Jaron
Jaron gave Martin a nod and saw the shocked look in Robb's face. “What?”, the man stuttered. “No... No!” He didn't manage to contin… moreue, as Martin's fist hit him in the face. “Fuck!”, Robb exclaimed, as Martin grabbed him at the collar of his shirt, delivering a second blow to his face, followed by a third.
“Okay, Robb. Here's how it's done”, Martin growled. “I'm asking you a few questions and every time I don't like your answer, I'm going to hit you” To prove his point, he punched him in the stomach, causing Robb to let out a pained groan. “Fuck. You”, he stuttered, his face already lightly bruised. Blood was flowing out of his nose and the look on his face was a mixture of pain and fear.
“Wrong fucking answer, Robb, wrong fucking answer”, Martin chuckled, punching him again. “Fuck... Fuck... please no... Jaren, help!”, Robb begged, but Jaron shook his head. “Tell us the truth and I'll stop him”, he answered. Robb's facial expre… [view original content]
Thanks a lot, but somehow that link is broken for me
I guess that's the functioning link here: http://strawpoll.me/4402790/
I'm going to refrain from voting this time since I have a lot of fun writing all of them.
I didn't vote on the Lucas/Leonard poll because I liked both of their backstories, but I voted on the Bear/Rodrik poll and will probably vote on some future polls as well. However, I know what I have planned for Bear and Rodrik and while both of them are dangerous, the one I voted for is going to be the more dangerous by far. For spoiler reasons I'm afraid I can't tell you who it is.
Jaron
Jaron gave Martin a nod and saw the shocked look in Robb's face. “What?”, the man stuttered. “No... No!” He didn't manage to contin… moreue, as Martin's fist hit him in the face. “Fuck!”, Robb exclaimed, as Martin grabbed him at the collar of his shirt, delivering a second blow to his face, followed by a third.
“Okay, Robb. Here's how it's done”, Martin growled. “I'm asking you a few questions and every time I don't like your answer, I'm going to hit you” To prove his point, he punched him in the stomach, causing Robb to let out a pained groan. “Fuck. You”, he stuttered, his face already lightly bruised. Blood was flowing out of his nose and the look on his face was a mixture of pain and fear.
“Wrong fucking answer, Robb, wrong fucking answer”, Martin chuckled, punching him again. “Fuck... Fuck... please no... Jaren, help!”, Robb begged, but Jaron shook his head. “Tell us the truth and I'll stop him”, he answered. Robb's facial expre… [view original content]
Jaron
Jaron gave Martin a nod and saw the shocked look in Robb's face. “What?”, the man stuttered. “No... No!” He didn't manage to contin… moreue, as Martin's fist hit him in the face. “Fuck!”, Robb exclaimed, as Martin grabbed him at the collar of his shirt, delivering a second blow to his face, followed by a third.
“Okay, Robb. Here's how it's done”, Martin growled. “I'm asking you a few questions and every time I don't like your answer, I'm going to hit you” To prove his point, he punched him in the stomach, causing Robb to let out a pained groan. “Fuck. You”, he stuttered, his face already lightly bruised. Blood was flowing out of his nose and the look on his face was a mixture of pain and fear.
“Wrong fucking answer, Robb, wrong fucking answer”, Martin chuckled, punching him again. “Fuck... Fuck... please no... Jaren, help!”, Robb begged, but Jaron shook his head. “Tell us the truth and I'll stop him”, he answered. Robb's facial expre… [view original content]
Jaron
Jaron gave Martin a nod and saw the shocked look in Robb's face. “What?”, the man stuttered. “No... No!” He didn't manage to contin… moreue, as Martin's fist hit him in the face. “Fuck!”, Robb exclaimed, as Martin grabbed him at the collar of his shirt, delivering a second blow to his face, followed by a third.
“Okay, Robb. Here's how it's done”, Martin growled. “I'm asking you a few questions and every time I don't like your answer, I'm going to hit you” To prove his point, he punched him in the stomach, causing Robb to let out a pained groan. “Fuck. You”, he stuttered, his face already lightly bruised. Blood was flowing out of his nose and the look on his face was a mixture of pain and fear.
“Wrong fucking answer, Robb, wrong fucking answer”, Martin chuckled, punching him again. “Fuck... Fuck... please no... Jaren, help!”, Robb begged, but Jaron shook his head. “Tell us the truth and I'll stop him”, he answered. Robb's facial expre… [view original content]
Jaron
Jaron gave Martin a nod and saw the shocked look in Robb's face. “What?”, the man stuttered. “No... No!” He didn't manage to contin… moreue, as Martin's fist hit him in the face. “Fuck!”, Robb exclaimed, as Martin grabbed him at the collar of his shirt, delivering a second blow to his face, followed by a third.
“Okay, Robb. Here's how it's done”, Martin growled. “I'm asking you a few questions and every time I don't like your answer, I'm going to hit you” To prove his point, he punched him in the stomach, causing Robb to let out a pained groan. “Fuck. You”, he stuttered, his face already lightly bruised. Blood was flowing out of his nose and the look on his face was a mixture of pain and fear.
“Wrong fucking answer, Robb, wrong fucking answer”, Martin chuckled, punching him again. “Fuck... Fuck... please no... Jaren, help!”, Robb begged, but Jaron shook his head. “Tell us the truth and I'll stop him”, he answered. Robb's facial expre… [view original content]
That was a close one! Personally I would have punched the everloving shit out of him (regardless of what consequences this might have), but I think showing some restraint might be a bit closer to Jaron's character. However, Robb would have deserved it, let's keep it at that.
Looking through the results of the poll, I see that Harpy got the most votes, while Martin is close with only two votes less. Good to see that both of them are apparently well-liked. Though I'm a bit amazed that Robb managed to get 4 pity votes despite being a massive jackass.
The next part is about 2/3rd written. I would have finished it yesterday, but a massive case of Witcher 3 got in my way. If you're still thinking about buying it or not: Buy it, it might be one of the first games I've ever played that truly live up to their hype! Anyways, the next part will be finished in a few hours. It will be a Drent part, aka more Storm King. Remember how I teased that there will be an unfortunate choice of words that leads to some minor problems? Well, perhaps these problems won't be that minor anymore, at least for someone.
The Voting is closed!
Jaron won't punch Robb
That was a close one! Personally I would have punched the everloving shit out of him (reg… moreardless of what consequences this might have), but I think showing some restraint might be a bit closer to Jaron's character. However, Robb would have deserved it, let's keep it at that.
Looking through the results of the poll, I see that Harpy got the most votes, while Martin is close with only two votes less. Good to see that both of them are apparently well-liked. Though I'm a bit amazed that Robb managed to get 4 pity votes despite being a massive jackass.
The next part is about 2/3rd written. I would have finished it yesterday, but a massive case of Witcher 3 got in my way. If you're still thinking about buying it or not: Buy it, it might be one of the first games I've ever played that truly live up to their hype! Anyways, the next part will be finished in a few hours. It will be a Drent part, … [view original content]
The Voting is closed!
Jaron won't punch Robb
That was a close one! Personally I would have punched the everloving shit out of him (reg… moreardless of what consequences this might have), but I think showing some restraint might be a bit closer to Jaron's character. However, Robb would have deserved it, let's keep it at that.
Looking through the results of the poll, I see that Harpy got the most votes, while Martin is close with only two votes less. Good to see that both of them are apparently well-liked. Though I'm a bit amazed that Robb managed to get 4 pity votes despite being a massive jackass.
The next part is about 2/3rd written. I would have finished it yesterday, but a massive case of Witcher 3 got in my way. If you're still thinking about buying it or not: Buy it, it might be one of the first games I've ever played that truly live up to their hype! Anyways, the next part will be finished in a few hours. It will be a Drent part, … [view original content]
Drent is a soldier in the army of the Storm King, currently stationed in Storm's End. Last time we saw him was also the first time we saw him. He watched the King personally training his recruits (mainly by beating them to near death), got into a small chat with his commanding officer, Jax Montclair, and watched the arrival of a Targaryen ambassador in Storm's End. The choice was either to train with Montclair or to watch a diplomatic meeting between the Storm King and the ambassador. You chose to train with Montclair.
Drent is a soldier in the army of the Storm King, currently stationed in Storm's End. Last time we saw him was also the first time we saw hi… morem. He watched the King personally training his recruits (mainly by beating them to near death), got into a small chat with his commanding officer, Jax Montclair, and watched the arrival of a Targaryen ambassador in Storm's End. The choice was either to train with Montclair or to watch a diplomatic meeting between the Storm King and the ambassador. You chose to train with Montclair.
So, while writing, this part got longer and longer and I wrote faster than ever. Out of 3 pages when I resumed writing today got 10 pages after the last 4 hours. As a result, it is split in two posts again, like the last Lucas part. I had a lot of fun writing this one and looked forward to write it for a long time, so I hope you'll enjoy it!
Drent
“Good one!”, Montclair congratulated him as Drent managed to parry a quick riposte from the Sergeant. Instead of answering, Drent let out a grunt and made a quick strike to his opponent's ribs. Montclair quickly parried with his shield, before starting a counter-attack. “You're fast”, he said, as Drent managed to parry yet another strike. “But you lack raw strength. It's not the most important part when it comes to swordplay, but it's your weakness”
Drent saw Montclair putting all his power into his next strike and got ready to parry with all his strength. Still, the blow was hard enough to knock the sword out of his hands and send him staggering backwards. “Like I said, you lack strength”, the Sergeant said again and striked before Drent was able to pick up his sword. “And in a battle, you would be dead by now”, he shouted. But instead of hitting him, his sword only hit the air as Drent dodged the strike and jumped forward, hitting the Sergeant in the stomach with his head and throwing him on the ground.
As Drent lay on top of him, fixating his arms on the ground, Montclair started to laugh. “But you know a few mean tricks, I give you that”, he said and his smile vanished. “Still, the Storm King does not appreciate of manoeuvres like that. Neither do I” Drent raised from the ground, helping the Sergeant up in the process. “What do you mean?”, he asked, breathing heavily.
“It's not only unchivalrous, it's also dangerous, even in a training session”, Montclair explained and poked Drent with the tip of his training sword. “You know that these swords are dulled, but you could have still impaled yourself on it if I had lowered my sword just a little bit”
Drent frowned as he heard this. He hadn't thought that far, had just seen a way to win the fight despite being disarmed. “I understand”, he answered, picking up his sword. “Another round?”, he asked. Montclair gave him a nod and looked to the sky. “Should be close to supper. One more round, Golton, then we should go inside. Fighting all day is one thing, but missing a meal over it?”, he said and chuckled. “Never”
With these words he started to deliver a rain of blows targeted at Drent's chest. He started with easy strikes, but progressively proved a better challenge. Drent had to admire the Sergeant's skill, but also the patience he showed with his men. But he also noticed that Montclair put too much effort in his strikes, getting out of breath far earlier than Drent. As soon as he saw the Sergeant huffing, trying to catch breath, he took the offensive, striking his opponent's arms. While the shield arm was heavily guarded, Montclair got into problems as he tried to parry the strikes towards his sword arm. “Good...”, he started to say but let out a pained groan as Drent hit his forearm, causing him to drop his sword.
Instead of using the advantage of having a disarmed opponent, Drent paused and grinned at the Sergeant. Montclair gave him a nod, while holding his arm. “That fucking hurt, Golton”, he said with a grin. “But it was a good strike. What you lack in strength, you make more than up for with your speed. You're good with a spear, right?”
Drent gave him a short nod. “I'd even say I'm a bit more than good”, he said with a grin. Montclair shook his head. “And you're arrogant. Still, the spear is a good weapon for you. Keep the enemy at distance, where his strength does not matter”, he advised him. “Anyways, I know why I chose you for that mission”
This got Drent's attention. “This mission...”, he said. “Can you tell me anything more about it?” Montclair shook his head. “Not much. Not here. Lady Tariel only told me the basics. Garen is involved and Ser Emphryus too, as far as I know”
This caused Drent to frown. Ser Emphryus Dresfel was among the Storm King's best knights, sure, but he was also reckless and battle-hungry. What kind of mission needed Ser Emphyrus? And Garen... well, he was a completely different problem. He wasn't a soldier, but a mercenary, a close friend of one of King Argilac's most trusted knights and an even closer friend to Lady Tariel, if the rumours were true. He and Drent weren't exactly friends, to say the least.
“That sounds wonderful”, Drent said with feigned joy and Montclair gave him a stern look. “I know you're not too thrilled about working with Garen. But the Storm King approved of him and I am not in a position to question his choices” His tone got a bit colder. “And neither are you, have you understood?” Drent gave him a nod. “Loud and clear, Sergeant” Montclair's face softened a bit. “Good man. I know you'd understand”, he said and looked towards the huge tower of Storm's End. “Come on now. Enough training for today. It's time to fill our bellies with hot soup and cold ale”
They didn't got very far, as Drent noticed someone walking out of the tower. Most of the soldiers, except the ones on duty, had already left the courtyard, either to join the diplomatic meeting, or to get a good seat for supper, so Drent was slightly surprised to see someone walking out of the Hall. A closer look identified the man as Ser Emphryus Dresfel. He was wearing fine clothing in the yellow and black of House Durrandon, fitting for a knight of his status. Drent noticed that Dresfel still had his sword with him, a fine and ancient weapon, carried by his ancestors for hundreds of years. It was a one-handed, slightly curved blade, a weapon worthy of a true warrior.
He walked straight towards them and Montclair immediately snapped to attention. Drent followed his example a bit slower. Dresfel greeted them with a short nod. “Sergeant Montclair”, he said, ignoring Drent as expected.
“Ser Emphryus! It's an honour”, Montclair answered. “May I help you with anything?” Dresfel looked from him to Drent. “I've heard we're having the honour of going on a mission for the Storm King soon”, he said, his deep voice shivering in anticipation. “At least that's what Schodek told me earlier”
“Ser Baron is involved too?”, Montclair asked and Drent suppressed a sigh. Ser Baron Schodek was pretty much an older version of Ser Emphryus, a childhood friend of King Argilac and a fearsome warrior in his own right. What kind of mission needed two hot-headed and battle-hungry warriors? Three, he corrected himself, there was still Garen. He couldn't lie, he wasn't looking forward for that mission.
To his relief, Dresfel shook his head. “Only in the planning stages. There is some trouble on our northern border and King Argilac sends him to negotiate. Apparently, there are hostilities between Lord Rosby and Lord Stokeworth over some territorial mess. Lord Darklyn declared his support for Rosby in that matter, even though he and Stokeworth are both sworn to Harren Hoare”, he said with a grin. “If things get bad, we'll have a nice little war against Harren the Black”
Drent and Montclair exchanged a short look. “But I thought we prepared for invading the Vale”, Drent said after a while. Dresfel started to laugh. “Arryn, Hoare, Gardener, Martell... We could take all of them at once without breaking a sweat. King Argilac knows that and without a doubt, Harren Hoare knows it too”
“So we're going to war?”, Drent asked. Dresfel shook his head. “Not if Schodek is successful in negotiating. Rosbys and Stokeworths are stubborn petty lords and I've never trusted a fucking Darklyn, so perhaps there's still a chance for war”, he answered. “But sadly, I wouldn't count on it. Seems like the Dornish Marches are all I'll ever get for excitement in my career” As he looked at Montclair, his face got an envious look on it. “You've fought against the Reach, right?”, he asked with a slight grin. Montclair gave him a nod. “As a young recruit”, he answered. “Standing knee-deep in blood and mud at the battle of Blackhaven isn't exactly my definition of glory”
This caused Dresfel to laugh. “It sounds lovely”, he chuckled. “Anyway, I'm not just here to do some smalltalk with common soldiers. The king wants to keep you close, now that you've been assigned to his special mission. You'll be part of the guard, stationed directly at his table tonight”
Drent's face dropped as he heard that and his stomach rumbled a little bit. Dresfel noticed his look and shook his head. “No complaining, soldiers, I'm not in the mood for that. You'll get to eat some of the leftovers later”
Before Drent could answer, Montclair cut him off. “No complaining intended, Ser!”, he said. “We were just on our way to the Great Hall” Dresfel gave them a satisfied nod. “Good to hear”, he answered. “I'll bring you to the Hall. Follow me!”
With these words, Ser Emphryus turned around and started to march towards the tower. Drent and Montclair exchanged a look, shrugged almost simultaneously and followed him. Drent had no doubts that Montclair was similarly hungry, but the Sergeant was too dutiful to complain about that.
The Great Hall of Storm's End claimed most of the towers second and third floor. It was a huge, round room, the walls at least twelve feet high, with balconies built in a height of eight feet for spoilt noblemen who refused to sit down with the smallfolk and the soldiers of Storm's End. The Storm King was sitting down there, albeit his honour table was built on a small pedestal to make it stick out of the mass of tables that surrounded it. Some of his ancestors had preferred to eat in one of the balconies, but Argilac Durrandon was different. He valued his soldiers more than he valued some of his noblemen. Noblemen that were especially eager to please their king took the hint and started to eat downstairs with the commoners, albeit they looked horribly out of place.
Lead by Ser Emphryus, Drent and Montclair passed the tables of the morbidly obese Lord Morrigen and the visibly disgusted Lord Tarth before reaching the honour table. A second, smaller table was built in front of it, meant for the entourage of honoured guests that visited Storm's End. Right now, four men sat around this smaller table, all of them clad in the black and red of House Targaryen, all of them sporting shoulder-long silver-blond hair and delicate, almost feminine facial features. Their leader, a thin, somewhat lanky man in his mid thirties, was positioned at the honour table, his silver-blond hair cut shorter than that of his men. He was sporting a short beard, albeit Drent found the sight of this silver beard ridiculous. Those of valyrian blood weren't known to look especially manly and a beard didn't help with it. Still, the ambassador had a calm, honest look in his purple eyes. He was seated right between King Argilac and Princess Argella, an exceptional honour reserved for the most revered of guests. Besides him, only king and princess sat on the table, most of the seats reserved for King Argilac's advisors were empty.
King Argilac wasn't wearing his armour anymore, instead he was wearing a black tunic, fabricated out of myrish silk. His massive crown was still resting on his head, the look on his gaunt face was a bit darker than usual, albeit his bushy, black beard made it hard for Drent to read the Storm King's expression. His daughter Argella was looking the complete opposite of her father. Radiant, with a charming smile and a breathtaking body underneath her thin blue dress, made the Storm Princess an object of desire in the eyes of many men inside of this hall. However, no man would be foolish enough to give in to his desires. Argella's sharp tongue was arguably even worse than her father's fury, but both of them combined were enough to scare any potential suitor. Right now, Argella had a smile on her face, as cold as a winter sun. The ambassador didn't seem to notice it, since he visibly enjoyed her company, talking, laughing, having a great time.
Dresfel pointed at a spot behind the honour table, where a large door frame lead towards a staircase, that lead towards the Storm King's war chambers. “You'll stand there, left and right of the door frame. Nobody would attack the Storm King at supper, so it's mainly representing, but everyone in this hall will see you, so make sure you look attentive. No moaning, no yawning, don't pick your nose or your ears, don't even dare to relax, understood?”
“Yes Ser!”, Montclair exclaimed, albeit he kept his voice down in the presence of the Storm King. Dresfel gave him a nod. “Good. Do your job well and you'll get the leftovers from the kings table”, he explained and took a seat at the honour table, to King Argilac's right. Seeing only four people at the honour table was an odd sight, usually there were twelve or more lords and advisers sitting there. Drent and Montclair quickly took position to the sides of the door frame, having a perfect sight on the honour table from their position. The two soldiers quickly exchanged a short grin. Usually, they weren't that close to the Storm King.
“Soldiers! My friends!”, the Storm King exclaimed with his thundering voice and raised from his chair. “Today is a very special day, because we have honoured guests with us!” He pointed at the smiling ambassador next to him. “Ambassador Corilyan Celtigar and his noble entourage have decided to pay us a visit, in the name of Lord Aegon Targaryen! Greet them appropriately!”
As he said these words, the soldiers started to clap their hands, their combined noise was deafening and boomed through the hall. Ambassador Celtigar was grinning like an imbecile and raised from his chair to give the soldiers a short bow, before sitting down again. “Thank you, your grace, for the hospitality you give me and my men. I am honoured”, he said with a mellifluous, well-educated voice. Drent noticed the dangerous look in Durrandon's eyes and had to gulp, but Celtigar seemed to be oblivious to it. “Are you honoured?”, the Storm King said and his smile looked forced. “Well, I assume you know our customs, don't you? Bread and Salt?”
Celtigar gave him a nod. “Yes, your grace. Ancient tradition is important, albeit I have to admit that House Celtigar never followed them”, he explained. “Well, but House Durrandon does. Nobody shall say that I would ever mistreat someone who ate my bread and salt”, the king answered and raised his hand. “Go to the kitchen. Fetch bread and salt for Ambassador Celtigar and his entourage!”
Two servants left the hall with quick steps and Drent saw the Storm King's smile vanishing. He and Montclair exchanged another look and Drent saw anticipation and surprise in the sergeant's eyes. Something was not right. Something was about to happen.
“Well, I believe in a simple principle when dealing with my men, ambassador”, Durrandon said. “Everything we two discussed earlier should be made public, to avoid rumours” Celtigar gave him a nod. “A noble principle, your grace”, he agreed. The Storm King pointed at the princess “My daughter, Princess Argella”, he introduced her. “Perhaps you want to tell her what we just discussed” His voice got a bit lower, but again, Celtigar seemed to be completely oblivious. He smiled at the princess with charming, pearly-white teeth.
“It is an honour, princess. May I remark that you surpass the tales of your beauty and grace?”, he said and kissed her outstretched hand. Argella's smile was ice-cold as she bowed her head. “The pleasure is all mine, ambassador”, she said and exchanged a look with her father. “What is it you and my father discussed?”
Celtigar cleared his throat before he answered. “Well, as you know, Lord Aegon is interested in a military alliance between Dragonstone and the Stormlands. Your father offered your hand in marriage to Lord Aegon”, he explained and Argella's smile seemed now visibly forced. “A noble offer, when a father sells his only child and heiress for three dragons”, she remarked. “I can hardly contain my excitement” This caused Emphryus Dresfel to chuckle, while the Storm King and his daughter exchanged a quick smirk. Drent sighed. The princess' behaviour reminded him of a cat that was playing with a mouse. A completely and horribly oblivious mouse.
Celtigar gave her a confused look before continuing with his tale, completely oblivious to the danger he was possibly in. Drent shook his head in disbelief. This oaf should get the hell out of there instead of chatting casually with two gathering storms. “Sadly, Lord Aegon has to refuse the offer. He already has two wives he loves dearly and can't bear the thought of favouring one of them. Three wives would make it impossible not to favour someone”, he explained and Argella narrowed her eyes.
“So, is he refusing my hand because he fears that I might replace his feeling for Lady Rhaenys or Lady Visenya?”, she asked. “Or is he refusing my hand because I am not related to him?” Her voice sent shivers down Drent's spine. “Perhaps my chances with the Dragonlord would be better if I was his sister?”
Celtigar shook his head in confusion. “I'm afraid I don't understand, my princess...”, he mumbled and Argella shot him a vicious glare. “Oh, I'm afraid you understand perfectly, ambassador. I think Lord Aegon is afraid that he couldn't handle me”, she hissed and caused roaring laughter from the surrounding soldiers, her father laughing the loudest. “One night with me and he would never touch his sisters again” This caused the laughter to intensify and Drent had to join in. Argella gave the ambassador a sly smirk. “A feat, as I must say, that most men manage to achieve without spending a night with me”
Celtigar shook his head. “It's love, my princess, that influenced his decision. Surely, even the thought of your legendary beauty would be enough to give Lord Aegon weak knees. But out of love for his wives, he has to decline your fathers noble offer. He wants to stay faithful to Lady Visenya and Lady Rhaenys”, he explained and his statement caused the Storm Princess to laugh brightly, but without any joy. “Do you know how I call a man who speaks of fidelity while bedding both of his sisters at the same time?”, she asked. Celtigar opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Argella cut him off. “A hypocrite, Ambassador Celtigar, a hypocrite”
As she said this, the look in her deep blue eyes got a bit more curious. “Or is it true what they say? That he shuns Visenya and only sleeps with Rhaenys?”, she asked with feigned innocence in her voice. Celtigar viciously shook his head. “My princess, I'm afraid you are insulting my liege lord”, he protested and Argella's face got stone-cold and deadly serious. “Good”, she answered. “As it was intended. Here in Storm's End, we believe in justice. An insult for an insult. Luckily, simply refusing my fathers offer is only a minor insult, whatever depraved reasons Lord Aegon might have”
She and her father exchanged another look, just as Drent and Montclair did the same. Drent shook his head and formed the word 'Fool' with his mouth, while Montclair returned the look with a stony face.
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call them. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could have come from the Storm King himself. It was almost frightening for Drent how much Argella resembled her father and how different she was at the same time.
The people in the crowd raised their jugs, shouted their congratulations and took a deep gulp, while the face of the man who spoke got bright red, with pride and embarrassment. Ambassador Celtigar's face got slightly red too, albeit only out of embarrassment. He seemed to be one of those men who were unable to get angry, no matter how much their liege lord got mocked.
“My princess, have you just implied that a stable master's son would be as good as Lord Aegon when it comes to marrying you?”, he asked. Argella shook her head, causing the ambassador to sigh in relief. “Of course not, dear ambassador. I'm afraid that was a misunderstanding”
Celtigar smiled at her, his smile giving his lack of intelligence away immediately. Drent always hated pearly-white smiles, at least when it came to men. Nobleborn women, like the Storm Princess, took pride in teeth like that, but a man with a womanish smile like that was hardly a man at all. King Argilac had a light brown smile, several of his teeth were missing. In Drent's eyes it only added to his masculinity. Celtigar on the other hand... Drent was almost willing to bet that he was secretly a woman, if it weren't for his pleasant, deep voice.
“Ah, good, because I had the impression...”, he started to mumble, as Argella cut him off again. “I simply implied that the stablemaster's son would have been a better choice than a depraved, sister-fucking hypocrite, dear ambassador”, she answered and gave him a sweet smile. “With all due respect of course”
Drent noticed that Argella had almost managed to reach the point where the Ambassador got seriously angry. He also noticed that the servants that were ordered to bring bread and salt should have been back by now. Something was not right. Argilac Durrandon planned something. He wasn't the most cunning king of Westeros and Drent wasn't afraid to admit that. But whenever he planned something, it was something truly terrific.
“Excuse me, my princess, but I have to protest against your continuing mockery of my liege lord!”, he exclaimed and the king put a hand on his shoulder, causing the ambassador's face to drop and his skin to go pale. “I agree with you, ambassador. Argella, this is enough”, he said. His voice sounded deep and serious, but Celtigar wasn't able to see his face, that showed nothing but cruel amusement. “But the poor ambassador has something else to proclaim. Something we talked about. I'm sure you're going to be interested in this, daughter” He looked at the crowd. “You're all going to be interested in that”, he shouted. “And that's an order!” This caused laughter among his men, albeit Drent was only half sure that it was intended as a joke.
Celtigar seemed to regain his composure. “Of course, your grace”, he said with a sigh. “My apologies if it seemed as if I was about to loose my nerves. Your daughter has a blessed tongue” “You mean 'cursed'”, Argilac answered and laughed. “Try to raise a girl like her for twenty years and you know what true suffering is” He sighed. “But a father is a father. How can I be angry at my radiant daughter?” His gaze, still unseen for the ambassador, hardened considerably. “And how can I let any insult to her go unpunished?”
Once again, the ambassador proved his stupidity by ignoring this last statement. “I understand, your grace. I'm sure your daughter meant no insult”, he said and Argella quickly shook her head. “But you are right of course. There is a reason why I took the long road to Storm's End personally. In his wisdom, Lord Aegon made a counteroffer” Princess Argella leant forward, putting the ambassador off his stride as she revealed the low neckline of her blue dress.
“A... counteroffer”, he said again, while the Storm Princess looked at him with her big blue eyes and a slight, but almost genuine smile. He cleared his throat. “I mean, while he is sadly unable to accept your father's noble offer for the reasons we just discussed, he is still interested in a close alliance with the Stormlands. For these reasons, he would like to offer you the hand of his close friend and general of his armies, Orys Baratheon”
Argella's smile vanished again, replaced by a look that promised nothing good. “Orys Baratheon”, she said toneless. “Orys. Baratheon” Ambassador Celtigar gave her a quick nod. “Indeed. General Orys is a renowned warrior. He fought gloriously in the war against Volantis and gained honour when he broke the siege of Lys. He fought side by side with your father during this war, as I must add”
King and Princess looked at each other, Argilac slightly shaking his head. Drent had no doubt that Celtigar's men noticed it, but none of them had enough bravery to intervene. “He is a bastard”, Argella hissed. “He offers me a bastard...” Celtigar shook his head. “A general”, he urged her. “His most trusted friend”
“A BASTARD!”, Argella shouted, making the ambassador flinch with her suddenly loud voice. “I am the Storm Princess, I will be the Storm Queen after my father's death! And your Dragonlord has the nerve to offer me a bastard? How can he dare?”
Celtigar gave her a confused look. “I'm sure he meant no offence, my princess. Lord Aegon is from the blood of Old Valyria. In his opinion, you take this bastardy thing a bit too seriously. General Orys is of noble blood and a good and honourable man”
The princess shook her head, her black locks moving like water. “So, it's either a Degenerate who prefers his own sisters over me or a Bastard”, she hissed and gave her father a smile. “Oh father, my father, what wonderful suitors you have found for me”, she chirped.
Argilac gave his daughter a short nod. “I was as baffled as you were, sweet daughter”, he said. “Perhaps even more. Because I never thought Lord Aegon could be that impudent” He smirked and Argella showed her own cruel smirk in return. “It's the dragons, dear father. As soon as a man has access to flying lizards, he thinks the whole world belongs to him. He thinks he can marry his own sisters, thinks he can marry a princess from the blood of gods to a bastard, when the highest of lords would be barely enough. He thinks he can send an ambassador into my father's hall, to insult me, to insult House Durrandon”
Again, Celtigar shook his head and Drent assumed that he started to realize the danger he got himself into. “It was never meant as an insult, my princess. I beg your forgiveness. I have only repeated Lord Aegon's offer”, he stuttered. Argella's smirk vanished. “Right here, right now, there is no insult that could be worse, Ambassador”, she hissed.
The Storm King patted the ambassador on the back, almost causing him to jump from his chair. Apparently his survival instincts finally started to kick in. “I'm sorry for the way this discussion went, ambassador. I think we should let it rest and just change the topic, what do you think?”, the king growled. Celtigar gave him a hasty nod. “Yes. Y... yes, I agree. This got a bit out of hand and a change of topic will be for the best. Do you have something in mind, your grace?”
Durrandon gave him a short laugh. “Swords”, he answered. “Swords, your grace?”, Celtigar asked surprised. Drent had to close his eyes for a moment. This won't end well. There were many bad things to say about Argilac Durrandon, none of them worked in favour of the ambassador. He was irritable, hot-tempered, prideful. There were a lot of good things to say about him as well. He was fair to his men, knew half of Storm's Ends servants by name, cared for them. But his best and worst quality at the same time was that he loved his daughter more than anything else in this world. He wouldn't let that insult go unpunished, regardless of how many dragons Aegon Targaryen had.
“Swords, ambassador. You know them, right? Fascinating things. Sharp, deadly, elegant. I prefer the raw strength of a warhammer, but nonetheless I admire swordplay. Are you a fighter?”, Durrandon asked. Celtigar gave him a proud nod. “Indeed, your grace. I'm not as good as my cousin Gordar, but I clashed swords with Eryas Velaryon and Lord Aegon himself in the tourney at Claw Isle. During the war against the Volantene hegemony, I personally slew one of their commanders in the battle at the fields of Myr”, he explained, his voice booming with pride.
Durrandon gave him a nod and turned to Ser Emphryus next to him. “Emphryus here has a fascinating sword. Would you mind taking a look on it, ambassador?”, he asked. Drent sighed again. The ambassador was a dead man, he just failed to realize it. “Of course, your grace!”, he exclaimed. “It will be my honour” It will be his death...
At the Storm kings command, Emphryus drew his sword, laying it into his kings hands. “It's not Valyrian Steel, not comparable to the swords of Lord Aegon or Lady Visenya, but it has been in my family for centuries”, Dresfel explained. “It is called 'The Dessel'”
“The Dessel, I see”, the ambassador said and Durrandon moved the blade, holding it only a few inches away from Celtigar's face. Drent saw a drop of sweat running down the ambassadors temple. “A fine blade, but I have to ask... Is that dried blood on it?”
“It is”, Dresfel said not without pride. “The blood of lords and kings, of dead houses, the essence of war itself. No Dresfel would ever wield another weapon. The only one I'm willing to hand it to is my king. Everyone else who tries to take it is a dead man”
The drop of sweat reached Celtigar's chin and dropped to the floor. Durrandon growled slightly. “I... I am... haven't you sent for bread and salt about half an hour ago, your grace?”, the ambassador asked nervously, his voice slightly cracking. Durrandon gave him a nod. “I thought you Valyrians don't give much about our customs, Ambassador Celtigar”, he growled. “Anyway, let's talk again about Lord Aegon's offer”
“Your grace... I... Please... I...”, Celtigar stuttered, shivering in fear, looking at the blade right in front of him. “You may not notice it, but what he did is a serious offence. My daughter, my only child and heiress, my wonderful daughter...”, the king growled and exchanged a tender look with Argella. “Insulted, almost disgraced, by being offered a bastard...”
“Your grace, please, this is a misunderstanding...”, Celtigar pleaded. “Mercy! I am only a messenger” Durrandon's cruel look vanished, replaced by an understanding one. “I know, Ambassador. I bear you no ill will. So, Lord Aegon asked for my daughter's hands in marriage, those were your words, right?” Celtigar gave him a nod. “Yes, your grace, his words. I'm sorry if I have offended you”
Durrandon narrowed his eyes. “Don't be sorry, ambassador. I only intend to send Lord Aegon a simple answer to his offer”, he said and Drent saw that the Ambassador made the foolish mistake of relaxing. “And that answer is 'No'”, the Storm King whispered. And in a swift movement, almost too quick for Drent to even realize it, he moved the sword downwards, ramming it deep into the table.
For a moment, Ambassador Celtigar was silent, looking at the Storm King in complete and utter shock. Then he raised his arms, revealing bloody stumps where Argilac Durrandon had severed both of his hands slightly above the wrist. And then he started to scream, blood-curling screams of agony as he helplessly watched the place where his hands used to be seconds ago.
“Let this be a...”, Durrandon started to shout, but the panicked screams of the ambassador managed to drown even his voice. “Let this...”, he tried again, but made a frustrated face as he noticed that he was barely audible. The ambassador's entourage looked in complete shock, while the soldiers had amused looks on their faces. The Storm Princess had a cruel smirk on her face, looking pleased, amused, genuinely happy.
“ONE MORE THING”, the Storm King screamed at the top of his lungs, smashing the hilt of his sword into Celtigar's face. The Ambassador fell forwards onto the table, into the pools of blood that flew out of his wrists, knocked unconscious with a single blow. “When the Storm King speaks”, Durrandon growled “Lesser men are silent!”
He started to walk around the table, towards the Valyrians, who raised form their chairs, trying to get away from the king. Argilac casually wielded the sword, as if he was simply approaching them as a friend. “Let this be a lesson!”, he shouted, his voice now carried all over the hall. “Any man who dares to even think about insulting my daughter won't be a man anymore. The fate of the Ambassador shall be an example of my fury!” Storm King and Storm Princess exchanged a soft look and Argella seemed to be genuinely moved by her father's actions.
The King looked up, eyeing some poor servants, albeit there was no maliciousness in his eyes as he looked at them. “And now fetch me the bloody Maester, we have a wounded man here! I don't want him to bleed to death, I want him to live. He will be my answer to Lord Aegon”, he growled, pointing his sword at the Valyrians. “Who is Celtigar's second-in-command?”, he asked. No one answered him and Durrandon walked closer. “I said... WHO LEADS YOU, YOU FUCKING PIGS?”
The Valyrians flinched and shivered, tears running down their faces, but finally one of them raised his hand, albeit only slightly, as if he was afraid to loose it. “I... I lead them. My name is...”, he said, but was cut off by Argilac. “I don't care for your name”, he said and grabbed him at the collar of his shirt. “I will tell you what to do...”, he said and looked towards the doors that lead to the kitchen. A smile appeared on his face. “Fucking FINALLY!”, he shouted. “Bread and Salt, as I promised”
The two servants reappeared, in their hands a bowl of bread and a bowl of salt. Without putting away the sword, Argilac Durrandon grabbed a small loaf of bread, dipped it into the salt and took a bite out of it, while drops of blood fell from the blade onto the floor. “First order: Eat my bread and salt. Nobody shall say that I harm a man who ate my bread and salt” He pointed at the unconscious ambassador. “He wasn't my guest. He spat on our traditions and even worse, he insulted my daughter. But you are a smart man, aren't you?”
The leader of the Valyrians gave him a shaky nod, grabbed a loaf of bread, dipped it into the salt and ate it in one bite. Durrandon's voice was lower now, sounding like a distant thunder. “Good. Very good. Now you are my guests and no harm shall be done to you under my roof”, he growled.
“The fate of the ambassador is unfortunate, but I think you all learned a thing today, about respect and how far a father will go to protect the honour of his daughter. My Maester will patch your ambassador up. He's not the best Maester, but he is good enough. I think he might lives. As soon as he wakes up, send him my condolences for his loss and my congratulations for the learned lesson” These words caused laughter among the soldiers and Drent caught Sergeant Montclair chuckling. Princess Argella threw her head back and laughed brightly.
“As soon as my Maester is finished patching him up, you will leave Storm's End and you will never return. Take the Ambassador with you and even more important, take all of him with you”, King Argilac proclaimed. “Tell Lord Aegon, these will be the only hands he will receive from me”
The Valyrian was quick to give him a nod, almost too quick, as tears of fear ran down his face. Durrandon took a deep breath. “I think you pissed yourself”, he said with a chuckle, causing another outburst of laughter from his man. “But luckily, I don't see a bit of piss on my floor as an insult” He smiled, almost genuinely this time, as the leader of the Valyrians went pale and took a step back. “I am sorry, your grace. Please, accept my apology!”, he stuttered and Drent saw a dark, wet spot in his trousers.
“Ah, Seven Hells, do you have to apologize for everything? Relax a bit, you are my guest now. Are you afraid I could use this sword against you?”, Durrandon asked. The Valyrian shook his head after a while, unsure what he should answer. “No... No, I think you honour the guest right. You said you won't harm me and you are a man of your word”, he said meekly. Durrandon patted him on the shoulder, causing him to flinch. “Now, that is a smart little Valyrian. Why aren't you the ambassador?”
He turned to Dresfel again, putting the bloody sword on the table in front of him. “Thank you, my friend, for lending me your weapon. It is a fine sword, take good care of it”, he said. Dresfel gave him a nod. “You honour me, your grace. I believe, the Dessel never tasted valyrian blood before”, he answered with pride in his voice.
“Well there's always a first time”, Durrandon proclaimed and looked at his daughter, who had raised from her chair. “Dear father, now that the Valyrians are our guests, why don't we give them exactly the hospitality they deserve? I think we have a few relatives of them here at Storm's End!”, she proclaimed. The Storm King's face showed a bright smile as he apparently understood what his daughter meant.
“The pigs in the pens of Storm's End don't have this ridiculous silver hair of the pigs you lie with on Dragonstone”, Argella said with a mocking smile as she looked at the Valyrians. “But I'm sure you'll get along just fine. While you wait for the Maester to save the poor ambassador's life, I'm sure you'll find their presence entertaining” She looked at her father. “After all, no one should say that the Durrandon's are bad hosts”
Argilac laughed as he heard this, but his laugh soon stopped as he looked at the still bleeding and unconscious ambassador. “My daughter is right. The pigpens for you, mylords!”, he shouted. “But I have one question, a very important question and I demand an answer now! I ask you, WHERE IS THE FUCKING MAESTER?”
He looked towards Drent and Montclair. For a moment, Drent was afraid to see maliciousness in the king's eyes, but instead he saw the same look his father often gave him, stern, but caring. “You two! One of you shall fetch the bloody maester, to save this poor idiots life. The other one shall escort the Valyrians to their guest rooms in the pigpen. I don't care who of you wants to do what, but I don't want to wait!”
Montclair gave Drent an alarmed look and took a step towards him. “He's right, you know? I don't think the king wants to wait in his current temper. So, you get to choose, Golton. I really don't care what I should do, I'll leave it up to you”, he said.
[Search for the Maester][Escort the Valyrian's to the pigpen]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
While I haven't thought about Corilyan's closer family tree in greater detail, I have imagined him as another nephew of Crispian Celtigar, the son of one of his brothers. Despite his temper, the Storm King would have never mutilated the son of one of Aegon's most powerful bannermen, but he thinks that he might get away with taking his anger out on a less important nephew.
[Escort the Valyrian's to the pigpen] This was great!
And Gordar mentioned yahoo XD So, Corilyan said Gordar is his cousin so is he son of lord Crispian Celtigar?
OK, good to know. Because that was actually what I was thinking, seemed pretty hardcore to mutilate a son of a lord as high as Celtigar... Well, not that it still isn't hardcore
While I haven't thought about Corilyan's closer family tree in greater detail, I have imagined him as another nephew of Crispian Celtigar, t… morehe son of one of his brothers. Despite his temper, the Storm King would have never mutilated the son of one of Aegon's most powerful bannermen, but he thinks that he might get away with taking his anger out on a less important nephew.
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
The Voting is closed!
Jaron won't punch Robb
That was a close one! Personally I would have punched the everloving shit out of him (reg… moreardless of what consequences this might have), but I think showing some restraint might be a bit closer to Jaron's character. However, Robb would have deserved it, let's keep it at that.
Looking through the results of the poll, I see that Harpy got the most votes, while Martin is close with only two votes less. Good to see that both of them are apparently well-liked. Though I'm a bit amazed that Robb managed to get 4 pity votes despite being a massive jackass.
The next part is about 2/3rd written. I would have finished it yesterday, but a massive case of Witcher 3 got in my way. If you're still thinking about buying it or not: Buy it, it might be one of the first games I've ever played that truly live up to their hype! Anyways, the next part will be finished in a few hours. It will be a Drent part, … [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
[Escort the Valyrians to the pigpen] Princess Argella make me 'shiver', I want to know more about she, also this line "... insulting my daughter won't be a man anymore." should he cutting the ambassador 'balls' instead of arms?!
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
[Search for the Maester] Don't want Jax to get in trouble for when we find the maester dead or something. I'm loving Drent so far and more so The Storm King. Hopefully we get another POV in Storm's End like a serving girl or even the princess herself.
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call the… morem. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could hav… [view original content]
Comments
[Punch him] Jaron better fulfill his threats. Gotta say Jaron isn't one of my favorite POVs but good none the less.
[Let go of him]
Restraint is the better part of valor
strawpoll.me/4402790
Here's da poll, concerning Marty, Harpy, and Robby: Who's the best?
Thanks a lot, but somehow that link is broken for me
I guess that's the functioning link here: http://strawpoll.me/4402790/
I'm going to refrain from voting this time since I have a lot of fun writing all of them.
So you voted on the other two? Please tell.
I didn't vote on the Lucas/Leonard poll because I liked both of their backstories, but I voted on the Bear/Rodrik poll and will probably vote on some future polls as well. However, I know what I have planned for Bear and Rodrik and while both of them are dangerous, the one I voted for is going to be the more dangerous by far. For spoiler reasons I'm afraid I can't tell you who it is.
[let go of him]
[Let go of him]
He's already beaten, best not to piss him off even more, no matter how much of an asshole he is.
Why nu 1 vute 4 Rubb? He Gud guy.
[Punch him]
Because he begged Jaron for mercy earlier.
[Let go of him]
[Punch him]
Fuck you, Robb.
I HAVE RETURNED MUHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHHAHAH... sorry
Caught up with everything and must say that I love everything so far, but since I don't like Robb's attitude I opt for [Punch him]
The Voting is closed!
Jaron won't punch Robb
That was a close one! Personally I would have punched the everloving shit out of him (regardless of what consequences this might have), but I think showing some restraint might be a bit closer to Jaron's character. However, Robb would have deserved it, let's keep it at that.
Looking through the results of the poll, I see that Harpy got the most votes, while Martin is close with only two votes less. Good to see that both of them are apparently well-liked. Though I'm a bit amazed that Robb managed to get 4 pity votes despite being a massive jackass.
The next part is about 2/3rd written. I would have finished it yesterday, but a massive case of Witcher 3 got in my way. If you're still thinking about buying it or not: Buy it, it might be one of the first games I've ever played that truly live up to their hype! Anyways, the next part will be finished in a few hours. It will be a Drent part, aka more Storm King. Remember how I teased that there will be an unfortunate choice of words that leads to some minor problems? Well, perhaps these problems won't be that minor anymore, at least for someone.
Yes, inhale Polish games Sebastian
I don't seem to remember Drent could you refresh my memory and tell me what choice was picked last we saw him?
Drent was the guy at the Storm King's castle
Drent is a soldier in the army of the Storm King, currently stationed in Storm's End. Last time we saw him was also the first time we saw him. He watched the King personally training his recruits (mainly by beating them to near death), got into a small chat with his commanding officer, Jax Montclair, and watched the arrival of a Targaryen ambassador in Storm's End. The choice was either to train with Montclair or to watch a diplomatic meeting between the Storm King and the ambassador. You chose to train with Montclair.
I remember now thanks for that.
So, while writing, this part got longer and longer and I wrote faster than ever. Out of 3 pages when I resumed writing today got 10 pages after the last 4 hours. As a result, it is split in two posts again, like the last Lucas part. I had a lot of fun writing this one and looked forward to write it for a long time, so I hope you'll enjoy it!
Drent
“Good one!”, Montclair congratulated him as Drent managed to parry a quick riposte from the Sergeant. Instead of answering, Drent let out a grunt and made a quick strike to his opponent's ribs. Montclair quickly parried with his shield, before starting a counter-attack. “You're fast”, he said, as Drent managed to parry yet another strike. “But you lack raw strength. It's not the most important part when it comes to swordplay, but it's your weakness”
Drent saw Montclair putting all his power into his next strike and got ready to parry with all his strength. Still, the blow was hard enough to knock the sword out of his hands and send him staggering backwards. “Like I said, you lack strength”, the Sergeant said again and striked before Drent was able to pick up his sword. “And in a battle, you would be dead by now”, he shouted. But instead of hitting him, his sword only hit the air as Drent dodged the strike and jumped forward, hitting the Sergeant in the stomach with his head and throwing him on the ground.
As Drent lay on top of him, fixating his arms on the ground, Montclair started to laugh. “But you know a few mean tricks, I give you that”, he said and his smile vanished. “Still, the Storm King does not appreciate of manoeuvres like that. Neither do I” Drent raised from the ground, helping the Sergeant up in the process. “What do you mean?”, he asked, breathing heavily.
“It's not only unchivalrous, it's also dangerous, even in a training session”, Montclair explained and poked Drent with the tip of his training sword. “You know that these swords are dulled, but you could have still impaled yourself on it if I had lowered my sword just a little bit”
Drent frowned as he heard this. He hadn't thought that far, had just seen a way to win the fight despite being disarmed. “I understand”, he answered, picking up his sword. “Another round?”, he asked. Montclair gave him a nod and looked to the sky. “Should be close to supper. One more round, Golton, then we should go inside. Fighting all day is one thing, but missing a meal over it?”, he said and chuckled. “Never”
With these words he started to deliver a rain of blows targeted at Drent's chest. He started with easy strikes, but progressively proved a better challenge. Drent had to admire the Sergeant's skill, but also the patience he showed with his men. But he also noticed that Montclair put too much effort in his strikes, getting out of breath far earlier than Drent. As soon as he saw the Sergeant huffing, trying to catch breath, he took the offensive, striking his opponent's arms. While the shield arm was heavily guarded, Montclair got into problems as he tried to parry the strikes towards his sword arm. “Good...”, he started to say but let out a pained groan as Drent hit his forearm, causing him to drop his sword.
Instead of using the advantage of having a disarmed opponent, Drent paused and grinned at the Sergeant. Montclair gave him a nod, while holding his arm. “That fucking hurt, Golton”, he said with a grin. “But it was a good strike. What you lack in strength, you make more than up for with your speed. You're good with a spear, right?”
Drent gave him a short nod. “I'd even say I'm a bit more than good”, he said with a grin. Montclair shook his head. “And you're arrogant. Still, the spear is a good weapon for you. Keep the enemy at distance, where his strength does not matter”, he advised him. “Anyways, I know why I chose you for that mission”
This got Drent's attention. “This mission...”, he said. “Can you tell me anything more about it?” Montclair shook his head. “Not much. Not here. Lady Tariel only told me the basics. Garen is involved and Ser Emphryus too, as far as I know”
This caused Drent to frown. Ser Emphryus Dresfel was among the Storm King's best knights, sure, but he was also reckless and battle-hungry. What kind of mission needed Ser Emphyrus? And Garen... well, he was a completely different problem. He wasn't a soldier, but a mercenary, a close friend of one of King Argilac's most trusted knights and an even closer friend to Lady Tariel, if the rumours were true. He and Drent weren't exactly friends, to say the least.
“That sounds wonderful”, Drent said with feigned joy and Montclair gave him a stern look. “I know you're not too thrilled about working with Garen. But the Storm King approved of him and I am not in a position to question his choices” His tone got a bit colder. “And neither are you, have you understood?” Drent gave him a nod. “Loud and clear, Sergeant” Montclair's face softened a bit. “Good man. I know you'd understand”, he said and looked towards the huge tower of Storm's End. “Come on now. Enough training for today. It's time to fill our bellies with hot soup and cold ale”
They didn't got very far, as Drent noticed someone walking out of the tower. Most of the soldiers, except the ones on duty, had already left the courtyard, either to join the diplomatic meeting, or to get a good seat for supper, so Drent was slightly surprised to see someone walking out of the Hall. A closer look identified the man as Ser Emphryus Dresfel. He was wearing fine clothing in the yellow and black of House Durrandon, fitting for a knight of his status. Drent noticed that Dresfel still had his sword with him, a fine and ancient weapon, carried by his ancestors for hundreds of years. It was a one-handed, slightly curved blade, a weapon worthy of a true warrior.
He walked straight towards them and Montclair immediately snapped to attention. Drent followed his example a bit slower. Dresfel greeted them with a short nod. “Sergeant Montclair”, he said, ignoring Drent as expected.
“Ser Emphryus! It's an honour”, Montclair answered. “May I help you with anything?” Dresfel looked from him to Drent. “I've heard we're having the honour of going on a mission for the Storm King soon”, he said, his deep voice shivering in anticipation. “At least that's what Schodek told me earlier”
“Ser Baron is involved too?”, Montclair asked and Drent suppressed a sigh. Ser Baron Schodek was pretty much an older version of Ser Emphryus, a childhood friend of King Argilac and a fearsome warrior in his own right. What kind of mission needed two hot-headed and battle-hungry warriors? Three, he corrected himself, there was still Garen. He couldn't lie, he wasn't looking forward for that mission.
To his relief, Dresfel shook his head. “Only in the planning stages. There is some trouble on our northern border and King Argilac sends him to negotiate. Apparently, there are hostilities between Lord Rosby and Lord Stokeworth over some territorial mess. Lord Darklyn declared his support for Rosby in that matter, even though he and Stokeworth are both sworn to Harren Hoare”, he said with a grin. “If things get bad, we'll have a nice little war against Harren the Black”
Drent and Montclair exchanged a short look. “But I thought we prepared for invading the Vale”, Drent said after a while. Dresfel started to laugh. “Arryn, Hoare, Gardener, Martell... We could take all of them at once without breaking a sweat. King Argilac knows that and without a doubt, Harren Hoare knows it too”
“So we're going to war?”, Drent asked. Dresfel shook his head. “Not if Schodek is successful in negotiating. Rosbys and Stokeworths are stubborn petty lords and I've never trusted a fucking Darklyn, so perhaps there's still a chance for war”, he answered. “But sadly, I wouldn't count on it. Seems like the Dornish Marches are all I'll ever get for excitement in my career” As he looked at Montclair, his face got an envious look on it. “You've fought against the Reach, right?”, he asked with a slight grin. Montclair gave him a nod. “As a young recruit”, he answered. “Standing knee-deep in blood and mud at the battle of Blackhaven isn't exactly my definition of glory”
This caused Dresfel to laugh. “It sounds lovely”, he chuckled. “Anyway, I'm not just here to do some smalltalk with common soldiers. The king wants to keep you close, now that you've been assigned to his special mission. You'll be part of the guard, stationed directly at his table tonight”
Drent's face dropped as he heard that and his stomach rumbled a little bit. Dresfel noticed his look and shook his head. “No complaining, soldiers, I'm not in the mood for that. You'll get to eat some of the leftovers later”
Before Drent could answer, Montclair cut him off. “No complaining intended, Ser!”, he said. “We were just on our way to the Great Hall” Dresfel gave them a satisfied nod. “Good to hear”, he answered. “I'll bring you to the Hall. Follow me!”
With these words, Ser Emphryus turned around and started to march towards the tower. Drent and Montclair exchanged a look, shrugged almost simultaneously and followed him. Drent had no doubts that Montclair was similarly hungry, but the Sergeant was too dutiful to complain about that.
The Great Hall of Storm's End claimed most of the towers second and third floor. It was a huge, round room, the walls at least twelve feet high, with balconies built in a height of eight feet for spoilt noblemen who refused to sit down with the smallfolk and the soldiers of Storm's End. The Storm King was sitting down there, albeit his honour table was built on a small pedestal to make it stick out of the mass of tables that surrounded it. Some of his ancestors had preferred to eat in one of the balconies, but Argilac Durrandon was different. He valued his soldiers more than he valued some of his noblemen. Noblemen that were especially eager to please their king took the hint and started to eat downstairs with the commoners, albeit they looked horribly out of place.
Lead by Ser Emphryus, Drent and Montclair passed the tables of the morbidly obese Lord Morrigen and the visibly disgusted Lord Tarth before reaching the honour table. A second, smaller table was built in front of it, meant for the entourage of honoured guests that visited Storm's End. Right now, four men sat around this smaller table, all of them clad in the black and red of House Targaryen, all of them sporting shoulder-long silver-blond hair and delicate, almost feminine facial features. Their leader, a thin, somewhat lanky man in his mid thirties, was positioned at the honour table, his silver-blond hair cut shorter than that of his men. He was sporting a short beard, albeit Drent found the sight of this silver beard ridiculous. Those of valyrian blood weren't known to look especially manly and a beard didn't help with it. Still, the ambassador had a calm, honest look in his purple eyes. He was seated right between King Argilac and Princess Argella, an exceptional honour reserved for the most revered of guests. Besides him, only king and princess sat on the table, most of the seats reserved for King Argilac's advisors were empty.
King Argilac wasn't wearing his armour anymore, instead he was wearing a black tunic, fabricated out of myrish silk. His massive crown was still resting on his head, the look on his gaunt face was a bit darker than usual, albeit his bushy, black beard made it hard for Drent to read the Storm King's expression. His daughter Argella was looking the complete opposite of her father. Radiant, with a charming smile and a breathtaking body underneath her thin blue dress, made the Storm Princess an object of desire in the eyes of many men inside of this hall. However, no man would be foolish enough to give in to his desires. Argella's sharp tongue was arguably even worse than her father's fury, but both of them combined were enough to scare any potential suitor. Right now, Argella had a smile on her face, as cold as a winter sun. The ambassador didn't seem to notice it, since he visibly enjoyed her company, talking, laughing, having a great time.
Dresfel pointed at a spot behind the honour table, where a large door frame lead towards a staircase, that lead towards the Storm King's war chambers. “You'll stand there, left and right of the door frame. Nobody would attack the Storm King at supper, so it's mainly representing, but everyone in this hall will see you, so make sure you look attentive. No moaning, no yawning, don't pick your nose or your ears, don't even dare to relax, understood?”
“Yes Ser!”, Montclair exclaimed, albeit he kept his voice down in the presence of the Storm King. Dresfel gave him a nod. “Good. Do your job well and you'll get the leftovers from the kings table”, he explained and took a seat at the honour table, to King Argilac's right. Seeing only four people at the honour table was an odd sight, usually there were twelve or more lords and advisers sitting there. Drent and Montclair quickly took position to the sides of the door frame, having a perfect sight on the honour table from their position. The two soldiers quickly exchanged a short grin. Usually, they weren't that close to the Storm King.
“Soldiers! My friends!”, the Storm King exclaimed with his thundering voice and raised from his chair. “Today is a very special day, because we have honoured guests with us!” He pointed at the smiling ambassador next to him. “Ambassador Corilyan Celtigar and his noble entourage have decided to pay us a visit, in the name of Lord Aegon Targaryen! Greet them appropriately!”
As he said these words, the soldiers started to clap their hands, their combined noise was deafening and boomed through the hall. Ambassador Celtigar was grinning like an imbecile and raised from his chair to give the soldiers a short bow, before sitting down again. “Thank you, your grace, for the hospitality you give me and my men. I am honoured”, he said with a mellifluous, well-educated voice. Drent noticed the dangerous look in Durrandon's eyes and had to gulp, but Celtigar seemed to be oblivious to it. “Are you honoured?”, the Storm King said and his smile looked forced. “Well, I assume you know our customs, don't you? Bread and Salt?”
Celtigar gave him a nod. “Yes, your grace. Ancient tradition is important, albeit I have to admit that House Celtigar never followed them”, he explained. “Well, but House Durrandon does. Nobody shall say that I would ever mistreat someone who ate my bread and salt”, the king answered and raised his hand. “Go to the kitchen. Fetch bread and salt for Ambassador Celtigar and his entourage!”
Two servants left the hall with quick steps and Drent saw the Storm King's smile vanishing. He and Montclair exchanged another look and Drent saw anticipation and surprise in the sergeant's eyes. Something was not right. Something was about to happen.
“Well, I believe in a simple principle when dealing with my men, ambassador”, Durrandon said. “Everything we two discussed earlier should be made public, to avoid rumours” Celtigar gave him a nod. “A noble principle, your grace”, he agreed. The Storm King pointed at the princess “My daughter, Princess Argella”, he introduced her. “Perhaps you want to tell her what we just discussed” His voice got a bit lower, but again, Celtigar seemed to be completely oblivious. He smiled at the princess with charming, pearly-white teeth.
“It is an honour, princess. May I remark that you surpass the tales of your beauty and grace?”, he said and kissed her outstretched hand. Argella's smile was ice-cold as she bowed her head. “The pleasure is all mine, ambassador”, she said and exchanged a look with her father. “What is it you and my father discussed?”
Celtigar cleared his throat before he answered. “Well, as you know, Lord Aegon is interested in a military alliance between Dragonstone and the Stormlands. Your father offered your hand in marriage to Lord Aegon”, he explained and Argella's smile seemed now visibly forced. “A noble offer, when a father sells his only child and heiress for three dragons”, she remarked. “I can hardly contain my excitement” This caused Emphryus Dresfel to chuckle, while the Storm King and his daughter exchanged a quick smirk. Drent sighed. The princess' behaviour reminded him of a cat that was playing with a mouse. A completely and horribly oblivious mouse.
Celtigar gave her a confused look before continuing with his tale, completely oblivious to the danger he was possibly in. Drent shook his head in disbelief. This oaf should get the hell out of there instead of chatting casually with two gathering storms. “Sadly, Lord Aegon has to refuse the offer. He already has two wives he loves dearly and can't bear the thought of favouring one of them. Three wives would make it impossible not to favour someone”, he explained and Argella narrowed her eyes.
“So, is he refusing my hand because he fears that I might replace his feeling for Lady Rhaenys or Lady Visenya?”, she asked. “Or is he refusing my hand because I am not related to him?” Her voice sent shivers down Drent's spine. “Perhaps my chances with the Dragonlord would be better if I was his sister?”
Celtigar shook his head in confusion. “I'm afraid I don't understand, my princess...”, he mumbled and Argella shot him a vicious glare. “Oh, I'm afraid you understand perfectly, ambassador. I think Lord Aegon is afraid that he couldn't handle me”, she hissed and caused roaring laughter from the surrounding soldiers, her father laughing the loudest. “One night with me and he would never touch his sisters again” This caused the laughter to intensify and Drent had to join in. Argella gave the ambassador a sly smirk. “A feat, as I must say, that most men manage to achieve without spending a night with me”
Celtigar shook his head. “It's love, my princess, that influenced his decision. Surely, even the thought of your legendary beauty would be enough to give Lord Aegon weak knees. But out of love for his wives, he has to decline your fathers noble offer. He wants to stay faithful to Lady Visenya and Lady Rhaenys”, he explained and his statement caused the Storm Princess to laugh brightly, but without any joy. “Do you know how I call a man who speaks of fidelity while bedding both of his sisters at the same time?”, she asked. Celtigar opened his mouth, but before he could answer, Argella cut him off. “A hypocrite, Ambassador Celtigar, a hypocrite”
As she said this, the look in her deep blue eyes got a bit more curious. “Or is it true what they say? That he shuns Visenya and only sleeps with Rhaenys?”, she asked with feigned innocence in her voice. Celtigar viciously shook his head. “My princess, I'm afraid you are insulting my liege lord”, he protested and Argella's face got stone-cold and deadly serious. “Good”, she answered. “As it was intended. Here in Storm's End, we believe in justice. An insult for an insult. Luckily, simply refusing my fathers offer is only a minor insult, whatever depraved reasons Lord Aegon might have”
She and her father exchanged another look, just as Drent and Montclair did the same. Drent shook his head and formed the word 'Fool' with his mouth, while Montclair returned the look with a stony face.
“But you can tell Lord Aegon that I wouldn't have shared him either way. Not with his other wives, or sisters, or whatever he might call them. In a certain way it is me who refuses Lord Aegon's hand”, Argella hissed, before her smile returned, like the sun after a storm. “I believe we can all agree that I deserve better than him” She looked up at the crowd in front of her. “Is the stable master's son already taken? The handsome one I mean, not the hare-lipped one”
“I am, my princess!”, a handsome young man in his early twenties proclaimed as he raised from his chair. “Since last week” This caused a wave of roaring laughter from the crowd, albeit Argella and her father laughed the loudest. The princess raised a small crystal glass in front of her, filled with red wine. “Congratulations, my friend”, she shouted. “Men, drink one to the stable master's son and his lovely wife. Long life for them!” The order was shouted in a tone that could have come from the Storm King himself. It was almost frightening for Drent how much Argella resembled her father and how different she was at the same time.
The people in the crowd raised their jugs, shouted their congratulations and took a deep gulp, while the face of the man who spoke got bright red, with pride and embarrassment. Ambassador Celtigar's face got slightly red too, albeit only out of embarrassment. He seemed to be one of those men who were unable to get angry, no matter how much their liege lord got mocked.
“My princess, have you just implied that a stable master's son would be as good as Lord Aegon when it comes to marrying you?”, he asked. Argella shook her head, causing the ambassador to sigh in relief. “Of course not, dear ambassador. I'm afraid that was a misunderstanding”
Celtigar smiled at her, his smile giving his lack of intelligence away immediately. Drent always hated pearly-white smiles, at least when it came to men. Nobleborn women, like the Storm Princess, took pride in teeth like that, but a man with a womanish smile like that was hardly a man at all. King Argilac had a light brown smile, several of his teeth were missing. In Drent's eyes it only added to his masculinity. Celtigar on the other hand... Drent was almost willing to bet that he was secretly a woman, if it weren't for his pleasant, deep voice.
“Ah, good, because I had the impression...”, he started to mumble, as Argella cut him off again. “I simply implied that the stablemaster's son would have been a better choice than a depraved, sister-fucking hypocrite, dear ambassador”, she answered and gave him a sweet smile. “With all due respect of course”
Drent noticed that Argella had almost managed to reach the point where the Ambassador got seriously angry. He also noticed that the servants that were ordered to bring bread and salt should have been back by now. Something was not right. Argilac Durrandon planned something. He wasn't the most cunning king of Westeros and Drent wasn't afraid to admit that. But whenever he planned something, it was something truly terrific.
“Excuse me, my princess, but I have to protest against your continuing mockery of my liege lord!”, he exclaimed and the king put a hand on his shoulder, causing the ambassador's face to drop and his skin to go pale. “I agree with you, ambassador. Argella, this is enough”, he said. His voice sounded deep and serious, but Celtigar wasn't able to see his face, that showed nothing but cruel amusement. “But the poor ambassador has something else to proclaim. Something we talked about. I'm sure you're going to be interested in this, daughter” He looked at the crowd. “You're all going to be interested in that”, he shouted. “And that's an order!” This caused laughter among his men, albeit Drent was only half sure that it was intended as a joke.
Celtigar seemed to regain his composure. “Of course, your grace”, he said with a sigh. “My apologies if it seemed as if I was about to loose my nerves. Your daughter has a blessed tongue” “You mean 'cursed'”, Argilac answered and laughed. “Try to raise a girl like her for twenty years and you know what true suffering is” He sighed. “But a father is a father. How can I be angry at my radiant daughter?” His gaze, still unseen for the ambassador, hardened considerably. “And how can I let any insult to her go unpunished?”
Once again, the ambassador proved his stupidity by ignoring this last statement. “I understand, your grace. I'm sure your daughter meant no insult”, he said and Argella quickly shook her head. “But you are right of course. There is a reason why I took the long road to Storm's End personally. In his wisdom, Lord Aegon made a counteroffer” Princess Argella leant forward, putting the ambassador off his stride as she revealed the low neckline of her blue dress.
“A... counteroffer”, he said again, while the Storm Princess looked at him with her big blue eyes and a slight, but almost genuine smile. He cleared his throat. “I mean, while he is sadly unable to accept your father's noble offer for the reasons we just discussed, he is still interested in a close alliance with the Stormlands. For these reasons, he would like to offer you the hand of his close friend and general of his armies, Orys Baratheon”
Argella's smile vanished again, replaced by a look that promised nothing good. “Orys Baratheon”, she said toneless. “Orys. Baratheon” Ambassador Celtigar gave her a quick nod. “Indeed. General Orys is a renowned warrior. He fought gloriously in the war against Volantis and gained honour when he broke the siege of Lys. He fought side by side with your father during this war, as I must add”
King and Princess looked at each other, Argilac slightly shaking his head. Drent had no doubt that Celtigar's men noticed it, but none of them had enough bravery to intervene. “He is a bastard”, Argella hissed. “He offers me a bastard...” Celtigar shook his head. “A general”, he urged her. “His most trusted friend”
“A BASTARD!”, Argella shouted, making the ambassador flinch with her suddenly loud voice. “I am the Storm Princess, I will be the Storm Queen after my father's death! And your Dragonlord has the nerve to offer me a bastard? How can he dare?”
Celtigar gave her a confused look. “I'm sure he meant no offence, my princess. Lord Aegon is from the blood of Old Valyria. In his opinion, you take this bastardy thing a bit too seriously. General Orys is of noble blood and a good and honourable man”
The princess shook her head, her black locks moving like water. “So, it's either a Degenerate who prefers his own sisters over me or a Bastard”, she hissed and gave her father a smile. “Oh father, my father, what wonderful suitors you have found for me”, she chirped.
Argilac gave his daughter a short nod. “I was as baffled as you were, sweet daughter”, he said. “Perhaps even more. Because I never thought Lord Aegon could be that impudent” He smirked and Argella showed her own cruel smirk in return. “It's the dragons, dear father. As soon as a man has access to flying lizards, he thinks the whole world belongs to him. He thinks he can marry his own sisters, thinks he can marry a princess from the blood of gods to a bastard, when the highest of lords would be barely enough. He thinks he can send an ambassador into my father's hall, to insult me, to insult House Durrandon”
Again, Celtigar shook his head and Drent assumed that he started to realize the danger he got himself into. “It was never meant as an insult, my princess. I beg your forgiveness. I have only repeated Lord Aegon's offer”, he stuttered. Argella's smirk vanished. “Right here, right now, there is no insult that could be worse, Ambassador”, she hissed.
The Storm King patted the ambassador on the back, almost causing him to jump from his chair. Apparently his survival instincts finally started to kick in. “I'm sorry for the way this discussion went, ambassador. I think we should let it rest and just change the topic, what do you think?”, the king growled. Celtigar gave him a hasty nod. “Yes. Y... yes, I agree. This got a bit out of hand and a change of topic will be for the best. Do you have something in mind, your grace?”
Durrandon gave him a short laugh. “Swords”, he answered. “Swords, your grace?”, Celtigar asked surprised. Drent had to close his eyes for a moment. This won't end well. There were many bad things to say about Argilac Durrandon, none of them worked in favour of the ambassador. He was irritable, hot-tempered, prideful. There were a lot of good things to say about him as well. He was fair to his men, knew half of Storm's Ends servants by name, cared for them. But his best and worst quality at the same time was that he loved his daughter more than anything else in this world. He wouldn't let that insult go unpunished, regardless of how many dragons Aegon Targaryen had.
“Swords, ambassador. You know them, right? Fascinating things. Sharp, deadly, elegant. I prefer the raw strength of a warhammer, but nonetheless I admire swordplay. Are you a fighter?”, Durrandon asked. Celtigar gave him a proud nod. “Indeed, your grace. I'm not as good as my cousin Gordar, but I clashed swords with Eryas Velaryon and Lord Aegon himself in the tourney at Claw Isle. During the war against the Volantene hegemony, I personally slew one of their commanders in the battle at the fields of Myr”, he explained, his voice booming with pride.
Durrandon gave him a nod and turned to Ser Emphryus next to him. “Emphryus here has a fascinating sword. Would you mind taking a look on it, ambassador?”, he asked. Drent sighed again. The ambassador was a dead man, he just failed to realize it. “Of course, your grace!”, he exclaimed. “It will be my honour” It will be his death...
At the Storm kings command, Emphryus drew his sword, laying it into his kings hands. “It's not Valyrian Steel, not comparable to the swords of Lord Aegon or Lady Visenya, but it has been in my family for centuries”, Dresfel explained. “It is called 'The Dessel'”
“The Dessel, I see”, the ambassador said and Durrandon moved the blade, holding it only a few inches away from Celtigar's face. Drent saw a drop of sweat running down the ambassadors temple. “A fine blade, but I have to ask... Is that dried blood on it?”
“It is”, Dresfel said not without pride. “The blood of lords and kings, of dead houses, the essence of war itself. No Dresfel would ever wield another weapon. The only one I'm willing to hand it to is my king. Everyone else who tries to take it is a dead man”
The drop of sweat reached Celtigar's chin and dropped to the floor. Durrandon growled slightly. “I... I am... haven't you sent for bread and salt about half an hour ago, your grace?”, the ambassador asked nervously, his voice slightly cracking. Durrandon gave him a nod. “I thought you Valyrians don't give much about our customs, Ambassador Celtigar”, he growled. “Anyway, let's talk again about Lord Aegon's offer”
“Your grace... I... Please... I...”, Celtigar stuttered, shivering in fear, looking at the blade right in front of him. “You may not notice it, but what he did is a serious offence. My daughter, my only child and heiress, my wonderful daughter...”, the king growled and exchanged a tender look with Argella. “Insulted, almost disgraced, by being offered a bastard...”
“Your grace, please, this is a misunderstanding...”, Celtigar pleaded. “Mercy! I am only a messenger” Durrandon's cruel look vanished, replaced by an understanding one. “I know, Ambassador. I bear you no ill will. So, Lord Aegon asked for my daughter's hands in marriage, those were your words, right?” Celtigar gave him a nod. “Yes, your grace, his words. I'm sorry if I have offended you”
Durrandon narrowed his eyes. “Don't be sorry, ambassador. I only intend to send Lord Aegon a simple answer to his offer”, he said and Drent saw that the Ambassador made the foolish mistake of relaxing. “And that answer is 'No'”, the Storm King whispered. And in a swift movement, almost too quick for Drent to even realize it, he moved the sword downwards, ramming it deep into the table.
For a moment, Ambassador Celtigar was silent, looking at the Storm King in complete and utter shock. Then he raised his arms, revealing bloody stumps where Argilac Durrandon had severed both of his hands slightly above the wrist. And then he started to scream, blood-curling screams of agony as he helplessly watched the place where his hands used to be seconds ago.
“Let this be a...”, Durrandon started to shout, but the panicked screams of the ambassador managed to drown even his voice. “Let this...”, he tried again, but made a frustrated face as he noticed that he was barely audible. The ambassador's entourage looked in complete shock, while the soldiers had amused looks on their faces. The Storm Princess had a cruel smirk on her face, looking pleased, amused, genuinely happy.
“ONE MORE THING”, the Storm King screamed at the top of his lungs, smashing the hilt of his sword into Celtigar's face. The Ambassador fell forwards onto the table, into the pools of blood that flew out of his wrists, knocked unconscious with a single blow. “When the Storm King speaks”, Durrandon growled “Lesser men are silent!”
He started to walk around the table, towards the Valyrians, who raised form their chairs, trying to get away from the king. Argilac casually wielded the sword, as if he was simply approaching them as a friend. “Let this be a lesson!”, he shouted, his voice now carried all over the hall. “Any man who dares to even think about insulting my daughter won't be a man anymore. The fate of the Ambassador shall be an example of my fury!” Storm King and Storm Princess exchanged a soft look and Argella seemed to be genuinely moved by her father's actions.
The King looked up, eyeing some poor servants, albeit there was no maliciousness in his eyes as he looked at them. “And now fetch me the bloody Maester, we have a wounded man here! I don't want him to bleed to death, I want him to live. He will be my answer to Lord Aegon”, he growled, pointing his sword at the Valyrians. “Who is Celtigar's second-in-command?”, he asked. No one answered him and Durrandon walked closer. “I said... WHO LEADS YOU, YOU FUCKING PIGS?”
The Valyrians flinched and shivered, tears running down their faces, but finally one of them raised his hand, albeit only slightly, as if he was afraid to loose it. “I... I lead them. My name is...”, he said, but was cut off by Argilac. “I don't care for your name”, he said and grabbed him at the collar of his shirt. “I will tell you what to do...”, he said and looked towards the doors that lead to the kitchen. A smile appeared on his face. “Fucking FINALLY!”, he shouted. “Bread and Salt, as I promised”
The two servants reappeared, in their hands a bowl of bread and a bowl of salt. Without putting away the sword, Argilac Durrandon grabbed a small loaf of bread, dipped it into the salt and took a bite out of it, while drops of blood fell from the blade onto the floor. “First order: Eat my bread and salt. Nobody shall say that I harm a man who ate my bread and salt” He pointed at the unconscious ambassador. “He wasn't my guest. He spat on our traditions and even worse, he insulted my daughter. But you are a smart man, aren't you?”
The leader of the Valyrians gave him a shaky nod, grabbed a loaf of bread, dipped it into the salt and ate it in one bite. Durrandon's voice was lower now, sounding like a distant thunder. “Good. Very good. Now you are my guests and no harm shall be done to you under my roof”, he growled.
“The fate of the ambassador is unfortunate, but I think you all learned a thing today, about respect and how far a father will go to protect the honour of his daughter. My Maester will patch your ambassador up. He's not the best Maester, but he is good enough. I think he might lives. As soon as he wakes up, send him my condolences for his loss and my congratulations for the learned lesson” These words caused laughter among the soldiers and Drent caught Sergeant Montclair chuckling. Princess Argella threw her head back and laughed brightly.
“As soon as my Maester is finished patching him up, you will leave Storm's End and you will never return. Take the Ambassador with you and even more important, take all of him with you”, King Argilac proclaimed. “Tell Lord Aegon, these will be the only hands he will receive from me”
The Valyrian was quick to give him a nod, almost too quick, as tears of fear ran down his face. Durrandon took a deep breath. “I think you pissed yourself”, he said with a chuckle, causing another outburst of laughter from his man. “But luckily, I don't see a bit of piss on my floor as an insult” He smiled, almost genuinely this time, as the leader of the Valyrians went pale and took a step back. “I am sorry, your grace. Please, accept my apology!”, he stuttered and Drent saw a dark, wet spot in his trousers.
“Ah, Seven Hells, do you have to apologize for everything? Relax a bit, you are my guest now. Are you afraid I could use this sword against you?”, Durrandon asked. The Valyrian shook his head after a while, unsure what he should answer. “No... No, I think you honour the guest right. You said you won't harm me and you are a man of your word”, he said meekly. Durrandon patted him on the shoulder, causing him to flinch. “Now, that is a smart little Valyrian. Why aren't you the ambassador?”
He turned to Dresfel again, putting the bloody sword on the table in front of him. “Thank you, my friend, for lending me your weapon. It is a fine sword, take good care of it”, he said. Dresfel gave him a nod. “You honour me, your grace. I believe, the Dessel never tasted valyrian blood before”, he answered with pride in his voice.
“Well there's always a first time”, Durrandon proclaimed and looked at his daughter, who had raised from her chair. “Dear father, now that the Valyrians are our guests, why don't we give them exactly the hospitality they deserve? I think we have a few relatives of them here at Storm's End!”, she proclaimed. The Storm King's face showed a bright smile as he apparently understood what his daughter meant.
“The pigs in the pens of Storm's End don't have this ridiculous silver hair of the pigs you lie with on Dragonstone”, Argella said with a mocking smile as she looked at the Valyrians. “But I'm sure you'll get along just fine. While you wait for the Maester to save the poor ambassador's life, I'm sure you'll find their presence entertaining” She looked at her father. “After all, no one should say that the Durrandon's are bad hosts”
Argilac laughed as he heard this, but his laugh soon stopped as he looked at the still bleeding and unconscious ambassador. “My daughter is right. The pigpens for you, mylords!”, he shouted. “But I have one question, a very important question and I demand an answer now! I ask you, WHERE IS THE FUCKING MAESTER?”
He looked towards Drent and Montclair. For a moment, Drent was afraid to see maliciousness in the king's eyes, but instead he saw the same look his father often gave him, stern, but caring. “You two! One of you shall fetch the bloody maester, to save this poor idiots life. The other one shall escort the Valyrians to their guest rooms in the pigpen. I don't care who of you wants to do what, but I don't want to wait!”
Montclair gave Drent an alarmed look and took a step towards him. “He's right, you know? I don't think the king wants to wait in his current temper. So, you get to choose, Golton. I really don't care what I should do, I'll leave it up to you”, he said.
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[Search for the Maester] Argella is such a bitch
Awesome Chapter!
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[Escort the Valyrian's to the pigpen] This was great!
And Gordar mentioned yahoo XD So, Corilyan said Gordar is his cousin so is he son of lord Crispian Celtigar?
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While I haven't thought about Corilyan's closer family tree in greater detail, I have imagined him as another nephew of Crispian Celtigar, the son of one of his brothers. Despite his temper, the Storm King would have never mutilated the son of one of Aegon's most powerful bannermen, but he thinks that he might get away with taking his anger out on a less important nephew.
OK, good to know. Because that was actually what I was thinking, seemed pretty hardcore to mutilate a son of a lord as high as Celtigar... Well, not that it still isn't hardcore
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For y'alls information. Two of those votes for Robb were me. Robb for new mob boss of Old Town after Butterfly and The Burned Man are killed.
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I've been greatly amused.
Poll. It was hard thinking of something, but I did it:
http://strawpoll.me/4419203
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[Escort the Valyrians to the pigpen] Princess Argella make me 'shiver', I want to know more about she, also this line "... insulting my daughter won't be a man anymore." should he cutting the ambassador 'balls' instead of arms?!
[Search for the Maester] Don't want Jax to get in trouble for when we find the maester dead or something. I'm loving Drent so far and more so The Storm King. Hopefully we get another POV in Storm's End like a serving girl or even the princess herself.
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Man screw these guys... loved this chapter though.
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I was waiting to see how you carry out this situation and I have to admit that it was really awesome!
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