I know you wanted more, so I will grant you your most dearest wish (after a Lamborghini, mansion and other such things) so here you go!
Fourth Moon, 9AD (93 BC)
15 days since the Lion's Erring or the Battle Near the Cove
Floki "the Grim Reaper" Drumm POV
Contrary to what most would think, Floki does enjoy feasts. While yes, they could be somewhat rowdy that did not mean he did not love the beautiful decorations, the merry environment, the delicious food and most importantly, the politics. One could even say that the second son of Lord Ragnor Drumm relished in his role as Prince Harwyn Hoare's right hand.
That one snide commentator would be correct, Floki loved politics, it was the sea he swam freest in. Ralf was the fierce warrior amongst them, Gregor the enthralling preacher and Harwyn was a master of none yet skilled in each. Floki was the sly politician, he knew the names of every lord and lady in the hall along with their income, military might and personal details before he even looked in their direction.
Ralf loved to fight, Gregor cared not for anything bar his strange cult of the Drowned God and Harwyn just did as he wanted and when he wanted. He enjoyed spars with his trusty scythe, he was more pious than a great many lords and dare he say it, he loved participating in Harwyn's schemes … discounting how often he had to clean them up.
Yet every man's vice was unique and this was his, he loved how so many mighty lords and reavers looked at him in fear, fighting for scraps of his favour like seagulls. He loved pitting them against one another and watching the resulting chaos. His efforts were boring fruit as they speak, the brothers of late Lord Androw glared daggers at one another. Their most likely opponents to the rule of Fair Isle were now feuding with one another after the younger found the older in his mistress's bed.
If this had been eleven years before he would have felt shame. He would have hated himself for using such womanly methods and bringing further shame to his house. That is if there is anything more shameful than an Ironborn who could not use any weapon with any skill. It was the Drowned God's will that no weapon feel natural in his arms.
The Floki of the past died the day when an annoying squid put a scythe in his hands while his bastard son and royal nephew looked on. From that Floki's ashes, a new Drumm arose, this Floki did not trip over himself trying to please his parents. Instead, the boy born anew carved his name deeper into the annals of history than many thrice his age. This Floki certainly did not find fault in torturing annoying Rockmen with any methods no matter how manly or not.
Besides he needed all the amusement that he could get, in a few months he would be down in the Reach, making history while simultaneously fearing for his loved ones. The Grim Reaper was no craven, he bloodied his scythe with everything from runaway thralls to Lengii rebels to Wildlings to Summer Islanders. The Grim Reaper was no craven yet he was still a man and men knew fear.
The thought of them disappearing haunted his nights. Harwyn's crooked smile, Ralf's boisterous laugh, Gregor's impassioned sermons, Father's wicked laughter, Mother's sweet wit teasing and his half a dozen sisters' romantic woes and his brother Aethelstan's gentle smiles. They dreaded them going away like Urri's annoying smile so similar to his idiot nephew filled him with dread.
Would this again be his fate a year from now? Would he be berating himself for going into battle and not doing enough? Was he to again return less than before? Peace was never his lot in life, he was Ironborn. Even in the long peace of King Qhorwyn, every reaver has spent their youth training for battle and then going on to put it to good use across the seas.
They were Ironborn, they were not subjects nor slaves but the true rulers of the waves and for one to rule one must also shed blood.
He took a deep breath and tried to cast away such dark thoughts, he would not let anything happen to his family. He would not let any of them share Urrigon's fate, that he swears on the Drowned God and the Green Gods. Speaking of less grim and yet still troubling news.
He looked to his side at the wild clapping of the former Lord of Fair Isle, the reason for the boy's cheer was his mother dancing in the arms of his "Ser Salt" while the rest of the hall looked on in befuddlement. The Ironborn gave them cheers as they twirled in their direction while the Rockmen looked on in anger.
They had decided to join the feast despite missing the last one (which he definitely is not still sour about) on the pleadings of the little Farman or Bertie as he liked to be called. It had first worried him how much sway the boy and his mother had gotten over Ralf in such a small time frame. After a few "playdates" and being dubbed Ralf's "little brother", he could put these fears to rest.
The Princess was no master manipulator and nor was Ralf thinking completely with his other head. Unfortunately, he did not know if that was for the better or not.
Speaking of the boy Lord, he was dressed for the occasion in a red silk tunic, blue trousers and a yellow cape pinned with his signature silver ship. While his mother had replaced her black mourning dress with a moon white silken dress decorated with vines and flowers made from cloth of gold. The magnificent pearl necklace was an heirloom of House Farman only worn on the merriest of days.
How scandalous to wear it while in the arms of her husband's killer. Truly the Lioness of Fair Isle is a spiteful little thing, her goodmother looked to be holding in tears.
Ralf wore the inverted colours of his father's house as was common with bastards, a golden silk tunic embroidered with black diamonds forming small krakens, black trousers along with a fine mammoth cloak pinned with roaring jade giant.
It could be forgotten that Ralf was the richest among them after he received his inheritance. While his lordy parents had given him his own sizable inheritance upon his six and tenth nameday as had the King for Harwyn, it paled in comparison to Ralf's. Urri had led all their expeditions and even before that, he was renowned as a renowned Reaver and the vast majority of his wealth went to his only child.
If his own clothing was not more ostentatious he might have felt out of place. He wore a collared white vest with buttons of gold and emerald and white trousers made from the with a magnificent hooded crimson silken cloak wrapped around himself like a bat's wings.
The feast had progressed more or less the same as last time, just with much more gawking on Lord Farman, his mother and their pet giant. The Fair Lords came to him to ask for news from Casterly Rock, to give reports of their activities and some to just brownnose. The Ironborn just came to exchange greetings and quick japes before returning to feasting.
That is if it is not for one of the Farmen girls. He looked over to see the despondent fool nursing a goblet of wine in her hands, what did she expect? She came up to the high table looking like a seal in heat, without even acknowledging the others, turning to Ralf wearing a toothy grin. Then speaking loudly and clearly.
"If I may be so bold, my Lord Walker, I believe I am owed a dance from the last feast.", those words ushered a brief calm before the storm. The greenlander portion of the hall made its thoughts of a Farman dancing with their Lord's killer known by their glares and mutterings.
Before Ralf could speak the Princess then stood up and started to silently glare at the impudent girl, the boy copied his mother for some reason. He was all of a sudden reminded of the time his mother saw his father spending a little too much time with his new salt wife. After a minute or so and an eternity for the now shivering girl, she turned to Ralf and spoke in a soft voice out of place with her enraged visage.
"May I request a dance, Ralf, if I may be so bold?". If the previous girl unleashed a storm then the princess out did her by bringing Ragnarok. Gasps of shock, screams of outrage and- Oh, Androw's mother just fainted.
His friend just accepted dumbly and was led onto the dance floor all the while mumbling about it being the first time she said his name without the Lord. He snapped back to attention when the flustered minstrel played a tune, then the pair began to move to the tune the rest of the singers and dancers resumed their prior activities in a more subdued fashion.
Frankly, he thought they looked a little ridiculous, Ralf towering more than a foot over her was a very comical sight. Yet, he and the princess managed to give them a very beautiful performance over the "Symphony of Scurvy" and they were now on their fourth song. They had not stopped staring at each other's eyes for even a second.
No, he was wrong. It was not only Ralf who was thinking with his other organ. He would not be surprised if his friend left this island with a wife and child. They might actually cave to the boy's demands for the three of them to sleep in Ralf's bed. He could see Galon crying tears of pride and jealousy in equal measure. At the very least it had done well to add to their legend.
It had been half a moon since the Lion's Erring as Harwyn liked to call it or the Battle near Iron Cove according to the Maesters. Even after two weeks of daily deliberation from Oldtown's great minds, they could not think of a better name, so much for the Knights of the Mind. Then again he was not being charitable, at least that cove got some recognition out of this, now Rockmen will join the birds in shitting on that barren rock.
The Seven Kingdoms had known in days, how the Adventurous King Tommen had stopped his quest to Old Valyria to attack the unsuspecting Prince Harwyn Hoare who himself was embarking on his second quest to Yi-Ti and beyond. This heinous action was said to be based on hearsay of some smallfolk spy who claimed the Prince was going to attack Fair Isle on his way to Dorne.
The Prince may have been punished for a crime he did not commit had it not been for the blessings of the Drowned God. He had dreamed of King Tommen's foolish actions and turned the tables on the young King. Even after the unjustified attack that nearly cost him his life at the sword of Tommen himself, the Prince had remained more than reasonable and began negotiation forthwith. All for the sake of preserving peace.
Harwyn sure loves laying it on thicker than a Mammoth's Hide. A single ship filled with half their best skalds had returned home after the battle and the sailors began spinning tales as they were wont to. They sang of everything from Ralf's slaying of the Fair Falcon to his own capture of Lords Kayce and Crakehall and most of all Harwyn's triumph over King Tommen in both strategy and combat. One of his kinsmen wrote to tell him that the atmosphere at home has been near euphoric.
Then again it was to be expected, they had captured the King of the Rock in his own waters, taken his ships, and held him for half a moon as a prisoner while they feasted in the castle of his goodbrother and closest companion who they had slain. Now to pour salt on the Lion King's already severed pride their bastard friend had burrowed his way into his sister's heart along with his nephew not far behind.
The skalds will not mention they checked their food daily for poison, took a squadron of ships for scouting every single day and night and had to remain constantly vigilant. No man remembers the logistics and his aching ink covered palms. They will only mention the glory and what glory it shall be, they were deeds worthy of song and legend. If his Father wasn't getting on his arse about marriage before, now he definitely would be. How troublesome.
Marriage was the only part of politics he did not like, he blames Urri for corrupting him. Ralf's mother was the daughter of a rich merchant who caught the eye of his father, not with a pretty face and a seductive body but with her wicked tongue and warm heart. He chose never to marry or to take another mistress for his small folk lover. He wanted what they had, not to fuck some heirs into a cold cunt and then find comfort in a whore's arms.
The luck of the Farwynds coming from Ralf's grandmother must not have skipped a generation since both father and son seem to be finding love before their second decade. This is what Galon must have felt spending decades next to such a lucky bastard while he had to drown his sorrows in wine and women of the night. That or the old man just loved his booze and whores, they (especially the tavern and brothel owners) certainly loved his gold.
Ignoring his romantic woes in favour of Ralf's, the situation was getting out of hand and it needed a solution. This was not some lowly servant girl and her urchin of a son they could just whisk away to home. This was Princess of the Rock and a soon to be former high lord of the Golden Realm. If he wanted his friend to have his happily ever after then they needed to fight for it.
He finished his wine and stood up, startling the still clapping Bertie out of his trance as his mother and her obvious infatuation went for their sixth dance. He ruffled the boy's head with one hand and placed a piece of carrot cake in front of him with the other. That effectively cut off any of the dozen or so questions the boy would have asked him.
As he walked towards the entrance he simultaneously ignored the Rockmen sucking up to him, waved off the reavers calling for him, dragged his first mate away from his pair of fluttering noble hens and spared a glance at Ralf's smiling face. It ached his heart, his friend had not smiled so truly since the incident.
All the while he did not slow down a step nor let himself get distracted (bar making a face at that drunk cheater Galon and his ugly teeth). This had gone on long enough, he held pity for the Queen Mother, she had lost so much face and much more for her son's ransom and was soon about to lose her daughter.
However, he did not pity her do not pity her as much as he loved Ralf. It was time to speak to Harwyn, hopefully, he could get them out of this mess…without too much stupidity.
-Hardhand (Harwyn Hoare SI)
The floor they walked on was as red as the blood of Tommen's men that was spilt on the deck, it was the same across the entire ship. The hallways were bare and spartan, not a single hint of decoration unless one counts the rich materials the ship was constructed with as decoration. There were sickly green glowing lamps that gave a sinister look to his surroundings on the dark swirling wood from Asshai with its unique cinnamon like smell.
The ship was made from the ironwood variant from the East and it showed so from the outside yet the inside was to be decorated with the wood from the City of Sorcery. Harwyn monstrosity of a ship would beggared any man other than the ruler of Yi-Ti.
The silence was the most unnerving feature of the Hardhand's features. The soldiers who would give the Titan's salutes, their fists on their chests with the thumb facing forward, from their positions. Then there were the servants who scurried about like rats and even the terrible Sorhorysi lizards to the dancing seals from Ibben of Harwyn's menagerie that roamed free were silent as if they were mute…
…Atleast, it should have been if not for his idiotic first mate, Skurge the Executioner.
"Did ya have to do that? I was hoping to end the night with a menage a trois, as they say in Lys, I mean on em' even enjoyed it in the ass! How many women do you know actually enjoy it up the-"
Skurge was lucky that he used to grown men behaving like fools or he would not have a position as prestigious as his was on Hela's Sytche. The fact he was extremely competent and loyal played a small part in his dissension as well.
"-then again seeing as this has to do with our Walker's lady love I will not complain.", he glares at the bald man (by choice!) puffing up his chest, making his dark blue chestplate rattle.
"Then what were you doing for what feels like the last half century?", his right hand smirks (Damn, did he want to rip his stupid goatee out) making his forehead's claw tattoos more prominent.
"Submitting a valid complaint to my Captain about his unbrotherly behaviour. If I was in your shoes, you would already have been in bed with a pair of beauties who may or may not braid their hair too much."... he could not call him a liar on that front.
"I would not worry, they seemed as eager as you to finish the feast early and the night late. By the time you return they will no doubt be in your room, as they have been for the last week", the idiot gave him a bashful grin.
"That faux shyness only works on Harwyn's pretty face, not your hairy and simultaneously hairless mug.", it went away in an annoyed flash.
"That's more like it.", Skurge broke first with a snort and his captain basked in victory.
"I heard from Big Belly Bryan that the Lions are still trying to bring their vassals to heal. He said they just finished arguing about getting their fleet gutted." said Skurge, trying to deflect from his shameful loss.
"Yes, they will lose land in lieu of us forgoing coin, that even their most arrogant of Lords have accepted. The fact that they broke our treaty signed by the King's father, Harren Hoare, limiting their previous eighty ships to sixty seems to have left their mind. The Adventurer counted as their sixty first ship, hence they will be punished for that as well as the attack. Harwyn plans to limit it further." he said.
"Speaking of arrogant Lords, could those damn miners be any slower? We have nearly half of their damn high nobility and they still haggle among each other like damn fishmongers in Old Wyk!", Skurge's loud voices echoed in the silent halls.
"That is precisely why they are taking so long. If we had less than a quarter of Tommen's mutts these fools would have tried to attack us without reservation. Learn to have some damn patience, it is not every day that an Ironyield of such vast proportions is awarded to us." he said as he tried to ignore the annoying echos "Wyk" getting softer and softer.
"Yes, yes, "Thou shall not be ungrateful with the sea's bounty.", I went to the same sermons you did…when I wasn't with and "in" Salty Brow's granddaughter that is." Skurge tittered like a maid who heard a "dirty" word.
"You would have had to remember more of his ravings if it was not for the Queen Mother Cerelle. If she had been able to wrest control of the council from the warmoning uncle and bring some order to the West, we would be besieging Casterly Rock by now.", Floki tried not to let his voice show too much of his unease at an invasion.
"I bet Gerold Lannister's golden stones must be melting from how much fire he's spitting. Did you see how hard he put his seal on the last letter? The Big Bad Lord nearly ripped a hole in the parchment. He must cut from the same arrogant cloth as that of his nephew", Skurge
"Mayhabs that is why the Queen Mother had threatened to pull her birth House of Westerling from the Durrandon border and have them march on Lannisport.", Floki had to admit that was not something he expected from such a reportedly mild mannered woman.
If he was Harwyn he would joke about bad clams because of the Westerling seashell banner and patted himself on the back for it.
Skurge opened his mouth to reply but quieted as soon as he saw the lamps shift from sickly green to infernal blue, indicating they had arrived in the hallway dubbed, The Plank, which led to Harwyn quarters. There were portraits and mosaics of favourite ironborn of Harwyn in between the lamps. The floor was covered with a long blood red Myrish rug that blended seamlessly with the wooden floor.
In front of the half weirdwood and half ebony doors of Harwyn's bed chamber and solar (for some reason he could not separate the two) they began to call the Bloody X as opposed to the bed chamber and solar in his ancestral home of Harlanshall called the Reaver's Map. It was flanked by a pair of Valyrian sphinxes, in their mouths were dangling keys.
One would think the incorrect key would open the trap door under the Myrish rug and would have led to a spiked death. However, both keys were correct and incorrect, you just had to open them a certain way. He also ignored the presence of the dozen guards in the walls as he placed the female's key in the carved moon's mouth, right next to the fishing hook of the Moon Boy.
"Ah it seems our chat must be cut short, Captain", he felt a hard slap on his back, "The next time you want to walk and talk, just ask.", his own justified retaliatory swat missed his bald head by an inch and by the extra spring in his step he knew it too.
He turned back with a huff and opened the doors, the first thing his eyes always trailed on was a smaller version of the Painted Globe, based on the Valyrian Design. It showed in accurate size the entirety of the known world from Uthos to the Lonely Light. It was in the centre of the chamber alongside soft black cushioned seats.
Across multiple shelves were the models of every ship Harwyn owned in a Myrish glass bottle filled with holy water from his home island of Old Wyk. There were mementoes of their adventures across the room including the Terracotta Warrior from the Age of the Amethyst Empress, the wide, flat club that had serrated shark teeth along both its edges from Ibeen and even the ceiling there were the seven wanderers in gems alongside the stars all on obsidian from the ruins of the Isle of Cedars.
He saw the clothes of three holy women on the floor, one of a Septa of the 1st Tier, one of a 2nd Tier and one of a 3rd Tier, one for each of the women of the seven, the Mother, the Crone and the Maiden respectively. There was also a pretty blonde girl of age with Harwyn in the bed alongside a beautiful redhead woman and an aged yet still enticing woman with more salt and some pepper haired woman, all sleeping nude on the pure ivory bed.
He was careful as to not wake the women as he spent on the black silk sheets and went to the giant tapestry overlooking their sleeping forms. It depicted the oldest son of the Grey King who would lead the Ironborn through the Great Tempest and slay the twin heirs of the Storm God, the wielders of thunder and lightning.
Surtr the Scorcher, he who swam to the depths of his Lord's realm and bathed in the molten wound created from the Storm God striking thunderbolts into his mother, Yggdrasil the Earth above which the sea, sky, the moon and the great beyond exist. He, who burned himself in the scorching essence of the Great Mother until he returned draped in the blackened sea floor as armour and his axe burning with the scorching heat of the end times. Surtur, who made the very pits of his trials his castle, awaits his duel with dual demons dwelling above him.
His destination was not the only Hero who has a domain in the sea other than He Who Dwells Beneath the Waves, but what comes through it. He gently and meticulously pushed the tapestry aside, careful not to set the anvil trap over his head, to reveal the path to the meditation chamber, or The Buried Treasure. He tried not to jump out of his skin when he saw her looming there in all her stomach churning glory.
He felt his skin crawl as he stared at Lady Astrid Farwynd through her veil made to resemble a fishnet, the mesh was black silk and encrusted with white pearls. Her eyes were changing colours, now a deep blue turning to silver, still unnerved him in over a decade he had known her.
She turned and walked, he followed her into the gloomy pathway. He was certain before blue they were white as milk and tracking him through the beasts in the hallways. He will not say that the act of skinchanging left him joyous, he still found it somewhat repulsive. The practitioners on the other hand simply perplexed him, some were simple men such as Sharky from Beyond the Wall and some were like the strange Lady Astrid.
He had thought her a Rain Dancer when he was young. The dreaded daughters of the Storm God with their bewitching beauty, stormy black haired and yellow eyed. They would pretend to be lost maidens and would lure good natured Ironborn to their end. He thought she would do the same to his friend. Looking back he felt embarrassed about his overeager imagination.
He shook his head to quell these thoughts and turned his attention to the surroundings. The walls were decorated with turtle shells, walrus tusks, ray stingers, narwhal horns, swordfish bills, sun dried starfish, shark teeth, lizard-lion scales and more. They quickly reached the dark room and wide room that served as the meditation chamber. Thankfully, Harwyn has not set his bats on him as soon as he entered like last time.
The centre was illuminated by candle shaped lanterns and flames the colour of Valyrian Purple, he saw under the bones of a babe leviathan, was the dried Holy seaweed rug where Harwyn would perform his sorcery.
Which was currently emp-a cold breath was felt upon his neck, snapping his head so fast it hurt, to find the offender to be Harwyn, of course. The man cackled and ran into the shadows evading his backhand. What was it with today and criminals evading their due punishment?
Now he felt he was being uncharitable to those Maesters, not everyone had started scheming on their wet nurse's tit like this annoyance giggling around him. He did not bother to hunt him down, Harwyn and Astrid were the only ones who could see in the darkness, thanks to the flying rodents atop the chamber.
"You know if you keep glaring at me like that I might melt." said Harwyn, still hiding like the coward he was.
"I don't have a bucket of salt water on me." he huffed as his back found the protection bone of the leviathan from any more unwanted attacks.
"I am not a witch." Harwyn said in a pouty tone he would expect someone of Ralf's pet's age.
"I am not so certain of that, who else strokes a black cat in a strange swivelling chair cackling manically at mutineers getting boiled to death in a stew meant for their pets?", what kind of a sick individual comes up with that?
"I would expect some respect, Lord Grumm. After all, it was my ingenious strategies that saved us from the clutches of the cat.", he tried not to roll his eyes, keyword being tried.
"Oh! Yes, your Holy Greatness, another victory for the Royal House of Hoare!", he did a bow so sweeping that nearly had his head on the floor and his arm on the ceiling.
"Yes, yes my House name sounds remarkably similar to Whore… how original", the pouty tone had returned with a vengeance and…
"Yet your ears still turn red like when we were in Nymeria's Brothel."... he would never let it leave.
"Well not all of us can have lizard skin like Ralf or have the unfortunate fortune of lying with a Princess as your first! Besides, do you not have a task to do!", on that he would agree. They had always been jealous of Ralf skin that turned bronze under the sun while they turned red as a ruby.
"As my Prince Hardrada commands. Now what is our game plan in regard to our Giant and his lioness.", he awaited the surge of equally insane and brilliant ideas to come.
"Let us not forget their little chipmunk", there was an edge underneath his jolly tone, "What is there to do? After her dalliance with Ralf, I do not believe she can return to Casterly Rock. The Island is ours, the boy may be able to rule it in time, but only as a Viceroy. We are going to leave the miners gutted on the sea, so there is no chance of a re-conquest. I will make sure to not repeat our ancestors' stupidity.", he spat the last two words with as much reverence as one would give a pig.
"Harwyn, do you truly believe the Princess will accept living amongst what she considers savages?" if she was apprehensive around him and their men then she will be shocked to learn what the others at home were like.
"She will do what her heart tells her is necessary. However, her fear may not reign for much longer", the dramatic idiot threw a Lengii Kunai into the floor next to his feet with parchment attached to it. He picked it up and started to read, what was the King…Oh, that changes quite a lot.
"Father has finally decided to put all those ships built across his reign to put to good- Nay, the greatest use there is, fucking some flower boys to death.", he had been correct, in less than a year the Green Realm will burn and along with them the traitors will come meet their fate.
"This is just the beginning my dear friend, we will not stop there. All those stuck in their old ways that stand against my family will be used as the meat shields they were born to be and will share the fate of Tommen's sunken ships-", Harwyn's voice trailed off, whether or not this was his own fault he did not know. He felt his breath become uneven, he felt a pain in the back of his head, and his legs felt as steady as when he was a babe. So were his worst fears about to become reali-
He felt a pair of strong hands grip the sides of his skull, he found himself staring into two pits of black. Harwyn black eyes somehow had all the emotion that Astrid's rainbows seemingly lacked. You did not truly tell his emotions from his face or body but from his eyes. At this very moment, they looked frighteningly like that day in Yi-Ti, the day Floki learned to fear death.
"Breath, Floki. Do it slowly, in and out.", and so he did as his Prince commanded. They stood there for a moment in silence except for the sound of his breaths. Soon he slowly regained his bearing and the shame flooded him for such an unsightly display. When he opened his mouth to apologize he was silenced by a swift glare from Harwyn.
"Floki…my friend, my brother, I ask of you to put your faith in me in the storm to come. Just like you have done a hundred times before. I know I may not deserve it after my failure in the East. I know how you and Ralf blame yourselves for my shortcomings. And I know that despite all the pain I have caused the both of you, neither of my friends have left my side.
We will never feel what we felt on that day again. All those false reavers who toasted my uncle's death will rue the day they were born. We will make them drown in a sea of our greatness and their weakness and ignorance, that they so proudly declare to be their rights and tradition. The halls of the Drowned God will not welcome them as Heroes of valour but as servants for those with true courage.
From their wretched wreckage, we will build an Empire not seen since the age of the Emperors of the Dawn! An empire that stretches from the Seas to Seas, Sunset to Jade, Summer to Shivering! From the towers of Asshai to the pits of Slaver's Bay to the canals of Braavos and back to our home! We will lay that stone foundation that our descendants shall build upon cities of marble!
You, me, Ralf and Gregor will never feel what we felt on that day until we die! That is an oath I swore the moment I killed that damned Minamoto Munisia! Just like we did with that arrogant fool, we will not leave behind anyone to celebrate our deaths, only mourners, only admirers, only worshipers!... Now I ask you, ARE YOU WITH ME!?", the face that will grow up to look like the King, smiled with Urri's smile.
He stared at his friend for a moment and nodded. He then found himself ensnared in Harwyns arms with his head in the crook of his neck, they stood there for a few moments. His body was not the only thing calm right now, so were his thoughts.
Of course, he was with Harwyn, after all, had not his Prince made miracles come about before?
Astrid Farwynd POV
The screams were always unpleasant.
She traced her hands over Harwyn's Lengii Tiger Cloak from its orange fur to the emerald and gold clasp. She tried to tune out the anguished cries of her first friend as she always did when his third eye gazed far ahead. His body contorted in nearly unnatural and definitely painful shapes, the blue of his veins seemed to be spreading to the rest of his body. The eyes on the outside were milky white as his spirit traversed through an alien and dark world where light is different yet present.
There in the waters closest to our Lord's domain, there is a darkness rivalled only by the night sky, foliage so exotic that one would it from the land of the dead and most magnificently of all there lie his most beautiful creations that would make the Dragonlords of Old Valyria envious.
Oh, what she would not give to gaze upon such magnificent creatures, amidst the wreckage of ships from the beginning of time there exist beasts that have never known the surface world. How glorious must it be to be free from the indignities of man, to bask in His Holiness from conception to expiration?
How her heart fluttered when Harwyn enthralled her with tales of the deepest depth. He told her of crabs that would be ridden as horses in His Watery Halls. The descendants of the trickster eel that stole the power of thunder along with the founder of House Drumm, Devious Drumor. Monstrous clams with pearls as large as hounds waiting to be claimed for some Captain's Lady love and that was just the beginning.
There were beasts that would scare those greenlanders to death. Sharks with jaws like circular saws, Snakes so large that they hunt leviathans, Jellyfishes with a toxin so deadly that can even harm a dragon and her favourite was a piranha-like fish with its own lantern which came of its body!
Though she could do without those demons that consumed her ancestors before the days of the Grey Ki-
All of a sudden there was silence. Her friend stopped writhing on the ground and with only his legs stood upright with his head gazing and his eyes now back to their original colour were as blank as the night sky, all the while his arms dangled loosely at his sides. His face looked like it desperately needed to have breath. He was quiet for a long heartbeat.
"...from the line of...the Walker and the Exiled Lioness…there will come Heroes...pale blonde… icy green… and snow white… shall be the colours of their flesh… a leaping Orca… covered in bloody pink… in a field of sunny yellow shall be their mark...", her student's gaze started to refocus as conciseness was returning to him.
Well… she hopes little Ralf's bride to be, will not be such a little babe as their Walker was in his youth and more like her brave Wynny.
After all, what's wrong with swimming in a pool of piranhas? Her babies were hungry for their mother's love!
-Line Break
Ima keep it short and snazzy so please tell me what you did or did not like about my work so I can improve.
I will update every 2 weeks and for those who can't wait i have 2 additional chapters on the site for patrons that must not be named. you can find the link at the end of this:https/forums./threads/hardhand-harwyn-hoare-si.1207412/