Second chapter and after having read through the first one a few times I've decided to rewrite it to be a little more serious. Gone are mood swings of Tristan Alaire.
He is now more of a smartass than a trickster and while he still sings, I promise to cut down on the musical numbers. Even if I only had one. Together with overt popculture references. Future references will be more hidden and I'm willing to reveal them if you ask.
I highly suggest you go back and read the first chapter as I've made major revisions to the dialogue and some minor details. Glamdring has been changed with Andúril for example and Sheogorath does not talk like Mickey Mouse anymore.
Please R&R, and if you wish to, come with suggestions of how events will come to change.
The House of Badassdom
Chapter 2: Old Friends and New
The Riverlands
Black Walder Frey, son of Walder Frey, was running for his life through the forest. He was being hunted. Demons were chasing him, demons clad in black and silver, with no face but darkness beneath their masks. Moving faster than anything he had ever seen, wielding two swords and his comrades in half.
"Oh god those masks," Black Walder thought, a shudder of fear running down his spine.
It had been a month ago when they had heard tales of the God's Eye overflowing and a city rising from its waters. Protected by demons in black. They had laughed as they killed the man who told them this tale. Now it did not seem that funny. They had seen the ity on the lake, its beauty, simply mesmerizing. In a move of foolishness they had tried to sack its lands and take the city.
Overconfidence had clouded their minds. They had believed their reputation would precede them and strike fear into the minds and hearts of its people. But they were wrong.
It happened as they cleared the forest and moved towards the northern bridge. A dozen demons jumped out at them wielding narrow swords in each hand. They believed the odds were in their favor, but the demons had cut through a hundred of them like farmers reaping their crops. Hardened soldiers of the Twins were slaughtered like mere cattle. The demons slaying them one by one without receiving a scratch.
They had gotten into formation and managed to hold them back for a few minutes. Until a larger demon wearing black armor and a mask with ridges appeared. It was taller than the others, standing at two meters, its size further accentuated by the armor. Most likely the leader.
It stormed into their ranks with such ferocity that his men fell into disarray. The man to Walder's left was cut in three as two blades descended on his clavicles. Another man was kicked hard enough to send him flying, even though he was in full plate.
Some men tried to fire their crossbow at their enemy but each bolt was either dodged or blocked by their swords. Black Walder had been more lucky than his comrades and managed block a few blows from an Immortal. But he lost all will to fight when he managed to knock its mask off. The face of his darkest nightmares stared back at him, roaring in rage as it bared its teeth and Walder pissed himself.
He had managed to flee in the chaos. Valuing his life more than that of his comrades, the men he had sung and recounted tales with. The men he had committed atrocities with. Atrocities no man, woman or child deserved upon them. In the deep recess of his mind he knew that this was divine retribution for his crimes.
Black Walder looked over his shoulder and let out a laugh. No one was following him. His victory was short lived as a hand shot out from a tree he ran past, grabbing him by the head and lifted him up. He came face to face with the black armored demon leader, who simply looked at him with its black eyes. The mask hiding all emotions.
The Frey tried to pry himself free, but the Immortal's grip was too strong, it kept holding him off ground and slowly tightened its grip. He let out a scream as five gloved fingers dug into his skull, drawing blood. Black Walder's last few moments were not spent with his life flashing before his eyes, but with indescribable pain as the Immortal slowly clenched its fist.
A cracking sound could be heard as the Immortal crushed his skull. The Frey fell to the forest floor, his head unrecognizable as it had been turned to mush. His killer let out a dark laugh and walked away.
Riverrun
Brynden Tully better known as the Blackfish sat in the dining hall of Riverrun He was clad in mud-caked black clothes with matching scale armor, a sword on his side and a bowl of stew before him. Weariness was evident on his face. He had been holding Riverrun against a continuous siege from the Freys. Ever since his family and bannermen were murdered. Ever since Walder Frey broke the most sacred of hospitalities.
The memories of the so called Red Wedding still fresh in his mind. He had been the only survivor of that dreadful night. Most of the river lords had surrendered to the Iron Throne and the Tully's had been stripped of their titles. With his brother rotting in a dungeon at the Twins, Brynden was the last to defy the Lannisters and their lackeys, the Freys and the Boltons.
The Blackfish held back the desire to spit, instead refocusing on his late breakfast. Once he could have called upon his bannermen and raised an army of forty-five thousand. Now, only his most loyal men remained. They had been a thousand at the beginning, but holding a castle besieged from all sides had taken its toll. Now they were but four hundred, tired and hungry. Morale was at an all time low. Only time would tell when they would break.
That was when his mind wandered to a flicker of light in these dark times. Like most of those inhabiting the Riverlands he had heard the same tales, obviously dismissing them as wishful thinking and hearsay. Still it would explain the sudden emigration of several commoners from their former homes. He was unable to verify these rumors of a city rising from the God's Eye, as he and his men were holed up in the castle.
Brynden prayed to the gods that whoever lived in that city would help them. What he could verify though, during the times he managed to sneak out, was that previously muddy roads had turned into cobblestone overnight and a river had suddenly appeared. Flowing from the God's Eye to the Quiet Isle. A bridge too had appeared where the river crossed the King's Road.
And then there were the stories. Stories of demons with faces of silver coming out of the forests to kill any man preying upon the weak and disappearing just as swiftly as they appeared. At first he had dismissed those tales, chalking it up to actions by the Brotherhood Without Banners. But then the tales told of small armies patrolling the roads and he knew it could not be the Brotherhood's doing. They tended to keep to the woods and had nary the manpower for full scale battles. Adding to the veracity of those rumors was the fact that several contingents men of were being pulled from the army besieging them.
"Speaking of the Brotherhood," The hardened soldier thought. They seemed to have disappeared from the face of Westeros. Had they been killed or did they simply lose the will to fight? Brynden doubted the latter. Their numbers had most likely dwindled until they were unable to keep their operations running.
The Blackfish sighed as he got up, pushing his empty bowl away. He fastened his sword to his side and began to move out, greeting his men on the way. He planned to sneak out once again. It had to be during the night. He would swim beneath the Water Gate's portcullis and he prayed that if he could reach this City on the Lake. They would help him liberate the Riverlands and bring justice upon his family's killers.
Riverlands Forest Road
It had been around a month since Tristan created Avalon together with Camelot or the City on the Lake as the small folk liked to call it, and its population had already grown from a thousand to five times that size. Farmers, traders, bakers. People of all stations of life had taken up residence in the city and more were arriving. Having heard tales of this safe haven in the ongoing storm.
Soldiers too had arrived, survivors of what the people called the Red Wedding. All wishing to a new cause once again or live the rest of their days in peace.
Tristan found great amusement in how each man wore the Gondorian armor - he had created - with pride. Obviously not used to state supplied arms. They told him that only the richest of noble houses could afford that. Another surprise to them was that in Avalon, soldiery was a full time occupation.
Still, they were trained men and he together with Theon and the Immortals had managed to drill them quite well in the last month. They would fight in tight infantry formations, supported by archers and cavalry. Though not cavalry at the moment. Their armament consisted of chainmail beneath plate armor and longswords complimented by black tower shields. A white tree adorned on their breastplates and shields. Their helmets too had wings engraved on each side. All in all, perfect copies of the soldiers of Gondor.
Oh, Gondor such a beautiful place. Tristan promised himself that he would visit it again when he was done with this world.
Speaking of Theon or Alfred as Tristan continued to call him. The Greyjoy had obviously taken great joy in reclaiming his martial prowess and had personally overseen the training of the archers. But Tristan knew he was still plagued by nightmares. His screams ringing through the palace halls during the night.
Tansy too had her fair share of personal demons as she too was subject to the same nightmares. Both of them though kept their distance to each other, memories of what had transpired still fresh and only time would tell if they could overcome their past together. Tristan usually lend himself to them as someone they could talk to, otherwise deciding that inner demons, were best left to themselves to get over. Instead opting to walk the city and mingle with the other dimensional travelers who had set up shop in Camelot. He was especially fond of Oghren whom he visited often at the tavern.
The dwarf berserker too, had taken to visit the barracks and spend his time laughing at the new recruits during training. As for the Immortals, they stood vigil on the city walls and scared the living daylights out of any would be criminal.
Right now Tristan stood together with two hundred Legionaries of Avalon. Though unlike them he was clad in his usual 18th century assassin robes. He had moved out with these two centuries, to show them how a real battle was fought and now they would, as an army outnumbering them three to one was descending upon them from the forest surrounding the road they stood on. Carrying banners picturing three black dogs.
This was what his Immortals had been up to for some time, provoking nearby hostile forces until they, like a rabid dog, lashed out against the nearest perceived threat with little to no planning.
"FORM UP, THREE LINES, SHIELDS TIGHT, SWORDS STEADY!" Tristan yelled, a maniacal smile on his face. "OGHREN PROTECT THE LEFT FLANK! ALFRED THE RIGHT!"
"Just like old times, right Warden Commander?" Oghren spoke as he readied his double-bladed axe.
"That was a long time ago Oghren, but it was fun, now go!" Tristan replied earning a harsh laugh from the berserker, his dwarves armor clanking softly as he walked to his post.
"Tristan!" Theon said, handing him his shield. "No magic this time?"
"That's hardly sporting is it?" The Planeswalker laughed. "Besides, I got two dozen Immortals in reserve if we need backup."
Theon nodded and walked to his men. "ARCHERS AIM FOR THEIR FLANKS MAKE THEM CLUSTER!" He yelled, drawing his own bow. A fine brown Gondorian longbow, same as the other archers. Theon led a unit of rangers and dressed like the Ithilien Rangers whom Tristan had modeled them after.
Tristan placed himself at the middle of the formation and drew Andúril. He had left his spear at the palace.
"SHIELDS FRONT!" the Planeswalker ordered. The sound of the first line turning their tower shields, rang through the forest. "SWORDS OUT!"
The ringing of swords being drawn filled Tristan's ears as the enemy descended upon them. Unlike the Lannister troops, the Mountain's men were a disorganized bunch, used to fight by rushing their enemies. No wonder they were called the Lannisters' personal attack dogs.
"FIRE!" Theon yelled as the forty rangers released their arrows, raining death upon the descending men, some falling and caused others to stumble over them.
"PREPARE FOR GLORIOUS COMBAT!" Tristan yelled as the enemy slammed into the line of legionaries. Trying to push them back.
"THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO!" One legionary yelled.
The men of House Clegane managed to push them back two feet before they were stopped. Deathly silence lasted for a few seconds.
"NOW!" Tristan hollered as the first line pushed their shield forward. Causing the enemy soldiers to stagger. In that moment of disorientation, the legionaries put their swords to use, slashing and stabbing the first line of attackers. Before order was established, the shield wall was reformed.
"PUSH!" Tristan yelled as the men took one step forward. Bracing themselves against the counter attack. Holding them in place before shoving them back and attacking. Reforming the shield wall before the enemy could retaliate.
Enemy soldiers fell before them like flies as they moved forward, pace by pace they cut them down. Discipline, heavy armor and shields winning out against the leather and mail armored men of House Clegane.
"FIRE!" Theon yelled showering the enemy on the right with arrows. Making sure they could not flank them from that position.
Oghren laughed with joy as he separated a man's lower intestines from the rest of his body. Throwing himself into enemy ranks, swinging his double-bladed axe with abandon. At one point he spun around, managing to take down every hostile who had surrounded him.
"COME ON! DON'T HAVE THE GUTS!?" He yelled as the legionaries with him caught up.
"REFORM THE LINE!" Tristan yelled as the next wave came upon them. He blew his whistle and the men at the front changed place with those behind them. Moving to the back of the formation.
"BRACE!" He yelled as the next wave of soldiers crashed into the shield wall with no more success than their dead brothers in arms. Trying to smash through the legionaries shield wall with their weapons. Yet still heavy armor won out as all attacks lucky enough to breach the defenses were deflected agains the plate and mail.
"NOW!" Tristan ordered. The first line raised their shields, striking their attackers and cut them down, before reforming the wall. Once again.
Theon had joined the contingent of soldiers defending the right flank, handing command of the auxiliaries to an officer. He wielded a war hammer in his left hand and a falchion in the other.
He slashed an attacker's stomach with his sword, spun around and hit him on the back of the head with the hammer. Then turning to the next. Blocking a strike with both hammer and sword. Headbutting the unfortunate soldier, before driving the hammer's spike into his face.
He took down another man with a double strike, causing him fall on his back. Theon ended his life with a slash across the face. He looked up just in time to see another Clegane soldier running towards him. Screaming with weapon ready to strike.
He never reached his intended target as an arrow pierced his eye and he fell over like a sack of potatoes.
Theon looked around quickly, trying to gauge the situation as several men clad in brown and green ran out of the forest and attacked the flanks of the Mountain's men.
"IT'S THE BROTHERHOOD!" Someone yelled, just as a man wielding a flaming sword joined the fray.
Tristan laughed, raising his shield to block a strike, simultaneously stabbing his attacker before lowering it. Repeating the action with his men. He blew his whistle again and the first line of men were replace with the second.
His legionaries working together like a well oiled machine. The Brotherhood Without Banners were a pleasant surprise, but Tristan could see that they fought like a disorganized group.
"Still they made a wondrous mess of things. Brave amateurs...they do their part," Tristan mused, he was definitely having a good day.
But his mood was going to get even better as everything went silent. The Clegane soldiers pulled back and began to cheer. The Brotherhood too regrouped. Some of them had fear etched on their faces. That was when he appeared at the top of the hill. A massive rider on a black steed.
"IT'S CLEGANE!" One yelled as the mountain of a man clad in black armor got off his horse and pulled his great sword on the way. His men held back, their morale lifted at his presence. Sure that the tide of battle had turned.
Two months ago the legionaries would likely have relieved themselves in their pants at the sight of the Mountain striding towards them. Tristan's training had made sure such a thing would not happen. Yet still, the men did waver.
Tristan held his arms stretched out to the sides, signaling for them not to follow and left the formation, walking towards Gregor Clegane. His shield in one hand and Andúril in the other.
"So this is how it's going to be?" Tristan stated as they circled each other. One could easily hear the sound of the Mountain's breathing behind his helmet. "Combat by Champion."
Clegane towered over him, eight feet tall, with a sword five foot long. Swinging it with relative ease. They stopped walking in a circle and the Mountain attacked.
With a great swing his sword read towards Tristan's left. He quickly raised his shield, blocking the strike, but was sent flying back several feet. Landing on his ass in front of his legionaries.
"I bet on the Commander," Oghren said, having moved to the front and spoke to Thoros of Myr. Who simply looked down at the dwarf with a raised eyebrow.
Dwarves like Oghren, looked nothing like the ones the people of Westeros were familiar with. Looking like small yet stocky humans, with an average height between four and five feet, some could get as tall as five foot three. Oghren himself was that height, exceptionally tall for a dwarf
"Sure thing little man, a round of ale for everyone," the red priest replied, earning a harsh laugh from the Dwarf.
Tristan threw his dented shield away as he got up. He spat and held Andúril with both hands while approaching his opponent.
"You're big," he stated, joy evident on his face. "Fought bigger."
Letting out a yell, Tristan ran towards his opponent, jumped over his sword with a vertical twist and used it as a stepping stone when it drove into the ground. His knee colliding with Gregor's armored face. Hard enough to knock his helmet off. When he landed, Tristan quickly turned around and stomped Clegane in the back of the knee, making him kneel.
Gregor spun around before Tristan could drive his sword through his unprotected head and deflected the thrust. His armored fist slamming into Tristan's stomach, sending him into the air. He let out a groan as he crashed into a tree, back first.
For any normal man, he would have been dead before leaving the ground, but Tristan was no mere man. He got up and shook his head, before jumping back into action.
"Are we having fun yet?" the Planeswalker laughed, spitting out some blood as he danced around the giant. Both sides cheering.
The Mountain's voice was a gravelly baritone, reminiscent of a glacier grinding against rock. "The time of my life!"
Tristan ducked, avoiding a thrust by Gregor's sword, spun around beneath it and got up. Hitting him in the sternum with the pommel of Andúril, hard enough to bend the breastplate. Sending the Mountain back a few steps. To the latter's credit though, he showed no surprise at this and snarled at his opponent.
As they clashed again, Tristan stepped aside, dodging a downwards slash and scaled the larger man. Grabbing Clegane's right shoulder, mid-jump, Tristan dropped Andúril and opened his right hand. Unleashing his hidden blade. His opponents eyes seemed to widen at this, but acted quickly. He caught Tristan by the collar and threw him over his shoulder, slamming him into the ground.
Tristan barely managed to roll away as an armored boot descended upon his face, he caught Andúril on the way and drove it upwards. Both he and Clegane let out a battle cry as their blades connected. Tristan sword proved its worth and cleaved the Mountain's greatsword in half. Tristan threw himself away as to not be hits by the other half. Before he managed to get up. Gregor had spun his broken sword around and prepared to drive it through the Planeswalker.
"COMMANDER!" Oghren yelled running onto the empty battlefield, axe ready. Using a dead body as a stepping stone, he jumped and soared through the air, axe raised above his head.
Clegane turned his head towards the screaming warrior, just in time for Oghren's axe to descend upon his forearms. Knocking his sword away and allowing Tristan to get out of reach.
"IMMORTALS!" Tristan hollered, getting up from his crouched position in front of his legionaries.
The Immortals appeared behind the legionaries, coming from the forest and running between the archers, before jumping over the tight formation of legionaries. Standing side by side with Tristan.
"KILL THEM ALL!" Clegane roared as Oghren managed to drive him back, slashing and thrusting wildly with his axe.
The berserker was forced to focus his onslaught elsewhere as the Mountain's men descended from the hill.
"LEGIONARIES. HOLD THE LINE!" Tristan ordered, holding his sword up with both hands. Blade at a horizontal angle. "IMMORTALS. CHARGE!"
Tristan together with his two dozen Immortals ran into the onrushing army, soon joined by the Brotherhood Without Banners. One Immortal crouched down, grabbing a man by the legs and threw him over his shoulder, making him land on his head. Another dropkicked an armored opponent making him fall and receive two deadly blades to the throat.
"ARCHERS AIM FOR THE FLANKS!" Theon yelled, having rejoined the auxiliaries. "FIRE AT WILL."
Oghren blocked two blows from an opponent, letting his armor do the rest. He made a slash with his axe, hitting the man at the back of the knee, and with a swift move as he fell backwards. Oghren drove the axe head into the man's chest - mid-fall.
Tristan twirled Andúril around, deflected blows from two different soldiers before driving it down on his right attacker's helmet. Cutting his face in half. He extended his left hand and released his hidden blade. Catching his other attacker by the throat, lifting him up as he gurgled and drowned in his blood. As he kicked the dead soldier away, Tristan pulled out his whistle and signaled his men.
"LEGIONARIES, ADVANCE!" The sound of two hundred boots marching forward echoed through the forest, even blocking out the screams of dying men and metal against metal.
Seeing his men being cut down as they failed to break through the advancing soldiers, the Brotherhood causing disarray among their ranks and the silver masked soldiers cutting through them like a meat cleaver. Gregor Clegane chose self preservation above all; he had to inform the Lannisters of this - that the Brotherhood was working together with these strange newcomers.
Pushing his squire away as he mounted his horse, he kicked it hard and fled towards the Kingsroad while arrows rained down around him. Taking out the men at his side. Riding parallel to the ongoing battle, Tristan spotted him as he looked up, having just killed another group of soldiers.
"ALFRED TAKE HIM DOWN!" Tristan yelled pointing with his sword at the fleeing Mountain.
Theon, having moved forward with the archers, knocked an arrow and took aim. Pulling the string as far back as he could. Taking deep breaths he schooled his vision, there was only him and his target. He adjusted for the arch the arrow would travel, with the speed of Clegane's horse and released it.
The arrow flew through the open air, between trees and foliage. Traveling a path towards the head of its intended target. Gregor looked back at the battle and managed to catch a glimpse of the arrow racing towards him. He barely had time to turn his head and let out a roar of anger as the arrow graced him. Punching a hole through his ear and cutting a deep wound in his left cheek all the way to the corner of his mouth.
"DAMN!" Theon hissed, as the Mountain kept riding.
"VICTORY!" Tristan shouted followed by the combined battle cry of his men and the Brotherhood.
The Immortals were mopping up the last bunch. One placing both its swords at the throat of a kneeling man, showing no emotion as it cut his throat. Another slashing a man's midsection with such strength that only his spine kept him from being bisected.
Tristan tilted his head slightly and pointed at three surviving Clegane soldiers, obviously scared out of their mind. The first let out a scream and charged him. Tristan stepped aside, using his sword to drive his opponent's weapon upwards. He then redirected his blade and sliced him across the stomach. The two remaining men attacked him in tandem, but the Planeswalker proved too fast and deflected all blows.
Managing to knock his left attackers blade away, he impaled the man on his right with Andúril, driving it though leather and chainmail. Leaving him to fall on his knees, clutching the blade. Tristan unleashed both his hidden blades, blocking a strike with his bracers, arms crossed. He moved his hands closer and pushed back. Driving the man's own sword into his face, both hidden blades lodged in his eye sockets.
The Planeswalker let out a grunt, pulled his arms back and walked towards Andúril. Reclaiming it from the soldier he had impaled. Wiped it clean, looked at his men and held it high.
"FOR AVALON!" Theon rolled his eyes at Tristan, while the men cheered around him.
"Nothing like a battle to lighten the mood, right Oghren!" Tristan said, patting the Dwarf on the back as they walked through their ranks. Greeted several times by their men.
"Ha, damn right!" Oghren laughed. Taking a large swill from his canteen of mead.
"The Mountain escaped," Theon spoke as he walked up to them. Having supervised the clean up process. Carts were already hauling the dead knights away, together with whatever metal they had, which would be reforged. The common Clegane men were simply dumped in a mass grave.
"Casualties?"
"Seventeen of ours, as for the enemy...the Immortals are picking up stragglers."
Tristan's smile widened and he patted Theon on the shoulder. "You did a good job Alfred! Don't worry about this...Mountain...if that's what he's called, we'll get him next time."
"At least you clipped him. Now we can definitely spot him in a crowd," Oghren laughed.
Theon chuckled as they reached the clearing in front of their army. The Brotherhood too stood there, surrounding a single man clad in mail and light plate. He wore a yellow tabard bearing the sigil of House Clegane. He was kneeling.
Tristan pulled out Andúril, jammed it into the ground and leaned on it.
"I am Rafford, man-at-arms of House Clegane..."
"Take your helmet off while addressing me!" Tristan spoke harshly.
Rafford looked around quickly. Both the legionaries and the Brotherhood scowled at him. There would be no sympathy for Rafford "the Sweetling" today. He slowly took his helmet off and placed it before his knees.
Rafford cleared his throat, trying to look as regal as possible. "I am a knight of House Clegane...I am granted the privilege of...ransom."
"That you are." Tristan wrested Andúril out of the ground and motioned with his head at Theon, who simply nodded.
The Greyjoy walked behind Rafford, pulled out his war hammer and turned it around, placing the spike at the kneeling man's head. Theon took a deep breath, raised his arm and swung it downwards. Burying his hammer's pick in Rafford's head, as far down it could. The man made a few sounds before his eyes rolled back and he fell over as Theon pulled his hammer back.
"While goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo. While goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo. While goin' the road to sweet Athy..." Tristan whistled as he approached the Brotherhood men. "A stick in me hand and a drop in me eye. A doleful damsel I heard cry, Johnny I hardly knew ye."
The Brotherhood Without Banners definitely lived up to their reputation as a ragtag bunch of misfits. A group of merry men who took from the rich but gave to themselves in order to fund their personal crusade. They were bloodied, dirty, and their stench could easily be singled out among the smell of dead bodies. Their leader Beric Dondarrion stood before them, ready to greet the Commander of Camelot.
"Barry...Dandelion?" Tristan quizzed, once again leaning against his sword.
"Beric Dondarrion," Thoros of Myr corrected.
"Of course. My name is Tristan Alaire, Commander of Camelot and current ruler of Avalon," Tristan mock bowed. "I can't say that I'm not happy to see you show up, but why now? According to the small folk you lot have been inactive for quite some time."
"To be honest, your presence forced our hand," Dondarrion answered. "When we first heard tales of the God's Eye expanding and a city rising from its waters. We did not believe it. However, when your men began patrolling these lands, we knew it had to be true.
"What we did not know was the side you were on," Thoros cut in. "Farms abandoned, commoners gone, demon's stalking the forests...you understand our quandary?"
"Yes, did we wantonly kill those commoners like the wretched dogs of this world, who have the audacity of calling themselves knights. Or were the rumors in fact true, that there was truly a safe haven for the common people in this shit storm." Tristan smiled. "I'm glad to say that there truly is and all of you are welcome to join it."
"You have my thanks, Commander," Dondarrion replied. "My men are in dire need of supplies, a hot meal would be welcome too."
"Tell you what, mister Dandelion," Tristan held his index finger up. "Swear your fealty to the people of Avalon, that you will safeguard the innocent and protect those who can't protect themselves and I'll provide you with arms and provisions to your hearts content. In return all you have to do...is join its army."
The Brotherhood Captain seemed to ponder the offer, he adjusted the cloth covering his missing eye and looked to his men. They were weary, morale was low and their numbers had dwindled significantly since they set out to capture the Mountain in the name of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon. He did not fault those who had left them. They had been fighting for too long, fighting for a dead man - the men needed a new cause to continue. This Tristan Alaire offered just that, with the added prerequisite of a home. Looking at each of their faces, long and hard, he finally got a nod from them.
There was one problem though, which Beric addressed as he turned around. "Before we accept this offer, Commander Alaire, we do have one predicament."
"I'm listening."
"I am a lord of the Stormlands, owing fealty to House Baratheon. If it comes to war, I can't promise absolute loyalty."
Tristan simply smirked. "I understand completely and if this House Baratheon declares war, you and your men are free to leave of your own accord, but remember this. As long as you are guests in Avalon, you will not take up arms against it."
"You have our word on that," Beric replied.
"Good," Tristan smiled. "BROTHERHOOD WITHOUT BANNERS, TAKE A KNEE!"
The fifty remaining men sent by Eddard Stark to hunt down Gregor Clegane and instead found themselves fighting a guerrilla war against all sides in the War of the Five Kings, knelt down simultaneously.
"Do you swear to safeguard the helpless and do no wrong, to always speak the truth even if it means your death, to be without fear in the face of your enemies and to use the power invested in you to protect these lands?"
Tristan eyes shined as he heard their collective reply. "Good. You may have knelt as men, but you arise as CITIZENS OF AVALON!"
Oghren laughed heartily as the Brotherhood, now with a banner, rose from their position. Seeming a lot taller than they had been before. "If all that's done, how 'bout you lot help clean up this mess, I got a barrel of ale calling my name."
"I must say that's the first time I've witnessed someone challenge Gregor Clegane and come out alive," Thoros of Myr spoke as he walked up beside Tristan. "How did you learn to fight like that?"
They were on their way towards Camelot, the legionaries walking in perfect formation as horses pulled the carts with the looted metal and the seventeen dead legionaries. Tristan and his entourage had taken point, together with Thoros and Beric Dondarrion. The latter was constantly looking at his own reflection in a tiny mirror Tristan had conjured up.
It had come as quite a bit of surprise when Tristan had stated that a one eyed fighter in Camelot simply would not do. Followed by him then walking up to the man and put his hand on his chest, enveloping their leader in golden light, holding him above ground for some time before he was sat down. All signs of having been resurrected numerous times gone, looking like the man he had been before his first death, and feeling twenty years younger. Thoros still had not quite gotten over it, having believed only the Lord of Light capable of such feats, but here was living prove of that not being true.
"Oh, you know...pick up something here...take something there, walking the earth, stuff like that," Tristan replied.
Oghren let out a loud belch and walked between them. "What's so special about this Clegane? If he bleeds we can kill him!"
"Gregor Clegane or the Mountain is monster in every sense of the word, you can't bargain nor reason with him. He knows no pity, remorse, or fear and while he understands compassion he decides to ignore it," Dondarrion informed, having gotten somewhat over his regained peripheral vision.
"Sounds like a nice guy!" Oghren grinned.
"Add to that, the fact that he is one of the most dangerous men I've ever seen," Thoros added.
"Perhaps you should get out more often," Tristan deadpanned, causing both Thoros and most of the men to laugh heartily.
The Dreadfort
To say that Roose Bolton was frustrated would be an understatement, and while he wore a stoic expression as easily as a mask, his brow was furrowed slightly. The new Warden of the North was looking over the maps strewn across his table. One month, that was how long he had been hauled up in his fortress.
The discovery of his bastard's mangled corpse had been an unfortunate turn of events, but one that could easily be remedied with time. What came as a surprise was the fact that Ramsay's body looked as if someone had skinned him completely. The Lord was divided on seeking vengeance or congratulating whoever murdered his illegitimate son. The first was out of principle, Ramsay was his blood after all, yet on the other hand; his death meant that now Roose did not need worry when it came to his son's - proclivities. That would surely only further provoke the ire of the northern lords.
The newly appointed Warden of the North dismissed those thoughts and focused on the real problem at hand. The Ironborn were still in control of Moat Cailin, which meant that the majority of his army was trapped in the Riverlands. The men he had managed to sneak across the Neck together with the token force left behind, were enough to protect the Deadfort, but far too few to march for Winterfell.
Control of Moat Cailin was essential for his continued dominance in the North and now with reports of a city rising from the God's Eye, his plans were in jeopardy. His forces were slowly being cut down by an unknown force whenever they attempted to loot the surrounding lands. With no other way of acquiring provisions they had to rely on the Freys for supplies. He needed Moat Cailin and he needed it fast.
"Enter," Roose spoke in his commanding voice.
Locke, Roose Bolton's right hand man and best tracker entered his personal chambers, closed the door behind himself and stood at attention.
"You requested my presence."
Roose looked up from his maps. "Yes, I need you to gather forty of our best men. You'll ride for Moat Cailin and take it during the night. The castle is ultimately designed for southern incursions."
"It will be done," Locke bowed and prepared to leave.
"I need not remind you that I have no interest in prisoners."
"Of course," Locke smiled vaguely before turning around and leaving.
"As for you, Camelot, Avalon..." Roose mused as he set his gaze on his maps again, jamming a knife down on the God's Eye. "What role will you play in this game...do you fancy yourself king or pawn?"
Camelot, Avalon
"Tristan, Theon!" Tansy yelled hugging them both as they entered the city with their army.
"Woah, easy there girl, don't wanna suffocate us," Tristan commented as he disentangled himself from Tansy's arms.
"Sure," She said, taking a step back. She was dressed in a white gown with a crown of daisies on her head. A typical decoration worn by the young women of the city. Plucked from its fields. "Oh, by the way, there's someone here to see you Tristan. Says he's an old acquaintance."
"Thank you," Tristan smiled. "Alfred, can you and Tansy take over from here?"
"Why do you keep calling me by that name?"
"This is a new life for you, right?" Tristan said, pretending to be hurt. "I only saw it fitting that you got a new name, besides...what's wrong with Alfred Greyboat?"
The Ironborn rolled his eyes. "Nevermind...and yes I and Tansy can take it from here."
"Good," Tristan added. "And if anyone asks why a woman is giving them orders. You smack them on the mouth and remind them that everyone is equal in Avalon."
Theon nodded and prepared to move with the marching soldiers.
"Your friend should be at the palace," Tansy informed before she too walked away.
After informing Oghren of the afternoon festivities, Tristan moved through he streets, towards the palace, greeting the townspeople on the way and doing small feats of magic for the children. Even healing a man who had accidentally caught his own head, during fly fishing with his son. It was around an hour later that he walked through the first courtyard - the one without weirwood trees - and up the stairway surrounding the terrace, when he spotted a familiar figure standing before the ornate front doors. A large crossbow on his back.
"Well, well, well. This sure is a surprise!" the Planeswalker grinned. "Of all the people in the multiverse, I never expected to see a friendly face so soon."
The stranger laughed goodheartedly. "Friendly faces are the only currency worth a damn. Though I must say, yours was much more girly looking last time we met...Hawke or is it Warden Commander or should I call you Tristan Alaire?"
Tristan went up to the man and leaned down to give him a friendly hug. "Good to see you again Varric!"
"When I heard what you were up to, I just had to see for myself," Varric told him, moving away to give Tristan a good look. "Looks like you've done well for yourself."
"Magic does have its perks."
"That it does," Varric commented, but leaned to the side as he eyed four people moving up the stairs. "And who are these characters?"
"Friends!" Tristan clapped his hands together as the four humans stood in front of him and Varric. "This is Varric Tethras an old friend of mine, we go way back."
The Planeswalker then began introducing each of them to the dwarf, though like Oghren he looked like a five foot tall, heavyset human. Varric himself was five foot one, a little over the average for male dwarves.
"Varric this is Tansy, Palace Custodian...she makes sure everything is running smoothly." Varric shook Tansy's hand and gave her a reassuring smile.
"This is Alfred Greyboat, Captain of the Rangers."
"It's actually Theon Greyjoy..." Theon corrected poker-faced, trying not to look annoyed.
"Really Tristan?"
The Planeswalker ignored Varric's comment. "And these are my newly acquired friends; Barry Dandelion and Boris of Mars."
Varric raised an eyebrow at Tristan.
"It's Beric Dondarrion and Thoros of Myr," Beric and Thoros corrected. If they did take offense to Tristan's deliberate misnaming, they did not show it.
"You just love being annoying don't you Hawke?" Varric expressed as they moved into the palace.
"They do say that irritation is the sincerest form of flattery."
"No. I don't think they say that," the Dwarf commented, earning a collective laugh from the others.
King's Landing
Tyrion wiped his forehead as he walked out of Littlefinger's brothel, Prince Oberyn Martell sure was quite a character, not that he harbored any goodwill towards the Prince's less fortunate victims. Lannister men always seemed to have serious difficulties keeping their mouths shut, even if it would provide them a much healthier disposition. It would not surprise Tyrion if the majority of their deaths were the result of petty insults.
As the two nobles walked down the cobbled streets of King's Landing, sparring verbally and while Tyrion tried to avoid the subject concerning his sister Elia. But the Dornishman kept diverting the conversation back toward just that. Ending with both men looking each other in the eye and Oberyn delivering a not so veiled threat, concerning the unofficial Lannister motto and how it could go both ways.
Oberyn's face lightened and he patted the scowling Tyrion on the shoulder. "By the way, on my journey to this city I heard the most peculiar of tales. A city rising from the God's Eye...tell me that can't be true?"
"Oh, its true," Tyrion smirked. "The people call it the City on the Lake or Camelot and trust me most of us did not believe it to begin with. But then traders began arriving with goods nowhere to be found in the Seven Kingdoms and we received reports of strange men patrolling the Riverlands."
"And the city itself?"
"Apparently rivaling even Highgarden in its beauty."
"And the people?" Oberyn grinned.
"Probably beautiful, probably ugly." Tyrion laughed as they walked across the large promenade overlooking the Narrow Sea. "Can't truly say, never met anyone from there...but they do have a ruler...a champion if you're feeling dramatic."
"Is that so..." Oberyn quizzed, running a hand through his beard. "Tell me about this...champion."
"Well they say he's right out of the Age of Heroes. That he can heal a person regardless of their condition, wields a sword and a spear made entirely of Valyrian steel. They also say that he treats everyone equally, societal position or sex not withstanding."
"Really?" the Dornishman voiced, obviously not expecting this from someone north of Dorne. Nonetheless he took it with a grain of salt, favoring his own ears and eyes rather than hearsay. "I would like to meet this...Champion."
"Tristan Alaire the Flame of the West, is what they call him, but don't presume too much. We all know how the masses love to embellish...for apparently he's seven feet tall, kills men by the hundreds and consumes his enemies with fireballs from his eyes and bolts of lightning from his ass."
Oberyn laughed loudly, all too familiar with tales larger than life. "Now I certainly want to meet this, Tristan Alaire."
Camelot, Avalon
Step we gaily on we go
Heel for heel and toe for toe
Arm and arm and row on row
All for Mairi's wedding
The band played merrily as the people danced on the raised floor. The victory festivity in full vigor. Tents and tables, lanterns and fires, food and drink, all were placed around the southern field of Camelot, just outside the walls, but still on the island. The ground was even, only sloping downwards near the water. The gates were open and the festival even stretched into the city streets.
The constant chant of "Drink" could be heard as Oghren and Thoros had engaged in a drinking contest, several tankards of ale littered the table between them. While a victor would be determined in the future, both would be losers in the morning. Tristan's alcohol had a kick quite heftier than Westerosi ale - probably due to having stored it in a pocket dimension where an hour equalled a year. The Westerosi of the city had especially taken a liking to this thing he called, Scotch whisky.
Over hill-way up and down
Myrtle green and bracken brown
Past the shieling through the town
All for Mairi's wedding
"FIRE AWAY!" Tristan exclaimed lighting the fuse and sending a rocket into the air. It exploded into a giant ball of white light that turned into hundreds of rays that descended on the city, before flying out horizontally across the city and the lake in a great circle. The people cheered and laughed to their hearts content, taking great delight in experiencing fireworks for the first time.
Varric in the meantime was regaling a tale for the children, sitting with a pipe in his mouth and a book in his hand.
"And there he stood, the man he had been chasing for most of his life, the man who had killed his father. A look on his face, so sure that he had won. But would not be so, our brave hero pulled the knife from his stomach and parried each slash from his lifelong enemy. Saying these words." Varric jumped up, earning gasps from the children. "HELLO. MY NAME IS INIGO MONTOYA. YOU KILLED MY FATHER. PREPARE TO DIE!"
Plenty herring plenty meal
Plenty peat tae fill her creel
Plenty bonny bairns as weel
That's the toast for Mairi
After setting off a piece of firework that turned into dozens of golden butterflies that the children tried to catch, together with more magnificent pyrotechnics. Tristan walked by Oghren and Thoros who were on their second barrel each, gave a nod to Beric Dondarrion and found Varric. The Dwarf had placed himself on a bench overlooking the waters of the God's Eye and was smoking his pipe, enjoying the festivities that could be seen and heard in the background.
Tristan placed himself beside the Dwarf and conjured forth his own pipe, made a small flame in his hand and lit it. Puffing away as Varric made smoke rings.
"Varric."
"Hawke," the Dwarf replied with a chuckle. "I'm still not used to call you anything but that. The fact that you looked different then...factors in quite a bit."
"Perks of being a Planeswalker," Tristan replied, using his magic to make a ship of smoke, which flew through one of the rings made by Varric.
"That might be. I for one like my current body, besides shapeshifting is way out of my league," Varric commented.
"So tell me. How fare our peers in the multiverse?" Tristan enquired, referring to the planeswalkers who roamed the multiverse.
Planeswalkers, there were many of them, almost uncountable and as varied in strength, skill and intellect as any other intelligent being. They were not even the only creatures capable of traveling the vast cosmos of the multiverse, just more unique. What made them truly different from others was that there were only one of them in the entirety of the multiverse.
While most believe the multiverse is infinite with a few believing it finite, but with such an abundance of worlds that not even a lifetime was enough to count them all. One thing is agreed upon by all and that is the fact that parallel worlds are a common occurrence and that most of them contain similar versions of the same people. Unless one was a planeswalker of course, then due to the peculiar nature of magic, there was only one in the entire multiverse. This was also true for a few godlike beings such as the daedra. Including some worlds. Still, this requires one not to ponder further on the question; are there more than one multiverse?
What truly makes a planeswalkers unique in the multiverse is neither their magical abilities or there only being one of each individual. No, what truly makes planeswalkers loved and feared throughout the cosmos is the fact that they retain their powers upon entering the astral planes. This stands in contrast to beings, like the daedra and aedra, who a fully capable of traversing the multiverse, but the farther they stray from their original plane of existence, the weaker they become. Others simply become, in layman's terms, human or ordinary upon exiting their own realm.
"Well, you know, some hate you some love you..." Varric sighed, blowing out smoke. "Just like Kirkwall, huh."
"At least with everyone out to kill you, life never gets dull," Tristan added, earning a chuckle from his friend.
"True that...still I'd rather not sleep with a knife beneath my pillow."
"How 'bout Isabela, she still mad at me?"
Varric gave Tristan a look as the latter blew out a puff of smoke. "What do you think, you stole her ship!"
"Come on, really? I paid her back tenfold."
"She's a pirate, of course she stays mad, it's the principle of the thing." Varric smiled, making another smoke ring before continuing. "But rest assured, she's happy and sailing the cosmos in a bitching spaceship."
Tristan knocked the ash out of his pipe, a crooked smile on his face. "She better, I gave it to her after all."
"And she's grateful for that...maybe you should pop by when you got the time. Her, Daisy and Sunshine are after all exploring a galaxy far far away."
"Maybe I'll do that, but first, I have business here to conclude."
"Speaking of business," Varric spoke, pulling out a sack of wine and took a swill. "I'm planning on traveling to King's Landing in a few days, you know see the world and all that. Care to join me?"
Tristan snapped his fingers and made his pipe disappear, stroking his chin as if to consider the offer. He smiled and gave his response.
"Why not, I'm sure Alfred, Tansy, Barry and Boris can run the city for some time. Besides, I always wanted to go up to a regent and say; What's up king dude!"
"Then it's settled!" Varric exclaimed, jumping from his seat and dusting his pants off. "We'll leave with the trade caravan in two days."
"But now...time for party and drinking!" Tristan bellowed and so the two friends returned to the festivities.
Tristan jumped up on the raised platform where the band had just finished playing. He held his hand up to show that he was going to say a few words.
"My dear people of Camelot! You have all come in these days from not so far and distant lands, all innocents in a war you had no part in, victims of crimes by perpetrators who went unpunished and most of you did not see a light in the darkness. Until now. Most of you did not believe there was a place that would welcome and shelter all. A place where you are not what you were born, but what you have in yourself to be. A place where all are free. A KINGDOM OF FREEDOM! THE KINGDOM OF AVALON!" Tristan roared, raising his right hand with a clenched fist and joined by the roar of the people.
Tristan opened his hand, motioning for them to silence. "We've lost good people today, good men; husbands, fathers and sons. But do not pity them, cause they're free and wait for you in the halls beyond. Instead rejoice and honor the life they've led, 'cause they gave their lives so all of us could see another day!"
"But enough of that. The time for mourning is over. NOW IT'S TIME TO DRINK, EAT AND CELEBRATE TO OUR HEARTS CONTENT!" Tristan clapped his hands followed by the cheers and whistles from his adopted people.
The Planeswalker went up to the band whispering a few words to them as the festivities began to get back to life. Theon had taken over the fireworks display, while Tansy had decided to man the bar and was filling several mugs with beer. Varric had begun another tale for the children, this time regaling about the small town boy Tristan Thorn and his search for a fallen star.
"Alright people. This is a favorite song of mine, from a green land far away," Tristan snapped his fingers at the band who smiled widely and began playing their instruments. Their flutes loud and clear while Tristan began singing with the rest.
"Oh! then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Tell me why you hurry so?"
"Hush ma bouchal, hush and listen", And his cheeks were all a-glow.
"I bear orders from the captain, Get you ready quick and soon,
For the pikes must be together at the risin' of the moon".
At the risin' of the moon, at the risin' of the moon,
For the pikes must be together at the risin' of the moon.
"Oh! then tell me, Shawn O'Ferrall, Where the gatherin' is to be?"
"In the ould spot by the river, Right well known to you and me.
One word more - for signal token Whistle up the marchin' tune,
With your pike upon your shoulder, By the risin' of the moon".
By the risin' of the moon, by the risin' of the moon,
With your pike upon your shoulder, by the risin' of the moon.
King's Landing, Red Keep
"And what of this...Camelot or Avalon?" Tywin Lannister quizzed, as he looked across the table at the other Small Council members. It was early noon and the head Lannister had just received word from his brother Kevan that Gregor Clegane had lost all his men-at-arms in a skirmish with this City on the Lake.
"There Is no explanation for how it came to be," Varys informed. "But it has become a safe haven for the people of the Riverlands. It's population is already in the thousands and I hear more flock to it with each passing day. Anything else I'm afraid is mostly rumor and guesswork."
"I hear that their...doctors...practice autopsies on dead bodies to study their anatomy." Tyrion commented offhandedly.
"Blasphemy, if I may so," Grand Maester Pycelle butted in.
"You may not, Maester Pycelle." Tywin commanded. "A city rises out of the God's Eye. Roads turn to cobble. A river suddenly runs from the lake to the Quiet Isle and Gregor Clegane loses his forces in a single skirmish. Do you mean to tell me you know nothing of this Kingdom of Avalon!?"
"Who leads them?" Cersei asked.
"A man, Your Grace. His name is Tristan Alaire, the people call him the Silverspear while our men and allies call him the Necromancer. Apparently he has command of the dead."
"Yes and he can slay entire armies and call forth the elements to do his bidding, we've all heard the tales, Varys," Tyrion said nonchalantly. Tywin simply gave him a look, but did not waste his breath.
"What military threat do they pose?"
"From what I could gather he commands an army of around ten thousand men," Varys sighed. "Not a major threat. Nevertheless they have managed to win every battle since their unprecedented appearance."
"Only small skirmishes, they are no threat to us," Cersei commented.
"Don't be so sure dear sister, we might have a new young wolf on our hands," Tyrion replied with a grin.
"This Camelot should swear fealty to the crown," Pycelle added.
"I do have some good news," Varys interrupted the oncoming verbal spar between Tyrion and Cersei. "A caravan from Camelot is expected today, bringing with it goods in such abundance which has not been seen since before the war."
"Good. Then you shall see to it that you gather whatever information you can," Tywin then held up his right index finger. "And find out more about this...Silverspear. We need to know what side he's on and if we can sway him to ours."
"Of course, My Lord Hand."
"Now, as for the coming wedding..." Tywin said, directing the meeting to a more pressing topic.
However the head of House Lannister reminded himself to find out more about this Avalon and their City on the Lake. Were they a potential friend or foe, did the rumors about this Tristan Alaire contain a ring of truth. Tywin did not believe so, but that did not warrant him to underestimate a man able to unite people like moths to a fire. Interesting times were definitely on the horizon.
King's Road
"Tell me again, why you didn't zap this Clegane with your unlimited power?" Varric questioned. He was sitting on one of the trade caravan's wagon with Tristan. Bianca resting firmly in his hands.
Tristan let out a laugh before replying. The Planeswalker had changed into his pirate assassin robes. Andúril and the Silverspear lay on the wagon's bench. A belt which could carry both his sword and spear was fastened around his right shoulder. A red sash around his waist and both his hidden blades on his arms. In his hands was a black recurve bow.
"Well, you know me. I always prefer creation over destruction...and I find more enjoyment in physical combat than waving my arms around and scream; UNLIMITED POWAH!"
Varric chuckled coarsely. "True, nothing quite like skewering your enemies upfront and personal."
"Exactly, there's nothing like sticking phallic objects into a another living, breathing being."
Varric tilted his head and gave Tristan a curious lok. "You've been cradling that bow for most of the journey. What's the story behind it?"
"This!" Tristan exclaimed as he held up the black bow. "Is the Epirus bow, made out of a magical tree from mythical Greece. It generates its own set of arrows, with each carrying enough concussive force to send a man flying backwards and while they dissipate over time, they do not arc."
Tristan then demonstrated the bow's magical properties when he placed two fingers on the string. The entire string glowed golden and an arrow made of light appeared where a regular one would be. As he pulled the string further back, the arrow's glow intensified and the hum it produced augmented.
"If I hold it back long enough it can shatter stone and even breach castle gates," Tristan informed. "And if whatever you're shooting doesn't die after you pump it full of magic arrows...it's probably a dragon!"
"I see why you covet it," Varric observed, as Tristan made the bow disappear into hammerspace. "And why do I not have one of those?"
"Really Varric?" Tristan teased. "You're just going to leave poor Bianca behind for younger pastures."
"I thought you knew me better, Hawke!" Varric played along. "I demand satisfaction!"
"En garde!" Tristan exclaimed and jumped up striking a pose, but in his haste the leather string holding his amulet caught on to a protrusion in the wooden walls and snapped. His portkey amulet slid off and landed hard on the wagon floor and let out a flash of blue energy. Hitting Tristan square in the chest.
"Well, shit..." the Planeswalker stated as the pull of magic fell over him.
"You okay?"
"Yeah, see you in King's Landing when I get there." Was all Varric got to hear as Tristan grabbed his sword and spear, attached them to his back before disappearing in a tiny whirlwind. Varric shook his head and leaned back. This was going to be a long day.
Unknown Location
Tristan kept screaming out loud as the whirlwind reappeared and shot him out, he landed hard upside down on a couch, his silver amulet flying out last and hit him in the head. Letting out a groan before getting up, pocketing the amulet as he did.
As he looked around he found himself in a large tent, most likely the private abode of someone important. Going by the luxurious decor; a large bed with soft pillows and sheets, finely carved furniture, with fine jewelry and clothes strewn about. It was probably only a temporary home, considering it was a tent. The flaps were down at the entrance, which meant the Planeswalker was completely alone. The soft murmur of voices could be heard outside, but it went unnoticed by Tristan as he was sore from his landing.
It was first when he got up, that he felt different. As if his physique had changed and redistributed his weight and height. When he looked down at himself, he could do nothing but sigh in exasperation.
"Oh for the love of god!" the Planeswalker exclaimed, facepalming.
Tristan went over to a large mirror in the room to study himself. His clothes had changed too, while still the same, they were now more form fitting. Fortunately his weapons were still on his back, but due to his reduced height; Andúril was now too long for him to pull out. When he tried to change back to his previous form, he discovered that he could not.
"Very funny Sheogorath. Very funny!"
Tristan ran a hand through his hair and let out a huff of air. His voice had also changed to a Scottish Brogue instead of his previous Welsh. It was not too bad in the end. It was a previous form the Planeswalker had used. It was the fact that he now had to rebuild his reputation, that irked him. That was if he could not change back when he returned to Westeros, cause where he was now was most likely not there.
Tristan or Saskia as that was the name he had used for his current form, studied himself, or rather herself in the mirror. Five foot six inches tall, fit yet curvaceous body, slightly tanned, but fair skin. Red hair cascading around her shoulders in a mane of thick curls, going all the way to the small of her back. All topped off by a pair of deep blue eyes framing a pretty face.
"I'm definitely going to have a word with those two daedra," Saskia mumbled to herself as she let her hands travel across her new form. "On the other hand..."
Whatever Saskia had planned on doing was interrupted as the door to the room was flung open and a woman walked in. Everything went silent as the two women stared at each other.
Unlike Saskia, the newcomer was clad in a backless white dress, which had a diamond shaped midsection that showed off her stomach. She was cute, not overly tall, with platinum blond hair.
"Who are you, what are you doing in my chambers, explain yourself!" the woman commanded, taking a quick look at Saskia's weapons. If she was afraid she hid it well.
Saskia lifted her right hand, palm facing outwards, clearing her throat. She said the first thing that came to her mind. "I can explain..."
Silence reigned supreme. The blonde blinked a few times, crossing her arms and waited for this intruder to star explaining.
Saskia repeated herself. "Let me explain..."
The blonde stood still, an unreadable expression on her face as Saskia still had her arm extended. Only the sound of birds broke the monotony of awkward quietude. Though it was not to be as the blonde smashed the silence with one word.
"GUARDS!"
Second chapter and events are beginning to coalesce. Will the Planeswalker regain the body of Tristan Alaire or is he now trapped as Saskia. Who is the blond woman and what will Varric do in King's Landing?
All of this will be revealed in the next chapter...maybe all.
