Not very much of a wait, was it? ;) This chapter precedes 'ACOK: Catelyn I' in chronology. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim any ideas, places, or characters from the 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series. Cheers
He walked in the halls of the keep, wandering endlessly after his lessons had been adjourned. It was something of a museum to him as he observed the pale red stone that made up the walls, witnesses to nearly three hundred years of history. His tutor had told him the castle had been built by the Conqueror himself after he had first stepped foot in Westeros. It was a fine castle, but long had the Targaryen decorations been removed. In their stead, those of a stag and lion now lined the walls.
He heard noises emanating from down the corridor, peaking his curiosity. He increased his stride into nearly a run before turning into a room where he saw the source. "Olyvar." A little girl with the most beautiful golden curls called to him, beaming. "Come play with me and Tommen." Alongside of her was a boy, a bit plump with matching gold hair. He too turned and beamed at the sight of him, grinning from ear to ear.
He couldn't help but to smile as he ascended the stairs to where the siblings were playing, around the chair that their father sat in. He found it a detestable thing honestly. It was formed up of many blades, all looking as sharp as the ones that he often wielded during his training. He often wondered how any man could sit comfortably in it, especially a man as large as the girl's father.
The children played around the chair for quite some time before the girl suggested a game. "Tommen, you sit on the chair and pretend to be king, while I'll be your queen!"
"My sister can't be my queen though." The boy remarked, nearly in despair over the trivial matter. He is only four, after all.
"Okay, well then Olyvar can be king, and I'll be his queen! You can be the Hand!" Tommen's face lit up at the thought, whist Olyvar's own face fell. Being king meant that he would have to sit on the chair of swords, something he didn't want to do in the slightest. But the girl had already grabbed his arm. "Come on, Olyvar. You have to sit on the throne!"
"W-wait, Myrcella!" Olyvar was forced into it, despite his pleas for Tommen to sit in the chair and be king while he was the Hand, just like his father was to Tommen and Myrcella's father. Admitting defeat and accepting being put into the chair, he tried getting into a comfortable position, but just as he had suspected, the Iron Throne wasn't the easiest or softest chair he had ever sat on. It was stiff and rigid, and Olyvar kept a constant eye on the blades that it was made up of, keen to avoid cutting himse;f.
"See?" Blissful Myrcella said with a smile. "Now I can sit beside you, like Mother does for Father." And so Myrcella took her seat as his mock queen, whilst Tommen stood beside him. Eventually Olyvar stopped sulking and began to enjoy the game that they played. They imagined themselves sitting and adhering to the pleas of peasants and of lords who were in need of aid, just as their fathers did daily.
"Oh? What is this now?" The children had been so busy that they had not noticed a large man enter the doorway, an amused look on his face. He was followed by a much older man who was wearing a blue cloak.
"Father!" All three children yelled, rushing down the stairs for the men. Little Tommen had a tougher time waddling down the stairs, allowing Myrcella and Olyvar to streak past him. Myrcella entered the embrace of her father, King Robert, while Olyvar stopped short of his father, beaming up at him. Jon Arryn returned the affection with a smile, patting him on the head affectionately.
"Olyvar."
Startled, his eyes open quickly to the sight of a ceiling made of grey stone. Gone was the pale red of the Red Keep, where he had spent the majority of his life. Gone were the memories of playing with Myrcella and Tommen, and gone were the faces of his father and the king. Olyvar Arryn began to gather his thoughts. Riverrun. Yes, I'm in Riverrun. He turned his head to the side to the sight of his his aunt, Catelyn Stark, kneeling alongside of him, a soft smile on her face that resembled the one his father has worn in the dream.
"Olyvar. Your grandfather has sent for you and Robb. He wishes to lay eyes on the two of you." Olyvar had to process the request for a moment. Grandfather…yes, I remember now. He's dying. Hoster Tully had grown sick in the past few years, and many suspected that he would not survive to see another nameday.
"Of course, Aunt Catelyn. I will change into something more presentable, then I shall meet Robb at Grandfather's chambers." She nodded and smiled before exiting his quarters. Olyvar rose from his bed and changed his garb. He chose a blue tunic to match his cloak, the very same that his father had worn so often during his work as Hand. After stretching his arms and legs, he made for the door.
Riverrun had become engulfed in a flurry of activity since he and the Starks had arrived to save the homeland of his and Robb's mothers. But what had once been peaceful and harmonious had become a strained truce, with hostilities threatening to spill out at any moment. All of it beginning at the meeting that had occurred two days previous. Damn the Greatjon. What was he thinking?
Robb's bannermen had done the unthinkable and declared him a king. What Olyvar had thought would be a meeting for all three regions to swear fealty to Stannis had collapsed into madness, where the North and Riverlands were united in support of the Starks and independence from the Iron Throne. But it had not gone unnoticed that the Vale had not done the same, and many of the bolder men had questioned the Vale's courage, as well as if kinship meant anything to them.
Of course it does, else why would I be here peacefully instead of taking your head for questioning my honor?! Olyvar knew that he had made a mistake in the words that he had aimed at Marq Piper the night previous, where the lordling had dared to question him about how much his family truly mattered. Swords had been drawn between the lords loyal to Robb and those pledged to Olyvar. Only the fierce words of the Blackfish had quelled the tempers, but everyone knew that unless the Vale swore itself to Robb, they were not long for Riverrun.
Olyvar was insulted by the whispers and slights he heard that went against him. Was he not fighting to free Sansa and Arya, as well as doing his rightful duty towards his king, Stannis Baratheon? Did he not come to the aid of the Riverlands in their defense from Tywin Lannister? Yet even after all of that, even after he had been the one to reveal Cersei's treachery and Joffrey as a bastard, he felt like one of the most hated men in Westeros.
He finally found the door that housed his Grandfather, Robb outside of it, supposedly waiting for him. Olyvar had not spoken to his cousin since he had been declared a king by his men, but gave a nod in respect nonetheless, which was returned. "Shall we?" Robb asked nervously.
"Suppose so." Olyvar opened the door to reveal a room that felt bleak to him. Located in a bed that was situated in the far corner of the room was their grandfather. Hoster Tully indeed looked like a man on the verge of being embraced by the Stranger. He had lost much weight since Olyvar had seen him last, but upon their entrance, he was still met with a smile.
"Ahhh, the children of my sweet daughters." Hoster beckoned them to come closer, which Olyvar and Robb did, kneeing at the side of the bed. "You, you must be Robb. Yes…Catelyn's hair and my eyes." Olyvar saw Robb smile as he was addressed. "And you….sharp brown eyes, a tint of Lysa's coloring…you are Olyvar Arryn. Yes, I remember now. How you have grown."
"Grandfather, it is so good to see you once more." Olyvar to the old man's hand into his own, being careful to not squeeze too hard. Then it was Robb's turn to grip the hand before the old man patted them both on the head.
"I hear that one of you has been crowned a king." Lord Tully said feebly. "Catelyn told me, visited me the morning after….Robb, yes it was you. A King of Winter." The old man gave another smile. "My blood, a king."
Olyvar wanted nothing more than to protest, but could not find it in himself to do so in the presence of his grandfather. He was glad that Robb spoke. "Yes, Grandfather. Your men and mine have crowned me king. We will defeat the Lannisters, together."
"Together…." Their grandfather took a long time, formulating his next thought. "Yes, the two of you. Together. Yes, none shall defeat you." Olyvar did his best to not look sullen or to scowl. He put on the face that Stannis had trained him to use whenever he had need to hide his emotions. It was an iron stare that Olyvar never did like, but he helped to complement it with a smile, albeit forced.
"Of course, Grandfather. We will defeat the lions together." Olyvar knew that this drew a look from Robb. Don't you dare assume anything, my kin. But before either boy could speak again, the door behind them opened once more. Olyvar turned to the sight of Edmure, his face solemn and distant.
"Father, I have come."
"Edmure, my son." Hoster Tully's voice almost seemed lost. "Boys, leave us be. I have things to discuss with your uncle." Olyvar gave a bow alongside of Robb before the two left the room together, Olyvar making sure the door behind them was shut.
"He is dying." Robb said simply.
"Aye, it is as we feared." Olyvar was at least thankful that he and Robb had arrived to help liberate Riverun so that they could lay eye on their grandfather for one final time. He had only met Lord Hoster twice, one with his mother Lysa five years ago, and another with his father three years ago. The latter visit was made by Jon on orders of Robert, who wished to know of the state of affairs throughout the realm. Ironically, it was the same trip that Olyvar had also visited the Starks on.
"Mother weeps for him daily. I can see it in her eyes. They're always red in the morning." Robb's mentioning of Catelyn made Olyvar uncomfortable. Seeing as his own mother was in the Eyrie under his orders, Lysa Arryn would not be able to see her passing father one final time. Not that her paranoia would allow her to leave the Vale anyways.
"The sooner we defeat the Lannisters, the sooner this madness can end." Olyvar said simply and bitterly. "We need to get the girls back."
"Only one of the few demands I've made to the Lannisters. I'm sending down one of Cersei's cousins to King's Landing to present them."
"Ahhh, I've forgotten. Royal proclamations." Olyvar knew that his cousin was not going to appreciate the words coming out of his mouth, but pressed on. "How do you enjoy being a king?"
"I didn't ask for this." Robb responded fiercely as the two continued walking.
"No, but you certainly didn't take any liberties in rejecting them, did you?" When Robb had no answer to Olyvar's cold words and sharp gaze, he continued. "Stannis is rightful. You and I know that. And you are simply going to abandon him for the love of your lords and a crown on your head."
"And why is that so awful to you?" Robb began once again. "The love of my lords and the promise of peace. Separation away from a kingdom that for three hundred years has ruled over my people."
"Because you are not rightful."
"Aegon the Conqueror wasn't rightful until he came to Westeros to make himself a king. Robert Baratheon certainly wasn't rightful until he led his rebellion and took the throne. How is what I'm doing so different from them?!" It was Olyvar's turn to be wordless. He could not find an answer to his liking. "Our ancestors knelled to the dragons when he arrived, but now they are gone. Why should we not be kings again?"
"We have our oaths and vows, and we are bound to them by the honor that we are supposed to represent our houses with!" Olyvar and Robb's hisses had now become shouts, likely leaking through the stone walls and into the corridor that had led them to the room. "Are you going to throw that all away for a crown? Are you simply going to disobey the law?!"
"The North and the south seem to adhere to different laws. My lords made me their king, what better right can one have? Perhaps you're just jealous that yours did not do the same for you!"
"At least I don't allow my selfish desires to get the better of me." Olyvar met Robb's glare with just as much intensity. "Your father would have done what I'm doing. He-" The words could not escape his mouth, as Robb's right fist made contact with his jaw. Olyvar reeled and fell back into the stone wall, not fully aware of what had just happened. But it only took a moment for him to understand. "You bastard!"
He leaped back at Robb Stark, intending on breaking the arm that had delivered the punch. Punches, elbows, kicks, all was legal in the brawl. It was not playful as their others had been in Winterfell, where they had often scrapped with Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow. This was a fight, and it was a fight that Olyvar desired more than anything to win.
"WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS?! Seize them!" The booming voice of the Greatjon called out, and before long Olyvar felt several pairs of hands on him, pulling him away from his cousin. He struggled for a moment, wanting to punch Robb one more time, before calming down. He surveyed the damage he had done to his cousin; the outlines of a punch was over Robb's left eye, likely to blacken. Olyvar felt blood trickling down his lip, which felt as if it was swollen.
"What is this madness that has come over both of you?!" The stern voice of his aunt came after the Greatjon's, anger evident in every syllable. "Fighting like children, how unseemly for a king and a high lord!"
Normally, Olyvar would have hung his head in shame. But his anger at Robb, the Lannisters, and the Freys, all of it fueled him. He ripped away from the grips of his captors, which were garbed in the Tully colors, before looking Robb directly in his blue eyes. "Do what you want. You are no king of mine."
"Olyvar!" He heard his aunt call back for him, but he had swiftly exited the door and made his way down to the grounds, where he was supposed to have met Lord Royce some time later in the day. But now, he could not wait, and he found the Lord of Runestone sitting in his personal tent. "My lor- gods, what has happened to you?"
"The story can wait, Lord Royce." Olyvar's fury overtook his voice. "How long before we can rally our men?"
"I can have them ready in a few moments, my lord."
"Good. We depart for the Ruby Ford. We're going south and winning the Stormlands in King Stannis' name!"
A/N: Ahh, youthful stupidity and testosterone. I remember when I was a teenager.
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