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 18: Braavosi
"I'd call her death incarnate."
– Ezio Antaryon
He sat on a table in an officer's cabin, a gesture of 'respect' from Arthur Wright; though the man was wholly arrogant about the naval matters – his loyalty to House Stark was beyond reproach. He'd be glad to have him along, bastard or not, admitting worrying that King Brandon would be upset with Willam not returning.
He'd told Wright that it was doubtful the king would care and how it was certain they wouldn't be blamed. Will did whatever Will wanted to do after all.
"Prince Cregan?" A knock came on his cabin door, then one, two, three more.
He placed his quill down. "Enter."
"Forgive me for the interruption," the man bowed his head. "We have arrived."
"My thanks," Cregan nodded, dismissing the man. He got up from his seat and moved for the door, grabbing his sword and securing it to his waist as he went. Walking out onto the deck he noted that the rains had stopped, although it was still cloudy, at least they were out of the storm. "I've had worse" He recalled the storm that claimed them in the Sunset and felt a tug in his chest. He missed his little shit of a baby brother... but would never admit it…
It was at that thought that Cregan realized how much he sounded like Edrik. He cursed under his breath, vowing never to think it again.
"Prepare to dock!", The deck was alive with motion and voices ordering about other men running around like so many ants, each with a task to perform. "To your places you sea wolves, before Winter comes!" Cregan ignored the back and forth between the crew and made his way to the ships bow where he knew Arthur would be.
It had been smooth sailing out of White Harbour, aside from the minor storm; but it wasn't long before they were hailed by strangers and- "Harooooooooooooooooooooooo" A mighty roar rang, a terrible groaning and grinding blast so loud it drowned out every other sound.
"I think they know we've arrived," Cregan uttered, looking up at the thing responsible for making their ears ring like tower bells in their skulls.
"The Titan," Ser Marlon Manderly muttered, dressed in his ornate silver armour with niello engravings meant to look like flowing seaweed, the man had accompanied them on his lord cousin's insistence; to act as an official envoy in his family's name – and the North's too one supposed.
Marlon hadn't ceased his tale though as they were escorted closer to the giant stone guardian ahead.
"In the old stories," He'd rambled. "When threatened, the titan would awake with fire in his eyes – to walk into the sea and crush his enemies."
His presence quickly turned out to be a blessing, tall tales of moving statues aside, when these damn Braavosi ships hailed them; insistent on a meeting.
Cregan was in awe as they sailed beneath the massive stone and bronze fortress in the shape of a giant man, which guarded the entrance into the lagoon that the Free City of Braavos called home. The legs and lower torso were of the same black granite that formed the islands upon which it stood. Above the waist, the colossus was bronze, its bronze breastplate punctured with arrow slits. One hand rested on the top of a ridge, its bronze fingers wrapped around the stone while the other hand was thrust into the air, holding the hilt of a broken sword. The Titan's head, rising some three or perhaps four hundred feet above sea level by Cregan's guess, was crested with a bronze halfhelm. In its eyes burnt large beacon fires, lighting the way back inside the lagoon for returning ships. The Titan's hips were encased in an armoured skirt of a green-bronze hue, the bottom covered in murder holes. It was clear to in this moment, that Braavos was not a power to be underestimated.
Without a doubt one expected that stones and pots of burning pitch could be dropped onto the decks of any that attempt to pass between the Titan's legs without leave, a formidable first line of defence. Cregan was glad these men only wished to talk, or doubtless any attempt to enter their city would be met with poor outcome.
As it stood, the city of Braavos knew of them; though how was unclear. According to the ships that had hailed at least, they were expected.
"It's impressive," Arthur uttered to himself, as the ship began to leave the Titan behind.
Cregan looked at the young Wright, a look of awe still on his face. "It's certainly something…"
"The Braavosi are bankers and traders for most part," Ser Marlon explained, leaning on the railing of the ship. "They'll haggle worse than a damn fishwife, I'll tell you that much, so best keep your wits about you. Aside from the coin counters you'll find the city is plagued with sellswords too…"
"Sellswords?" Arthur asked, a brow raised in question.
"All the free cities rely on them," Ser Marlon scoffed. "None more so than Braavos though; but then I suppose it's the freest of the free cities – so many sellsword companies have seek reference here; usually owning their share of property acting as sanctuary for their people. If they can afford it."
"Guild Halls?" Arthur supposed, thinking of the handful back home; with merchants and craftsmen and huntsman alike often organizing under a single roof to do business and offer shelter to their members; all with the oversight of the crown. They varied in size but worked far more productively than they would without the halls.
"Don't know that term," Marlon muttered. "Braavos simply offers lodging for a cut of their profits…"
"Similar enough," Cregan supposed aloud.
The city ahead of them sprawled across a hundred islands in the vast lagoon linked together by small stone bridges spanning the many canals throughout. The houses looked tightly packed together, even over the canals, with a large grey aqueduct standing out among the rooftops.
They were directed to what the locals called the Ragman's Harbour, one of three ports in Braavos, open to all foreign ships unlike the Purple Harbor which was apparently left open exclusively to locals. It looked poorer, dirtier, and noisier than the Purple Harbor. Many people seemed to make their living here, including porters, mummers, ropemakers, sailmenders, taverners, brewers, bakers, beggars, and whores. A dirtier version of Wrightport, Cregan thought, but that wasn't a fair description.
It was said that Braavos held great shipwrights but if that were the case, one could not see them from these docks.
"If you're looking," Marlon seemed to read his thoughts. "The Arsenal is on the west side of the city, behind the Chequy Port. They won't let us in there."
It housed the defence fleet of Braavos and was the centre of shipbuilding for the city. Along its shores were innumerable quays, docks, and wooden sheds holding galleys – all fortified with stone battlements that were bristling with scorpions, trebuchets, and spitfires. Outsiders weren't exactly welcome inside.
"A shame," Arthur looked genuinely disappointed. "I'd hoped to see what these Braavosi consider to be quality."
"You're standing on it lad," Ser Marlon scoffed.
"They'll want the designs," Cregan sighed. "Though, they've seen us; if they're half decent they'll manage sooner or later without them."
Men weren't fools, incapable of ingenuity; at least in most cases – if these Braavosi were as skilled as they claimed then doubtless a mere glimpse of The Sunwright would start sparks in the minds of their most creative shipwrights. The human mind was ever thirsting for more knowledge after all.
It may take years, or lifetimes; but sooner or later progress crawled its way forward through the thick mud of stupidity.
They docked without issue, by far the largest ships to have arrived in some time it seemed as they grabbed the attention of everyone at the docks; with their strange banners luring many a curious onlooker. It did not take long for them to be greeted at the docks, baring a spare minute from stepping onto dry land passed before a man speaking seemingly broken common greeted them. "Welcome," He spoke with a genuine grin. "Wolflords. To the Free City of Braavos."
Cregan spoke first as the others had yet to disembark. "Quite the impressive city you have here..."
"Yes!" The man's smile grew. "Now, a quick search of your ship will be-"
"A search?" Cregan raised a brow. "What cause do you have for that?"
The man, to his credit, did not seem in the slightest bit concerned. "It is customary for every ship that docks in our fair city to undergo a search..."
"And how long do these searches usually take?"
"For a vessel of this size?" The man paused, scratching his chin as he looked at the ship. "Multiple decks, some few hundred crew by my guess?" There was silence for a time as the man wrote in a small book, silent but for the sound of galls and usual calls of shopkeepers selling their wares. "A day. Half a day if all goes well."
Arthur had walked to his side, eye the dockmaster blankly. "A whole day..."
"That is correct." The man looked down at his notes. "Can you inform us what we should expect during the search?"
Cregan scowled. "Heavily armed men, a handful of hungry beasts, the usual food and provisions and a bloody unstable lack of patience after having sailed so far to your fair city on invitation by your Sealord." In short, they wanted to get this over with, as their 'invitation' wasn't a far cry from force.
"Good." The man replied, repeating the word a few times as he added notes. "Your ship will undergo searching during your stay with us, Prince Cregan."
He never told him his name. "How did you-"
"It's our business to know."
"Alright." He thought it odd but didn't pry. "If that's all?"
The crew had since disembarked and across the pier Cregan could see another far smaller ship undergoing what one assumed were the same searches. "That is all." The man replied, closing his book with a load thud and a plastered smile. "Welcome to Braavos, Prince Cregan. May your stay be beneficial for all parties involved."
"Prince Cregan?" Arthur stepped up beside him, smirking at the title.
"Tell the men we've some shore-leave," Cregan replied as he looked out at the locals who had since stopped staring at their arrival. "We should keep the ships guarded though. Have some wargs scout the sky for any surprises. If all goes well, we'll be off by tomorrow; yes?"
It was Arthur's ship, after all, bastard Prince or not; the decision arguably fell to him.
"Agreed," thankfully the man didn't seem to disagree.
It was a fair distance to the halls of The Sealord's Palace. It was the seat of Ferrego Antaryon, the Sealord of Braavos, located on a small peninsula in the northeast of the Free City at the eastern end of the Purple Harbour; a way away from their port of rest. They'd gone past the Moon Pool, a great fountain that had showed how the higher class of the city lived. They were a kind people, great lovers of song. Wealthy Braavosi appeared to dress in charcoal greys, purples or blues so dark that are almost black, and blacks as dark as moonlight. Sword-wielding bravos, in contrast, dressed in flamboyant colours with outlandish hats that seemed rather impractical.
The Sealord's Palace on approach boasted domes and towers. A golden thunderbolt turning on a spire atop the palace. All in all, the city was truly a sight.
"He will see you now." An armed braavosi spoke, stepping aside and allowing their party inside.
As they entered, one man lurked in the shadows; watching them like a hawk – but he didn't speak a word.
The room was large and richly furnished. It reeked however, as the room was foul with a smell of smoke clinging to the air and the flowering colours made him nauseous. "They say it's good for the lungs," a voice greeted them. "Personally however, I believe they are trying to choke me to an early grave..."
"They?" Cregan asked the man, dressed in a dark grey that was almost black trimming with silver outlay.
"The healers." The man walked to a chair and took a seat, seeming glad for the comfort.
"Ferrego Antaryon?" Arthur asked of the man. He was old in his years, grey hairs and a sickly disposition.
"Not what you were expecting?"
"I-" Cregan began.
"We-" Arthur moved to not cause offence.
"No," Ferrego waved them both off. "It's true. I'm not as young as I used to be."
"None of us are," Is the first thing that Cregan thought to say. He was no diplomat.
Thankfully, the Sealord laughed, though his laughter turned to a cough and clear annoyance at his health.
"So," Ferrego asked with a frown. "What can I do for you?"
"You invited us," Cregan noted, confused.
The Sealord raised a brow before realisation struck. "Ah, I see – you must forgive the bankers their meddling…"
"You did not invite us?"
"No," He denied with a sigh. "And yes; it's complicated I'm afraid."
"My father is subject to the whims of his people," A new voice greeted them from the doorway.
He wore much the same as the Sealord, only with far less grey hair; and clear lungs.
"My son speaks with pretty words," Ferrego once more laughed, only to cough.
"Ezio Antaryon," the young man bowed gracefully.
"What the boy means is I'm a puppet, like those before me."
"It's a convoluted and arcane process," Ezio scoffed at the notion, clearly not liking the way things were done – he stalked across the room like a cat hunting a mouse. "They call it the will of the people to shadow the ugly truth. Daggers and secrets and lies wrapped up in a grand masquerade!"
To say the boy was harbouring some discontent about the way of things would be an understatement.
"Forgive us," Ser Marlon spoke up. "If you didn't invite us, then-"
"The Iron Bank," Ferrego assumed.
"They think they're in charge," his son scoffed.
That only left more questions than answers.
"Business opportunities," the Sealord assumed with a tired sigh. "Doubtless they'll pester me for how our discussion goes…"
"We're not interested in bankers," Cregan scowled at the idea.
"With your leave Sealord," Arthur added with what charm he felt like mustering. "Our path leads us further east."
"East?" He asked, growing curious. "What lays that way for you if I may ask? Lorath perhaps?"
The name wasn't one they knew, except for Manderly.
"No," Marlon denied. "Further east, past Ibben and the Thousand Islands."
"The islands you say…"
"What are the damn bankers playing that?" Ezion asked of his father, eyes narrowed; his posture stiff.
"There have been rumours out of the far east," Ferrego began to explain, stroking his chin in thought. "A whaling vessel from Far Ib was blown off course not a month past; telling tall tales of deforested islands and a great grey-stone castle whereby all accounts – no such fortress should exist…"
"At the Thousand Islands?" Marlon asked, frowning in thought.
"Those islands are inhabited by savages," Ezio argued. "We had dismissed the tale as nonsense from drunken Ibbenese sailors."
"A coincidence my boy?"
"No such thing," Ezio dismissed the notion.
The father and son seemed to forget for a moment that they had guests.
"What does this have to do with us?"
"You're an unknown," the Sealord answered with a smirk.
"Knowledge is good for business," Ezio rolled his eyes. "The bank has taken an interest, it appears…"
"We must-" Ferrego coughed then and didn't stop.
"Father," Ezio knelt at the old man's side, a land reached out with worry in his eyes.
"I-" The Sealord coughed, the hand to his mouth wet with blood. "I am fine, my boy…"
The old man didn't seem fine. It appeared he could hardly breath, haggard and shallow as it were.
"I will see to our guest's father, you should rest – leave this to me."
It was an awkward silence, witnessing the exchange as the Sealord muttered his apologises coarsely. "My son will see to you friends," is all he'd managed to say as the figure from the shadows moved to lift him from his seat. "I need air, Qarro my friend; quickly now…"
"My Lord gives his best," the man known as Qarro offered simply, speaking for the first time.
"Forgive me," Arthur asked, curious. "That man-"
"Qarro Volentin," Ezio answered. "My fathers First Sword and a family friend."
It wasn't long before Ferrego Antaryon was led out of the chamber, leaning on his man's shoulder for support.
"Come with me," Ezio beckoned them over, walking across the room and pushing back a curtain.
Past the silken curtain was a hallway of sorts, leading to a room filled with cages and sounds that were alien to their ears. The room was vast; filled all manner of majestic and strange creatures – from birds of fantastic colour to striped horses or small tigers-dogs that carried cubs in strange pouches and so much more.
"My father's menagerie," Ezio explained as he walked slowly through the room.
They passed by great spotted things with necks as long as stilts, then giant manticore's the size of hounds.
"We can talk privately here. Few have access to this room – it's quite the collection you see…"
"My Lord," one of the servants bowed. "Have you come to – oh my, guests; I-"
"Worry not," Ezio waved away the surprise, smiling brightly at the woman.
"I-" She had her head lowered. "It's time for Cuddles feeding…"
"Ah!" Ezio seemed glad, clapping his hands together once in joy.
"Cuddles?" Arthur asked, beyond confused at the name.
"This collection is generations old; you see – if memory serves, our friend Cuddles was named by Sealord… oh what was his name…"
"Crichton," The servant answered shyly.
"That's the one!"
Ezio's pace quickened to the cage in question.
It was large. Larger than even the caged elephant's, with extremely thick steel bars kept closely together – reaching up to the very ceiling in what seemed an unnecessary feat of craftsmanship. "Here we are," Ezio said proudly with a smirk, turning his head to his guests. "Whatever you do, don't cross the line…"
Cregan's eyes darted to the clear red painted line some feet away from the cage.
"Why not?" Creagn wondered aloud, noting that the servants tasked with feeding seemed on edge.
"What's in there?" Arthur asked, curious – seeing nothing past all the plants and overgrowth of dense large ferns, some five feet high.
"Cuddles," Ezio answered as if that were enough.
"We're ready when you are, Lord Ezio."
"At your leisure," he replied, still smiling.
The man was watching his guests more than the cage, as if he knew something they didn't.
The servants carried long sticks with metal tips, being clearly careful to not get too close; they moved the meat-tipped sticks in between the bars and let the poles bang against the bars – almost as if it were a dinner bell to summoning whatever creature called the cage home.
All was silence at first, as nothing seemed to happen. The servants seemed to find no joy in feeding this creature.
Ezio? He hadn't stopped smiling, waiting, watching…
There was a long silence, as even the birds ceased their music.
"So," Marlon spoke in a hushed whisper. "I don't see nothin…"
Cregan heard a snorting sound, a kind of snuffling. Then the sound of crunching footsteps.
"Ssssh," Ezio whispered. "You'll scare her…"
Several seconds passed. Flies buzzed in the air. He still saw nothing.
Arthur tapped him on the shoulder and pointed wordlessly.
It was amid the ferns, the head of an animal. It was motionless, partially hidden, with two large dark eyes watching them coldly.
The head was two feet long. From a pointed snout, a long row of teeth ran back to the hole that served as an ear. The head reminded Cregan of a large lizard, or perhaps a lizard-lion. The eyes did not blink, and the animal did not move. Its skin was leathery: yellow-brown with darker reddish markings, like the stripes of a tiger.
As they all watched in silence, a single forelimb reached up very slowly to part the ferns beside the animal's face. The limb was strongly muscled. The hand had three grasping fingers, each ending in curved claws. The hand gently, slowly, pushed aside the ferns; with a motion that was eerily human.
Cregan felt a chill and thought how this outlandish creature was hunting them…
"What in the-"
Arthur didn't have time to finish his sentence.
The attack came suddenly. It covered the distance to the fence with shocking speed all while revealing itself fully in a blur as it darted forward. It was powerful, six-foot-tall, with a stiff balancing tail, limbs with curving claws, open jaws with rows of jagged teeth that threatened to rip and maim with ease.
It snarled as it came forward, leaping bodily into the air, raising its hind legs with big dagger-claws.
Cuddles struck the fence in front of them, ripping at the offered meat with such force that the servant stumbled, his stick shattered in half.
"BY THE GODS!" Marlon had stumbled too, falling backwards onto his arse.
Ezio Antaryon laughed and laughed heartily, holding his chest and near dying of merriment.
"WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT!" Marlon demanded, backed away from the cage as the creature quickly devoured the slab of meat.
"Cuddles," Ezio managed between his bursts of laughter.
"YOU NAMED THAT DEMON CUDDLES?!"
"No," He answered with an amused smirk. "A little girl did, long before my time; but the name remains..."
Cuddles had devoured the meat in a heartbeat, and now paced back and forward in front of the cage. She was looking at them.
"What the fuck is it?" Cregan muttered, not being able to take his eyes off the creature for even a moment.
Arthur had drawn his steel at the beast, not that it seemed in the least bit bothered – eyeing them with malice.
"Unknown," Ezio admitted with an uncaring shrug. "Sealord Crichton received it as an egg from some adventures out of the swamps of Sothoryos. From the man's account, most of his party perished to the creatures; among talk of Wyverns and other monsters. They captured our dear Cuddles in her egg and brought it as a gift…"
Cuddles didn't look happy about that, still pacing, watching with cold dead eyes and blood on her snout. She looked skinnier than she ought to look.
"Raptor," Ezio said as he watched Cuddles dart back into the shadows of her vast cage. "That's what the man named it. In his tongue it meant Abductor, for all the men its kind took and for the egg they stole – so that's what we've taken to calling them. I'm afraid some stories have the simplest of details gentlemen."
"I wouldn't call that thing all that simple…"
"No," Ezio was still smiling. "I'd call her death incarnate."
"It's a demon," Marlon muttered curses to the seven, getting back to his feet with the help of the servants.
"It's said she was a sweet thing as a hatchling," Ezio shrugged at the notion.
"Well, she certainly isn't now!"
"No," he replied with a chuckle. "She's designed to hunt and kill with ease. Only a fool would think to tame such a creature…"
For a moment, Cregan wondered how a warg might fare with such a beast – but there had been an eerily human-like intelligence behind the creatures unblinking eyes – that meant, simply, in the same manner as wolves; that one would never truly be able to tame these 'Raptors'
The bond forged with a wolf was a lasting one, much like a marriage; it required an agreement on both sides. Wolves weren't stupid.
Warging had its rules. Dogs were easy, for they were trusting. Wolves were harder, as one has to forge a lasting bond. Birds were tempting, and popular among the Sunset Islands, but one may soon lose interest in the mundane and wish only to fly; just as warging a shark would make one long for the open sea.
So, what rules did these raptors hold to? It wasn't something Cregan would be willing to test, even if he had the gift.
"What is your purpose then?" Ezio asked as they walked away from the raptor cage.
"To sail East and-"
"Yes," He waved that away. "The how is not my question – but the why, now that's curious…"
"They are traders from-"
"We hail from the far east," Cregan saw no reason to allow a lie. "Beyond what you know as the Thousand Islands, lay other lands – perhaps some months voyage further past the lands you know as Mossovy; you'd find the kingdom of my father. King Brand of the House Stark, lord of Winterhold."
Ezio had halted in his steps, judging for some glance of a lie. He found none. "Tell me everything."
Cregan had talked for what felt like half a day, ending up on a balcony as the sun began to weigh in the distance – Ezio was leaning against the railing, looking out over his father's city as he processed everything. "So, you see," Arthur added between a moment of silence. "We seek a return home, Lord Ezio…"
He said nothing for a moment before speaking "I believe you."
"Then with all due respect-"
"I'd have you carry a message for me," Ezio spoke then. "If you'd be so inclined."
"What kind of message?" Cregan asked, curious.
"An invitation for your Kingly father, to come speak with my father."
That had been unexpected to say the least.
Ezio Antaryon looked anchoretically serious as he stared at them, black eyes unblinking, the slight breeze of braavosi air in his short black hair; a smirk quickly grew on his lips. "My father is ailing, or I would gladly ask to join you in this adventure – but duty forbids my departure. Life is rarely as we might wish it, no?"
Cregan had no comment on that, except for the thought that Willam would like this man.
"I'll gladly carry any message should you wish it," Cregan vowed. "Although, I can make no promise of how it is received."
"Nor would I expect you to do so," Ezio dismissed the notion as a childish one.
"This message then?" Arthur asked, his hand casually resting on the pommel of his blade.
"I'll have it written by the morning," Ezio declared with a warm smile. "Until then, you are our guests – so please rest for the night. I insist."
It hadn't been part of the plan, but the Sealord and his son didn't seem the bad sought.
"Very well," Cregan decided with a nod.
"Gladly," Arthur added.
"An honour," Ser Marlon said easily.
"Excellent!" Ezio declared with a clap of his hands. "Welcome to Braavos, my friends – may your stay be a pleasant one."
It was a short walk to the chambers Ezio's father had prepared for them all, a whole wing of the Sealords palace being reserved for honoured guests; all decorated with a rich array of colours and silks. "Lord Antaryon invites you to dine with him in the morning," the servant leading him explained with a smile.
They weren't slaves, he'd discovered – for all the talk of slavery in Essos it seemed that Braavos was the only truly free city.
"My thanks," Cregan offered the servant, pushing open the doors to his room.
It was vast, with its own balcony to his left and a large bed in the rooms centre. On the bed laid a person.
"Prince Snow?" She was laid out on his bed in a ridiculously thin cream-white silken dress, flat on her stomach with full breasts and legs casually in the air behind her. She was smiling, with black hair and light brown skin that looked almost imperial. It was the eyes that struck him though, almost a dark purple in the light of the fire.
"And you are My Lady?" Cregan asked, stepped forward; eyes locked – as if she were a threat. Such beauty usually was.
"I am Bellegere Otherys," She said with a sweet voice of honey. "The Black Pearl of Braavos."
Brown Pearl would be more accurate, but he wasn't about to correct the woman.
"Why are you here?"
She looked at him with a sultry smirk.
"Need I explain?" She sat on the bed now, watching him.
"Is this Ferrego's idea of a gift?"
"Be honoured," She gave a nod. "Us courtesans are not cheap; and I am among the best – if not the best."
She'd shrugged a shoulder at that, letting her dress fall slightly. This woman knew what she was doing.
"I have blood of the dragon," She continued, letting the silk dress fall completely.
"Well," Cregan eyed her. "I suppose it would be rude to refuse the Sealord's gift…"
"Very," She smiled happily as he joined her on the bed.
The phrase 'When in Braavos' would later come up in conversation.
Courtesan were apparently a highly respected profession in the city, using charm and refinement and sexuality to attract high status suitors, patrons and lovers – to the point they were renowned worldwide; with the best courtesans earning a near noble status. Respected, wealthy and famous through the Free Cities and beyond.
Bellegere Otherys was from a family line of Courtesans that descended from the loins of Aegon IV Targaryen. Fires seemed to burn brighter when she passed.
My Note(s): When a whole chapter is written purely so we can visit the Sealord's Menagerie and introduce Cuddles the Raptor. Fun fact, for those unaware, I haven't made this up; there's actually "terrible walking lizards with scythes for claws" that "run down their prey on their powerful hind legs" and "have long curved claws on their hind legs" that are effectively, Velociraptors, or at least what Jurassic Park considers as Velos. Sothoryos has fecking dinosaurs, that shit is canon…
This has been one of my filler/shorter chapters that crop up on occasion, they're usually to flush out some of the world or give certain PoV's etc. Ezio is an Assassins Creed reference if that wasn't painfully obvious. I figured screw it, we've already got Jurassic Park up in this chapter, why not an AC reference :P
Lastly, ends with the courtesan; because when in rome - or when in braavos as the case may be. Until next time...
Churchillwaswrong: The Red Wedding hinges on Robb's mistakes. 1: Jaime's release 2: Theon's betrayal 3: Robb's Marriage 4: Karstarks Execution all added on top of the Reach joining the Lannisters to ultimately make Roose see Robb Stark's cause as a lost one and to swap sides. There are other underlining mishaps like Edmure ruining Robb's plan to lure Tywin into the west that also play a role; that happened because Robb failed to keep his uncle in the loop and just 'assumed' he'd ignore Tywin. Roose wouldn't really consider the Sunset Starks as an immediate threat any more than he'd consider any of the obscure cadet branches of Stark as a threat – as he could easily dismiss Willam as a Mummer's Wolf since without an army he's just a guy with a story and two ships plus a handful of men at his disposal. All this said, if you note the changes Bran's lack of falling makes; at least 2/4 of the primary causes for Roose's betrayal don't happen by default, but big causes remain in the cards.
Robb Stark is a character written by GRRM with a predetermined fate of dying, so there's a lot that needs to change to realistically avoid his fate. I'm not one for writing fix-it stories (they're fine but they've been done before a thousand times) so any changes I make need solid realistic cause-and-effect reasoning behind said change.
The consequences of Bran not falling are quite massive. I don't wanna go too much into it, spoilers, but I'm happy with the direction I've got planned out :)
Jon not going to the Wall, yeah, it's bad news for the Night's Watch; that's a given. They're basically fucked. We'll explore that though. As for Bran you'll see in the next chapter that he's still having his dreams; they're just having a tug-of-war atm as Bloodraven has some competition and isn't too thrilled about Bran not falling.
Oh, and the Reeds are at Winterfell with their fellow ward Theon. I considered them coming south but ultimately decided against it for numerous reasons.
ForceSmuggler: Jon's getting dragged along for a lot tbh in my drafts and he gets a lot of development as a character as a result, but I can't say much without spoiling it :) though Ned isn't even aware that Jon's coming to the capital and you'll find he'd rather he not be anywhere near King's Landing given who Jon actually is etc.
N7withpride: I'm trying to upload at least a chapter a week :) for as long as I can keep that speed. I'm glad you're enjoying things so far. In regard to Suko, you'll see him again next chapter; but he's gone South with King Robert and Ned since he kinda doesn't like the cold weather and didn't feel like freezing at the Wall :P
I get the lack of writing 'spark' as I have my own personal nonsense, but I've found that writing is a decent creative outlet for my spare time lately.
Gtbmel: Happy to hear you're enjoying it ;) atm I've 73 chapters summarized/planned and they'll stay apart of this one story for simplicities sake. I recommend you bookmark the last chapter you read, so that way you can easily pick up from where you left off whenever you want to read more :)
Unixfan: I'm not sure what you mean about Ramsay, but he's not being killed off any time soon; the 'wildlings' in the previous chapter were just hinting at the growing conflict in the area involving Ramsay that'll be noteworthy later. As for the 5 forts those aren't apart of the Empire or Sunset Islands :P