Tommen
They rode into the village early in the morning.
It was quiet as they passed the hovels and the local blacksmith. Tommen heard only the heavy breathing of their steeds and the steady clop of their horses. No one greeted them, not even a field mouse. Tommen tightened his cloak as a feeling of dread filled him, chilling him to the bone. Even Adrian seemed less boastful as they rode into the village center. He rode ahead of him with Jon, while Tommen rode beside of Bran on Starlight, his pale horse with a golden mane.
The Island of Old Wyk was dead and barren, made up of nothing but rocks and men who wished to kill them. Yesterday, passed the ridge, the Ironborn had laid an ambush for them. If Lord Arryns scouts had not spotted them. He gulped. But Lord Arryn had learned from the Blackfish in the art of scouting and outriding. They scattered the ambush like leaves into the wind. Only a single man was taken captive. One of the Drowned Priests with dirty hair and shabby cloth stained in mud and blood. Unlike the warm voices of the Septons, he shouted foreign prayers that made him pale. The lion cub dies. Tommen recalled Brans dream. The land itself told the story. This shall be your tomb. He gazed at Bran to the left of him and smiled. "Are you drowning yet?"
Bran groaned. "For the ten thousandth time, it was just a dream Tommen."
Tommen smirked. "I guess not. What do you think Ser Arys? Is Bran drowning?"
A light chuckle escaped Ser Arys lips as he observed him from head to toe. "I don't think so, my prince. Don't imagine we'll find more than a puddle here." Before he went to the Eyrie, he never would have dared to tease any friend he made so, but Bran was his brother and he could make fun of him because of it. He had never been happier.
Brans scowl faded away after a brief moment with his shoulders slouching. "I'm never going to live it down, am I?"
Tommen softened he had his fun. "Sorry Bran. I'm just a bit spooked, I guess. This place is just so lifeless felt we needed some levity."
"Scared Tommen?"
"A bit." He admitted.
"Don't be!" Bran slapped him on the back. "It's the easy island, like a jaunt in the Wolfswood!"
Despite the bright smile Tommen wore on his face, he knew this island was going to be his tomb. Prophecy always comes true. And Brans' dream was more than that. Tommen believed that. His fate was written in stone and nothing would change it.
It didn't matter, though.
He was going to spend every waking moment trying to make the most of the time he had left. Laughing with his brothers. Forming happy memories. Tommen would not brood over it, or seek to change it. I can't change fate anymore than I can stop the sun from rising. He would let no one worry. It wouldn't be princely to make anyone worry over his fear of dying. Bran said the only time you could be brave was when you were afraid. Tommen hoped it was true, for he was deeply afraid.
As High as Honor were the words of House Arryn. Tommen figured the honorable thing was making sure everyone was happy. He only hoped he would be brave, like Bran or Arya, during his end. Prophecy has named me…
Five wooden structures loomed in front of them, but it was the people nailed onto them that made him green. Someone had ripped their organs out to hang as crows pecked on the flesh. One could be no older than a girl of twelve name days. It was something Joffrey would have taken great pleasure in. People and animals were nothing more than playthings to him. Even brothers… Tommen shared a gaze with Bran as they both glared at Lord Arryn, dressed in full plate like a knight of song as the flying falcon of House Arryn flew proudly amongst the banner of his father; a Crowned stag. "Bring our captive forward." He said with his lordly voice.
Arryn Knights shoved the shabby man forward onto the dirt. "Was this your work?" He asked.
The man smiled, but held only the occasional tooth. "The Drowned One required sacrifice. Thralls exist to provide it." The man mumbled some foreign tongue like a wizard or sorcerer. Dark words from a foul man. His father had a red priestess in his company in the East. Did she speak like that? Rumors said she held great sway over his kingly father.
Guardsmen replied with a beating that left the man whimpering on the ground while Lord Arryn watched with cold judgement. "You damn yourself with your own tongue." Eyes narrowed tight as arrow slits before twisting around to the wooden structures. "Their fate shall be your own." Arryn men nailed him to the wooden post as his screams echoed. Entrails were removed and left hanging as his chest still moved. Jasper Arryn gave the order for them to march shortly after. They had time to make up for the brief break. Shatterstone, the seat of House Drumn, their destination. Lord Robb Stark landed on the eastern portion of the island while they landed on the western coast. Lord Arryn believed any march had to be quick to take the enemy unaware. Still, it was unsettling how he dealt with the Drowned man.
Later, when they broke for camp, he ventured to Lord Arryns' pavilion. "It is always open to you, my prince." He had told him once. The guardsman on duty opened the flap for him as Ser Arys waited outside for him. Jasper Arryn sat behind his desk, quilling some letter under the candlelight.
"My lord." Tommen announced himself.
It woke him from his task as the quill stopped. "Take a seat, Prince Tommen." He offered a warm smile. "Does something trouble you?" He asked.
He grabbed his arm nervously. "The man. It seemed cruel his punishment."
Lord Arryn rubbed his chin as if he were an old man and considered his words. "Well, what do you think should have been done? How should I have handled it" The question almost made him want to groan. It sounded like one of his mental exercises from the Eyrie that always made his head hurt.
"You could have merely taken his head." Tommen suggested.
"I could have." He agreed. "But taking a man's head is reserved for honorable lords and knights. Not sadistic zealots. Why should the honorable and the cruel receive the same punishment?"
Tommen mumbled. "A lord should act differently."
"Your lords may feel differently."
"It didn't feel just. We represent my father. The Crown must stand for justice." Tommen replied firmly. Was that not what he had been taught in the Eyrie? The Iron Throne needed to be seen as just in order to make an honorable realm.
"You have strong opinions, my prince. What would you have done differently?"
Tommen had no answer for him. "I'm thinking." He replied. "Give me another moment." He thought about it as Lord Arryn watched him silently.
"All men deserve a clean end. It matters not the crime. A simple swing of the sword should have been enough." He crossed his arms, convinced it was the only choice.
Lord Arryn offered no rebuttal and poured them both goblets of water. "Tis kind of you Prince Tommen, but I cannot see such as justice. If you behave like a monster, why should you not suffer the same?" Tommens tongue was tied and he couldn't come up with an answer. Would he have wanted to afflict on Joffreys with what he did to others? Was that justice? Maybe if he spoke to Myrcella, she would have been able to help him come up with a reply.
He shrugged and felt very foolish.
Lord Arryn chuckled and opened the flap for him. "When you come up with a reason, come find me. I'll enjoy the argument, Prince Tommen." And he understood the command behind his voice. He wants me to prove him wrong. It was unfair that he had extra studies, unlike the rest of his ward mates. When he mentioned this, Jasper replied dryly.
"None of them have to rule Seven Kingdoms either."
Tommen groaned and nodded. It was a lot for only one modest prince.
A doomed prince.
"Thank you Jas-Lord Arryn for everything." Tommen said meaning every word. "Thank you for believing in me. I just wanted you to know." No one had showed this much interest in him. Not mother or father. Nor his uncles.
Jasper gazed at him for a single awkward moment before offering a small smile. "Your progress is your own. I've done little." His voice reminded him of Lord Jon Arryn.
Tommen shook hands with the man. He didn't like hugs. It felt good knowing he had spoken his words at last. I wanted to speak them when I first arrived, but I lost my nerve. It made it more permeant, and real. But it was the right thing to do. He wanted him to know how he felt before it happened, and he knew it was coming. Every day it drew him nearer and nearer, but he still smiled and laughed. For what else could he do? Nothing and that's okay. I already have more than I've ever had before. It was far more than a meagre spare deserved and Tommen believed that with all his heart.
Jasper
Jasper woke up to the sound of shouts and cries to battle and groggily grabbed his sword, throwing off the covers in the process. Outside the pavilion, torches danced across the rocky landscape as bright as the stars illuminating the nighttime sky. "The siege works!" Men cried out as horns blared. He mounted up with the Knights of the Vale assembled along with some Northman heavy calvary and rode quickly out of the eastern gate, riding past the thick palisade they had erected and passed the trenches where the battering rams and siege towers were being constructed.
They fought.
They bled.
They won.
But Jasper was more thankful to return to sleep. He cursed when the Stark man woke him up, informing him of a council of war Cousin Robb had summoned. Jasper only half-jokingly considered ignoring it. It'll just be like all the rest. Brilliant plans and strategies defeated by poor luck and the strong dark walls of Shatterstone and her zealous defenders.
He went anyway.
The day was a miserable one, just like every other day. Another day filled with heavy fog and the occasional chilly shower. Remarkably, despite the water, nothing lived or grew on the land save the occasional patchwork of grass. It was the only hint of color on these dreary islands. Jasper was beginning to understand why the Ironborn were such an uncivilized people with the land they owned. I might be the same if I were born here. Jasper walked past the carts of the dead being dragged for burial. The fields between them and the castle walls were littered with corpses still slain by bolt and axe. Valeman. Northman. Ironborn died on these rocky hills.
The crows are certainly happy. Jasper thought darkly.
If Grand Uncle Brynden were with them, he might have appreciated the observation, but he was off with Uncle Edmure on Harlaw. His uncle required his expertise more than himself. Though after the past three weeks, he was suspecting it was a mistake. The campaign started well enough they landed without problem, and they rode as if the Stranger himself were behind them, taking the strategically important positions across the Isle, trying to deny any resources to Shatterstone to sustain a siege. Though he took great care in listening to his granduncle's scouts, he refused to underestimate his enemy. Even cowardly Ironborn raiders.
After he started the siege of the castle proper, Robb joined him and their misfortune began almost immediately. Repulsed assaults on the walls. Drowned Men lurking in the countryside praying upon their supply trains. Behind every rock an Ironborn axe seemed to hide, waiting for the perfect moment as their priests kicked off the populace like a hornet's nest. It had forced Jasper to double the escort for the supply trains.
In the distance, he saw the dark walls that mocked them day and night. Jasper stood and glowered, imagining every stone torn down. He sighed, and he kept on walking. Was it worth the price of blood for this rock? Pyke was the only castle that needed to be seized. But honor demanded they take it. Honor made slaves of them all.
As High as Honor. Jasper mused bitterly.
Ser Barristan had taken the castle in only two weeks, but they had renovated the walls before this conflict. It made it formidable. The men were invested in it and it would be seen as cowardly to do otherwise.
No, they were stuck until one gave away. Jasper thought sadly.
Shatterstone would fall. The only question was how many it would bury with it.
Stark men with their gray cloaks opened the pavilion flaps for him. Robb sat at the head of the table looking every inch like a Stark King of legend and Song with his grey direwolf Grey Wind at his side. Other Northern warriors sat by his side. The Smalljon, whom was as tall as a small hill, the warrior lady Dacey Mormont, Lord Karstark and two of his sons. Valeman joined the company aswell. Lord Yohn Royce and his son and heir Andar whom greeted him with a solemn dip of his head. Two Royce men help the wounded Royce into his chair. Arrow wound to the left thigh. Donnel Waynwood a gracious knight along Lord Redfort whose cheeks remained a deep shade of red from his morning beer. The newly made Lord of Longbow Hall joined them. Lord Harlan Hunter's father and two elder brothers were slain in the last assault, making him a high lord. Poor man. Jasper pitied him.
A bard could not have come up with such a combination women warriors, direwolves, northern warriors, Vale knights, lords and princes, sieging a dark foreboding castle filled with drowned priests and Ironborn warriors. Jasper couldn't help but to imagine it so. It made everything more manageable believing it was a song. The heroes always bested the villains and got happy endings. I want it desperately. He wondered at what price? Throughout the siege, he had yet to command any of the assaults on the walls. He had organized charges against the sorties by the defenders and saw to the construction of the siege machinery, but the risk was less.
It was driving him half mad. I made a promise to Myrcella. And he was trying to keep it.
Jasper had barely taken his seat at the opposite end when Robb launched into it with great energy, rolling our maps over the table. "We have battered the walls, creating an opening here and here." He marked their locations. "I've spoken with the men involved in our last assault. We have bled them to the breaking point. One more push and the keep shall be ours." Lord Karstark was given command of the breach by the western wall, Robb seized the command of the breach by the Sea Tower. The only breach left was by the main gatehouse. It was commanded by the late Lord Hunter, who took over after Lord Yohn suffered his wound.
"Lord Harlan shall take the command of his father." Robb said.
The notion made his stomach churn.
"I shall not let a noble house extinguish itself on these shores." Jasper used his lordly voice. How could he even think of it? He twisted to the young man of twenty name days. "House Hunter has paid enough in this war! I can ask no more of you!" And he could ask no more of his vassals. The promise he made to Myrcella he had to break. He could not look at himself in the mirror unless he did so. "The command shall be mine and I accept no other." He saw the look of approval in Lord Royce and knew it was the right choice. It was the choice any Arryn had to make. As High as Honor
"Then it shall be so." Robb replied.
They argued details over like a bunch of nagging housewives. Debates over the positioning of the troops and whether dawn was the best time to launch the attack. Robb was adamant dawn was ideal and Jasper backed him as he did most of his choices. Cousin Robb was keen when it came to the art of war with an insight he truly lacked and it would hardly be honorable to spill more blood over his hurt pride. He could prepare a siege well enough, but Robb was something else. By the end of the meeting, he had swayed even the most skeptical lords to his plan of action.
Later that night, he penned a letter to Myrcella and made no mention of his command. Some guilt gnawed at him. I'm breaking my word. He added another romantic line as recompense. You shall be my last and only thought as I fall asleep my dear princess.
And it was true.
She would be wroth with him, but his duty was clear. No matter the unpleasant end.
Robb
Arrows and stone softened them up.
Robb watched his own lines and could feel the entire battle hung in the balance to the correct throw of the dice. To his left Dacey Mormont stood watching the field solemnly as the Smalljon cursed at the lack of blood on his sword. He trusted the both of them with his life. A small part of him wished Theon was with him. He and Snow should be at my side. Now one was a man of the Watch and the other a man of the Kingsguard. As far away as brothers could be save dead.
"Looks like you are getting your wish, Jon." Robb said.
"About damn time!"
In the distance Cousin Jasper Arryns' men had performed the precise performance he required of them, drawing most of the garrison, pinning them down. With every assault he made against the walls, the hardest strike had come at the breach by the main gatehouse. I want them to get used to it. To suspect it. In reality, the true blows would come from this side. The Ironborn were precisely where he wanted them to be. They march to the sound of my tune.
And that is how battle is won, making your foe do as you wish.
Now was the time for Shatterstone to fall. "Commit the reserves! Raise the banner! Follow me men of the North! For Winterfell!"
The horn blared loudly, and they surged forward over the rubble, screaming every battle cry under the sun.
The thin line of Ironborn shattered, and they surged into the outer courtyard.
"To me!" Robb rallied anyone he could around his guard. "To the main gate!" Grey Wind ran ahead of him and killed the Ironborn as they fled. Dacey killed with her mace. Smalljon made a man headless with a swift swing of his sword as they massed up like a wave of steel and sandwiched the enemy between them. By all rights, they should have broken. Robb pulled his blade out of the gut of one of those damned priests. They riled them up. They hacked away. A simple dance any man of arms could carry out. In the corner of his eye, Robb saw Cousin Jasper slay someone important, for the Ironborn finally had enough and finally broke. His blood was on him, along with everyone in that castle.
The banners of Lord Karstark had already entered the keep before he arrived, and his lust for battle dimmed.
The sound of steel faded. The screams of the wounded or dying didn't, but Shatterstone was theirs.
The day is ours.
"Lord Robb!" A Karstark man declared. "The camp has been breached! The Ironborn have defeated the palisade!" His mouth went dry for a second. Bran. Before he barked out a series of orders. He only hoped it wasn't too late.
Tommen
"Do you wish to play a game?" Joffrey asked with a small smile.
Tommen knew better and shook his head. When Joffrey smiled, bad things happened.
Joffrey didn't care and grabbed his arm. "Stop Joff! You are hurting me!" He only increased the pressure as he dragged him to the stairwell. Lady Paw whimpered in pain, caught in some cruel trap. "Let her go!" He called out.
"The rules." Joffrey smirked. "You watch as I cut out her heart!"
Tommen closed his eyes instinctively.
"Watch or you lose the game." His voice lowered to a dangerous whisper. "Trust me Tommen, you don't want to lose." A shiver went through him, and he nodded meekly.
He watched, but he went deep within himself as he always did when Joffrey did those things. When he was done, he found some courage. "Why do you do this?" He asked as his lip quivered.
It upset Joffrey, who grabbed him by his collar before shoving him to the ground, laughing. "Because I'm the Crown Prince, I can do whatever I want! The strong always can!"
Tommen yawned as he woke up from a mild dream. It was a great day to be alive. There was still a lot to do. Polishing suits of armor, brushing horses, or swordplay with Bran. It was foggy outside, but that was okay. It seemed less foggy than yesterday by a shade. Progress! Every day could be sunny if you simply made it so. Though it seemed Bran was having a nightmare tossing and turning under the sheets. "Bran?" He asked. "Wake up." He shook him gently.
Bran's eyes were milky white. "Bran?" Tommen said, worried. "Bran, wake up!" Did he need to get a maester? Or Ser Arys? A man of the Kingsguard would know what to do. He almost cried out when his hand grabbed him.
"We are going to drown." Bran said. "We are going to drown." He repeated with complete certainty.
"Bran, your eyes were milky white."
"Oh." He hung his head down with flushed cheeks as Tommen tried to process it. "Please don't tell anyone about that Tommen. I don't wish anyone to look at me like that."
Adrian snored. Not even a dragon would wake him, and Jon had the misfortune of being assigned to deliver messages throughout the morning. Strangely, Dawn was out of the tent on some hunt, likely some unfortunate Ironborn, considering there was nothing on Old Wyk to hunt.
Do you need to even ask Bran?
"Cross my heart and hoped to die."
Bran smiled before sighing. "It's going to happen today!"
Tommen whitened. Today? As Bran launched from his bed, gripping his head. "We have to tell Robb and Cousin Jasper before the launch the attack! They could help!" He threw one leg over the other into his breaches before reaching for his boots. He wanted to tell him there was little point. For one, they wouldn't believe either of them, and second, the Gods had made their plans known. Neither of them could change it. But he didn't wish an argument, so he nodded along and joined him while Ser Arys trailed behind him. A comforting white shadow.
They were too late. By the time they arrived at Lord Robbs' pavilion, the men had already formed up for the assault. "No..no..no." Bran scowled, kicking an unfortunate clump of grass.
He placed his hand on Brans shoulder. "It's going to be fine, Bran."
Bran shoved the hand away. "No, it isn't!" The outburst drew the attention of those who remained in the camp: camp followers, maesters, septons, engineers, the wounded, and some guardsmen who safeguard the loot of their lords. Tommen offered a light wave for them. "Why are you being so cheerful? You believe me and yet you act so happily!" He brought his nose to his own. "Are you making light of me?" The fierceness reminded him of Arya for a moment, and he smiled.
"No Bran I'm not. I just cannot see what we can do."
"We… we."
Bran's shoulders slumped and he crossed his arms, annoyed.
"Lets head back to our quarters. Maybe we can think of something alright?"
"The dream was different from before."
Tommen's heart picked up. "Different how?"
"The krackens were gone." Bran mumbled. "Everything else was the same." I shouldn't have hoped otherwise. Having his newfound hopes dashed dimmed his smile.
They returned to their tent in significantly lower spirits than when they left. Ser Arys even noted his change and valiantly offered his services. Tommen thanked him and lied, saying it was only the weather dimming their spirits. Jon had returned from delivering the messages to high lords and offered them a wave. Adrian was polishing Lord Arryns spare suit of arms. "Where did you to slip off to?" He asked with a characteristic, devilish grin.
Bran and he shared a look and said together. "Princely business!" The cover story they used often with splendid success in their adventures. The moment you said that to the household, it opened doors otherwise closed. Ser Arys gave nothing away per usual, merely joining up with a few guardsman Lord Arryn had lent him for their security.
Now they had Adrian's full attention. "Princely business?" He hit Bran on the shoulder. "Without me?"
"We tried." Bran lied without missing a hitch. "But you were sleeping."
Adrian smiled sheepishly.
Jon was sharper than Adrian, despite the sags underneath his eyes. "And where did you go?"
They were saved from another lie, by the bloodied appearance of Dawn, and he was drenched in it. He carried with him a man's arm like a dog does a bone and placed it at Brans feet as if he should be proud of him. Naturally, all of them were ecstatic at the sight while it slightly appalled Ser Arys. "Where did you get that?" Bran asked, stroking underneath his furry chin. "Did you slay some Ironborn warrior? Did you, boy?" Serious yellow eyes gazed at him.
"Has to be!" Adrian boasted before leaping praise on him, as he always did.
All of them loved Dawn as one of their own.
Dawn showed his teeth and grabbed Brans pant legs. "Hey cut it out! Dawn! Stop it!" He refused to listen to Brans frantic commands as Adrian roared with laughter at the sight.
"Surprised it isn't listening to you, aren't ya, Stark!"
Jon gazed at it inquisitively. "Tis unlike him." And Tommen couldn't help but agree. We are going to drown. Lord Arryn told him that animals often sensed before disaster struck. He claimed they had some sixth sense men lacked. Tommen paled at the growing realization. Dawn was absolutely frantic, emitting a loud growl as he heard distant shouts and loud clanging like in the training yard.
Tommen didn't even get a word out as Ser Arys lept into action with a side he had never seen before. "Behind me! Let's go!" His voice broke no argument. All of them complied without complaint as the guardsmen formed around them. His sword breathed and everything went absolutely mad. "The Iron born!" someone screamed out in alarm. How did they get past the palisade? Was Jasper dead? Naked women ran from tents as septons and maesters fled every which way. Dawn let out a loud howl as Ser Arys declared. "To the stables! We shall cut our way out!"
They didn't get far before they saw them, axe wielding raiders rampaging through the camp. Tommen only heard the pounding of his heart in his chest as he ran as quickly as they would take him. A guardsman dropped dead behind him, an axe to his skull. They kept on running half mad. When he saw the horses, Tommen dared to hope, but then they slammed into them. Tall and terrible coated in blood that wasn't their own screaming battle cries. The brave guardsmen twisted around to fight them off before they were swallowed whole in a terrible dance of steel. Tommen saw Dawn rip a man's throat out as easily as it ate steak. Ser Arys let go of his arm as he swung. "Run my prince! Run!" And stood stalwart. A man of the kingsguard prepared to honor his oaths. It was the second most heroic thing Tommen had ever seen.
Tommen ran until he heard Bran cry out behind him. His heart fell as Bran was on the ground, clutching his ankle. Fear gripped him. "When you are afraid, it's the only time you can be brave." Bran once told him. And he believed him as he ran back completely terrified even if his hands didn't shake and wrapped one of Brans arms around his shoulder. Jon had joined him as well and got the other. "Both of you go!" Bran protested. "We'll never make it!"
"Never." Tommen swore.
"We'll make it." Jon replied.
A spear kissed Jon immediately afterwards on the neck.
The momentum twirled them to the ground in a mosh pit of limbs. Jon landed on him, bleeding and dead. Tears formed over his eyes and he was not even given a moment to mourn before he was lifted up by a woman in chain mail. Slender of body with a wicked grin. "Blond haired. Green eyes." Grasped his golden stag broach. "A stag broach. I think we found our prince ser." She seized his arm and shoved him forward a pace. They are looking for me? Tommen thought, amazed.
"And more." The man beside her grinned, withdrawing the spear from Jon's body.
"The Others take you!" Bran cried out defiantly.
The woman laughed. "Not with that foot you won't." Before she barked out a command. "Carry that one."
The man scoffed. "We came for the prince."
"He's a Stark. He'll prove just as useful with Eddard Stark."
The man bent down to pick him up before castle steel plunged through his back. "Ser Arys!" Tommen screamed with joy at the sight of his protector. The white cloak was tattered and his plate coated with blood, but he was still standing as strong as a mountain. He swung with a furious slash that nearly caught the woman unaware. Nearly. Sparks flew as they danced. "The dagger." Bran called out to him, pointing at Jon.
Tommen nodded and dove for Jon's body and retrieved the Valyrian steel dagger he carried with him. A gift they all received from Lord Arryn in the Eyrie, but he gave his to Arya. I thought she would need it more than I. His hands shook as he grabbed it.
I won't need it. Ser Arys will win. He's going to win. Tommen thought.
The Kingsguard always won.
Tommen wouldn't have to kill anyone. I'm not Joffrey. I'm not Joffrey.
Ser Arys was sluggish with a slash, and she drove the axe deep into his chest and his knees gave way. Noo..noo..nooo His eyes widened as he wanted to go deep within himself as he did with Joffrey, but then he gazed at Bran in the distance. I'm the Crowned Prince! I'm the Crowned Prince! He reminded himself.
"Now-"
She fell, wordlessly clutching her throat.
Valyrian steel cut like nothing else and it certainly worked on a throat. Tommen tossed it like he did at the targets in the training yard.
Her wicked grin vanished instantly.
The woman's lifeblood spilled on the ground as he watched every pathetic gasp. He felt stronger than he had ever in his entire life. It was intoxicating as the corners of his lips twitched up in a slight smirk. It was the most beautiful sight, knowing he brought her down. I love this. I'm strong. Stronger than Joffrey.
The bile came up his throat then. I'm just like him. He swallowed it as the tears formed.
In the distance, he heard horses galloping, but it didn't matter. I'm just like him.
In Brans dream the lion cub died, and Tommen knew he was right. A part of him died then and there next to Ser Arys lifeless body.
Tommen wept.
Jasper
Jasper woke standing in a hallway of red. His entire sword was red as well, but it wasn't his sword. The hilt was wrong. The blade was wrong. Where was it? Where was it? He wondered as his heart exploded in his chest like a drum. The hallways were littered with corpses missing heads, arms, legs, or just cut up beyond recognition. Swords fallen unmoving on the ground. They had sung their last song. Some of them were so little and thin. Little heads and little arms. They looked…His heart smashed against his chest as his head was pounding. They looked no older than Bran. Swords still sang ahead of him, but he couldn't move.
So little. So small.
He laughed and cried and fell to his knees. "Where is my sword?" He asked. "Do you know where it is?" The headless boy didn't seem very talkative.
He was dead.
All of them were dead.
The saddest little scream made his heart stop. Something else is alive and is in so much pain. Jasper looked and instantly regretted it. The corpse's chest moved. By the Seven it moved. It was too much. He closed his eyes and slumped against the wall and brought his hands to his head as everything spun and he couldn't breathe. Make it stop! Make it stop! He prayed, but he still sat in this river of blood. He removed the straps of his helm. "Never take off your helm, boy." Ser Brynden told him.
He didn't care.
He needed to breathe, and that's all he did for sometime resting against this darkened wall holding some stranger's sword on his lap as the sad scream faded away. The sword in his lap was sharp. It was Valyrian steel with a bloodied coloring. He felt a bump on his forehead and the crimson red that stained his scalp. Was that why he couldn't remember? The last thing he recalled was climbing over the breach by the main gate. A hail of bolts and a sea of axes and pikes. Then nothing. "Lord Arryn." A gruff voice causing him to look up. He was saying something to him. It was hard to focus. "-Lord Robb had required to where you are. The day is ours."
Jasper nodded his head, though he only understood every other word. "Ser." He said. "Repeat yourself."
The man said something else before departing the hall of death. He returned with a maester who gave him milk of the poppy. His muscles were tight as a bow when he woke up in a strange bed in a breathless panic before his muscles relaxed. For a moment he dreamed he was home in the Eyrie, and Myrcella would be curled up next to him with a sweet smile that warmed his heart, but the distant sound of the sea dispelled that notion. White bandages wrapped around his head. The pressure on his head had eased, and he was thirsty. Servants brought a pitcher of water to him, though his hurried gulps made him choke. "Small sips." The maester told him in his overflowing robes. He did as bid.
"Can you entertain vistors my lord?"
Jasper nodded.
Cousin Robb came in first. He had survived the battle as well. The happiest news he had heard in some time. His arms were crossed, and he leaned against the stone wall. "You've had all that sleep and you still look terrible."
Jasper snorted in reply.
"You'll have to tell me, cousin, how it feels to wield valyrian steel." Robb grinned.
"I don't remember." Jasper admitted. "Tis blank once I went over the wall." And waking up in that hallway of death. But it wasn't something he wanted to talk about with anyone.
Robb blinked. "Truly?" He said. "You remember nothing? You slew Lord Drumn's heir in the courtyard after slaying the father and took his sword Red Rain for your own." A Valyrian steel sword for House Arryn? It should have made him feel proud. House Arryn finally had a valyrian steel sword as they've always deserved one. No Arryn lord had ever claimed one, not even the Falcon Knight, but the images of the hallways flashed in his mind. It only took a hallway of boys to pay for it. Stupid boys playing soldier. Jasper didn't want to even look at it.
Jasper shook his head, suddenly pale.
"Maybe you should rest some more. This can wait."
He snorted. "I feel better than I did." Duty hung over his head. He was still Lord of the Eyrie. "I've slept long enough. Tell me what has happened."
"Old Wyk is ours." Robb informed with only a slight pause. "Our banners hang over every battlement of Shatterstone. Our foes have bent the knee and I've received news from my lord father Pyke has fallen. The war is over." Robb smiled. "We shall be going home." Home meant Myrcella and a garden to manage with her. A dream he had held onto since they left the halls of his father. But he knew first he would have to face his mother at Riverrun and her mad ramblings. However, Riverrun was paradise to this dark island, where nothing grows. He never wanted to see this island ever again.
"There was also an incident at the camp. The Ironborn breached the palisade." Robb said.
No…no they were safe. The camp was safe.
His mouth was dry. "The boys?"
Robb squeezed his shoulder as he tried to rise. "Your ward Jon Waynwood has passed along with Ser Arys. I'm sorry cousin." It was wrong and made him sick. They were supposed to be safe. He had promised to make him a knight. Seven, forgive me.
Jasper undid the covers and flung his legs over the edge of the bed. "Cousin, maybe you should rest some more." Robb suggested.
"I'm the Lord of the Eyrie, not the lord of beds." He replied cooly. "I have responsibilities. Tell me, would you do any differently were you me?"
Robb shook his head.
"Please leave and let me get dressed."
The castle was a mess, Jasper noted, as corpses were still being dragged off into carts. The Silent Sisters cared for the bodies as Septons offered last rites with holy oils. Jasper hoped the Warrior welcomed them into his halls. The brave bastards deserve it. He lived and they died. Why did he live and Jon didn't? He was an innocent boy, while he was hardly that. He would never understand that. Jasper gazed at the crumbled towers and the shattered gates. All of this death for a piece of rock. Jasper felt solemn looking at it all. It was beyond wasteful. He gazed at the courtyard where men claimed he slew Lord Drumns son. A fragment formed like a piece of a puzzle. Steel clashed and sparks flew as combat raged around them. A desperate fight with each blow as savage as the last. He had him on his back foot. I'm losing Then the children screamed. "Ser, are you well?" a septon asked him.
Jasper shook his head, returning to the land of the living. "Of course, Holy father. Thank you for doing the Sevens work!" He offered his fake flashy smile. "Seven Bless you!"
The septon blessed him quickly with a sign of the seven.
Jasper found the gesture comforting. It eased the pounding of his heart and the sweat around his palms. I'm the Lord of the Eyrie! I'm the Lord of the Eyrie! I can't fall apart. Throughout the day, he did his duty. It was the medicine he applied when he was a lonely falcon. Drown himself in work until he could no longer think of anything. He met with his lords to discuss their losses and organize the transport of high lords who fell in combat back to the Vale. He offered personal condolences to Donnel Waynwood, who led the Waynwood levies on the field for Jons passing. Donnel was a true knight and accepted it with perfect grace. Yet as he stood outside the chambers for his wards, the words he had rehearsed felt hollow. Jasper pressed on in. None of them noted him at first. Adrian and Bran were lying curled on their beds as if it was time for bed. Tommen was gazing out the window with an uncharacteristically serious look. It was a foggy day, as it always was on Old Wyk.
He cleared his throat. "Squires." He said stiffly. "I-"
"Your not dead!" Tommen shouted as he ran towards him, throwing his arms around him in a tight hug. Burying his head into his chest. Jasper returned the hug. It seemed like something Myrcella would have done. Tears streamed down his high cheekbones. "Jon he-" Tommen couldn't finish as Jasper wiped away his tears.
"I know."He whispered. "I know."
"Cousin Jasper!"
"Lord Arryn!"
The other two stirred to life. Guilt marred them both as Bran tried to rise out of his bed, only to wince from the effort. A swollen ankle, the cause. It twisted a dagger of guilt into his chest. "Sit Bran." Jasper told him. "I'll join you there." Jasper positioned himself next to the beside as they all gathered around. It was hard to speak as he became overwhelmed with emotion for a moment.
"I'm so proud of all three of you." He began trying to speak from the heart. "So very proud. All of you did well. I could ask for no greater squires."
"I was useless." Bran scowled. "I twisted my ankle."
"I ran." Adrian twisted his head away. "I ran." He voiced in disbelief.
Jasper waved them all to silence. "You are my responsibility. What happened to Jon was my fault." He dipped his head. "So don't blame yourselves. Blame myself if you must."
"It's none of your faults!" Tommen shouted with heat, catching them all off guard. He squirmed away from him, pacing. "It was the raiders. They killed Ser Arys! They killed Jon!" The soft-spoken prince spoke with venom, bordering on hatred. "You didn't treat us recklessly, Lord Arryn. You couldn't have known!"
Bran sighed. "But if I didn't twist my ankle-"
"No more ifs! If I had twisted my ankle, you would have done the same for me, Bran Stark! Jon knew what he was risking when he ran back with me!" He snapped before pointing at Adrian. "Don't you say one more word Adrian!" Prince Tommens face was turning redder and redder as he reminded him of King Robert for a moment, as he was practically shaking with curled fists. "You won't run again, I know it! Say if or but and I'll hit you Adrian! You understand me! I command this to you both as your prince, as your friend, as your brother in all, but blood to forget it. We did our best."
Silence fell over them as he gazed at him in disbelief as his chest breathed up and down rapidly. "And when did you get so wise?" Jasper asked.
"I'm not a wise prince, my lord, but I know that much. " Tommen fidgeted and gazed at him with teary green eyes as the future just king vanished and only a scared boy remained. A scared boy that required comfort. "I want to see Myrcella again."
Jasper nodded and brought him in close. "Me too, my prince." He gazed at the rest. "The war is over." Jasper informed them. "We shall go home soon." And he was thankful for it: the island was driving him mad. All of them smiled at the news and Jasper forced himself as well, though he didn't feel it.
The Iron King
The last time he had seen either men they stole his only boy away. The quiet wolf and the sour stag.
A giant of a man pressed him to his knees as the greatsword of the Starks breathed in the air. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Regent of the Iron Throne, I do sentence you to die."
"What is dead may never die." Balon replied. The Old Way shall never die out. He thought.
Stark swung.
It'll return one-
Authors note: Yikes this took forever! I had a lot of inconveniences this month from technical to life, but I finally managed to write it out. I started writing the Ladies around Westeros chapter, but then I realized it made more sense to do this one first. At least this is a longer chapter than average! When Tommen smirks at the end I imagine it being just like Ryan in the Boys at the end of season 3. Next chapter, we shall be heading across Westeros from Storms End to Winterfell. As always I enjoy reading reviews!
Atp: Dreams are open to interpentation.
Freedmoon: As always I love your long reviews! I love replying to them! I think this chapter answered those questions. Though if Tommen or Bran died I could certainly have seen Jasper just snapping and ordering everyone to be put to the sword as he laughs. Here though he only had a minor mental break. Though I suppose you'll have to see if I decide to widen it ever further. But yeah Jasper wouldn't want to go home if Tommen died. He would hate facing Myrcella knowing he failed. Dreams are open to interpretation as I did in this chapter, the forrest falling down represented Arys dying, lion cub dying was symbolic, Krackens dueling changed cause of ripples. Thats the things about prophesey some things aren't always what they appear to be.
The war might be over, but more trauma awaits at Riverrun!