Author's note: Hello, I'm rewriting this story and this is the first chapter. I hope you like it, I made a lot of changes from the original to fit better canonically.
We have the return of the Hammer of Justice and his son Tristifer, as well as new lords.
I'll list some changes I made to make it simpler.
1) Some houses named as vassals of the Mudd in the previous story have been removed.
2) The Tullys reportedly fought alongside the Hammer of Justice, but only went on to win the lordship of Riverrun with Axel Tully granted by Armistead Vance. In this story they will be like a chivalrous house, but much more powerful.
3) The Strong go back to the First Men, they will be in this story and as there are no reports of what their lands were before Harrenhal, so here I have granted them Fairmarket.
4) Some smaller houses without much information I kept as vassals of the Mudd.
5) You'll notice that some houses will side with the Andals, but as knights or warlords.
Finally after some explanations, comment, suggest things for the future.
Summery
After conquering the Vale, the Andal warlords continued west through the Bloody Gate or sailed up the Trident into the riverlands, where they established their own small kingdoms. Tales from the era include the Fall of Maidenpool and the death of its young king Florian V Mooton; the Widow's Ford where Lord Darry's three sons held off Vorian Vypren and his Andals for a day and a night, slaying hundreds before they were themselves slain; and the events of the night in the White Wood. The Blackwoods and Brackens allied to oppose the Andals, but were shattered by 777 charging Andal knights and seven septons, at the great Battle of Bitter River.
The greatest of the river kings to oppose the Andals was King Tristifer IV Mudd, whom the Tullys fought alongside in many of his campaigns.
And now the story begins.
The Chronicles of Firs Men - House Mudd
Chapter 1
Mudd
Hammer of Justice
The last king standing, that's how the Andals referred to him. He had assumed the throne from his father when Tristan II died, Tristifer was fourteen days of his name when he first marched off to war and with him his war hammer, he was now over sixty, he had lost four sons in this war. Tristifer his youngest, was the last legitimate son alive and still unprepared.
Under his rule, the Mudd expanded, controlling almost all the lands bordered by the three branches of the Trident. Their lands now stretched from Neck to the crossroads of Red Fork and from Tumblestone to the border with Darry's lands. It could have expanded further, but it never had peace, for more than two decades it had to repel attacks from the Arryn and the Andal lords.
Little by little its former enemies fell, Florian V Mooton, Darry's three sons Jonothor, Jammos and Jaremy, Roderick Blackwood and Brandon Bracken. Their power perished to one and other, but Tristifer withstood them all. Roland IV Arryn was beheaded, Vorian Vypren had his skull blown off by Tristifer's hammer. Armistead Vance now united all the weak and then his Andal Knights, the Terror of the Rivers as he was called, knew how to face the First Men, and were more than capable in battle.
Last night, the king had had a dream that he and his son would die in battle, that the Andals would rule the Riverlands, and that the scum would spread to all the kingdoms. Tristifer had been terrified by visions of weirwoods cut down, Children of the Forest dead, houses that resisted extinguished, he would do his utmost for that dream not to come true. The king's attention turned to the news he had received, perhaps because of what he had dreamed.
Tristifer's scouts had returned a few days ago, an army of over twenty thousand men and two hundred septons had formed in Stoney Sept. Tristifer knew exactly where those men were going to come, the Andals wanted his head, he had been warring almost constantly for another forty years. At best, he could field half the enemy forces.
Still, when he called his lords and now gathered in the main hall to discuss the course of action, he could see the banners hanging all over the place. A leaping silver trout on a field of blue and mud red. A tripartite pale, blue, red, and green, on a white field. Three sprigs of mistletoe, green and red, on a gold field within a green border. Per fesse, a divided blue, red, green field above, a white catfish on a black field below. Quarterly of nine; a white fish on a gray field; a goldfish hook on a white field. Per saltire purple and gold, four hawks' heads counterchanged. Three red martlets on a white bend, on a blue field.
He knew every one of those men. Tully, Strong, Charlton, Shawney, Keath, Terrick, and Grell. Lord Edmure Tully, in his nearly fifty years, with his three children Edwyle, Edmyn and Edwyn. Lord Denys Strong at the head of ten children, thirty grandchildren, seven great-grandchildren, and two great-great-grandchildren. And finally the lords of less power and influence, Corwyn Charlton, Jonothor Keath, Oscar Terrick, Harold Shawney and Desmond Grell.
In the flags of Armistead Vance there were the notable sers Jon Piper, Jason Mallister, Lucas Vypren and Patrek Smallwood. Those all were battle proven, Tristifer killed relatives of all of them, finally united against his government. No Blackwood, Bracken, Darry or Mooton banners, Vance was smart enough not to put compatriots to fight each other. Even without those banners, the chances of victory were minimal, Tristifer knew he needed to win, otherwise it would all be over there.
Tristifer raised his eyes to observe the vassals present, most of them had followed him into battle before. At the end of it all, the two most important were Tully and Strong, those men had followed him into more battles than anyone else. Edmure Tully still retained a great mane of red hair, as did his full beard, a big strong man. Lord Denys Strong was short, with a hooked nose, very thin, but in his eyes there was a wisdom that few men could hope to match.
The years had brought him experience to see things no other could. Tristifer could almost feel the fear emanating from the men, even the most experienced were on the edge of their seats, their eyes apprehensive watching the maps on the table and then their king, their mouths dry and afraid to make out the words. Another man would have found it disappointing, but Tristifer understood, in the face of death if they didn't have that reaction it would be the most reckless thing they could do.
"We are facing our greatest challenge, Armistead Vance will be marching soon, we have barely gathered half that number here. They outnumber us in every way, in two days we will march." That seemed to break the spell that kept the men silent, it wasn't long before they started shouting at each other.
Keath and Terrick drew swords at each other, but were restrained by Grell and Charlton, Strong said they should retreat and call for help from the northerners, Tully proposed facing them in a nearby region that was covered in mud. Tristifer heard everything quietly, without agreeing or disagreeing, these were normal occurrences in almost any meeting.
The only one silent was Harold Shawney, the last of his house alive, the women and children of his house had been kidnapped by Vorian Vypren while the men settled a matter with bandits. When Tristifer led the men into battle, all the men of the Shawney house died, but it was thanks to their miraculous charge that they won that battle. Harold survived because he was only ten years old and did not go to battle, it had been three years since that event.
He also remembered that when they arrived at the Andals camp, some of his most experienced men vomited at what they saw. What the invaders did was so barbaric that Tristifer still had nightmares about it.
Tristifer realized that the boy was trembling, he was far from coming of age, but he had taken on an enormous responsibility. The last of his household, caught between the duty to avenge his relatives, but also having to continue the legacy of his family, he did not envy the boy. Even with a tabard, chain mail and an ax, Harold still looked like a boy, his face reddish, his hair brown, and thin as the branches of a weirwood.
"Lord Shawney, what is your view on what we face?" The boy looked as if he was about to fall into tears beside Tristifer, lord Keath sneered, but the king saw to it that he shot his vassal a look, causing him to immediately cringe and cast an apologetic glance at Harold.
"Your Grace." He began shakily, hesitantly, he could understand the boy. "I think it is prudent, the Starks even if they have no love for us could provide some help, since Theon killed Argos Sevenstar, but..." Harold stopped, unsure of how to proceed, the boy visibly cringed at not knowing how to proceed.
His lords now turned their gaze again towards their king, Tristifer would have liked to have his beloved wife at his side, but the Andals killed her, as did his brilliant heir Lymond, and the others too, all with bright futures.
"We will march out to face the Andals in battle." Tristifer's words made all the men nod, even if some felt that battle would not be the prudent thing to do they would still follow the legend of the Hammer of Justice. Never defeated, and yet in every battle he lost a friend, a son, someone he loved.
"We will take our troops at this point, we will force them across the Red Fork, we will have Whispering Wood at our back, their large numbers will not mean much for some time, for they will have to divide their troops to attack us." Tristifer liked to control the factors of a battle, but the only ones he could hope to do were in experience and choice of battlefield.
Conversations continued for a few hours, minor additions to the overall plan and leadership choices. His vanguard would be commanded by lord Jonothor Keath, the right would be under Edmure Tully, the left would belong to his heir Tristifer, the king would have the center, and lord Strong the rear.
The dream returned to the king's memory, his eyes roamed the map looking for a way out, if he had more men he could attack them in a way that part of their army would be on the wrong side of the river before they could react. Tristifer felt the idea forming in his mind, and then it came to the king.
He would need to touch old wounds, stir things he preferred to leave quiet. He needed to get Tristifer in line, the king had lost himself in the routine of the war and let his heir run wild, he couldn't wait any longer, if he didn't survive that battle, there would only be one Mudd alive. It was time to change that.
"Garth, bring to my manor lord Shawney and Brynden." His guard nodded before leaving, Tristifer leaned back in his chair, analyzing the map. He would need to trust the fate of his kingdom and culture into the hands of a child and a bastard, it seemed like the beginning of some joke his late brother Jonos would have made.
The Chronicles of First Men - House Mudd
Chapter 1
Mudd
The Bastard of Oldstones
Brynden was among the archers when Garth, one of the king's guards, came to call him to appear at the sovereign's manor. It was a few times that he was called to the presence of the Hammer of Justice, and mostly when the king had some work to be done.
He had made a reputation for mediating confrontations on behalf of the king, although he had considerable skill with a sword and was even better with a bow, it was in the field of diplomacy that he excelled. It might seem ironic, but his mother had been a peddler, he learned all he could to continue in her footsteps, only the andals killed her and Brynden joined the ranks to avenge his mother.
The bastard's eyes narrowed when he saw the young lord Shawney leave the royal chambers whiter than the snows Beyond the Wall, the boy was visibly trembling and muttering softly, Brynden only understood the word 'journey', was the king sending the boy away? Since he was the last of his bloodline he could understand the decision, His Grace would never let the boy die in battle, he felt indebted to the deaths of his family.
When he was allowed in, Brynden noticed that the king looked older and frail than at any other meeting of the two. Tristifer IV Mudd was tall, his hair had fallen out completely in the last five years, but his beard was full and well-kept, the marks of age were very present, as were the scars he had gained. His eyes were blue and possessed infinite wisdom that made any man think twice before questioning.
The king wore a brown tabard, with the Mudd crown embroidered on the chest, leather shoulder pads, a chain mail underneath, a leather belt, green pants, and leather boots that went to the middle of his shins completed the outfit.
The sovereign's manor, although one of the largest, did not show great wealth. Brynden could see the balcony, a table within reach of the light with maps and scrolls, quill, ink and stamps. A few tapestries along the walls, the building of Oldstones, the Pact, the migration of the First Men, the founding of Mudd House. None of the king's accomplishments were seen, Brynden knew exactly why. On the walls there were also shelves with books, some tomes we're old and dated from the migration to Westeros.
It was all grand, but what caught Brynden's attention the most was a space in the wall, there hung the king's war hammer, and oak shield. That weapon earned his legendary nickname, Brynden had seen men flee at the mention of the name Tristifer Mudd, the bastard had witnessed andals piss themselves when the Hammer of Justice appeared before them, and armies retreated when the Mudd banner appeared on the battlefield. To him that meant power, his king did not need to speak, his deeds built the mystique behind the legend and the name, that was something the bastard of Oldstones envied.
"Your Grace, did you send it to me?" Brynden really was curious, he knew the king would not negotiate with the Andals, Tristifer would rather die before bowing. The king's expression softened, and the bastard swallowed dryly, feeling uncomfortable.
"I told you not to call me that in private, son." And there it was, the king at twenty years shortly after his wife's death became involved with Brynden's mother for a few nights, and he was born, a royal bastard, Brynden Rivers, or as he became known as the Bastard of Oldstones. The king was ashamed, in his words he had condemned Brynden to a hard and cruel life, the boy couldn't help but resent him a little, their relationship was not close, but Tristifer trusted him for unique missions.
Brynden fought not to cringe when his father touched him on the cheek, as much as he hated to admit it, a part of him was happy to be recognized by the king for his abilities. Being a bastard was hard, but the boy was honored for his diplomatic accomplishments and justice on behalf of the king.
Without another word, the king signaled for them to accompany him to the table, Brynden observed the positions, this battle would be difficult, but if anyone could reverse it was Tristifer IV Mudd, but how many would die? He felt a chill on the back of his neck at the thought of that, the Old Gods would give them strength.
"You will go to Winterfell, the Hungry Wolf has a deep hatred for the Andals, I proposed an alliance between the Mudd and Stark by marriage in that letter." His father handed a scroll into his hands, Brynden understood, but was too late for that in his opinion. "I will marry Theon Stark's younger sister, and Tristifer to his eldest daughter, you may negotiate other terms." That shocked him if his father choosing to leave widowhood to marry was desperate, it reminded him of the words he had heard many times that a king needed to make the hard decisions.
"I feel honored, but even though Northerners aren't so prejudiced against bastards, I'm still a Rivers, and that might seem like a disregard." The king didn't even blink before pulling out another scroll, this one was open, but Brynden could see that it had the royal signature and seal.
When he read the contents he was shocked, before casting an incredulous glance at his father, not even all his oratory skills and expression control could keep him from feeling his mouth go dry and eyes water.
"That..." he whispered, not believing what he had read.
"There are only two Mudd living, that is unacceptable, I am legitimizing you, you are now Prince Brynden Mudd, second in line of succession to the throne." Not even hearing that from his father made him believe it, only in his fanciest dreams did things happen, Brynden felt his father's embrace and was even more shocked when he found himself reciprocating.
"Your mother was a queen among women, I wanted to make her my wife, but she refused saying that a king should not marry a commoner, I am proud to have you as my son Brynden." The now prince quickly wiped away the tears that threatened to fall as he took a step back.
"I don't know how to repay you, father." Brynden spoke with a small smile, and his progenitor patted his shoulder.
"I've wanted to do this for a while, but the one who came up with it was your brother, Tris suggested, apparently if he stays away from wine and women he can get some good ideas." He couldn't help but be happy, Tris was a good men, the duties of being heir weighed on him, but they always had a good relationship, Brynden would remember to buy him a drink later.
"It's time for him to grow up, I will make sure of that." His father's tone of finality made Brynden feel sorry for his older brother, when Tristifer IV decided something, no man could convince him otherwise. "And you will now have new responsibilities, you will need to marry the daughter of some of my vassals." That realization made him pale, he remembered the times he had seen Tris' suitors, perhaps he should decline legitimization and remain a bastard.
"Better not be one of Keath's daughters or granddaughters." He spoke softly, but his father laughed out loud, lord Jonothor Keath was known as Fishface among the troops, bulging eyes, small ears, crooked teeth, potato nose and oily skin, his wife Marna Boggs lacked the same lack of beauty as well as being fat. It turned out that all his sons, daughters, grandsons and granddaughters had the same lack of beauty, no wonder it was said that Lord Keath needed to offer his weight in bronze to marry them.
"Don't worry, I bet he will pay a good dowry." His father smiled one last time, before adopting a serious posture, Brynden straightened up, as he felt those eyes seeming to peer into his soul.
"Go and take ten men, have a good trip and be careful, Neck is dangerous." Brynden nodded before walking toward the door, but first he heard his father call to him. "Do you know where Tris is?" He denied before leaving as he made his way through the halls.
Tris had been missing since the morning, but knowing his half brother, he could be anywhere, many people followed his father's banners, sons, daughters, grandsons, granddaughters, among many others. Brynden decided to put that aside before heading towards the stables, Tris shouldn't be doing anything foolish.
Chronicles of First Men - House Mudd
Chapter 1
Mudd
The Heir
Sweat dripped down Tris' body, her mouth closed against that of the girl in her arms as the prince continued to move in and out of her. A red-haired beauty with blue eyes, full breasts, narrow waist, wide hips, thick thighs. His kiss was broken by another small hand, and he turned to kiss the other girl, a twin of the girl below him, the difference was that this one had shorter hair.
It didn't take long for the prince to explode inside the girl, and fall onto the bed, one to his right and one to his left. Yes, the one that was the good life, sex, drink and battle, Tris loved all that, he had tasted the daughters, sisters and wives of many of her father's vassals, and even some of the Andal Knights. If the gods made anything better than the core between a woman's legs, then they should be keeping it with them.
Since he learned of the upcoming battle he preferred to occupy her mind, he didn't like to think and reflect on the plans, as her father did, because it brought back bad memories. Tris liked to live carefree, his uncle Lord Strong had told him many times that he should be more centered, a foolish man, but his daughters knew him very well, what could he do? The girls were pretty.
"What are you thinking, my prince?" He turned to the short haired twin, kissing the tip of her nose, as the girl traced her fingers across his chest, Tris was exhausted and his loins ached from the exertion, but he smiled, though he didn't have a chance to answer.
"Don't disturb the prince with your nonsense, Lysandra." Tris cast a glance at the other twin, her eyebrow arched in amusement.
"You who are a disturbance, Myrianne." And the twins began to argue, Tris let them go on a little longer because it made her amused, but she soon slapped each one on the hips before casting the girls a stern look.
"You know I don't like you fighting, now my beautiful red flowers, let's get some sleep, and we can pick up later where we left off." The girls apologized softly and Tris let fatigue take control of his mind, and the prince soon fell asleep.
The first thing he dreamed about was her mother, she died when he was three at the hands of an Andal warlord, he barely remembered her face, but Tris still felt that warm glow, the gentle touch and the sweet voice encouraging her. He almost always had the same dream, where he lay on her mother's lap, and she told her stories while stroking her hair.
Tris felt good and welcomed, but something different happened, something dripped on his face and then more and more, the prince opened his eyes seeing his mother's throat slit as blood flowed falling on his face, and realized that on her face the eyes were torn out. The boy crawled backwards scared, trying to create space between him and his mother's corpse, but as he crawled he felt he touched mud, he raised his hand in fright.
The prince looked around and saw a muddy battlefield, he stood up, realizing that he was now wearing armor and his ax was hanging from his back, while the ironwood shield was attached to his right arm. Tris realized he was in the vicinity of Whispering Wood, he looked around seeing the banners of the vassals of house Mudd falling one by one and no matter how many times they killed the Andals they kept coming.
Most of the troops were fleeing, except his position he could hear commanders shouting to retreat, Tris saw from afar his father standing fighting. The warhammer was smashing armor, breaking bones, smashing enemies mercilessly, a pile of bodies surrounded him, until a knight sneaked up behind him and the prince saw his father dispatch three enemies and take a breath, then he was cutted through the back dropping dead.
The wind blew again and Tris found himself again in a losing battle, thousands dead and the Andal Knights slaughtering the men mercilessly, the boy knew something very terrible had happened.
"Your Grace retreat." He heard the voice of one of the faceless soldiers, but ignored it looking around stunned, he saw Oldstones burning in the background and then his senses screamed. Tris found himself face to face with Armistead Vance, and then a sharp pain in his chest, he was dying he realized, as his body tumbled into the mud he began to sink until he was all swallowed up by the earth.
Tris crawled out of the mud in agony, dirty from head to toe, but all around was quiet, he found himself facing the large raging weirwood that lay in the Sacred Grove of Oldstones, the weak prince crawled over and clung to the wood seeking strength to fight back.
"Stop it." He heard a voice whisper in the wind, and then Tristifer Mudd awoke, startled and wet.
The prince looked down, seeing himself alone in bed, but slowly realized that someone had thrown ice water on him. The two girls were dressed, but cowered in a corner of their room and Tris understood why, standing there their father, the mighty Hammer of Justice, impassive, his face and gaze sketched with no emotion whatsoever.
If he hadn't been so stunned by his dream, he would have been embarrassed or made some joke, but now he was just trying to digest what had happened. Only his father wouldn't give that time, the king cast a look at the twins that made the girls look small and cringe, Tris remembered receiving that look as a child, the feeling it caused was terrible.
"Get out, and be thankful I didn't tell your father." The girls were at the door to leave when their father spoke again. "I want you to go to the Sacred Grove and pray for an hour." Lysandra and Myrianne ran as if pursued by White Walkers, he couldn't say it was without reason, Tristifer IV Mudd was a legend that evoked almost as much fear and respect.
When they were alone Tris then noticed his father's eyes, anger he expected, but nothing prepared him for the disappointment he saw stamped there, he felt his mouth go dry and tried to speak. His father just tilted his head and Tris quickly closed his mouth, better to follow the correct path and accept any rebuke and punishment.
"Get dressed, and follow me. Quickly." Her father left and closed the doors behind, Tris ran and put on her clothes thrown in the corner, knowing she wouldn't have time to fully groom herself. He put on his boots and zipped up his pants, his shirt was left off, but Tris had taken long enough by his father's standards, he opened the doors leaving.
His father just stared at him without saying anything, before walking down the hallways, the silence was terrifying. Once his father had said he would marry one of Keath's granddaughters if he continued to lead such a libertine life, Tris shuddered, may the gods be good and that was not serious.
They followed until they descended into the muddy courtyard, Tris saw the smiths preparing coats, strikes, breastplates. The prince saw some lancers training, and a group of archers preparing arrows, all very busy in their activities, the war was coming and the memory of the dream returned, no, his father would live, he swore it.
The two went to the stables, and Tris saw his father's great bay stallion already saddled, and beside him his spotted mare, twelve mounted guards were waiting. His father remained silent, but soon they were marching out of the castle, the prince's chest tightened as soon as he realized where they were going, what were they going to do there?
They continued for ten minutes before they came to a stone path, they dismounted, they entered a trail into a wood, Tris was alert, there was the Mudd Cemetery. The prince stopped when he saw standing there one of the Green Men in his hands, a staff, and beside them two Children of the Forest, small, slender, their skins resembled plum trees, and golden eyes full of wisdom.
Tris noticed them whispering, and soon he recognized who that was, his Uncle Willam. The prince smiled, perhaps his father would not scold him after all. The brothers greeted each other with a brief hug, and the father knelt down to chat quietly and receive the blessing of the Children of the Forest before moving on.
The prince opened his arms smiling at his uncle, but received a hard blow to the head, Tris stepped back giving him a hurt look, the Children laughed softly and watched him curiously, before heading into the trees and out of sight. His uncle stepped forward and grabbed him by the ear.
"Hey, what did I do?" he asked, trying to disentangle himself from the iron grip.
"I smelled you as soon as you entered our family cemetery, whoring and drinking is not the way of a prince." Tris felt his face burn, before his uncle released him, the prince looked embarrassed, but realized he looked at a point in the background. "Your father is, with that look, good luck." And he turned his back, abandoning him to his own fate.
Tris turned around walking up the steps, and seeing her father standing in front of the tomb of her grandfather, king Tristan, he fell in a battle against the Andals a long time ago, her father took the throne early and had now reigned for over fifty years.
"I was the third son of seven, in the Battle of the Three Crowns, my father and my two older brothers died, the Andals won, and I took the throne at the age of fourteen." His voice was low, Tris was quiet, his father almost never talked about the past, especially about the battles. He could read the names of his grandfather, and his uncles Theomore and Torgon. "Nothing prepared me for the loss of my father and my brothers or to rule, but I still did it as honor demanded." At that moment his father looked at him with a fire in his eyes and Tris took a step back.
"I will not allow you to be unprepared if something happens to me." The words were harsh and Tris remembered the dream, the bitter bile forming in the boy's throat. His father walked up the stairs and began pointing to some of the tombs.
"My first battle, the Battle of the Night Lights, I took three thousand men and fell upon the three times larger Andals camp, led by the men who killed my father. I won, but in that battle my best friend and cousin, John Mudd, took a spear to the stomach, died in agony." He remembered hearing an old guard, Yoren, talk about that battle as a child, he and his brothers loved to listen.
"Ten years later, the High Heart Massacre, I took seven thousand men to assist Blackwood against Gwayne the Righteous. In the battle they had the numerical advantage, but we still prevailed and killed over two-thirds of them. I killed Gwayne myself, unfortunately he took the life of my brother, Rodrik Mudd." Tris read the tombstone, her uncle died leaving two sons, cousins who had also died not long after.
"I expanded my kingdom, took on the Darry, Blackwood, Bracken and Mooton. Then Roland IV Arryn marched at the head of twenty-five thousand, in a collision of our troops with those of the other kings, we put twenty thousand men to face him. It was my greatest victory, but in it all the branches of our house ended, leaving only the main one, so I married already over thirty years old." In silence, they followed, Tris saw so many names and tombstones that he couldn't even keep them all in her memory, her chest tightened as they went up, knowing exactly where they were going.
"Your mother gave me five beautiful sons who made war seem like nothing. And when five Andal lords marched to overthrow me, I took ten thousand men against them, the Battle of Tears." Her father's voice turned to an almost inaudible whisper as they stopped in front of one of the gravestones, and Tris lowered her head to stop herself from crying. "Your brother, my heir, died after killing the five warlords himself, succumbing from his wounds." Lymond the Beautiful died when Tris was twelve, his brother was everything expected and then some, vassals loved him and commoners loved him.
According to accounts, the night at the end of the battle there were no celebrations, only weeping for the fallen prince. Tris could not cry, there were no more tears then, but the death of his brother marked a dark era. Marq was captured by Armistead Vance and hanged in Stoney Sept in front of a crowd. Joshua took an arrow in the eye, and Tristan also fell into the hands of the Andals.
When Tristan was captured, his father was already the main grudge of the Andals, they decided to take revenge on his brother and best friend. Tristan was castrated and blinded, he was disemboweled, and his body was cut into seven pieces, all of which were displayed in Stoney Sept until only the bones remained.
Her father followed until he reached the last grave, that of her mother, Marysa Strong, always well cared for and cleaned as commanded. Tris did not like going to the grave, she felt that she was not living up to expectations and that if she were alive she would feel let down by what she had become. The only saving thing was that she did not see her children die, he knew that would have made her mother a husk.
"I loved your mother more than anything except you and your brothers, I would gladly give my life for yours. I still remember when I met her in Fairmarket, and on our wedding day, we were happy for many years." Tris swore he saw a tear fall from her father's eyes, but dismissed it, he never saw him mourn, not even at her brothers' farewell. "When Vorian Vypren took her captive, I took all the fury after him, the Andal Humiliation, the common people speak of it to this day, I hung the heads, bodies and entrails of over eight thousand Andals on weirwoods. She died anyway." Tristifer IV touched his wife's grave and caressed the stone gently, Tris felt like an intruder, as if he shouldn't be seeing that moment of his father's frailty.
The silence lasted for a full minute, before his father turned away, Tris realized how tired and heavy he was carrying alone. He felt compassion for her father, and shame for making his life so much harder.
"After your brothers died, I let you do whatever you wanted because I felt guilty, especially for loving Brynden's mother." Tris knew his father blamed himself for that, almost as if he had betrayed his late wife, but he was fragile and vulnerable, the crown prince never blamed his father for seeking comfort and affection.
"The time for that is over, I know about all the girls, boy, do you think it was only today that I found out you were going to bed with the Tully twins?" To his credit, Tris felt embarrassed by the verbal lashing out. "They are the daughters of one of my main vassals and allies, we will have no more of that." Now the prince looked up defiantly, but his father returned the same intensity, in a way only a father could do to a son.
"Father. I..." He tried to formulate an apology, but everything he thought of seemed pathetic and foolish, he bowed his head in shame.
"Kill the boy, and let the man be born. No more being Prince Tris, from today on, I want you to be Crown Prince Tristifer Mudd." The words hit him like a charge of horses, he swallowed dryly. "Swear on your mother's grave. Now." Tristifer swallowed dryly, looking at his father in disbelief, bored and sad, had it fallen so far for him to need to order that for his mother's grave? His trembling fingers touched the cold stone.
"I, Tristifer Mudd, son of Tristifer Mudd and Marysa Strong, swear that I will do everything as my father commands, no more whoring and drunkenness." As he removed his hand his father pulled him into an embrace which he returned, the dream returning to his mind again, he needed to keep it from becoming real.
The two rode down in silence, the guards were waiting for them, their uncle and the Children of the Forest out of sight. As they mounted, Tristifer cast one last glance back before riding beside his father, they took the same route, but the prince could have sworn he was being watched and heard the same giggles, though when he looked around he saw nothing.
As he rode, he looked ahead, seeing his father's back. He remembered so many years ago when he was still a child, and he took his children there for the first time telling stories of the victories. When he and his brothers returned they went straight to the courtyard to train, he remembered them playing and shouting the words of their home, the ones that for over a thousand years the Mudd had chanted before battles. Tristifer felt that at that moment it fit more than anything else.
"Nothing but victory." He shouted as he spurred his spotted to gallop fast past his father, heading for Oldstones as he vowed to honor the deaths of his kin, and to keep his dream from happening. Mudd would live for another thousand years, Tristifer swore.
I hope you like it, leave your suggestions, ideas and predictions.
Always remember, fuck the Andals, the First Men reign.
Chapter 2: Calm before the storm