Druidic Champion
A D&D inspired hero, and his rise from obscurity within the world of Game of Thrones
Chapter One:
The flames crackled and spit as the wood caught, tongues of fire licking up the stacked logs as they reached for the black sky above, dotted by twinkling stars that seemed diminished in brightness to Lucas, though he knew that they shone as vibrantly as ever despite the terrible tragedy of the day's events. He stood, his piercing blue eyes fixed on the tattered shroud within the logs he'd so carefully stacked, the torn garment only now beginning to burn. Yet despite this, his eyes saw nothing, as in his mind he replayed the events that brought him here to the centre of the town green, surrounded and yet feeling so very alone and abandoned amidst the denizens of the village.
It had started as a cough, perhaps born of many long days spent working outside in the cold and the wet, tending the fields and the farm…perhaps for too long. Heavy and hard was the labour of a farmhand, and his mother is (or as he had to now correct himself, was) certainly in no shape to work as she did. Her constitution was weak, her arms frail and unprepared for the backbreaking work that she forced herself to endure. Many, including himself, had warned her against it, he could even see some of them here, faces warped with sadness and partially illuminated in the flickering light of the bonfire roaring and crackling before them all. It had all been too much, too soon, especially after her most recent breakdown.
The village elder, wise in the ways of apothecary and herbs (yet not nearly as talented as a maester) had warned him that Brienna would likely not see another year should she continue as she had been, yet she had ignored them, bullishly pushing forward, despite the mutterings that it was not a women's place to work in the fields, sacrificing her health so that both she and Lucas could eat. He imagined that it was not simply a matter of working to survive, but also an escape, a way to keep her mind from dwelling on the crushing emptiness she felt. One night around the sputtering hearth, swaddled in ratty blankets that now once again held her frail body, she had confided in Lucas that if he was not there, if he had left her as well, then she didn't think she could have continued on, wouldn't have had something to hold on for, a reason to continue in this terribly cruel world.
But now, she was free from her pain, or so Lucas consoled himself. He didn't believe in the prattering nonsense peddled by the Faith of the Seven, nor did he know anyone who followed their customs or held faith in their beliefs. The cloying presence of that wretched institution had not yet found its way to this sleepy, provincial village. No, for here the Old Ways still held sway, kept alive by oral traditions, and the call of ancient Riverlander blood that flowed through the people on this land. No, Lucas knew his mother was free now, free from the strife and sadness that marred her waking life, as well as her dreaming one.
He did not know how long he stood there, the light of the flames flickering against his mud-brown hair and his mind swallowed by the past, unheard words of condolement delivered by unseen faces that moved into the night like shadows retreating from the dawn. After this brief, timeless eternity spent wallowing in his memories, Lucas stirred, noticing finally that the bonfire had almost burnt down to embers, the faintest wisps of flame yet still emerging from the glowing heap in the centre of the charred wood. With a deep and profoundly heavy sigh, he began the arduous trek back to what once was his family home, now cold and silent, devoid of the merriment and familial bliss it once held many long years ago. Situated along a babbling brook that fed into the Blue Fork nearby, the wooden ramshackle home stood nestled against a large hill, and a dense thicket of trees surrounded it on all other sides.
It was well separated from the rest of the village, much to a younger Lucas' dismay when learning he could not play as often as he would have liked with the rest of the village children. But such innocent and childish fancies were far beneath him now. Lucas had been left alone in this world, abandoned now by both his parents, and left to fend for himself. He vaguely remembered many half-hearted offers of shelter given around the blazing pyre of his mother. Offers of warm houses that would hold him, and families that would feed him for a time, and while he appreciated it, he knew that he was not truly welcome.
Hard were the lives of the smallfolk, despite the long summer they had found themselves in, and there was rarely enough to eat, certainly not enough extra to sate the appetite of a growing boy such as Lucas. Besides, he barely knew the other villagers at all, separated as they were by distance, and now by tragedy. He would not rely on their charity, no, he would have to fend for himself, a task that he was surprisingly excited for….
That was not right, he should not be feeling that emotion, and yet unbidden excitement continued to well up from within him, piercing through the discordant cacophony of sadness, pain and rage. Something within him yearned for this, for the chance to prove himself as a man in the eyes of the people, to make something of himself no longer through the work and toil of others. And yet, Lucas recoiled from the thought… a terrible thing it was, to be excited at what the death of a parent would bring, and yet despite his revulsion, he could not shake this feeling of anticipation and delight, his blood singing and yearning for something he yet did not know.
Lucas barely remembered opening the heavy latched door of his home, nor falling fully clothed into the ratty and scratchy straw mattress that he called his own. He expected a fitful night, a sleepless evening of tossing and turning, of ruminating on the many trials and tribulations that would come, however, sleep blessedly took him almost immediately. Eyes closed, his square jawline no longer clenched for the first time in days, he slumbered, the light of the full moon streaming through the window causing no irritation or disturbance as it shined off his pale skin. Lucas slept, and as he did, something within him, long forgotten and abandoned, began to stir, began to awaken.
Author's Note: Well, I finally did it, I finally bit the bullet, and dragged my procrastinating arse into actually writing something that wasn't D&D for once. We'll see how it goes. The story is set in a mix of Game of Thrones (show) and A Song of Ice and Fire (book series). I haven't actually read the book series, (thank god for the wikis), but its going to be a mix of the two, the exact things left out or added in being decided later (guess I'm winging this too (⓿_⓿)).
Regardless, as this is my first proper published fic, any advice, suggestions or comments, either positive or negative, will be greatly appreciated. You can send a comment here, or just pm me on discord or find me in SGO. If you don't know what that is...how the hell did you find this fanfic in the first place?