Hello all!
Just wished to ask for some feedback on the story (Lore, Grammar...)
Please, let me know in the comments, so I can improve my writing.
Have a good read!
Robert
Another night, another dream.
The dragon stared at him, and Robert stared back.
It has been two bloody weeks since all of this started.
Robert couldn't bear it anymore.
He remembered the first time he entered the Red Keep, after he was crowned. Dragons everywhere, each corner of the damned solar had a fucking lizard. Robert personally tore everything down.
Those decorations made him recall Rhaegar's breastplate, the one he wore at the Trident. The ruby dragon.
Robert smashed every single dragon statue in Maegor's Holdfast with his warhammer. But no amount of destruction could fill the hole the Prince left inside his heart.
Lyanna...
Robert dreamed of her. She was inside a broken tower, in the middle of a desert. She lay bleeding on a makeshift bed, with a small bundle of silk between her arms.
Her eyes stared back at him, unmoving.
Then, the same damn dragon destroyed his surroundings, waking Robert up.
He tried to contact Urragon, but to no avail.
Svemir was concerned. He said that the Storm God would not ignore the pleas of man in these difficult times. He decided to pilgrimage towards Crackclaw Point. The peninsula was a holy site for the Storm Cult, ever since the conquests of Durran IX. The Stormsinger hoped to commune with the Storm God and later would join Robert mid-journey to Riverrun, alongside Stannis...
And the Targaryen girl.
Robert eyed the wineskin near his bed, but nausea overcame him. With an irrational instinct, he picked it up and threw it out of the window.
A knock on the door. "Your Grace, Prince Edric and Princess Mya have arrived!"
Robert's heart skipped a beat. They're here.
He got up and donned his regal clothes. Ser Arys was waiting for him outside, "Your Grace, they are waiting in the throne room. Ser Jaymar is fetching Prince Gendry."
Robert nodded, "Anything else?"
"Yes, your Grace," The knight answered, "Lord Arryn has arrived at the same time, and wished to talk with you in private as soon as possible."
"Very well," Robert said, "Any news from the Most Devout?"
Arys seemed insecure, "We don't know for sure, my King. The sudden death of the High Septon sent the septonry in disarray. Some think that the Warrior himself smote the Fat One for his wickedness, others say that it was an evil spell cast by the Storm God."
Robert grumbled in annoyance. Now the buggers have to elect a new High Septon, and Robert did not trust their decision. An investiture was in order, but to who?
Robert had to see into this mess once he returned from Riverrun. Thankfully enough, the faith is bloody slow in handling elections, the Devouts tended to bicker among themselves usually.
Robert entered the throne room, which was empty for this occasion. Between the guards, one woman and a boy stood.
Robert felt excited to see Mya again, now a grown woman. When he visited her in the Vale, Robert entertained her by picking and tossing her up in the air.
Edric was a good lad. He was raised in Storm's End, under Renly's protection. Robert exchanged letters occasionally with him and sent gifts when his name day came around.
Now they stood before him. It was a beautiful sight, his two trueborn children, home.
Robert gestured for the two to come forward, and embraced them. "Gods... it's good to have you here..." He said, "I dreamed of this moment, but now that it is true..."
He looked at Mya, "Mya... you've grown to be a beautiful woman. I am sorry I couldn't bring you here before, it wasn't safe then."
"I understand," She answered, "Nestor told me everything. I've lived a good life till now, your Gr- Father. There's no need to blame yourself."
"You always were kind," Robert chuckled, "It will be harder to toss you up, unfortunately."
He turned towards the young boy, "Lad! Show your muscles!"
Edric flexed his arms in a show of strength, his smile wide.
Robert laughed merrily. His son always was rowdy.
Robert ruffled his hair, "Heh, you'll be a fine soldier!"
Ser Arys approached his king with Thunderbolt, "Your Grace..."
Robert took the war pick, and put on his most serious look. "Now, kneel, my progeny."
His children kneeled, and Robert said the words. He noticed young Edric's posture, it seemed that this was the most important moment of his life. Mya was more relaxed, but anxious nonetheless.
"...Rise, Mya and Edric Baratheon. May your lives be long and fruitful."
Robert smiled. Finally, his children were in their rightful place, "I am proud of you two. Edric, you're to be my direct heir until I remarry and produce a new son. If something happens to me, you will be the one to guide the Kingdoms, remember this."
The boy paled slightly, but dutifully nodded. "Mya, take care of your brothers. You're the big sister, both of them will need your support."
"Both?" She asked, "Who's my other brother?"
In the same instant, Gendry entered the throne room with Ser Jaymar. "Mya, Edric, meet Gendry. He is your half-brother."
All three began chatting, exchanging stories of their life. Robert grimaced, this was the family he wished to have. Joffrey was never kind to his siblings, while Tommen and Myrcella grew under their mother's skirt. What had gone so wrong...?
You've sold your heart to a dead girl.
Robert shuddered. That bitch knew how to be poisonous.
Yet, she's not entirely wrong. The hole that Lyanna left was... enormous.
One that will probably never be refilled.
"Your Grace," Arys called him out, "Lord Jon is waiting for you."
"Yes, yes..." Robert grumbled.
They passed by the small septry of the Red Keep. As usual, the Rainbow Knight was praying to the Gods.
Robert was intrigued by the man. He never sparred in the training grounds, always preferring to isolate himself with the Seven. Indeed, a mysterious figure.
Jon was waiting for him near the dining room, completely alone. It was odd, considering his foster father was always accompanied by Ser Willem Butler.
"Your Grace, it's good to see you well." The Old Falcon said, "I've been informed of the latest events, and there's no need to tell you I'm worried."
"Cut it off with the honorifics, Jon. I've heard enough cunts trying to win my favour with these bloody manners." Robert grumbled, "'Tis better it went this way. That bugger of High Septon we had was problematic."
"In this, I agree." Jon said, "But there's something else that worries me. Come with me, we need to talk away from prying ears."
Robert dismissed Oakheart and followed Jon. They entered a secret room, near the kitchen's storeroom. Bloody Maegor and his secret passages.
"We can talk here," Jon huffed, "There has been another attempt on my life, Robert. Someone wants to see me dead, and he's inside the court."
Jon recounted what happened on his return trip.
"Bloody Hells..." Robert muttered, "A mockingbird coat... can't say I've seen someone wear it."
"That is the mystery," Jon said, exasperated, "There's no house in Westeros with it as a coat of arms, which means it is a personal sigil."
"A hard search to accomplish," Robert said, "It would be easier to find a needle in a haystack. Do you have some suspects?"
"Baelish is always an option, but he's been quiet as of late. Varys is too busy with his Essosi network, he wouldn't risk such manoeuvre without assurances."
"Mayhaps the Kettleback brothers... that would explain the floppiness of the attempt."
"Yes, they are scheming bastards, but what would they gain from it?" Robert reasoned, "They hold no favour with me. What do they hope, to enter the small council?" He guffawed.
"They're shortsighted," Jon answered, "Similarly to many schemers in this cursed city."
Robert sighed, "Yet, the culprit nearly managed to assassinate the second most important man in the Seven Kingdoms. Whoever this man may be, he has influence."
"We cannot connect the dots still," Jon grimly concluded, "Once we return from Riverrun, we must investigate thoroughly. Let us hope this council ends quickly."
Robert chuckled, "Heh, you know the Lords of Westeros better than me, old man. If only there were an antidote to their bickering."
"Wise words, Robert. I did not expect this from your end."
"Aww, shut up, or else I will tie you to a boulder and catapult it on Casterly Rock."
The two laughed without a care in the world.
Varys
The men were ready. His play would finally come to fruition.
King Robert could not outwit him, Daenerys Targaryen will not fall in his grasp. She is a valuable asset, Varys had projects in mind for the girl.
Most of his plans were foiled by unforeseen occurrences, rogue variables no man could predict, not with the volatility of magic in the equation.
But he will not give up, for he wasn't in a position to not.
When subtlety fails, one must use the hard way. They will intercept Barristan's ship, and recover the Targaryen girl. The knight was martially superior to all his men, but even the Warrior himself would be overwhelmed by twenty fighters.
Every small vessel travelling from Pentos to King's landing passed by a small island in the middle of the Narrow Sea: Midport. It was barren, but it helped sailors identify their position with certainty.
And so Varys waited. He remembered the design of Barristan's ship, he would know which boat to strike.
After some days, he saw it. It was the one, Varys was sure of it. "Pierro," he called out one of the bosuns, "Set sail. Our time has come."
"My Lord, the sea is rough. We can't leave port with such waves!" The experienced sailor said.
Varys smiled still, "This is not a request," he said menacingly, "It's an order."
Pierro shivered, intimidated by his demeanour. He began shouting orders, and the men complied.
The waves were enormous, but Varys would not give up. If we are having a hard time, Selmy is nearly drowning.
The winds blew harsher each turn, the Pentoshi Pride was tested under the furious storm. Men ran left and right, giving their souls to maintain the ship intact.
Then, a snap.
The first mast shattered, and fell upon the deck. Some unfortunate sailors were propelled out of the ship, falling into the chaotic sea. Varys paled, this was turning to the worse.
The thin resolve of the men shattered. No one was following orders anymore, all were fighting to survive. Varys stood motionless, all his plans were ruined.
"BY THE HOLY FLAME, LOOK!" One shouted, pointing west.
An enormous wave, nearly tall as the Hightower. All resigned themselves to their fates.
Is this how my journey ends?
A crash. Varys closed his eyes...
...and opened them once more.
He was alone, on the deck. The sea was still raging, with no sign of calming.
The eunuch slowly stood, aiding himself with the railing. The second mast was gone, swallowed by the ocean.
This is how I die, then. Alone, starving or drowning in the middle of the Narrow Sea.
Lighting struck the ship, blinding Varys. As his vision adjusted, he noticed it didn't alight the vessel.
But produced a man.
He was tall, with black hair and beard. He wore a strange garment, layers of silk draped on his muscular form.
He slowly approached the staggered spymaster, with an amused look on his face.
"So, this is the famous spider." He said, "Quite the embarrassing display you're putting on as of late."
Varys' jaw clenched. He could tell this was no ordinary man.
"Who... are you?"
"I am the Storm God," he said, "The same one you cynically decreed as false when Robert converted. Ironic, considering that I will be the cause of your demise."
Varys remained silent. No words would form on his tongue.
"Now, you're probably asking yourself, shouldn't the Gods remain neutral in the affairs of man? Why is this rogue deity casting me in the depths of the sea?"
"The answer is simple, eunuch. Your plans go against the affairs of the Gods themselves."
"You hope to plunge the Seven Kingdoms into chaos, so that you could install your claimant on the throne. A witless idiot would find it egoistic, but we both know it is not. Am I right, Varys..."
"Or should I say... Vaerys Blackfyre?"
The spider could not hold it anymore. He laughed.
"I do agree, this is truly ironic." Vaerys said, "Now, I shall take pride in my death, as I managed to ravel the Gods' plans. No man could boast of such accomplishment."
The God guffawed, "Fair enough, but the spider's webs cannot endure a raging storm. Now, Vaerys Blackfyre, any last words?"
There weren't any—only the eunuch's loud laugh.
Light shone from the Storm God's hands, and the cackle was cut short.
Edmure
Three men rode by the Kingsroad.
Edmure Tully, Marq Piper and Patrek Mallister.
Behind them, an entourage of twenty Men at Arms.
"You see, that girl had a HUGE load, how could I resist the temptation?" The heir of Seagard explained.
"Patrek, are you capable of leaving your cock inside your breeches?" Edmure quipped.
The trio chuckled lightheartedly. These are the moments Edmure enjoyed the most, where he felt the weight of nobility fade away.
Father always said he was a natural charmer. It wasn't hard for him to befriend an acquaintance. Once he becomes Lord Paramount, this would prove its uses: the Riverlands are a complex kingdom to rule, full of squabbling vassals stronger than house Tully. Maintaining the balance of power is hard, and has to be done with care.
There were reckless Tullys in the past. None had a prosperous reign.
"So, what should we expect to see? Snarks, grumpkins?" Marq asked.
"Hopefully something real," Edmure answered, "I already told you what's happening north, phenomenons out of a children's tale."
"I've heard that the King has found an ancient weapon and has forsaken the Seven," Patrek said, "If that's true, the High Septon will not be pleased."
Edmure had heard of that rumour, alongside whispers of Lord Lannister being maimed and the Fat Flower conducting obscure rituals. What in the Seven Hells was going on?
"Still, Robert is the King. He has the power to restrict the faith, Viserys II did it in the past." Edmure explained.
He rubbed his beard, "Beyond this, I hope we find something in Oldstones. Mayhaps Tristifer Mudd's hammer? Or some relic of house Hook..."
"You're being too hopeful, Edmure," Marq grumbled, "Not saying that there's nothing of the sort, but we may not find it inside Oldstones."
"At least we may uncover a clue." Patrek theorised.
"We'll see."
It didn't take long to reach the ruined castle. By the hour of the eel, they were before the broken gates.
"Quite ominous, isn't it?" Edmure said.
"This bloody castle always was," the Mallister said, "It always gave me the chills as a kid."
"Surely you've not shivered more than me when I got to see the fair Frey maidens," Edmure jested, "Wished I could gouge my eyes."
Edmure gestured for the men to come, there still was the chance that bandits had taken the old castle. But the heir of Riverrun was sceptical, they would've found at least one patrol already.
The central courtyard was deserted, not a living soul was there. Most of it was covered by debris. The old Godswood was nonexistent, only an uprooted Heart Tree remaining. Edmure asked himself how the tree maintained its colouring after centuries had passed.
They explored the remaining towers. Unfortunately, they were completely stripped. Nothing was inside.
"Bloody Hells, still nothing." Patrek said while exiting one of the rooms.
"Not even a bloody ghost." Marq reciprocated.
"Mayhaps the lower floors...?" Edmure muttered.
"Others take you, Edmure. Are you eager to get intoxicated?" Marq muttered.
"Oh... what do we have here? Are you afraid to piss your breeches?" Edmure quipped.
It was enough to flare up the hot-headed heir of Pinkmaiden, who grunted and stomped his way towards the stairs. I'm too good at this.
They explored the lower floors. Only five men were brought in, as the stairwell was very cramped.
There were old crates with many contents, ranging from ancient rusty weapons to fine cutlery. Still, only a little was found by the three lords.
"Edmure, Marq, get your asses over here!" Shouted Patrek.
The heir of Seagard found an old trapdoor, which led to a wooden staircase. Even a child could tell that the bloody thing was rotten, it would be suicidal going in without any bearing.
"Patrek, I'm not going in there." Marq said with a deadpan look.
"Not without the right equipment," Edmure added.
"Berlon!" He bellowed to the Captain, "Get a rope, and tie it to something heavy!"
"At once, my Lord." He answered.
It took some time to check if the rope was safe. Nonetheless, it was usable relatively quickly.
"I'm going first," Patrek said, "You're coming, Marq?"
The young man shook his head, "Nay, my point still stands."
"And you, Edmure?"
He sighed deeply, "Alright, alright. I'll come to hold your skirt, lass."
The two descended the trapdoor, avoiding touching the ruined staircase. It wouldn't be good if it collapsed and broke something under there.
The hole wasn't extremely deep. After five minutes of slowly descending, the duo reached the bottom.
"Seven Hells, it's bloody dark here." Patrek muttered as he scrambled for the lamp.
"The air is foul, too. Try not to inhale it too much." Edmure said.
They waited for some minutes before lighting the lamp. Edmure heard stories of miners who made the mistake of doing it in an old cave. It wouldn't be suitable for the whole castle to collapse.
There was a long corridor before them. Its walls were maintained decently enough, the motifs still visible. The two Riverlords slowly traversed it, scanning their surroundings.
"Is this... a crypt...?" Patrek whispered.
Edmure had just noticed the burials, countless tombs that reached deep into the darkness. Each had an engraving of a crown.
Are these the graves of the ancient Mudd Kings?
Then the castle was indeed the house's seat after all. Oldstones was a mystery for centuries, everyone avoided the place as if it was plagued. If someone had discovered this place before them... has probably died in its depths.
They continued walking for what felt like hours, and the damn sepultures weren't dwindling. House Mudd was unexpectedly large, historians only discovered a minuscule part of the entire family.
"Hey, Edmure, look!"
They had reached the end. A great hall was before them, and a single tomb was in its centre. It was finely decorated, many engravings and artistic depictions of various battles occupied most of the walls.
Before the burial, a pedestal stood. Encased in its base, a weapon still intact.
Gods, it's a trident.
It was beautifully crafted and engraved. Each prong was coloured differently: red, green and blue. Depictions of fishes and other marine life adorned the shaft, alongside a water motif.
Edmure grabbed it. It was unusually light, even a child could attempt to throw it.
"Others take me..." Edmure muttered.
"Mayhaps this is the grave of Tristifer IV, that would explain the decorations." Patrek theorised.
"Aye, it must be."
Suddenly, a noise.
It came from the hidden corner of the room, as if something had fallen.
Then, a scream.
Before them was a hideous creature, half fish and man. He was a ghost, transparent and white. It carried a lute on his back, unusually enough.
"RUN!"
The two lords raced down the corridor, the ghost in their heels. Patrek tried blocking his way with debris, but the spectre ignored it.
They reached the entrance, but the rope was no longer there.
Shit, the damn buffoon brought it up again!
Edmure covered Patrek, trident in hand. If he was going to die here, let it be by fighting.
His foe reached him out with his ghostly claws, which Edmure swiftly avoided. He tried to lunge, but the ghost sidestepped and slashed his right shoulder. Edmure howled in pain and felt dazed.
Adrenaline coursed through his veins. Edmure clenched his jaw and thrust the trident one more time.
The Gods had been good, as his clumsy attack hit the spectre. It shrilled, and slowly dematerialised.
Edmure gasped for air. Now the pain was back again, sharper than ever.
"Seven Hells!" Patrek exclaimed, "Berlon! Throw the bloody rope!"
Edmure slowly drifted to sleep, too exhausted to stay awake.