Hi!
I've just noticed I had many documents on my computer and never realized I've already advanced so far into some stories. I've been taking time so far to read them and check. This is Ch. 1, thank you all for your support!
Year 287 A.C.
Winterfell
Not so far away from the castle of Winterfell, from his home were a set of stairs which led to a cave-like building which was most of the time left alone, yet it was ever present with its solemn presence. The Crypts of Winterfell, the most important piece of Stark memorabilia ever known, just waiting to be dissected and properly discovered of its secrets. He, has always been a highly inquisitive being; ever since opening his eyes, he remerged anew with a second chance. He held a new vibrant outlook in life. He took to his sword lessons with double the effort, enjoyed reading books rather than his half-brother Robb would. He knew to be silent however, he wasn't used to the attention and enjoyed being in the background, it was better that way and Robb's mother wouldn't bother him. But he would nonetheless take all useful and attentive advices Maester Luwin would give him to heart. It's been two moons since he opened his eyes and through the reflection of the water, the face he used to see on mirrors changed so much, as did his height and his hands. All he had done since then was to study inmensely about Westeros, the Great Houses, History, and he's slowly turned himself into his own repository of knowledge and common culture.
He plotted.
He barely looked five namedays, yet, it wasn't a simple one but a very advanced plot, a crafty one with a single purpose.
The Pack Survives
For that to happen many things will have to change, and many more will have to be altered. That was the reason for his education, to be able to be of more use to Robb in the incoming war of the Five Kings. He studied warcraft insanely, Siege Machines and Ancient Valyrian Architecture from the few books he could recover from Maester Luwin, he compared the models exposed with some Roman-Era Technology and Rennaisance-Era technology. It was so easy for him to take a piece of wood, draw the design and after having enough money have a local artisian to craft it into a ruler, and other instruments of measurement and out of instinct he started designing, at first it was mostly writing over other made designs as to improve them. Yet there was something he wanted to do first, and hence he was facing this place.
The Crypts of Winterfell were the most best-concealed secret of House Stark, the tombs of ancient kings and the knowledge they possess were things he wanted to dissect and that his inquisitive mind barely contained with excitement wanted to explore.
A NEW LIFE!
A new chance for changing things and mistakes he did in his old life. Although, his face bitterly stared with sadness at the floor, his bastardy won't give him any friends. Yet he was used to the stigma and living mostly isolated, nothing unusual from his previous life. " Who are you?" A childish voice recieved him and he turned around, seeing a simple-dressed girl he turned back before he widened his eyes and did a double-take. "Huh?"
The girl chuckled, wearing dark-brown hair and her brown eyes shining with wonder, she wore brown trousers and a simple khaki colored blouse underneath a leather gambeson. Simple clothes for a simple appearance, he turned back and stared to the crypts.
" Where are you going?"
"These are the place were my stark ancestors were buried. Secrets could be found here, perhaps a legendary weapon or tomes of ancient knowledge." He wondered out loud as he stared at the dark path waiting for him, he took a few steps going towards the torch. Aside from his half brother Jon Snow has no friends, he has no allies in home, Winterfell felt more like a gilded prison than anything. It made him sad, melancholic and lonely, with a certain hollowness to his chest.
'If only I had a friend true.'
Jorelle Mormont I
Jorelle Mormont is a girl of three, her mother is the Lady of Bear Island and she's shortly visiting Lord Eddard Stark; her household although Lords of Bear Island, they are perhaps of the poorest vassals under House Stark. Her household is in charge of the Bay of Ice, keeping it from the Ironborn and protecting the Shores of the North from their incursions and invasions. Her mother was nothing more than a Steward of Bear Island under her cousin Jorah Mormont, her mother simply was in charge of making sure Bear Island looked properly maintained as a castle. Her mother ordered lower servants even though she was a serf to Jorah and members of his household. And although she was highborn, she was still lowborn in comparison to Jorah and all the members of House Stark by default whom she is a serf to.
At the eve of Jorelle's birth, her mother explained to her that she, being so far in line to Bear Island she had not an inheritance unlike perhaps Dacey and Alysanne third and fourth in line after Jorah until he has a heir. That meant her mother was free to marry her to a worthy Lord who could take her, of course; her mother wanted such a Lord to be of House Stark. Jorelle at her short age wasn't ignorant of the World Around her, Bear Island was a hard life, unlike Winterfell where she could see the great castle as what it was, the rumors of the Vaults with mountains of mounds of Gold endlessly going on and on and with the luxury of the northern court dripping. Bear Island barely had any gold, they barely had food they had to ration every year, her clothes were always her sister's hand-me-downs even Alysanne's who was had more girth than Dacey, her training was done by her older sisters since they had no money for Master At Arms, their household Guard had to double on maintaining duties such as lumbering, work the fields, and their meal as daily always were hunted, there was no cattle in Bear Island. Those luxuries were unknown to her, and milk; they had no milk in bear island nor cheese.
And Wine, hah, there's no wine in bear island only Mead and water. Water everywhere, water up to the pores of your nose and ears. That's what they consumed every year.
Jorelle since a year ago has taken to learn combat from her older sisters, something which was expected. In between her learning, her mother would regal her with tales of Kings of Winter, of The Conqueror Aegon, of Cregan Stark and the Dance, and the few Dragonlord Kings revered by the North. Though most of the time, were mostly King of Winter Stories. Yet, Jorelle has always been a curious girl, and an even more inquisitive; and perhaps even bold and combative. She was a girl of weapons to take first and ask later. In her musings however, she found a boy, a boy with silver-blond hair like the times her mother spoke of Aegon the Conqueror, or of Daeron the Young Dragon or of perhaps Jaehearys the Wise King. Jorelle would never say it out loud but she would always ask her mother if perhaps a strand of their Valyrian hair would be able to buy them a cow to have milk for a year or just to eat something better than fish. To which her mother would laugh out loud and say that 'Those Prutty People's don't have Gold on their heads'.
That hair.
It was as if molten gold and silver were bathed in their skulls at birth, since she could remember. She would always ask for a tale on the scions of the Dragonlords, even if her mother wanted to tell her more of the Kings of Winter they owed allegiance to. She would appease her, regardless if in the North the House of the Dragon was looked on with disdain nowadays. When he turned to her, all she could see was the curtain of her, he was older than her, at least by a year and a little bit taller by mere inches. Ever inquisitive she asked who he was, he turned at her and did so once more. Asking where he was going;
These are the place were my stark ancestors were buried. Secrets could be found here, perhaps a legendary weapon or tomes of ancient knowledge.
Stark ancestors? She widened her eyes in surprise. Was this one of Lord Stark's children, she directly owed her fealty to this boy as he was the heir to the Warden of the North. It is thanks to this boy's father she has a home. Whenever her mother would explore around Bear Island, she could see the people struggling to get by, more the same with Wintertown, they do so but still look so impoverished. Bear Island was impoverished too, but they were surviving and that was the most important. As the boy walked down the stairs, she felt complied to follow. All the light the sunlight bore into Winterfell slowly came consumed by the lights of the torches, as she stared at him. He had his head craned upwards and staring to a torch. She saw him at first attempt to swat the thing out of the base it was but to no avail. He took a few steps back and he turned away.
Was he giving up so easily?
Her glance lightly regarded with disdain. Only to feel the wind against her and she turned, she saw the boy jump high, to her shock he managed to grab the torch as he laughed.
"I've got it." He stated with victory and she gave an applause, turning to her he nodded and turned back to the depths of the crypts. Going inside, she ran to him.
"Wait." She called out and took his side, everything was dark and damp, it made her afraid. Yet at the same time it made her excited, she remembered tales on books of Princes and Kings going deep into bellows of caves to converse with dragons or bond with them. Or where Winter Kings found direwolves and their power. Were they doing the same? She could only wonder. As the structure grew darker, she turned to see only adult men made of stone with solemn faces on their expressions.
William Stark.
Beron Stark.
Most of the statues were polished, but beyond, all of them were already damaged by time, having chunks of themselves lightly lost.
Rodwell Stark.
Brandon Stark.
Rickon Stark.
Cregan Stark.
She remembered that name in the book her mother reads her. As they passed by two more statues.
Rickon Stark.
Benjen Stark.
Yet they collided with a wall made of stone though it had some jagged edges. The boy frowned as he touched the wall and followed it through, she shadowed him seeing what he was doing. It wasn't until he used the torch to find a gap, a gap which looked like a tunnel or perhaps a gap from some of the rubble and rubbish that obstructed the section. Narrowing his eyes and going on his knees.
"What are you doing?" She asked warily, it looked dangerous.
"This is a tunnel." He voiced, it was obvious it was a tunnel of course. Yet it didn't made her any less afraid all this could collapse on them.
"Don't you want to see what's beyond it?"
She nodded, she felt curious and also she wanted to have fun. Aside from the obvious, what could go wrong? They slowly got through the rubbish and she felt slowly colder, and colder. As the tunnel got narrower and narrower. Perhaps they could find a legendary sword, or she would see a crown. There was a moment where his cadence was slower but he recuperated afterwards, as the tunnel got wider and wider until he found him grunting and a loud dull sound reached her ears. This place was even colder, it was making her shiver and it was very dark that only the light of the torch gave them sight. Shivering, he felt sound around her, she turned to her surprise to see the firm expression of the boy as he brought her near.
Her clothes were what her mother could give her, they were warm enough but not that warm, she was always cold in the day and at night but she endured for her mother and for herself. Yet this was too much. Feeling warm, she scooted to him as he went on as he used the torch to seek out more names. This man was barely recognizeable as the rock was already very chipped.
Edric Stark.
They went on, yet he stopped. She took a moment to see the boy who had his eyes narrowed and turning to a statue that was mossy on its top and was chipped off as the alst one, already worn massively by time. She could read the plaque it had clearly stating.
Alaric Stark.
As he dislatched from her he placed the torch on the floor and approached to the tomb, slowly he pushed the top lid of it. Grunting as he tried to do so, as it moved dust emerged lightly from it carrying a very foul waft which almost made her gag. As he stared at the tomb, she found him shocked as his hand reached forth to it. When his arms emerged from the tomb she saw it also, her eyes widened. It was a shining object, it had weight, looking like a chicken's egg but it was overweight, way bigger and in the light it looked scaly and shiny. Colored light blue yet with the light turned into an indigo purple, so beautiful, with whorls of black and gray. Pushing back the tomb of his ancestor, she stared at the object with amazement.
It had to be something so valuable if it was so buried deep in a dark chasm of a place like this. A place that even his father knew no off and of course that she had not domain to even tread on. Yet she did so in the company of Lord Stark's child. They both went out as they light got clearer, she fell in love with her friend's treasure.
"Let's play again."
He looked at her and he frowned. "I don't know…"
"I want one." She protested with a frown and light teary eyes, she felt sad and ready to cry. She wanted one too, why can't she have one shiny treasure too?
I want one treasure too.
The girl looked ready to cry, she must've thought that he obtained some kind of ultimate magnanimous treasure from the caves of House Stark. When in fact, he found something even greater. His knowledge and hunt lead to an even greater achievement. A Dragon Egg if he wasn't wrong.
"We'll play again, I promise."
"Of course you will." She replied with a confident smirk as he sighed in relief, the last thing he wanted was to attract anyone's attention, more less a girl openly speaking about him finding a treasure in the crypts of his ancestors. His father would ask tireless questions and Robb's mother would want whatever he found to be given to Robb since he was the 'Trueborn Heir' of Winterfell and he an unworthy bastard.
The nerve of that woman.
"But you'll have to not speak to anyone of this, you promise?" He asked as he made a sushing motion and she giggled and made the same motion of shushing barely containing her smile and mirth.
"Do you want to be friends? I'm Jon." He replied, preferring to not blatantly openly speak of his bastardry to which the girl widened her eyes in surprise and nodded vigorously.
"Jorelle. Jorelle Mormont." She pointed gestured with her hand pointing at herself.
"Let's be friends." She replied with a big smile on her face.
"Call me Jon. We're friends, aren't we?" He inquired as she nodded vigorously.
"Aye." She replied eagerly nodding her head multiple times. His head was taken back into the whisper on his head he heard on his head as he neared the tomb.
Yol ahrk iiz
'What does it mean?' He pondered as he heard something and he turned to the girl.
"Can i touch it?" She asked staring to him then mesmerized to the shining Dragon Egg.
"Sure."
And the girl outstretched her hand, oh'ing as she used both of her nmible tiny hands as she touched the egg with both of her hands feeling the scales on her hands. Emerging once more as the light gave birth into something greater, saying his goodbyes to the girl, he glared at the castle as he fixed his clothes, hiding the egg deep into his clothes, he rushed towards his room and opened the door, once alone he saw his room. It was barely with its necessities, there was a bed of a good size and at its front rested a chest where he kept most of his clothes. On a part of the room by the window there was a table and by the table was a piece of furniture he comissioned with a few gold he saved and he made a bookshelf with all the tomes of Knowledge he has read and acquired over his short life and there were still spaces to be filled no doubt. Many however were scrolls or papers in between books which were his own corrections to theories and facts that maesters seemed to throw off easily.
As he approached to his table, a loud dull noise got his ears as the egg fell into the table yet it was not craked or smash with the dim fall. He stared at the egg as he took out a book of general history and compared it to a rough illustration.
Dragon Egg
A tradition established by House Targaryen during the time of the Conciliator. Heirs and Spares of House Targaryen would be placed dragon eggs on their cradles as a motive to celebrate the birth of a child. It was Princess Rhaena Targaryen, who placed a dragon egg in the cradles of her younger siblings, King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne shortly after their birth. Even after the death of the last dragon, these eggs were still part of the tradition to celebrate the birth of a child, such eggs are the most prized possession of their owners. Dragon eggs are large with tiny scales, shimmering like polished metal in the sunlight. They come in a variety of rich colors, the color of the eggshell indicates the coloring of the dragon within, with with whorls tthat indicate the eyes.
Dragons have been known to lay eggs in a clutch of up to at least five.
He stared at the object mesmerized, a Dragon Egg. It is common wisdom that with a Dragon Egg you could buy an army or a castle in Essos, yet he felt strange about this thing; he felt a connection to it. Why? Caressing the scales felt oddly comforting, receeding his hand from the egg and shaking his head, retrieving himself from the odd spell that placed upon him. He heard commotion around the castle, quickly closing the window and hiding the egg on his bed, Lady Stark wouldn't have servants clean after him anyway. He ran out of his room and saw many maids and servants running around like headless chickens. Nto being aware of anything, he walked into the direction of the great hall, only to see his worried father near the nursery as loud cries were heard.
"Father." He called out to his father which made his father surprised.
"Jon, what are you doing here? Wait, i should ask Why are you here? Robb is outside playing, you shouldn't be here." His father called out as he turned to his back, he turned only to see nothing behind him. Odd.
"I took a trip to the Crypts." He trailed off which his father narrowed his eyes after widening them.
"Why?" His father asked insistingly taking a step forward ready to question him yet as Maester Luwin continued to go on about important details the man frowned.
"Jory." He called out to one of the nearest guards who stepped forward. "What is Robb doing right now?" He asked and Jory replied.
"He was playing with some of the Children my Lord, though right now he's on his room sleeping."
Lord Stark frowned as another loud cry interrupted him.
"Take Jon back to his room Jory, please."
For the past two weeks, the crisp winter air had been filled with the soft flutter of snowflakes falling from the sky like tiny, frozen feathers. The ground was blanketed in a pure white layer of snow, creating a magical winter layer of snow that he couldn't help but heel happy about. As a member of the Stark Family, just like Robb although less, he ahd duties to the household and to honor his father. And he has tried to do so by studying and bringing all he knew into this world to be appliable, he beleived that perhaps things would be better after his fever.
'But they were not.' He thought with sadness pondering about the glares directed to him by a prengnant Lady Catelyn, as if he didn't already knew she hated his existence. He felt grateful howevet that; at least his brother didn't saw him as a Bastard.
As he took a bite of his dish, he always enjoyed eating reading a book. It kept his mind occupied and he ignored the surroundings, whenever someone said anything he listened passively, though unless spoken at, he just listened absent-mindedly and read. It has been his routine. Yet, he couldn't help but notice Lady Catelyn Stark's piercing gaze fixed upon him, her eyes following his every move. Each forkful of food, each time he turned a page on his book, Jon could feel her scrutiny intensifying, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was judging him. Despite her attempt, a sly grin twisted her features. He couldn't help but wonder what was going through her mind as she watched him eat.
As he made his way down the wooden stairs, his foot inched cautiously and deliberatedly as he looked around, he took each step methodically. The stairs were slick with a fresh layer of snow, and the thought of slipping and tumbling down on them, potentially breaking himself flashed through his mind. Yet he shook his head, and went on. Most of the household was occupied with the birth of Lady Stark, a hateful lady who would rather hate a child than atatempt and become a better person.
With sadness on his eyes, he passed and at times chose to contemplate on the servants of Winterfell, scurrying about their daily tasks, while others were visitors, come to pay their respects or seek an audience with the Lord of the Castle. The air was frigid and biting, and he pulled his cloak tighter around his body to ward off the chills. Some of the servants wore clothes that were tattered and ripped in several places, a testament to the hard work they performed day in day out.
He would often contemplate the servants working and carry many pages around his person, his hands would be constantly stained in charcoal, not for being misechevous but rather for writting. For as you see, he came from another world. A world were men used tools to make their life simpler, to work easier, to not let their bodies tire out; he came from a time where men grew stagnant in the far-away gaze of their fullest of potentials, sometimes simple tools can brighten and get a more efficient job done.
Randomly drawing their work and getting a concept, he lived like this; observing his surroundings and not getting involved whenever he couldn't, silently watching events and studying people, and from that he understood them, he felt near them yet at the same time being afar. As he leisurely strolled through the court yard, he noticed a bald eagle perched atop the Old Tower, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to it.
'Another thing i draw near to.' He wondered with a laugh as he stared at the bird, tilting his head to the side, he saw the eagle had flown to drink from a puddle nearby. What caught Jon's attention was that half the water was frozen off, yet the defiant burd was determined as it was resourceful, using its sharp beak and talons to break, poke and prod the ice, it created a small hole to drink. Such an intelligent creature.
A hunter by nature, respected by the animal kingdom as a whole.
He briefly thought about it, turning to the sky as he thought about it. Being able to fly freely, far away from the drama which is House Stark, fly away from Lady Catelyn's hate, from everyone's pity, from this new life. From his worries of Eddard losing his head, Bran being paralyzed, Sansa willingly being used against House Stark, Arya turning into an Assassin and Rickon being murdered by Ramsay Bolton after being captured by the traitorous Umbers. And of course, the Red Wedding. Running away from his plotting into other's plotting to be able to counter-act the plots others had against his family. Flying away from the fear of dying alone in that cold wall, and the certainty that it was the fate he was going to be given. Even when he, didn't wanted to. As he watched the bird spread its wings and catch the wind, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to see the world from such great heights, to feel the rush of wind against his face, and to soar through the clouds like a bord or even a dragon.
He felt a brief mechanical perhaps but empty feeling in a plane on turbulence, his ears reacting to the pressure, his abdomen doing flips and feeling as if it was left yards behind him. Disconcerting as it was exciting, the surge of adrenalyne and yet, he felt it hollow. Lost in thought, he couldn't help but feel a sense of envy for the bird's ability to escape the confines of the earth and experience true freedom. Not a slavery to the surface. He escaped his thoughts of escape when the bird started to screech, characteristic of eagles.
With a smile on his face, he slowly approached the bird. Careful not to scare it away, as he got closer he marvelled at the bird's elegance, deadliness and beauty, sublime in its simplicity, so much like him and yet not. The Bald Eagle. A sudden thought crossed his mind –what if he could raise the bird as his own? He imagined having a little friend with him at all times, someone he could confide in and share his joys and sorrows with.
With droplets on its glistening feathers, the bird raised its head to slowly let a beautiful melody, even eagles can sing. It went with the peaceful scenery of the north. As he was, mesmerized by the stunning display of nature, he couldn't help but smile at the sweet sound that filled his ears. The bird took a look at Jon, and the bastard of Winterfell for a sense of dread spread in his body. What if i scared it?
He slowly crouched down, crossed his arms to his chest to make himself appear smaller and less intimidating, as he did so, he couldn't help but notice the snowflakes falling gently around him, setting atop his silver blond hair and creating a serene atmosphere. The snow only being half a foot deep. The bird soon returned back to his business, ignoring the young boy.
'Should've known.' he though with a frown, rolling his eyes. He stared at the bird with aw when suddenly, the bird stopped drinking water and his head tilted to look at Jon again. He felt his whole body freeze.
'Strange.' He thought as he tried to move yet he couldn't find himself being able to move, not even an inch. Yet he didn't feel the cold around him, nor the Snow falling on his skin.
Ser Daemon Rivers
Ser Daemon Rivers or rather Oswell Whent hated this cold frozen hell, he hated Winterfell, he hated House Stark, but worse of all. He hated the Catelyn Stark has brought to his name as a daughter of House Whent. Ser Daeron, or Arthur as it should be said, had the great idea to create a mercenary company in the Free Cities and constnatly rotate the Kingsguard members to never lose the sharpened senses of war and death around them dulled by guarding over the royals; right now it was Lewyn's turn to be in the company, all while Arthur watched after Rhaenys in Dorne and the Royals in Essos were cared after by Willem Darry. Other days he would go, Lewyn would watch Rhaenys, or Arthur would go. As he walked through the streets of Wintertown, nearby a bar he walked to a corner were a man dressed as a drunkard acted bashful around everyone and just glared at anyone who approached for jolly talk. He appraoched to him. A nearby light he made with his hands the shadow figure of a bat moving its wings.
The drunkard tripped and leaned on him, purposefully.
"You reek." He faked his haughty tone and pushed the man away, his hand already held a letter. Jon Connington, the Griff turned into a master of disguise; nobody knew how but the man picked the skill of being able to wear an assortment of different costumes, he believes it would be feminine make up, and clothes, Arthur believed that Jon Connington is a faceless man, and many more just thought the man to be too bold. Before he could go, he grappled his shoulder.
" For our grace." Jon Connington winked, handing a book and tipsily walked out of the establishment, leaving a bag full of coins in the table as his wake. Leaving the establishment and following the drunkard until he was out of earshot. Going back to winterfell castle was easy, to his room was easier, as he opened the first of two letters.
Black Bat
I've managed to recruit various different individuals from different sellsword companies, the company is looking each day bigger and I take most of the riskier missions alone. Just a few days ago i faced a Dothraki hoarde that threatened one of the Free Cities, with a few trusted men, we emerged victorious and Khal Ragnos was killed by my hand. For now I'll make my trip and visit Braavos, apparently Lady Rhaella is starting to move the dice already, some say its too early but i see it as a good thing. She is investing on communicating with Lord Velaryon, as short and limited as it is.
There was also an assassination attempt on Daenerys, that's the reason why Benjen fell silent on his letters to Lord Stark. The princess is well, however right now what we need are more men, at the moment i'm recruiting from everywhere; and even if its sounds fringe, I'm willing on looking for ways to buy Unsullied to our cause. I know slavery is frowned upon Oz, but hear me out. The Unsullied are a good army, if we free them and then offer them a place on our prince's army, they would be more willing to serve the cause. Aside from that, no changes. Benjen has convinced the Wolf Pack back to the North, he's on the way.
How is Barristan? Anything new from the capital?
A Radiant Sword
He went to the next scroll and unrolled it.
Black Bat
The Capital remains vigilant, Robert has again spent the money of the realm on another tourney and i can see the changes in King's Landing. People are turning poorer, the districts are starting to look unmaintained and ragged, never has the city looked so, bleak and pitiful to my sight. I feel revolted, how long will I have to bear the sight of this? Lady Cersei is pregnant with Robert's child, after her other son died a year ago, I could say something within her broke afterwards, something was never the same. I try to bring honor to the institution of the white cloak, brother, but it seems even I cannot bear the thought of having such dishonorable knights before me. Even the thought of having to share room with Jaime Lannister is, a prospect i don't look up to. I wished to serve a good king all my life brother, i fear dying and not being able to serve a king worth of my blade and cape. I confess that i find myself tempted to just like you all, to just sell this tainted armor and cloak of fake white and take tattered tunics, trousers, and boots with only my blade by my side and be part of this new 'Order of Tattered Tunics', there may be no white cloaks, but never has honor and duty looked as prim and humble as a tattered tunic.
I am daydreaming here. I'll provide an updated dossier on each of the six kingsguard as things go by.
How is my King? Has he been well?
I hope to hear from you soon
The Bold
He snickered, only Barristan would so blatantly write this so openly. He knew his brother was being tempted, but it wasn't the moment yet, Barristan was their spy deep in the leagues of Robert's numbers. He provided updated assesssment on each of the Kingsguard Knight's skill, by each tourney, by each guard, by each sparring Barristan sees, the man makes a lengthy dossier on the abilities and skills each Kingsguard knight has, Arthur has taken it of himself to become even better than Jaime Lannister; to become clevererer, to become a man of war, to be ready in case the Kingslayer is on the other side of the battlefield, because even Arthur can see that, then so would he. He came to collect the dossiers and each of the remaining Kingsguards prepared in conjuction a training regime for his grace to be able to be skillful with the blade.
Skillful wouldn't make it, he would have to be a God of the Blade. A god, if he wants to be able to avenge Elia Martell and his father's death. Robert Baratheon and the Realm will never hand the throne and he was sure they won't just leave it in his hands. Each dossier he picked, each of the kigsguard were sent to analyze its flaws, each flaw noted they exploited and trained. While Robert's Kingsguard grew dull with their guarding duties and ocasional spars and battles; the Targaryen Kingsguard used a Sellsword company's contracts to train themselves and Dothraki breaking as exercise for war-mongering. Claiming Dothraki heads becoming a new sport for the Kingsguards.
'His grace will become four this year, we can start with his training by then.' Ser Oswell thought of the premise as he returned to the castle of Winterfell as he looked at his king looking in the direction of the Great Keep of winterfell with a face full of melancholy and a tinge of sadness and longing.
And his heart ached for his king, living with a family that hating him, forced by Lord Eddard Stark to bear the pain and also to be unaware of the truth all while his real family that really loved him and missed him, was given only bread-crumps of his condition, half-truths and lies for the sake of not being aware he suffers here. As his King petted a dangerous bald eagle, the eagle played with his king's fingers with its beak as he carried the bird on his forearm all through the great keep. Like always since the King was born, he shadowed him yet remained unseeen, using dark spots and well-placed angles to be unnoticed by no one except Lord Stark. He saw his king enter his room and close the door behind him.
With a sigh, he stood watch over the door, no one passed by therefore he made himself train for his eventual return to the white cloak by watching over the door of his Grace.
As he opened the last scroll, he started to read it.
The Griff
The Hightower has neared to the Seahorse as per this gryffin's plot, by strengthening the fleet of the Seahorse with the goods of House Hightower, our grace's indirect family would be graced with a breath of life once again and strength. And perhaps, in the future, reclaim our King's seat from the Usurper's young brother. I hear whispers in the Reach of a thorny rose teaching her granddaughter dedicatedly for her rose stem to bear thorns too, the purpose is undiscernible, however it might be to get near the Baratheons for them to always gain what they wanted. Foolish, foolish rose; slighting dragons by offering meagre scraps and then so easily turning to the stag when the house that rose them from mere stewards still is alive.
Then again, such is the Tyrell Loyalty. Vain.
I've been seeking the trails of a dragon who turned its coat, so far i found information about a Blackfyre blooded prince of Pentos who had a daughter named Serra, i've scurried through the archives and it says that this Blackfyre prince of pentos is a descendant of Daemon Blackfyre's daughter, the same Daemon Blackfyre that Maelys the Monstrous killed. After that, the trail goes cold. Lord Hoster Tully is slowly falling ill and the maester tries to do everything, all while his son shows so far no skill in warcraft and seems to be simple-headed. Are these the children of the men that deposed The House of the Dragon?
In the Westerlands, The Lion struggles with his legacy, having his Dwarf Son Tyrion Lannister around makes the man sour. He abides by the wishes of his daughter by handing her gold recklessly, not growing aware that his gold reserves slowly go empty as years go by. Mayhaps the God's blessings will be heard and the lion won't have his Ill-gotten gold by the time he leaves this life by our King's just hand. He's also been gravitating around various Sellsword companies, i've made sure to make a count of those he considered. So far, the count goes to five hundred mercenaries and his sibling Kevan has been seen constantly in Tyrosh. There are rumors he's been seeking prices on mercenaries who can be taken on the immediacy.
The Stormlands are Ruled in all but name by Renly, but the castellan Lord Penrose is in charge of the castle; which both Lordlings apparently neglect while being around King's Landing.
The Gold Cloaks are secretly puppets under the command of a trecherous and vile man named Janos Slynt, who kills men to slowly climb up the ladder of command without care. He is a man who has no honor, enjoys the prostitutes heavily and sells his blade to the highest bidder and to those that provide him his pleasures.
There are also rumors, rumors that have to be verified. Of Krakens being brought together to the Islands, their motives are not known but there has been a surge of Ironborn Ships gravitating around the Iron Islands, far too many. The Coasts of the Reach and the Westernlands are far too wary yet many ward it off as rumors. And finally, Ser Gregor Clegane continues to assault the servants and his people, he knows no limits and continues to serve as Tywin Lannister's mad dog who he uses to keep Lords and others to a heel at his command. His keep is lavishly decorated, some servants have said that he enjoys sitting on his lordly chair in a great hall, adorned with Portraits of the history of the House of the Dragon and he passes most of the time contemplating the crown of The Conciliator.
This Griff shall speak more secrets to tell
To those ears they would listen to.
This humble griff hopes his king enjoys the gift he has brought.
Others he will bring in time
For this griff knows that a Dragon alone in the World is a terrible thing.
He threw all the letters to the fire, inwardly he was celebrating. House Hightower was nearing to House Velaryon, the act would serve to strengthen their fleet and their naval power, while also tying in marriage the Valyrian power of House Velaryon, most of the other powerful houses didn't had females to spare for Lord Lucerys's heir Monford. The North was a No-go, yet he continued to frown. What about the Stormlands?
'Would the Stormlords divide?' Yet at the same time he shook his head, it would be wondering far too much. Yet marrying double to House Hightower would be far too much. 'So would be giving things to House Tyrell, but Velaryon's hands are tied.' This caused the knight to ponder on the late marriages of the Lords and Ladies of the Seven Kingdoms.
'A lady from the Houses of the Riverlands would prove to be just as a good union too.' Redacting a fast letter, he hesitated. Valyrian Houses had already history with the two houses that came to his mind. He sent a letter to Lord Velaryon using valyrian language, from the few things he knew to make the offer to marry another house and not center the Valyrian power on a single household. House Hightower would gain already so much by having a princess of the Blood marrying their family, tying house Velaryon would be useless, right? They hoped to prevent a dance, not start another.
Nontheless he offered to also extend an offer to Ladies Bethany Bracken and Alayne Blackwood, it would tie House Velaryon with the King since his Uncle married a Riverwoman. It would be better to have House Velaryon seeking connections near to the King than to one of the Princesses, it would also be able to keep the balance of power in the royal family and not have a disarray at it.
The Striding Wolf navigated the calm waters of the Narrow Sea, Benjen sighed as he stared at the horizon where westeros would be.
"Never knew a young Pup could be so quiet." The grinning lips of Arkhaglias Antaryon recieved him, Wylis Manderly coordinated the ship and comandeered the efforts that would get them all to White Harbor. With them is a tiny fleet which bears the coming of the Wolf Pack, with the Wolf Pack comes a cousin family of hosue Stark, the Graystarks, the Flints from Breakstone hill, the Frost from Hardhome before they migrated south and also quite a few members and desecndants of Northern Houses that for the sake of Honor, they took not their trueborn names for the sake of not usurping their trueborn cousins. The Wild Wolves had many different men from all over the North although grown used to the extreme climates of Essos, and Benjen won them over. The prospect of returning home too handsomely to ignore.
"I hope you enjoy westeros Lord Antaryon."
"Lord Stark is a man of honor and keeps his word. When speaking of business there's nothing better than meeting the client man-to-man."
The odd Braavosi man pondered earning his awkward nod as he concentrated; he growled as grunted in effort as he felt his utmost hateful dark emotions. Yet he couldn't concentrate it. 'Why doesn't it appear?' He thought as he closed his eyes thinking of his sister Lyanna, Robert shaming her. Growling he opened his eyes and to his shock a tiny ball of dark dense energy hovered atop his palm.
Approaching his dagger to the small slowly expanding ball of negativity, the dagger was destroyed to nothingness. The result of his bout with an assassin that dared to take the life of his niece was this odd thing, he dared to call it sorcery but it felt different. It felt as if it was part of himself, as if it has always been with him. He knows nothing about it, except the fact that whenever he feels negative emotions such as hate, pain and desire to hurt others this orb appears on his palm and destroys things around him. Why did it appeared now? Why not before? As he took a breath and sighed, he imagined peace, on his mind he pictured winterfell, the falling snows. And he released a breath he held.
'I cannot ignore this asset.' He pondered calculatingly, yet fighting with his exacerbated emotions could be distracting and it would be lethal. Therefore he will have to search and find the source of this new power he bears and attempt to manipulate it and master it. He wondered if it would do any good to ask Ned about it. Shaking his head, he would take his time asking it later. As Wylis called out.
LAND!
Immediately the crew of the Striding Wolf and its fleet got ready to disembark in White Harbor, a touch of westerosi soil that he felt so alleviated for being at. As a a squire to Lord Wyman Manderly he aided Wylis and his men to prepare the ship to its last destination, by the time they reached to White Harbor the light of the sun indicating the day dawned on them all. Going from the Harbor to New Castle which stands proud and pale in its hill. Approaching to the gates which were opened, the commander of the New Castle Guard recieved them, a man over six feet tall ans tout, with a gray beard and graying hair, wearing an arnate silver armor with niello engravings that meant to flow like seaweed, with a helm modelled after the Merling King with a crown of mother of pearl and a beard of jet and jade.
"Uncle!" Wylis called out to the man, the man shook his nephew's hand and embraced him.
"Pup."
Marlon acted as the Master-At-Arms of New Castle and attuned him in the art of the blade even further, he lightly chuckled. "Ol'man." He smiled to the man who snorted and turned around haughtily.
"Your father is waiting for you. He awaits to hear of your journey to Braavos. Were you successful in your endeavor young Pup?" The man's gray eyes turned to him, lightly chuckling. "Aye, i found our long forgotten Essosi cousins in Myr. They accepted to come back to us, yet they wish to speak terms with my brother."
Marlon snorted. "Expected." He shrugged. As they walked into the Merman's court, Lord Wyman sat in his throne recieving the last petitioners of the day.
"Ah! My son." Lord Wyman recieved, getting up, the plump man had good intentions and he was loyal, an expert seaferer and commander, a surprising bannerman on their land.
"Heard you navigated from Braavos to Myr and back with a fleet."
"And a worker of miracles too." Lord Antaryon's voice replied with a smirk of his own.
"Lord Wyman, this is Arkhaglias Antaryon brother of the Sealord of Braavos Farrego Antaryon and expert Ship Builder and Seaferer. He'll be our main contractor for our northern Shipyard Project."
Lord Wyman shook hands with the man.
"Whomever is set to negotiate with House Stark has my interest."
"So the rumors are true, there's no more loyalty in the south since it was all taken by the north." The Braavosi man replied testly which made Wyman lightly chuckle.
"It's more a fact than a rumor."
Wyman trailed off as Wylis went off to see his family.
"Benjen, Lord Eddard send me a letter strictly for your eyes only." Wyman handed him the letter, dusting off his ceremonial robes which were most expensive than most of his wardrobe. "I've been meaning to ask young Pup. Do you feel yourself educated enough to go back home and be your own man in the world, yet?" Wyman asked which Benjen shook his head.
"Not yet Lord Wyman, i feel i could learn Seafaring from you and from Wylis. I wish also to ask to use a lot in your Harbor to bolster my fleet before i start using my Hold." Benjen asked to which Wyman nodded and patted his shoulder.
"Boy, i recieved you after such a devastating event to us. I saw you grow from a confused boy of his surroundings to this man you are now. You wear yourself prim and proper, though you use too much black, you're not in the Night's Watch." Wyman laughed as he did so too, perhaps he wears too much black.
"What can i say? I've always felt comfortable with its color." Benjen smiled.
"The Black Wolf, The Black Stark they are going to call you soon."
"Perhaps they will." Benjen stated earning the man's nod.
"You can stay for as long as you please, this Fosterage has been an experience for me and my family. And i thank Ned for giving my family the honor of bringing up his brother, Lord Rickard's son."
"As i feel thankful for you recieving me."
"Off you go boy, i won't entertain you any further. Any questions you have, there's maester Theomore at your service and you already know your way through my harbor more than most of my Children. You also know your way around my solar, you can use it for whatever letters or documents you need to howl your brother or at essos with." With a dismissive wave of his hand Wyman dismissed him from his court, with a light chuckle he went into the depths of New Castle's Great Keep and into his room. On the room was a banner flag of House Stark and another one of House Manderly, on his table were an assortment of various bookshelf acquired on subjects he enjoyed studying. Astronomy, Accounting, Warcraft, Seafaring and Higher Mysteries. Yet the most revered books he kept were a copy of Hardhome: An Account by Master Wyllis, History of Kings Beyond the Wall by Maester Herryk and his best book Six Times to Sea Account of Great Voyages of Alyn Oakenfist by Maester Bendamure.
And of course, he almost forgot, the copy of A Yi-Tish Account translated by a Qartish-Merchant; the book that got him hooked on the idea of Sea-Faring and building a fleet and of course, the idea of his City-Sized Shipyard.
A Sennight was what it took from White Harbor to Winterfell and the Route, he knew it by heart. Taking his Northern Destrier, as many others took their horses and carriages carrying their things, he wouldn't have Wyman be his pack mule to store their things, he acquired a quarter of the carriages and horses with his own savings while the others had to be purchased by the former sellswords themselves. As the castle of Winterfell was seen far away, the dour castle never felt like home as it was now, yet; he felt different. It felt like it used to be like home, yet he felt more at home like What Harbor, a window overlooking the sea, filling out papers and preparing for another trip by the sea, getting sailors ready and going for a trip to the sea. That was what he enjoyed the most, than any other thing.
"Lord Stark." Lord Roderik Graystark approached to him, he was the Commander of the Wild Wolves spoke to him.
"That's my brother Ser Roderik. I'm just Benjen. Aye?" He asked to the man who tongue-tied spoke with a heavy northern accent.
"About our contract." The Commander of the Wild Wolves motioned to which his nod was by finality.
"My brother Eddard will make the considerations Lord Graystark. I'm sure my brother will give you and all your members guarantees for you to stay in our homeland once more. That is our priority."
The Commander of the White Wolves nodded. He had a wife and a coming daughter/son, therefore the man was anxious and perhaps exasperated by all this politicking, however it was necessary. Now, the pregnant wife of Lord Graystark that travels with them and also the Wild Wolves are nearing winterfell and Lord Greystark only wishes to have a keep for himself. As per the contract specified; Benjen will be given a third of the Wild Wolves to establish his new keep, those willing will go with Roderik and those who not, could make their life in the North or Westeros wherever they desired, though they have been asked as nicely as he could to stay in the North, on their home. Nearing Winterfell the gates opened revealing his brother Eddard. He did his duty to his brother to bring the Wild Wolves and also the Shipyard builder, now, it would be time to settle a deal.
The Elder Seahorse I
Driftmark
His breath ached as his knees hurt, yet he hasn't bent the knee at least not officially, mostly dead yet still alive. As the Elder Seahorse, it has been his own responsibility to take care of House Velaryon and its Valyrian Roots, more so in these trying times when things aren't well. As the ship 'The Prancing Seahorse' docked in Driftmark, he smiled. At least his son has returned and with him comes his wife and an heir to leave Driftmark to. Stepping out of the plank was a young man in his late teens to early twenties, valyrian silver hair and aqua-green colored eyes of House Velaryon. "My son. You've come." He greeted with open arms his heir, who embraced him.
"You've grown bigger and stronger than the last time I met you."
Stepping out from the gangplank was a woman of exquisite valyrian features also, silver hair yet her eyes were brown instead of the common blue shades of their people. Characteristic of House Celtigar, the last of the Steward Household of the Targaryen of the Freehold at least from what their family histories said. Lady Celine Celtigar is the Granddaughter of Lord Ardrian Celtigar and Heir to Claw Isle; the marriage pact between House Celtigar and House Velaryon which allowed them to retain their valyrian features and also join their houses stated that the first two children regardless of the gender will inherit Driftmark and Claw Isle in that order thus take the Velaryon and Celtigar name when in birth. Holding onto Lady Celine's arms his heart softened.
A beautiful baby with valyrian silver hair and of course, the Velaryon blue eyes, as he approached. The woman lightly bowed her head.
"Lord Lucerys, may I present you your granddaughter Daella Velaryon, heiress to House Velaryon and the Driftwood Throne."
He was honored, honor meant best as he kissed his granddaughter's forehead he welcomed them both to his household; already waiting for them outside the castle was his other son, Aurane who will also do his duty. He ordered a feast to be made in Driftmark, for as a heiress of House Velaryon has been born, a true scion of the Valyrian folk. The feast was merry, the castle and the entirety of Driftmark celebrated the birth and the life of young Daella with blessings of the Seven for her on her life. Yet, however in the sunset, in the tranquility of the seagulls and ravens, with the waves of the sea echoing with their sounds on his solar, the elder seahorse sat down on his solar's chair, he was satisfied with his duty and he has been able to make sure House Velaryon survived and propsered; with Celine married to Monford and their first daughter and his heir reassured, the line of houses Velaryon and Celtigar will continue. Lucerys Velaryon was never a proactive leader of House Velaryon, he however had done his duty, to his household, to his king and to House Targaryen whom they share bloodties and alliance, already near death's door after years of Service to his King Aerys II, Lucerys Velaryon was a man who knew the games of court well and even better the dynamics of the royal family. He was a close friend to King Aerys II. Anyhow, right now House Targaryen needed of House Velaryon as House Velaryon needs of House Targaryen.
"House Baratheon has never been a friend to us. The Conquest Proved it and the Dance Reaffirmed it, they have the blood of Argylac the Arrogant in them; it is expected of them to hate us and belate us for our ancient conquest of them. Such arrogance." He whispered with disdain towards the house that has so suddenly turned overlords of the Kingdom's they conquered through hard Work and the Land they have had for thousands of years.
"I understand." Monford replied. "But we cannot deny House Baratheon, they are the Royalty now Father."
Lucerys growled, holding his chest, causing many to gasp.
"No, No! None of our blood shall marry a Baratheon ever again. Rogar was a good man, but his household its not. The Dance proved the Baratheons aren't our friends and they would prove our undoing. You must have greater insight my son, for we are in between enemies everywhere. As is your household Lady Celtigar, we're valyrians and now it is a crisis the one we have." Lucerys sighed disdainfully as he closed his eyes.
"My King Aerys died by the blade of a traitor." Lucerys spoke with sadness.
"My Prince Rhaegar was killed in a Rebellion started by the same Households that King Jaehaerys thought pacified; Baratheon, Tully and Arryn." Lucerys bit his lip as his hand balled into a fist.
"Our Princess Rhaenys, murdered and butchered by the Mountain and paraded through King's Landing so carelessly."
Lord Velaryon growled yet he smiled.
"But there is hope for us."
Lord Lucerys brought out a piece of paper, a piece of paper he has kept for three years in silence, a piece of paper he kept tightly in secret for the sake of his family and his culture. A piece of paper which held the last will and intentions of his Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Rhaegar was a clever prince as he was ambitious, many knew he held plans, many plans for the realm for when he came to power, from what the boy hinted; he wanted many of the Politics of his Great-Grandfather Aegon V reinstated, the same ones Tywin retrieved. For those politics to be achieved Rhaegar had a masterful plan, though well placed political marriages to soft-powered houses of the Realms, he hoped to have a counter-measure to the Great Lords.
Example, House Hightower in the Reach. It was a very big house, had marriages to many important houses and ancestry with many more. Rhaegar would use the Hightower soft power against any possible rivals from House Tyrell. Yet all things were retrieved the moment Robert Baratheon spoiled the party, killed his prince and all plans were discarded.
Yet a tinge of that plan still stood tall.
"Daenera." The Elder Seahorse croaked, and turned to meet his only daughter a few years younger than Monford, his treasure and the carbon copy of the love of his life. With a heavy sigh, he looked at his daughter a pristine Valyrian female with the grace and beauty of her Queenly namesake, beautiful with long silver hair laced with gold, smooth and pale as winter snow with eyes blue as the summer sea. His daughter however was born spirited, fierce and capable, vicious to a fault and with a great resentment to the great houses outside of Valyrian Origin. She took to wearing leathers and tunics instead of her dresses, she took to having a blade always strapped to her hip and more hidden on clever gaps of her attire. She minded not arranging her hair like any fair maiden, but with the blade and in the field she was as fierce as the men at arms and way more than her siblings. She had no interest in sea faring, unlike her siblings, but she rather took to learning from the Steward, The Castellian and whenever he was at the solar. His pride and joy, and yet there are plans, greater plans in motion.
"Daenera, you will have to do your duty too as will Aurane." The Elder Seahorse replied and generated a nod from both of his children. Lord Hoster Tully was a vengeful bastard who turned his cloak when the benefit arose to him, the original idea was to marry Aurane to Lady Alysanne Blackwood a sister to Lord Titos Blackwood, and Viserys Targaryen would marry his daughter. Yet plans changed, and after being aware of how hard the Queen tried to manage him he shook his head; he would risk it.
"Daenera, you will marry Edmure Tully, Hoster Tully's useless son." The elder Seahorse replied as he widened his smirk, as his three children nodded but he could see in his daughter a smirk plastered on her face. Lucerys smiled equally so, of all betrayals the Riverlands was the worst and Hoster Tully will pay by having to see as the Red Hair of his trecherous forefathers will be forevermore painted Silver and those blue eyes be painted forever summer-sea blue. His daughter Daenera stayed as he started to redact the letters, it has been time since Driftmark had a Maester he could trust. When it was announced that Tywin entered King's Landing, he ordered his guards to murder the Maester and from then on he did the duties himself. He wasn't an illiterate fool, and whenever he needed help...his daughter would provide it so or any of his children.
"Westeros favors not those of our kind, they want us all dead." He grumbled. "Mark my words dear daughter, for one day shall the Seahorse rule the tides as the Dragons rule the skies side by side as it was always meant to be."
It was always his plan, even if Stannis Baratheon has a cholkehold on the loyalty of the Valyrian Houses, once of the Dragon Banner now all choked by the stag. Driftmark, Claw Isle, Sharp Point, Sweetport Sound and Massey's Hook; of those houses only three are of pure Valyrian descent; Driftmark, Claw Isle and Sweetport Sound. With his son's marriage settled uniting both the claims of House Velaryon and Celtigar, Valyrian blood will prevail through the coming decades during the usurper's reign and in his plan to influence outside Driftmark, the Riverlands was the nearest asset and of course how else to influence it than by marrying the Heir of the Lord Paramount.
"How is your former squire?" Aurane inquired with a slight curved-up smile as the man snickered.
"Justin is well, the heir of House Massey has taken the prospect of knighthood well enough. Knowing seafaring won't be so bad for the boy either. I hope you've been teaching him as well as i did." Lord Lucerys smiled fondly, right now the boy was waiting for Aurane on the guest quarters of House Velaryon. House Massey is a Valyrian House as much as the stormlands wish to claim their lands, Justin Massey is now a young man, he was born half-a-decade later than Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, yet it didn't diminished the young man's purpose, his mother who died in child-birth and his father who died in the Battle of the Bells earned the boy the wish to be as good as his father leading his family.
House Velaryon took young Justin Massey into their tutelage to make the boy a man, during the strenous days of the war, the boy was there. During the siege of Dragonstone by the Baratheons a teenaged Lord Justin Massey played with princess Rhaenys and got to cross blades with the men of the most glorious Kingsugard in the history of the seven Kingdoms, even traded words with Ser Gerold Hightower. And now, they were in the process of arranging him a marriaage with Lady Malora Hightower, a woman a pair of years older than him, yet nonetheless dutiful and with desire to be part of their grand plan.
"Go, my son; go to our shared Squire. These are his last days as a young man anymore and sooner or later he will have to return to Stonedance to rule fairly and with the same example all of us valyrians have done for centuries."
The Elder Seahorse saw his son bow with respect and leave his solar, as he took a sigh and brought his right hand closer to his chest.
'Just a little more, a little more time until i see my daughter married.' He reassured in his thoughts resisting the constricting pain his body protested against, water preserved as it wrinkled. He hoped to at least last enough, feeling tempted to ask Maester Aemon the secret to his longevity for the sake of seeing his Grandchildren grow, perhaps such a thing will never be possible.
'Alas I will be able to do what you wanted always, Father.' He thought with a smile.
Getting out of his solar and burning any important letters in case of spies, he walked through the halls of beautiful driftmark until arriving to his bedroom, as he lied on his bed feeling tired. Respite coming through his worn bones, and he closed his eyes.
The hour was getting nearer.