The day had arrived. Lydia fitted Aethel with the best doublet found in his chambers as she muttered the same thing she had muttered for a week:
- Nonsense all this, a great feast for fools! -
Aethel sighed and for the thousandth time, questioned her
- And what Lydia, would be "all that"? -
Once again, hearing the young man's voice, the woman turned pale and fell silent. It had become something of a routine for the little lord, servants and chambermaids, coming to perform their errands, saying nothing and avoiding Aethel's gaze. In general Lydia was the one who let out more details, talking seemed to be the woman's own nature, even with the clear astonishment she felt from the boy, the frowning servant turned out to be a valuable source of information for the young noble.
With Lydia's unwitting help, Aethel had managed to discern a few things, but much of her information was more conjecture than fact. What was clear was that something big was about to happen in the "Fort", as his father had called his comfortable prison, there was a lot of running around and preparation, and the fact that the servant was wearing him only confirmed it.
The day before, on a dark, starless night, he had seen something from his bedroom window that had solidified his suspicions that a great event was at hand. Coming from the narrow road that led to the village south of the Keep, there was what appeared to be an entourage lit by dozens of torches that approached the hill where Aethel was. About 15 mounted men, few remaining on foot, and a large wagon on the center of the line.
Small bits of information like; "chambers to be arranged", "so few provisions", "Heltor is a complete idiot" fed Aethel's curiosity. She specifically enjoyed offending his father, Heltor Kellington, Lord of the Lonely Fort. Not that Aethel cared, he felt nothing for Heltor but anger and a certain disgust, his first visit, a week before, had been his last so far, and had not left a good impression on his son. For seven lonely days, the young man languished in the excruciating silence of his chamber, knowing in his heart that his mother was long gone. Even though he didn't have a single memory of her, something made him feel deep sadness when he thought about the fact that she was dead. Which was strange since the certainty of that loss came suddenly, at the same moment that Heltor said his last words, before leaving to never come back.
The fact that all people only showed fear when in his presence did not help Aethel in his melancholy, sometimes even irritated him. How could adults fear a child fresh from a deadly illness? But that was exactly it, Aethel, the prisoner of the Lonely Fort, should be dead. But in some impossible way, he had come back to life.
- That's done, wait here until Manfrid comes to take you to the hall - the woman spoke, in a hoarse whisper.
As she withdrew from his chambers, Aethel refrained from asking any further questions, he would only receive silence anyway, and he was tired of silence, he'd had enough of it in the last few days. In the most difficult moments of his imprisonment, the yearning to maybe be allowed out for an hour (that's why he behaved well) had motivated him, that and trying to extract from somebody what the end of his mother had been... exactly.
Now Aethel was beginning to get used to that once strange and twisted world, things as they were no longer gave him a picturesque feeling, but caused a strange nostalgia, as if long ago he had lived in this place and had just forgotten. And even forgetfulness now weakened at the sight of the boy, after all, he had remembered or at least felt emotions for his father and mother that came from before his awakening. He was beginning to assume that strong memories were the only thing that could overcome the void in his memory.
He waited for a few minutes, lost in thought when the old Maester, Manfrid, opened the door. Looking and sizing Aethel up and down, the creepy old man finally said:
- It will have to do, follow me young Lord-Almost-Dead - the old man said with a tone of irony in his voice.
Aethel wasted no time, and as soon as the Maester left he followed with quick, eager strides out of that confinement. They left for the beginning of a long corridor, and while Manfrid locked the door of his room, the boy observed every detail of the "outside world", even though he was still inside the Fort. At the other end of the corridor there was a window facing north where in the distance an endless sea of conifers spread out, and beside it an opening to a staircase, some doors to the left and right and nothing else.
The Maester hadn't been back in the room since the first time he'd seen him, and somehow he seemed to be quite the talker, so Aethel soon asked what he'd been yearning to know all that frustrating week.
- What's going on Manfrid? - said - Why am I all dressed up?
- Well, I suppose I don't need to keep hiding everything from you anymore, Lydia probably said it all, that open-mouthed wench - Manfrid, as usual half spoke half croaked
- And besides, you will find out in a few moments anyway that your lord father, Lord Heltor Kellington is getting married today, there's less than an hour left until the ceremony starts, so we'd better hurry - as he said that began to walk quickly down the hall with Aethel at his heels.
- Heltor is getting married? -for a few moments Aethel was genuinely surprised, until he remembered the things he had seen and heard during the week - again?
- Your father never married, boy - Manfrid said as they walked down the stairs.
- So, how...
"You don't remember anything?" he asked, stopping halfway and looking dubiously at Aethel.
He didn't answer right away, he hadn't decided if he would admit his apparent amnesia or if he would try to pretend to know what he didn't know, which, by the way, was much more difficult than simply being honest. But something in the way the Maester looked at him with concern told Aethel that it wasn't supernatural that he didn't remember, but rather a warning of his condition.
- I cannot remember some things Maester - he replied, omitting that he didn't remember most of them. - important things -
- I understand - he said, going back down the stairs - it's natural that you get stunned at first and forget one thing or another, but that's already more serious...- he started talking to himself, muttering too low for Aethel to hear.
- My question Maester... -
- Ah yes - said the old man, pulled out of his reverie - it's remarkable that you don't remember, but anyway, your parents err... - Manfrid looked embarrassed - they didn't have a very..., traditional union let's say...
- So they never married, for this reason your designation would be Storm, not Kellington like your father. - He ended after some hesitation.
That information seemed to be well filtered, and he was certainly omitting something, which made sense, after all, he was a child. But Aethel suspected he had found the information he was looking for. His father had broad powers as a noble, which probably allowed him to commit "non-traditional" acts, perhaps...
Perhaps Aethel was a mistake, a bastard.
A young nobleman natural to that world would forever despise the surname "Storm". Denomination given to illegitimate noble offspring. It would be the mark that he would always be held least among men, the reminder that he came from a forbidden union. But to Aethel it was nothing, in fact he was glad he didn't share his hateful father's last name, and the discovered middle name even seemed to sound good to the boy. As for being a bastard, that only made him mourn his mother even more, as she ha'd been probably disposable to Heltor.
More staircases and corridors passed, and Aethel became aware of how great Heltor's stronghold really was. They walked past tapestries on the walls illustrating the battles of men against peculiar small creatures, until finally they arrived at a carved wooden double door, where Manfrid stopped for a moment.
- We shouldn't be so late... - Manfrid said while peeking through the gap in the big door - straighten up and behave, maybe that way you won't be noticed.
And he slowly slipped through the door, beckoning to Aethel.
The cavernous, dimly lit hall echoed with whispers and secret confidences. Aethel could not make out the faces of the people in that dark place, but he saw against the light of the few torches the shape of a handful of people, most mans. Aethel followed the tall shadow of Manfrid ahead through the half-empty rows of tables until they were seated in an obscure corner near two men who were talking in low voices.
- When is this crap going to end? - An irritated and jovial voice questioned.
- Quiet Steff! By now you should know how important this is to us, so hang in there for the seven hells! - another more mature and rough voice replied.
- But really it's pathetic, a handful of land to watch a farce dressed up like that! - the young man did not hide the scorn in his voice.
The other man moved as if to look around, not noticing the old man and the child nearby.
- You'd better keep quiet, boy.. - but before finishing, something at the back of the hall caught everyone's attention.
Two long torches set on a raised floor further had been lit, the flames were burning, and as no one seemed to be around they appeared to have lit themselves.
- Dramatic as always Heltor - grumbled Manfrid - what a bizarre way to hold a wedding.
A plump, bald man in loose brown robes with a hood thrown back appeared in the orange torchlight, a leather-bound book clutched to his chest. His clothes somewhat resembled Manfrid, but what the latter had of flashy and mysterious, the man had nervousness and shyness.
- Let the ceremony begin - he uttered in a wobbly voice and opened the book.
In slow but determined steps Heltor came out of the shadows and stood in front of the torches. He wore his finest robes, a sky blue doublet with the crest of House Kellington on the chest (a thick sealed black book) and a black cape falling from his half-curved back. He had taken care of his appearance for that ceremony, his long hair gleaming in the torchlight and he had trimmed his sparse beard.
He had a stupid smile on his face...
Another figure emerged from the shadows next to Heltor, a young woman, she couldn't have been more than 16 years old and seemed to be terrified with pale skin and bulging eyes looking in all directions, looking for an aid that would not come. You couldn't say she was beautiful, but she looked healthy enough and the freckles on her face gave her a certain charm. She wore a simple, frilly brown dress. People in the hall began to complain in muxoxos, "why the seven hells are we in the dark". Until the wobbly voice of the plump man between Heltor and the girl spoke and everyone else fell silent.
- Under the watchful eyes of the Seven, today these two souls will be united as one and their families will be forever linked. O-on this day the Lady Elianne of House Ramberry joins with Lord Heltor of House Kellington lord of the Lonely Fort, the two assuming from now duties to one another, according to the customs of Westeros - he said, amid stammering and long breaks.
- In the name of Robert of house Baratheon, king of the Andals of the Rhoynars and the First Men, Lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the domain, Over the eyes of the Father, the Blacksmith, the Warrior, the Mother, the Maiden, the Crone, and the Stranger, I pronounce you united in holy matrimony," he said at last, closing the book.
During the speech at the ceremony, Heltor had been puffed out, pompous, had the twinkle of pride in his eyes and hadn't even noticed his future wife holding the sleeve of her dress trying to control the tears. Aethel felt sorry for her, he knew the girl was right to be afraid. "I wonder if her parents are here"...
That was his last thought before the lights in the hall dimmed in his vision and everything went dark.
- Manfrid? he called, but his voice sounded too weak and no one answered.
Groping around he felt nothing and the bench where he sat disappeared, making him fall to the hard floor. It was cold and shivers ran through Aethel's body, he could suddenly hear Manfrid's voice, but it was muffled as if it came from behind a wall and it wasn't coming from any particular direction, it was unintelligible.
Several blue stars were revealed in the distance and the feeling of deja vu took over Aethel. They saw him and remembered the boy, those gazes emitted death, the inertia they adored looming. Until no more, one after another the lights went out and the white trees with crimson foliage protected him again, a strange colorless light permeated the avenue they formed. The hairs on the back of Aethel's neck stood as he realized something was targeting him from behind.
He turned quickly and saw a face carved into the white trunk of the tree, it was an angry and stern face, the lines of his frown were deep, and a dark sap oozed from his nostrils and mouth.
Aethel nearly jumped when two scaly gray hands clasped his shoulders from behind, it's iron grip and black nails slicing into his doublet.
It's soft, steady voice spoke again and it echoed throughout
- See how she is in deep anger? - The thing didn't wait for Aethel to answer - Well, know child, that this hatred is justified. The one who will honor the graves of so many of her sisters is coming. This one will undoubtedly heal this rotten land your kind calls Westeros. A fire comes, and it will drive out the night, as it burns away the vampiric ivy that naivenly aids the shadows -
The exaggeratedly angry features of the tree's face were accentuated and the Thing's claws penetrated skin and flesh making the boy scream in agony.
- Come to me if you want to continue to contemplate a dawn in your future days. You've snooped around enough, close it," the voice said in mockery.
When Aethel opened his eyes again he was in a cell.