
"So, your issue is with Me?"
"Never!" Lord Arlan was so adamant that he knelt in an instant. "I spoke out of anger, forgive me Your Grace – you know I'm forever House Stark's man!"
Brandon paused but a moment before offering the lord his hand, that he took gladly. "You are forgiven cousin; we are all family here after all..."
"You must forgive me too Hodir," Lord Arlan turned to the new Lord Admiral. "I should not have insulted you so, time has worn away at me of late I fear."
Hodir Wright smiled, clasping the man on his shoulder. "Think nothing of it."
That had all gone about as well as Brandon could've hoped. Wright was a good man, respected by both branches, neither could question his worth; and he was nearing the end of his days.
"Why did you really pick Lord Wright, father?" Prince Rodrik asked after everyone had left the hall.
"He is capable, a neutral choice neither Arlan or Brandel could truly dispute without looking petty; and besides, they're already tied to the crown by marriage."
"Aye," Rodrik agreed, seeing the merit of avoiding too much fallout. Naming either Seastark or Sunstark would've only escalated their feud further. "There's another reason though, no?"
His heir had gotten good at reading him. Too good.
"Lord Wright is nearing the end of his days," Brandon spoke solemnly. "A grim truth but true enough, we're alike in that way-"
"Don't say that father..."
"-and when I'm gone, should I go before Hodir; he'll not be far behind. The position will fall to you as King to distribute. A useful bargaining tool that may serve you well someday."
"You could've named Uncle," Rodrik suggested, though he knew there was little sense in doing that.
"Fisher is already tied to us firmly; we'd gain nothing lad, you know that."
"Do you think I'm ready?"
Ready for what went unsaid, the words weren't required, they both knew them already.
"I have raised you to know your duty," King Brandon said proudly. "No man is perfect my son, I certainly am not; however high you may hold me in your mind. You will make mistakes in your rule and you may find blood on your hands, but I believe you are ready for the trials to come."
Rodrik was confident too, but even at his age; a man with pups soon to be men in their own right – it still felt good to have his father's support and belief.
"Keep your family and loved ones close my boy," Brandon's tone turned all too serious. "No matter what happens, family is everything. It is a lesson I learnt far too late – so learn it now my boy."
"Yes father," Rodrik gave a nod in reply, thinking to himself in the quiet.
An awkward silence fell over the hall right then.
"Now go lad," King Brandon cut the tension in the air. "I do believe little Varin is practicing in the yard with your brother, go spend time with the boy; he'll want his father."
"Care you join us Your Grace?"
"No," Brandon decided too quickly. "I am old lad, leave the swordplay and raising of pups to better younger men than I."
Rodrik left with a bow and not a word. Their relationship was a cold one, but it had begun to warm these last years; even if it was too little too late. Brandon thought it was better than nothing at least. Brandon had gathered a great many regrets in his final years.
Gods, how he hated being king. He knew Rodrik in time would grow to hate it too.
My Note(s): I've discovered I write a lot quicker if I lay in bed chilling & writing on my phone than I do on my computer; oddly – but maybe that's just my current mood speaking. At any rate I have like 3 or 4 chapters written, just gotta go over em again since I don't have a beta tester or anything.
On another note, are the character gets getting confusing for anyone? I've started introducing a lot of people and although I have no trouble personally, how is it as a reader? If it's confusing at all I can write up a summery of the house(s) and their members for reference etc :)
As always, reviews/thoughts are welcome; they encourage me to write.