Century of Blood - Westeros

[leonardothered]

[Weyfield]

LORD CELTIGAR



Lord Celtigar ambled beneath the tall dark pines with Lord Targaryen at his side. The youngest Targaryen girl grasped her brother’s arm as the party moved through the garden. Only a light breeze rolled across Dragonstone that day, rustling the flora and the hedges. The sun shone on the rock for the first time since Crispian had arrived from Claw Isle a few days prior. He had explained the reason for his visit to Aegon on the first night of his arrival, amidst a great feast in his honour. The young lord had nodded and listened but made no effort to reply. Lord Crispian had begun to think that he had forgotten as the days and nights passed without mention of it, yet he did not wish to insult Lord Aegon by mentioning it again.

‘Oh, it is a glorious day to be alive,’ Rhaenys said, her voice still breathless from her flight. She had just descended from the skies on her dragon, Meraxes, when Aegon had invited her to join them for a walk in the garden. Lord Celtigar had smiled and insisted she come along, but in truth he was displeased. There is no chance he will discuss matters of such great importance to my house with his young sister about. ‘The Narrow Sea looks tremendous with the sun glistening on its waves. I even spied the Flatlands laid out before me like a map. From above one would have never guess of all the sorrowful business happening there.’ She was a beautiful young lady. Her features were kind and playful, her eyes purple and sparkling. Her hair hung long, a vibrant hue of gold and silver, her recent flight only making it appear more natural and brilliant. She had barely left behind her youth, but already she looked like a woman, slender and graceful. In the same way her brother was already man grown despite his young age. He had taken to the responsibility of a lord well, though Crispian had yet to see the extent of his capabilities.

Aegon merely grunted at his sister’s final comment. Lady Rhaenys had always been the most compassionate of the three and thus found herself the most interested in the affairs of the east, particularly regarding Volantene expansion. Crispian had known the young Targaryens for their entire lives, and had grown even closer to them over the last number of years after the death of their father. His passing had hurt them all. Crispian and Aerion had often been at odds with another, though they had been close companions all the same. After a moment’s silence Crispian replied when Aegon did not.

‘Indeed, the Triarchs of Volantis commit great injustices across the Narrow Sea, but we have issues of our own to deal with, Lady Rhaenys. There is no need to concern ourselves with the wars of the east.’
 
Lord Aegon nodded, ‘You speak truly, Crispian.’

Rhaenys tore her hands away from her brother and halted as the party passed a boggy patch of cranberry bushes. ‘Have you both forgotten where you come from? The blood of the East runs through our veins, the blood of Valyria. Now the tigers of Volantis seek to use the good name of the old empire to perpetuate their claim over every living soul. It’s not right, Aegon!’

There was silence for a moment. Lord Celtigar had rarely seen the two siblings angry with another and it made for an unpleasant sight. Aegon replied in a cool voice, ‘Rhaenys. We have discussed this before and I have told you my answer at length. I have no desire to rule the Free Cities, nor do I wish to prop up the ruins of a century’s dead empire. That is not why we were born.’

‘Then don’t be the Emperor of New Valyria as your ancestors would want it. But at the very least we must aid the poor enslaved cities. Lys and Myr have fallen to Volantene rule and it makes me sick. Soon they shall conquer Tyrosh and then Pentos and then the rest of the proud, ancient continent. They’ll distort and crush the many diverse cultures and peoples until each man and women will be a Volantene, and that is an utterly disgusting idea.’

Aegon sighed. ‘We will discuss this later, Rhaenys. Now leave me and Lord Crispian be. We have matters of more immediate importance to discuss.’

‘Of course, Lord Aegon,’ she replied mockingly, ‘the unruly men of Crackclaw Point are certainly of greater importance than the enslavement and destruction of entire peoples.’ With that she stormed away toward the arch of the Dragon’s Tail and back to the main part of the island, the daylight shining on her wind-tousled hair. Crackclaw Point? He has discussed my proposition with his younger sister?

‘My apologies, Lord Crispian. I had hoped to give you my answer later, but now will have to do.’ Lord Celtigar smiled as they continued their stroll through the garden. Aegon had always enjoyed being in his garden above anywhere else and it seemed as good a place as any to discuss Lord Celtigar’s claim over Crackclaw Point.

‘It is perfectly alright, my lord,’ Crispian replied, ‘I’ve been eagerly awaiting your response.’

Aegon did not look at Lord Crispian as he spoke. His purple eyes were set on the many colours of nature all around him as he spoke. ‘I understand that House Celtigar has claimed dominion over Crackclaw Point for many decades now, but as of yet has been unable to gain the most essential aspect of holding sovereignty over a land - the fealty of its people. It strikes me that perhaps they have no desire to be ruled by lords they know nothing of, and that look and act little like them.’ Crispian made to object, but Aegon continued in his lordly voice. When he spoke it was as if nothing he said could be disputed. ‘After some discussion with my sisters I have decided to fly to Crackclaw Point and meet the men of the land myself. I shall learn how they feel and then I will decide how to act.’

Is this boy making a fool of me? Lord Celtigar considered this for a moment, before a quick examination of Lord Targaryen’s expression made the veracity of his statement clear. ‘As you say, my lord. I hope you inform them of my kindness and my desire to set up trade links between them and the rest of the world.’ Aegon nodded, as he gazed away vacantly. The Targaryen lord made no reply and seemed almost to forget the presence of his vassal lord. Without another word Crispian left Aegon alone in the garden, dreaming of something unknown to all but him.

[Lumine]

Loren (Part I)

The King knelt beside the tomb of his father, a single year running through his cheek as he did. More than five years had passed since the old King of the Rock had been taken by a long and painful illness, and his burial at the Hall of Heroes still felt all too recent, all too familiar to his eldest son. It was customary for those Lannisters that had died valiantly to be interred there, their golden armors on display, but the case of the old King was special. Having lived a valiant life as a warrior, old Gerold Lannister, fifth of his name, had died the death he had never wished for, on his bed and not in the battlefield. Despite the protests of Septon Becket and Lord Crakehall, the new King had insisted that Gerold had earned his place in the Hall of Heroes, for his death could not erase the bravery the monarch had displayed throughout life. Whether old Gerold Lannister was truly a great monarch or not was a matter for dispute outside of Casterly Rock, but to Loren, first of his name, King of the Rock and the Westerlands, there was nothing to debate.

Loren rose, taking a careful look at the Hall of Heroes. His visits to the place were not regular ones, and the place had never lost the mystical quality it had seemed to possess since he and his brother had first visited when they were mere boys. It was a daunting legacy, one that the King felt all too harshly at first. He had taken up the throne young, and growing into his role of a monarch had been a long term task. Tentatively at first, and then with growing confidence and mounting trust, Loren had spent five years of early rule honoring the memory of Gerold and making sure the Westerlands could prosper. He knew all too well those early years would not earn him a place at the Hall of Heroes, a mighty tomb alongside his father to be covered in the darkness not lit by candles as the further generations of Lannisters marched along in time. Whether he would earn his place at the Hall, or not, was only for the Gods to decide.

As Loren walked out and towards the exit, his knights were waiting for him. Some of then he had met on his youth as they were squires, others as the relatives of the Lords that were now his vassals, and he trusted them all implicitly. None of them served in the Royal Guard, but their role and their close presence of the King often confused others asking why the three of them did not wore the red and gold capes with the sign of the Lion. The trio was led by Ser Aubrey Plumm, fourth son of the Plumm Lord. His fellow friends, not highborn as him, were Ser Corbyn Winter and Ser Robert Summer, both sons to warriors fallen while fighting for King Gerold.

-Your Grace. – The three of them knelt as Loren emerged from the Hall –
-Arise, my friends. – Loren replied, mechanically – We have other business to attend to.-
-I trust the visit to the Hall of Heroes has proven productive, your Grace? – Asked Plumm, the more outspoken of the three –
-It was productive as ever, Aubrey. – As a sign of trust, the King often addressed the trio by his given names -
-We all miss King Gerold, your Grace. – Summer complemented –
-His memory has not been forgotten. – Finished Winter –
-As I would hope. – Loren paused – Have you finished the matter that I entrusted to you? –
-Why, of course, your Grace! – Plumm exclaimed – I dare say it was a pleasant mission to handle.-
-Certainly, your Grace, it was a productive research. – Summer, as ever, was the dour one-
-That is, if we can call drinking from tavern to tavern productive. - Winter, on the other hand, cracked another of his mild japes –
-What good Ser Corwyn means, your Grace… - Plumm moved his companion aside, to Loren’s amusement – is that we have the information you asked for.-
-Excellent. – Loren smiled – I shall hear all about it on the Council.-

The four of them then reached the closest stairs and began the hard task of rising from the depths of the Rock towards the castle itself, having to climb an almost impossible height on very little time. To their merit, Loren, Aubrey, Robert and Corwyn were all fairly young still, but the task of climbing the insides of the Rock often proved more exhausting than fighting a battle, the conceptual slayer of old maesters and old Kings. But climb they did, and soon they reached the entrance to the Great Hall and the stairs that conducted to the higher levels of Casterly Rock.

[Lumine]

Loren (Part II)

Waiting from them on the entrance to the Great Hall were Prince Tyrion, the King’s brother, and Ser Ronald Payne, Lord Commander of the Royal Guard. Tyrion was of very similar aspect to his brother, yet generally recognized as more handsome and far more dashing. Against him, however, acted his quick temper and his readiness to offend when debating a subject. The stern Lord Commander was far older than most men in Casterly Rock, having spent a lifetime protecting Lannister Kings of the Rock.

-Ah, there’s my good brother! – Tyrion approached, insisting on giving Loren a hug – What, in the crypts again? –
-And again, and again, if only to honor father. – Loren replied – Have you no respect for the dead, brother? –
-I very much prefer the living if you ask me. I’m sure father is looking from wherever he is now, so why waste my time in a dark tomb? -
-Septon Becket better not hear you, Prince Tyrion. – Lord Commander Payne warned – You know what he makes of such talk regarding the dead.-
-Aye, I’ve heard it a thousand times from him and Maester Tressel. – Tyrion rolled his eyes, an expression of disgust on his face after remembering the endless comments Tressel and Becket made at his expense –
-Is everything ready for today’s Council, Lord Commander? – Loren asked –
-Aye, your Grace. The Lords await now.-

Ever since taking the throne, Loren had followed Old Gerold’s costume of having occasional councils with some of his vassals to debate certain matters, and while the councils themselves were sporadic, they remained an important part of the decisions taken at Casterly Rock. For this particular one, Loren had insisted on the presence of his coastal vassals, and his household knights. Present were, therefore, the King, Prince Tyrion, the Lord Commander, Summer, Winter and Plumm, maester Tressel of the Citadel, Lord Crakehall – the King’s father in law and Lord Chamberlain -, and the main Lords set across the coastline of the Westerlands: Lord Tarbeck, Prester, Kenning and Banefort (also representing other minor lords). Twelve men all in all, all seated on a table painted in red and gold, with a map of Westeros and a few books extended across it. Set on one of the largest towers in the castle, any man who moved from the table to look across the windows would see a magnificent view, although many of the Lords – and Loren himself – refrained from doing so. After introductory words were said, the Council went on its way.

-It was a few weeks ago that a grave matter was raised to my attention by some of my Councilors. The matter of those pesky Ironborn raids. – Loren saw the invited Lords nod, many of them with a concerned look – Despite our military might, it would seem the Ironborn still feel bold enough to raid our coastlines and inflict damage on our coastline. It seems to me, my Lords, that we have let this matter pass for too long. It cannot be that many of our Lords, peasants and fishermen have to live in fear of a reaving every day. It cannot be that we do nothing while our riches are sacked, while our houses burn… while our women are raped! –

It was shortly after than these Lords had been summoned to Casterly Rock that some groups of villagers had arrived into the fortress, all sent by Lord Farman of Fair Isle. Having been received in audience at Tyrion’s insistence, the tales of the reavings had been enough to make Loren angry, and his rage had only been growing as the tales kept spreading. And Loren explained his intentions and plans regarding the sea power of the Westerlands, and the role each Lord had to play in such a scheme. Ideas were proposed, proposals went by as each Lord gave some of his input, and soon enough something resembling a plan began to take form. Indeed, it was this the matter that took most of the time of the meeting, with some minor interventions by maester Tressel regarding recent events in Essos, and the Lord Chancellor’s words on the current finances of the Rock.

-It seems we are in agreement regarding this matter. – Loren said, his vassal lords nodding – Good. I thank you for your input, my Lords. The time is now for us to put these dispositions in place. Soon this council will be closed and I will be honored by having you to feast in the Great Hall alongside the court and my Queen, but there is a matter that I have reserved for the end. Ser Aubrey, Ser Corwyn, Ser Robert. You may proceed with your tale.-

For the better part of a few months, the knights had been gathering information from several different points. Either from other Lords, or maesters, or even visiting the taverns of Lannisport and other such places to hear the tales, all of them focused on the longtime search for valyrian steel swords. Ever since Tommen II had disappeared alongside his grand fleet in Valyria the Lannisters had tried to seek their lost ancestral sword Brightroar, but more than a hundred years had passed without any results. And indeed, the search of the knights informed the lords that dozens of such swords could be found across Westeros, many from noble and great houses, and many more from impoverished ones. And even more, Essos appeared to yield even more of such swords and artifacts, many of them currently scattering following the Volantene conquest of the Free Cities of Myr and Lys.

-With no disrespect to my ancestor Tommen, I will not waste another fleet to sail into the cursed waters of Valyria. – Loren proclaimed, rising from his table – Ravens will fly from Casterly Rock towards the houses my knights have identified, and we will do what is necessary to acquire valyrian steel to reforge into a new sword to serve as a symbol for our house. And should no sword be obtained from Westeros, emissaries will sail into Essos and the Free Cities, where we shall acquire what we desire.-
-It would seem, my Lords, that peaceful times seem to be bidding us goodbye. – Tyrion commented, reclining on his seat –
-The past years have served us well to secure the prosperity of our lands. – The King continued – And now the time has come to assert our authority and secure our legacy.-

The sun was setting now, and the room was illuminated by the dying lights of the sun. Prince Tyrion was the first to rise, cup in hand:

-I'll toast to that, good brother. Hear me Roar! - He shouted -
-Hear me Roar! - The room shouted back -

[Swedge]

Edmund I

Sitting at the fine wooden table beside his brother Gawen, Edmund sat with his arms crossed, barely listening to his father Mern speak. Mern was a large man but still had the sharp Gardener features that seem to have been passed on from the mythical Garth the Gardener himself. Mern’s somewhat long brown hair curled over his crown as if he had been wearing it for days. Mern continued to speak in his usual booming voice. “The Ironborn still sit in their wooden fort, raiding my islands and stealing from my vassals. Haren is a lucky man, I would never usually be this patient.” These words managed to get Edmunds attention as his eyes darted upward from his parchment to his father’s eyes. “There is no need to try fool us father, we know that any unnecessary conflict within the reach would just damage our Kingdom. You don’t want to fight the Ironborn.” Mern’s threw his fist on the table. Quills and books shot upward from the frightening quake that rumbled across the room. Mern looked at his son with anger, it is never wise to show a King such disrespect. Before Mern opens his mouth, the door creaks open and in walked Harlen Tyrell and another strong looking young man.

“Excuse me your Grace, allow me to introduce to you Mern Flowers.” The young man standing beside Harlen got on one knee and looked at the ground. “Your Grace. As your bastard son, allw me to pledge myself to you.” The bastard’s words echoed through the room, Gawen and Edmund rose from their seats, neither expected to meet what may be their brother on a day like today. The King approached his bastard son. “So you’re the man my council have been telling me about. My apologies for not meeting you sooner, I had to make sure there was some merit to your words. Rise my son”. Mern Flowers rose, and as he did his father embraced him. The man had the same features as his father. A sharp face with brown hair. His eyes however were a strange green colour, almost as green as the great fields of the Reach.

“Gawen, Edmund. This is your brother Mern. You will treat him as one of your own and you will teach him the ways of a Prince. Harlen tell’s me that my men you sparred against could not best you and have already given you a name. What is it?” The King’s bastard stood up straight and with a proud voice spoke to his father. “Green Mern. Apparently being new to nobility yet the son of a Gardener King labels me as such.” His father spoke back to him with a slight chuckle. “It appears they are the green ones when it comes to battle, you knocked them to the dirt!” Edmund looked across the room at his new brother. He wouldn’t last ten seconds fighting me. Hareln Tyrell spoke again. “I am very sorry your grace, but please allow me to show the young Mern Flowers his quarters.” “Very well, I will speak to you tomorrow, Green Mern.”

Right as the door closed behind Harlen, Garen spoke to his father with a harsh tone. “First you tell me that I am to marry a woman I have never met, and now you don’t even introduce me to my own brother? Do you have any more secrets you are hiding from me father? Is there anything else you wish to tell me today?” As Garen spoke, Mern kept a calm stature. Something he is unable to do if it were Edmund criticizing him. “No, there is nothing else you need to know. You will marry this lady for the sake of our House and you will do so without a word of complaint. You will thank me in the years to come. Now, leave me. I wish to rest.” Gawen stormed out of the room slamming the door behind him. Edmund smirks and bows before his father speaking the words “Your Grace” and taking his leave.

[Garlan Gunter]

Snatches from Ancient Marcher Ballads

‘Redbeard at Court’, verses twenty-eight to thirty-two



Slim and slight was the mankin bold from o’er the Narrow Sea,
Stroking those bloody strands o’ hair, as he stared with a glittering ee.
‘O what will ye say to my maiden fair, lord king so tall and dread?
Will ye swaddle her yet in a cloak o’ gold, and lay her warm to bed?’

Ah, ebon was the Storm King’s beard, if veined yet with grey,
And brindle bright his flashing eyes, as cold as the salt sea’s spray.
‘So stand ye then, little mankin bold, stand then and tell me true
How many ships shall I set to sail syne I your daughter woo?

‘Are your maiden’s kisses whittled o’ oak
And her tresses o’ firm rope coiled?
I care much the less for her radiance bright,
Or her virtue pure or soiled.

‘When I take a wife I shall seek these things:
A son, and a fleet as dower.
The heir may wait, if yet scarce long,
The sails must join my power.

‘So promise me ships, little blood-chinned man,
Ships wi’out fear or fee
Then perchance I shall bed thy daughter dear
From across the Narrow Sea…’


‘The Vulture’s Nest’, verses sixteen to twenty-six



Grim faces bore they all that morn,
Stalk, songbird, lightning, swan,
And grave reports did they lay before
The maester’s gaze so wan.

‘At large there harries the carrion vile
Of our folk he leaves a wake
Reft of all succour, roof and stile,
All seized for the bloodthirst’s slake.

The servant murmured of bandit’s work,
The marcher lords hauled him down,
‘This bandit brands forth the name of Dorne,
From Nightsong to Weeping Town.’

A thunder clap upon the board,
And the King is among them ablaze.
‘Ah, ye would have me war, my lords.’
Not one of ‘em meets his gaze.

‘Ah, half a hundred years ago,
When the Sunset and Narrow Seas twain
Obeyed my father’s father’s sway
Then for battle should I be fain.

‘But think ye, fool lords, on the time where we bide,
Black and green neighbours so near.
Is’t wise, thinks’t thou, Caron? Dondarrion? Swann?
And Selmy, with sight so clear?

‘The Yellow Toad yet recalls my might,
A quarrel she’ll not soon desire.
Let her attend to this Vulture then,
While we bide by a calm watchfire.’

‘’Tis calmness, then? ‘tis nothing, my king?’
Hothead Caron’s voice near brake.
‘Not nothing,’ replied from the king’s own side
Young Ser Dickon, o’ Morrigen’s make.

And the king has had cried his last great word
On the Vulture and his own line.
‘Let the man who brings me this Vulture’s Head,
Be high honoured and counted mine.

‘Be he northron pale or Mountain’s son,
Iron or yet Dornishman,
A knight of the West or a Dragon’s get
Of the Stormlands he’ll be hailed as one,

‘And he shall wed my daughter tall,
And, saving mine own trueborn boy,
The Vulture’s Hunt shall avail him this:
A Storm, a Crown, my joy.’

[Garlan Gunter]

PROCLAMATION OF THE STORM KING



Having sought redress from the Princess of Dorne for the action of her avowed servant, 'the Vulture of Dorne', and received as yet no recompense, the Storm King forbids all commerce with the southerners for the time being.

Furthermore, King Argilac vows, crowned and enthroned at Storm's End, that any man who brings him the head of this malefactor with proof attested shall be offered, upon swearing fealty, board and high place at his court, and the hand of the Princess Argella. The Princess's husband shall rule beside her in after days, saving only the birth of a son to the present Storm King.

Signed and avowed by the Storm's Might, and at Storm's End,

Argilac Durrandon, Storm King

[Lumine]

Kingdom of the Rock:

Royal Decrees

In the name of Loren of House Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Rock and the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock and Shield of Lannisport, it is our will:

-To announce the match of Princess Joy Lannister, our sister, to Prince Gawen Gardener, second son to Mern IX, King of the Reach. May their marriage be blessed, and may the links thus forged with the Reach be lasting and prosperous.

-To appoint Lord Owen Farman, our esteemed vassal, Admiral of the Sunset Sea, with responsibilities to coordinate shipbuilding and defence matters in the seas under our control. We also appoint Lord Ilyn Kenning as his second in command.

-To hereby call for a Grand Tournament to be celebrated on Lannisport at the middle of this year. Knights, Lords and their kin from across the Westerlands are invited to this tournament, after which we shall create a new knightly order for our lands: the Order of the Lion. Members of this order will include His Grace Loren, Prince Tyrion, ten knights and lords selected by the Crown and ten knights and lords selected amongst the best performances in the tournament. (As an aside, this means unknowns are not allowed into this Order).

-To bestow Lord Osgrey with a further investment of 40,000 GD. House Lannister trusts House Osgrey to keep its word regarding results, and awaits with interest the results of this investment.

[Lumine]

A PROCLAIM FROM CASTERLY ROCK:

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Loren of House Lannister, First of His Name, King of the Rock and the Westerlands, Lord of Casterly Rock and Shield of Lannisport.

[Enduro]

I, Harren Hoare, King of the Isles, and the Rivers, make the following decree:

1. The building of Harrenhal will cease immediately, all slaves will be released from work, and the castle shall be given to Lord Edmyn Tully, who has been declared my new Warden of the Rivers.

2. The raiding of Lannister, and Gardener territory is hereby ended. Having secured 50,000 GD as payment, it will be donated to the families of those effected by the building of Harrenhal.

3. I make the following promise to my people, I will be a fair ruler to you.

4. If House Gardener, and House Lannister continue this idiotic belief that they can push the Ironborn around, I will personally see to their destruction.

5. While the raids of the Westerlands have ended, I will impose a blockade on the people of the Westerlands, and will, until their sanctions end, destroy any vessel attempting to get past the blockade.

[leonardothered]

I, Harren Hoare, King of the Isles, and the Rivers, make the following decree:

1. The building of Harrenhal will cease immediately, all slaves will be released from work, and the castle shall be given to Lord Edmyn Tully, who has been declared my new Warden of the Rivers.

2. The raiding of Lannister, and Gardener territory is hereby ended. Having secured 50,000 GD as payment, it will be donated to the families of those effected by the building of Harrenhal.

3. I make the following promise to my people, I will be a fair ruler to you.

4. If House Gardener, and House Lannister continue this idiotic belief that they can push the Ironborn around, I will personally see to their destruction.

5. While the raids of the Westerlands have ended, I will impose a blockade on the people of the Westerlands, and will, until their sanctions end, destroy any vessel attempting to get past the blockade.

OOC: Gonna have to make a call on this; you can postpone building, but you really cant give it away, it's way too out of character for Harren. This castle is his life's work and has already been going for 30 years, it's his abbey road hehe

[Enduro]

Ok, scratch the part about giving Harrenhal to the Tullies.

Also, the donating money, and the release of slaves are cut out as I want to mull on those decisions on the next turn.

[Mauldania]

Let all Northern Nobles know, a great Northern feast shall be held at Winterfell. Your king requests that all houses be represented. A celebration of Winter's end and a celebration of Winter's coming.

[Enduro]

To Tristefer Mudd:

I will kill you, you are a criminal, and a rebel; worst of all, you are stupid, you have crossed Harren the Black, it isn't often that someone lives after doing that. There is no possible way to save yourself, but you can save your family; turn yourself in, I'll give you a quick death, and your family will be allowed to die. If not, I will kill your family before your very eyes, their screams will haunt you, and then I'll personally see to it that your death lasts 3 days, 3 days of painful agony. Then I'll end it.

I have given you a choice, make the right one.

Harren the Black, King of the isles, and the rivers.

[Mauldania]

To the Great Storm King Argilac Durrandon,

I send my Brother Brandon Snow, my son, Brandon Stark and 50 of my own royal guard to strike down the Vulture.

The King of Winter
Stark.

[Weyfield]

LUNTHOR BRUNE (Part I)

Lunthor’s axe had just chopped another log clean in two with a swing of his bulky arms when a great gust of wind disturbed the morning air. He had been working dutifully since dawn. Much to his annoyance his brothers had gone off on a hunting trip in the wood and he was elected to remain – to look after the holdfast in their absence. Young Brune readied another log on the stump when he noticed the shadow that had fallen over his home, darker than any cloud on such a clear morning. He turned his gaze upwards and was immediately regretful that he had not gone on the hunting trip.

‘A dragon!’ cried the children playing about the castle. And true enough, an enormous black dragon was descending on Dyre Den – a tiny rider on its vast back. As the dragon grew bigger the people of the holdfast became distressed and sought refuge within the old holdfast. Mothers grabbed their children and dragged them to safety, should the powerful wings blow them into the Bay of Crabs. It seems Father has woken the dragon. He shortly found himself joining the fray rushing into the castle, fearing the impact of the great dragon’s landing. The Targaryen boy would find an empty clifftop.

Lunthor found his mother in the entrance room of the castle. ‘Lunthor, dear,’ she said, anxiety writ over her lined face, ‘Did you see it? I told that dratted husband of mine to keep his empty words to himself.’ Lunthor sighed. He remembered. Lord Brune had scoffed at Lord Targaryen’s invitation. ‘Listen here, boys,’ he had told his three sons assembled about him. ‘We are the descendants of the Brothers Brune who brought peace to Crackclaw Point. We must stand firm against those who wish to rule over us.’ Then the brothers and some servants had been sent off to gather lizards. Lunthor had been fiercely proud of his father then. Now, he felt foolish to have supported such a silly idea.

‘He’ll be here with fire and blood – that’s all those Valyrians knew,’ his mother assured him. ‘All your father’s talk of pride and legacy won’t mean much to the flames of a dragon.’ Outside the cause of the commotion landed, shaking the foundations of the Brune’s home. The place Lunthor had known as home his entire life almost collapsed at the mere landing of the angry dragon.
‘What’s all this talk of dragons?’ roared his father, descending the steps of the tower where the noble family resided by night. He hadn’t been entirely well recently and the servants thought it better to allow him his rest. The dragon had woken him up. Lunthor and his mother hurried to him.

‘The Targaryen has come, Father,’ Lunthor explained as Lord Brune reached the foot of the stair. A servant was strapping on the old man’s dented breastplate even as he stood there. His father still carried the air of a lord, and he was strong for someone of his age, but he could no longer move as quickly as he had once done. After receiving a nasty leg wound in battle many years prior Lord Brune had never fought again, though he oft talked as if he was as young and able as ever he had been. Even at the arrival of a dragon to his castle he laughed heartily.

‘So the young lord has a bit of spunk it seems.’ His faded blue eyes gazed at a wall as if he were imagining some great battle, before he suddenly shouted an order to the castle at large, ‘Bring me my sword! Would-be invaders are at our door.’ His wife and son began to argue with him.

‘Father, it’s a dragon. You can’t win this fight.’ Lady Brune expressed similar sentiments, though in not so kind terms. Lord Brune halted on his way to the door and pondered the situation for a moment. ‘Perhaps you’re right. Well, then we mus-’

‘Brune!’ a voice howled from outside, accompanied by a fierce knocking at the rotting doors of the holdfast. ‘Come out here and face me.’ Lunthor almost shat himself.

‘Perhaps we could pretend we’re not here,’ he suggested and immediately felt like a coward for saying it. His father laughed once more, ignoring the suggestion. ‘Find yourself a more fitting garb than that, son. The last vestige of the Valyrian Empire has come to our humble abode.’ Lunthor was heartened by his father’s apparent lack of fear and ordered a servant to ready his armour and sword. The Targaryens have their dragons, but Brunes have their strength.

Lunthor waited for the servants in the stair room, peering out to the entrance room, where Father had flung open the doors to welcome Lord Targaryen. ‘Welcome to Dyre Den, dragon lord,’ he greeted him. ‘Perhaps not as fine as you’re used to on Dragonstone, but I hope you find it cosy.’ Lord Aegon seemed an impressive man, emitting an air of capable lordliness. Even in his youth, he stood of a height with Lunthor’s father.

The dragon ignored the lord’s greeting. ‘Lord Brune,’ he began in a voice that rung out across the castle though he had not shouted, ‘You have publically insulted the good Targaryen name. I cannot allow that.’ He drew his bastard sword from his sheath and pointed it at Lord Brune. ‘In the name of my House’s honour, I, Lord Aegon Targaryen of Dragonstone, challenge you to a duel.’ The sword rippled and shone in the morning light. It was like nothing the people of Crackclaw had ever seen.

Servants appeared and began dressing Lunthor in his armour. Suddenly he began to wish that they wouldn’t. Father hasn’t swung a sword at anyone in years. He hasn’t a chance against this young dragon. ‘So it seems the dragon can still roar,’ his father replied. ‘But its flame do not frighten me.’ The old lord drew his own steel sword. ‘By the great and ancient name of House Brune, I accept your challenge.’
 
‘No!’ cried his mother, rushing to the entrance where the two lords stood. ‘You can’t, Clarence. This lord is young and nimble, and you have grown old. I will not let you fight him.’ Lunthor expected an outburst from his father in response, but instead he turned to his wife and kissed her brow. ‘You are a wise wife. It’s true - I have not the capability to take down a dragon. My old body betrays me when the might of Valyria comes to my holdfast.’ Then, as the servants finished strapping on the lord’s son’s cuirass his father shouted something Lunthor almost did not comprehend – his own name. ‘LUNTHOR!’ came the call - the call to face a dragon.

He hurried to the front room, his iron armour rattling as he went. His vision mostly unobscured by his half-helm, Lunthor saw Lord Aegon up close. Everything about the young lord gave the impression of power and strength. His purple eyes stared at him, like a cat looked on a mouse before she pounces. Lunthor had never seen anyone remotely resembling this man and now he would have fight to him.

‘At your service, Father,’ he said, standing tall by Lord Brune’s side.    

‘This is your champion, Lord Brune?’ asked the dragon, his voice oozing with youthful confidence.

‘Indeed, Lord Aegon,’ answered Lord Brune, ‘This is my son, Lunthor. He shall fight you for the honour of his house.’ He did not ask Lunthor how he felt about this arrangement. Why did the others have to go away? This day of all days.

[Weyfield]

LUNTHOR BRUNE (Part II)

‘Then draw your sword, man,’ instructed Lord Targaryen, ‘Try and slay me if you can.’ He stepped away from the door and to the rough ground before the crooked, old castle. Lord Aegon continued, ‘Heed now what follows. This is what happens to those who insult House Targaryen.’ As Lunthor walked toward his almost certain doom, he spotted, for the first time, the dragon. He halted in shock. It stretched out across the high cliff, impossibly large. It was covered in scales, all an awful shade of black.

‘Do not mind, Balerion, lad,’ Lord Aegon advised from several feet away as they prepared to fight. ‘He won’t disturb you unless I tell him to.’ The lord was smiling. Nothing about his countenance suggested the slightest anxiety over the imminent combat. Lunthor began to wonder how Balerion would react if his master was wounded. Before he could fully consider that possibility Lord Aegon asked him if he was ready to begin. By then a crowd of some three dozen had assembled by the holdfast, his father and mother at the forefront. His mother had tears in her eyes. His father seemed more hopeful. I will do them proud.

‘I’m ready, dragon lord,’ Lunthor called and drew his sword, his voice imbued with far more confidence than he felt. He had only his old iron longsword, which had been owned by his great-uncle. It struck him as the dragon edged closer that he should have asked his father for his superior blade.

He weighed up Lord Targaryen as he closed in on him. He attempted to forget how impressive he appeared and searched for weaknesses in his façade. Lunthor knew he was strongest of his brothers. He was taller even than the dragon lord, and with a build not dissimilar to a stout holdfast. Although of his brothers he was not the greatest swordsman, he was certainly the strongest. He had always depended on his brute strength to attain victory; the fear which his great size often imparted on others. If it worked on his brothers, it could work on a dragon.

With a great war-cry Lunthor suddenly rushed forward. The young dragon was shocked briefly and halted. It took all of the dragon’s strength to defend himself from Lunthor’s initial swing. With a terrible screech the swords slid off one another and Aegon hastily curved his rippling steel to Lunthor’s unprotected left. The young Brune had no chance to move away before his armour rattled at the force of the blow, almost knocking him to his arse, but the strike had not landed effectively as it could have. Without missing a beat Aegon swung his blade at Lunthor’s shoulder. It was stopped by the old Crackclaw iron. Aegon did not halt his onslaught as a flurry of strikes assailed Lunthor. In just a few moments he found himself exhausted, and had hardly noticed that the dragon had been forcing him back. He blocked every blow, but the Targaryen had surprising strength in his arm.

The cheers of the people he had known his entire life came from the castle, encouraging him. It was when some of the cheers turned to screams that he became worried. ‘Balerion,’ Lord Targaryen shouted, his voice betraying his exasperation, ‘Stay back!’ In a movement he almost immediately regretted, Lunthor instinctively turned his neck around to ensure that he was not in danger. The immense dragon was creeping closer to him. It was a terrifying sight.

His sword was struck and Lunthor lost his grip. Lord Aegon had exploited his distraction and now Lunthor found himself without a blade against the young lord. With another powerful blow the young dragon struck Lunthor’s breast-plate, knocking the wind from his body and sending him off his feet. The clifftop was deadly quiet now, the Brunes and their servants looking on in horror as Aegon Targaryen held a blade up to Lord Brune’s son’s throat. Balerion halted his advance. Only the wind disturbed the morning’s hush. Lunthor acutely felt the cold steel tease at his throat.

‘Lord Brune!’ Aegon called out, not taking his eyes from Lunthor, sat upon his bottom on the rough ground. ‘Recant your insult or your son dies out here on the grass.’

Lunthor felt tears fill in his eyes, after attempting to hold Aegon’s gaze for a moment. ‘Please don’t kill me, Lord Aegon. We didn’t mean nothing by lizards, I swear. We’ll leave you be. We’ll give you gifts. Please just don’t kill me.’ He began to sob. My stupid father’s pride has gotten me killed.

From across the field Lord Brune called, ‘Kill the boy, then. I have no need for weak sons. I have others.’ Lunthor’s heart tore open. He nearly fainted.

He screamed at his father, his voice cracking through the sobs, ‘You old sh**t! I’ll come back. I’ll kill you, old man – don’t you think I wouldn’t.’ He bowed his head and, in that moment, he accepted his death. This is the end, old Lunthor. He looked only at the Valyrian lord’s feet, expecting his cold steel to cut open his throat at any moment.

Instead Lord Targaryen sheathed his sword and knelt on one knee in the dirt. He whispered to the defeated man, ‘Perhaps if you make good on that promise to your father, you will live, Brune. Kinslaying is a sin, to be sure, but your father is old and accidents happen. Pledge your strength to mine in the wars to come and I will not return to slay you.’ He was offering Lunthor a way out!

‘O-of course, Lord Targaryen,’ he whispered back, ‘I am your man, from this day to end of them. I’ll make sure my father speaks no further ill of your good name.’ Aegon’s purple eyes examined Lunthor’s face for falsehood. He nodded, before calling out again to his father, ‘Lord Brune, you are a lucky man for all your foolishness. I will not kill a son for the faults of the father.’ He walked away from Lunthor, still crumpled on the ground. My own father called for my death, he realised.

‘Your son is clearly a wiser man than you have been,’ Aegon continued. He was moving toward Lord Brune. ‘At the foot of a dragon, he knelt. At the threat of dragon fire, he begged for mercy. At the might of House Targaryen, he shook.’ Lunthor watched in awe as Lord Aegon pointed his bastard sword at his father and halted before him. ‘Now you too will kneel before me, or die.’

Lord Brune laughed and drew his sword. ‘Brunes don’t kneel, boy. Not even to dragons.’ Lunthor’s father showed surprising strength against the dragon’s assault, but in just a few moments it was over. The old lord was not as quick as he had once been. He cried out in pain when the sword wounded his side. When the steel entered his neck he was unable even to cry out. He fell to the ground outside the holdfast he had ruled from and lived in his whole long life. Lunthor considered his own blade, still lying on the ground by him. He quickly cast that thought from his mind. I won’t get myself killed for the father who sentenced me to the death.

To Lord Brune’s dying body Lord Aegon proclaimed, ‘All shall kneel in the end, Brune.’ He sheathed his bloody sword and strode to Balerion, leaving the lord behind desperately attempting to cover his bleeding neck wound with his hands. He nodded to Lunthor as he passed. Lunthor looked to his feet. Only the cries of the widowed lady disturbed the morning, then the ascension of Lord Targaryen as he took to the skies and flew southward.