《Chosen Sun》


 1. Threat

    The signature clanging of swords announced the presence of dualists in the courtyard. The heavy exhales and shouts of frustration suggested one of the competitors had the upper hand. As per usual, the main courtyard was a hub of activity. Young hopefuls being trained in the ways of war by grizzled veterans. Passing on either side of the combatants were the many workers that maintained the castle. Blacksmiths burdened by heavy materials; hunters carrying their daily catch; and garrison members patrolling the length of the castle. The sounds of the castle though unfamiliar felt comfortable, carrying the distinct feel of life.


    Almost against my will, I feel myself move forward unable to delay my destiny any longer. Focused on my destination, I ignore the smell of the kitchens and even the booming ring of the bell tower. My feet finally come to a halt in a dense forest, the trees in the forest giving off an ancient feel as if they¡¯ve existed since antiquity. My eyes though are drawn only to one of them. A large tree that exists at the centre of the forest, its foliage the colour of freshly spilled blood and its bark the same white as exposed bone. At the centre of the tree exists the visage of an old stern-looking man, who appears to have hardened with age rather than soften. Each of these characteristics if taken separately would be eerie or even frightening but the overall impression is one of purity and wisdom.


    A blink of the eye and I find myself on top of the northern gate facing a far-off forest, between the dark forest and the castle is a white desolate land. My grasp of time wavering as day gives way to night, and the sounds of life give way to the stillness of death. An eerie feeling begins to grip at my heart, the feeling of coldness climbing my extremities like an army breaching the castle doors. The source of the feeling unmistakeably being the dark forest or more likely what hides within it. A hurried shout wakes the castle inhabitants from their slumber. The sound of equipment being hoisted; fortifications being hastily constructed; and military order being established melds into an undecipherable cacophony. Amongst all the action, silently a dark rolling fog has begun to seep out of the distant forest. The fog building up to become so turbid, it begins to resemble a viscous dark liquid. As if following some predetermined plan, the fog then begins to advance on the castle. The closer the fog becomes, the greater the feeling of wrongness it exudes. Fear begins to take a grip of me and I hope only to escape these walls and retreat as far as possible. Unable to look at the fog any longer, I turn to my flanks and see grim determination planted on the faces of the castle inhabitants. I take solace from their resolve and turn back just as the fog consumes us all.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    I jolt awake, my heartrate elevated and booming in my chest. The sticky feeling of semi dried sweat adhering my back to the sheet below it. Remembering my usual routine, I begin slow and deliberate inhalations while attempting to remember as much as possible from the dream. This includes the people within the dream; any identifying characteristics and points of interest. One thing I¡¯m clear on is that the events depicted in the dream haven¡¯t occurred yet as they lacked the concrete feeling usually emitted. My thoughts finally in order, I head towards the large bloodwood table across from my bed. Withdrawing my chronicle from the shelf, I mark the date 404 SD and then recount the entire dream to the best of my recollection. The scenery of the castle surrounded by snow is not a first when it comes to my dreams and I search for similarities between past dreams and this one. I write a few theories and connections down, but I know I will need more information before I can piece together the puzzle. Content with what I¡¯ve written down, I close the book and return it to the shelf.

 2. Preparation

    Heading over towards my hanger I can¡¯t help but note the difference in dress between my people and those I often come across in my visions. The typical clothing worn by men of Summer Isles includes a brightly coloured, intricately patterned, loose fit cotton shirt known as a hembi. On the lower half a tube of fabric of distinct colours and designs, which is called a sarong, is sported. This tube of fabric is tied at the waist in such a way to allow freedom of movement of both legs. The choice of footwear varies depending on occasion from bare foot to sandals or boots in the forests. The ensemble is completed with feathers and other decorations to create an elegant but natural impression. The foreigners in my visions on the other hand have always appeared distasteful of colour often garbed in clothing made to resemble the earth and the rocks. The inhabitants of the snowy castle in particular, are clothed in very drab outfits. Dressed in my signature outfit of a dark blue shirt and ivory white sarong, I place on some sandals and finally step out to embrace the new day.


    Outside I squint helplessly at the sudden attack of sunlight that invades my eyes. The smell and sounds of nature draw me out of my pensive mood. Internally I thank as many deities as I can think of, for being born in such a resplendent island. The contrast between the foreign castles and this verdant green paradise cannot be any starker in my mind. I have lost countless nights of sleep to my visions, but it¡¯s comforting to know I¡¯ve at least gained perspective. I languidly move avoiding the spots of sunlight peeking through the foliage of the tall trees that shade the town. If speaking to a tourist, I would point to these trees as being the true landmark of this town. Upon the trees exist the entire history of the Summer Isles and so much more for those with the ability to read them. A diminishing group due to the current trend of learning foreign languages to improve future prospects on the continent.


    The sound of light footsteps behind me jolts me from my thoughts.


    ¡°Prince Mostafa, your parents have asked me to fetch you for breakfast.¡± Inquired the silky unmistakable voice of my attendant Niyar.


    Niyar has been my attendant ever since I was four years old, and though technically employed by my family has always been more like an older sibling owing to the fact that we are distantly related on my mother¡¯s side. Interestingly in my visions, differences in status were far more concrete than on the isles and more than once I witnessed people being punished for not showing due deference. I make a mental note to be more careful how I address people when I go on my journey.


    ¡°Let me guess, they don¡¯t even trust me to get to breakfast anymore.¡± I inquire, more teasing than angry.


    ¡°Your parents are only concerned you¡¯ll end up daydreaming and lose track of time again.¡± Countered Niyar with a self-satisfied grin on her face.


    Internally promising to get my own back, I begin strutting in the direction of the breakfast table with Niyar following behind me. Breakfast as per usual, is served in my parents¡¯ courtyard in the centre of the town which means a long walk in the morning due to mine being on the outskirts. I pass the time smiling and greeting the citizenry even occasionally making faces at any children. Entering the courtyard, I quickly greet my parents and rush into my assigned seat. Across from me being my parents and next to me being the empty seat designated for Niyar. As soon as Niyar sits down, everyone stirs into action.


    Family tradition dictates that conversations only occur after the meal so all of us dig in. My eyes are drawn to the bloodwood dining table covered with plates of roasted fish, flat breads, cured meats, assorted vegetables and fruits. A proper islander breakfast is based on variety and my mouth waters at the sight of it. Sparing little concern for table manners and pageantry, I get my hands dirty and wash it all down with copious amounts of water and fruit juices. Finally stuffed to bursting, I slouch down in my chair and relax. Looking around the table I notice our little family would be considered anomalous wherever we go including the Summer Isles.


    My father, who is known as Prince Boqar, typical of male islanders has a dark umber skin tone, hazel brown eyes and a well-defined jawline. His physique is tall and imposing with musculature that screams of someone who has lived an active lifestyle. His preferred outfit includes a crimson blood-red shirt; black sarong with gold trimmings; and plumage of red and black feathers draped over his shoulders giving a regal impression.


    Niyar and my mother, Princess Reina, on the other hand due to their Rhoynar descent appear markedly different to other islanders. Their bronzed skin with golden undertones, large bewitching eyes and cascading black hair have turned heads far too often for my father¡¯s liking. While my mother carries herself with decorum as is befitting of her status; Niyar has a mischievous personality unsuitable for a maiden of eighteen years old. Even her use of my official title prince is simply because she recognises it irritates me. My mother is garbed in an aquamarine gown with a multicoloured cape of feathers draped over her back. Niyar prefers practicality and opts for a burnt maroon cotton blouse worn over a white wrap dress that ends at the calf.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    ¡°If you¡¯re quite finished daydreaming, I have something to share.¡± My father says interrupting my train of thought.


    ¡°Don¡¯t mind me, was just wondering how many more pieces of fish you could fit before exploding.¡± I riposte


    ¡°Much more than you, little princess¡± he teased. A muffled snickering to my left informs me that Niyar enjoyed that almost as much as my father did.


    ¡°Enough, just give him the good news honey.¡± interrupted my mother exasperated with our daily routine.


    ¡°Just teasing him dear¡±


    ¡°Anyways, your enrolment to the citadel is finally complete. According to the acceptance letter you are to present yourself to an ArchmaesterWalgravebefore the new semester.¡± My father announced unfurling a scroll from inside his pocket.


    Jumping to my feet, I latch out and grasp the acceptance letter, the excitement of the new information getting the better of me momentarily. The acceptance letter simply means that much to me. To any aspiring scholar, the citadel is one of the greatest founts of knowledge in the known world but to me it offers an answer to the visions that have plagued me my entire life.


    The visions I see, never appear in any order or pattern, I simply witness events play out in far off lands. Without context it is impossible to understand what they mean if anything and how I should utilise what I¡¯ve learnt. The main inference I¡¯ve been able to make is that they are set in Westeros and Essos due to the prominence of dragons in my dreams. The citadel will allow me to finally connect the dots and understand my destiny. Impatient to return to my chronicle and recap the things I¡¯ve already learnt, I start heading back to my courtyard with vigour.


    ¡°Lovely to see you so eager about training.¡± My mother grinned entirely aware I had just forgotten about it.


    A grunt of displeasure later, I recalibrate my destination to the training ground and set off. My daily training is part of a settlement I agreed to with my parents when I was ten years old in exchange for being allowed to enrol at the citadel. Initially my family was set against me going to the citadel citing the dangers, lack of fellow islanders, potential discrimination and my relatively young age. To overcome this, I suggested that I would be willing to undergo the same training as the sea guards of the Summer Isles.


    Disputes and conflicts on the Summer Isles have always been civil and owing to the number of rules and independent judges¡¯ death infrequent. The cost of failure at its worst being exile. Though the rules and customs had a positive effect on the peaceful nature of the island, it resulted in us being vulnerable to foreign attack. This weakness was exploited to its fullest extent by slavers during the years of shame. To overcome this a sea guard of trusted individuals was produced which would be specialise in the more brutal warfare tactics the foreigners employed. By agreeing to the same training as the sea guards, my parents would feel assured that I would be able to keep myself safe.


    Finally descending on the training ground, I head over to the weapons rack and heft my heavy staff made entirely from ebony. Ebony wood is heavier than the typical material used for combat spears hence makes good equipment for training. Taking care to not instil any bad habits, I begin slowly moving between the spear forms I was taught over the last few years. As I become more comfortable, the pace of my transitions speeds up and my staff becomes more forceful. Under the baking hot midday sun, sweat starts to drop from my forehead. The combination of the staff¡¯s weight and vigorous movements starts to take its toll. Adding an extra layer of complexity to my training, I start to introduce footwork to my staff techniques. Taking slight pride in my movements, I wonder if my staff would appear blurry and indistinguishable to any opposition. Placing the heavy ebony staff back, I instead wield a red oak spear and shield combo hung on the end of the rack. The combination of the spear and shield is the cornerstone on which the fighting techniques of the Isles is built on. The ability to control distance with the spear and defend freely with the shield combines to form a deadly combatant. The training remains similar to before but utilises different stances, the difficulty is increased due to the need to consider the shield as well.


    Finally coming to the end of my daily training, I begin archery practise. The importance of archery to the Summer Isles cannot be understated, children are expected to begin practise as soon as they are able to lift a bow. The formation of the sea guard though crucial to our continued success was a long-term operation. The archery of the isles was the single most important factor in ending the years of shame. When Princess Xanda united the islands and placed a goldenheart bow in the hands of each of the sailors, she showed the nations of the world that we would no longer be underestimated. Archery practise involves stationary targets at varying ranges and proceeds towards hitting targets you¡¯ve thrown. The difficulty of thrown targets ramps up due to need to notch your arrow in a short period of time. Content with my training, I decide to take a break with my back to one of the tall trees in the training ground. In my relaxed state I begin to drift off to sleep, feeling the characteristic foreboding that precedes a vision.

 3. Opportunity

    As soon as I gathered my bearings, I knew this vision would be different than all the others. A harsh acrid smell clings to my nostrils and I instantly feel a longing for the natural smells of the island. A blast of hot dry air to my right-hand side distracts me from the smell by threating to knock me to the ground. Turning to its source, I come across a large metal structure radiating light to the entire room. An obscure figure in the corner then begins pounding upon an anvil with enough force to bring the ceiling down us. The harsh crashing sound of metal upon metal is jarring to ears and sends vibrations passing through me. Slowly acclimatising to the sounds and smells, I come to realisation that this is a smithery and the blast of air came from the forge.


    Heading closer for a look, I recognise the shape of an almost completed sword being hammered on the anvil. Its dim glow betraying that it had just been removed from the forge. Recognising that the process of forging takes a long time, I get comfortable upon a chair close to the anvil. Finally, content with his masterpiece, the smith drops the weapon into a bath of indeterminate oil rendering a cloud of vapours. The tension in the room immediately escalates as the smith recovers his weapon from the bath and inspects his creation. The smith content with his work, immediately begins the process of completing the weapon with the addition of the guard, hilt and pommel.


    The final product sends tremors passing through my body and even a hint of fear. The weapon appears to be a longsword but too large and heavy for any normal man to wield in a single hand. The grip itself is made from a black treated leather and appears harsh and unforgiving as if the sword itself would reject any lesser mortal. The cross guard appears simple but for the two dragons garrisoning its periphery. A ruby like stone embedded in the pommel completes any decorative aspects of the sword demonstrating this is a weapon for war and not merely an ornament. If the other aspects of the sword could be described as intimidating, the blade itself could only be referred to as despair inducing. A rippling pattern upon it from the cross-guard to its blade edge imitating seas washing over the coast. If I had not just witnessed its creation, I would be reluctant to believe it wasn¡¯t caused by the blood of its victims.


    My full attention engrossed by the sword, I barely noticed as the background faded away into nothingness. The next few minutes, to my best judgement, chronicled the history of this weapon as it switched between owners. I witnessed it kill an uncountable number of people from valiant warriors to women in their domiciles. The visions would have frightened me had it not been for everyone being obscured by a veil of shadows. I watched with rapt fascination as a powerfully built warrior was bestowed the sword in a great hall to the distress of the gathered audience. The same warrior carried it in unspeakable battles only to end in the same way as all the others, deceased with the weapon at his side. The next arc in the weapons journey became far more obscure and ambiguous in interpretation. The only details I can realistically capture is that the sword crossed an ebony river at the dead of night to arrive at an immense fortress made from a black stone. The weapon was subsequently stored away among golden treasures with no owner in sight. In the present time, the sword had aged over the years and had somehow come to lose both of the dragons on its cross guard, but it still had not lost that unmistakeable bloodthirst.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Fearing the vision would soon come to an end, I began attempting to recollect as much of the details as I could for my future chronicle entry. Contrary to my beliefs, I found myself back in the smithery witnessing the creation of a new sword. Even during the forging process the differences between both swords was clear to see. The size being the main difference with the second sword having the proper dimensions of a longsword and in fact appeared to be slightly smaller than the conventional. The cross guard of the new sword was wavy, and the pommel contained a large ruby in the centre. The blade of the second sword was a lot thinner and more delicate than the first giving off a more elegant feel. The final resting place for this sword unlike the first gave me a frame of reference in the form of the bone white tree with the blood red foliage from my previous vision. An important point of consideration being that this tree appeared far more ancient and powerful than the last. The surroundings suggested the tree had grown inside of a large cave and the snow piled up suggested it was in a similar area as the snowy castle. The final detail I was able to note was a solemn crow perched above the tree before I was wrenched from the dream.


    Stirring as if from a pleasant dream, I barely allow my eyes to adjust to the new brightness level before sprinting off back to my courtyard. The next hour is a blur of me writing as many minor details as I can remember, not being sure which will be critical to solving the puzzle till further research in oldtown. Satisfied, I can¡¯t stop myself from pondering over the meaning of this newest vision. For regardless of how hard I try, I can¡¯t shake the feeling that the vision wanted me to collect the swords. Unable to articulate why I got that feeling, I shelve that thought for the meanwhile. Luckily, from the vision it was clear that both swords had an illustrious history so finding information about them in the citadel shouldn¡¯t be difficult.


    The tangy smell of sweat upon me draws my thoughts towards more pressing issues and I run myself a well-earned bath. Feeling suitably cleansed I note the sun beginning to fall beyond the horizon. Captivated by it, I relish the way in which the last few tendrils dance delicately on the clouds. Once the sun has completely disappeared though, my demeanour shifts to reflect it. A cold warrior like calm coming over me. Rumours from the east have trickled down in the last week, that suggest the pirates are planning an attack soon. Though unclear where exactly, the captain wants no risks taken, so all guards are being doubled up and no inch of the coast will be left unmanned. The uniform for the sea guard is plain and unrestrictive, allowing the guards to fight at their full prowess. The combination of a cotton shirt and trouser are worn under leather armour intended to protect the torso. . All the pieces of the uniform are dyed black to decrease visibility. The equipment of the sea guard includes a red oak spear and shield plus my very own golden-heart bow. Earning the golden-heart bow is an important milestone in the life of an islander warrior and though I still feel undeserving I will endeavour to prove myself in time. Finally prepared for battle, I head off in the direction of the guard quarters to receive my orders and instructions.

 4. Defence

    The main guard quarters exist on the outskirts of the town defending the east which is the principal direction of attack. The unique geography of the isles and the location of the town on Walano make any incursion by the pirates from the west both perilous and demanding. The objective of the pirates was also factored in on the decision to base the guards in the east. As ever since the pirates first came into contact with the isles their aim has been to capture as many slaves as possible to sell to the continent. Escaping with the slaves poses their greatest logistical issue so the shortest route possible to their boats is required. For safety a skeleton unit has been left to the west of the town, but the bulk of the forces have been focused on the other three cardinal directions.


    Outside the guard quarters, seasoned warriors mingled around waiting for the appearance of Captain Lizwi. Lizwi had commanded the sea guards since the young age of twenty-two and had been a revelation streamlining the operations of the unit to previously unseen levels. A shrewd tactician with a keen eye for detail, his ability to think outside the box had undone the pirates on multiple occasions. A big part of my decision to undertake the guard training was the opportunity to witness his tactics in action and absorb as much of his methods as possible. A feat made more difficult by the fact that it would be fortuitous to see him in town even once a month. The captain would spend every waking moment in the guard quarters, his vigil unending.


    My instincts drew my attention to the forest, just as a willowy figure gently glided out of the shrubbery barely disturbing the leaves as he passed. Lizwi for all his accolades was never a muscular individual, his svelte figure more suited to a scholar than any guard. The only feature that betrayed his true nature being the glare from his hawkish gaze bordered by permanently furrowed eyebrows. Realisation that the captain had arrived slowly diffused through the unit and a hurried hush came over the audience. Only when complete silence had been achieved did the Captain Lizwi finally begin his oration.


    ¡°I take it everyone is gathered and clear on the current threat. The pirates are expected to attack tonight under the cover of the new moon. The visibility will be at its lowest and we can expect to be attacked from multiple different directions. Instructions will be simple, I¡¯ve identified some natural bottlenecks between the village and the coast. Ambushes will be set at these bottlenecks, scouts will be responsible for identifying the enemy numbers and clearing up any offshoots. Vice-Captain Ayale will hand out everyone¡¯s individual instructions and roles. Vice-Captain Kali is ordered to take a small unit and organise the town defences in the event that any pirates sneak past us. Tread cautiously I hope to see as many of you alive tomorrow as possible. Is that understood?¡± Lizwi CommandedIf you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Yes Captain!¡± the gathered crowd shouted in unison.


    The guard quarters soon became a hub of activity with warriors receiving their instructions and moving out to prepare for the pirates. I waited a while for the clearing to become emptier before approaching Ayale for my instructions. As I expected, I was assigned to be a scout due to my smaller size and cautious nature. The only issue being that my designated location was to the north of the town, a blatant attempt to protect me as it was expected to see the least combat.


    The walk towards my position was eerie even though I¡¯d walked this stretch of forest on multiple occasions in the past. The combination of total darkness and knowledge of the upcoming pirate attack worked to increase my apprehensions showing me phantoms all over the forest. Every rustle of the leaves or creaking of the branches felt like an attack was right around the corner. Recognising I was panicking, I took a deep breath and remembered the reason I was out here and who would be hurt in the event of my failure. The remainder of the journey was carried out in complete silence with my goal the only thing in my mind.


    Ascending a well-positioned tree north of the town, I had a clear line of sight to the stretch of coastline I was guarding. The next few minutes involved coordinating with my allies to make sure we could communicate when the pirates finally ended up coming. With our respective hand signals understood, I began making sure my position was as concealed as possible. The foliage of the tree provided ample cover especially for someone diminutive like me and the uniforms blended in well with the night. Settling down for the wait, I mentally readied myself knowing I would have to kill today, and risk being killed. In defending what is mine, I must take what is theirs. A sad state of affairs but one I am powerless to prevent, I make a mental pledge to one day find another way.

 5. Invasion

    The first sighting of the pirates came in the form of an indistinct object bobbing in the sea. Straining my eyes to ascertain their numbers, I immediately sighed in relief for fortune favoured us today. The pirates had chosen the new moon for its ability to mask their attack but hadn¡¯t considered the treacherous nature of the waves. The little boat they were on rocked vigorously in the sea, threatening to capsize at any moment. A faint hope built up inside me that the corsairs would see their end without any need for fighting today and hence no risk. The new moon would also make seeing the coastline difficult for the pirates. The capricious seas had claimed the lives of a great many men and they wouldn¡¯t be the last. My hope came to crashing halt as they dropped their anchor and disembarked. A cursory inspection of the men atop the vessel came to nigh on twenty-five individuals.


    When the pirates had finally gathered on the beach, a detailed headcount produced twenty-three individuals with two remaining on the vessel. The crew further split into three groups with one group of seven and two groups of eight. This was normal operating procedure for the pirates and it was done in an attempt to reduce the risk of ambush. The natural bottlenecks would result in the separate parties meeting up only to be attacked during the confusion that would be caused. Wordlessly signalling I passed the information about the pirate numbers and group sizes down the communication line. This would be used to coordinate the ambush and ensure no pirates were able to escape.


    With the key part of my job completed, I settled down and monitored the crew passing any useful information I could gain forward. A breathless gasp escaped my lips when I looked at the weapons being carried by the crew. The life of a pirate is considered short and usually the majority of crews are filled with new recruits. These recruits are only offered basic equipment and are considered disposable by the ship owner. Proficiency in archery demands months of practise and so only veteran pirates will ever undergo training for it. Just under half of the crew members appear to be carrying a bow which increases the danger of this offensive exponentially. I signal the nearest ally and pass on the information hoping it reaches Captain Lizwi as quickly as possible.


    Preoccupied with making sure the information passes along, I rotate just in time to witness the crew enter the forest in three separate location beckoning the second phase of my mission. The pirates no longer visible, I focus my concentration on my hearing attempting to separate the typical forest sounds from signs of movement. The ambush area exists directly south of my position, so I can expect at least one of the pirate units to pass below me. I grip the bow tightly in my arm and draw an arrow from my quiver. The arrow has a broad iron arrowhead intended for war as opposed to hunting. The arrow is notched onto the bow without applying any tension on the string ready to draw and release when the time is right.


    A muffled crunch of leaves and snap of branches underfoot started to emanate from the northly direction. The feeling of mortal danger heightened my sense and all my awareness focused on the trees and bushes in that direction. A cautious head peered out from behind the trunk of a gnarled elderly tree. As if on a swivel, the head scanned the area cautiously attempting to see through any concealment. Content, the scout signalled the rest of the crew causing them to slowly emerge from their hiding spots. Apart from their vanguard, five other individuals appeared which instantly made me cautious. Based on the numbers I counted before they entered the forest at least one or two combatants are unaccounted for. The choice of weapon is also very telling as only two members of this group are carrying bow and arrows. This means potentially both the missing combatants are archers hence finding them will be critical to saving sea guard lives.


    My breathing quietened down to a whisper and movements slowed to a crawl as the crew members passed eerily close to the tree I was on. The seconds stretch on helplessly until the crew has passed by far enough to relax. My mind immediately enters a contemplative state, attempting to anticipate where the missing combatants are. The direct effectiveness of two archers is limited and the pirates have battled the Summer Isles for centuries, hence the number of combatants we have available must be known to them. The only possibility I can think of is the archers unleashing covering fire to allow their close combat fighters to get closer. This would mean the archers have likely flanked either left or right of the ambush area to get a superior angle for the shot.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Deep in thought, I noticed movement in a familiar tree south of my direction. The nearest guard to my position vacated the cover of the trees foliage and began noiselessly climbing down the trunk of the tree. Landing gently to the ground, he warily headed in a westly direction, presumably having calculated the most likely direction for the archer¡¯s ambush. A soft thud later and the only exposed part of the arrow, embedded deeply in the scouts¡¯ neck was the fletching. His body plummeted to the ground under its own weight no longer sustained by conscious thought. Blood beginning to stream out from the wound due to the collision disturbing the arrow. His mind finally having caught up with what had happened, tried to raise its arms to stem the bleeding futilely. The blood at this point had made its way down his throat and the sound of gurgling and spluttering was like agony to my ears. The taste of bile filled up my mouth having climbed up from the pits of my stomach. Gritting my teeth was the only thing I could do to prevent retching entirely.


    Desperate to distract myself, I traced back the trajectory of the arrow to an unremarkable shrub north of the dying scout. Five pirates leisurely strolled out of the bush, the leading figure still holding his bow in hand. The culprit wore an ill-fitted dirt brown tunic and black mud splattered trousers, the signs of wear obvious even at a cursory look. A bristled wiry beard covering his mottled sun-burnt skin gave him a vile impression. Confidently crossing the clearing, the leader drew back his mismatched boots and delivered a powerful punt to the abdomen of the scout. The force causing him to roll over and cough out a fresh portion of blood. I clenched my hands tightly around the body of the bow, fingernails digging into my palms strong enough to draw blood. Taking a deep breath, I reminded myself that five combatants with bows is too much for me to take out. The pirate crew are evidently in hysterics at the actions of the leader, trading jokes in a language I¡¯ve never heard before. The basilisk isles are a dreadful location where the refuse of the world gather, the product of that being a hybrid language that varies between islands. The only common features being that it is always jarring and harsh to the listener. The inhabitants of the isles mirror this as they are predominately mongrels of indistinct ancestry.


    A grating shout instantly burst the pleasurable atmosphere of the pirate crew as all of the members turned towards the diminutive pirate who had been the last to depart the undergrowth. The anxiety on the faces of the pirates is clear to see so I mentally demote the bearded pirate to second in command. The demeanour with which this pirate carries himself immediately shifts to become more authoritative as if he was hiding himself when they first entered the clearing. The pirates face is covered by a cloth wrap that only exposes his eyes, adding an air of mystique to his person. Black as this new moon, his pupils threatened to engulf you like an ocean wave. Barking out orders in a distinctly higher pitch than expected, the other pirates put the scout out of his misery and immediately fall in line behind him. The pirate unit then cautiously journey southward as if on a predetermined plan.


    Internally, I begin estimating the threat that this pirate unit could pose and find the result to be deeply concerning. If this unit is able to flank the ambushing party before the trap is sprung the death toll would be horrific. Two pirates would be unable to supress our archers, but five veterans under the command of a competent leader could wreak havoc on the sea guard. Another alarming point being that they are aware of scouts in the trees and waited for my ally to leave his position first. This suggests a familiarity with our methods that doesn¡¯t bode well for this battle. Mentally connecting the dots, I recognise this unit was likely made from a minimum of one archer from each of the three pirate sub-units. The three pirate sub-crews simply being bait intended to expose the ambushing party. Communication with Captain Lizwi is impossible at the moment, so it¡¯s up to me to save the ambushing group from complete decimation. The best chance to take out this group of pirates will come when they begin attacking the ambushing party. Though the window will be short, I must take it for any hope of saving the guards.

 6. Conclusion

    The next few minutes felt agonisingly slow as I balanced not losing sight of the unit with remaining concealed. The foliage added an extra layer of difficulty due to the sound the leaves made when disturbed, but I moved slowly to dampen the noise. The pirates had placed themselves directly west of the earlier group of pirates they were utilising as bait and continued moving south. Through an opening in the forest, the other group were clear to see blissfully ignorant of the fate awaiting them. Careful not to give my position away, I began to flank the archer unit placing them between myself and the ambush location. Overtaking the archer unit which was possible due them moving slowly, I carefully moved towards the ambush location making sure I would have a clear shot on them when the fighting began. In position, I prepared my bow and arrow ready for the action to start.


    The earlier pirate group had finally come to the mouth of the ambush location, the instincts of the leading pirate the only thing that prevented him from immediately entering the clearing. The archer unit lead by the diminutive veiled pirate also had come to a stop and after a quick order from their leader began drawing their bows and taking position behind nearby trees and rocks. The early group leader replicated his cautious head-swivel while staring dubiously at potential hiding spots in the clearing. Hesitating for a longer time than he had earlier, I noticed a slight anger begin to build up in the veiled pirate as if irritated by the other leader¡¯s self-preservation. A grim determination crossed the face of the earlier group leader and he whispered some commands to his unit. The unit rearranged their position placing three of the pirates in front of him and two more behind him, finally stepped out into the clearing.


    As soon as the group reached the centre of the clearing, arrows rained down on them from every direction. The leader of that group as if already expecting it, ducked behind his three-man vanguard as arrows were peppered into their bodies. The archery unit had already begun to mobilise, abandoning their precious cover to begin unleashing volleys of arrows at the ambushing party. My reaction time was even quicker though, having already chosen my target long before the battle had begun. A lone pirate furthest from the action hidden behind a fallen tree with no cover at his back. His death felt almost anticlimactic, as my released arrow buried itself deep inside his skull. The ease with which his life was extinguished surprising me for a short moment. With no time to check the general progress of the battle, I moved on to my next target maintaining hope the ambushing party were withstanding the attack. The next target was smarter and had sheltered himself behind a large tree to prevent any potential return fire. Nocking an arrow, I pull back the bow string forcibly and loose a powerful arrow aimed at his head. An involuntary jerk of my finger during release, slightly distorts the arrow trajectory embedding the arrow deeply into the bark of the tree. Remembering my mental training, I promptly disregard my mistake and nock another arrow onto the bow. The pirate initially shocked by the arrow landing so close to his face, took a moment to process the events before shouting out at the top of his lungs.


    ¡°Behind Us!¡±


    My preparatory routine complete, I release an arrow with the full force of the draw weight behind it silencing him in perpetuity. This time I chose to aim for the relatively easier position of the chest and the arrow penetrates the pirate¡¯s lungs. A fatal wound the pirate is liable to bleed out in a short period of time, so I switch my focus to the others. The dying pirates shout has just begun to register, as I moved to place an arrow upon the bow. The three remaining pirates had already begun to relocate to new locations while taking my presence into account. Knowing I wouldn¡¯t have very long, I quickly loosed another arrow at a specific escaping pirate. His agile movements made it difficult to aim for the head, so I settled for shooting at his back in the hope that I would at least wound him. The arrow inserted itself firmly into his lower back just before he managed to dive head first into cover.


    The final archer having now found cover, a brief respite came over the battlefield marked by an abnormal silence. Taking advantage of the time, I scanned the battlefield to get an idea of the casualties. The ambush party due to the influence of the archers had failed to kill the entire pirate crew. Four bodies lay plastered around the clearing suggesting two of the pirates were able to escape. A conspicuous blood trail led back into the forest north of their location suggesting at least one of the escapees was seriously injured. During a pirate attack, any serious injury is tantamount to a death sentence as the individual would struggle to escape and be easily pursued if they did. My attention was then drawn to the ambushing party where my worst fears were instantly realised. A large puddle of blood was pooled below, face down and immobile in that red sea were two of the sea guard. Dripping from a tree nearby them was more of that precious liquid, indicating more were injured as well.


    ¡°How many of the guards are still alive and how bad are the injuries?¡± I inquired as loudly as possible to make sure my voice could be heard over the distance.


    A hesitant voice replied back ¡°six still alive but Jahi is injured, without treatment ¡­¡±This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°Understood, we¡¯ve got as much as five pirates still alive two of them injured. One more push and we can force a retreat. I¡¯m going in, cover me.¡± I commanded loudly knowing time is of the essence.


    Hefting my spear and shield, I alighted gently from the tree making sure to remain in cover for fear of their arrows. Now safely on the floor, I crouched down minimizing my area as much as possible. My shield raised to cover my vitals in the event of a stray arrow. Without a moment¡¯s hesitation, I break into a decisive gallop towards my destination with my head tucked in, stomach tightened, and legs tensed. The sound of heavy thuds falling in the distance making me hopeful the guards listened. Diving in the direction of the tree, I was able to skip the last few feet and arrive safely.


    No sooner had I entered cover, I thrusted my spear towards my opposition. The spear finding purchase in the soft rolls of fat that clung to his stomach. A forceful blow to his hand later and the pirate was now disarmed and effectively helpless. Now with more time I studied his face in detail. The look of pure dread upon it, pleasing me in a way I hate to admit. Recognising that his fate was in my hand, the pirate began crying out in that hybrid language of theirs, likely begging for mercy. The quiver of his mouth causing his wiry beard to shake uncontrollably. Gripping my spear tightly, I rotated it viciously while ejecting it from his flesh causing him to release an agonising scream. Remaining completely still, I watched as his scream slowly faded away and silence reigned once again. Revenge was only a small part of my motivation; the effect his screams would have on the other pirates being the true goal. Subconsciously his screams would stick in their minds, playing over and over again. Informing them what would happen if I was to ever grab a hold of them, their fear tempting them to run away. Patiently I waited, not presenting even an inch of myself. Triggering their fears to escalate, their petrified minds conjuring fictional monsters instead of normal warriors.


    The deafening silence finally got to one of the pirates and soon they were in a complete rout. I headed directly to the sea guard unit to investigate the damage. The heavy smell of blood threatened to make me nauseous, but I focused on the task. Apart from the two deceased guards lying in the puddle and the injured Jahi, the general health of the guards wasn¡¯t too bad. Two of the guards had been hit with arrows but they had landed on their limbs and wouldn¡¯t be too difficult to heal as long as they didn¡¯t get infected.


    ¡°You two are to carry Jahi back to the town for medical treatment, while the other three are to come with me to end the pirates¡± I declare, indicating towards the two injured guards.


    ¡°Yes Prince¡± the guard unit replied simultaneously, clearly impressed by my performance so far.


    Leading from the front, we set off in pursuit of the escaping pirates. Tracking them would take time, so I opt instead to set a direct course for the stretch of coastline they docked their boat at. The injured pirates will likely struggle to reach their boat, so we can return to deal with them later. The main aim is the veiled pirate and the remaining pirate from the ambushed group. The trees begin to thin out, a promising sign that the coastline is getting closer. As soon as we step out from the forest I witness the two aforementioned pirates also breaking out but further north of us. This gives them a shorter distance to cover to their boat, which I can see anchored just off the beach.


    The four of us nock an arrow each onto our bows and release before the pirates even realise we are there. The arrows sail across the sky but are impacted by the powerful sea breeze altering their course. Only one arrow lands striking the shoulder of the remaining ambushed pirate and causing him to collapse onto the sand. The veiled pirate seeing this throws away his heavy weapons and begins racing across the beach to the safety of the boat. His composure alarming me, I vow not to let him escape. In concert with my fellow guards, we unloose a barrage of arrows in his direction. The sea breeze at his back defending him like a lioness defends her cubs. The hail of arrows finally finds purchase in the form of a lone arrow through his calf causing him stumble.


    Taking this opportunity, I drop all but my spear and give chase on foot. I begin to narrow the gap between us as his newly injured leg helps to check his movements. The moment I was directly behind him, I lunged with my spear intending to impale him through the back. The veiled pirate¡¯s reaction was just as brutal, drawing a small dagger from his waist, he dodged my spear attack by twisting and threw the dagger towards my eyes. Instinctively, I leap to the side while throwing my head backwards. Though my reaction was able to preserve my eye, the dagger has left a painful laceration on my cheek, blood already beginning to stream from the wound. Regaining focus, I return to my quarry.


    Only for an arrow to land right at my feet and stop me dead in my tracks. In my frenzied chase, it appears we had come very close to the boat and my earlier prediction of twenty-five pirates had evidently been correct. Covering the remaining distance with two archers focused on me is impossible, so I give up the chase and watch as the small pirate reaches his vessel. Removing his disguise, the pirate unveils the visage of a child no older than me and I instantly regret not killing him. A feral smile decorates his face with none of the innocence that accompanies youth. Those same inky black eyes promise retribution and I know deep down within my heart this won¡¯t be the last time we meet. The remainder of the night passes uneventfully as we clear up any of the remaining injured pirates and return to the guard quarters. Captain Lizwi forces me to get medical treatment, then dismisses me for the remainder of the night, while the others deal with the aftermath of the battle. Fatigue prevents me from overthinking the consequences of the battle and as soon as my head hits the pillow, I drift off to a pleasant sleep.

 7. Companion

    The two weeks since the pirate attack had been difficult for the town. Many families had lost members and some of the sea guard would have to retire due to their injuries. The day after the battle, Captain Lizwi had gathered the dejected guard unit and informed them the mission was a success, that none of the pirates had made it to the town and that was due to the work of everyone here and those no longer with us. I¡¯ll always cherish how he said that our fallen brethren would never be forgotten and that it was our duty to do their portion as well moving forward. Lizwi¡¯s words blew away the despondent aura surrounding the guard unit and allowed them to get past their grief. The town mourned the dead in the same way we¡¯ve always done by celebrating life instead. For a full week, the islanders danced and drunk while partaking in the pleasures of the flesh casting away our pain and choosing to be joyous instead. My father made sure the families of the bereaved were taken care off and that they would not want for a thing. While the priestesses carved the names of those who passed onto the tall trees making them a part of the village for eternity.


    I¡¯d spent the remainder of time since the attack practising my Common Tongue for the upcoming journey to Oldtown. My mentor for the language was Jahi¡¯s father, Ahia a former merchant who regularly travelled to Westeros for trade. My lessons with him had begun when I was ten and had first told my parents I wanted to study at the citadel. Through his tutorship I had become adept at the language and we were currently going over the differences between highborn and lowborn speech.


    ¡°Differences in status are very prevalent in Westeros and depending on how you speak, the opposite party will either look down on you or feel an affinity with you. So rather than becoming used to only one type of speech, become fluent in both so you can switch between them. The lowborn or smallfolk as they call them tend to clip their words saying m¡¯lord instead of my lord whereas the nobility will pronounce each letter. It¡¯s also not a simple matter of speaking a certain way to the nobility and another to the commoners. When I was a merchant, I would often communicate with the nobility, but I would have to be careful of my speech. Too informal and the noble would likely not respect me leading to them trying to short change me. Too formal and I could find myself in trouble for imitating them due to what they term my low birth. The same duality exists with the commoners, if you want to befriend them its best to speak in a similar way to them but if you wish to command them then speak like a noble. Clear?¡± Ahia lectured in length.


    ¡°That it¡¯s going to be difficult, yes I am¡± I quipped back.


    The door swung open as Jahi marched in and dropped a blunted spear on the table, completely disturbing my lesson notes. The fact that he was moving suggesting his injury had fully healed and he was enthusiastic for that spar. Though Mentor Ahia had taught me for two years already, the relationship between me and Jahi had never been a close one. Jahi, who is currently turning twenty, has been a permanent fixture in the sea guard for the last four years. When I first began studying under his father he was already a seventeen-year-old guard, this meant we had very little in common and often ignored each other not out of malice but simply indifference. After the pirate attack, the other members of the unit had told him about my part in his rescue, resulting in him feeling grateful to me. The next time I visited Mentor Ahia¡¯s house, Jahi attempted to mumble out his gratitude which I promptly put a stop to by teasing him about his injury and insinuating that a twelve-year-old would be stronger than him. Mainly because I couldn¡¯t stand the awkward environment and just wanted to return to how we used to be. Jahi then made it his mission to defeat me in a spar and working twice as hard as anyone else on his rehabilitation.If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Right now?¡± I asked exasperatedly knowing I had little chance of getting out of this.


    A quick nod was all I received, and he was out of the door as fast as he had entered it. Looking over to my mentor, I silently asked for permission which he also gave with a quick nod, a familial quirk they both share. Standing a few feet across from Jahi in the clearing outside of mentor¡¯s house, I study my opponent carefully. Jahi has light umber skin, chiselled features and high cheek bones. His eyes unique among the islanders, are a deep golden colour which shines in the midday sun. A form of atavism passed down from his grandmother which hailed from Naath, an island to the east of here. His tall muscular frame is completed with his shaved head giving him an assertive presence. His clothing choices are simple, only ever being seen wearing the sea guard uniform.


    The spar begun without a word between either of us. Knowing his greater experience and strength would make this a difficult battle, I focused on speed maintaining a high tempo from the outset of the battle. I sent a straight lunge to his body only for it to be blocked by the shaft of his spear. The difference in our strengths clear from the beginning as his block unbalanced me. Stepping back to regain my footing, I began circling him to find an opening. His effortless footwork meaning his spear was always between me and his body giving me no chance to attack. As if content he¡¯d seen enough, Jahi began to move forwards, firing off large sweeping attacks. Dodging as many of his blows as I could, I searched desperately for an opening that I could use to gain a comeback. Almost as if testing me, the speed of his blows began to pick up and I was forced to block more and more of his attacks. The thought of a counter attack long gone from my mind, I focused on just remaining in the battle. My defence lasted until my arms were so numb from his attacks, I was no longer able to hold my spear.


    Fatigued, I took a seat on the group as I attempted to catch my breath and rub some of the ache out of my hands. The sobering effect of the battle still playing on my mind, disavowing me of any false beliefs about my combat ability. The difference in strength between me and any consummate fighter is still too great, and I can only work hard to decrease it.


    ¡°A good battle for one so young, but your physical strength is still too lacking¡± Jahi sombrely noted.


    Petulantly, I decided to ignore him. The silence dragging on even longer than I¡¯d intended.


    ¡°We¡¯ll have to keep up your training, when we¡¯re in Oldtown¡± he coolly noted, while walking away.


    The shock of his statement caused me to freeze for a moment, before I set off to dissuade him. My whole reason for going to Westeros being to stop whatever cataclysmic event is occurring. Even though it appears to be safe currently, the danger is genuine and scary.


    ¡°No point, he¡¯s made his decision. I didn¡¯t raise an ungrateful boy.¡± Interrupted my mentor.


    Predicting correctly, I wasn¡¯t yet satisfied, my mentor carries on ¡°Whatever danger your facing, will be easier with him by your side.¡±


    ¡°I never said anything about danger¡± I declare


    ¡°Don¡¯t take me for a fool boy, I¡¯ve seen that look many times in the past¡± my mentor growls back, the implicit question not lost on him.


    ¡°If you want an old man¡¯s advice, take whatever help you can get, it¡¯s always the ones who go it alone that fail.¡± He affectionately reminds me, switching moods at the drop of a hat.


    Content that I¡¯ve listened to his advice, Mentor Ahia returns to his house and I can¡¯t help but feel like it¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve seen him for who he is. The scholars have always maintained that travel makes a man and it is the sum of what you have seen that defines what you are. It is at no point in my life, that I have felt that to be truer than right now.

 8. Departure

    Rising to a new day, a slight sense of apprehension came at the upcoming voyage. Passage had been secured on the Cinnamon Wind, a swan ship captained by Quhuru Mo, a fellow islander. Quhuru worked as a merchant, trading precious materials and cargo in ports all across the known world. His understanding of the different places was second to none on the isles and father felt that I could learn much from him during the journey that would make my time in Westeros easier. Their home port had always been our town and Quhuru was well known to the older generation including my father as a consummate professional, alleviating much of my parents worries. The nature of his work made it difficult to predict when he would next arrive, but his usual pattern had been at least once every other year. My father decided to deliberately delay my journey by a month in the hope that we would catch him and was rewarded for it. Since then two more weeks had gone by as their precious cargo was unloaded and the specialities of the Summer Isles stowed instead. The port hands took responsibility for that and repairing the ship for its next voyage, giving the tired sailors some precious time with their families.


    Their time of rest had come to an end though, as today was the day we were set to embark. Scanning my room in a melancholic fashion, I noted the emptiness of it devoid of any personal objects. The Citadel boasts the greatest collection of literature in the known world and any one of those books could contain the information I need to understand my visions. To truly understand my dreams, the time I would need to spend in the Citadel is extensive, nominally I have told my parents I will return in two years¡¯ time. This led to my mother¡¯s decision to donate my courtyard to a new couple just branching out from their parents, a good deed but I can¡¯t help the suspicion it has given the journey a feeling of finality. For ease of travel, I kept my possessions to an absolute minimum only bringing my weapons and chronicle with me both of which had already been placed on the ship. In terms of the funds I would utilise during my stay, precious gemstones had been added to the vessels cargo which would be sold by Quhuru when we reached our destination. The funds would then be invested into the Bank of Oldtown under my name, so I could withdraw the money at my leisure.


    Sporting my guard uniform for the journey and my signature outfit already being loaded onto the boat, I set off for the vessel. Still early in the morning, the harbour was already a hub of activity. An over eager port hand almost running into me due to hurrying with his cargo. Families mingled about around the port saying their final farewells, their young children still attempting to rub the sleep out of their eyes.


    ¡°About time.¡± I hear a sullen voice grumble from behind me.


    Turning around I¡¯m met with the entirety of my extended family, in which I¡¯ve come to include mentor and his son. The expressions on their faces telling a thousand stories. My father has that understated pride a parent feels when their child shows them they have grown up and they feel like they¡¯re truly seeing their child for the first time. Initially against this journey of mine due to my age, the time I spent with the sea guard convinced him about my capabilities and ever since then he¡¯s been nothing but supportive. Mentor¡¯s face is unreadable as always, another quality they share as Jahi stares at me blank faced, his earlier comment the only thing giving away his impatience. A small part of me is starting to think this journey isn¡¯t just about repaying a debt for him. Connecting the dots, I start to wonder if Jahi has always wanted to follow in his father¡¯s footsteps and see the world. Saving that as a future discussion topic, I move on to my attendant Niyar who lips are pursed in a clear show of dissatisfaction.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    ¡°Not my fault, someone didn¡¯t wake me up, almost as if they wanted me to oversleep.¡± Heavily hinting in her direction.


    Niyar had always been supportive of my journey to Oldtown, but only because she assumed as my attendant she would naturally be going. The chance to explore a foreign country was too tempting for her so she had always been my ally in persuading my parents. It took a lot of effort to placate her when I finally had to come clean. Effort that was completely undone when she found out a few weeks ago, that Jahi was coming as well. A strong stance was the only option as though Jahi was able to protect himself, Niyar would be a liability in Westeros.


    The more worrying reaction to my journey was my mother. Though her facial expression gave nothing away her chapped lips, puffy eyes and chewed nails told an entirely different story. Her appearance felt like a dagger through the heart and made me want to call this entire trip off. If the stakes off this journey weren¡¯t so high, its even possible I would have but without me potentially many people could be killed so I harden my heart. I embrace my mother, whispering to her that I will keep myself safe and to expect me back in just two years. I even request an adorable little sister, as I¡¯m aware my parents have begun trying again which causes her to laugh out loud. The atmosphere a lot more relaxed, I turn around to board the boat accompanied by Jahi. Only for slender hands to wrap around my abdomen and hold me tight.


    ¡°Be careful¡± a silky unmistakeable voice whispers into my back.


    ¡°I always am¡± I reply, confidently striding onto the boat, hoping the last impression I give my family is a powerful one.


    Boat preparations ran as expected, while I made myself scarce in a corner of the deck watching the island that I grew up on. As the call to hoist the sails was raised, those early apprehensions returned with a vengeance. A small part in the back of my mind wondering if I got off this boat now would I be able to avoid the storm that¡¯s coming. Content in my corner of the world, would I dismiss my visions as products of childish fantasy. Growing old accompanied with my wife and children, or would I come to regret my decision and eternally hate myself for it. Looking over the horizon, I make a solemn promise that regardless of outcome I will see this out to its completion. I owe myself that at least.

 9. Voyage

    ¡°King''s Landing, all hands-on deck¡± bellowed Quhuru, his voice likely reaching the distant port and beyond.


    Immediately, the entire vessel began rocking as every sailor simultaneously started docking preparations, a distinct order within the chaos betraying that they had carried out this operation innumerable times. Having no experience and not wanting to get in the way of the sailors, I found myself a position in the corner of the deck where I could relax. Our destination visible on the horizon, I couldn¡¯t help but reminisce about the voyage we¡¯d been on including all of its pitfalls.


    The first stumbling block came only hours before we embarked, when I was informed the Cinnamon Wind was headed to King¡¯s Landing. On this specific leg of its journey, the focus for Quhuru was to generate as much profit as possible in Westeros. The cargo he chose reflecting the varied tastes of the Westerosi, ensuring he would end up with no unsold products. To achieve this aim, the vessel would need to attend various harbours and trade goods at every location. This meant that my personal destination of Oldtown was simply one of many from the point of view of Quhuru. Fortunately, in this case Oldtown was only the third stop in this journey, subsequent to stays at King''s Landing and then Sunspear.


    King''s Landing as the capital and most populous city in the Seven Kingdoms is a sprawling centre of commerce promising rich returns for any trader. It is also the seat of power in the kingdom and where some of its most powerful individuals reside, including the royal family. Large sums of money funnel into the capital from all over Westeros making it a prime target for merchants like Quhuru. The city featured prominently in my visions and a chance to become acquainted with the city and its main players will be advantageous to me moving forward.


    The start of the journey was quiet as I was content to savour a well-earned break and recuperate before we arrived at the city. The calm sea and fair weather purifying my mind and soul before the hardships that I would face. Idleness though had never suited me and within a few days the same clear seas had started to become a source of irritation. The monotony of sea travel starting to wear at me mentally. Jahi had took to excessive training to overcome it and I began joining him for daily sparring and exercise, careful not to lose my edge in battle. The crew especially Quhuru provided a valuable source of information about Westeros, that I utilised to the fullest during our journey. Quhuru proving his reputation as a consummate professional, by answering succinctly on any topic related to finances and money. The first lesson I had with him was on the currency employed in the Seven Kingdoms, which left me truly befuddled. The coinage used on Westeros was both varied and complex with no clear rules on the relationship between the different denominations. As Quhuru would also inform me, the rules were not set either and in times of hardship it was common for the value of the currency to fluctuate. As a merchant, Quhuru had become familiar with its usage over time hence taught me the usual relationships between the coins. He also gave me an idea of the buying power of each coin which would help me avoid being exploited.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    To increase my familiarity with the Common Tongue, I would take any opportunity available to hold conversations in the language. My options for conversation partners was extremely limited, especially considering Quhuru was only interested in financial matters. This meant I had spent large portions of the trip communicating with Kojja Mo, the daughter of Quhuru and lead archer on the ship. We discussed multiple different things about Westeros such as its geography and customs, greatly increasing my general knowledge. The only danger of the journey came when we attempted to cross the Stepstones, a chain of islands that stretch from Westeros to Essos. The islands are well known as a hub for pirates and many ships have been beset by corsairs over the years. Kojja demonstrated her prowess and that of her red archers by raining arrows upon the pirate ships until they eventually chose to retreat. The calm manner with which the attack was dealt with impressed me and truly convinced me of the capabilities of this crew. The rest of the journey time was filled up with stories about distant cities broadening my horizons, but not preparing me for what I would witness.

 Character / Info Page

    Original Character Sheet:


    Character Name (Origin of Name/ Meaning) ¨C Brief description of character


    Prince Mostafa Osei (Arabic/Chosen One) -Main Character, Aged 12. Born 278 AC,


    Attendant Niyar (Swahili/Purpose) ¨C Age 18, Born 272 AC


    Princess Reina Osei (Spanish/Queen) ¨C Mother, Rhyonar Descent, Born on the Isle of Women


    Prince Boqar Osei (Somali/King)- Father, Prince of the Summer Isles


    Captain Lizwi (Zulu/Word of God) - Captain of the Sea Guard, Age 25


    Vice-Captain Ayale (Ethiopian/Powerful)


    Vice-Captain Kali (African/Energetic)


    Jahi (Swahili/Dignified)- Sea Guard Member, MC Bodyguard, Age 19, Grandmother from Naath


    Ahia (Igbo/Merchant) ¨C Father of Jahi, Ex-Merchant


    Book/Tv Series Characters:


    Possible Spoiler Warning.


    The original characters of the series and book will as expected appear often so rather than write about every single character, I will only write about important changes I''ve made and things I''ve assumed which aren''t explicity mentioned in the book. On top of that I will also mention the characters who are lesser known and casual readers might be unfamiliar with.This will allow the reader to understand the context and backstory behind each character. [denotes assumptions or changes]


    Quhuru Mo & Kojja Mo ¨C Captain & Lead Archer of the Cinnamon Wind, Father & Daughter, Homeport is Tall Trees Town.


    Spoiler: Quhuru Mo & TheCinnamon Wind


    <div>


    Sent word to Daenerys about King Robert Baratheons death.


    Ferried Samwell Tarly & Maester Aemon from Braavos > Oldtown


    Petyr Baelish- Customs Officer in Gulltown during 289 AC, impressing Jon Arryn (Hand of the King) so much he was called to King''s Landing. [Currently Customs Officer in King''s Landing]


    Spoiler:Baelish<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">


    <div>


    In 3 years time, Baelish will go on to be made the Master of Coin hence sitting on the Small Council.Key Player.


    Tobho Mott & Gendry- Master Smith & Youngest Apprentice.


    Spoiler:Tobho & Gendry<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">


    <div>


    Tobho : Able to reforge Valyrian steel and does so for Ned Starks weapon Ice.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    Gendry: Bastard Son of Robert Baratheon, Key Player.


    Archmaester Gallard:Wrote a book on the Summer Isles.


    Tourney Knights:


    Lord Jason Mallister : Seaguard in the Riverlands


    Lord Yohn Royce:Runestone in the Vale


    Ser Arys Oakheart:Risen to the Kingsguard in 290 AC


    Spoiler: Arys Oakheart


    <div>


    All that was included in the book is the year he was promoted. I added the detail of it being due to winning a tourney. I felt it fitting as in the books, he is sent with Myrcella to Dorne as her sworn shield. So him getting promoted at the tourney held to celebrate her birth makes sense. It would even make sense that he was added mainly due to increasing size of the royal family hence more protection needed.


    Lannisters & Support:


    Ser Jaime Lannister:


    Queen Cersei Lannister:


    Sandor Clegane:Bannermen of the Westerlands. Burns on his face.


    Baratheons & Support:


    King Robert Baratheon:


    Lord Stannis Baratheon:


    Lord Renly Baratheon:


    Prince Joffrey Baratheon:


    Princess Myrcella:


    Shireen Baratheon:


    Maester Cressen:Served House Baratheon since Lord Steffon ( Father of Robert,Stannis & Renly) as Maester of Storms End. Followed Stannis to Dragonstone when he was granted it.


    Patchface:Slightly Prophetic Jester from Essos. Almost drowned in the same shipwreck that killed Lord Steffon but survived and has been singing deranged songs since.


    Small Council:


    Lord Jon Arryn: (Hand Of The King)


    Lord Stannis Baratheon: (Master of Ships)


    Pycelle: (Grand Maester) retained from Aerys small council.


    Varys: (Master of Whispers)¡±retained from Aerys small council¡±


    Ser Barristan Selmy: (LCOTK) ¡°retained from Aerys small council¡±


    [Lord Alesander Staedmon: (Master of Coin)]


    [Lord Symond Staunton: (Master of Law) ¡°retained from Aerys small council¡±]


    Spoiler: Staedmon & Staunton<input class="spoilerButton" type="button" value="Show">


    <div>


    Staedmon : MoC in the books is Petyr Baelish but he required 3 years from coming to King''s Landing to become it. This meant a hole arised in the position. The position of MoC was left empty underAerys afterQarlton Chelsted was raised to HOTK. This meant a new character needed to be included. Staedmon is bannerman of House Baratheon ( hence loyal) who had the nickname Pennylover which meant I chose him as our current. As per story in 2/3 years time he will be switched out for Baelish and I''ve already installed conflict between him and robert to faciliatate that.


    Staunton: MoL in the books is Renly Baratheon, who is during 290 AC only 13 years old. This meant new guy needed. Staunton was MoL during Aerys rule hence similar to the other characters spared was allowed to carry on.


    Info Sheet: (* used to denote things I¡¯ve created)


    Current Year = 290 AC, where AC = date after Aegon¡¯s conquest. The year Mostafa marks in his calendar is 404 SD*, where SD = since Doom [ Of Valyria], a fictional calendar used in Essos & Summer Isles.


    Rhoynar are one of the three main ethnic groups in Westeros. Arrived from Essos after a mass migration. During that migration, they came across the Summer Isles where a portion of their people settled on the Isle of Women.


    Map of Known World: https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/File:WorldofIceandFire.png</a>


    Map of Kings Landing : https://external-preview.redd.it/IVpsKg6BsIc_Bu_8XbJM8G319rDqv1JIvajHiAXK31A.jpg?auto=webp&s=d89e3a08f7465886845a2f8f94fee0583159b974</a>

 10. Kings Landing

    Bathed in the warm glow of the early morning sun, the first sight of the red keep astounded me. The sharp edges and towering spires giving it a domineering feel, which had I come with ill intention would likely have frightened me. The only fitting comparison would be a majestic creature perched upon a sheer precipice arrogantly glaring downwards. The burgeoning sounds of activity informed us we were closing in on the port, but it would never have prepared me for what I witnessed. Vessels packed tight like a flock of birds all across the port and throngs of people moving between them in every direction. The pure chaos of the environment and amount of people unnerving me.


    ¡°Mad isn¡¯t it¡± a calm voice sounds from behind me. Drawn from my thoughts, I turn around to identify the owner of the voice as Quhuru, staring admiringly at the port.


    ¡°Is it always like this?¡± I ask worriedly, not sure the delicate sensibilities of an islander would ever become accustomed to such chaos.


    ¡°Only on good days.¡± He replied flippantly as he walked off in the direction of the crew.


    The crew had been working flat out since the moment we entered the bay and with Kojja barking orders at them, were preparing to dock. A process further complicated by the sheer number of vessels on the port. The solution to this was a policy, that any vessel would need to send a landing party in advance to make arrangements for their arrival. The landing party would negotiate favourable docking locations and access to port hands with the harbour master, likely trading bribes and favours. The Cinnamon Wind was principally crewed with uneducated sailors so Quhuru would always be a member of any landing party that was sent out. As expected, a small rowing boat was released from the vessel and quickly manned by the captain. Enthusiastic to begin exploration, Jahi and I joined the landing party to gain our first experience of Westeros.


    The stench was the first thing that hit us, taking me and Jahi by surprise momentarily. The smell of waste emanating from the city, immediately reminding me of the downsides of having so many people in such a small area. The smells of the sea and fish from the market was dampening it currently, but I could only assume it would get worse moving forward. My interest was instantly drawn to the people around me, going about their lives. The pale skin sported by the Westerosi feeling so unfamiliar and informing me that I was far from home. Jahi¡¯s head moved on a swivel, trying to capture as much of the scenery as possible in his eyes. The excitement of being in a new location showing through even his usual blank face.


    ¡°If you walk around gaping, you¡¯re just going to be an easy target. Try to act like you belong and people will usually assume you do.¡± Quhuru warns us, aware of our lack of experience.


    ¡°Now I¡¯ve got work to attend to, so I¡¯ll only say this once, listen up. Your parents have paid me to ferry you to Oldtown, and that¡¯s what I¡¯m planning to do, but I¡¯m not a baby sitter so if you find yourself in trouble, you¡¯ll be on your own. The crew will be staying at the Salty Sheets, an inn on River Row, east of the Fishmongers Square. I plan to book a double room for you for the duration of our stay and you are free to come and go as you please. In the event, you are unable to find the inn just return to the boat, as at least one of the crew will always be on board. King¡¯s Landing is a confusing city for its residents, let alone inexperienced foreigners. So, if you don¡¯t wish to get lost, I suggest staying to the main roads. Also, avoid anyone dressed in finery, nobles are often quick to anger and always slow to calm down.¡± Lectured Quhuru, glaring at both of us until we nodded back our agreements.


    Crossing the Mud Gate with a renewed sense of caution, I headed towards the centre of the city with Jahi accompanying me. The city appeared disordered and irregular, not what I would¡¯ve expected from such a massive construction. An urban maze of alleyways and dwellings which would take years to become comfortable with. The different areas also appeared to have been built at varying times, with older constructions next to new builds. The city likely springing up from need, as opposed to any intelligent design and its layout reflecting that. The Muddy Way which connected the gate to the centre of the city, opened up to a lavish clearing with decorative trees at its edges. The main roads of the city passed through the clearing allowing easy access for any carriages and horses.


    ¡°Sign up and win eternal glory in the upcoming tourney. Only a week to get your names down so be quick¡± boomed a voice standing on a platform, indicating towards a sign-up sheet on the wall behind him.


    A steady line was forming next to him of warriors kitted out in all forms of armour. The more prosperous of them wearing exquisite steel plate armour with their coat of arms blazoned upon it. The poorer warriors appeared to barely have enough armour to cover their bodies causing a stark contrast between them. Jahi was eager to sign up and demonstrate the strength of the isles, but I discouraged him from it by reminding him we should be keeping a low profile. With our limited understanding of Westerosi customs taking part in such events would be risky and in the event that we offended the wrong individual fatal.


    Destination already decided, we embarked down the Street of Sisters heading towards the northwest of the city. An imposing dome structure upon a large hill, informing us that we had reached our destination. The dome was pitch black, looming ominously over the city. Its collapsed roof leaving jagged prongs jutting out of the dome in such a way as to resemble the tip of a black flame. The Dragonpit of King¡¯s Landing was a building used to house the dragons of the royal family and after an incident in history had been left as a ruin sitting on the hill. This building offered the first clue towards the scaled majestic creatures, I had witnessed in my visions and was always going to be my first destination. The sheer bulk of the structure sending waves of distress passing through me, at the thought of the creatures that would be housed within and the size they would reach to warrant this.


    Turning away from the Dragonpit, we began backtracking upon the Street of Sisters to my second destination. From the corner of my eye, I noted the location of the Street of Silk. Its perfumed and oily smell wafting out and drawing the attention of any helpless gentlemen. Mentally memorizing its location for later, we continue on to the second destination.


    The city of King¡¯s Landing was built to enclose three large hills dotted around the capital. On each of these hills lying a landmark which forms an integral part of the capital and Westeros in general. The first was the Red Keep, the seat of the royal family and small council that rule the Seven Kingdoms. Representing power through diplomacy and tact. The second was the Dragonpit, the ominous and foreboding structure harkening back to a more archaic time where dragons ran rampant. This represented power through force itself, with a dragon being a living embodiment of that. The last landmark is the Great Sept of Baelor, the centre of the Faith of the Seven in the kingdom. Representing power through the beliefs that people hold dear. The three hills of the capital paralleling the three forms of power the kingdom was forged on top of.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    The Great Sept of Baelor had its own dome but couldn¡¯t be farther in image than the Dragonpit. The dome was formed from glass and crystal, a light blue glow bouncing off it in the midday sun. Surrounded by seven crystal towers, the dome shined with an ethereal light as if screaming out its divinity. The white marble stairs leading up to the hall unblemished as if they had never been walked upon. The hall of the Sept was a different experience entirely, the dome diffusing light in a natural way as to leave no corner in the dark. Seven statues surrounded the central alter representing the different faces of the Faith of the Seven. Time flew as I lost myself in the myriad details of the central hall. A feeling of loss permeating my soul when I finally decided it was time to leave.


    The sun had begun to wane in the sky and I was beginning to feel hungry, so I decided to head to the Salty Sheets that Quhuru had booked for us. To reach the inn we would need to cross the Street of Steel which would lead us directly to the River Row. The street as if not aware of the setting sun was still in full operation. The sound of hammering and the roaring of the furnace demonstrating that the work of a smith was never ending. Jahi who so far had been content to just follow and watch proceedings, for the first time requested to have a closer look at the weapons. The Summer Isles were naturally blessed with many different kinds of resources, but metal deposits were not one of them. This meant the majority of our metal tools and weapons had been traded for with merchants. The blacksmithing culture of the isles was essentially non-existent as there was no reason to trade for raw materials when you could just opt for the finished product.


    Heading into the first store we had come across, I immediately could tell the weapons were high quality and the smiths in the store were experienced. Apprentices of varying ages were also involved in the production of weapons. The older individuals making small parts of the weapons while the younger children helped with chores and other miscellaneous tasks. The youngest of which, appeared to be five years old and was desperately trying to move a large piece of ore from the pile over to one of the smiths. Pitying him somewhat, I grabbed one side of the ore taking the majority of the weight while still allowing him to make a token effort. After breathing out heavily the boy whispered his gratitude, running off to find another task.


    ¡°Most kind of you customer but hardship is a part of what it takes to become a blacksmith, and all must experience it.¡± A gravely voice sounds from behind me.


    I turn around to find who I presume to be the owner of the smithery. A muscular individual with a short well-groomed white beard. The owner was dressed in a fine black coat with hammers embroidered on the sleeves that appeared too elaborate for a craftsman. As a greeting the owner raised his arms to offer a handshake, which I promptly imitated. The handshake allowing me another clue into his identity as his hands felt powerful and calloused from what I could only assume to be decades of hard labour.


    ¡°My name is Tobho Mott, and this is my smithery. Greatest in all of the Seven Kingdoms. No where shall a man be better equipped than if he picks his armour from this room.¡± Stated Tobho, with the confidence of someone who had been forging his entire life.


    ¡°Mostafa Osei, it wouldn¡¯t be the first time I¡¯ve heard that¡± I reply with a cheeky grin,


    ¡°But it would be the first time its true. Gendry show these gentlemen over to where we keep the completed spears¡± commanded Tobho.


    Hearing this the youngest apprentice returned as quickly as possible, and this time directed us towards the far corner where a table full of spears was placed. The spears were of many different types from ornate ones to simple looking instruments but they all had one thing in common which was the level of detail and craftmanship on display. Hefting one of the smaller simpler spears, I noted the perfect balance on it which would make fighting and throwing far easier. Placing my finger on the blade caused a thin streak of blood to stream down it demonstrating it was a weapon intended for war. Jahi had chosen a powerful spear with a red oak shaft, which he had begun throwing out practise lunges with. The sound of his strikes showing that the weapon suited him well. Deciding to hold off on a new weapon till I had passed my growth cycle, I placed my weapon back down.


    ¡°If the spears ain¡¯t to your liking m¡¯lord, Master Tobho will personally make one to order¡± chirped Gendry in a high-pitched voice.


    ¡°The spears here are perfect Gendry, I just have no need for a new weapon right now.¡± I comfort the little boy worried he might consider it his fault.


    ¡°Could you tell your master to reserve that spear my friend has for us?¡± I ask, noting Jahi¡¯s infatuation with it.


    Hunger pangs having become unbearable, I have to physically separate Jahi from the spear, so we can leave the shop. Finding myself unable to resist the temptation, I pause at the entrance to the store.


    ¡°You win, how did you know we were spear wielders?¡± I inquire, still facing away from the store.


    ¡°Only an amateur wouldn¡¯t recognise those callouses¡± snorted Tobho.


    Helpless to prevent a thin smile spreading across my face, I stepped out of the store in the direction of River Row and our inn. The Salty Sheets was a typical inn with the symbol of a lantern upon its hanging sign. The imagery evoking the idea of a lighthouse, which represents safety to any sailor suggesting they would find shelter inside the inn. The inside was humbly decorated with paintings of the sea and rustic furniture. The entire establishment was well lit, and with the crackle of the fire place gave off a warm and inviting feel. The crew was sat at a large table on the far end of the eating area, from the noises likely drinking to excess. Falling back into old habits, I nod my salutations while taking a seat and immediately begin eating. The roasted meats, fresh bread, spinach salad went down well paired with a juice made from smashed blackberries. The cuisine in Westeros was hearty and left me feeling fuller than I have ever been in the past. Quhuru sat at the head of the table muttering words into his beer mug with a downcast expression on his face.


    ¡°What happened to the captain?¡± I inquired, turning to Kojja who was sitting to my left.


    ¡°Fleeced by the new customers officer¡± Kojja teased.


    ¡°Some upstart noble named Baelish. Barely worked at the capital for a few months. Happy to take my bribes and still rob me for all I¡¯m worth.¡± Slurred Quhuru, looking distinctly more dishevelled than ever before.


    Raucous sounds of laughter spread amongst the table, the crew evidently finding the state of their captain hilarious. The remainder of the night passed similarly, with laughter and stories being shared across the large table. The crew ecstatic to be on land for the first time in weeks and making the most of it. Exhausted from my first experience on a new continent and not yet able to drink, I decided to call it an early night and turn in. As soon as I had placed my head on the pillow, the characteristic pull of a new vision was felt. The only difference being this pull felt stronger than ever before, and I knew even if I wanted to, I would be unable to fight it. Wrenched from the world of consciousness, I drifted away into the dream with an increasing sense of anxiety.

 11. Night Visit

    Rising from my slumber, I realised it was still late at night. The temperature was frosty causing a white cloud to disperse from my mouth every time I exhaled. The city was still which heightened the sound of my own movements. A feeling of anxiety began to spread through me as if some mortal peril was approaching. Deciding to trust my instincts, I reached for my clothes which I had placed upon a chair next to my bed. The feeling of wetness transferred through them compounding that the temperature was low this night. Intending to wake Jahi up, I walked over to the adjacent bed while being careful to make no extra noise. My eyes had slowly become accustomed to the dark and the first thing I saw was that Jahi was not in his bed.


    The feeling of anxiety was now increasing, so I decided to head out and investigate. The silent city was now beginning to give off an eerie feel, as even the ambient sound of wind was not present. A metallic smell transmitted from outside caused me to wrinkle my nose in disgust and recoil from the doorway. Mentally preparing myself, I swung open the door to a scene that could only have come from my worst nightmares. Dead bodies littered the ground in abhorrent conditions. The state of the corpses suggesting that they suffered for a long time before their deaths. The expressions of anguish permanently preserved on their faces. This was no army that was killed but innocent civilians, their blood forming a river in the city¡¯s gutters. Determined to get to bottom of this and potentially avenge these people, I returned to my room where I hefted my red oak spear and shield. Following the trail of destruction, I steeled myself for the upcoming fight.


    The journey led me to the steps of the Red Keep where multiple knights lay dead. The knights were all facing outwards as if protecting the Red Keep or more accurately failing to. Running into the grand hall, the sight inside sickened me to my stomach. Corpses of noble ladies and lords covered every inch of the hall, so much that it was impossible to see the carpet. Their ornate dresses and outfits now sullied by their own lifeblood. The faces of the lords were unclear, but it appeared as if there would not be a single one alive in Westeros. The iron throne, seat of the regent of the Seven Kingdoms stood imposingly over the hall. The first impression I gained of it was that it was fitting for the most powerful person in the kingdom. The seat appeared uncomfortable as kingship should be while the protruding swords added a martial aura. Upon the throne, lay an indistinct corpse which was faceless and formless. The only identifying feature being the crown that sat upon its featureless head. A sword had impaled the figure, nailing them to the seat. The symbolism of the act frightening me, as death now reigned over the Seven Kingdoms. The sound of footsteps echoed in the hall announcing the presence of an individual behind me. I resolutely turn around to face them, only for the vision to come to an end.


    Sweat drenched and shaken, I heave the sheet off my body and spring from my bed landing heavily on my feet. My breathing is heavy and laboured causing my chest to rise and fall as I come to grips with what I just witnessed. A different variant of vision compared to those I¡¯ve seen before, I attempt to understand the meaning behind it. Taking into consideration the three main factors that are: the complete devastation of King¡¯s Landing; the lack of any identifying features on the nobility; and the vision occurring on my first night in the capital. I come to the conclusion that the vision was a warning, meant to help me understand what is at stake if I was to fail. That it wouldn¡¯t matter which king sat on the throne or which knights protected him, this threat would be coming for all us. A sobering thought, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if the vision came because I had become too relaxed and this was a wake-up call.


    Realising I had already slept for too long in both senses, I garbed myself in my sea guard uniform and a thick cloak, setting out into the night. Retracing my steps from earlier in the day, I headed to the north of the city. This time I took a left at the Dragonpit and found myself surrounded by that same aromatic smell. The atmosphere on the street was one of caution, with patrons distancing themselves from each other as much as possible. The style of walking suggesting every individual was a man of means and by the way they so desperately covered their faces, not someone who should be found here.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Stopping in front of a two-story building at the centre of the street, I look up confirming the ornate lamp over the doorway. Striding into the establishment, I come across a tall light-umber skinned woman wearing a long green dress with feathers atop the shoulders. A beaded belt at her waist kept her dress glued to her figure and made it difficult for me to decide where to look. Focusing intently on her face, I found myself drowning in her delicate features such as her soft lips and the slight incline of her eyes.


    ¡°Greetings client would this be your first time in our humble establishment?¡± A seductive voice questions, a slight smile stretched across her perfect face.


    ¡°It¡¯s my first time in the capital madam, would I be right in thinking you are Chataya?¡± I inquire back, switching to the language of the isles.


    A slight sense of panic creeps onto her face which she quickly covers with a practised smile. Her body language though is harder to mask, clearly anxious and frightened by the current situation. Very carefully Chataya begins back tracking towards the counter, as if to grab an object hidden behind it. In an attempt to disarms her fears, I remove my heavy cloak to present my childish and hopefully harmless face.


    ¡°I mean no harm Miss Chataya, Captain Quhuru Mo of the Cinnamon Wind told me about you and how you might be able to help me¡± I placate.


    A combination of the captain¡¯s name and my face visibly deflates the brothel owner and finally assures her she is in no danger. The relief makes her pause for a moment before she recollects herself.


    ¡°Apologies little one, we all have our pasts and mine just got the better of me for a moment. If you¡¯ll follow me, I have a room upstairs where we can talk privately.¡± She soothingly says while flashing a melancholy smile.


    Following the proprietress up two flights of stairs, we pass by a long hallway and a further flight of stairs before reaching our intended room. The room appears fit for purpose with a large canopied bed and a wardrobe decorated with erotic drawings. The erotic nature of the room causing my young mind to blush, but I am put at ease by the caring nature of the owner. She immediately prepares tea for us both and we take seats across from each other on a table.


    ¡°Miss Chataya, I am Prince Mostafa Osei.¡± I declare.


    ¡°House Osei of Walano¡± gasps Chataya, looking at me as if she¡¯s seeing me for the first time. I nod in affirmation of her thoughts and can¡¯t help but smirk at the effect my family name has.


    ¡°I¡¯ve come to King¡¯s Landing for the first time and need information. Nothing secret or dangerous just enough to understand the main players in the city and who to be careful of. Captain Quhuru will pay an appropriate fee for any information shared¡± I implore.


    Her face goes through a range of different emotion. The initial shock of my family name wearing off as she begins considering the proposition. A businesswoman through and through uncertainty begins to build on her face which is removed when she hears about the possible fee. A nod of affirmation seals the deal and Chataya immediately begins lecturing on the different parties in the city. Chataya spoke uninterrupted for hours discussing every figure she could think of in the capital and their relationships to each other. From the royal family to the small council even stretching as far as minor officials. Attempting to remember all that information would have been impossible, so I requested for a quill and paper and ordered my thoughts on there. The information was invaluable and with Chataya¡¯s inferences added in, I was able to get an idea on who was allied to who and any rivalries I could potentially exploit. Content I had gathered enough information, I returned to the Salty Sheets and fell asleep, eagerly anticipating my upcoming audience with the king.

 12. The Small Council

    ¡°Prince Mostafa Osei of the Summer Isles¡± I say.


    ¡°I¡¯m honoured to make your acquaintance, your majesty¡± declaring loudly so as to blow away my fears with the volume of my voice.


    An uncomfortable silence came over the room, the eyes of the most powerful individuals in the continent weighing down on my shoulders. Appraising me for all I¡¯m worth and judging the threat if any I posed. Such distrusting eyes and scheming minds spoke lengths about the perilous environment of the capital. The people in this room being those who were able to pass through such a baptism and rise to the top of the pecking order. The metaphorical predators of this jungle who were currently trying to work out where I fit into the food chain.


    The great hall of the keep seemed larger than it had in my vision. The spacious windows on the east and west walls streaming in light upon the iron throne and monarch seated upon it. Upon the throne, King Robert Baratheon appeared every inch the character sung about by the minstrels. A stalwart build paired with his sheer height formed a dangerous combatant. The hefty war-hammer leaning precariously on the throne making him an immovable object on the battlefield. Pity for the late Prince of Dragonstone began to spring up inside me, and I wondered if he felt as I felt now when he first witnessed him across the battlefield. Long black hair streamed down his head which connected with his thick black beard to create a frame for his face. True to form, his facial features were hard and unforgiving, the only thing giving me pause being his bright blue eyes.


    Those same eyes were glaring in the direction of a decrepit old man stood at the bottom of the stairs leading to the throne. The old man was completely bald, his scalp blotched with marks signifying his advanced age. A long flowing beard covered the majority of his torso. The most striking feature of his appearance was the chains that hung around his neck. The chains were formed from different materials but were all heavy and thick, offering an alternative explanation for his bent back.


    ¡°House Osei, Guardians of the Talking Trees. A noble house of Walano, tracing their lineage back thousands of years. Their name is held in high esteem all throughout the Summer Isles and rightly so.¡± informed the old man.


    ¡°You honour my house, Grand Maester Pycelle¡± I humbly said.


    ¡°I barely scratch the surface if the works of Archmaester Gallard are to be believed. But that does bring to mind a question. Gallard stated that House Osei had a noble duty so would only leave the islands on rare occasions throughout their long history.¡± Pycelle said, the implicit question not being lost on me.


    ¡°The citadel called to me, just as it called to you Grand Maester¡± I reply, drawing a nod of agreement from the old Maester and likely his respect.


    ¡°A long way to come for one so young.¡± A clear voice sounds out from the individual stood next to the king.


    A silver clasp upon his chest bearing the insignia of the Hand of the King betrayed his identity as Jon Arryn. His position denoting him as the regent¡¯s chief advisor and the second most powerful individual in the kingdom. If judged by appearance alone, Jon Arryn would have been considered a compassionate old man. In contrast to the Grand Maester, his broad shoulders and powerful stance spoke at lengths of his martial background. His hair had receded with age exposing a wrinkled forehead that looked like time-worn leather. His facial features including his aquiline nose and deep blue eyes suggested the old man would have been popular in his youth. It would have been easy to dismiss Jon Arryn as a spent force due to his age, but his wide eyes contained a deep wisdom accumulated over the years. In his youth, the King had been fostered under Jon Arryn resulting in a strong relationship which had bought stability to the realm after the chaos of the rebellion. Lord Arryn serving as a stabilising force to the more headstrong personality of the King. Hoping to impress the prestigious Lord, I thought about my next words carefully and spoke out.


    ¡°Youth is fleeting Lord Arryn. In my life I decided it was better to pursue my goals even one day earlier than to be left with regrets¡± I inform, while staring straight into his eyes.Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.


    ¡°A wise mentality to have, it will serve you well in the future¡± Lord Arryn replied, with a grandfatherly smile plastered on his face.


    ¡°Age be damned. When the Mad King demanded our heads, he never asked our age. And when we rallied our bannermen to kill him neither did they.¡±  Robert bellowed, speaking for the first time.


    ¡°My father would often say duty is the death of youth, and it is a craven individual who turns her away when she knocks.¡± I recall.


    ¡°A smart man your father, you would do well to learn from him¡± A stoic man stood at the bottom of the stairs advised.


    ¡°I will endeavour not to disappoint, Lord Stannis¡± I humbly reply, bowing ever so slightly to demonstrate my respect.


    Satisfied he had received his dues, Lord Stannis nodded in my direction and then returned to his silent vigil. A sombre individual just as the rumours had said, I take a moment to appraise him. Being the younger brother of the King, the resemblance between the two was clear to see.  The characteristic large physique, blue eyes and dark hair identifying him as a member of House Baratheon. In contrast to the King, his hair had almost completely receded, creating a thin crown on the top of his head. The irony of it not being lost in me. An accomplished war commander who had supported the King throughout multiple battles, Stannis was not a man to be underestimated. His current position on the small council as master of ships also gave him full control of the royal fleet, making him a dangerous adversary.


    Looking around the room, I mentally noted the remaining members of the small council who hadn¡¯t spoken yet. Stood on the opposing side of the King from Lord Arryn was Ser Barristan Selmy. The white cloak and trimmings of his plate armour betraying his identity as a member of the Kingsguard, the elite defenders of the royal family chosen from the finest knights in the Seven Kingdoms. His cautious stance honed over his years of service afforded not a single opening for attack, instinctively marking him as worthy of caution. It would be hard to find a more decorated individual in the Seven Kingdoms, with the staggering level of esteem he is held in by the commoners. His long list of deeds, I¡¯ve been hearing about over the last few days had shocked me and generated a sense of awe when looking at him. He joined the Kingsguard at the age of twenty-three and has since then honourably served three different kings each as well as the last. Now an old man, long white hair and lined features decorated his visage, but his sword remained as youthful as ever.


    The three final participants of the meeting were the Lords Varys, Alesander Staedmon and Symond Staunton who sat on the small council as the masters of whispers, coin and laws respectively. Lord Staedmon is a bannerman of the King, raised to the small council after the rebellion to manage the finances of the crown. The commoners endearingly refer to him as Pennylover, for his miserly behaviour and he is routinely disliked. This dislike has even spread to the King, as Robert is fond of extravagant tourneys and feasts. Lord Staunton is a relic of the previous administration along with Varys, Pycelle and Ser Selmy. Chataya¡¯s opinion on him was very straightforward, a self-serving sycophant but capable at his work. Though known to take bribes, Staunton had generally maintained a low profile ever since the rebellion and it has served him well.


    The final council member and the one I am most wary of is Lord Varys. The only council member who isn¡¯t technically a lord, Varys responsibilities include spying on allies and enemies of the crown alike. Contrastingly, information on him is scarce, essentially boiling down to him being a eunuch hailing from Essos. The Mad King scouted him for his abilities as a spymaster and Varys had proved that decision right countless times. Overweight and hairless, Lord Varys is known to dress in colourful silks and velvets which stand out among the other members of the council. Heavily perfumed and powdered, his every feature feels as if it is intended to make him seem harmless which ends up achieving the opposite effect in me. His silence during the audience is very telling, so I plan to approach him myself in the future. I decide it is time to call this meeting to an end having already made an impression and not wanting to outstay my welcome.


    ¡°I would like to thank your majesty for the audience and extend House Osei¡¯s congratulations on the birth of Princess Myrcella¡± I say, bowing in the direction of the throne. The king returning a deep nod of acknowledgement.


    ¡°If you¡¯re in the city in a weeks¡¯ time, come watch the tourney. An empty seat will be left for you in the royal box.¡± The King says, inviting me to the event.


    ¡°It would be my honour, your majesty¡± I reply, turning around to leave the great hall.


    As I walk through the gates of the Red Keep and Jahi falls instep behind me, I can¡¯t help but wonder how many of those I had met today would survive the coming storm and how many of them are one of its causes.

 13. Jousts

    ¡°Lord Jason Mallister of Seagard and Ser Arys Oakheart of Old Oak¡± the announcer shouted over the din of the audience as the two knights lined up either side of the jousting field.


    The jousting portion of the tourney was coming to an end and over the two days of competition, I had become familiar with the competitors. Lord Jason Mallister appeared dressed in his plate armour which was decorated by cuts and scratches from previous tourneys. He wore his characteristic indigo cloak over his back complete with the coat of arms of his house. The silver eagle appearing fierce on his back mirroring the disposition of its lord. Mallister was a renowned tourney knight having found success on multiple previous occasions and was considered one of the favourites for this competition. On the other hand, his challenger Ser Arys Oakheart was a new face on the scene and had suitably impressed King¡¯s Landing with his performances so far. His gleaming plate armour reflecting brightly in the midday sun underneath his golden surcoat. The three oak leaves emblazoned on the front demonstrating the house he belonged to. Ser Oakheart¡¯s flowing brown hair, handsome visage and courteous manners easily won the support of the audience. Their shouts of encouragement ringing around the tourney grounds.


    A silence came over the crowd as both knights hefted their equipment. Their lances pointed directly at each other as if to spear through their opposition. The tension felt palpable and was only cut through by the cry of joust from the announcer. Immediately, both horses took off at a blistering pace, the entire force of man and beast balanced on the tip of their lances. As quickly as it started, the reverberations of the collision passed through me as the joust came to an end. Lord Mallister had aimed to strike at his oppositions chest but a well-placed shield had blocked his lunge. Ser Arys on the other hand had connected cleanly with his opponent, ejecting him from his horse. His plate armour dented inwards where the strike had landed, Mallister laid spread eagle on the ground. The announcer took this as his cue and shouted out the victor¡¯s name which generated a roar from the audience. Ser Arys savoured the moment by removing his helmet and thanking the crowd graciously. In a show of chivalry, that went down well with the audience, he proceeded to cross the list and provide aid to his fallen competitor.


    ¡°Wonderful isn¡¯t it? The small folk do so truly love an honourable champion.¡± A sickly-sweet voice sounds from behind me.


    ¡°Or the illusion of one, at least.¡± I say, staring absentmindedly as the next two combatants enter the jousting field.


    In the corner of my eye, I witness a plump figure in colourful silks come to a stop next to me, identifying the earlier voice as belonging to Varys. A pensive look emblazoned across his face. The eunuch moves to open his mouth, only to be interrupted by the announcer.


    ¡°Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone and Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard¡± the resulting cry from the crowd almost deafening, still clearly excited from the last bout.


    The famed bronze armour of Lord Royce glistens in the sun demonstrating fully the esoteric runes that are all over it. The history of this armour is unclear but rumours from the small folk speak of it being ancient and passed down through House Royce for generations. A bannerman of the Vale and respected tourney knight he stands strongly upon his white horse prepared for battle. The contrast between his bronze armour and the white Kingsguard uniform worn by Ser Jaime is stark and speaks of the differences in their character. A well-built individual with grey hair, beard and bushy eyebrows, Lord Royce presents the image of a stoic elderly aristocrat. Ser Jaime appears every inch a knight from fantasy, complete with long golden locks and verdant green eyes. A handsome visage and piercing smile, I hazard a guess that if judging on first look it would be hard to find someone more suited to the epithet of knight. The irony being that the title he is more commonly referred to as Kingslayer suggests the exact opposite.


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to trust in honour¡± Varys begins content that the noise has begun to die down with the start of the joust looming.


    ¡°It isn¡¯t so much that I disprove of honour, as I disagree with the criteria its judged on,¡± a knowing smile playing on my lips.


    Varys observed my face deeply as if searching for clues.


    ¡°Allow me to explain further, take the lion as an example,¡± indicating with my head towards the golden-haired knight ¡°Despised by the small folk for killing a king who himself they despised, while I don¡¯t ascribe to the notion of two wrongs equalling a right, it does seem slightly unjust.¡±Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    ¡°Aerys was his king and he was sworn to protect him¡± A dull emotionless voice sounding out from the Eunuch for the first time.


    ¡°What of the people Aerys burnt alive, who was sworn to protect them.¡± I snarl back at him, recognising I¡¯ve allowed myself to get too heated, I rein myself back in and continue ¡°The position of king is a heavy one, burdened with vast responsibilities. Like an infection, an inept king will corrode the body, till nothing is left. Better to remove an arm than to be left with a corpse.¡±


    As if in agreement, a powerful cheer rises up from the audience, drawing my vision back to the joust. Jaime appeared regal upon his horse, looking down at the unseated bronze lord. Unlike our previous champion, the lion makes no move to aid his fallen competitor, simply staring down at him impassively. Drinking in the audience¡¯s adulation, the golden knight returns to his starting corner prepared for the final.


    ¡°Chaos would reign if oaths and kings could be so easily discarded,¡± the same vacant stare looking back at me.


    ¡°Lord Varys, do you know what the biggest threat we face is on the isles?¡± Knowing full well the general lack of information on my people.


    ¡°My little birds cannot fly that far but history would suggest slavers,¡± the flattering voice having returned in full.


    ¡°Slavers, pirates and other miscreants bought in by the waves like refuse. In time gone by, we were helpless to stop them, and my people suffered for it. It took a princess who had undergone hardship herself to end our years of shame. A promise was made in that era to never slacken, and to this day that oath is held across our society. I¡¯ve seen the iron throne and I agree; a king should never sit comfortably. Security breeds weakness and a time will come when that weakness will be exploited.¡± I declare, staring intently into his eyes in an attempt to transmit my sincerity.


    ¡°Ser Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard and Ser Arys Oakheart of Old Oak.¡± The announcers voice pierces through the solemn atmosphere followed by the roar of the crowd.


    The two combatants¡¯ eye each other menacingly as the tension ramps up. Each acutely aware that the person in front of them is the last obstacle on their journey. The fighters begin making minor adjustments to their stance in an attempt to triumph over their opposition, the battle having already begun in their heads. The start signal sends both combatants flying forward as the crowd eagerly anticipates the collision. The crowd would be disappointed though, as the fighters were able to block the others attack and continue along the joust field. Reforming their position on either side of the field, they both turn around to face each other once again. The expression on the face of either fighter betraying that Ser Arys came off worse and was lucky to have survived the previous joust. As soon as both knights were ready the call for joust sounds again and I notice a grim determination on the face off the beaten knight. This time the impact is far greater than the previous one with Arys having put everything behind his lunge and even risked taking a serious hit from his opponent. A narrow dodge allowed him to escape the opposing weapon and drive his lance powerfully into the midriff of Jaime. Jaime appeared more surprised to find himself on the floor than hurt and took a moment to regain his bearings. In line with his character, Arys alighted from his horse to aid his fallen competition, only for Jaime to get up singlehandedly without recognising his efforts.


    The next few moments took the entire crowd and me by surprise as King Robert who had been enjoying the tourney spectacularly called the young knight up to his podium. After greetings were shared, in commemoration of the birth of his daughter the King offered Ser Arys a position in his Kingsguard. Generating a collective sound of awe across the audience and informing me of how important the opportunity was. Ser Arys accepted immediately and repeated his oaths after Ser Barristan Selmy, hence being sworn in as a member of the Kingsguard. The oaths were extensive and binding, and I couldn¡¯t help but think about how they would never be considered an honour in the isles. Especially the caveat of maintaining chastity and never fathering any children. The blind loyalty demanded by the King would also have raised alarm. The most similar organisation on the isles would be the sea guard but they defend the town as opposed to serving House Osei. An important distinction as they would refuse any order to attack another town or village and also wouldn¡¯t be expected to go against their own morals. The crowd sang his praises as the white cloak was draped over his shoulder and I could tell the knight was almost overcome with emotion.


    ¡°Do you ever get used to it?¡± I inquire, indicating towards the ceremony.


    ¡°If you would take some advice from this humble servant. There is nothing to get used to. Beneath the tunics, silks and plate armour; men hide the same secrets and are plagued by the same desires.¡± a profound look crossing his face and giving me the first indication of the depths that hide behind the harmless exterior.


    ¡°You paint an optimistic picture¡± a mirthful smile playing upon my lips.


    ¡°When you serve the realm, there is no room for optimism¡± The Eunuch says, as he turns around and disappears into the crowd.


    The jousts finally over I pay my respects to the King and am reminded about the feast occurring later tonight. After giving my assurances that I would be attending, I set off on the road back to our inn. A familiar figure taking his position at my back, hesitation present in his movements.


    ¡°That man is dangerous,¡± Jahi whispers, after taking a moment.


    ¡°Yes, he is¡± I reply


    ¡°You shouldn¡¯t trust him¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust anyone¡±

 14. Fools

    The sounds of a harp and drunk nobles serenaded me as I made my exit from the Great Hall. The loud and raucous laughter of the upper classes being more suited to a tavern than a castle. The feast was grand and opulent with the cooks providing a never-ending chain of dishes and the nobles inhaling them. The table with the tourney knights especially resembling a bottom less pit in which food would disappear into. King Robert had primarily spent the night trading war stories and getting progressively more inebriated. His slurred words and low coordination betraying the number of flagons he had drained. At one point, a loud belch escaped his mouth which had incited good natured laughter from the majority of the guests with the exception of his own wife, Cersei Lannister.


    The Queen had presented a stoic figure throughout the night, with a cold glare being projected from her emerald green eyes directly at the King who was either oblivious or apathetic. Beautiful in an almost otherworldly way and garbed in a delicate scarlet-red gown which matched well with her golden locks, the Queen seemed as she had been crafted out of stone by a master sculptor. Her eyes containing a deep seeded pride within them that considered everyone in the room as inferior. The only hint of tenderness I¡¯d witnessed was reserved for the two figures that sat either side of her, Ser Jaime Lannister and Prince Joffrey Baratheon.


    The young prince had inherited his hair and eye colour from his mother and had succeeded at imitating her surly expression as well. A typical arrogant princeling, he had ignored the fawning of the other noble children who were likely ordered by their parents. His size appeared average for his age and I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if he would ever become a match for his fathers¡¯ large stature. Hovering behind the boy, was a large brutish man in a distinctive dog shaped helm vigilantly guarding his charge. The combination of the helmet and pitch-black armour generating a menacing aura which was unsuited to the festivities. Through a conversation with Barristan Selmy, I had been informed that the man was Sandor Clegane, the sworn shield of Prince Joffrey. A dangerous combatant who served as protection initially for the Queen and now for the Prince. The old knight took offence to me asking if Clegane was a knight and from the tone he said it I could tell he had no positive feelings for the man. From conversations throughout the night I had come to learn his more common nickname the Hound, but the guests couldn¡¯t agree if that was due to his occupation or the house he belonged to.


    Later on, the Prince retired for the night accompanied by his mother and uncle. Clegane was dismissed for the evening and the party was instead escorted by the members of the Kingsguard. This gave me my first sight of his face as he removed his helmet to begin drinking. The left side of his face being covered in hideous burns that caused me to recoil slightly. A movement which he witnessed and promptly ignored. As he began eating his long black fair fell over his face and covered the majority of his injuries, but the scars were still clear to see. The final interesting figure at the feast was a red priest known as Thoros of Myr. Hailing from Essos, he was a follower of the god R¡¯hllor, who had been sent to Westeros in an attempt to convert the king. Thoros had a portly figure and was bald, in terms of clothing he was garbed in the characteristic red robes of his order. Though overweight Thoros gave the impression of someone who could handle himself in combat unlike his fellow Essosi Varys. Watching him throughout the feast, had taught me he was vastly different from other religious figures I had come across, as he drank and jested with the King. Though I doubted he would manage to achieve his aim, a part of me could understand why he was chosen as their preacher.


    Walking through the corridor of the Red Keep which were being guarded by the city watch, I couldn¡¯t help but reminisce about my time in the capital. It had proven to be a worthwhile visit and I had managed to gain valuable information about the Seven Kingdoms which would make my research easier. The sound of hurried footsteps and shouting started to get progressively louder as I went down the hallway, informing me someone was heading in my direction. Around the corner came a short rotund man dressed in the colourful tunic of a jester. The ring of bells sounding out in time with his queer gait. A chequered pattern of blood red and foliage green squares tattooed across his wide circular face. The gold cloaks who were positioned in the hallway barely suppressed their laughter, but it fazed him not one bit. A look of recollection passing across his chubby face as he saw me, before he immediately broke out in a demented song.


    ¡°Under the sea the raft rules, for now it is only landing. Seek the hidden heart in the capital, to fix a misunderstanding¡± the rotund man sang as he danced around my person, a frenzied expression upon his face.


    ¡°Black waters, tides and then castles. Enemies, allies and then battles.¡± His performance becoming progressively more animated.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Crows to the north and the east, a murder if you meet.¡± He shouted pointing at spots on some imaginary map.


    ¡°Is that where you got to?¡± A voice shouted from the same direction the jester had come from, a man slowly coming into view.


    The man slowly shuffled forward in the way that elderly people tend to do, and I immediately recognised him as a maester from the chains around his neck. The man had wrinkled hands that seemed ancient and I couldn¡¯t help but wonder if he had studied in the citadel with Pycelle. A shocked look crossed his face when he saw me, and he immediately tried his best to bow his head.


    ¡°Apologies my lord, Patchface escaped my sight and I tried my best to give chase, but my legs aren¡¯t as they used to be¡± The elderly maester said while looking into my eyes, the sincerity present in them surprising me.


    ¡°I¡¯m a prince not a lord, and there is no need for apologies, he didn¡¯t do me any harm¡±


    ¡°Essos or the Summer Isles? If you don¡¯t mine me asking¡±


    ¡°The latter and I don¡¯t. Mostafa Osei of Walano and you would be Maester¡­¡±


    A fresh bout of surprise crossed his face when I informed him of my name or to be more exact my family name. The gears in his head moving quickly to process the new information and what it meant for him. Realising I would need to intercept him, I spoke out first.


    ¡°Mercy, I¡¯ve just spent the past few hours dodging the not so subtle hints of the Grand Maester¡± I say, allowing an exasperated expression to cross my face.


    Our still unnamed friend¡¯s expression shifted from the earlier shock to a more knowing smile and then full-blown laughter. After he had suitably calmed himself down, he looked at me directly and started.


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll have to apologize again, this time on behalf of my order. The citadel may be filled with ornery old men but in the pursuit of knowledge they can be more persistent than a virgin approaching his name day. I am Maester Cressen of Dragonstone. I¡¯ve served House Baratheon since the time of Lord Steffon and took care of his three children all their lives. It¡¯s my sworn duty to make sure the next generation is as healthy as the last, so I¡¯ve come to examine the Princess Myrcella just like I did with Prince Joffrey. It also gives me an opportunity to report on Shireen¡¯s health¡± The elderly maester informed while paying his respects with a brief bow.


    ¡°The daughter of Lord Stannis?¡± I asked.


    ¡°The same, only a year old but sickly¡± Cressen said, shaking his head despondently ¡°Poor child¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s unfortunate to hear, but at least she will now have a friend¡±


    Cressen was surprised to hear my words, so I explained further.


    ¡°I mean the Princess Myrcella, with the two being cousins and only a year apart. It would be possible for them to grow up as close friends. I may not be much of a doctor but even I recognise at times the best medication is family¡± trying my best to help the old man.


    ¡°An interesting idea and one I hadn¡¯t considered before,¡± his finger running through his beard. ¡°Shireen would be able to see Lord Stannis more often, plus Dragonstone isn¡¯t an ideal place to raise children¡± having grown excited, Cressen was now pacing around the corridor.


    ¡°Yes, the merits might just outweigh the drawbacks. I¡¯ll have to go speak to Lord Stannis immediately.¡± Cressen said as he turned around to head off.


    Intercepting him with a shout, I draw his mind back to what had me curious. ¡°Before you leave, Patchface¡±


    ¡°Patchface, is truly a pitiable creature. A talented boy struck down by foul circumstance. When he washed up, he was so cold like a corpse. The men who found him thought his life forfeit. By some miracle or even curse he coughed up a mouthful of water and survived.  Though he kept his life, he traded his mind for it. Disturbing songs and sayings about the world under the sea is all he has left. Many times, I was asked about putting him out of his misery, but I just couldn¡¯t do it, maybe a small part of me hopes the boy is still in there somewhere. Forgive him, he may not have his mind any longer, but he hasn¡¯t hurt a thing before¡± An apologetic expression on his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s no problem, I was just interested in some of the things he was saying,¡± waving my hand to demonstrate my lack of concern.


    ¡°Though it is not my place to intervene, I would suggest forgetting what you heard. We once had a household guard who swore the jester was speaking sense. He followed him around for a week recording every song and rhyme. Suffice to say, we ended up needing a replacement and if the rumours were to be believed, the guard didn¡¯t live long preceding that.¡± The imploring expression on his face relaying the importance of his information.


    ¡°I will take note of that Maester and I wish you the best in your endeavours¡± I replied while walking away to consider what I had heard.


    I couldn¡¯t help chuckling in my head at the fact that Maester Cressen¡¯s warning had achieved the exact opposite effect. As I was now even more keen to memorize the jester¡¯s words and try and understand the meaning behind them. Taking a quick look behind me, I saw the elderly maester chastising the jester for having run away, while Patchface remained completely silent. At that moment, the eyes of the jester shifted to meet mine. The glimmer of intelligence shocking me to my core. Transfixed I continued staring at him till he broke eye contact to focus on the Maester again.  The entire journey home I couldn¡¯t help wondering if the slight hint of a smile I saw was a figment of my imagination or the echo of a man long lost.

 15. Water Gardens

    My spear held diagonally across my chest, I look in the eyes of my opponent, attempting to predict his next move. He shifts to a different stance and I accommodate, an intricate dance being performed with him leading. With slow steady steps, I move towards my opponent while maintaining an advantageous position. All of a sudden, my opponent lunges his spear out at pace. The attack is telegraphed, and I immediately estimate it will land on my right shoulder likely causing me to lose balance for the finishing move. Taking the opportunity to counterattack, I strike the hilt of his spear with my own, connecting roughly at the midway point. Intending to redirect his blow and then continue my lunge towards his exposed body which is currently unguarded. The moment our spears connect, I realise it was a trap, as there is no strength behind his attack. Finding no purchase on my strike, the force of my own blow slightly unbalances me. My opponent redirects the force of my blow, twirling his spear backwards. The butt of his spear then connects with my waist and before I know it I¡¯m staring helplessly up at the sky.


    The sound of cheering and whistles fly around the air while I massage the aching side of my body. A well calloused hand appears blocking my view and I grasp it to help me get up off the floor.


    ¡°Overcommit again and you¡¯ll receive far worse than that¡± a gruff voice sounds out from my opponent.


    ¡°Merely a snake bite¡± I reply teasingly.


    ¡°Then next time I will remember to include the venom¡± a slight smile playing upon his gloomy face.


    A walking contradiction was my newest mentor, Oberyn Martell. The rumours painted him as a bloodthirsty creature, who would kill at a moment¡¯s notice and though that may be true over the past week I¡¯d learned there was far more to him as well. The treatment of his six natural daughters for one. I¡¯d come to learn that in Westeros, children born outside of the bounds of marriage were often discriminated against but Oberyn was an exception. The looks they gave him alone told me they each cared for him fiercely which was already a positive in my book. Well-travelled and learned from his time at the Citadel. Him being a fearless warrior only added to that and created quite a dangerous adversary. His reputation as the Red Viper was interesting as well, because a part of me wondered how much of it was actually factual and how much he maintained simply to make himself seem more dangerous. The poisonous snake often being left undisturbed.


    Oberyn had a lithe figure and emphasised the importance of speed and agility in combat as opposed to brute force. Handsome in atypical sort of way, he had a natural widows peak which gave way to shoulder length lustrous black hair which sat messily on his head. Thin eyebrows, sharp nose and vicious looking eyes completed his look and made him resemble a bandit more than nobility. A tough mentor, Oberyn had covered me in bruises over the short time but I¡¯d advanced leaps and bounds. He had chalked it up to a lack of familiarity with dirty tactics and said his time as a sell sword may not have taught him to fight but it had taught him to survive.


    ¡°Lessons over, time to keep us company¡± a husky voice called out while its owner pulled my arm.


    ¡°Slow down Arianne, I haven¡¯t been dismissed yet¡± I reply.


    ¡°A good attitude to have, but you are granted your leave. I wouldn¡¯t dare to get between my niece and her prize,¡± a knowing smile playing on his lips. ¡°Besides my paramour demands my attention¡±


    ¡°Not completely forgotten I see. Woe is me to have such a fickle lover¡± Ellaria interrupted in feigned dismay.


    ¡°Then allow me to demonstrate my devotion¡± he batted back enjoying the teasing.


    As if intending to combat any assertations of disinterest, Oberyn drew his paramour into a deep embrace and headed off in the direction of one of the numerous pools. His paramour Ellaria Sand was a striking sensual woman and from what I¡¯d witnessed completely devoted to him. Unmarried but more in love than the majority of couples, they stared lovingly at their two daughters Elia and Obella who were playing in the small fountain in front of them. A vicious expression crossed Oberyn¡¯s face when he saw the former, but it quickly passed.


    Turning back around to face the gathered group, I noticed the sour expression on the face of Oberyn¡¯s squire, Daemon Sand. The heated look he was projecting at Arianne, who was still attached to my arm, explaining why he was so upset.  Detecting my gaze, a determined glare passed through his eyes before he opened his mouth.


    ¡°I hope the injury doesn¡¯t sting too badly. My mentor isn¡¯t known for pulling his blows¡± A smug satisfied look creeping over his face.


    ¡°No worries, I¡¯ll be just fine for our spar tomorrow¡±


    My statement causing a chuckle to pass through the group and achieving the aim of silencing Daemon. Over the past week, I had sparred with Daemon on multiple occasions, which was more suitable due to our similar ages and ability levels. Unfortunately for him, his use of the sword meant he had struggled to overcome the difference in reach resulting in a string of losses. He¡¯d raised the issue with Oberyn, before mentor rightly reminded him that he wouldn¡¯t have the choice to choose his opponents in battle. Those factors plus the amount of attention Arianne had lavished on me meant our relationship wasn¡¯t exactly the greatest in the group.


    ¡°Today we¡¯re going to take you to the best spot in the entire gardens¡± Tyene said in a voice as sweet as honey and immediately we all set off.


    Walking through the Water Garden, I couldn¡¯t help but note how beautiful the place was. Pale pink marble flooring, shimmering water pools and overhanging blood red orange trees. The vivid blues from the fountains and greens from the foliage painting a glorious picture. To impress his dragon bride the sun¡¯s son had spared no expense and it clearly showed. Mesmerised by the view, I mentally detached from the groups conversation only to find them all staring at me, likely expecting an answer.This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°I agree¡± I said after hesitating for a moment.


    ¡°And what exactly is it that you¡¯re agreeing to?¡± the Princess and Tyene said aggressively, both cousins staring me down.


    ¡°That I wasn¡¯t listening¡± my hands flying up in a mock surrender.


    The members of our little group besides the cousins and the surly squire, laughed till their eyes watered. Their enjoyment even generating smiles out of the other three.


    ¡°Told you¡± Drey chimed in.


    ¡°Are you aware you are prone to daydreaming Prince?¡± Sylva added, while staring at me in curiosity.


    ¡°It¡¯s a habit I¡¯ve had for a long time, recently I thought I was doing better but seems I still have a long way to go¡± I explained.


    Over the past week I¡¯d really come to enjoy the company of this little group and even found myself slightly jealous that they had so many friends their own age. Arianne was the daughter of Prince Doran Martell and by virtue of being his eldest child also his heir. With bronze skin, large black eyes and thick curls the Rhyonar descent was clear to see even though it had been mixed with her Andal ancestors. Tyene Sand was the daughter of my mentor Oberyn Martell and hence the cousin of Arianne. Tyene had fair skin, short golden hair, and striking blue eyes, very little in common with her father. Had it not been for her blue eyes or Oberyn¡¯s hatred of them I would have questioned if her mother was a Lannister. The rest of the group was far more diverse with the only thing they had in common being that they spent their younger years fostered at the Water Garden. Andrey ¡®Drey¡¯ Dalt was the heir to a knightly house whose seat was called Lemonwood. An honest individual with an open face and easy smile, the kind of person it seems easy to get along with. ¡®Spotted¡¯ Sylva Santagar was a reserved girl who only spoke her mind after thinking it through first. The heir to a place known as Spottswood, it was ironic that her face was covered in freckles. Daemon technically wasn¡¯t a member of the group and was already inhabiting the Water Gardens with Oberyn before we left Sunspear. The last member was Garin, an Orphan of the Greenblood. Descendants of the Rhyonar who had refused to assimilate into Westerosi culture. Apparently, his mother had been Arianne¡¯s wet nurse and hence they had known each other all their lives.


    ¡°We were actually discussing names. Among the orphans, we say their exists power in the names we are given¡± Garin informed me.


    ¡°Garin the Great who led the forces of the Rhoynar in battle against Valyria, a great man and a great name¡± I replied.


    ¡°Garin led them to their deaths, a fool is all he was¡± Daemon spitted out.


    ¡°In that era, it was often said the mouth of the dragon was unending, in their wake leaving only fire and ruin. You only had to ask the Ghiscari to know all you needed about a dragon¡¯s mercy. That is if you could find them. A leader of his people and facing the full force of their army, a craven would have broken and ran, offered his own children so he might be spared.¡± I say facing towards one of the pools.


    I scanned the group and saw them all silent even Daemon thinking on what I said.


    ¡°The true measure of a man can be seen in their actions when death approaches and he made a good account of himself. In life we don¡¯t always choose our circumstances, but we can always choose how we face them¡± I continue on, realising the parallels with my own life.


    A slight hope in my heart that I would be remembered as a great man. Or more morbidly that people would even be around to remember us and the sacrifices we will likely have to make. Looking around at the group, I realise my words had sunk in deeply and created a sombre atmosphere. Hoping to lighten the mood, I decided to contribute some information.


    ¡°One who is chosen, that¡¯s the meaning behind my name¡± I say while looking around at the confused group. Without giving it a moment to register, I then say ¡°I told you I was listening¡± with a teasing smile on my face.


    It takes a moment for what I said to process before the group starts laughing out loud at my call back. The cousins initially holding back out of defiance but failing horribly.


    ¡°I was named for Daemon Targaryen, one of the greatest warriors to have ever lived¡± Daemon said clearly proud of the connection.


    Garin immediately argued against him and suggested other figures from history as more powerful. While I turned around and focused on the forests. It was all I could do, so I didn¡¯t accidently give away my thoughts. Daemon may have been a powerful fighter, but he was also a pretender like his equally infamous descendent and namesake. Black or red, still a pretender at least that¡¯s one thing they had in common.


    Our destination was a quiet alcove with its own shimmering pool. A beautiful location in the middle of the trees, the foliage had parted to allow the sun to enter through the gap. This created the impression of a beautiful oasis which was quite a sight to see. The group started playing games in the water which I initially took part in before taking a seat on the side. Eventually Arianne came to join me and sat wordlessly at my side. I could tell she wanted to say something, so I intercepted it.


    ¡°Your father loves you and whatever you¡¯ve come to talk to me about would be better discussed with him¡± I say while still looking in front of me.


    The small gasp from her telling me I had guessed correctly about what was upsetting her. I didn¡¯t even need to look in her direction, to know the sort of expression she was making.


    ¡°We left Sunspear in such a hurry, I would have thought we were in danger. I only managed to put the clues together when I saw you giving him your farewells. I hate to say it, but your father also noticed but he chose to give you your time. A good man who cares for you dearly¡± I said looking at her for the first time and seeing the tears streaking across her face.


    ¡°He doesn¡¯t care¡± a quiet mousy voice came out.


    ¡°I thought he believed in me. I worked hard to be worthy of it¡± she carried on getting stronger.


    ¡°I was just a spare, always a spare. I bet he only looked after me out of obligation¡± anger visible as she bit her lip.


    ¡°Never say that again. I saw his eyes and your anger hurt him. There¡¯s no way to fake that¡± I said seriously. ¡°He could have stopped you leaving and forced it out of you, but he trusted you, believed in you¡± looking into her eyes ¡°He deserves the same respect back, trust him with your fears and I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll reply or bury them and trust he has the best in mind for you¡±


    Having almost drained herself of tears, Arianne managed to force out a nod. Exhausted from the effort, the Princess then leaned her head on my shoulder, which I allowed as she had earnt it. The commotion had drawn the attention of the group but luckily Sylva and Tyene had enough tact to allow Arianne her privacy. She eventually fell asleep on my shoulder, before we carried her back to her room. Oberyn giving me a thankful nod as I walked. As soon as I entered my room, I drifted off into a contented sleep with the feeling that everything might actually end well.