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🕑 Added 2021-06-30 05:00:02 +0000 UTCNot sure how many people here care about my second story, but here's the 1st draft of the second chapter of it.
Enjoy.
[Remember that formatting on Patreon messages is less than stellar]
Prologue 1 [Rough date: 5thmoon, 282AC]
I blinked as the clouds of sleepiness left me and instinctively tried to stretch, only to then remember that I was still a mother-fucking babe!
It had been just over three months since my ‘birth’ and I was fast approaching the end of what little rope I had left after experiencing my rebirth. Which had meant three months of cursing out whoever was responsible for this… insanity and bitching about the fact my new baby body was so fucking weak and unresponsive.
After twelve years of service with the Royal Marines and SBS, and having kept my body as close to its physical peak as I could, having to now deal with this… stupid arsed baby-shite was… well, words to express my rage hadn’t been developed yet. And from what little I knew of baby development – basically sweet fuck all as why would I care about that shit when I struggled to keep a girlfriend for anything more than six months? – I still have at least a year of this shite to deal with.
Fuck my life.
About the only thing that kept me semi-sane was tracking the days as they passed (by simply counting the times when my new home wasn’t lit by candlelight), learning about my new home – a castle called Starfall in Dorne – and trying to catch any snippet I could about the war that broken out.
Provided that my entire existence hadn’t fucked with the timeline in my head, then the war had only just begun and would run for another half-year at least. Thanks to my strange new ability to perfectly recall everything form my old life – minus the emotional attachment I felt to those memories – I had basically re-read the first two books of the ‘A Song of Ice and Fire’ series in my head and re-watched the entire show: regardless of my former feelings about the last season.
And from what little I’d heard, so far, when compared to what the books and show had revealed, things were proceeding as they should.
My grandfather, who I learned was named Beric, had ridden off with my uncle (Alebert) had ridden off to meet a Dornish host – what was called an army in this world – to fight for the King. My other uncle, Arthur, who had sent the message I’d heard about on my birthday, was a Kingsguard for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen; the man who had started the war by running away (some would call it kidnapping) with Lyanna Stark.
And this was where things got very fucking confusing for me personally.
Lyanna Stark was my father, Brandon. Sadly, my father and grandfather on that side of the family (Lord Rickard Stark) had been killed by the King, Aerys. The King had then demanded the head of my uncle Eddard and Robert Baratheon. Since Robert was betrothed to Lyanna, and both were wards of Jon Arryn, neither was willing to die nor Jon to kill them. Hence war.
Now, from what I’d caught between my mother and grandmother, Arthur had sent at least two more letters to home, and seemed to detail that Lyanna went with Rhaegar willingly. Unfortunately, it wasn’t clear what else was said as the pair had often stopped their discussions around me when they noticed me watching them. Mother thought it was because I could sense their displeasure with what was being discussed, which was better than them thinking I was listening and learning.
With nothing to do but keep my ears open for more snippets of information, I’d spent my time pushing my stupid baby-body as much as I could. I’d set myself two simple goals. One, to be able to walk unaided for around fifty steps by my first birthday and two, to be able to hold a basic conversation with someone by the time I was two.
I was fucking sick to death of listening to my mother, grandmother, my oldest aunt (Adrya) and the staff assigned to watch and ‘feed’ me – somehow, someway, I was going to find a way to purge those memories from my mind as being able to perfectly recall them once an adult would result in some fucked up issues I really, really didn’t want to have – talking to me in those stupid and silly way people talked to babies.
I was a fucking Sergeant in the SBS, not a stupid as shite baby for fuck’s sake!
I heard the door creak open and turned my head to see who had come in; though that was hard to do as the crib I was in had high sides, likely to stop me falling out once I was able to stand under my own power.
“[Good morning young one, how are we feeling today?]” Asked my nursemaid – fuck my life – Wylla as she leaned over the edge of the crib.
I glared at her as her arms came into the crib for me, but there wasn’t much I could do as she slowly lifted me up.
“[Ah, awake and alert as normal. You are a smart one.]” She commented with a friendly smile.
Well of course I’m smart, I’m not a baby you stupid wench!
Sadly, as per normal, my words came out as nothing more that gargles and other stupid sounds, which as usual, made her smile.
“[Hmm. Are you hungry little one?]” She asked as she carried me over a seat near my crib.
As she carefully balanced me on her knee with one hand, while the other move to unfasten her dress, I closed my eyes and began to recite a now familiar mantra.
‘You’re doing this to survive. You’re doing this to survive.’
……
……
‘Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.’ I said to myself as I took one cautious step after another.
It had been around six months (or moons as they were called here) since my ‘birth’ and while I had gotten nowhere with my goal of talking – every time I did, I just made fucking stupid baby sounds – I was getting closer with my goal of walking.
While either my mother or one of the household staff – usually Wylla my… milkmaid, or Myra who looked after me when mother was busy – were always around, they had quickly realised that I was determined to walk and let me try; though they were always no more than an arm’s length away.
As I took my thirty-third step, I lost my balance – or my leg gave out as it wasn’t developed enough for this much walking – and I fell arse-first to the ground.
“[Oh, are you ok?]” Myra asked as she quickly scooped me up off the soft rug that covered the floor of my room and pulled me close.
‘No you stupid bitch. I still need you to carry me around.’ Was that harsh? Probably. But you try getting asked the same basic question every single fucking time you ended up failing at the same mother-fucking thing.
“[You aren’t one stay still are you little pup?]” Myra asked with a smile as she moved me towards my cot - or what I called my prison – though she stopped as the door to my room opened and she turned to see who had entered. “[My lady.]”
“[Myra. Is Cregan behaving himself?]” Mother asked as she moved closer and reached out to take me.
“[He is determined to walk, my lady.]” Myra replied as she passed me to my mother. “[Every time he is awake, it is the first thing he tries. He’s up to thirty and three steps.]”
Mother turned her head and smiled down at me. “[I see my young wolf is keep to leave his lair.]” She said as she ruffled the whisps of hair on my head. My hair was black like my mothers, but I’d heard a few people say that it was somehow darker; a servant who’d cleaned my room had even remarked to Myra that it was as dark as the blackest night.
However, what I was happiest about was that I’d developed the purple eyes that my mother, grandfather and oldest aunt had. Though again it was different from mother’s. Whereas hers had an almost haunting quality to them mine, at least from what I’d seen in a mirror and others had said, had specks of grey near my pupils. Mother claimed they reminded her of my father as he’d had eyes as grey you could get lost in and mine had the same quality.
“[Would you like to go for a walk?]” Mother asked and I managed to nod, even as I once more cursed my stupidly weak and pathetic new body. I knew that eventually, this would pass – I was finally moving to semi-solid food, thank fuck, so the… terror feeding sessions were being phased out – but until it did, and I was able to train this body for the battles I knew were coming, I’d still curse being stuck as something so weak and pathetic.
Mother left my room and I happily let my eyes wander as we walked. I’d had a fair few ‘walks’ around Starfall already, but I was still earning my way around. From the views I got as we passed windows and when walking through the large courtyard, I was convinced that Starfall rested on an island at the mouth of a river.
The castle itself, or what I’d seen of it, was impressive. The walls were dominated by two towers. The south, sea-facing tower was the larger of the two, though as of yet, I didn’t know their names, nor those of the other four towers that marked the corners of the walls of Starfall.
About the only place that I knew of, bar the great hall where I was sometimes taken by mother, was the small Sept of the Seven. Mother had taken me there a few times (first time had been for my blessing by the Septa) but generally she avoided the place. Which was strange as every time I saw my grandmother in the courtyard, she was heading to or from the Sept.
Each guard or servant we passed lowered their head as we passed, though mother never seemed annoyed by the behaviour and seemed to know the names of most of those we passed. None seemed concerned that she was carrying me – even when I was looking over her back as we walked away, none seemed to glare to scowl at my presence. Which proved Oberyn’s words about Dorne being more tolerant about bastards in Dorne to be true, thank fuck.
Sadly however, that didn’t extend to my grandmother. While she was gentle and kind, it was easy for me to tell that she was less than thrilled by me. Now, that could just be because the Starks family was on the opposite side of the war from the Daynes, but I felt there was more to it.
“[My Lady, Lady Helenys has requested your in Lord Beric’s solar.]” A servant said while I looked over mother’s shoulder, and out of a small window, at the mountains to the west of Starfall.
“[Thank you, Hurdon.]” Mother replied before she turned to her left and walked away.
I was curious about what this was about, and where the Lord’s solar as I’d never even heard of it before, though from the sound of things it was where my grandfather handled house business; meaning it would be an interesting place to explore, once I was old enough.
“[Ashara, good.]” Grandmother began as we stepped into the solar, which was pretty much what I’d expected a medieval office to look like. There were bookcases on two of the walls while grandmother was sitting behind a large wooden table. Though what drew my attention was the space on the wall behind her.
The banner for house Dayne – a white sword and falling star crossed over a purple background – hang on the wall and three prongs jutted out from the wall. I was all but sure that those prongs were meant to hold the family sword; likely a Valyrian blade like Ice.
“[I have received ravens from your father and brother.]” Grandmother continued as mother sat down across from her. Mother shifted me to one leg while I watched grandmother’s eyes shift to me and for the briefest moment they narrowed. “[How is young Cregan today?]” She asked, her nose wrinkling at my name.
While it was close to my old name, something about it felt off. As if it wasn’t a normal name for House Dayne or Dorne to use.
“[Still trying to walk. Thirty and three steps according to Myra.]” Mother answered as I watched her pick up a small letter, one no bigger or longer than my arm, and began to read.
“[Impressive. Neither you nor your siblings were walking so well at such a young age.]” Grandmother commented as her eyes met mine. “[I just wished you’d picked a less… Northern name.]”
My eyes widened at hearing her say that, and given to the way her brow furrowed, she caught my reaction. Though anything she wished to say was cut off by a gasp from mother.
“[Married?! And with a child?! Has the whole world gone mad?]” she asked, making my eyes dart to the letter in her hand. Sadly, the strange trait that allowed me to understand everyone didn’t extend to their written words, so it looked like nothing more than scribbles.
“[It is possible. Arthur did mention before that the princess, well our one since I suppose the wolf is now also a princess, was aware of all this. And Targaryens have taken multiple brides in the past.]”
“[B-but, if this is the case, then the war…]”
“[Indeed.]” Grandmother commented as mother’s words trailed off. “[A bloody mummer’s farce, all of it.]” She sighed and once more looked at him. “[If your father was less… hot-blooded, and the King more patient then you would likely be the Heir to the North. And you my dear would be married to the Heir of Winterfell, be a sister to one queen and friends with the other.]” She finished as she turned her attention back to mother.
“[C-can we get word to Eddard and Lord Arryn?]”
Grandmother shook her head at mother’s question even as I tried to wrap my head around the fact if there’d been no war, I’d have been heir to the North and Winterfell. “[Unlikely. Apart from us being on opposite sides of the war, the King is keeping Princess Elia and her children in the Red Keep as hostages in all but name. Any act by us, a loyal vassal house of the Martells would likely result in the death of the princess and her children.]”
“[Gods, this…]” Mother wiped a hand across her eyes. “[W-what of father?]”
“[His raven said he’d met up with the rest of the Dornish host under the command of Lewyn Martell just at the entrance to the Prince’s Pass. From there they plan to march to King’s Landing to join the host assembled by Prince Rhaegar.]”
Mother sighed. “[I… This… It can’t be happening.]” Her worry was easy to see, and hoping to comfort her, I reached out and grasped one of her fingers in mine. She looked down at me and smiled.
“[Sadly, it is.]” Grandmother stated, her eyes narrowing as she once more glanced at me. “[I have prepared a raven for Prince Doran, but I feel there is little he can do to prevent things becoming worse. Your father’s raven is several days old, while Arthur’s message is from nearly a fortnight ago. All we can do now is pray for their safe return.]”
“[On both sides.]” Mother added. “[I do not wish Cregan to grow up without knowing his father’s family.]”
“[Indeed.]” grandmother stood. “[Let us hope the Seven will hear our words.]” She added as she rounded the large table.
Mother stood slowly, being careful of how I was balanced, then turned to face her mother. “[I-I will head to the Godswood. P-perhaps a prayer to the Old Gods will grant protection to Lord Stark as well as our family.]”
Grandmother frowned, one eyebrow seeming to twitch, before she responded. “[Hmm. Mayhaps there is reason in praying to the all the Gods, New and Old. While I am not a Dayne by birth, I know the linage of this house traces back to the First Men. Mayhaps that will be enough for the Old Gods to hear your pleas.]”
Mother nodded and the pair left the room with me resting comfortably in my mother’s arms.
As they walked, I wondered what I’d find in the Godswood of Starfall. Until just now I didn’t realise that the Daynes were a First Men house; like those in the North (bar house Manderly). My mind began to wonder if the Starfall Godswood would have a weirwood tree like the one in Winterfell. Would be the same size or have a face carved into it like all weirwoods were meant to have?
However, my hopeful curiosity fizzled as I remembered that the Three-eyed-raven used those trees to see everything that happened in the Seven Kingdoms. That had a few new thoughts come to dominate my mind.
How would he, and the other magical people and races in Westeros, react to my appearance? From everything I knew, my very existence altered the game, so would they try to eliminate or control me?
For the first time since my rebirth, I suddenly felt very, very concerned about just what my future held, and the dangers that were hidden in this world.
……
……
