bv

FanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

TV » Game of Thrones Rated: M, English, Drama & Romance, [OC, Sansa S.] Daenerys T., Jon S., Words: 859k+, Favs: 1k+, Follows: 1k+, Published: Apr 16, 2018 Updated: Feb 11, 2020 2,418Chapter 91: And Now His Watch Is Ended

At Castle Black…

Within Castle Black's main hall, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch Jon Snow tapped his fingers anxiously. Sitting at their tables below him, Jon had to make some discrete yet also difficult decisions. Days before he had to confide with the ailing Maester Aemon.

ooOoo

"I need your advice," he told him. "There's something I want… no, what I need to do. Something I have to do. But… it'll divide the Night's Watch. Bitterly. Half the men will hate me the moment I give the order."

The 104-year old Targaryen maester's hands shook. "Half the men hate you already, Lord Commander. Do it."

Jon still looked uncertain. "But you don't know what it is."

"That doesn't matter. You do," Aemon countered. "You will find little joy in your command. But with luck, you will find the strength to do what needs to be done. Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy, and let the man be born."

ooOoo

So many decisions, yet the one he had in mind about the captive wildlings which was without a doubt the most controversial – yet only a few of his sworn brothers in the Night's Watch knew. Grenn, Edd, Samwell… they were perhaps the only real friends he had; some were loyal, others were against him such as Ser Alliser Thorne. He might not have been chosen as the new Lord Commander, but that doesn't mean he'll follow orders blindly. But before that, Jon had to make some appointments.

"Take care of Maester Aemon," he whispered to Samwell.

Nearby, Castle Black's guest of honor Lord Stannis Baratheon watched on. The Lord of Dragonstone had been given permission to observe Snow's tested leadership. Being stern and humorless as he is, Stannis had given Jon a few words of wisdom when the dawn shined through the snowy skies.

ooOoo

"You have many enemies in Castle Black," he told him. "Have you considered sending Alliser Thorne elsewhere? Give him command of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

Jon shook his head. "I heard it was best to keep your enemies close."

Stannis, however, disagreed with that statement. "Whoever said that didn't have many enemies."

ooOoo

Jon gave a quick glance at Stannis, letting him know he had thinking about his words closely before looking back at all who attended this meeting. Raising his cup, he gave three loud smacks to get everyone's attention.

"Brothers," he began and the conversations ceased. The Night's Watch's Castle Black garrison looked at their Lord Commander. "As you all know too well, it's long past time to dig a new latrine pit."

"Ha ha ha ha!" they all laughed, with the exception of a small dozen.

"First Builder Yarwyck and I have decided to appoint a latrine captain to oversee this crucial task. Brian! Seems like a good job for a ginger."

"Ha ha ha ha!"

Everyone laughed again; some of the men jokingly patted Brian on his back and Brian joined in the laughter as well.

"Ser Alliser."

Silence filled the room. All eyes slowly turned towards Ser Alliser Thorne, Master-at-Arms of Castle Black and former Acting Lord Commander. Uneasy tensions rose slightly as the two rivals locked eyes with one another. Stannis didn't bother to look the man's way nor did he pay attention to a visibly drunken Joffrey Baratheon, who wobbly stood next to Alliser—swaying from side-to-side to keep his balance.

'Bastard abomination born of incest is at it again,' the older, sterner Baratheon lord observed.

"Ser Alliser," Jon repeated, "you have more experience than any other soldier stationed at Castle Black, more so than our newest arrivals despite their past decades of military service in lands south of here. You proved your valor many times over while defending the Wall from the wildling attack. I hereby name you First Ranger."

"Hear, hear!"

"Strong leadership!"

Some of the men shout in approval and hit their cups on the tables, there were some murmurs; Alliser looks up surprised at the appointment. Eddison, Grenn and Samwell look at each other in confusion. A small concession, to be sure—a gesture of reconciliation—but they couldn't help but question why Jon appoint someone they know he despises to a high-ranking position in the Night's Watch leadership? Historically the First Ranger is in charge of defending the Wall and tasked with ranging beyond it; he leads the rangers and answers to no one but the Lord Commander. The last person to hold the position was Benjen Stark under Jeor Mormont but went missing on a scouting mission beyond the Wall and never returned.

The only noticeable individual who did not approve of the appointment was Lord Stannis Baratheon, who felt as if his warnings about sending supposed enemies away were being ignored again.

"Joffrey," Jon continued. "I'm sending you to Greyguard with 30 men—10 from Castle Black, 10 from the Shadow Tower and 10 from Sentinel Stand. Commander Randar Merryweather will be expecting you."

Joffrey clumsily stood up and wiped his mouth, his red face flushed deeply—evidently plain to others that he is heavily drunk as he started swaying back and forth… and fuming. His green eyes stared at the Lord Commander, filled with spite and malice.

"Greyguard?" he spat. "You expect me to go to that blasted rubble?"

"Ah hell, not again…" Eddison groaned.

Grenn noticed. "

Jon held up a hand. "As you can see, the fort is nearing completion yet needs more men. Help Commander Randar restore it as best you can—"

Fool as he is, Joffrey interrupted rudely with an uncontrollable temper. "Keep your blasted fort and your sorry excuse of underlings! I am a Prince by right of birth, and I will not take commands from a lowborn bastard!"

Some of the men began talking loudly; others exclaimed admonishments at the insults. Olly, Jon's young steward, uncomfortably shifted in his seat.

"The audacity!" one of the Night's Watch brothers hollered.

"Unbelievable! How shameful!"

"What a disgrace!"

Eddison stood up. "Your open defiance and disobeying the Lord Commander is a display of conduct unbecoming of a sworn brother of the Night's Watch," he told him. "Not only that, but you've openly flouted about with our rules since the day you arrived."

"We all swore a sacred oath at the godswood to guard the realms of men from the dangers beyond the Wall every single day," Grenn agreed, "but you treated us like dirt or worse! You care for no one but yourself."

Jon slowly felt his impatience beginning to rise. 'I'm giving you a chance to prove yourself, Joff. It is more than you or your family ever gave my sister.'

"Alright, alright! Enough of that," Samwell tried to ease tensions.

"You mistake me, Brother Joffrey," Jon repeated. "This was a command, not an offer. Pack your arms and armor, say your farewells and ride forty leagues for Greyguard at the first light tomorrow morning. Commander Merryweather is expecting you."

"I said no!" Joffrey banged his sent his fist on the table and kicked his chair, sending over backwards. "I don't need to do anything! I'll not go off to freeze even more and die in the cold! No bastard gives command to a Prince! Tell your Commander Merryweather to keep that blasted ruin or better yet send any one of the blind fools who cast their tokens for you, I will not have it. Do you hear me, bastard? I will not have it!"

"You will."

Joffrey didn't answer, but kicked the chair aside and threw his cup of ale across the room. Both Eddison and Grenn moved to restrain him. Ghost, Jon's albino direwolf, flattened his ears and snarled warningly—his blood red eyes trained on the aggressor.

"That's enough out of you," Edd grunted.

Grenn grabbed Joffrey's arm as he squirmed. "Knock it off!"

"Unhand me, you lowborn wretches!"

Stannis frowned, crossing his arms as he watched the insubordination unfolding in front of him. He cast a cold glance at Jon Snow, who watched the ruckus taking place. Iron Emett, Mully, Horse, Red Jack Crabb, Rusty Flowers and Owen the Oaf all moved from their seats to keep Joffrey under control—it wasn't much; considering that any one of them can easily overpower the disgraced Baratheon, but with the way he was behaving, both recruits and veterans alike had finally had enough of him.

"Brother Joffrey," Jon said firmly. His expression changed; his face casted a cold and stern expression. "This is your last warning. Cease your protests and have your horse saddled and bridled. It's a long, hard road to Greyguard."

One by one, the men in the room all turn to look at Joffrey who in turn took another at Jon Snow. Joffrey had little to no respect for his peers nor had he had any for the Night's Watch.

"Do it yourself, bastard! You've already got the mark of a beast on you, especially since you fucked that wildling bitch."

Jon felt his nerves twitch; not as a surprise, but his eyes were filled with cold, unbridled anger. "You are refusing to obey my order?"

"You can stick your order up your bastard arse," declared Joffrey.

Some of the men—including Samwell, Grenn, and Eddison—whisper in shock. Joffrey looked pleased with himself despite his deep intoxication. Stannis looked more disappointed and annoyed. Alliser Thorne turns to Jon smugly. At another table, Godry the Giantslayer began to laugh. Lord Commander Jon Snow, however, finally had enough at the rude insubordination.

"Take Brother Joffrey outside," Jon ordered. "Olly, bring me my sword."

Joffrey Baratheon's face went as white as milk and looks increasingly unsure of himself as more men got up from their seats to surround him on all sides without a second to spare. Olly turns quickly to Jon, then gets up to fetch Longclaw—a Valyrian steel sword once the heirloom of House Mormont and in possession of the late Lord Commander Jeor Mormont before the Old Bear passed it down onto his future successor. Eddison, Grenn and Emmett crossed the room, their footsteps stomped as chairs and tables were pushed aside. Alliser turns and looks at Joffrey disapprovingly and momentarily stands in Edd and Grenn's way for a moment.

Jon looks at the confrontation, slightly concerned. Grenn, meanwhile, was not too keen on the new First Ranger get in the way.

'Go on, old man. Do it. I dare you,' Grenn thought. 'Show your steel. Give me an excuse to do the same.'

Half the men in the hall were on their feet. Southern knights and men-at-arms, loyal to Lord Stannis Baratheon or the red priestess Melisandre or both, and sworn brothers of the Night's Watch. For a moment, the world balanced on a sword's edge; Alliser eventually moved out of the way.

"Let go of me immediately!" Joffrey shouted. "You cannot do this! I am a Prince! I am a Prince, have you lost your mind?! Let me go!"

He was still protesting as they half-marched, half-dragged him outside. Garender the Lazy-Eye places a chopping block down as the Night's Watch brothers drag Joffrey up to it. Obedient to the laws and customs of his father Lord Eddard Stark, Jon Snow takes Longclaw from Olly and they both headed outside. Behind him, Stannis Baratheon followed closely and observed the scene from afar, surrounded by his household guards.

"Treasonous scum, all of you! If the bastard thinks he can scare me, he's very mistaken!"

Ghost followed close behind Jon, his white fur stood straight up and remained snarling at the disobedient brat who dared threaten and insult his master. At the courtyard, Joffrey wrenched loose for a moment and tried to make a fight of it, but Eddison caught him by the throat and slammed him against the wooden stump as Grenn and Iron Emmett held his arms tightly and kicked his legs out from under him. By then all of Castle Black had come outside to watch.

Joffrey continued his defiant resistance, but his movements quickly ceased when he saw Jon Snow clasped the hilt of his sword and unsheathed Longclaw from its scabbard.

"If you have any last words, Joffrey Baratheon, now is the time."

Eyes widened in fear, Joffrey twisted his neck around to look up at Jon from the chopping block. "P-please, Lord Commander! Mercy!" he screamed. "I'll go! I swear I will! Mercy!"

'No,' thought Jon. 'You closed that door.'

He momentarily hesitated, but the Bastard of Winterfell fixed his nerve and raised Longclaw high with both hands and brought down his blade in a single swing – quickly beheading Joffrey. Once formerly the second in the royal line of succession, Joffrey Baratheon was stripped of all titles and powers and permanently exiled to the Wall by his own brother Daveth Baratheon for ordering the massacre of Robert Baratheon's bastard children; and again, for disobeying a direct order, he found out the hard way of refusing the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch's order – especially if they'd been raised as a Northmen who followed the traditions of the Old Gods of the Forest.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Eddard Stark's voice rang through his head.

Jon Snow turned his head and notices Stannis watching him. For an instant their eyes met. The elder Baratheon gave him a slight nod in approval. Handing Longclaw to Olly, Jon marched across the courtyard to quickly catch up with Stannis on the stairs before he went inside.

"My lord, a moment if you will," he called out.

Stannis looked over his shoulder. "What do you want?" he asked.

"I hope it's not much, but might I ask you the use of your ships for a moment?"

"Whatever do you need my ships for?"

"Three years ago, the Night's Watch rode out in force to investigate rumors. We thought at first it was another wildling incursion, but… But what we saw at the Fist of the First Men turned out to be much worse than we thought."

"You mean White Walkers?"

Jon's eyes widened. "How did you…?"

Stannis Baratheon pointed towards Samwell Tarly, who still remained in the courtyard cleaning up the mess. "Your friend down there told me what happened during the hurried march back here. Doesn't look like a soldier, and didn't go into details but his wildling girl told me he killed a White Walker with obsidian."

"Then you know the dangers we face. It's strange, I know, and no one'll even listen. But this is the hard truth. For the first time in 8,000 years, the White Walkers have returned."

"So you say. Lady Melisandre told me back at Dragonstone that death marches on the wall."

"The Free Folk have seen them firsthand," he explained. "Sam has as well. The Free Folk can't stop them. Hell, the Night's Watch can't stop them. If we're to ever make it through this, we'll need all the help we can get."

Stannis still frowned stoically, listening to Jon's words. He wasn't as easily convinced, but he still held a sense of honor and respect for Jon's father Eddard Stark.

"We've just learned that many of the surviving Free Folk have who fled the battlefield begun gathering at Hardhome when you broke Mance Rayder's army," he continued. "It's a small fishing village on a sheltered bay along the Shivering Sea by Storrold's Point."

"And you want to use my ships to bring them here," the elder Baratheon realized. "Yet you're away that this act will deeply divide the Night's Watch. Your own men may turn against you for this."

Jon shook his head. "I know the risks, my lord, but I have to take it."

'Sometimes you talk like Daveth,' he thought. 'Only difference was is that the risks he took carried a much deeper impact should it fail.' "Then I hope you know what you're doing with these wildlings. I need those ships."

"You'll get them back, I swear it."

Stannis simply turned around and moved to speak with Melisandre. Whatever it was he told her, Jon knew he had to act fast lest the approaching winter grow increasingly worse than it already was in the lands beyond the Wall. Trekking down the stairs, Jon decided to pay a visit to the cells.

Deep within Castle Black's prison cells…

Sitting with his Free Folk brethren, the former King-Beyond-the-Wall Mance Rayder sat with Tormund Giantsbane. He found it hard to believe he'd be back in the cells of Castle Black or anywhere in Castle Black again considering his past; after all, Mance was once a noted ranger of the Night's Watch before deserting his post as a young man to unite the Free Folk tribes under his leadership. He looked down at the chains at his wrist before listening to the door hinges creaking.

Mance looked to see Jon Snow entering. Tormund and the other captive wildlings also noticed his arrival, most of them frowned deeply at his presence.

"So here we are," Mance noted the irony.

Jon nodded. "Here we are."

"When we first met you were my prisoner. And now, for our last meeting…"

"This isn't our last meeting."

"No? Last I heard our fate was to be decided by the new Lord Commander. But imagine to my surprise when Maester Aemon told me it was you. I'll give you this much: you're bold for doing this, Jon Snow."

"Shouldn't a King-Beyond-the-Wall be bold, too?"

'Not thought of you as one to tell jokes,' Mance thought. "Oh aye, when the situation calls for it. Stupidity on the other hand does not qualify as a requisite. And it's hard to lead when you're in chains. But what brings you here to me in the cells?"

Tormund seemed to agree. "The Free Folk won't follow you or any of your crow brothers. They won't follow anyone else except Mance."

Jon smiled, hiding a laugh. "I don't deny it. Us Northmen are a bit like the Free Folk, actually."

"Oh? In what way?" he scoffed.

"We're loyal to no one but our own."

Tormund huffed, but Mance found the comparison to be slightly amusing. "Almost, but not always," he replied.

"But what if I unchained all of you?" Jon offered.

"Why would you do that?"

"You're not my enemy. And I'm not yours."

Mance looked somewhat reluctant. "I'm not having my people bleed for you, or Stannis Baratheon or any southern king."

Jon again shook his head. "You won't have to. You spent your life convincing 90 clans to come together for the first time in history. Thenns and Hornfoots, the ice-river clans, even the giants. A life's work uniting them. You didn't do it for power. You didn't do it for glory. You brought them together to save them because none of them will survive the coming winter, not if they're north of the Wall. For 8,000 years the Night's Watch swore an oath to be the shield that guards the realms of men. And for 8,000 years we fell short of that promise. The Free Folk belong to the realms of men. All of you."

Mance looked at Jon. Tormund, meanwhile, still looked unconvinced.

"And you expect us to believe things are going to change?" he asked.

"He wouldn't come to us if he didn't believe otherwise," Mance suggested.

"Why now?"

"Because I'm the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch," Jon leaned forward, "not Ser Alliser Thorne." In his hands were a set of keys; kneeling down the Lord Commander turned the keys sideways.

Mance, Tormund and the other captive wildling prisoners heard a mechanism unlock and the chains fell free from Mance Rayder's wrists. The former King-Beyond-the-Wall massaged his sore, stiff hands and slowly stood up.

"I need your help," Jon requested. "I want the Free Folk to fight with us when the time comes."

"My people followed me because they respected me. Because they believed in me," Mance explained. "The moment I kneel for a southern king that's all gone. It's a worst fate since it goes against everything I believe."

"The day we ask our people to fight with the crows is the day they cut our guts from our bellies and make us eat them," Tormund stood up.

"I'm not asking you to kneel for anything or anyone. How many tens of thousands of your people are still out there right now? Trapped and in danger? How many women? How many children? How many of your people can't fight? The women, the children, the old, the sick… what happens to them? What happens to your people if we don't save them when winter comes and the White Walkers come for us all?"

Mance hadn't seen Jon speak with such passion before.

"The Free Folk need their leader," he continued. "And they need to get south of the Wall before it's too late. We don't have much time."

"Most of my people are at Hardhome," Mance mentioned.

"Yes, and I convinced Lord Stannis to lend us his ships to get them out of there. The White Walkers are coming and Hardhome'll be the first to get hit. Make peace to save your people."

Mance looked at Tormund before looking back at Jon. "Then you do understand why I fought long and hard to get my people south of the Wall?"

"I do," he nodded.

"You're a good lad. Truly, you are." He turned to Tormund. "Well old friend, you're coming with us. Ned Stark's bastard's coming with us too. Won't be easy, but the Free Folk there will need to hear it from me and the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. They'll need to know the ships they're boarding won't be torched in the middle of the sea."

Tormund nodded. "He'll come with us, or we don't go."

Jon watched as Mance Rayder and Tormund Giantsbane began freeing their brethren from their chains.

'The Night's Watch will never forgive me for this,' he thought. 'But they haven't see what the Free Folk have seen. Not what I've seen…'

Chapter EndFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

In Dorne…

The second phase of the diplomatic peace talks between Dorne and the Iron Throne were about to begin underway again; after the whole fiasco during the first phase, the revelation of Ariyana Dayne spying on the King on behalf of House Martell caused quite a bit of stir if not risk everything falling apart. Daveth stormed off in anger, only to be met with an assassination attempt on his life. Even Prince Doran Martell, Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne, knew that if something were to happen to the King then Dorne would again be dragged into another war. Of course, Doran was also concerned about the well-being of his son and heir Prince Trystane, as well, and how he was protected from harm too.

Back in the meeting room, Doran shifted in his seat to ease the discomfort in his legs. Gout had not been kind to him over the years; it swelled and reddened the joints of his knees, toes and hands. Oberyn stood next to his older brother with Ellaria Sand, their daughters and Doran's wheelchair in case Doran needed to move around.

Ariyana Dayne, still under investigation, couldn't meet Queen Sansa Stark's gaze—who sat across from her. Even veteran Kingsguards such as Ser Lucius Blackmyre and Ser Jaime Lannister still hadn't forgotten Ariyana's involvement in spying on Daveth.

"This meeting would be more productive if the King were to join us," Ellaria complained.

Sansa looked at her with a calm, composed demeanor. "My husband will be arriving soon," she told her. "But what does concern us is the apparent lack of security which allowed the assassins to slip into Dorne undetected."

"My captain of the guard Areo Hotah is already seeing to it that no more outsiders try to enter my country in secrecy again," Doran told the Queen. "Remember, I'm more concerned about this since my son Trystane unknowingly had gotten himself involved in the altercation."

Olyvar Frey poured Sansa a cup of wine, glancing back at Tyene Sand. "We've identified the culprit behind the assassination attempt, my lords and ladies. I've seen this man at least once after we took back Moat Cailin. Locke."

"He's one of Roose Bolton's bannermen. What could he have hoped to gain from this?" the Wolf Queen suggested.

"Difficult to say, Your Grace, but the King believes it was his bastard Ramsay Snow who's really pulling the strings," he answered. "Says Lord Bolton is 'too smart for his own good to jeopardize his house's standing'."

"How can you be so sure of that?"

"Because Ramsay's worse than a monster. Worse than anything you could ever imagine."

By then, Daveth Baratheon had already made his presence known.

"Ah, Your Grace," Ser Lucius acknowledged. "Forgive us, we started without you."

"So I see," he stated plainly. "Trystane. How fares your jaw?"

Trystane shrugged it off. "A fleabite," he answered.

Daveth didn't buy it one bit. 'What a poor excuse. You got your ass knocked out with one blow.'

As the Young Stag sat beside his wife, the negotiations could once again continue. Sansa observed Daveth's posture, examining his body language; when he first stormed off, Daveth was slightly hunched forward and his hands curled into tightly balled fists. Now, his posture was straight and shoulders less tense, more composed. Let's just hope it stays this way until things have settled down for a moment longer.

"Allow us to extend our sincerest apologies for this mishap," Doran begun.

Daveth shook his head. "We both know who's to blame for this outrage, Prince Doran. Rest assured, the assassins were only puppets. Our true enemy merely pulls the strings from the shadows."

A Dornish servant assists Shae and Brella set down food and drink on the table before returning to their posts.

"Pie looks good," Olyvar commented.

Doran, Oberyn and Trystane took a plate of pigeon pie with Daveth, Sansa, Myrcella, Olyvar, Jaime and Lucius each taking a piece along with their respective goblets of wine.

"You appear to be much calmer this time," Oberyn said to Daveth.

"It belies a Baratheon temper," the Young Stag replied. "That, and my wife always kept telling me that suppressing one's feelings is not healthy."

"Wise woman."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You're very kind, Prince Oberyn," she said politely.

"That aside, it is best that we continue where we left off," Doran noted.

It all became serious now. Daveth and Sansa listened closely as Prince Doran unveiled a parchment; a thoroughly worded treaty, it consisted of a list of terms and agreements that he believed would function as a compromise between Dorne and the Iron Throne.

"Now, I won't deny the fact that you are of Baratheon and Lannister descent and there are still some who remain unsure about you," he began, "but what doesn't change is the fact that you were the only monarch since King Daeron II to make any effort to reach out to us in Dorne spoke volume of one's character."

"159 years ago, House Martell got into bed with the dragons of House Targaryen," Oberyn mentioned. "As my brother said, we took Daeron and his sister for our own before they could take each other. That's how six kingdoms became seven. How you sent your own sister Princess Myrcella to us was almost quite similar, though not quite exactly similar to circumstances."

"Many in Dorne want war. But when Oberyn came back with the Mountain's head and when we learned of Tywin Lannister's… untimely demise, some of the grumbles have died down."

Oberyn's face changed expressions. "Our sister Elia Martell was a rare flower in our land. Hers had no thorn; she was kind and clever and had a gentle heart. Dorne loved her. We would've died for her, and her children."

"I've seen war. I've seen bodies piled on the battlefields. I've seen the orphans starving in the cities. I don't want to lead my people into that hell unnecessarily."

"When we swear oaths, we keep them. We needed no threats from King Aerys, though he made them anyway in his madness and condemned our sister and her children to their fate. We know that war is terrible and sometimes men must do terrible things to wage it… and to end it."

Daveth and Sansa said nothing as they watched the Martell brothers Doran and Oberyn speak. To them, perhaps there was somewhat of a lesson that needed to be told. The King held his wife's hand in his own, and she gave a gentle squeeze as reassurance. Jaime looked on grimly, while Lucius and Olyvar observed with wine goblets still in their hands barely touching their lips.

"Do you understand what we're trying to tell you?" Oberyn asked.

Sansa spoke first. "That mountains of gold or military force are not always the ways to sue for peace," she said.

The Red Viper nodded. "Correct. Whether by blood… or talking to us can it be possible."

"I know things will never be easy for you, my lords. Nor can we make promises we are unable to keep. But I do hope that we can achieve an everlasting peace between us and make amends so the Martells of Dorne and the Baratheons of King's Landing cadet branch may be friends."

Ellaria noted how Queen Sansa was speaking. 'Break bread with the Baratheons, Lannisters and Starks,' she thought. Though the look Oberyn gave her told her that justice was already done; and there wasn't a need for more.

"That is my hope as well," Doran said. He placed the paper down onto the desk. "You've not only given us justice for our sister Elia along with her two children Rhaenys and Aegon, but also our uncle in the Kingsguard Prince Lewyn Martell as well. If you are indeed serious about wanting to reconcile with Dorne, if you want an alliance between us, then our terms must be met."

Daveth looked at the parchment. Sansa noticed and nodded her head.

"Of course, Prince Doran," she said. "The Crown will do whatever it takes to make things right."

"If an alliance between Dorne and the Iron Throne is to be kept strong," he said, "then the engagement of my son, Prince Trystane, and King Daveth's sister, Princess Myrcella, must stand."

Daveth looked at Myrcella and Trystane. The heir to Dorne locked eyes with the King; meanwhile, Myrcella practically looked at Daveth—who noticed her looking his way—and quietly mouthed the words "please" to him, begging her eldest brother to agree to the arrangement. The Young Stag sighed and nodded.

"Done," he said.

Myrcella smiled and hugged Trystane, who reciprocated the news as well.

"My son will be accompanying you to King's Landing as well," Doran announced.

Daveth raised a curious eyebrow. "You wish to send your only son and heir to the capital? May I ask why?" he asked.

"If the assassins come here again, then your sister and my son will need to be relocated somewhere safer—particularly within the walls of the Red Keep. Also, my brother Oberyn was named to the Small Council as Master of Laws before his resignation. Your grandfather understood the importance of working with one's rivals. With that seat still vacant, Trystane will take his place on the Small Council."

Daveth looked at Trystane. "What say you, Trystane? Are you up for the task?"

The young man nodded. "Of course."

"Then let's be certain that you're ready for such responsibility of being the Master of Laws. Your uncle Prince Oberyn proved himself capable, so you can imagine the expectations I have for you."

"Then you accept our terms?" Doran asked.

Daveth picked up his quill and dipped it in ink. "I will do whatever I must to ensure the realm's prosperity… and my sister's safety," he said quietly under his breath, pressing the tip onto the parchment.

Myrcella, Sansa, Oberyn and Doran watched on as Daveth moved his wrist with each stroke in specific directions, length and curvature relative of each letter he wrote down. The Young Stag's penmanship was as business cursive as it was fancy, each stroke precise and near perfect joined together in a flowing manner. Once he was finished, Daveth set the quill down.

"It is done," he informed them.

Doran switched the parchment around to face him as he took his own quill and ink to write down his own signature; the gout in his knuckles and joints made it difficult to write out each stroke, but Doran eventually finished his and put his quill away.

"And so it is done," he announced before raising his cup to propose a toast. "Let us drink to Daveth, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. May his reign be long and prosperous."

Everyone took a drink, even Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes. Daveth raised his cup, though he felt a wave of mental exhaustion wash over him—his vision temporarily blurred and felt a bit lightheaded; the Young Stag momentarily shook his head to rid himself of momentary distractions. Sansa and Olyvar, however, were the only ones to notice – the Frey squire was the first to lean in to whisper into the Queen's ear.

"I've seen him like this before back at Moat Cailin, Your Grace," he quietly informed her. "He passed out in the mud not long afterwards."

Sansa looked concerned. "Keep a close eye on him," she whispered. "Pray to the Old Gods and the New that it's not as serious as it once was."

Through sheer ounce of willpower, Daveth Baratheon had apparently pushed himself a lot harder to be absolutely certain that this one final task was seen through to the end: unifying the entire Seven Kingdoms: the North, Stormlands, Riverlands, Vale of Arryn, Westerlands, Reach… and now Dorne. Quite a monumental undertaking that involved years of careful planning and strategic, tactical and political maneuvering to get the results Daveth so desperately wanted. By nightfall, host and guests had finished their meals and traded in for the night.

The King had slept longer than most men ought to. Sansa never took her eyes off him for the entire night.

– 5 Days later –

A royal skiff waits on the Dornish sand to escort the royal party back to the royal flagship King Robert's Warhammer which remained anchored a few hundred yards offshore.

King Daveth, now donning his formal royal attire and given his arms and armor back, was more than eager to return home to King's Landing. His father's warhammer was strapped on his other shoulder to relieve discomfort towards his left where the assassin's dogs sank their teeth into. His left arm and shoulder were still in the process of healing so he didn't plan on pushing it, though some of his Kingsguard still didn't approve.

Ariyana Dayne's attire remained consisting of the Kingsguard, though her future in the royal guard remained in question. "We're going to have a long talk when we get home," is all she was told. She wasn't trusted by her peers despite her claims of loyalty to the Crown and Dorne; she'd have to work long and hard to prove herself again to win back their trust.

Ser Lucius and Jaime Lannister watch as Myrcella Baratheon and Trystane Martell say their goodbyes to Prince Doran. Much to their surprise, Oberyn offered to accompany them to the capital with Ellaria and three of his daughters: Obara, Nymeria and Tyene Sand. Olyvar Frey had finished gathering their belongings for the oceanic voyage home. Trystane hugs his father; Doran kisses his future daughter-in-law on both cheeks.

Shae and Brella each carried the royal twins Prince Lyonel and Princess Cassana in each of their arms; bouncing the babes, Lyonel and Cassana babbled as they gripped their mother's handmaidens with their tiny hands.

Ellaria Sand and the Sand Snakes begin boarding, no longer dressed in their warrior outfits but as proper women of the court. Tyene, of course, still teased Olyvar who kept his eyes glued at her swaying hips before snapping them back to attention when Queen Sansa caught him.

"That is very inappropriate, Olyvar," Sansa quietly scolded him, casting a cold death stare.

Olyvar gulped. "S-sorry, Your Grace," he apologized frightened.

Daveth and Sansa both approach Doran.

"I wish you a safe journey home," he told them.

"Thank you for having us here, Prince Doran," replied Sansa. "Will we see you at the wedding?"

"You will."

"This has proven to be quite an illuminating experience. Hopefully this is the start of a new beginning between our houses," Daveth told him.

"The feeling is mutual, Oathkeeper. I have enjoyed getting to know the grandson of a man I once called my enemy. Take good care of my son."

"You have my word." He soon turned to his family. "But there's something that needs to be done first before we leave."

Everyone looked confused.

"Olyvar."

The Frey squire stood at attention and approached the King.

"Yes, Your Grace?" he asked.

Daveth eyed him closely. "I haven't forgotten what you've done for both of me and House Martell back at the Water Gardens. I did say I'd see you rewarded for how you saved not only my life, but Doran's son's as well. Is there any boon you would ask of your King? If it's within my power, I will grant it."

Olyvar felt a bead of sweat trickle down his face. "I… I only seek to continue serving the Crown to the utmost best of my ability, Your Grace… if you'll have me that is."

He nodded. "Then kneel."

Obeying his King's order, Olyvar knelt down to one knee in a form of submission. He was unsure as to why, but heard the distinctive sound of Daveth unsheathing Stormbringer from its scabbard and felt cold Valyrian steel touching his shoulder.

"In the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave," he recited the words. "In the name of the Father I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent. In the name of the Maid I charge you to protect all women." The Young Stag then placed Stormbringer back in its scabbard.

Olyvar's eyes widened; he was visibly speechless. He knew what those words mean! Two years ago he started as a mere squire from a lesser house in service to his master, and here he was now a full-fledged knight! All those times training in combat with the King, fighting alongside the King in battle and acting as a page at the King's court… Olyvar's patience and dedicated service had finally paid off as he looked up at Daveth.

"You honor me, Your Grace. I… I don't know what to say," he stuttered. "I swear I will uphold the knight's code, protect the innocent, defend the weak and offer my services to you. I will shield your back, keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New."

Daveth nodded. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise, Ser Olyvar Frey."

Standing back up, Olyvar looked like he could barely contain his excitement at being knighted by the King himself. Sansa observed the ceremony firsthand and couldn't help but smile warmly at the oath of fealty; she couldn't deny Olyvar's dedication and service to the Crown. He's been a good, faithful squire and the Wolf Queen agreed that it was long past due to reward him for his role in saving her husband's life from assassins and on the battlefield. Olyvar then made his way onto the royal skiff for the long journey back to King's Landing.

Aboard the King Robert's Warhammer…

In a guest cabin aboard the royal flagship, Princess Myrcella Baratheon sat in a lovely room decorated in royal attire. The walls were decorated with wooden stag antlers and golden lions as ornaments. Between her fingers Myrcella held a small pendant, opening the inside to gaze upon an old painting depicting her as a young girl being held in the arms of her eldest brother Daveth. She appeared to be 5 years old in the portrait.

'We looked so happy back then, brother. Only because you made it so at your own expense,' Myrcella reminisced.

She hears a knock on her door and smiles, walking to the door?

"Trystane?" she calls out.

Two voices on the other side answer.

"Uncle Jaime."

"And your brother."

Ah. Not quite what she was expecting before opening the door. Both Jaime Lannister and Daveth entered her room.

"Sorry to disappoint you," Jaime apologized. "May I sit down?"

Myrcella slowly nods. Daveth closes the door behind them and leans against the wall as Jaime sits himself down in front of Myrcella.

"Do you two want something to drink?" she offered. "I don't have any wine, I don't think, but pomegranate juice or—"

Daveth raised his hands up. "No, no, no. It's quite all right. We're fine, 'Cella."

"You look nervous," Jaime observed.

She sits down on her bed; indeed, she does look nervous. Jaime notices the necklace and points it out.

"Still holding onto that trinket?" he tried to joke. "It's got to be about 14 years old by now."

"Now, now, no one said about holding onto something worth value," Daveth suggested as he pulled up the blue scarf around his neck, "particularly if it's of sentimental value to the one wearing it."

'Ah, of course.' Jaime shook his head. "Just… try not to lose it. If it means something to you, always hold it close."

An awkward silence before another knock was heard.

"Excuse me, Your Grace," one of the crewmen called out, "but the captain needs to see you on deck."

"Very well. Tell him I'm on my way up," Daveth called out. "I'll… leave the two of you alone. I'll be back as soon as I am able. I promise."

"Take care, brother," Myrcella nodded.

Once Daveth exited the room, Myrcella was now alone with Jaime. He slowly clutched his arm and shifted uncomfortably, trying to think of what to say next.

"I know you didn't want to leave Dorne," he began. "But I'm glad you're coming home. Things… haven't been quite the same since you left."

Myrcella nods. She still looks nervous.

"And I'm glad Trystane's coming with us. He seems like a nice boy. You're lucky."

"I know," she answers.

Jaime felt his mind going blank. "Arranged marriages are rarely so, so… well-arranged."

Myrcella looked at him curiously. "Do you think Daveth likes him?"

"Ahh… ehhh, it's hard to say," he answered almost uncertain. "I guess it's difficult for an older brother to accept that his baby sister's all grown up, but… If he sees that you're happy, then I'm sure he will. I mean, have you ever known Daveth to like anyone, aside from you, Tommen, his wife and children?"

Myrcella laughs. "He has us," she counters.

"Not so sure about that. The definition of family's been changing a lot lately," he said awkwardly. Jaime scratched his head. "Listen… there's something I need to tell you. Something I should have told you a long time ago."

Myrcella watches him, waiting. Normally Jaime is more confident in himself, not unusually tongue-tied. Whatever was on his mind definitely was hard for him to get out.

"Now that you've seen more of the world, you've learned how complicated things can be. People can be."

"I know. Sansa told me everything that's happened."

Jaime shook his head. "No, no, that's not it," he struggled to make sense. "The Lannisters and the Martells have hated each other for years, but you've fallen in love with Trystane."

Myrcella has no idea what Jaime's talking about but she just watches and listens patiently.

"It was an accident, really. I mean, what were the chances? You happened to fall in love with the man you were assigned to marry? My point is, we don't choose whom we love. It just… it's, well, it's beyond our control." Jaime stands and paces across the floor, acutely uncomfortable. "Seven hells, I sound like an idiot right now."

"No you don't," she tells him.

Jaime gulped. "What I'm trying and failing to say—"

"I know what you're trying to tell me."

"No, I'm afraid you don't."

Myrcella stands up, her posture straight and in control of herself. Slowly, she approached Jaime and took his hands in hers.

"I do. I know about you and mother," she told him. "I know that Robert Baratheon is not my real father."

Jaime stares at her, unsure what to make of this. He obviously doesn't know how to play this.

"You… You did?" he asked.

Myrcella nods. "I think a part of me always knew. Daveth will always be my brother, but…" she stares up and smiles, "but I'm glad. I'm glad that you're my real father."

Ser Jaime Lannister felt as if the wind was knocked out of him. The fact that Myrcella told him without fear or hesitation that she was happy to know that Jaime was indeed in fact her biological father. Despite the two sharing the same mother but not the same father, Daveth Baratheon will always be in her eyes her 'big brother'.

Myrcella wraps her arms around him and buries her face in his chest. Jaime holds her tight, kissing the top of her head, fighting to hold back tears in his eyes. He pulls back to look at her beautiful young face, to see the way she smiles at him the way she does with Daveth.

For the first time in his life, Jaime finally understands the joy of fatherhood. And it's a pretty damn good feeling.

"What about the others? If… if they find out the truth—" he asks.

Myrcella thinks long and hard. "If you and Daveth both fear for my safety, then we can carry on the façade, at least in public; but it'll be our little secret. I promise, father."

Still feeling a twinge of what-ifs, Jaime simply held his daughter in his arms again. He didn't want this moment to end. All the long suppressed feelings the Kingslayer was forced to bury deep down, he didn't have to feel ashamed or distant anymore. He was finally happy.

Unbeknownst to them, Daveth Baratheon remained on the other side of the door. He had heard everything. Lowering his head and shaking it quick, he quickly walked away from the cabin and proceeded to the upper deck of the ship.

"And so the curtain rises. The opening number," he uttered to himself. "Take this moment to enjoy yourselves. Just don't make this any more difficult for me than it already is."

Chapter End

Author's Note: No poisons, no deaths. Myrcella lives and Jaime is now enjoying being a father. A peace treaty has been signed between Prince Doran Martell of Dorne and King Daveth I Baratheon of the Seven Kingdoms, the Young Stag's 4-year long plan had finally come to fruition. The entire North, Vale, Riverlands, Stormlands, Westerlands, Reach and Dorne are all in the fold under his complete domain – but Olyvar Frey noticed he's beginning to show signs of stress and illness like he's shown before at Moat Cailin during the Second Greyjoy Rebellion. Still believe Daveth's been pushing himself too hard despite the advice of his counselors? Thoughts? Let me know.

Silent Wolf Singer: I wish Daveth was a real character in the TV series.

oneironaught101: Highly doubt any Kingsguard caught spying gets to keep their position if not sent to the chopping block. In case of any conflict with Dornish interest it is imperative to presume she would commit Regicide.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

—Thanks.

mpowers045: Man if she keeps teasing him, he would explode into pieces am I right?

Hear My Fury: And so Dorne is back into the fold. Now Daenerys has no hope to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. With Cersei dead, the Tyrells being put into place and Dorne now back she has little to no support. I can only guess that Euron has no competition in getting into Daenerys' graces, he could spin up a story about how his whole family was destroyed and his home burned to the ground. However, if Jorah's there he will tell Dany to not trust him. Aside from that, Dany has no chance of taking the kingdoms, even with her dragons and Dothraki and Unsullied. Now to deal with Ramsay. That'll be easy. I kind of want what happened to Stannis' army to happen to Ramsay, like he's so confident and then is quickly defeated.

RedRat8: It's a given that he's been pushing himself. First his father died, then he had to become a king then deal with a Civil War, and then deal with a rebellion, and then deal with what his mother done, and then his grandfather died, and then the peace talks with Dayne possible being booted out. And now he only has to Night King and Dany to deal with. So naturally he's been going rough.

« First « Prev Ch 92 of 180 Next »

ReviewFanFiction

Just In

Community

Forum

Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper by DeadlyMaelstrom711

At the Red Keep…

Tommen Baratheon paced through the Red Keep main halls, often occasionally adjusting his collar and rehearsing his lines for the upcoming wedding to his betrothed, Lady Margaery Tyrell of Highgarden. Eager for his big moment once his older brother and sister-in-law returned from their trip to Dorne, some of the royal servants tended to Tommen—adjusting the collar of his golden attire.

"'I am hers and she is mine. From this day until the end of my days'," he practiced. "No, that sounds a bit squeamish…"

One of the servants chuckled. "Nervous?" she asked.

Tommen felt embarrassed. "Yeah… I mean, I'm marrying the most beautiful girl in the world, and it's all because my brother arranged it."

"Was it not Lord Tyrell who agreed to the match?"

He nodded again.

Another servant, on the meanwhile, seemed a bit more realistic. "Probably as his way of apologizing for what his son and heir, Loras Tyrell did to His Grace at Blackwater Bay."

"That was three years ago, Laisa. We all know Littlefinger orchestrated the whole thing."

"Who's to say another upstart won't try anything else, Grayce?"

"Because we know how fast His Grace would put 'em back in their place," she replied confidently. "Besides, we need to get the Prince ready for his big day."

Once they pulled away, Tommen looked in the mirror; the fourteen year old looked more like an eager puppy waiting for a treat. In his case, his treat was Margaery. He still hadn't forgotten that night when she snuck into his bedchambers in the middle of the night. At the same time, however, it made Tommen reflect back to Daveth's and Sansa's wedding at the Great Sept of Baelor… and his earlier lectures as well.

ooOoo

Three months ago…

"Tell me, Tommen. Just for the sake of argument, what kind of King would you want to be known as?" he asked.

"A… a good one?"

Daveth nodded. "Well, you've got the right temperament to be one should it ever occur. But what is the most important quality that does make a good King?"

"Holiness?"

"Huh. King Baelor the Blessed was holy and a pious man. He built the Great Sept," he pointed out the window referring to the Great Sept of Baelor, "and named a six-year-old boy High Septon because he thought the boy could work miracles. He ended up fasting himself into an early grave because the fool believed 'food was of this world and this world was sinful.' Holiness, pah! What a joke."

Feeling as if he gave the wrong answer, Tommen guessed again. "Justice?"

Daveth knew his youngest brother was really trying his best; lenient as he wanted to be, even he knew he had to a bit strict with him and only gave a slight nod. "True, a good King must be just. Take Orys the First of House Durrandon for example; when the Stormlands were an independent kingdom, nobles and commoners alike applauded his reform. But even then it didn't last long. He was murdered in his sleep by his own brother after less than a year of ruling. Was that truly just of him to abandon his subjects to an evil he was too gullible to recognize?"

"No."

"What about strength?"

"Hmm. Strength. Our father was strong in his younger days. I mean, look at his greatest achievement: he rebelled against the Mad King and overthrew the Targaryen dynasty, a dynasty which lasted 300 years. He had a superb talent for fighting and had an impressive record on the battlefield." For a while Daveth spoke before shifting his tone to sneering condescension. "And yet he only attended three Small Council meetings throughout his 17 year reign. Three in seventeen years! He spent most of his time whoring, hunting and drinking until the last two killed him."

Tommen gazed at the floor as he listened to his brother.

"Now, we have a man who starves himself to death; a man who lets his own brother murder him; and a man who thinks that winning and ruling are the same thing," he continued. "Which raises the question: now that you're aware of each of these King's flaws, what do they all lack?"

Contemplating his words closely, Tommen thought long and hard and compared each of the past Kings strengths and weaknesses to each other. After a moment, he looked up to his brother again.

"Wisdom," he answered.

"Yes!" Daveth praised.

"Wisdom is what makes a good King."

"Yes. But what is wisdom?"

Tommen felt floored again with being hit with another riddle and being unable to find his answer. Daveth approached his younger brother and placed a hand on his shoulder, causing the Young Cub to look at him at eye-level.

"Do you know why I'm telling you this?" he asked.

He shook his head.

"A wise King knows what he knows and what he doesn't. You're 14, still young. A wise young King listens to his counselors and heeds their advice until he comes of age. And the wisest Kings continue to listen to them long afterwards. If anything were to ever happen to me, it'll be up to you and Myrcella to pick up the pieces. Learn from me; learn from my mistakes so that you yourself don't repeat them."

Tommen felt as if fear coldly gripped his heart and furiously shook his head. "'If anything were to happen…'? No, brother! Don't say that! We still need you!"

Daveth shook his head. "Luck runs out on everyone eventually, Tommen. I can't always be there to hold your hand or protect you. The road ahead of us will be long and treacherous and you need to be ready to face it."

"How? Tell me, brother, what do I do?"

"You're going to have to figure that out for yourself," he admitted. "Even I don't know the answer."

ooOoo

Tommen thought about his brother's words every day since he could learn to walk—taking his lessons to heart; although kind, well-intention and trying hard to learn, Tommen still couldn't muster his heart to ready himself for hard times. But how?

"Prince Tommen?" Grayce asked, slightly concerned.

He shook his head. "It's nothing. I'm… I'm just tired," he replied.

"Should we draw you a bath?" asked Laisa.

"Please."

Once the servants left to draw hot water for a bath, Prince Tommen took a moment to himself—strolling down the main halls of the Red Keep. Throughout each corridor, Tommen passed by several of the royal counselors such as Varys, Grand Maester Pycelle, Randyll Tarly, Mace Tyrell… and his uncle Tyrion Lannister, the new Hand of the King. He couldn't help but possibly overhear the debate taking place.

"I'm telling you, it simply cannot be done until His Grace returns from Dorne," Pycelle suggested.

"The Dornish have been harassing our people in the Reach for centuries," Mace argued. "Who's to say that with the Martell's quick absence from this council they'd make another incursion in times of peace? On the eve my daughter is to be wed?"

"Oberyn has assured us that Dorne has no intention of escalating any further hostilities after concluding the Trial by Seven—one that ended with Ser Gregor Clegane's downfall," Ser Barristan countered.

"A-after he did him in with that—uhh!—horrid manticore venom," the Grand Maester revealed.

"My little birds whispered the strangest things to me," Varys mentioned. "They tell me that during the negotiations there had been a falling out which was soon followed by an assassination attempt on the King's life."

Tommen's eyes widened as he pressed his ear against the door. He gulped; someone just tried to kill Daveth?

"I knew it!" Mace bellowed. "I warned them not to trust the Dornish! Now they tried to pull off a treacherous act?! I mean, look at what they—"

"It wasn't Dorne, my lord," the Master of Whisperers shook his head. "Our spies' reports seem to indicate a renegade Northmen accompanied by his best hunters and several, vicious hounds. They were intent on separating the King from his personal Kingsguard."

"Is His Grace all right?" the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard inquired.

"The Oathkeeper sustained some wounds. Nasty dog bites that tore into his flesh and bloodied him, but I'm told the King not only stood his ground but also held them off long enough for Ser Lucuius and Ser Jaime to arrive with reinforcements. Apparently Prince Doran Martell's son Prince Trystane and Princess Myrcella have been caught in the middle as well."

Tommen clutched his arm tightly when he learned of his older sister being involved in the attempt as well. Relieved as he was that both his brother and sister were safe, it still troubled him that danger still lurked over his family.

"What happened next?" asked Barristan.

"Interesting wrinkle: Prince Doran and King Daveth resumed negotiations before signing a peace treaty. From what we can tell, Dorne has ended its isolationist policy and pledged the Iron Throne its full support once again."

"And thus the Seven Kingdoms are whole again," Randyll noted. "That aside, we have other security matters to deal with before the King and Queen return. I'll oversee the necessary arrangements with the City Watch."

"An admirable recommendation, Lord Tarly," Tyrion noticed, "but I'm afraid the full responsibility lies with the Master of Laws. Ser Barristan, do what you can until a replacement is chosen."

"I've been dealing with military and internal security affairs for more than 40 years! You've no right to reassign my troops."

"I have every right! I am the King's Hand."

Tommen quickly moved away from the Small Council chamber's closed doors and retreated into a further away room. His head was spinning with reports he overheard; the assassination attempt with his brother and sister's safety was the one that hit hard to home. In his haste to get away, Tommen had brushed past Grayce and Laisa – both of whom were equally confused with the Prince's behavior.

Nearing to the furthest door in one of the Red Keep apartments, Tommen turned the doorknob and opened it but stopped as soon as he saw a woman donning in a crimson robe kneeling down, praying in front of a lit brazier. She had a fiery red waist-length hair and her robe tightly hugged her body which displayed her attractive figure. Tommen felt his cheeks blushed slightly as she prayed in front of a red heart-shaped religious idol in a foreign language he did not understand.

"Āeksio, jehikagon aōha ōños ilagon bē īlva. Urnēptre īlva se ñuhoso. (Lord, shine your light down upon us. Show us the way)," she prayed in High Valyrian. "Tepagon īlva daor zoklākogon, yn irughagon īlva hen qringaomio. Āeksiot Ōño, tepagon īlva Sylvia. Kesrio syt bantis zōbrie issa se ossȳngnoti lēdys. (Give us not temptation, but deliver us from evil. Lord of Light, give us wisdom. For the night is dark and full of terrors)."

Tommen tried to back away, trying not to disturb her. She immediately stopped and spoke up without looking at him, obviously aware of his presence.

"Enter, Prince Tommen Baratheon," she said in the Common Tongue.

Tommen froze, realizing he's been noticed by this strange foreigner. Regardless, his mannerisms took over and he cautiously stepped into her room.

"I'm sorry," he apologized. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

Her smile was warm as it was tender, though something about her frightened him. "It is no trouble at all." She stood from the floor and looked at the Prince.

Tommen was at least the same height as the woman. "How… do you know my name?" he asked.

"I know a great many things, young one. How I know is not quite as important as what my presence in this strange country entails, however."

"Who are you?"

"Ah, of course. My manners elude me. I am Vaeraleah, High Priestess of the Red Temple of Asshai, the Flame of Truth, Light of Wisdom and First Servant of the Lord of Light."

"So you're a priestess?" he said curiously.

"The incantation you heard just now gave me away?"

Tommen gave a nervous chuckle and scratched the back of his head. "It's just… You don't seem to look like any priestess I've ever met."

Vaeraleah raised an eyebrow. "According to whom?" she chuckled. "The Silent Sisters? With their stern looks, muzzled mouths and dried up cunts?"

Now the young Prince was starting to feel uncomfortable with Vaeraleah's mannerisms.

"I… I-I don't think that seems appropriate language to use. T-that isn't a religious thing to—"

Vaeraleah cupped Tommen's cheeks, slowly turning his head to examine him. "You share the same family name as him," she examined before releasing him, "but I see you neither have his looks nor the same physique."

The Young Cub massaged his cheeks, feeling as if a kind-hearted grandmother just pinched them. "Who?"

"Daveth Baratheon, the Oathkeeper. You only need eyes to see."

"How do you know my brother?" he quickly demanded, perhaps a bit too apprehensively.

Vaeraleah calmly paced the room, waving a hand over an unlit brazier. In an instant, the hot coals burst into flame. Tommen the intense heat emanating from the burning coals. This had to be some sort of magic, but who would believe it? He watched as she sat down in the nearest chair.

"He doesn't remember me, but I on the other hand was the one who saved him from a terrible fate," she answered truthfully.

"From what?"

"Death."

Tommen again shook his head. "How can that be when none of us here has ever seen you before?"

Vaeraleah interrupted. "It was seventeen years ago; long before you were born. The Greywater Fever epidemic, your lecherous old man calls it." She frowned, almost saddened. "Your late mother was desperate to save your brother's life. Whatever your maester tried, nothing worked. Poor little thing; he was so sick."

"I… didn't know," he said quietly.

"Why would you? You should know how your brother often tends to keep such sensitive matters to himself. The Queen didn't want me in the room alone with her firstborn son. Her love for her children was real than anything that could ever exist in this world. Fear, helplessness… Your mother was desperate, but only I knew of a way to cure him."

"What did you do?"

Vaeraleah motioned a hand to an empty seat, prompting Tommen to sit beside her.

"The methods I had at my disposal, they do not exist in your land. Those who see it dismiss it as magic, witchcraft," she explained. "But it was my connection to the Lord of Light—or R'hllor—as a High Priestess that allowed me to do the impossible. When I was alone with him, your brother was already fighting a losing battle for the right to live. Try as he might, I watched as he slowly went limp and his eyes closed, never to awaken."

'What…? No! No, no that's a lie. My brother's still here,' thought Tommen incredulously, but kept listening.

He watched as an old bird flew in through the window, observing it no longer flapping its wings and flopped onto the table—dead. Vaeraleah noticed this and stretched out her right hand over the dead animal as Tommen looked on.

"Āeksiot Ōño, rȳbagon ñuha brōzagon se gis hen syndrorro jemagon (Lord of Light, heed my call and lead a soul out of darkness)," she incanted in High Valyrian. "Bisy's perzys ēza issare dīnagon hen gō zȳhon jēda. Āeksiot Ōño, stepagon aōha perzys se ōños se qēlītsos istin toil. Hen syndrorro, oños. Hen ñuqir, perzys. Hen morghot, glaeson. (This one's flame has gone out before his time. Lord of Light, share your fire and light the candle once more. From darkness, light. From ashes, fire. From death, life)"

A small light shined brightly from the palm of Vaeraleah's palm. Tommen narrowed his eyes and turned his head slightly, trying to keep the light out of his eyes. It lasted only a brief moment, but to Tommen's great surprise the bird he saw keel over spring back to life, chirping loudly and flew out the window. Unable to comprehend what had just happened, Tommen exchanged glances back and forth from the bird to Vaeraleah.

"H-how… How did you do that?" he stammered.

Vaeraleah smiled. "As I have said, young one, the Lord of Light has a deep connection to his most devout. Overzealous fanatics or any of our faith who strays too far from the true path by abusing the Lord's gift gives us a bad reputation. But it's only a connection with a High Priestess can his power can truly work miracles. In my case, the power of resurrection is exceptionally powerful. My magic can not only bring a deceased person back to life, but restore their health after they've been dead for several months. I knelt beside your brother's body, said the old words… and within moments the Lord answered my prayers. When I saw what future laid in store for your brother, I knew right then and there that he was the one of the Lord's three chosen champions."

Tommen shook. "You mean… you're using my own brother for your own means? For some… twisted religious experiment?"

"It is natural for you to feel this way, Tommen Baratheon, but I assure you that I or the Lord means your brother no harm. Take that for what you will. You'll understand why soon enough."

Feeling unable to understand the reality of what had just happened, Tommen stood from his seat and left the room in a bit of a hurry. He soon took his bath and spent the entire night with lots of questions about what's real or not. The story of his brother's illness before his birth, thinking what Vaeraleah's true purpose for being here is… It's a lot to take in; and Tommen certainly did not want this close to his big day.

'Brother… where are you?' he thought.

Chapter End

Author's Note: Well, the Young Cub Prince Tommen Baratheon shares his first encounter with the red priestess Vaeraleah before his wedding and witnesses her power up close. So now he's ending up with more questions. What do you think Daveth, Sansa, Jaime or any of the royal counselors on the Small Council will react when they hear of this? I imagine Varys will likely confront Vaeraleah about it only to be silenced when she tells him of the story of how he became a eunuch like in Meereen in the HBO TV series. Thoughts? Let me know.

DAVETH BARATHEON

"…It's easy to see the world in black and white, right and wrong. Good and evil. But the truth is the world we live in is more gray than we'd care to admit. When noble heroes stand out in the light, another must operate within the shadows as a counterpoint. Both sides are fundamentally flawed, but by working in unison they fill in the gaps of the other to maintain balance and stability."

Titles: Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, Head of House Baratheon of King's Landing, Ser

Nicknames: The Young Stag, The Black Lion, Oathkeeper, Tywin Lannister's protégé

Date of birth: Autumn of 281 AC

Allegiance: House Baratheon of King's Landing

Place of Origin: King's Landing, the Crownlands

Religion: Faith of the Seven

Greatest Feat: Getting results in days or weeks where it'd take others months or years & uniting the Seven Kingdoms under his banner

Height: 6' 1" (1.85 m)

Eye color: Blue

Hair color: Black

Likes: His younger siblings, strategizing, Jon Arryn's teachings & Sansa Stark

Hates: Joffrey Baratheon, Cersei treating him unfairly and undermining his authority, greedy social climbers & Euron Greyjoy

Strengths: Intelligent, charismatic, determined & long-term strategist/tactician

Weakness: Somewhat impulsive and/or emotional if provoked enough, has a reputation of taking matters into his own hands & can sometimes push himself too hard (depending on the circumstances)

12345678910: Amazing work your doing hope you update again soon love this story so much

―Thanks

DaddyChad: How can Daveth be born to Robert and Cersei in 281AC when Cersei married to Robert after the Rebellion around 283AC?

―A few tidbits from the books are included, but the rest primarily follows the HBO TV series so the timelines are a bit different

GREAT CELESTIAL-DRAGON: Hopefully they won't have to deal with the sparrow problem now verse I is dealt with and my guess on the other two champions, stannis wont be one of them considering how far he would go to achieve his goals.

Moshi: How can he be born in the Year of False Spring which also held the Tourney of Harrenhal and the Targaryens still reigned? The earliest should be late 284, early 285.

―A few tidbits from the books are included, but the rest primarily follows the HBO TV series so the timelines are a bit different

Zurver: This chapter warmth my heart, Tommen really cares for his brother. I'm sure it'll be interesting when he finally meets Daveth and Myrcella again. I suggest you give Tommen his first taste of battle and maybe ruling (could be in another time Daveth absent or even in a war) he needs such experience to be a man.

RHatch89: Awesome update :)

―Thanks

Silent Wolf Singer: Great chapter. I'm kinda scare when the moment comes when Tommen finds out he's Daveth halfbrother. The young stag swore to keep it a secret, but I fear someone is going slip up.

mpowers045: Nice touch with recreating the scene when Tywin teaches Tommen the means of being a king

―Someone had to educate Tommen on what it means to rule

10868letsgo: Great chapter! Love it!

―Thanks

xx. az. xx: Oh I can't wait for too see more scenes with Daveth and his children (especially Cassana bc im a sucker for daddy-daughter moments)

ImGoingForAWalk: Robert was 6'6'' at least. Stannis was around 6'4''. Renly was 6'3''-6'4''. Jaime is around 6'2''-6'3''. Daveth should easily be at least 6'4''. Ariyana Dayne needs to die. Spying on your king as Kingsguard his high treason. That shit doesn't fly in westeros.

―You are correct about their heights in the books, but I'm mostly following the HBO series so I'm using the actual height of actors who portray their characters.

« First « Prev Ch 93 of 180 Next »

Review

Jump:Chapter 1Chapter 2Chapter 3Chapter 4Chapter 5Chapter 6Chapter 7Chapter 8Chapter 9Chapter 10Chapter 11Chapter 12Chapter 13Chapter 14Chapter 15Chapter 16Chapter 17Chapter 18Chapter 19Chapter 20Chapter 21Chapter 22Chapter 23Chapter 24Chapter 25Chapter 26Chapter 27Chapter 28Chapter 29Chapter 30Chapter 31Chapter 32Chapter 33Chapter 34Chapter 35Chapter 36Chapter 37Chapter 38Chapter 39Chapter 40Chapter 41Chapter 42Chapter 43Chapter 44Chapter 45Chapter 46Chapter 47Chapter 48Chapter 49Chapter 50Chapter 51Chapter 52Chapter 53Chapter 54Chapter 55Chapter 56Chapter 57Chapter 58Chapter 59Chapter 60Chapter 61Chapter 62Chapter 63Chapter 64Chapter 65Chapter 66Chapter 67Chapter 68Chapter 69Chapter 70Chapter 71Chapter 72Chapter 73Chapter 74Chapter 75Chapter 76Chapter 77Chapter 78Chapter 79Chapter 80Chapter 81Chapter 82Chapter 83Chapter 84Chapter 85Chapter 86Chapter 87Chapter 88Chapter 89Chapter 90Chapter 91Chapter 92Chapter 93Chapter 94Chapter 95Chapter 96Chapter 97Chapter 98Chapter 99Chapter 100Chapter 101Chapter 102Chapter 103Chapter 104Chapter 105Chapter 106Chapter 107Chapter 108Chapter 109Chapter 110Chapter 111Chapter 112Chapter 113Chapter 114Chapter 115Chapter 116Chapter 117Chapter 118Chapter 119Chapter 120Chapter 121Chapter 122Chapter 123Chapter 124Chapter 125Chapter 126Chapter 127Chapter 128Chapter 129Chapter 130Chapter 131Chapter 132Chapter 133Chapter 134Chapter 135Chapter 136Chapter 137Chapter 138Chapter 139Chapter 140Chapter 141Chapter 142Chapter 143Chapter 144Chapter 145Chapter 146Chapter 147Chapter 148Chapter 149Chapter 150Chapter 151Chapter 152Chapter 153Chapter 154Chapter 155Chapter 156Chapter 157Chapter 158Chapter 159Chapter 160Chapter 161Chapter 162Chapter 163Chapter 164Chapter 165Chapter 166Chapter 167Chapter 168Chapter 169Chapter 170Chapter 171Chapter 172Chapter 173Chapter 174Chapter 175Chapter 176Chapter 177Chapter 178Chapter 179Chapter 180

Share: Email . Facebook . Twitter

Story: Follow FavoriteAuthor: Follow FavoriteContrast: Dark . Light

Font: Small . Medium . Large . XL

Twitter . Help . Sign Up . Cookies . Privacy . Terms of Service

Share: Email . Facebook . Twitter

Story: Follow FavoriteAuthor: Follow FavoriteContrast: Dark . Light

Font: Small . Medium . Large . XL

Twitter . Help . Sign Up . Cookies . Privacy . Terms of Service

Author's Note: "His name was Joffrey Baratheon. He came to us from King's Landing, a Prince of royal blood who brought shame, disgrace and dishonor to his brother's house. And despite being a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, he did not always uphold the value of his oaths lightly. Of all recruits, he will always be remembered for his cruelty and lack of remorse – though none will even remember his name. And now his watch has ended."

Quite an ending scene where one's comeuppance finally catches up with them as Joffrey Baratheon finally meets his end at the hands of Jon Snow, once again demonstrating his cruel streak, had very little remorse at all and found it difficult to differentiate between what was right and wrong; or he simply didn't care about morals.

In the meanwhile, Jon Snow secures the aid of Stannis Baratheon and releases Mance Rayder and Tormund Giantsbane from captivity. As Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jon spares their lives and will continue on his mission to Hardhome to gather the remaining wildlings. Slightly rewritten, but Mance will not be burned at the stake by Melisandre. The stage is set for the confrontation at Hardhome; and you all know what that means?

The Night King is coming!

What are your thoughts on this? Let me know.

DaddyChad: I don't think Daveth will be too happy with Jon after he lets thousands of free folk in who will not follow his rule.

Silent Wolf Singer: Two mad people down, one to go. And his name starts with R

ALPHAomega239: Bye Joffrey. It was nice knowing you. NOT!

RHatch89: That was almost as good as his show death :)

C.E.W: Joffrey is dead, and as usual always turns out a disappointment as the brother of the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and as a brother of the Night's Watch. Every sense in the word a failure and disappointment, Joffrey is. As for the Wildling alliance, surely Mance Rayder's presence might make a difference with getting more of the Free Folk?

—If so, then it would take some smooth convincing.

mpowers045: Good thing Cersei didn't live to hear the word about Joffrey otherwise things would get beyond intense at the capital. I cannot wait for April 14

chase manaena: bye bye joffery cant wait for the next chapter

Hear My Fury: Thank You! Finally! Little bastard got what he deserved! And I love the fact that it was Jon who did it! That was so perfect!