Kingdom of Bones: Episode Two

This is Episode Two of Kingdom of Bones, titled A Gift From The Lost. This is the second episode of the series, as well as the second episode of season one. It was released July 31st, 2015.

“Fear cuts deeper than swords” – George R.R. Martin

--

 Dyron Vass

Dyron Vass eyes stares gloomily out of the abrade window. He sees a man who sells apples out on the street, while an older gentleman with teeth a brown as muddy water yells out “Clams! Come get your fresh clams!” Dyron watches the man, and the two briefly make eye contact. He’s unsure of what to make of the man, but turns his head where he faces Serion who currently sharpens his sword.

Serion Tyrell sits, and his sword is as bright as ever. Sounds of steel being grated echoes throughout the room. Dyron watches, and takes a sip of the bitter sour ale. He’s happy that he was able to find another bottle. Ale was his drink of choice, was once his Father’s drink of choice, he thought remembering his Father introducing it to him. You don’t drink it for the taste, his Father Davos had always mention to him.

Dyron eyes no longer aims towards Serion, but instead at his spear. Two anchors in the form of curled hands are stamped to the grey walls. The hands had no significant to them, Dyron just enjoyed the feel it brought to the ugly chambers he called home. He went towards the spear. His right arm lingered ahold of it, and he lifted it with ease.

The spear itself was beautiful. If not beautiful, than then even perhaps the most desirable thing in all of Braavos. It was one of a kind, and he’d never heard of a spear with valyrian tips. Although it was beautiful, he kept what it really was to himself. Only a few people in the world knew what his spear had behold, and one of those people was Serion.

He turns his attention on the blonde hair boy who sharpens the steel sword. “I really don’t see why you even bother.” This catches Serion’s attention, “It will make no matter of how long you sharpen that steel blade of yours, it will never have a keen-edge such as mine.” A slight curve grows among the tips of his ample lips.

“Do you must have to always find a way to make everything a competition?” Serion says examining the gloss his sword gives off.

“No, I’m simply stating the obvious.” The boy says in a facetious manner, “There’s no need to spend any more time sharpening that steel blade of yours.”

Serion snickered, “I only do as I intend to be of my best interest.” He said standing up, placing the sword into the brown scabbard. “And this sword now has a name.”

Dyron was now interested, “A name? Why now?” He asked.

“The sword has been good to me. All the good swords have names. I decided on Blind Justice.” He lets out an alluring grin.

“An odd take for a sword with that name.” Dyron raised an eyebrow, “Let’s show Blind Justice the word, shall we?”

''' --'''

Dyron Vass knew the streets of Braavos was filled with fools, and thieves. It was one of many places in Essos that reminded him of where he was raised, Kings Landing. The only difference, these people didn’t have to worry about his Father. Instead, Braavos was ruled by the wealthy, and put to force by mercenary companies.

Dyron gripped his spear hard. His fingers curled evenly, and numerous people watched him. A man who wields a beard speaks towards him, “How much for the spear?” he says before cursing under his breath when Dyron ignores him.

This was daily life in Braavos, the attention he got wasn’t nothing out of the ordinary. He was raised, and driven to accept it. In truths, he found it rather amusing when people shamed him for who he was. His spear truly was one of a kind, which made walking Braavo’s streets just more thrilling in a twisted way.

The comments on his spear continue, but Dyron slowly adapts to tuning them out. Except, he hears a familiar sound. “Clams! Come get your fresh clams!” It’s the old man he thought. Dyron turns his head, attempting to find where he hears the man’s voice from. At the corner, he catches the sight of gold lingering in the distance. It’s the older man, and he wears chains wrapped around his ripe neck.

Dyron stares ambitiously towards the man. He paces himself, not too fast, but not too slow. He feels Serion grip on his shoulder, “Where are you in a rush to?” he questions the boy.

“Serion, a sudden urge for clams has sprouse upon me.” Dyron claimed.

“Clams? Ah, I haven’t had clams in a while. Why, what are we waiting for?” He says, following it with a warm smile.

Dyron chuckles, “Very well, come on now.”

It’s easy for Dyron to keep track of the man. In his early years, he was groomed to be much like like his Father, and his uncles. Dyron knew he could never understand or grasp the passion that the like of his Father, and brothers had grown to cherish.

Dyron and Serion made a turn into an alley, where the buildings casted a shadow. The man stood at the end of the alley, and smiled before leaving once again. The idea of chasing this man he hadn’t known sounded silly to Dyron, but in a way it felt like a task. He turned the corner, and the old man was gone.

Instead, another man stood. He was much younger, and his skin was a sickly yellow that the clam man had bared. This man was much taller, and his hair wasn’t grey, but instead the color of charcoal. His hair lingered to his shoulders, which reminded Dyron of his brother’s Darrock’s hair. Was his hair as nearly as long now, Dyron thought to himself.

The man smiled, and Serion looked appalled as he stared at the barrel filled with clams that were next to the man. Curious he asked, “Where’s the old man?” He said, staring from Dyron towards this mysterious figure.

Dyron was familiar with the feeling of being engrossed. He noticed Serion staring at him wide eyed as if he was a stranger. His eyes shifted focus from Serion’s hazel-brown eyes, to this mysterious man’s pale baby blue eyes.

The mysterious man smiles, and speaks in a croaky tone “Why, you’re looking at him.”

-- 

 The Lord Who Bears No Chains 

The Vale was an unusual place. Mountains outlined the skies, and the leaves remained green all year. Trystas Webber stands proudly. He inherits the beautiful view of the Vale. It’s been nearly twenty years and he still couldn’t find the words to describe the feeling of being the ruler of it. He gives a charming smile in regards to the vale, and plants his two large hands among the gated pillars that keeps him from falling nearly a thousand feet to his death.

His breaths forms a cloud of fog. His long brown beard glides with the wind. He lifts his hands and rubs them against each other. He feels the warmth between each rub. He re-plants his hands. A bird soars and Trystas immediately knows it’s a Falcon. It’s the only bird he has known to care and love for. The bird, lets out a screech and he turns his head to the wide brown double doors.

The lord walks as if he’s pulling chains, and his boots let out loud taps against the hard marble floor. The sound of the tapping satisfies him in an oddly way and soon he’s hearing the laughter of numerous men, and the hammering of steel swords. He smiles, and greets every man who comes in his path. Most of the man are his soldiers, he learned a long time ago that soldiers would on follow you, if you acted like you was one of them. The vale was his home, but soon it wouldn’t be his son’s home.

A surge of guilt fills his lungs when he makes eye-contact with his first-born son Tobis. The sight of his son smiling, forces himself to return one. Compassion was something that Trystas was always hard to deal with. It was a skill that Trystas lost a long time ago when the Mother of his kids passed. Deep down, compassion was truly something that Trystas was proud of for his boy.

A stocky short man who is armored in all steel armor comes in his path. The man only comes up to Trystas’ shoulders. His hair is inordinately curly, but what stands out the most is his orange hair. The man was Ser Gavin Parrish, and when he opened his mouth the smell of liquor was immediately against the brim edges of Trystas’ nose. “My lord, we’re to set off soon, and your son Tobis has been meaning to have a few words with you.”

“Aye, tell him that I’ll be with him shortly.” Trystas responds.

“Anything I may help you with, my lord?” The ginger asked.

“I only ask of you to make sure my son safely makes it to Winterfell.” He narrows his eyes at the knight, meaning business “I’ve puttin’ my trust in you, and I expect no more than your finest work knight.”

“Yes my lord, any man who’s foolish enough will have a pair of nuts rotting on his teeth by dawn. I’ll make sure of it.”

He laughs, “Of course.”

“One more thing my lord, the boy plans to bring the girl with him. The one with the big tits, and widen hips.” They both turn their heads where Tobis sits with Enith, and as if on cue they both let out a simultaneous laugh.

“Enith…?” He mumbles under his breath, questioning the girl’s motives. “I suppose the boy will need a friend, let her come.”

“Very well my lord.” the knight says after sharing his farewells with him.

The thought of Enith going with Tobis hadn’t even occurred until to him until now. Trystas always had a odd spot for the girl, but for reasons unknown he knew the girl was much more capable of reaching out to his own son in ways that he couldn’t do himself. Perhaps she seduced the boy, but he knew Tobis would never come to the realization of what makes a girl different from a woman.

Like a falcon, Trystas hears a door slam. His two beautiful twin daughters whose brown hair was much like their Mothers when she was younger came into view. Elen and Eyla playfully laughed, joking with each other as they made their way between the crowds of hammered drunk men. But even despite being drunk, not a single man dared to look at the girls in any other way that didn’t include protecting them. Trystas watched, making sure they made it safely to Ser Parrish.

Using his ears again, he remarkably hears the sounds of sticks clacking in the woods. Curious he follows the sounds where he sees two kids fighting with their wooden swords. Trystas watched them both in shock once realizing it was Timble, and his own daughter Gianis.

Timble was always quick with a sword, and he easily broke away from his daughter, Gianis who struggled to keep Timble back from her. Timble slices the air, narrowly misses the girl who dodges the attack. Timble leans back as the girl swings her sword for his throat, but the sword only manages to make a swooshing sound. He quickly caught his balance and countered, only to find his sword pudging at the girl’s stomach. “A warrior who swings their sword like a monster, is one that will be surely hunted” the boy laughs, bragging. “You must be more patient Gianis, and you must wait for the right time to strike.” Gianis nods her head in agreement, tiredly.

Trystas steps forward, and as soon as he is visible, the kids drop their sticks, scared. The lord speaks, “Your brother is right.” the lord walks in circles analyzing their dirty muddy clothes “You both still need to fix your stance, and arch your back a little when you swing your sword.”

The girl of eleven stares emotionless, and her pale cheeks rush with the lush of blood red. “Father are you mad?” She says concern.

“If you hadn’t had a pure skill of swinging a sword, I would be.” He stares deeply into the girl’s beautiful brown eyes, something of his, “I now understand, and see why you’re not with your sisters all the time. Are you sure you want to be a warrior?”

“Yes, Father.” She says in lowly.

“Very well, pick-up your sticks and say goodbye to your brother before he leaves, and I’ll soon inform Ser Gerold, that he’ll also be training you Gianis, and Timble I expect no more secrets from now on, do you hear me?” The boy of ten agrees, and the trio of them, makes their way towards the entrance of the woods.

 -- 

Trystas hears the sounds of horses peddling their paws upon the ground. Tobis pets his, and the clambering quickly stops. The boy was always a horse whisperer, it didn’t matter the size of the horse or its attitude, but the horses felt a connection with Tobis that they didn’t feel with anyone else, even himself.

Tobis smiles when he sees his siblings. Trystas stands behind his kids speaking, “Go on now, say goodbye to your brother.” he tells them. They all reluctantly listen and bid farewell to their brother. Trystas could already tell that Gianis was the most affected by Tobis’ leaving. Her tears were already welling up in when they had left the woods. The thought of his own daughter crying because of him, made him cringe.

Trystas watches his son mount the horse. The boy slowly guides the horse towards him “You understand why I must send you?” The lord says.

“If you want the truth Father, I’m still having troubles seeing why I must leave the place that birthed me.” Tobis says, speaking up.

“Just under-know, I must take these measures to ensure that this family’s future remains intact for those who are here when we are long gone.” He says trying to sound as sincere to the boy as possible. Something else he wasn’t good at.

His son doesn’t respond, and instead rides his horse forwards where he catches up with Ser Parrish’s men.

He watches, and let’s his final words out to the boy. “You’re soon to be a much better warrior than I ever was.” His words echo through the air, and the sky, as they his son rides out next to Enith, he knows the boy has potential. Perhaps even a better Father, he thought.

-- 

''' Bran Stark'''

Bran could feel the coldness rise up in his sleeves. He finds himself numerous times close to permanently closing his eyes for this long grueling trip. He feels the horse peddle amongst the bumpy stones of the road. His brother Ethon speaks up, “I’ve always heard Kings Landing was a place where lords, and ladies would go and die.”

This keeps the boy awake. “Perhaps we should have been born bastards then.” he gives a light laugh, wondering what life would be if he was a bastard. Jorah Pyke specifically.

“Many bastards have gone on to achieve many great feats. The North wouldn’t have as many vessel houses if our Fathers before us weren’t so loyal to their beloved.”

“Why you must first be well respected among those you despise you. That’s not something that comes easy, knowing a bastard myself.”

“Do you mean your friend Jorah Pyke?” His brother asks him.

“Jorah doesn’t get the respect he deserves.”

“I’ve heard the stories about him. The girls love to speak to him when they have a bit too much wine, they claim he’s one of the best fighters in all the lands of Westeros, and across the sea.”

“Perhaps, but Jorah isn’t one to fight for songs to be song about him. He fights with honor, dignity, and for his king only brother.”

“A man who fights for what he needs, rather than what he knows he could be, is a man too be honored.”

--

Bran thought back to the days of flowers. It was a memorable event from his childhood for numerous reasons. It was the first time him and his brother were in Kings Landing. His sister, Maya was much too young to travel with them, and his Father. It was also the day Creg Masterly knocked Ser Gidden Batler off of his horse, and onto his knees, where he struggled to re-gain his balance.

Jousting was always something that Bran found himself to be amused with. The thought of using brute skill, strength and agility was very compelling to him, when he was a boy of that age. The crowd raised their voices high as Creg Masterly had become a hero of not only them, but his as well. It was a wonder at the time why the knight decided to hang up his sword in order to serve as lord commander of the night’s watch.

There were various stories about how such an honorable man could wind up with a bunch of thieves but no one could come to an agreement. Bran knew the reason now, and the night watch were much more than a group of thieves, but instead some were honorable man, just like Jorah Pyke. The thoughts led him to speak of the night with his brother.

His brother speaks after a long chat about the day of flowers, “Brother, do you remember the night you danced with the Queen Dragon?” Ethon smiles.

Bran knew exactly what his brother was speaking about. “Who is this girl you speak of?” He teases his brother.

“You know exactly whom I speak of, you don’t forget a girl when she has such long and pretty charcoal hair.”

He knew his brother was right. Her hair was unforgettable, although he did wonder what ever happened to the girl. He remembered hearing the rumors of her Father Corlin being so infatuated by her hair. The tales even went as far claiming the mad man wouldn’t let anyone other than himself and the Queen to touch it. The thought of such a cruel man, and a silly rumor together was comedy to him. “Aye, you’re right brother. You don’t forget a girl like that.”

“Perhaps Father was right, that at a time, fire and ice was such a thing. I’m beginning to wonder if it could still be.”

“Perhaps, but that doesn’t change that our grandfather’s blood is on King Corlin’s hands.”

“That will never be forgotten brother.” His brother skips a beat, “I miss having these long words with you brother.” The curly-haired boy smiles.

“Me too.” He returns the smile, “But you know my home now is Kings Landing.” “Of course, I’m proud of you if that means anything to you brother.”

“Your gratitude tickles my fancy brother.” They both let out a loud chuckle, as Kings Landing finally came into view.

''' --'''

Entering Kings Landing was no longer the hassle to Bran. When he first became a squire, it was as if every day the streets were crowded. The streets were so crowded that even the city watch were becoming more impatient day by day. That didn’t mean there was no trouble, he still remembered the city’s guardsman who got sent to the wall for beating an older man so viciously that he was crippled, and no longer able to walk. All because the man accidently spilled a pile of seeds on the guard’s foot.

The trip throughout Kings Landing was much more pleasant than entering it. It was thirty minute trip to reach the large castle, but compared to the amount of leagues they've endured, it was nothing. The castle itself was enormous, and nearly impossible to scale. The structure was the biggest thing he’d seen, and rumors had been chimed that dragon’s breath was what held it together.

Bran turns to his brother, his is in pure happiness. “Welcome to Kings Landing brother.”

''' --'''

The castle’s interior matched the beauty of its exterior. There was decorated marble floors, and the paintings was some of the finest works Bran laid eyes on. Rud Cale enters wearing his heavy cloak, and as Bran expected he greets both himself, and Ethon.

“I was beginning to suspect that both you, and your brother would be late to the wedding” Rud says, modulated.

“Why, I got no reason to be late.” Bran responds.

“And you’re Brandon’s brother, Ethon?” Rud says, lingering his hand out.

“Yes, I am Ethon Stark, and if it pleases me to ask, you are?” Ethon returns the man’s handshake.

“I am Rud Cale, Master of Coin here in Kings Landing. The king will be please to know that both of you have arrived safely.”

Ethon smiles and accepts the man’s gratitude. Another man who bore dark thick hair comes within view of Bran. The man is dresses very fashionably, and held himself like a high lord. His eyebrows perks high when he sees them. He gradually makes his way over, and it isn’t until he’s in arm’s length view that Bran realizes how much taller he is compared to Ethon.

The man opens his mouth, “I didn’t mean to intrude on your well-beings, but I wanted to introduce myself.” He says, honeyed “I am Zakar Thorne.” He bows his head.

Bran returns the bow, “I haven’t seen you in Kings Landing before.”

Zakar lets out a grumble laugh, “Neither have I seen you in Kings Landing before, now I must be on my way.” The man says, leaving numerous question to be filled in Brans mind.

Rud speaks, “And have I, and Ethon, King Darrock has instructed me that when the sun rises, Ser Jorah Pyke will be waiting outside your halls to escort you to his chambers.”

-- 

 Jorah Pyke 

Ser Jorah Pyke of the Kingsguard stood outside of Ethon Stark’s chambers in steel suit of armor which was riched with gold indented into his chest piece. The gold itself, was a addition Darrock had recently decided he should add to it. The long haired king had claimed it was more of a gift from him as a friend, than his king.

Jorah wasn’t one to much brag, but nor was he inclined to not accepting gifts that were to him. Jorah learned to not take things for granted when he was a little boy of age. Raised and being a bastard of the lord of the Iron Islands made him learn to accept whatever gifts that those gave specifically to him.

The remembrance of yesterday’s joust was currently filled with thoughts in his skull. It was an odd thought, because he wasn’t thinking of how he knocked Ser Oswald Norridge off hislance, but instead of the name grant which Darrock issue to him. This was the first time in his life where he had an opportunity to no longer be the bastard people knew he was. But deep down, Jorah knew his last name had meant much more than who he was. The idea sticks to his mind, but it doesn’t leave, even when the sound creaking is heard.

Ethon Stark exits out of his chambers and inhales a huge whiff of air. He smiles, and Jorah watches, waiting for his command to leave. Ethon bows his head in greeting, in which Jorah returns gracefully. At least the Stark stories he heard were true, they’re polite, Jorah thought.

The hallway itself was filled with banners of those houses who swore allegiance to not only House Vass, but also those of Kings Landing and the Reach. The red roses and green thorns of House Sweetscent was what stood out the most of the banners, and then there was House Peters and its green and blue stag which roared after if it was a lion. But deep down, Jorah knew that only a quarter of the houses were truly loyal to King Darrock.

Jorah turns his head towards the direction of Ethon, and takes in the view of the hills which sits right under the sun. Ethon notices this, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Ser Jorah.” The northern boy words.

It is never a pleasure to meet a bastard, Jorah remembers his Father’s words. “Although many men, ladies, and even children would say otherwise, I must thank you for your kind words Ethon Stark.”

“In the North, men like myself tend to believe bastards have the most to of themselves.”

“In the North you say?” Jorah said. “Perhaps I would have been better off being born a Snow, or not at all. Why do you say these words?” he proclaimed.

“Why, because you’re the perfect example of the words I speak.” Ethon says. Jorah smile, perhaps he’s right, he thinks.

''' --'''

Ser Gidden Batler wore the same armor as Jorah, except his didn’t bare the gold which Jorah worn. Gidden held a title much more legendary than gold itself, the title of Lord Commander. The title was something a bastard like him dreamed. The thought thickens into dust, when the lord commander opens the steel beam doors. Inside of Darrock’s chambers were the colors gold, and burgundy. Much like his Father, he had a knack for showing his true colors.

By habit, Jorah allows the young Stark boy to enter first. The boy stares around adapting to the nature around him. Ethon turns towards Jorah smiling, nodding at him before greeting the king himself. The king was quick at writing on a sheet of linen. In the corner of the room, Maester Nalor sits reading a book that Jorah is hardly able to make out of. The king uses his free hand to gesture for Ethon to take a seat. Ethon follows the door.

“Please shut the door Jorah?” The king commands in a light tone. Jorah is quick to oblige his orders.

The king finishes his letter, and inserts it into a cream-colored envelope. He grabs the wax, and using the mallet he inserts his seal on the letter, making it official. He sets the envelope on the brim desk, and his attention falls on the northern heir who sits in front of him.

Darrock smiles, and speaks. “My apologies Ethon, I’ve been meaning to write this letter ever since I heard of your forthcoming.”

The boy smiles, “Aye, as king I expect you to do what you must to ensure the best for the realm.”

Darrock snickers, “It pleases me we’re on the right page then” The king skips a beat, “I would like to first express my gratitude that you were able to arrive safely to my wedding. It’s significant will not go forgotten, although I must admit, I am devastated your Father was unable to attend.”

“My Father is a busy man much like yourself.” Ethon says hesitantly.

“Your Father has always been well considered a noble man by myself, but enough of the man, I’ve asked you here for much more than a chit chat.”

“Why, I’m here for you my king?”

Darrock settles down, wrapping his hands amongst each other. “That’s Perfect, now you’re here because I want to seal a pact between the North and Kings Landing to thrive again.

Ethon sits, pondering the words Darrock has just spilled to him. “King Darrock... I understand the significance of where this is going, but this is no mere task.”

Maester Nalor shows his presence in the room, lightly setting the old dusty book on his lap. “Ah, My apologies! Often times a good book will take over the mind.” The old man shrieks. “I heard the tones of trouble, and you mention this is no task for you? Why heirs like yourself have been known to be some of the greatest advisors.” he finishes, and bends his head to read once again.

Darrock smiles, and taps his fingers on the hard ironwood table. “You’ll be wise to listen and use Maester Nalor’s words for not only yourself, but for the realm.”

Ethon listens, curious. “The man reminds me of my maester, and he speaks as wise as him too. Perhaps the man speaks from experience.”

“He still surprises me til’ this day.” The king smiles and holds his envelope from earlier towards the northern boy to grab, “This letter is in good interest to show your Father, I want the man to understand my intentions are much different from my Father.”

“This is an opportunity, which I will not waste time on. I’ll make sure it reaches my Father’s hands, gracefully.”

Darrock stands, and Ethon follows. “That's pleasant to hear, not only have we discussed important values, but I expect our friendship to grow from here on.” he gives a charming smile.

Jorah follows his duties, and opens the door for both Darrock, and Ethon. The two high-borns walk, and it’s clear Ethon stands taller than the long-haired king. Jorah watches, unknowing what this could mean.

<p style="text-align:center;"> -- 

<p style="text-align:center;">' Dyron Vass'

Dyron Vass smiles, and the pinkness shining through his high cheekbones shows just how excited he is. His ears perks, as well as his eyes when he hears Serion ask the man who he really is. The man crosses his arms, as he makes himself comfortable against the stone wall. The man stares, but doesn’t speak, the only sign of life he shows is the slight curve at the end of his lips that points towards the sky.

Dyron analyzes the man, and much like the old man, he too wears the golden chains, and bracelets wrapped around his ankles. “Ah, a faceless man?”

The faceless man looks intrigued. “Stories are heard.”

Dyron eyes shift back and forth from the faceless man, and Serion. Serion veins no longer are showing in his neck, instead his eyes are much warm and cold. He remembers Serion telling rumors about the faceless men works, and that they were much more than sell swords, but servants of the faceless God. The Faceless men were truly chilling in his both, his and Serion’s eyes.

“Your chains, I recognize them.” The black haired boy said, “Why have you brought us here?”

This catches the faceless man’s attention as his fingers slowly tap against the cloth that brushed against his pale rough skin. “I’ve only given you both opportunity, and you make the decision not to spoil it.”

“So what do you intend to do with us now that we’re here?”

“Stories are told for ears to hear.”

Serion speaks this time, “Stories?” He questions, “Could you be more specific?”

“To be more specific, would mean to tell a story. Why tell a story that is already know?” He puckers his lips, “All these questions, and you choose those?”

Dyron replies, sardonic. “What is your name, if I may ask?”

The man lifts an eyebrow. “Why, this man has the honor of being Ballo Orleans. A man of the free city of Braavos.” He ponders off of the rough wall, and walks. “You’re Dyron, correct?”

The man’s comment makes both Dyron and Serion uncomfortable. Dyron follows the man despite knowing he’ll hear an ear full later from his blonde haired friend. He stutters when he speaks, “Y-Yes, where did you hear that name?”

“Because, the gods gave us ears to hear.”

This was the last point for Serion, as he unsheathed his sword. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but if you don’t confess, there will be blood.” He lifts the handle of Blind Justice, and aims it towards Ballo.

Ballo stands as still as a statue, and his eyes are glued on Serions’. “Your eyes fool you boy. I know who you both are, and a man is willing to help... but for a price.”

“How so?” Serion answers.

Ballo lifts his head towards the sky, and his hair flows through the air unevenly. “The sun is setting, if you want more answers my friends, you must follow me.”

Dyron sees as the sky slowly turns into a darker shade of orange, “Where to?”

“The House of Black and White.”

<p style="text-align:center;">--

<p style="text-align:center;"> Rubert Peters

Rubert Peters sits, his eyes settle on the Queen. She’s absolutely gorgeous Rubert admits to himself, but beauty was what made her who she is today. Rubert takes in the smell of liquor and wine, as servants slowly leave the room. Rubert attention spans around the room, and he can’t help but remember his first day on the council.

The thought of someone of him at the time was grulling. He had no qualifications to be the hand of the king. Davos for once, was a changed man then people had known him for. Rubert eyes gazes towards Darrock, and for a moment all he could see was Davos. The long-haired boy taken his Father’s looks much more than his younger siblings, Dyron and Drevyn did.

The thought of Darrock being much like Davos himself scared Rubert for the worst. He watches as the king slowly calls the counsel in one-by-one. Rubert sees a familiar face, and by the lack of facial hair, he automatically assumes it’s none other than Rud Cale.

Rud moved gradually, as another figure entered the room. It was man of taller stature, he was quick on his feet unlike Maester Nalor. The man takes a seat. He vies eyes with not only Rubert, but also Rud Cale. In a passionate tone, he speaks “Ah, its pleasure to be here in none other than the Regent, and king himself.” The man speaks.

Ceril, and Darrock both nod their head in approval when Darrock speaks up, “Counsel, this is Zakar Thorne. He will be taking over Lord Vain place as master of whispers, since he’s no longer with us.”

Rud Cale speaks, amusingly. “Aye, I hope you can do your job, Lord Vain brought a lot more than good looks to the realm.” He follows with laugh, which Rubert can’t help but find amusing.

Zakar stares, embracing his palms together before giving a lazy smile, “I appreciate your honesty, I truly do, but I am far more capable of being Master of Whisperers than Lord Vain ever was.”

The laughter in the room stops. Rud watches the man with distaste, “You remind me of myself when I first joined the counsel. I served by King Davos for many years, and throughout those years, I became much more than a man of business, but also as an individual.”

“Except I am not you. Unlike you, I didn’t come into this job unprepared.”

Give him a realm to rule, and then he can speak, Rubert wanted to say but Darrock is too quick to act.

“Enough of this bickering!” Darrock screeches, “As members of the counsel, it is best for the realm we keep all tensions aside.”

“My apologies King Darrock.” Rud apologizes.

Zakar bows his head in forgiveness, “As mines to, I often tend to become very passionate about my beliefs and desires.”

Darrock nods his head in approval, “I set up this counsel, because I made a decision that my Father could never do. I’ve issue a treaty, and a personal handwritten note to Lord Edden Stark.”

The queen looks appalled. “Surely you know it’s not wise enough to give it a crow?” Ceril returns, “Crows cannot be trusted with such items.”

“Crows aren’t the only thing Mother.” Darrock claims. “I’ve given the note to Ethon Stark, Eddin Stark’s heir.”

“Are you sure about your decision?”

“It’s not only my decision, it’s for the realm Mother.”

Rud Cale speaks up, “Do you really believe it is wise to give out such letters?” The Master of Coin questions. “It’s unknown what’s Eddin Stark is up to these days.”

Darrock rests a finger on his crimson chin, “If Lord Eddin Stark were a change man, he would have started a rebellion against my Father, and all those for him.” His face goes even, “These are the reasons why I’ve called Lord Thorne to the counsel.”

Zakar puckers his lips, “Why, who else would be the one to acknowledge of Eddin’s presence in the Vale to the king?” he smiles towards not only to Darrock, but also Rud Cale.

This catches Rubert’s attention. “Why would Eddin Stark leave Winterfell for the Vale when his two sons are here?”

Darrock raises an eyebrow, “It is odd, yes but reports from Zakar’s man prove to be true.”

“The man has done no wrong if that’s not what you’re implying. Why is this being brought up?”

“Rubert, is it too my understanding to watch out for any signs of rebellion.”

“Rebellion? My king, are you trying to follow your Father’s footsteps?” Rubert says concerned, “How is Eddin Stark supposed to have his trust in you, if you’re not willing to put your trust in his?”

Silence emerges, and by the look of Ceril’s face Rubert knows that she is trying hard to not be annoyed.

Darrock sits biting on his index finger thinking. “Perhaps you’re right Rubert.”

“Perhaps? Eddin Stark is one of the most honorable, and fairest men in the realm. If a rebellion were to begin, he would be at the bottom of the suspects.”

“So what do you suppose we should do then?”

For starters, you can suck his cock, Rubert thought. “You mustn’t ignore him, but simply wait for Ethon’s response. When the time comes, you shall head to the North yourself and speak to Lord Eddin in a patient and calming manner.”

Ceril speaks impetuously. “Are you forgetting that my son is the king?” She says staring at a now wide-eyed Darrock who now looks at his Mother in a bitter manner.

Rubert raises an eyebrow, “I’m only doing my duty.” Who gave you a cock you fuckingcunt, the thought consumes him.

“My son has a duty here in Kings Landing, it would be unwise for him to travel so many leagues to reach the North.”

Rubert wanted to laugh at the blonde bitch.

Darrock finally has enough, and speaks bluntly. “Mother, I have reason to believe in Rubert. He’s my hand, and if I leave, Kings Landing would be in no other better hands than his, and yours.”

The room grows tense, but slowly it relieves itself as Maester Nalor enters the room. It was usual for the feeble old man to arrive late. Rubert was relieved to finally see his old man wrinkles.

The Maester taken a seat, and in a humbly voice he speaks. “Forgive me, I was finishing feeding those crows.” Nalor smiles, “Oh, the ol’ sweet, sweet crows.”

Rubert didn’t understand the old man’s passion for Crows. Rubert learned the hard way that what Crows really were. They were in truth sabotages, and couldn’t be expected, but for some reason, Maester Nalor Crows were much different. Instead, his crows always came back, and the only words that flew out of their long black bleaks, was corn, corn, corn.

Darrock looks pleased with the older man. “Thank you Nalor, and if you may, we have matters to go through.”

Nalor smiles. Ceril and Rubert clash eyes, and deep down he knows the bitch is furious. He mentally laughs to himself, FuckingcuntFuckingcuntFuckingcuntFuckingcuntFuckingcunt.

<p style="text-align:center;"> -- 

<p style="text-align:center;"> Sanya Baelish

Sanya Baelish was a taken woman now. By marriage laws, House Baelish, and House Vass was officially bound together by blood.

She smiles, and stands staring into the midst of the hills which leads to Dorne. The red queen rests her hands on her stomach, and gradually, her lips begin to bend upwards. There was no evidence she was pregnant, but it was as if it was magic that she knew she was pregnant.

Her thoughts emptied when she heard a recognizable voice. It was her newly wedded husbands. “Forgive me my love.” He says grabbing her hand.

Sanya can’t help but smile, he was truly handsome. She takes his hand, wrapping her fingers in between his. His height forces him to stare down on her, “It’s my first day as a taken man, and already learning a lot more than I expected.”

Sanya listens to every word that spills from his mouth. “Well… What king would you be if you wasn’t busy?” She replies smiling. “I can only hope our child will grow to learn the value of what being king really means.”

“Hope no more. Our child will grow to become the king, that Westeros needs.” Sanya smiles, she can’t help but not like the sound of Darrock’s cockiness.

“Would you tell me what your day was like?” She asks, softspoken.

“Why, as a married man, or a king?”

“As the king, I’ve already heard many tales, except I don’t know which ones are true.”

“Well if you want truth, then know that it was tiring. I couldn’t stop wondering of my Father. Every decision I made, my thoughts wondered what his would be… My Mother, she is constantly disapproving in my choices, and it’s so hard to try and please her, and myself.”

Sanya can’t help but feel for him. “Kean the conqueror didn’t capture Westeros in a single day Darrock.” The red queen replies, “And unlike your Father, you mean to do well for this realm.”

Darrock cheeks grow an embarrassing red, he smiles because he knows she’s right. “Where would I be without your guidance?”

Perhaps with another pretty girl from another noble house. Sanya thought, forcing a smile.

Darrock smiles, and lets out a sigh. “My Mother is leaving for Casterly Rock soon. She intends to make sure my little brother makes it safely towards Casterly Rock.”

The news does catch Sanya off-guard. “And when it your Mother leaving?” She raises an eyebrow.

“Knowing my little brother, very soon. He isn’t patience like myself.”

“Perhaps you should teach him the virtue of patience.” The red queen says, appealingly. “Why don’t you ever tell me more about your brothers?”

Darrock bites the inside of his lips, “There’s just a lot of things in my family that is better left un-touched. One day, I’ll make sure to give you the opportunity to ask me of whatever you want.”

Sanya can’t help but feel a bit upset. He was holding out on her, but truth be told, she wanted to know more of Dyron. She heard her sister clammer many of times about how the boy made her cringe with fulfillment and joy. It would be awhile until Sanya would know weather she was telling the truth.

-- Outside the castle, horses neighed, as a boy of sixteen petted them. A carriage of dark burgundy-brown remained still on all four wheels. The queen was truly beautiful, and her white silk gown fit her perfectly. Sanya was wearing a rather elegant red silk gown. The queen smiled upon seeing both, Darrock and Sanya.

Ceril greets them. “It’s an honor to have you as a daughter, I hope you know that.” She says smiling. Sanya was quick to return a smile of her owns, although something about the woman felt off.

Sanya can’t help but speak and remember the days she dreamed of meeting a tall, handsome knight such as Darrock himself. “As a little girl I always dreamed of a knight, who would be there to carry me wherever he goes. I believe I’ve been spoiled by the gods.”

Ceril can’t help but relate. “Takes me back towards my days as a young little girl. In The Reach, there were dozens of knights, and lords who vied for my Father’s hand in marriage, but he claimed he had a much better suitor fit for me.”

The young man who was stroking the horse from earlier turns, and his attention falls firstly on Darrocks. They both share dark hair, but his hair has a hue of brown. His skin is a sickly pale color and his ears seem to big for his head. He speaks in a slow, nasal tone. “Mother, we mustn't be here for any longer!”

Ceril raises an eyebrow, and meets the boy. “If you’re to be a lord Drevyn, than first you must act like one.”

Drevyn looks annoyed, but he doesn’t argue back. His eyes meets Darrocks, who stares clearly interested in the boy. Drevyn grins, “Hello brother, and Queen Sanya.” He bows specifically towards her.

Darrock forces himself to hide his disgust. If anything could be agreed on by him, and his brother Dyron, it was they didn’t quite enjoy Drevyn’s company. “Greetings, Drevyn. Can I ensure you’ll take care of Casterly Rock?”

Drevyn gives a cocky smirk, “Of course, I only learn from Father after all, and he maintained this realm longer than anyone believed he could”

Sanya stares at Darrock, who nods his head, but she knows deep down he’s furious. Sanya can’t help but wish could understood what was going through the king’s head. She hadn’t known Davos long, but she knew Davos was a man he despised to be, and to hear Drevyn say those words, must have made him felt betrayed.

Ceril sighs noticing Darrocks quick mood change, and meets her youngest son eyes. She wraps Darrock into a hug, and kisses him on his cheek. “We must leave before the sun falls, take care my darling.” She slowly leans towards Sanya’s ear, and whispers, “And congratulations.”

Sanya grips Darrock’s arm tightly, resting her head on his shoulder as the carriage slowly pulls away. She stares up towards Darrock, “Kean didn’t capture Westeros in one day.”

Trivia

 * Due to transferring word to wikia, a few problems occured. There was a lot more italics used, due to me emphasizing specific words in which they didn't transfer over.