Just something that struck and inspired me. A look into the future of the Storm Warriors before we dive back into the current TL.
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Kharn
006.M31
Bodt
Kharn breathed in. Kharn breathed out. Kharn breathed in and he breathed out.
He looked through the lens of his helmet with a silent calm, taking in the information that pooled across his sight with superlative precision.
Ours is the boom of thunder.
Ours is the relief of rain.
Ours is the strike of lightning.
Ours is the Storm.
He thought on the words of his Primarch, as he always did on the cusp of battle. The Storm Warriors did not merely weather or ride out the storm, no, they were a part of it and born of it. In words and in deeds - especially the latter.
Entering Atmosphere. Stop.
Sensor arrays calculating. Stop.
Heat shielding engaged. Stop.
The servitor's voice droned on in his ears, if Kharn craned his head upward and to the left of his harness he could just make out the pale, bloodless features of the servitor. Its mouth was sewn shut but still the once-man's voice could be heard.
Enemy formations detected. Stop.
Adjusting course. Stop.
Anti-Air munitions detected. Stop.
Deploying countermeasures. Stop.
Final landing engines initiated. Stop.
It was too bad the drop pod did not have windows. It would have been a horrible design choice of course but at the very least he could have seen the flight of Storm Warrior drop pods as they broke through the toxic clouds that covered Bodt. He could have seen as on each drop pod electro-generators began their own start up process, slowly but soon quickly generating a growing field of electrical power. The electrical field had several purposes. One, was to scramble the primitive guidance systems of surface-to-air munitions and radars. Another was that as the Storm Warriors plummeted down to the ground it would appear as if they were racing ahead of what was a series of blinding, coursing bolts of lightning. Bolts that were, due to the sensor detections, had homed in on a large formation of traitor imperial army soldiers that defended a stretch outside of Tredecimmia's spaceport and slammed down amongst their confused and stunned ranks - blinding those closest to the impact zones.
Also, as soon as 8th Assault Company Captain Kharn felt the world rocking impact of his drop pod as it ended its arcing journey from The Storm's End to Bodt's surface those shimmering bolts of lightning lashed out. Before the traitors could react the electrical field snapped out from drop pod to drop pod - like a series of lightning rods. For the unprotected traitors caught in the Storm Warriors' electrical grid the end came in different ways. Some had their nervous systems overloaded, their brains unable to send signals to the rest of the body forcing them to go into sudden and terminal cardiac arrest. Others were more simply burned from the inside out as they fried to a crisp from, again, extremely terminal conditions of their blood cells and organs rupturing.
All in all, it was a signature ability of the Stormfire drop pod variant used by the 12th Legion.
When Kharn stormed out of his drop pod the air around him was filled with the smell of burning, blood, and ash.
He paid it no mind, instead he looked toward the spaceport.
"With me!" he shouted, raising in one hand an unique looking power axe that almost appeared to be too large for him, but he had no trouble pointing it toward the spaceport, "For the Stormborn!"
"THE STORMBORN!" was the answering cry of the 8th Assault Company as they flooded away from their drop pods and toward the spaceport. The dazed survivors of the traitors were cut down like chaff, many were blinded or deafened by the arrival of the Storm Warriors. He noted that the traitors that had so unceremoniously set alight appeared to be from off-world. Which was good, from the reports they had received from Bodt before it had gone dark was that many of the Gun Clans in the volcanic mountains and hills surrounding the few bastions on the planet had stayed loyal to the Stormborn and their Emperor.
Bodt had been a barracks world and proving grounds to the 12th Legion even when they had named themselves as War Hounds. Kharn remembered when the legion had used it as their de facto homeworld, using it as their primary staging point for expeditions into the expanding borders of the Imperium in service of the Emperor and in their own search for their Primarch.
It felt like a lifetime ago - which it was in most respects. Before they had found Aegon, and well before the start of the Shattering and before Horus had turned traitor.
"Advance and sweep! Our quarry will be in the command center!" Kharn barked, and listened to the acknowledgments from the sub-commanders as they moved. The Storm Warriors advanced behind a line of Breacher Squads, their block shields absorbing most of the return fire that was beginning to open up from enemy positions in the spaceport. They might have suffered more casualties had it not been for the Storm Warriors' own Devastator Squads targeting the closest anti-air gun platforms allowing for a flight of Storm Warrior Fire Raptor Gunships to close in and gut the traitor defensive line. Once they came in arms' reach of the survivors the Storm Warriors lashed out once more shattering any attempt by the traitors to form a defensive line.
It was then that a tougher opponent entered the fray, the first Kharn knew of their arrival being a Warrior to his left going down with bolt-blast hole in his helmet. Kharn traced the path of the shot and when he saw them his blood began to boil in his veins.
Astartes. Astartes who wore hastily painted black armor but here and there Kharn could still see the tell-tale signs of the storm-grey, blue and yellow beneath it on their ceramite armor. Perhaps a thousand of them compared to the three thousand Kharn had brought in his drop and the five thousand more he had come to Bodt with which were either assaulting other sections of Tredecimmia or traitor bastions in the mountains. Perhaps Kharn should have thanked them for choosing to become Blackshields as opposed to wearing the colors of the Primarch they had betrayed but he knew it would have been a waste. Especially as they had killed loyal sons of Aegon already and were doing so now.
"For the Stormborn and Emperor!" Kharn shouted, his cry taken up by over a thousand more voices as they charged into the advancing Blackshields into what very quickly became an utter melee.
Kharn melted a traitor's head from his body with a shot from his plasma pistol before he holstered the weapon and took the axe he had been carrying in both hands. He tooled on Lightbrother's power generator and almost immediately a glowing field of arcing electricity spread across the head of the axe. A Blackshield advanced toward him, chain-axe held up for a sideward strike - Kharn dove into it bringing Lightbrother up so it connected with the chain-axe - immediately electrical power flooded into the opposing weapon - blowing out the motor for the chain-blade forcing it to shudder to a halt and causing his opponent to flinch in sudden pain. Quick as lightning Kharn brought up his axe and took the Blackshield's head from his shoulders. He let the momentum carry him to the side to dodge another strike from yet another Blackshield that had been coming for him. Before his second opponent could react Kharn reversed himself and slammed Lightbrother into the traitor's midsection. He must have carved up the traitor's twin hearts which definitely killed him but the traitor's body still twitched from the course of electrical impulse and that would have killed him had he survived Kharn's blow somehow.
"Gheer! Where is that cowardly hound?" Kharn growled as he dispatched another Blackshield.
"He's busy, but perhaps I will do it for you instead!" an articulate voice called to him, and Kharn had the distinct impression of a much larger armored form charging at him before he was flung aside.
Gritting his teeth he rolled into his fall, coming back up to his legs and in a guard position almost immediately. The voice's owner advanced on Kharn and the Captain felt bile rise in his gorge as he took in the abomination...the abomination that had been a Blood Angel.
He was familiar to Blood Fiends as the Storm Warriors had called them, they had been a common sight at the Shattering. Still, it disgusted him that the once noble Blood Angels of Luminous Sanguinius had fallen so very low.
The well mannered voice was illplaced coming from the Blood Fiend, given that its body was a swollen monstrosity of armor and bloody flesh. It stood a foot and more taller than Kharn, arms erupted out of the shoulder pauldrons with the color of too ruddy flesh but what was dangerous was the sharpened talons that had become the Blood Angel's hands and Kharn knew had the strength to peel him from his armor. The Blood Fiend's boots had erupted in another set of black, wicked looking talons though instead of bending at the knee its legs bent backward and then again at the knee. It wore no helmet, though he had seen some who still wore them, but this one's jaw was too distended and filled with craggy fangs to fit in a normal helmet fit for an Astartes. What little hair the thing had left was the color of dried blood - indeed its maw was splattered with blood - it must have been feeding recently.
Perhaps most cruel of all was the thing's eyes. Though colored blood red they looked...noble...perhaps even pleading at Kharn. As if the noble warrior that the Blood Angel had once been called for release from its current state.
"Yesss...Kharn of the 8th. I know you." the Blood Fiend spoke again, its voice sounded perfect though its head twitched from side to side as it stalked forward, "Your blood will make a fine feast...and your skull- A TROPHY FOR THE SKULL THRONE!"
The Blood Angel leapt forward at Kharn, its wide talons outstretched toward him as if in a mockery attempting to embrace him.
"My skull is mine, monster!" Kharn roared in response and dived to the side, Lightbrother cut along the Blood Angel's arm, cutting what looked like vestigial bat wing from its flesh which charred from the electrical field.
"GRAAAH! KILL YOU!" the Blood Angel roared, and swept around and dived at Kharn again. He managed to block the talons on its arms but with a screech it kicked out with its feet and he felt one of its sharp nails tear into his side. He bit down on the pain he felt, metal gates shuddered into place against the outpour of anger he felt. He had to be calm or he would be this thing's food.
"Ours is thunder…ours is rain…" Kharn said through his teeth as he shifted Lightbrother so it shocked the Blood Angel's side causing it to screech and hop backward.
"Ours is lightning…" Kharn said louder, bringing the axe up in a defensive stance he had seen Aegon use more times than he could count.
"GRRRAAGH!" the Blood Angel shrieked once more before it charged forward once more. All reason lost in those eyes now. Only murder and bloodshed remained.
"Ours is the Storm!" Kharn cried, and swept Lightbrother into the Blood Angel, hitting it square in the chest the remaining ceramite there cracked and split apart before the blade edge slammed home into what remained of the Blood Angel's hearts. A moment later its chest burst into flames as the electrical power from Lightbrother sundered the thing's twisted mutated physiology. The Blood Angel screamed in pain once and leapt itself free from Kharn's axe but the damage had been done - it stumbled two steps on its monstrous talons before it crashed to a heap on the ground.
Catching his breath and the situation around him, Kharn saw that the battle had been won for the Storm Warriors. With the death of the Blood Angel the Blackshields that remained were attempting to fall back and failed miserably at it. The 12th Legion rumbled into the spaceport like an oncoming storm. Suddenly a voice sparked in his ear as his vox came to life.
"I found Gheer. Not much left of him." Stannis Seaworth's voice crackled, who was Kharn's best Seeker Strike Leader and he did not doubt the assessment.
"Let me guess. As if some beast tore him apart? Not much blood in him?" Kharn asked.
Legion Master Ibram Gheer. The old man had commanded the 12th Legion before they had reunited with Aegon Stormborn and had become a complete Legion. Gheer however did not have the restraint that Aegon had demanded of his gene-sons, to be a force of natural but one controlled by word and discipline. Perhaps it would have been better to execute Gheer instead of exiling him to Bodt to oversee the Legion's industrial production once recruitment had shifted to Planetos exclusively except for a few tithe worlds. Regardless, Gheer had stewed on Bodt and had thrown his lot in with Horus...and perhaps worse. Aegon had tasked Kharn with bringing justice to Gheer and retaking the key industries for producing the legion's equipment.
"Yes, which means you know what did this and probably killed it, Ser Kharn?" Stannis replied.
"Affirmative. A Blood Angel Fiend. Have your teams gather all the intel they can and burn anything that looks...demonic." Kharn spat out the last word, for some reason it came natural to those born of Planetos but for those like Kharn who had been raised in the Imperial Truth the word felt strange to say.
"Once we have finished cleaning up the system we will head back to Planetos. The Stormborn needs to know the Blood Angels and their damned Primarch are still out there...hunting us."
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Feb 3, 2021
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QuietlyObserving
Don't Try Any of This at Home
Feb 3, 2021
UUuuuuugh. I have not written anything in like two-three months. Got to crawl again so I can remember how to walk and run.
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"I must congratulate the Stormborn for bringing to our family justice and vengeance, and yet…" Oberyn Martell, his younger brother, paused to hand Doran a goblet of wine. He was perhaps one of the only men in all of Westeros and Essos who did not feel a hint of fear or caution at being handed a drink by the Red Viper of Dorne - at least those who were not ignorant of his brother's reputation or the dying who may have seen poison as a mercy. "...and yet, I feel impotent and cheated by his actions."
Doran chuckled and shook his head, leaning back in his wheelchair to take in the night of the Water Gardens, the pale pink marble pillars, clear water pools, and blood orange trees were cast in darkness now except for the light from a few torches and the stars above the clear sky above.
He looked back to his brother. "I doubt anyone could call you impotent brother. Not your eight Sand Snakes, their mothers, and I dare not ponder how many other women - and men - and their cuckolded spouses."
And that was putting the nature of his brother's sexual activities lightly. Oberyn laughed into the night air, sparing Doran a wry grin.
"I won't argue, my Prince." Oberyn sighed and thumped his fist on the arm of his chair lightly, "Yet still. You do not know how many years I have...dreamed of bringing forth our revenge on our sister's murderers."
His brother's words became more bitter the longer he spoke and Doran felt just the same, though unlike his younger brother he did not express them as openly. They had nursed a decade spanning grudge against House Lannister, House Baratheon and their pawns for the open murder of their sister Elia and her children in the climax of Robert's Rebellion. Truth, the balding lion Tywin Lannister was the architect of their beloved sister's death but Robert was still compliant in letting the murder go unpunished - if not rewarded with Robert's marriage to the bitch-queen Cersei. Afterward Doran had made sure Dorne had distanced itself from King's Landing, the most southern kingdom had been the most aloof and separate of all Seven Kingdoms. Only Jon Arryn's return of Elia and her children's bones had made Doran pay lip-service to the Iron Throne and the Bloody Stag that sat on it.
"Robert Baratheon, the man who had stood aside at our sister's death - dead in a most ignoble hunting accident. His Realm split with war raging from the North to the Reach as the Starks looked for their own revenge, his brothers and his…'son' claiming the Iron Throne for themselves."
Oh the laughter that Oberyn had exclaimed at reading Stannis Baratheon's letter on the true parentage of Joffrey had filled every halfway and room at the Water Gardens. Doran still doubted the truth of the letter...but given the recent events there were very few left who would argue against the truth of it, and whether true or not it would follow House Lannister and House Baratheon for years to come.
Yet it had not filled the hole in Doran.
"The Imp seeking our allegiance by actually sending one of the Bitch-Queen's children to our hall for...protection." Oberyn continued and a chuckle came from Doran's lips. Truly, Tywin Lannister's children were blind to the hatred House Martell cultivated toward them - an effort that Doran attributed to himself reigning in his brother and keeping their attitudes unknown to those even within Dorne. Myrcella Baratheon, or perhaps it was Lannister or Hill, had arrived in Dorne with her guard Ser Arys Oakheart and had been installed for her...safety...within the Old Palace. The Imp's proposal for Myrcella to be wed to Doran's youngest son Trystane was a fiction he still held as a truth but he expected that the lie of it was rotting very quickly as a fish at market. His youngest son was quite fond of the girl, and Doran had to admit he found nothing wrong with the child as she was courteous and intelligent for one so young - truly a miracle by exception when compared to her brothers.
Yet this coup had not filled the hole in Doran.
"The Mountain, that monster slain in single combat on the field. His atrocities laid out for all…" Oberyn growled out the words, his fist clenching as if he held a dagger in it. News of Gregor Clegane's death had reached Sunspear first and Doran felt it was most fitting - it was an open secret that the Mountain had been Tywin's fist in the murder of Elia - he had teased out the details over the years from witnesses and his spies who had heard the open boasts of the murderer himself.
There had been a vicious joy in hearing of the Mountain's death but it had not filled the hole in Doran.
"King's Landing besieged, the Balding Lion dead on the field." Oberyn continued, "Then the city stormed, the Bitch-Queen, the Kingslayer and their incestous spawn captured and sentenced to exile in the cold North, the Imp in charge of the Westerlands, Robert's foppish brother on the Iron Throne…"
The news of Renly's victories at King's Landing had arrived earlier like a deluge of letters from his messengers and spies, both open and official, outside of Dorne. The Fall of House Lannister and House Baratheon had been like a calm stream transformed into a raging river rushing toward the sea.
And yet...
"And all of it...we can thank the Stormborn for. While it was on Renly's behalf, the hand that actually drove the blade into our enemies backs was the Giant of Tarth." Oberyn's words sounded exasperated now, again that tantrum at not being the one to plunge the blade rising in his tone again.
"I wish I could claim credit for any of this myself," Doran admitted, "All these years of watching and waiting...and it comes about from the sins of our enemies tearing themselves apart enough for an unbelievable man to finish the job."
The stories about Aegon of Tarth had trickled down into Dorne over the last several months. Oberyn claimed he had heard of a Giant of a man on Tarth a year before, but the recent actions of the Stormborn was like the coming of a sudden storm from the sea. According to his brother and Hotah, his bodyguard, talk of the exploits of the Tarthman were spreading throughout the Seven Kingdoms - not even Dorne was immune to them. Hearing his name talked about in the markets of the Shadow City that sprawled outside of Sunspear his legend was outlandish. It was said he had grown to a full man from an infant in the space of a year. Wherever he walked storm clouds gathered in the sky and his voice was like the rumble of thunder. At Storm's End, Stannis' pet witch of the Red God had taken one look into Aegon's eyes and burst into flame. He had ripped Clegane in two with his bare hands. At the battle outside of King's Landing lightning had split the ground in his wake, Tywin Lannister's heart had stopped dead in his presence, had had drank wildflame and survived, he had pushed down the outer wall of King's Landing and men of lightning and thunder had stormed the city with him.
It was said he was the Storm King reborn.
All very fantastical stories...ones that were spoken above the glory of His Grace Renly Baratheon. It reminded Doran that there was still a Baratheon on the Iron Throne, and that Stannis it was said still lived on Dragonstone. Indeed, Cersei still lived didn't she? Why should she live where Elia had been murdered. Her children as well.
There was still a hole left by the death of his sister and her children and it had not been filled yet. Not at all.
"The Stormborn has left King's Landing with Cersei and her children in chains. They travel north to Riverrun to broker peace with the Northmen and deal with Balon's latest attempt at his dreams of an Ironborn empire reborn." Doran shifted his eyes back toward his brother, "You should travel North, take our Spears and offer your aid."
"I doubt I will be able to make Riverrun in time to beat the peace party there." Oberyn raised a brow at him, eager to hear just what his brother was actually planning.
"Yes, but I doubt that they will take Cersei with them on a campaign to drive the Ironborn back. Most likely she will remain at Riverrun for a time. Besides, you will not only offer your spear for...His Grace… in returning the realm to normalcy but also to offer our condolences to Lady Stark. Have not our Houses suffered from those who sit on the Iron Throne? If I remember correctly, her poor daughter Sansa is about Quentyn's age. Take him with you..."
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The Lion of York
Joffrey
299 AC
The Red Keep
"King Joffrey! King Joffrey! The One True King! King Joffrey!"
The crowd cheered for Joffrey as he entered into the throne room, their faces filled with awe and adoration for their liege lord. Trumpets heralded his arrival and the acclaim for him became louder. He smiled as his eyes fell onto the Iron Throne, it almost seemed to shine - beckoning for him to take his rightful place on it!
"King Joffrey! The Just and Worthy! King Joffrey!"
He walked toward the Iron Throne, the crowd parting immediately to form a path for him straight to HIS throne. It was his because he was king. It was his birthright. There was no one to challenge him.
The Wolf Boy was dead. Uncle Stannis and Renly were dead. Even the squid Balon Greyjoy was dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. Traitors. All of them. They were dead, just as he had ordered it to be.
"King Joffrey the Great! The King of the Seven Kingdoms! The greatest since Aegon the Conqueror!"
The crowd continued to cheer as he continued to walk. Basking in their adoration. He would not kill them that day. He was pleased.
The slut Sansa was his as was the Tyrell girl, Margarey. They had all bowed down and submitted to him.
"King Joffrey! KiNG JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY!"
The crowd was chanting out his name louder now, it was becoming deafening - the walls of the throne room throwing it back to him. He was still walking to the Iron Throne. How long had he been walking? He should have been there by now. Joffrey looked up and saw he was no more closer to the Iron Throne than when he had first entered the room.
"KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY!!!!!!"
"Be quiet!" he snapped, but his words were lost in the roar of the crowd's collective voices, "Enough! I command it!"
They ignored him. He had to get away from them. He clamped his hands over his ears and kept on walking.
He had to take his rightful seat on the Iron Throne. It was his birthright.
He was King.
He began to walk faster, then seeing he still wasn't making any progress he began to jog and when he saw the Iron Throne was moving -away- from him he began to flat out run.
"KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY!"
He wouldn't let it get away from him! No! The throne was his and his alone! Anyone who tried to take it from him would die! Die! Die! Die!
The ground beneath him shook as a peal of thunder erupted above him, he looked up and saw the roof of the throne room was gone! It was replaced by a roiling black thundercloud that seemed to light up for a moment before a streak of lighting slammed into the ground behind the Iron Throne. With a sonic boom that sent Joffrey to his hands and knees the lighting transformed into a giant! It had no skin or bones but was shaped like a man wearing armor and he was made of burning blue-white lightning! In the giant's hands was a massive axe which was slowly brought up above its head, preparing to strike the Iron Throne itself!
"No! It's mine! I am King! Me! Joffrey! No one else!" Joffrey screamed, he tried to get up but another boom of thunder sent him back to the stone ground.
"KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY!" The crowd continued to cheer.
Joffrey continued to scream even when the axe of lightning slammed into the Iron Throne, the booming thunder was replaced with the sound of a roaring beast - he imagined it was a dragon - and the Iron Throne began to change. The surface of the metal throne looked like it was heating up as if thrown into an immensely powerful fire pit. The metal surface began to bubble and melt with a never ending slowness that Joffrey could not look away from.
"No! You can't take it away from me! I am King!" Joffrey howled even as the Iron Throne melted completely into a molten mass of steaming liquid iron that somehow burst toward him, the crowd did not seem to mind as they were engulfed by the rushing wave.
"KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY! KING JOFFREY!"
Horror filled him, his resolve crumbled into ashes. He tried to stand, to run away but before he could he felt hands grab him and hold him down. When he looked to see who it was he let out a pitiful whimper of fear. It was Father, it was Eddard Stark, it was Sansa's Septa, and it was the dead he had seen killed. They were not healthy and hale as they had been in life, they were all rotten - their skin peeling or gone putrid from decay. Their eyes were all gone - staring at him accusingly while their lips curled into rictus grins.
"Let me go! Let me go! I-I command it!" he wailed, still struggling as the molten wave washed over him. Burning his flesh, his hair erupting in fire even as he drowned-
X
A boot slammed into Joffrey's stomach waking him up from his nightmare. He let out a shriek of pain before he crumpled in on himself, hugging his body in a fetal position on the straw mattress that was his "bed" inside of the covered wagon that he had been chained to as the traitors moved northward.
"Get up you golden piece of shit." The Hound's voice growled at him, opening his eyes Joffrey saw the disfigured form of his former sworn sword looking down at him with contempt. How dare he! How dare his dog treat him this way. Clegane was nothing compared to him, just a mutilated freak! Joffrey was Kin-
What he was thinking must have shown on his face as Clegane narrowed his eyes and kicked Joffrey again -getting yet another shriek of pain as he tried to flinch away but ending up tripping and falling into a corner of the wagon.
"Quit playing with your food Clegane and hurry up." the voice of Robar Royce sighed with exasperation from the entranceway to the covered wagon's door flap, "The Stormborn isn't going to wait."
"Alright, alright shut it. Its a curse but I've known this bastard long enough to know when he is being uppity and delusional in his own head." Clegane reached down and yanked him roughly to his feet, Seven Hells it felt like the Hound was going to rip out his arm. Then dragged him out of his wagon and into the cold morning air - to be ignored by the Storm Warriors that milled about the campsite.
He was their King and he was wearing nothing but some lowborn peasant's tunic and breeches yet they still ignored him as if he was nothing special to see! Curse them all he thought sharply.
Curse all of the traitors and filth that had abandoned him!
The Dog was at the top of his list of traitors to His Majesty. Uncle Renly was also at the top as was his Uncle the Imp and his Great Uncle Kevan.
They had betrayed him at Hayford Castle where after seeing that he, Mother, and the brat Tommen were unharmed Kevan had surrendered to Uncle Renly's men! He had done the unthinkable and acknowledged Tyrion as Lord Paramount of the West even though Joffrey had shouted loudly that as King he had commanded the Imp to be the royal privy cleaner.
Which had swiftly earned him a gag around his mouth.
He had continued to scream all the nasty words of their betrayal he could think of through his gag.
Laying down their arms the remnants of the Lannister army that Kevan commanded had with the bloody Imp turned westward to march down the Goldroad back to the Westerlands. While Joffrey, Mother and Tommen continued northward as prisoners of the Giant of Tarth, Renly's Good Brother and some other traitors.
Damn them all. He was King!
"Come on with you!" Sadnor pushed him forward, one hand squeezing his shoulder hard as he was frog marched to a waiting horse. Pulled into a sitting position he was tempted to make a break for it, but with his hands still bound and the Dog holding a tether to his horse's reins he doubted he would get very far…
"Where are we going? Tell me!" Joffrey demanded, trying to glare but quickly looking away when both the Dog and the Royce glared back at him.
"You are going to be taught a lesson by Maester Aegon, Hill." Robar replied, smirking as Joffrey's hackled rose at being addressed as a bastard. He was not a bastard! He wasn't! He knew it wasn't true! Mother would never...never do...those things with Uncle Jaime! Never! It was all lies.
He could not help but wonder what sort of lesson was he going to be taught?
The nature of it slowly became clearer as they rode away from the camp and into the forest off the Kingsroad in the Riverlands. He could hear the sound of men shouting and metal clashing. The screams of men fighting and dying.
They came to a small hill next to a clearing. The clearing had what looked like a large camp and to his excitement he saw the camp was flying Lannister colors! He saw the banner of the Crakehalls, a brindled black and white boar on a brown field, among a few other minor houses. These men had not turned westward with the Imp and Kevan - had they refused the terms of surrender? Were they here to rescue him and return him to the cheering crowds of King's Landing???
If that was the case they were doing a terrible job of it he noted sourly.
In the center of the clearing there was a melee as the lines of men wearing Lannister, Storm Warrior, Baratheon, and Tyrell colors clashed. The mass of men heaved at one another, pushing their shields and striking out with wild blows - every so often a man would go down, his screams cut short or lingering on horribly.
His eyes were drawn to the blue-grey colors of the Storm Warriors, there men in heavy armor with broad shields held a solid line against their Lannister foes - almost seeming to push their shields forward and strike with their assortment of hammers, axes, and swords in unison as they warded off the enemy and ground forward. In the center of it all was the Giant of Tarth, the Storm Giant's appearance causing Joffrey to try and fail to stifle a whimper of fear. In his mind he saw a flash of the giant made of lightning from his nightmare. By the Seven he was a daemon from the Seven Hells! He had to be if he was opposed to Joffrey's just rulership!
Around the Storm Giant was a wedge of knights, each one carrying a great weapon of some sort and they seemed more focused on protecting the Storm Giant rather than pushing forward. In fact it looked like the Storm Giant was doing almost nothing other than defending himself. It was almost like he was waiting-
A hail of quarrels slammed down into the ranks of the Lannister reserves behind the main battle line, his eyes immediately going to the source he saw lowborn peasants in green hoods and leather jerkins - where had they come from? In a blink of an eye they had ratched their crossbows and had sent another volley into the Lannister reserves - who now under fire shifted to face and charge the green hooded men. Rather than give battle though the crossbowmen fled back into the woods, a sight which brought a swift smile to Joffrey's face. Hah! The cowards! Those scum could not hope to best the might of House Lann-
His inner preening was cut off as from the same section of the forest the crossbowmen had disappeared from a wedge of men in heavy plate mail marched into sight. These men were undoubtedly knights of the Reach, their armor embossed with decorations of roses and thorns.
"For King Renly and Queen Margarey!" A shout rose up from the knights before they charged into the out of place Lannister reserves, their attempts to back peddle away from the new foe catching the Lannistermen off guard. As if this was some sort of signal, a roar echoed up from the center of the melee where the Storm Giant stood - now he appeared to be fully wading into the fight. The axe and hammer he swung cutting a ruinous path. Again as if on cue, the back line of the Storm Warriors suddenly broke off and sprinted with shocking speed around the main line, now free from retaliation by the Lannister reserves. His hopes for rescue slowly gutted out as he saw the lightly armored fightings slam into the Lannister flanks, some wielding dual hammers or swords as they picked apart their opponents.
Screams of panic wafted up from the battlefield as before his eyes the Lannister force crumbled under the onslaught, men panicking as they tried to flee for their lives.
"The lesson that Aegon wanted to teach you." Royce said matter-of-factly, one arm sweeping out to take in the battlefield, "There will be no rescue coming for you. The arms and men of the Storm Warriors have ensured it."
Boiling anger filled him; he wanted to scream. He wanted to deny those words!
He was King!
...wasn't he?
In the distance a hunting horn blared, something Joffrey saw seemed to surprise the Hound and Royce. Looking down Joffrey thought he could see the Storm Giant tense up in anticipation.
Then the most motley assortment of men come charging into the Lannister rear from the tree line. They do not have any banner that Joffrey can see but even from this distance Joffrey can see they wear armor from an assortment of places, mostly the Riverlands but he can see the smattering of Stormlander and Northmen.
Sandor perks up, standing in his saddle as he seems to see something shocking before he exclaims, "The Maid fuck me in the Sept! I know that one, the one leading these swineherds. That's Beric Dondarrion! The bloody fucking Lightning Lord!"
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Oct 21, 2021
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redhead222
Oct 21, 2021
Ned
299 AC
The Riverlands
"Are you well, Ned?" the words come from a dead man - at least a man who has died and returned to life again and again - and it causes Ned, Lord Edric Dayne of House Dayne, to turn his weary eyes to his master, Beric Dondarrion - the Lord of Blackhaven. When Ned had first come to be fostered as a squire in Lord Beric's service the man was considered a handsome man with dashing good looks - or so he heard in passing from various gossiping ladies. Now though? To Ned it seemed that Beric had become a shell of himself - his handsome face was pitted and scarred - one of his eyes a red, ruined pit. His head misshapen from a dreadful blow, he has taken to wearing a black scarf around his neck to hide the mark of a hangman's noose.
Though that was just the surface changes. That was just the outward appearance of the man that had changed and not what had not changed within him - what seemed to die within him with every resurrection carried out by Thoros.
"Just…trouble sleeping." Ned replied, darting his purple colored eyes away underneath his blonde hair and back to saddling his horse, he was only ten and two years of age so he could hide his face from the taller man "Just my dreams."
Which was not a lie.
"Dreams…?" Beric asked, confused for a moment - as if the entire concept was unknown to him - but something flashed, a light, in his one good eye, "Dreams, of course. Nebulous things aren't they?"
Beric had not slept for months now, not since he had first died at the ambush of Mummer's Ford.
"They are." Ned agreed, hauling himself up onto his horse as Beric did likewise to his own and continued to speak.
"Perhaps you can speak to Thoros? He might have an Essoi trick for that." Beric continued with a sidelong glance in the direction they would be traveling, "If all goes well perhaps the Storm King will have a maester or two you can speak to."
"If they don't bloody well hang you all on the spot." Lem growled from his own horse, looking even more sullen than he normally did looking out from his yellow colored cloak. He would not be joining them at the meeting, Beric had ordered that Lem and Anguy stay with the forty or so men of the Brotherhood Without Banners that still survived after the fight at the Lannister Loyalist camp.
Ned remembered yesterday's fight well, they had been stalking the Lannistermen for several days - slowly bleeding their numbers by falling on their foraging parties and sentries. Thus the Brotherhood had been aware of the approaching army whereas the Lannisters had been blind to it and so they had known exactly when to make their own appearance to cut down the Lannister reserves.
Most of the others had argued to not even become involved in the skirmish, that they should move away from the advancing Baratheon/Tyrell army but Beric had shot down any argument against it. He had also decided to send the Northman, Harwin, to the Baratheon/Tyrell camp to parley and had been insistent on it being him in particular to go.
"We haven't hung any Reachmen have we? Or for that matter Stormlanders fighting under Renly's banner?" Tom of Sevenstreams strumming his woodharp as he half sings, the older man's voice sounded much younger than he looked, "O'Lions a plenty and a wolf here and there and a few rotten fish!"
"We're still outlaws. If we were just meeting with the Tyrells I wouldn't bet on us coming out with our heads still attached to our necks," Thoros came into view now, the red-robed man swaying a bit as his horse trod forward, "That's why I'm betting on us getting out of this alive when our Lightning Lord meets their Storm King."
'Lightning Lord' was an epithet that was common to the Lords of House Dondarrion Ned knew from his studies even before he had been squired to Beric. It was said that the first Lord Dondarrion had been a messenger in the original, mythical Storm King's army and had been waylaid while delivering an important message. When it had seemed like the man would die a purple bolt of lightning had struck and killed the attackers thus when that particular Lord Dondarrion had been elevated to the Lord of Blackhaven he had taken a purple forked lightning bolt on a black field of white stars as his house sigil.
The first the Brotherhood Without Banners had heard of Aegon of Tarth had been his defeat and execution of Gregor Clegane and his brigands at the Battle of the God's Eye as many of the smallfolk were calling it. The news had been met with mixed results among those of their band who had been there at Mummer's Ford. Righteous satisfaction that Clegane was dead and yet also a strange sort of melancholy that they had not been the ones to finish off Clegane after the brothers and friends that had died at Mummer's Ford. Ned had been grateful that Clegane had been killed but at the same time nervous about what sort of man Aegon was to have, if the story was true, punched Clegane's head and helmet from his own shoulders.
Their original writ from…Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King who Edric had seen from a distance with his daughter at the tourney announcing Lord Stark's new position, had been completed by another's hand. Edric remembered he had wanted to speak to him…to ask him questions...but Edric had hesitated and now it was too late.
For if any had left a mark on House Dayne in recent years it had been the Lord Stark.
Yet, Beric had rallied them, that their quest was not over so long as the people of the Riverlands suffered. In the name of King Robert and Lord Stark, and silently he had vowed to do so in Lord Stark's name.
The next that they had heard of him was the Battle of King's Landing, after the Brotherhood had snapped at the heels of Tywin Lannister's retreating army as it raced to rescue the Lannister's children and grandchildren. It had not taken long, as Tywin's departure had granted time for the smallfolk of the Riverlands to breath and he knew Beric had been contemplating taking Harrenhall from the skeleton force that Tywin had left there. Then a new wave of pillaging and burning had come from the direction of the city as retreating bands of Lannisters fled north and westward. The captives they had taken had yelled and whimpered in fear of Aegon of Tarth - calling him the Storm King. Of his defiance of Tywin Lannister and his single, furious assault on the walls of the city with his Storm Warriors.
And now…they were going to meet him.
"Everything will be alright." Beric said, his voice sounding distant as he stared off in the distance before he shook himself and took his horse's reins in both hands, "Let's go. It would be rude to keep them waiting on us."
They rode in silence, besides Tom occasionally breaking out into song, but it was not a long ride until they arrived at the camp of the Baratheon-Tyrell army moving into the Riverlands.
"Maid's heaving bosom! It's massive." Tom cursed in awe at the sight of the army's camp. Ned would not have profaned as he did have to agree with the sentiment. He had become used to seeing the camps of refugees and brigands, the sprawling clusters of tents that sprouted around a particular lord's pavilion and his bannermen in the armies of the Lannisters, Tullys and Starks. The camp of the Storm Warriors though was nothing like them, around a strong looking stockade that had not been there the day before Ned saw orderly row after row of tents that lined up next to one another like a shield line. There was even spaces for forges and what looked like a granary - a number of tents which seemed to be set aside for camp followers looked just as neat.
And lightning bolts. Everywhere he saw symbols and sigils with lightning bolts. Lightning bolts striking skulls. Axes, hammers, and swords emitting lightning or wrapped in it. Fists gripping lightning. A horn blaring lightning. And more! Drawn on tents and banners in clusters.
He did not recognize any of these as house sigils, though perhaps in the aftermath of taking King's Landing Renly Baratheon could have elevated a number of men but that they were all here in Aegon's Storm Warriors seemed to make that unlikely. While Thoros had commented that the Storm Warriors seemed to be organized like a sellsword company. Ned knew that such companies could range in size from a hundred men at most to several thousand - so perhaps these were marks of the different divisions within the Storm Warriors?
As they had approached the camp several men with heavy looking warhammers and shields had advanced to block their path - but then a familiar face had appeared among them and that had seemed to make the guards back off quickly.
"Lord Dondarrion! You came…that is good. Very good." The Northman Harwin greeted them. Looking closer at him Ned could see that he was excited about something, looking closer Ned could see he was wearing a new cloak - with the Direwolf symbol of House Stark on it.
"He's alive. That's a good sign." Thoros murmured before he shut his mouth after a quick glance from Beric.
"Are we still welcome to meet with him and his company?" Beric asked, to which Harwin nodded eagerly.
"Yes, you are and I have good news! Lady Stark is here with her daughters. Both survived King's Landing." Harwin seemed relieved to say the words. Ned knew the Northman had despaired over the fate of Eddard Stark and the unknown whereabouts of both his daughters - which spoke highly of the loyalty that the Stark had garnered from his people.
"Truthfully? They survived being captive of Joffrey and Cersei?" Ned asked as he slid from his saddle and approached the older man.
"One did, Lord Stark's eldest daughter Sansa had remained captive in the city." Ned's mind flashed with the image of a young girl about his age with red hair of a Tully. "His youngest, Arya who is practically a she-wolf, escaped the city…" Harwin paused a melancholic look crowding his face now, "And had been captured by Gods Damned Gregor Clegane! When Lord Aegon took his head he also rescued her from captivity."
The news washed over the Brotherhood members in a wave of shock, a pained expression even appearing on Beric's face. Ned knew that he was gaping openly. To think that the Stark girl had been running around the Riverlands and by chance they could have stumbled upon her and rescued her at who knows how many times? And that she had been captured by the Mountain of all people…
"Did he…?" Thoros asked, ashen faced - leaving the rest of the question unsaid. They all knew the reputation of rape and torture that Clegane and his men had made of their captives. Much to their relief though Harwin shook his head.
"Nay. They never knew her true identity. The Storm Warriors sheltered her and reunited her with Lady Stark. They joined with Aegon's men and the Tyrells to help parley with her son." This explained where the Northman had obtained his new cloak, more than likely after this meeting he would break his ties with the Brotherhood and return to House Stark's service. Harwin continued as he led them to a large pavilion. To Ned it was plain to see that it was much larger in size than any of the others, almost out of proportion to the rest. Before he pulled back the entry he paused and turned to stare at Tom, "Don't you make any inappropriate jokes about his size."
"Me? Never!" Tom replied, sarcasm dripping from his words. Harwin rolled his eyes and opened the flaps of the pavilion and ushered them all inside. At first Ned knew something was wrong about what he was seeing inside of the tent but it took him several moments to realize what it was.
Most of the furniture was too large. The table, a few chairs, a bookcase, an armor rack and even a bed tucked into the corner was all several sizes larger than they -should- have been. Why they had been built in such a way confounded Ned, especially as he noted several others sitting in or around normal sized furniture. There was a fat man with the House Tyrell sigil on his clothes AND the badge of the Hand of the King which made Ned stiffen for a moment - the last time he had seen that had been on Eddard Stark. This had to have been Mace Tyrell, Lord-Paramount of the Reach. Near to him was a younger man who shared some of the same features as Lord Tyrell - perhaps one of his sons? Several men in Storm Warrior armor that he did not recognize. A woman with obviously Tully features and a stern air about her. This had to be Lady Stark - the wife of Lord Stark.
"In the halls of Harrenhall the younger Stark danced with your aunt, Ashara. Nervous gray eyes met her gentle purple ones and were enraptured." the voice of his Aunt Allyria filled his head, the words ringing again and again within him. He could still feel the wonder and sorrow in her voice as she told him the story - of her sister, Ashara Dayne.
It took him some effort to pull his eyes away from Lady Stark, he turned on his earlier thoughts - his eagerness to talk to a Stark about his aunt Ashara and his uncle, Arthur Dayne, turned sour. It would not end well if he brought up the topic of her husband's love for another woman in her presence.
Fortunately, it was Lord Dondarrion who pulled his attention back to the present as he stared open and hostile at one of the men in Storm Warriors armor who had turned around and giving them a full view of his face - horribly scarred as it was. It was one he had been familiar with at the tourney in King's Landing.
"Sandor Clegane." Beric growled out the words with a righteous fury about them. Seeming more alive than he had all day. "What are you doing here, dog?"
"Serving a penance." Sandor replied bluntly…and it was not what anyone from the Brotherhood expected. Ned remembered the surly, foul mouthed Hound from King's Landing - here, now he seemed almost like a different person. Restrained. As if all of the emotions that had made him a bitter man had been let loose from him.
"He is. I can assure you of that, Lightning Lord." a deep voice rumbled. The last figure in the room that banished all thoughts of Starks, dead family and the Hound from him. A massive figure stood up from one of the oversized chairs and took one large step forward to greet them and once more Ned gaped openly. The man towered over everyone present, seeming to fill the space with his presence - and with a sharp intake of breath Ned realized that this man stood even taller than the Mountain had when he had seen him at Mummer's Ford. Eyes like a thundercloud stared over them, and Ned thought he heard the sound of thunder in the distance as the man, Aegon of Tarth, continued to speak, "Please. Take a seat."
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High Lord Rokland
That One Other Guy.
Finally done traveling! Now I am searching for a job but at the sametime I am clawing my way back into a writing groove. Slowly.
---
Since he had joined Aegon and his pompously named Storm Warriors ( he never cared much for the bloody idiotic titles men gave themselves or their fighting companies - they were there to kill one another not see who had the more ass-wise sounding name) he had begun to feel different.
Ever since his own brother had thrust his face into the burning coals that had disfigured him Sandor's life had been a rolling, lurching affair between bouts of drinking and killing and following gods stupid orders of his so called "betters". Like a black cloud had followed him wherever he had went - leaving the Clegane holdings the day Gregor had inherited it to become a sworn sword in House Lannister - killing bandits, Targaryen men during the Sack of King's Landing, until he had been named by the Bitch Queen as Joffrey's sword shield and enduring more years of humiliation protecting that spoiled prince. The only solace he had been able to claw for was when he drank or fucked to numb the pain and when enough of both lead him to a dreamless sleep because otherwise in his dreams he would relive the worst day of his life.
Yes, he knew life was shit and so were everyone else in it but even so he was determined to drink and kill any fuckwit that tried to end him for as long as possible until he died in some nameless scuffle or in the gutter.
Then he had met Aegon and joined his stupid named company of killing men and everything had started to change for Sandor.
He had seen sellsword and free companies before, a collection of men who were just out for the next pay day, but the Storm Warriors, despite their name, felt and acted differently. It was almost as if lightning was in the air, how they had been inspired by the Giant of Tarth, how they wanted to end the fighting in Westeros, how they wanted to protect their families and always on about how they would follow Aegon Stormborn wherever he would go. It had sounded like sentimental crap but it had slowly worked its way into him everyday - especially with how well run the Storm Warrior's camp was. It was like a village unto itself, an odd sense of community that Sandor had never encountered before.
There was The Stormborn himself. Sandor did not believe in the old woman's tales of gumpkins, snarks, and Others but he could not deny there was something otherworldly about Aegon. Sandor had begun to feel something that had eluded him outside of the dreamless sleep he always searched for at the bottom of every cup of beer - peace. The pain, the anger, self-loathing and bitterness he felt every day of his life since his brother had maimed him had somehow begun to fade into the background of his daily thoughts ever since The Stormborn had first taken it away from him for a few hours back in King's Landing at their first meeting. As if Aegon was leeching or at least dulling his inner demons by his presence alone.
And Sandor wasn't the only one. He had talked with others in the camp. Men who had joined the Storm Warriors for the prospect of coin and fame felt that what they were a part of was so much more than pay. Others had joined out of revenge and hate, their families and lives having been destroyed by the war (and ironically enough Sandor's own brother) but now said they looked forward to bringing the King's Peace even if it meant pardoning those who had wronged them. Royce would tell him how now he looked at his days with Renly, drinking and jousting as if the whole war was some sort of summer game or tourney, as a dream - a wasteful one at that. He now followed Aegon in hopes of making up for his inaction and truly becoming a knight.
After the most recent battle against the remnant Lannisters he had looked to Aegon and saw the man standing as still as a statue, a twitch on his face and for a moment Sandor imagined the suffering of the wounded and the living from the killing floating in the air. Then the collective suffering funneled down into the Giant of Tarth and that was what was causing him pain as he took on the burdens of his men and left them…at peace.
A part of him recoiled at the thought that perhaps he was being bewitched by the Giant of Tarth…but then again he had not had a single nightmare in days. He had not woken up in a cursing sweat, the burnt scar of his face throbbing as a reminder of what he had lost.
Sandor had been thinking about this in their camp, his hands working on muscle memory to pass a whetstone over his blade while he sat on a stump, the meeting with Dondarrion and his rabble had ended shortly ago - Seven All did the man look almost as bad as Sandor did. He had seen the Lightning Lord before he had left under the then Hand Eddard Stark's orders to apprehend Gregor and Sandor had been quietly envious of the man's good looks. Now the man's face looked as if it had been crushed with a hammer and popped back into place - the hollow look of his sunken eyes reminded Sandor of a skull more than anything.
The leader of the so-called Brotherhood Without Banners had spoken with Sandor's betters from the North and the Reach with Aegon playing as mediator while Beric explained the course of events since leaving King's Landing. Following Gregor's trail of destruction (and had not nearly every eye in the room turned to him for a brief moment - though the youngest Stark girl had lingered the longest), the ambush at Mummer's Ford, their continued battles against the Lannisters and their commitment to protecting the smallfolk from any who preyed on them - which included bands of Northmen foragers. Sandor thought that there was something that Dondarrion was holding back as he explained his 'lucky' escape from Gregor's ambush - he had been left for dead but had survived and been saved by the Myrman and his squire from Dorne. It made him think of all the other 'lucky' escapes the man had had with all the rumors of his death all throughout the Riverlands - stabbed, crushed, and even hanged.
There had been a quibble about if what Dondarrion had been doing was within the law but the appeal that he had been undertaking Lord Stark's last order as Hand had appealed to the widowed Lady Stark and they had been able to argue for Dondarrion - and his fighters - clemency. Dondarrion had said that if Aegon was bringing peace back to the Riverlands then his mandate was over, and Sandor had not missed that he had not mentioned King Renly - something the Fat Flower of Highgarden had corrected in short order.
Curiously the King's Good Brother, Garlan was his name or so Sandor thought, had not leapt up as his father had done in defense of 'Good King Renly'.
As part of Dondarrion's 'parole' he had released his squire, the Dayne, into Aegon's custody while he gathered and brought in his fighters still spread out in the Riverlands. Sandor thought this was more a political move as now they had the son of a prestigious House of Dorne and could likely use the child as some sort of chip against the Martells.
The various parties satisfied they had departed but even as he had left he felt the lingering eyes of the Stark girl on him and the look she had for him was one he was well acquainted with - anger.
Sandor was expecting it when he felt a small form slam into him like a hurled stone, he had been leaning as he sharpened his blade so he was pitched forward but rather than sprawl out he rolled into his fall. Making sure he didn't bloody well cut his own hand off with his blade before he leapt up into a stand and faced his 'attacker'.
"Murderer! You are nothing but a murderer Hound!" Arya Stark screamed at him, the small needle-like blade held in her tiny hands pointed at him with bloody intent.
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Highvalour