The Renassaince Begins
Tristifer's boots echoed softly on the wooden floor as he made his way through his liege's keep. His armor chafed against his shoulders, a constant reminder of the day's responsibilities. Nodding in greeting to some of Lady Hogg's maids as they passed, he finally slipped into the closed door of the nearly abandoned library.
In the dimly lit chamber, the scent of aged parchment filled the air, welcoming him like an old friend. Tristifer's gaze swept across the rows of dusty shelves, and he couldn't help but feel a pang of both fascination and disappointment. To think that so many nobles allowed their treasure troves of knowledge to waste away, their books neglected and forgotten while they selfishly clung to power and possessions.
Yet, in this decaying sanctuary, Tristifer found solace. The neglected library seemed to hold the secrets of a bygone era, waiting patiently to be rediscovered by someone who valued their wisdom. As he gently ran his fingers over the spines of the forgotten tomes, he felt a connection to the past, to the authors who had penned these words centuries ago, hoping that their knowledge would stand the test of time.
Ser Roger Hogg, a seasoned warrior, cared little for the administrative affairs and entrusted such matters to the maester. To him, the grandness of battlefields overshadowed the subtle power of knowledge. But Tristifer was different; he yearned for more than just the clash of swords. In the quiet depths of the library, he sought the missing pieces of his own identity, a purpose beyond serving as a knight.
Tristifer knew that many men believed their sword to be their only weapon. However, his grandfather had taught him otherwise, emphasizing that a true warrior's repertoire should encompass more than just physical strength. Wit and resourcefulness, he explained, were invaluable tools that could navigate one through challenges far more effortlessly than a sword ever could.
His grandfather had shared a poignant lesson, linking their House's downfall to the one-sidedness of their alleged forefather, Tristifer IV, renowned as 'The Hammer of Justice.' According to legends, The First Man King had engaged in a hundred battles, emerging victorious in ninety-nine, with the final one being his only defeat. Tristifer couldn't help but be deeply affected by this tale; it reminded him that one defeat was all it took to lose everything.
Tristifer's father, however, had brushed aside these grand tellings of their storied heritage, dismissing them as the whimsical ramblings of his own father, Tristifer's grandfather. Sadly, his father was no longer with them, leaving Tristifer to seek solace in his grandfather's narratives, which only intensified his fascination with their family's history.
Lost in his thoughts, Tristifer remained oblivious to the slender figure that had stealthily made its way into the library.
"Shouldn't you be on guard duty?" Tristifer's exasperated sigh slipped quietly from his lips as Lady Lyra's mischievous voice echoed through the dimly lit library, her words teasingly dancing between the dilapidated bookshelves. "What do we even pay you for?" she playfully taunted, a hint of playful annoyance in her tone.
Tristifer couldn't help but shake his head, but a small smirk found its way to his lips as he turned to face his critic.
"Lady Lyra," Tristifer greeted her with a dramatic bow of his upper body, his tone laced with playful sarcasm. "For protection, I believe," he said, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, even though he didn't feel particularly energized to deal with the daughter of his liege.
The lady glanced around the dusty room, her warm brown eyes returning to meet his gaze. "I see you have taken the most prominent post. Did you draw the long straw?" she teased, a playful glint in her eyes.
Lady Lyra Hogg, the spirited daughter of Ser Roger Hogg and his second and current wife, Lady Jeyne Gaunt, proudly claimed the distinction of being the niece of the late Kingsguard, Ser Gwayne Gaunt. If Ser Roger ever had plans of cozying up to the Kingsguard or even the King, as allegedly unstable as he was deemed, those hopes had sailed with the knight's demise. Then again, Tristifer didn't consider Ser Roger to be the most politically inclined noble either, so perhaps it was all merely a coincidence.
"Alright, jokes aside, what are you actually doing around here?" Lyra folded her arms, studying him with a serious gaze. Her curiosity about his presence in her father's library was evident, and Tristifer knew he had to be cautious not to raise any more suspicion with the inquisitive girl.
"Addam asked me to slip in and get him a book alright?" Tristifer made an uncomfortable face seamlessly, if anything else he could believe his mask was inherited from a noble line certainly.
Lyra rolled her eyes. "So he asked his friend to get a book for him? He isn't prohibited from entering the castle as you both should well know"
Now it was time to complete this little lie of his. Tristifer makes a tired shrug of his shoulders. "Bastards don't usually enjoy bumping into their step-mothers; quite the opposite, actually," he said, flashing a charming smile. "And your mother would much rather be graced with the handsome visage of her husband's daring defender-"
"Enough, Tristifer," Lyra interrupted. "I see your point."
A genuine, amused smile slipped upon Tristifer's face. "Oh, really? I guess even innocent noble ladies such as yourself can be affected by my roguish charm," he quipped. Lady Lyra wrinkled her nose in response, but he detected a glimmer of something in her sparkling eyes. However, he knew it would not be politically prudent to be entangled with his liege's daughter, and now was not the time for such interactions.
"Just don't get caught by Father or your captain," she said, her tone pointed.
"I appreciate your discretion, Princess," Tristifer saluted playfully before turning around and strolling down the aisle, pretending to search for a specific tome. He caught a soft scoff from her before her footsteps faded away behind another shelf. He continued without pausing until he heard the reassuring sound of the heavy library door closing.
He takes a quick breath of relief before focusing, now was the time for business looking for the dustiest book he puts 2 in a knapsack, this should do. Now for pleasure, dusting off the fading titles he finally lands upon the title: Noble Houses around the Eye. Knowing your enemies and allies alike would be smart. His grandfather would tell him regardless.
After dropping it into his knapsack, he slips the dusty book under his tabard and quickly leaves the room, not wanting to keep Addam waiting. He was thankful that his shift was finished because as he moved through the halls toward the gates of the keep he saw his colleagues rush past mentioning that a royal caravan had been ambushed within Ser Roger's lands. The King had executed lords for less, and Ser Roger was only a landed knight.
Tristifer hoped his liege wouldn't face execution, though he couldn't help but feel indifferent about the idea. The fate of Ser Roger didn't trouble him at all.
He mused, acknowledging the truth behind his liege's lackluster qualities: Ser Roger wasn't the most inspiring knight. However, he conceded that at least Ser Roger wasn't a cruel liege, just distant—a small consolation, considering things could be worse.
Reflecting on Ser Roger's limited influence, even in Sow's Horn, Tristifer realized his liege's power hardly carried much weight. Rather the devil you know than the one you don't and all that.
As he made it outside the keep, he stopped for a moment to bask in the feeble sunlight. The last three years of summer were now apparently over, and it had been a couple of moons already since winter had descended upon the land. The snow had been falling relentlessly, not sparing even the crownlands. Tristifer couldn't even imagine how harsh it must be beyond the Trident, where the winters were known to be even more severe.
"Oi Dirt, get over here" This was of course interrupted, why couldn't he have nice things?
Turning to face the voice, he saw a face he really didn't want to encounter on this particular day. As he walked down to meet the other man, he once again gave him a once-over.
Galen was short but muscular, not unusual for the well-fed smallfolk in the crownlands. Yet, it was Galen's face that set him apart. To be completely honest, it looked as though a horse had trampled all over it—maybe even a whole herd. The less said about it, the better. Tristifer couldn't help but think that his grandfather's lesson about maintaining eye contact didn't account for encountering someone like Galen.
"What can I help you with today, master blacksmith?" Tristifer tried, his frustration evident. Perhaps, just this once, he could manage a respectful conversation with this stubborn man.
"Cut the bullshit, Dirt. Keep that to those barmaids of yours," Galen retorted sharply, his temper flaring. "You are aware in your seven blessed heads that you can't reserve things forever. You wouldn't even know how many others have been inquiring about that damned breastplate. Do you have the money?" His face grew redder and redder with each word until he practically shouted the last part.
"As you well know, master blacksmith, I will have some money within the week, and I will buy that breastplate the second I receive the payment," Tristifer replied, his smile placating but lacking sincerity in his eyes. He couldn't wait to be done with this town and its frustrating dealings.
Galen huffed, "I don't care if you take the money from the King himself, just give me my money!" The eyesore finally turned away and began walking off in a huff. Tristifer couldn't help but roll his eyes at Galen's melodrama. Once Galen was out of earshot, Tristifer couldn't resist whistling a jaunty tune from the bard who had performed at the inn the previous night as he trekked his way home.
Tristifer carefully navigated the narrow, snow-laden dirt paths that crisscrossed the middling village. As he ventured further, the houses became sparser, and eventually, he arrived at one of the last dwellings situated on the edge of the settlement. Before him stood a sturdy wooden building, its exterior coated with a pristine layer of snow, blending in with the winter landscape. Not too far away, he spotted his uncle's windmill—a familiar sight that loomed over the snow-white countryside, a testament to his family's long-standing presence in the area.
Opening the door to his sturdy home, Tristifer nodded in greeting to his aunt—a timid woman who, though non-confrontational, wasn't particularly warm toward her husband's extended family. "Would you happen to know where-" he started to ask but was interrupted before he could finish his sentence.
"Cousin! How was the castle today, then?" Spinning around, Tristifer was faced with his cousin Robin. A genuine smile lit up his features as he replied, "Well, you know how it is—save a princess here, kill a dragon there, recover ancient tomes in the meanwhile..." Tristifer didn't bother to continue, as the two cousins were well-acquainted with each other's playful banter.
His cousin Robin was a year younger, but even then, he stood taller by half a head—a fact Tristifer playfully attributed to Robin's mop of dirty blonde hair, almost hiding his mischievous hazel eyes. One thing Tristifer always could come back to was that Robin was thinner than a stick in comparison to Tristifer's muscular stature. Those many hours in the training yard had undoubtedly paid off, sculpting his physique into one of strength and agility.
"You know, Robin, it doesn't help to be tall if someone can snap you in two," Tristifer remarked with a playful smirk. Robin responded with a dirty look before swiftly changing the subject.
"Father said he wanted to talk to you as soon as possible," Robin said wearily. Tristifer sent his cousin a sad smile, understanding the weight of their responsibilities.
"You are his only son, even he—" Tristifer began, but Robin interrupted him.
"Cousin," Robin said, giving him a pointed look and tipping his head backward, "Addam is still in his room doing seven knows what. And Tristan is holed up in the chicken coop."
Tristifer raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the unusual sight of his grandfather venturing outside. It wasn't common these days, considering the gods hadn't been kind to his grandfather's body, making it harder for him each passing year.
"I'll go see what your father wants," Tristifer nodded, "and then we can take a trip out to the Thirsty Hog and see what's happening."
Robin's eyes brightened as Tristan walked past into the bedrooms. The benefit of a guard's wage was that you could ensure your family had their own rooms, a luxury not commonly seen outside of nobility. Yet, Tristan couldn't help but be reminded that he had noble blood within him, even royal blood. House Mudd, according to legends, had been the Kings of the Rivers and the Hills in ancient times.
Tristifer and his grandfather shared the same dream—to rebuild the ancient House once again. It was all part of a greater plan to restore their noble lineage, if not to its former glory, at least to rise out of obscurity.
Tristifer poked his head into Addam's room. It wasn't anything extravagant, like most of the rooms in their modest dwelling. The space consisted of a simple bed, a wardrobe, and a small table with a chair in front of it. There, he found his friend hunched over something, small wooden bits flying out from the side as he worked on whatever project had captured his attention.
"So it is here you are hiding." Addam jumped up a little, laying something down on the table in front of him before turning to face Tristifer.
"Tristifer," Addam said in greeting, his voice tinged with weariness.
"I got two more, we can sell them—" Tristifer stopped as Addam revealed a small pouch that clinked. His eyes widened, and Addam's smile grew wider. "We have enough? I thought..." Tristifer paused, his voice tinged with curiosity.
"I managed to haggle up the price on the previous two. They insisted on meeting at the Hour of the Owl, not realizing that it is even more suspicious to meet in the middle of the night. But with the increased price, I didn't want to push my luck," Addam explained. "It seems your time in my father's service is at an end."
Tristifer took a moment to process the information. "I will buy the last armor piece, and then all that remains is to find a tourney, right?"
"It seems so, Ser Mudd. Where does this take us? Do we leave immediately, or do we make some preparations first?"
Tristifer shakes his head. "No, unfortunately, I am not willing to just wander about aimlessly while waiting for a tourney to spring up. We will wait here until we hear one starting. Robin and I are heading down to the inn now to listen in on what's going on. And before we leave, I'd like to wrap up my remaining business here."
"What are you two talking about?" Robin's curious voice interrupts them, and Tristifer swiftly turns to face his cousin. He quickly glances around the corridor, then pulls Robin inside the room, closing the door behind them. He realizes he had been standing awkwardly in the doorway, but the excitement of the news had momentarily clouded his judgment.
"So, what were you two talking about?" Robin inquires, his eyes darting between Tristifer and Addam. The two friends share a brief glance, and Addam shrugs his shoulders, leaving Tristifer to respond.
"We are planning to leave," Tristifer explains after a moment, "we have been planning for quite a long time, actually."
The news surprises Robin, and he leans in closer, intrigued. "Leave? Where are you going?"
Tristifer smiles, keeping his voice low. "There's a whole world out there beyond these lands, and we want to see what lies beyond the horizon. As you know I am descended from the old Mudd's"
His cousin's eyes widen with excitement. "Oh, I thought that was only something the others teased you with?"
Tristifer's smile grows, and he nods affirmatively. "No, it's true. The tales of House Mudd's glorious past were passed down through generations. While others may tease, it's a legacy I carry in my blood, and I aim to reclaim that legacy."
Robin's eyes gleamed with admiration. "That's incredible! So, you're like a hidden prince, ready to reclaim his kingdom!"
Tristifer chuckles softly. "Perhaps not a kingdom, but I do believe there's more to our family's history than just obscurity. And I don't want to spend my life wondering 'what if.' I want to venture out, explore the realms, and make a name for House Mudd once again."
His cousin's enthusiasm is infectious, and Tristifer can see the spark of adventure igniting in Robin's eyes. "Can I come with you? Imagine the adventures we'll have!"
Tristifer's expression turns more serious. "Robin, I'd love to have you by my side, but you know your father. He may not take kindly to the idea of you leaving. You are his only son, and he doesn't have any other apprentices."
Robin's face falls, disappointment evident in his features. "You're right, Father will be furious."
Tristifer places a reassuring hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Let me handle it. Once the time is right, I'll talk to him. And if he sees how important this is to me, maybe he'll understand."
Robin nods, determination returning to his gaze. "Okay, I trust you, cousin. Just promise me you won't forget about me when you become a famous knight or something."
Tristifer grins, his playful side resurfacing. "Forget you? Never! You'll always be my loyal squire, ready to join me in every daring escapade."
With that, Robin's spirits lift once again, and the two friends share a moment of excitement for the journey ahead. Tristifer knows that convincing his uncle won't be easy, but he's ready to face any challenge to make his dreams a reality. The thrill of adventure and the hope of restoring House Mudd's legacy fuels his determination, and he knows that with Robin and Addam at his side, there's nothing they can't overcome.
End of Chapter
This will not be updated regularly. I am posting this first chapter now because I want to see what people think about the idea and then I will begin building chapters until I have a few ready before I post the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed this at least and I will try to reply to any reviews not written by guest accounts and DMs.
Until next time.
