House Mudd, against all odds, managed to survive and thrive. A younger sibling of Tristifer the 'Last' had been smuggled out by trusted retainers and escaped to Summers Isle with a significant portion of the kingdoms treasury, taken in and protected by an oath-sworn brother of the late Tristifer IV, better known as the 'Hammer of Justice'.
The exiled Royal House for the next few centuries would find itself exploring the globe, unable to return to Westeros as the Andals became too established and ingrained within the ruling body and eventually the common populace.
House Mudd would not be left destitute by its exiled status, rather a few of the more shrewd descendants would end up using the gold they inherited to purchase precious gemstones, spices, and wood from the Summer Isles and trade them throughout Essos, establishing themselves as one of the foremost merchant houses within Essos.
Yet for all that success, the exiled clan would always find itself facing tragedy after tragedy throughout the ages...
Excerpt from 'A Tale of Mudd and Steel' by Maester Alyn Feld
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(Erlend Mudd, Twilight Isles)
Tragedy was something all Mudds had to get used to.
Their enemies had hunted them for thousands of years and were almost always on the run. It was expected that they would lose their loved ones to one tragedy or the other.
Finding out about his father and mother's demise was not as easy as he had hoped it would be.
It had been a normal day, as normal as one would expect from a royal exile.
He had been with his Aunt Dhalia at the time, having chosen to teach him his letters personally.
It was an annoying lesson, for all its similarities to the English of his original world, the common tongue had its peculiarities that made it stand out.
The way words were said, or the sentences structured had tripped him more than a few times. There was also the highly irritating task of learning to read which was more difficult when all you had was parchment and sometimes illegible writing.
All in all, it could be assumed that while knowing the English language definitely helped greatly in learning the common tongue, it didn't immediately make you all-knowing.
This was a different world, where language developed differently from his own. Those developments made it just distinctive enough that one wouldn't be able to instantly use it without great error.
Hence why he was somewhat happy he was reincarnated rather than just plopped into the world. Mistakes on his part were just considered part of the learning process rather than a country bumpkin's unfamiliarity with the proper way to speak and read.
So why did he decide to rant about the language, well mostly because his father made it clear he wouldn't be allowed to touch any of the thicker tomes in the library till he had a full grasp on this damned language.
Something about not being able to show proper appreciation for the works of the great minds of the past.
What a load of horse shit.
The old man was just worried he'd damage the ancient tomes. For a man of great martial prowess, his father cared a great more about dusty old tomes than his martial-oriented brother.
Than again Uncle Lorimas was your standard stereotypical and cheerful warrior. Fight first, talk later.
Noticing her charge's lack of attention, "Pay attention Erlend. Come now you've already done very well don't give up now." His sweet aunt said.
"Must I? We've already been over this for a few weeks now." He complained.
"It's important to be able to distinguish between the different dialects." She insisted. "Many noblemen take great offense to be confused with another, especially with those from another kingdom, their pride would not stand for it."
"That's stupid and it's not like we'll be visiting Westeros anytime soon."
"You never know child. It's imperative to be prepared for all situations..."
Before she could continue her lecture, the door to the chamber suddenly opened much to the surprise of both its occupants.
The steward was an aged man of greying hair and waning eyesight.
Upon glimpsing the two, he immediately bowed his eyes and began speaking in a rambling tone.
Following him were two of the guards stationed outside who tried to pull the old man back to his feet.
Of what little he and his aunt could make out of the incoherent ramblings, words such as 'poison', 'ledger', and 'scheme' seemed to come up a lot.
The previously sullen look of Erlend quickly shifted to a serious one.
As for the guardsmen, they looked a bit lost, having not expected the respected steward of all people to just barge in like that.
Torn between restraining him or helping the man up.
Erlend for his part felt whatever the old man had to say was important and ordered them to help him up.
Just the two words 'poison' and 'scheme' were enough to rouse his suspicions.
Not to mention the pained look on the steward's face gave him an uncomfortable feeling.
It seems today won't be as peaceful as he hoped and to think he'd assumed learning his letters and the dialects would be the worst thing to happen.
…
His father and mother had been poisoned.
The perpetrator, a young apprentice the steward had taken in and raised as if he was his own.
Erlend hadn't realized just how attached he'd become to his new family. Having intended to remain distant from them as much as possible to avoid implicating anyone in his future goals.
Was this why the Dumbledore look-alike had decided to lock away his memories from his past life for five years?
He hated this feeling, of losing his loved ones and the people he cared about.
His stern but loving father and fretful mother. They meant a lot to him, more than he thought they ever would.
As soon as the steward was coherent enough to explain everything to him and Aunt Dhalia, it was already too late.
The poison had taken root in his father and mother for too long.
There was also the issue that his father was out patrolling with the fleet. His mother on the other hand was visiting Uncle Jon in the Vale.
Even if they had been here, the fucking apprentice had proudly proclaimed that any cure they could come up with would be useless.
That it was already too late.
It was too long since the rat started administering it on the two, months actually and the cure had to be given in the first few weeks otherwise the poison would become too strong for it to handle.
An ironborn spy. One who'd lost his father to a failed raid on the Isle's and blamed the Mudds for it.
Erlend didn't care for the man's reasoning, all he wanted was to gut the fucker and make him eat his own heart.
Oh, there was no doubt in his mind that there were plenty more rats. There was no way, this wretched ironman was the only one involved.
He hated the fact that he couldn't do anything, that he was all but assured to lose two people he loved.
A shudder went through him, his eyes moistening.
Two arms hugged him from behind as tears of anguish escaped his eyes.
Aunt Dhalia had appeared, he had no idea when and couldn't care enough to bother thinking about it.
As she cradled her weeping nephew in her arms, she whispered reassurances to him. Even if she didn't believe what she was saying.
Her nephew needed to be comforted, she could grieve later.
'Lorimas please be safe.'
…
(John Mudd, the Narrow Sea)
"My Lord, we're about to reach the shore."
"Thank you, I'll head to the deck soon enough." He responded.
John Mudd groggily got up from his bed.
The cabin he was in, was not the most spacious, but it did its job. With the last battle being a near disaster, it would be to remain as inconspicuous as possible.
Ten ships lost, four stolen and one unaccounted for, his latest fight with the damnable pirates had been unpleasant, to say the least.
Trusting the braavosi had been a mistake.
Only five ships they had claimed. Eighteen ships on his end should've been more than enough to take them on.
To the Mudd force's surprise, they were met with thirty well-equipped and fully manned ships.
There was foul play involved and it didn't take a genius to figure out that they had been sold out.
What made it worse was that he felt himself slowly getting worse and worse.
It seemed he had caught a sickness somehow and there was no properly trained maester aboard that could help him.
Fate seemed to conspire against him.
At least Lorimas wasn't present, they barely survived that battle by the skin of their teeth, this ship was the only one to escape, and hardly unscathed at that.
He had no idea what he would've done if he lost his brother.
John Mudd had felt many an emotion, hope, anger, joy, and many more.
All he felt now was dread. The realization that he might not make it was dawning on him.
Not being able to see his wife pained him. Sure, there may not have been love in their marriage, but the affection they felt for each other was there.
Only strengthened by the birth of their son.
Erlend was just what they needed to form a strong bond with each other.
His bright boy, whose mischievous laughter filled the halls of their manor.
The unbound curiosity that filled him whenever he heard of something new.
What John would give to be able to see his son again. Perhaps there would be a chance to do so. Perhaps not.
As John did his best to get dressed, and eventually make his way to the deck.
One thought continued to fill his mind, 'I'll return my son. Whatever it takes.'
…
(Jon Arryn, the Eyrie)
"Poison My Lord. One of the foulest I've ever seen." The maesters grim tone sent worry through the lord of the vale.
Jon Arryn held his barely conscious sister's hand, "Is there any way to purge it?" he urged the maester.
"I'm afraid not my Lord, any attempt to do so would only worsen her situation."
"THEN WHAT FUCKING USE ARE YOU!" The Arryn lord raged at the old man's inability.
Unfazed by the rage shown to him, the old maester merely shook his head, this was hardly the first time a lord raged at a lost cause, it was best he remained calm in such situations, "It's been long since it has been first administered, whoever did so was wise enough to time so that by the time symptoms began to show, Lady Aemma would be out of the reach of any capable healer."
"WHO? WHO POISONED MY SISTER?"
"This I cannot say, it would be best if we contact Twilight Isle. I have no doubt Lady Aemma may not have been the only target." the old man warned his liege.
Few would have the audacity to so rudely speak to a Lord Paramount as such, but this was a man who had practically seen the aged lord grow up.
Still, it was remarkable that he had survived this long.
The thought of what Lady Aemma was going through pained him still. That poor child of hers would be devastated by this when he finds out.
Not to mention the Mudd Lord. Tragedy followed that line regardless of their success.
Shaking his head once more, the old maester watched somberly as the aged Arryn rushed out. Likely to warn his nephew and the rest of his kin.
It would seem like he had to prepare the raven.
"Rest well my Lady, may the seven make this as painless as can be."
…
(Lorimas Mudd, Twilight Isles)
"We've managed to uncover many agents within the order, my Lord."
His eyes stayed on the reporting figure.
An inconspicuous person on most occasions, the Lord Commander of the Shadow Wardens was someone many feared but knew little about.
He had plain features and an apathy that would unnerve any who met him. Just another face among the masses one could say.
Yet, for all lack of outstanding features, this man ran one of the largest spy networks in the world.
A network that had failed to uncover and prevent the greatest tragedy that would soon hit the Mudd Clan.
Not since before the century of blood had his family suffered so much.
"My brother is out there, seven knows where… betrayed by a treacherous copper counter. If the damn pirates don't kill him, then the poison surely will. My sister in all but blood is lying nearly dead in her ancestral home, while her brother stands powerless to do anything about it."
Rising from his seat, "SO, TELL ME LORD COMMANDER, HOW HAS A PLOT THIS RUINIOUS MANAGED TO PASS YOU?" Lorimas raged at the man.
Showing no reaction to the anger of the furious Mudd, "I acknowledge my mistake and the failure of the Shadow Wardens." the Lord Commander stated, bowing his head.
"I DON'T NEED YOUR FUCKING ACKNOWLEDGMENT, I WANT TO KNOW WHO DID IT."
"As you command my Lord. This is what we managed to gather from the traitors and spies" As he said, the Lord Commander placed several documents on the desk.
Momentarily distracted, Lorimas grabbed the documents and sifted through them as quickly as possible.
His eyes widened at certain parts, fists clenching and nostrils flaring.
Noticing the Mudd's rapidly deteriorating mood, the spymaster calmly stepped back just in case.
Fortunately, Lorimas managed to calm himself for a moment. "I take it you already sent agents to deal with these rats." he let out, gritting his teeth.
"Of course, it will take time for them to reach their targets and take action, but the enemy will not escape."
Many men mistook Lorimas for a mindless brute, and they would be right in most situations.
Yet, the spymaster was well aware when it really mattered, that the imposing warrior in front of him could turn into one of the most dangerous individuals that could scheme with the best of them.
These rats had touched a bottom line that should have never been crossed, it was only a matter of time before they paid the price.
His brows furrowed, "Get it done, I want the main perpetrators in the manor dungeons as soon as possible." Lorimas ordered.
"It will be done, my Lord." the spymaster nodded at the command before pausing. "Though, I suspect another more sinister hand involved in this."
Raising his eyebrows at the thoughts of the spymaster, "More sinister than killing my brother and his wife?" Lorimas said skeptically.
"As the reports have indicated, most of our enemies have gathered together, which has allowed them to gather their vast resources to make such a move. The question being; who was the one to instigate this alliance of sorts and how do they benefit from it?"
Lorimas paused at that. It was after all a valid question, he could not dismiss the idea that someone had orchestrated this scheme.
They would have to be remarkably influential to do so, considering the ego and arrogance of many of the conspirators. Only someone of great power and influence could cow them into working together.
He would need to think more about this. Dismissing the man, Lorimas kept his cool.
However, as soon as the Lord Commander left the solar. Sounds of crashing and cries of rage sounded through the manor as he let out his frustrations.
For the next few hours, no one dared to enter the Lord's solar, leaving the temporary Mudd head to stew in his anger.
It was only after Lady Dalia had put her grieving nephew to sleep, did she check on her husband.
Just as she had done with Erlend, Dalia would comfort her husband as he grieved for his kin.
For the sister he would soon lose and his nephew who would be taught the harsh realities of this world far sooner than anyone ever hoped he would.
This world was a cruel one, and even the most prosperous of houses that seemed nigh untouchable could suffer.
Time moved, uncaring of the tragedy that had unfolded.
Some mourned, some rejoiced.
However, it could not be denied, that the game had claimed its latest victims. So it continued, with many more to come.
…
(???, ???)
His head held high, there was a victorious smirk visible on the reflection peering back at him.
How could he not be joyful when his plan had gone so well?
Discovery? As if, with so many rats scurrying about. It wouldn't be too difficult to shift the blame onto others.
The Mudds had no shortage of enemies after all.
That proud kitten had foolishly taken in the rat king. How long before the pride fell, he knew not.
Not to mention the inevitable distrust that would fill the Banner ranks, now that so many traitors and miscreants were uncovered.
Looking at the splendid palace around him, the smirk on his face seemed to only grow larger.
It mattered not that it would be far more difficult to strike again. Time was on his side.
He predicted that they would get weaker from here on, all they had was a child, a brute, and some minor lady from a savage house.
As for that falcon lord, bah… his honor would prevent him from making too drastic a move. His silly lords would not support any sort of aggressive invasion, not with the delusional dragon on that hideous throne and his ever-grasping kitten.
Things were looking up.
Soon he would rise high. Higher than any of his predecessors could ever have hoped to.
As the golden crown fell, and blood spilled the earth, it was only fair he made his own.
In these trying times, a steady hand was needed to lead the people.
What better hands, than his own? One that will guide this glorious city to the path of domination.
No… he made the right decision, a few corpses for a brighter future was but a minor cost.
Something his enemies could never hope to understand.
…
(Tywin Lannister, the Red Keep)
Tywin Lannister was a man dedicated to a far greater cause.
One that would see his house elevated beyond what any of his forebears had achieved.
The desire to leave a legacy that would overshadow anything and anyone that has been and will come to be.
He was the reason House Lannister did not fall. The reason it was the most influential family in all of Westeros.
Aerys had no choice but to rely on him.
Friend he may be, but the man grew more and more distrustful of him by the day. Those sycophants always whispered into his ears of plots and schemes where there was none.
By this point he already, it would only take a few years before his old friend completely turned against him. One could not ignore the way the King's eyes looked at his wife, it being the main reason why Tywin had sent her back to Casterly Rock.
There was no saying what those vipers would suggest, and he had no intention of allowing any ill to befall the love of his life.
Only the respect he had for the shared friendship kept him from having the King removed permanently. Rhaeger being far too young and inexperienced to take over just yet.
'I'll make sure this realm has at least a competent King to succeed you old friend, my future good-son will not turn out anything like you. That's the best I can do to honor the bonds we once shared.'
Not all was daunting, soon things would change even more in favor of his House. An opportunity had shown itself.
Those stubborn fools who had continuously spurned his offers found themselves in a very precarious situation.
Now was his chance to strike.
One of his family's oldest rivals was weakened.
Struck down by hidden daggers that had finally made their move.
They were vulnerable at the moment and that was all he needed.
"How long before you can get the blade?" His voice remained steady as he enquired to the cowled figure kneeling in front of him.
"It will take time, my Lord. The Mudds believe they have all the spies imprisoned. Those that escaped the purge have had to remain low to avoid catching notice." The figure reported.
"I care not for how many are lost. As long as they spill no secrets then their families will remain untouched."
"A worthy motivator." The man simpered much to the old lion's distaste.
Tywin wasn't an idiot, threatening the lives of the spies' loved ones was merely a cautionary move.
They would be rewarded appropriately should they succeed. It was a risk they knowingly took.
He only needed them to remain silent for a little bit longer.
Their silence wasn't all that important once he got his hands on the vaunted Sabre of House Mudd.
Tales had been told of its so-called abilities, that it had no equal but Dawn.
It mattered not whether that was true or not, the prestige that came from owning it was far more important to him.
No longer would his house be mocked for its lack of legendary steel. Ardent was far better suited to be wielded by a member of his house, rather than the now diminished river kings.
It's time for the Mudds to step aside and let his line shine bright.
This was just the beginning of a new era, one that saw the proud lions take their position as the foremost power in Westeros and perhaps the world.
The figure remained silent throughout his contemplation, not daring to speak a word, lest he anger him.
A craven at heart, Tywin had nothing to fear from this shadowy snake.
He needed his protection after all. After what he had orchestrated, there was no one else who could shield him from the wrath of that brutish oaf.
It was expected that they would discover the coward's role in the scheme to wipe them out once they got themselves in order.
Protecting him would earn him the ire of the Mudds, though that was hardly enough to dissuade him.
For all their success these past few centuries, they were still exiles.
As long as he made no intentional move against the old falcon's nephew, the vale would remain neutral. They would not go against him for a sword, no matter how legendary it was.
House Lannister was far too strong for them to dare.
His target was the sword, not their lives. Still, if one of their numerous enemies gathered the courage to finish them off… well that would hardly be his fault.
No one would fault him for the Mudd's own failure.
Arryn had nothing he could use against him, and even if he did. Well… he was the hand of the king, only a fool would dare attack him from such a disadvantaged position.
As for those who would condemn him for his actions, Tywin did not care, for a lion did not concern themselves with the opinion of sheep.
It was only a matter of time now.
…
[Note:]
- I do need to point out, that the Shadow Wardens are not incorruptible, hence the spies and successful infiltrations. This was before Erlend could make proper use of his magic, therefore he wouldn't be able to weed them out, he's also still just freshly regained his memories, so he can't do much just yet. The main premise of this Arc is to look into how Erlend became the man he ended up as, and why he's so callous and paranoid in the future Arcs.
- I know it's a bit late, but I'm in the middle of my mid-terms right now so my whole schedule is a bit of a mess. Upcoming in the next few weeks will be a long-shot of a potential novel I may start on once this is done and dusted with. Already have a few chapters written, you can expect them to be posted on 'A Glance at What Could Be' soon enough.