From Sand to Snow
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(Circa 289AC)
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I felt myself moving through the air as it flowed around me as if it was alive.
A gentle breeze brushed against my skin, not bringing any chill, but a comforting, protective warmth, then shifted, growing more powerful and aggressive. The strength of the breeze increased, turning into a strong wind, one which started to carry along with it.
Looking down, I saw the branches of trees bend as the wind pushed through them. Simple wooden walls swayed, unsteady under the assault of the air. Ripples formed on a river divergent from its meandering direction as the wind kissed its surface.
The wind grew stronger, and I saw bushes bend over to avoid the worst of the air while some smaller plants were pulled from the ground; their roots not being deep enough to resist the growing intensity of the wind.
Yellow sand soared upward, picked up with contemptuous ease by the swirling air, blocking my downward vision for a time. When it cleared, below me I could see the deep blue-green of the clear waters of a sea. The undulating tide seemed to waver as the currents of air rushed into them. The sails of a ship enlarged as they caught the wind carrying me, being dragged along so unexpectedly that men on the deck stumbled and supplies fell over.
I looked up, wondering where we were going and saw islands in the distance. Palm trees dotted the edges of the closest with a large mountain, possibly even a volcano, rising further back, likely on another of the islands that made up the archipelago.
I closed my eyes, and listened as the air all but purred around me; the promise of power at my fingertips making me want to …
“Cregan?!”
I was thrown from the thoughts by my mother’s voice. My foot slipped and the tiles under me shifted.
I slid down, the ledge of the roof approaching fast, forcing me to forget about the dream I’d just experienced.
My feet fought for grip, and my fingers dug fruitlessly for any handhold, but each movement only loosened more tiles. They clattered around me, drowning out the wailing of the wind from my perch high upon Casterly Rock.
Seeing the edge of the roof I’d climbed upon mere moments from passing underneath, approaching, a dark line came into view. The guttering.
Hatching a desperate plan, I twisted, lifting my legs from the roof, then as they passed over the gutter, swung them underneath. My fingers grasped desperately at the railing of the gutters after they scraped against my legs.
I hissed as my fingers caught. My body swung with my legs moving inward. I let go of my grip and brought them forward; barely managing to get them in front of me before I landed face-first on the balcony of my room.
I groaned then pushed myself up. Already I knew my clothes were ruined. I had to get out of them before my mother found me.
“Cregan!”
Too late I realised as I felt hands brush against my shoulders, sending fresh ripples of pain through my body. I was turned over and saw her worried eyes searching for damage; going first to my left eye, and the scar there from our run-in with the Ironborn, before wandering elsewhere.
The concern faded quickly as she saw I appeared uninjured, replaced by a slowly growing pyre of fury. Her eyes lost their softness and took on a dark, foreboding glint. “What in the Seven Hells were you doing?!”
While her voice was quiet, I winced at the tone. Yet I understood why it existed. She’d only recently lost her unborn child, my younger sibling, and now she finds me lying on the balcony of a high room within Casterly Rock; shattered tiles around us making it clear that I’d been on the roof mere moments before.
“I, Uh.” I gulped hard, trying to regain my bearings under her intense glare. Any hope of bullshitting a reply died against the steel in her eyes. “Magic.” My voice was so quiet that it barely reached my ears.
The hardness of her eyes shattered, replaced by new concern. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to understand what I’d said before I pulled upward; pushed into her chest. “You could’ve been killed. I can’t lose you.” Her voice pleaded into my ear before the gentle sound of her weeping echoed against my chest.
My arms slid up, wrapping as best they could around her. “I’m sorry,” I whispered as I held her tight, ignoring, for now, the small blue dot at the bottom right of my vision. The message from my Interface could wait, as could a full explanation as to why I’d been on the roof. Not because I didn’t trust my mother, but because getting into details here and now would be an act of dangerous stupidity.
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I fought off the urge to tug at the collar of my shirt. It was a new one mother, reluctantly, had made for me in Lannisport as the few items of clothing I had left from our unexpected arrival in the Westerlands were either, in her words, not up to the standard of a child of the Prince of Dorne, or too small. The shirt, along with the other clothes, had been made as word had reached Lannisport that not only had the Greyjoy Rebellion been crushed, but the king and his forces were returning. Hence why I was standing between Nymeria and Tyene at the back of a large crowd near the docks of the city.
I glanced back and saw the now-familiar presence of Erac who, after my little roof-climbing expedition, had become my permanent shadow while we were outside of Dorne. The man took his assignment far too seriously, only giving me space when I entered the privy or was in a room with another member of my family. So far, mother hadn’t come down on me heavily about why I was on the roof, only that I had been. She never referenced my reveal of why I’d been up there, but it was clear that she – and by extension, Arianne and my step-sisters – were aware of my reasons; that had been made clear by the promise of several long, detailed discussions once we returned to Sunspear. And boy was I not looking forward to those.
Turning back around, I took in the sight of the various nobles and figures of importance that were standing around the docks. Somewhere, near the front of the crowd, I knew that my mother and Arianne were standing with Tyrion and Genna Lannister. I knew Arianne would be less than happy about that, as she’d been every time the thought of spending time around the Lannisters had occurred, but she’d been raised to rule Dorne so knew how to behave in such situations. Honestly, I was a little jealous as meeting Tyrion was something I’d hoped to do while in Casterly Rock, but so far, it hasn't happened.
However, Arianne, Tyrion, Genna and my mother weren’t at the very front of the crowd as, about a quarter-moon after the fleet had sailed, Cersei Lannister had arrived in Casterly Rock with the young prick Joffrey who was currently in her arms. I knew that wanting to kill a babe for the crimes they’d commit in the future was, to say the least, morally dubious at best, but if any little shit deserved it, it was Joffrey.
Mother, bless her soul, had run interference between Cersei and Arianne as, for reasons that I felt went beyond Cersei being a Lannister, Arianne quickly started hating the queen. Though Arianne showed her upbringing by, during the few times I was near her and Cersei, acting as pleasant as she could; though both traded some subtle – and less than subtle – barbs with each other.
The biggest surprise regarding behaviour, at least initially, had been Oberyn. He’d arrived a few days after we had, and from the get-go, had gone out of his way to spend time around Robert and Tywin. I’d brought that up with him one night, expressing my disbelief that he could be so civil to men he hated, and he explained why he was doing so. Oberyn had done it, and likely still had once the fleet sailed, to irritate and annoy the two. While I doubted Robert even realised what was going on, Tywin was probably not happy about that along with Oberyn rather clearly saying that I would not be selling Red Rain to Tywin; not unless he offered up the head of Gregor Clegane and Amory Louch; an offer I didn’t even consider bringing up with Tywin when I spoke with him (with my mother present this time) before the fleet sailed and while I’d not accepted his offer for my blade, I had given him suggestions on how to find his own Valyrian steel weapon instead. Judging from his face, at least one of my suggestions wasn’t something he’d considered previously.
Oberyn’s pattern changed again when my uncle Ned arrived. From then on, he spent his time around Ned. I’d seen the two talking quietly once or twice and when they’d spotted me, they’d moved away as if not wanting me to overhear whatever it was they were discussing.
Whether it was due to those talks or another reason, the Dornish host had sailed beside the Northern host. The Dornish host had been led by a scary-looking Lord Frankyln Fowler and it was easy to understand his anger as he slid from his horse and scooped up his remaining daughter, Jeyne, in his arms. His eldest daughter – though Jeyne claimed there were only minutes between them – was missing and presumed captured by the Ironborn after the attack on our small fleet. From my limited interactions with him, Lord Frankyln seemed a good man, though it was hard to tell when his driving desire was to find his daughter and rage to make the bastards who’d taken her pay with their lives. And I wasn’t putting words in his mouth as that was the exact reason he gave Robert as to why he’d chosen to lead the Dornish host.
While I couldn’t be sure of it, I suspected that Ned sailing with Oberyn and the combined Northern and Dornish forces probably upset Robert more than anything else about the campaign. My mother and Arianne believed it was done that way as the other forces had more historic and local grievances with Dorne than the North did. Yet, based on the hushed conversations I caught between Ned and Oberyn, I felt there was more to it than just political concerns.
The shining white armour and blond locks flowing gently as the sea breeze caught them beside Cersei indicated that, as always, her brother Jaime was standing guard over the pair. Since he was always at her side, I hadn’t had a chance to meet him, though if he was as arrogant as he’d been in the first book and early part of the show, that was probably for the best. I doubted he’d have any time for a bastard from Dorne, even one that was the nephew of Ser Arthur Dayne. I saw several ladies in the crowd – most being the wives of various nobles from the Westerlands and Crownlands – glancing Jaime’s way, but as happened every time I saw this, Jaime ignored them.
Movement in Cersei’s arms drew my attention to the little shit she was holding. Ok, he wasn’t that much a shit as he was just a babe of three, but it was hard not to see or hear him and think of who he’d one day become. Thankfully, since Cersei was averse to having any bastards near her golden child, I didn’t have to be anywhere near the brat and thus risk any of my latent loathing of him being seen by a queen renowned for, in later years at least, finding slights and threats everywhere.
A cheer rose from the crowd, and as arms lifted into the air, I looked towards the port’s entrance. Or at least I tried to. I was standing near the back with the Sand Snakes and a few other people of minor – to most nobles – importance near the back of the crowd. Add that to the fact I was still a few moons short of my eighth nameday, and it was hard to make out anything. Thanks to the size of the lead ship, I was able to see the royal sigil, that of House Baratheon of King’s Landing, flying from the top of the main mast but I didn’t care about that. Like my stepsisters, mother and Arianne, I wanted to see that Oberyn was alive and well, and for me at least, my uncles Ned and Benjen. Well, perhaps Obara was more concerned about Benjen than I was, but that was a minor thing.
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A few hours after the fleet returned, but well before the evening's feast that the king had proclaimed to celebrate his victory over House Greyjoy, I was waiting around in my mother’s quarters. With me were the Sand Snakes. Currently, we were waiting for Oberyn, Lord Franklyn and Daemon Sand to appear though I’d only seen the first two in glimpses when the fleet had returned.
Oberyn had been at Ned’s side before making a beeline for my mother and Arianne once his ship docked while Lord Franklyn had someone wrapped close against him. I hoped it was his daughter, but at the same time, if it was, then it meant she’d likely been raped and abused by the Ironborn; in keeping with their customs.
The groan of the lock in the door drew everyone’s attention and as it opened to reveal a familiar figure, Tyene was already moving.
“Father!”
Oberyn couldn’t get out a quick response as Tyene launched herself against him, latching onto his waist. Nymeria and Obara moved over behind her, though with more grace and maturity.
“My beautiful daughters.” Oberyn pulled his two oldest daughters to him, Obara resisted for a fraction before submitting to the hug. Mother and Arianne moved forward from the door to join them. I started to move towards the group only to stop as two new figures came into the doorframe. One was Daemon but my focus was on the girl in front of him.
While judging someone based on height was a hard thing to do – just look at Arianne and Nymeria as the former was barely my height while I only came up to Nym’s chest – I’d place this new girl close to them in age. She was dressed in worn clothes that looked to have seen work but were of a higher quality than a normal worker would wear. She had a tall, thin frame punctuated by a sharp nose that stood out from the pimples that dotted her cheeks. The eyes were dark, with a defiant, dangerous edge and her black hair, while unkempt, reached down to her shoulders.
“Who’s that?”
Oberyn leaned out of the hug he’d been enjoying with his daughters, cast one eye back to the new girl, shared a smirk with my mother – who shook her head – then smiled as he looked at me. “Of course, you spot the newcomer. Will I have to have a father-son talk with you before your mother is comfortable?”
“Oberyn!”
If he heard or cared about my mother’s scolding, he didn’t show it. My question had drawn the attention of his daughters though, with all three looking warily at the newcomer.
“Still, I thank you for helping me win a small wager with your mother, Cregan.” He slid from his daughter’s touch and moved back, one hand sliding around Ashara’s waist. “Though to answer your question, this is Asha Greyjoy; only daughter of the former Lord Balon Greyjoy and a ward of House Martell for the next ten years.”
Nymeria and Obara both moved towards the now named Asha, though Oberyn’s free arm extended, blocking their path. “She is under our house’s protection, my darling daughters, and unlike her father, bears no blame for the attack on our family.” I couldn’t see either of my step-sister’s faces, but the tenseness in their shoulders suggested they weren’t happy about not being able to get their pound of flesh.
“What happened to Lord Balon?” The question came from Tyene, her voice was laced with barely controlled anger. I moved toward her and placed a hand on her arm. She tensed as her father answered her.
“Balon Greyjoy, along with one of his brothers, has gone to meet their god! Victarion Greyjoy now rules Pyke but is no longer the Lord of the Iron Islands. That honour was given to Lord Rodrik Harlaw. Asha’s brother, and Balon’s only remaining male heir, is the ward of House Stark.”
Right, that was a change. Balon dead, along with one of his brothers – was that Euron or another that wasn’t mentioned in the show or first book? – was a major ripple, but with an angry Oberyn there for vengeance, it made sense that he’d preach to Robert to be more brutal. At a guess, and it was a strange thought to have, that likely meant Oberyn agreeing with Tywin that the Ironborn needed to be put down hard, countering the voices of moderation in Ned and Jon Arryn.
“I wonder how well you two will get along.”
I blinked as I was knocked from my thoughts at Oberyn’s words to me. Why would he wonder how I’d get along with Theon? At a guess, not well if he was as arrogant and annoying as he was in the first book. I doubted we were still heading North, not least as Oberyn had already cancelled that plan after the events on the Sunchaser. When we returned to Dorne, we’d be doing it at the head of a large host instead of travelling by sea.
“This is the Bloody Wolf of Dorne?” My head whipped from my stepfather to Asha even while I muttered a mental curse at Robert for hoisting me with that nickname. Yes, it sort of made sense, and such nicknames were semi-common in Westeros, but that didn’t mean I had to enjoy it nor enjoy the infamy it would bring; not least among the Ironborn as the story around how I’d gained Red Rain grew.
“Aye. This is the young man who killed Lord Dunstan Drumm, and three other Ironborn, and paid your beloved Iron Price for this.” Oberyn tapped the scabbard at his waist and I saw the now-familiar hilt of Red Rain there. Asha’s eyes narrowed as she also followed Oberyn’s hint and for a moment I wondered if she was related to or friends with the Drumms, before her focus returned to me.
“I thought he’d be older, bigger.” Her tone was a mix of condescending and disbelief. “The way you Greenlanders talk about him, I expected something… more.” That was a challenge, one I wasn’t going to let slide, and I took a step towards her before a hand came to rest on my upper arm; where the coiled snake bracelet rested.
“He might be young,” I fought off a wince as Arianne started speaking, “but he killed four of your Ironborn; without any formal training.” She stepped forward, partially blocking my sight of Asha, though her hand stayed on my arm. “Just imagine what vengeance he’d have extracted from you… people if he was but ten years older.” That was true and made the slight dismissal due to my age acceptable to me. However what drew my attention was the momentary looks Oberyn and my mother gave me; or more specifically, where Arianne’s hand was still resting on my arm.
“If he does wish vengeance when older, I’m afraid he’ll be disappointed.” The comment from Oberyn made my brow crease. “House Drumm is no more. All men of fighting age, bar those wise enough to surrender and chose the Wall over death, were put to the sword. The women were either given to the Silent Sisters or, if they remembered which family they came from, will be sent home as is the case for Jennelyn Fowler.”
“How is she?”
Oberyn tried to reassure Tyene with a smile. “She’s alive, thank the Gods, but what was done to her…” he shook his head. “Mayhaps later you, Nymeria and Arianne could speak with her.”
“Yes, father.”
“Anyway. The younger children of House Drumm, along with the children of a few other houses, are to be taken as wards by various lords in Westeros. Most will be going to Dorne or the North.” Oberyn smiled at that, and I wondered if it was because it was a small moment to show Robert and Tywin that the Dornish don’t kill children simply because of what family they were born into.
If that was the case, it was a nice way to spite the king and Lord Tywin while also showing Ned that, unlike those two, Dorne didn’t condone the killing of enemy children. Plus, the other actions taken made sense as well. House Drumm were the ones to directly attack House Martell and had paid the price for their actions; as likely, had the house that had taken Jennelyn Fowler.
“You want to turn Ironborn into Greenlanders?” Asha all but spat out with venom. “Fucking bullshit!”
“Language!” Mother’s remark made me chuckle once. I’d been getting that tone for a few years now, so it was nice to see it directed at someone else.
“You’ll have to forgive young Asha, darling. The Ironborn lack many of the manners one would expect from noble houses.” Oberyn’s comment was polite, but the slight inflection on ‘noble’ was a nice way to have a dig at the Ironborn without being obvious. That was one of the things I enjoyed about my life; getting to learn how to subtly insult people without openly doing so from someone as skilled at it as Oberyn Martell. “And no, we don’t want to turn you into Greenlanders. Merely show you that the Iron Way, as you call it, is outdated and unnecessary.” He clapped his hands together. “Still, we have years to handle that. For now, I wish to speak with my son privately.”
He stepped over, gently guiding Arianne away from me, then placed a hand on my shoulder. As we walked through his quarters, I let my mind quickly ponder the ramifications of Asha Greyjoy living with us in Sunspear. It was certainly unexpected, but if she was half as good a sailor as she appeared to be in the show – later seasons and lack of logic notwithstanding – then I might have someone around who’d happily teach me sailing in this world. While it was a minor thing, I missed being on the sea far more often than I’d expected.
Oberyn led me to the room’s balcony, which was amusing as it was the first time I’d been there since being caught climbing onto the roof. Perhaps he didn’t know about that yet, or perhaps he did and didn’t care. Once he’d pulled the curtains to shield us from the view of those inside, he slowly pulled Red Rain from its sheath.
As with every other time I saw the blade, it seemed alive as the light caught the ripples that flowed along the heft of the blade. I could almost imagine the blood of House Drumm flowing through those ripples as Oberyn ended their lives one by one. He turned the blade and rested it on his bracer, making sure to keep the edges away from his arm.
“As promised, I return the blade to you.” He sounded formal as if this was some important ritual he was conducting, but as far as I knew it wasn’t. I’d simply given him Red Rain to take to the Iron Islands to increase the chances he’d stay alive, and remove the temptation for anyone to steal it for Tywin Lannister while I was waiting around Casterly Rock. Yes, there’d been a chance Oberyn might die in battle, but with Valyrian steel at his side, along with Dornish warriors, I felt the odds of that were slim. “With this blade, those who threatened our family met their ends. Some with more dignity than others.”
I had no issues with people dying from the blade, this was war after all. Though I did wish I’d been old enough to go with them. I missed being inside the wire. “Good. Though I don’t know why you’re being so fancy about this.” That drew a smirk from him.
Oberyn sighed dramatically as he lifted the blade from his bracer. “Can’t you allow an old man his fun?” the question came as he started to slide the weapon back into his sheath. “Still, this blade is an impressive weapon, and one day you will be a warrior worthy of wielding it. However, today is not that day.” The blade sunk into the sheath with ease until he was able to remove his hand from the hilt. For a moment I thought he meant he was going to keep the blade for himself. “You have a long way to go in your training before that day though, and while I owe you more than you can ever know for protecting our family, I cannot in good faith allow you near this weapon until that day is reached.”
I felt my fists unclench, having subconsciously formed them when I thought he was taking Red Rain from me, and relaxed my stance. While I was angry about not getting the weapon I’d fought for back, I understood his logic for withholding it from me for now. I was far from ready to learn to fight with live steel, and certainly not with a Valyrian steel blade that had the ability to slice through armour with almost contemptuous ease.
“Cregan?”
The use of my name drew me from my thoughts. “Yes, father?” His brow was slightly wrinkled as he looked down at me.
“Do you understand why I’m doing this?”
I nodded. “Yes father, and I agree.” The creasing of his forehead vanished at that. “I need training, more so than anything I’ve had so far. I saw that during my few sessions with or watching Ser Barristan. I got lucky on the Sunchaser, and with others now knowing I have a Valyrian steel blade to my name, if I’m not ready to wield it, I’d be an easy kill for anyone wanting such a blade for themselves.”
Oberyn chuckled, shook his head and ruffled my hair; much to my annoyance. “Mayhaps not how I would’ve put it, but accurate all the same.” He pulled his hand from my hair, thank the Gods, and then knelt. “You have potential, real potential, but right now, that’s all there is.” He patted the sheath. “This blade needs a certain style of fighting to best be used, one that you may not choose. If that happens, then mayhaps we can see about reforging the blade, but it's better if the blade fits the warrior than if the warrior tries to fit the blade.
I nodded in agreement and understanding. I knew from my past life that even in my former SBS unit, even though we all got advanced training, we each had our special roles and abilities. things that made us each slightly different fighters than the rest. There was also the fact that I knew I’d be, slightly, more of an agile than a strength-based fighter. The difference in potential wasn’t massive, but it was there.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Then can I assume that my training will change once we return to Sunspear?”
That drew a chuckle from Oberyn as he stood, which was a touch unsettling. “That is a discussion for another day.” He turned without saying anything else as a sense of foreboding came over me. Before I could ask what he meant, he’d pulled back the curtains, bringing us into view of everyone in the room. Tyene had gone back to the sofa she’d been on before Oberyn had entered while Nymeria was talking with my mother and Arianne at a table. Asha was gone, likely led away by Daemon, while Obara was also no longer present. In her case, I had a good idea of where she’d gone. It’d been several moons since she’d seen Benjen, and likely the pair wanted to ‘catch up’. “For today, I’d like to enjoy the company of my family for the first time in over a moon.”
As we walked back into the room, I wondered how comfortable Oberyn was with Obara and Benjen’s relationship; especially if, as I suspected, Obara might head north with Benjen. While a bastard daughter marrying a trueborn son wasn’t unheard of, there were only a few examples of it happening in Dorne in the last hundred years, to say nothing of no mention of it in the books I’d read concerning the lineages of the Northern houses.
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Later that day I was walking down a corridor/tunnel in Casterly Rock heading for the public area of Casterly Rock’s library that House Lannister made available to visiting nobles. Tywin had arranged for me to have entry to the room just before the fleet had set sail for the Iron Islands and as the Dornish party planned to leave early tomorrow morning, this might be the last time I’d get to browse the books there. I’d read several already in my time here, and while most dealt with the glory and history of House Lannister, there were still the odd bits of interesting lore buried in the propaganda that many of the books contained.
The permission to gain entry had come after I’d rejected Tywin’s offer to purchase Red Rain and then, to avoid angering Tywin, suggested other solutions to House Lannister’s desire to have a new Valyrian steel blade. I wasn’t sure how helpful he considered my suggestions, I felt he’d accepted them when the permission to enter the library had been brought to my mother. The only caveat was that I wasn’t allowed to take any books from the library, but I was fine with that as it gave me a quiet place to be by myself, away from my family.
Currently, the library should be quiet as most people were still at lunch which had quickly turned into an impromptu feast – or at least a practice event for the one planned this evening – and it had given me a glimpse of the relationship between Robert and Cersei. While I’d been seated with the Dornish party, I wasn’t at the main tables with my mother, Oberyn and Arianne. Still, even from my seat, which was an improvement on my placement from when the fleet had sailed, I could see Robert pawing at the various servant girls that came to his table, doing so right in front of Cersei, Tywin, other members of House Lannister and nobles from throughout the realm.
Seeing that behaviour made it understandable that Cersei wanted nothing to do with Robert, and with her beauty, it wouldn’t have been hard for her to bed almost any man or woman she wanted; though I was aware she only had eyes for her brother, which was an entirely different, but no less fucked-up kettle of fish.
I put the problems of the royal family on a backburner as I rounded the final corner and saw the doors to the library. As always there were two guards stationed outside and since neither had offered nor had I asked their names I referred to them mentally by simple titles. The two on-duty today were ‘Blue-eyes’ and ‘Surly’. Both tensed as they saw me approach, which was odd as they’d never done that before. If Tywin was inside there’d likely be four guards outside, as there’d been both times I’d spoken to him privately, or nearby as was the case whenever I saw him around Casterly Rock.
“Do I still have permission to enter?”
The pair exchanged a look before Surly, in his usual gruff voice, answered. “Fine. But make it quick and stay away from the private section.”
I already knew to do that but chose not to comment on the fact. Instead, I gave the man a mock salute, which drew a grumble of laughter from ‘Blue-eyes’. Yes, it was petty to irritate one of the household guards like this, but it was one of the few regular sources of amusement I had in Casterly Rock and since I’d be leaving soon, I might as well enjoy it while I could.
Erac stayed outside as he wasn’t allowed in, though that had caused a minor scene the first time I’d come to the library. I walked through the large, intricately decorated wooden doors, that given to their rich, yellow colour I suspected were made of goldenheart wood, and entered the library proper. Outside of being famed for bows and other weapons made of wood, it was rarely used for anything else due to its insanely high price, which made it the perfect choice for a door for visitors to Casterly Rock to walk through.
The library itself wasn’t particularly large, with even the Dayne family library being larger, but this was only the public area. The private sections were off to the side, but what caught my attention was that instead of the normal single guard outside each of the two doors to the private area, there were two. I hadn’t even seen through those doors, though I’d be shocked if what was inside didn’t put the Martell library to shame; and that was ignoring an even more restricted library that I’m sure was only available to the Lord and heir of Casterly Rock.
Likely that meant there was a member of House Lannister inside, and while I was curious about which member of the house it was – and also glad it wasn’t the Queen as no member of the Kingsguard was present – it wasn’t my reason for being here. Instead, I made my way over to a particular bookshelf, one that detailed the history of the Westerlands. While most of the tomes were droll – detailing the various historic grievances between the houses in the Westerlands and how House Lannister was able to mediate those issues – the book that had taken my attention for the last week or so was one surrounding the founder of the House, Lann the Clever.
Most of the stuff surrounding him read as myth and legend, with the idea that he released mice and other vermin into the Rock at night to drive the original owners of the Rock, House Casterly, from their home. However, it was the legend of him tricking the Casterlys to leave by pretending to be ghosts and angry spirits that had my attention. While the Maester’s dismissed this as simple trickery, I wondered if this was a form of magic. Perhaps some form of illusion or trickery. The story supposedly took place in the Age of Heroes; a time when magic would likely have been at its strongest. So if it was some form of illusionary or Glamour magic, the potential things it could do once magic returned were insane.
I wasn’t sure how long I read and reread the story of Lann as my mind played with the idea of how magic could’ve been used to do what he did, but eventually, I grew tired of postulating. Thus, I turned to a book regarding the Dance of Dragons and flicked quickly to the pages detailing the actions of my namesake, Cregan Stark. What always caught my attention here was the supposed Pact of Ice and Fire. That was meant to give a daughter of Jacaerys Velaryon – heir to the Iron Throne – to the firstborn son of Cregan Stark, yet the pact had, according to various Maesters, never been sealed. As I considered once more if this pact was why many felt that Jon and Dany were destined to marry. Of course, since Jon wasn’t Jon in my universe, that pact could never be sealed.
The creak of a door drew my attention and I turned to see one of the doors to the private library open. My brow rose as I saw the one Lannister that I’d hoped to meet but had so far failed to do so, Tyrion, walk into the common area. He was short, barely even coming up to my chest - which was a shock as this Tyrion was even shorter than the one in the show and I hadn’t realised he was this short from the single book I’d read - and had a large tome under his arm but what held my focus was his face. Two mismatched eyes of green and black under a forehead that came out too far and was capped by thin hair that almost looked white were another reminder that this world wasn’t the world of the show. Not that I needed any proof of that after years of living here already.
Tyrion stopped, having seen me starting and we became locked in an impromptu staring match. I felt he thought I’d do like so many others and look away, so I didn’t, instead holding his gaze until a faint smile came to his lips. “So finally, I meet the Bloody Wolf.” His words were softly spoken, and there was something in his tone that hinted at, perhaps, some curiosity towards me.
“Lord Tyrion.” I lowered my head respectfully, though it still left me taller than him, as I replied. His station, as the nominal heir to Casterly Rock, was far above mine, so showing the respect he was due – but likely didn’t get – felt the smart course of action. The rising of his brow suggested I’d been correct.
“I would’ve expected someone with your reputation to be in the yard, not surrounded by books.” There was no question there, but I caught a faint hint of annoyance, or possibly anger.
I shrugged. “Why not both? After all, the mind is a weapon every bit as much as a sword. And where the sword needs a whetstone, the mind needs books to remain sharp.” Yes, I was paraphrasing one of his best early lines – of which there were many – but it deserved to be used and this felt like the right moment to use it.
Tyrion chuckled and stepped closer, with each step reminding me of a duck’s waddle before he placed the book he was carrying – a tome on the engineering of Casterly Rock – on the table I was at. “Wise words, though not something I expected to hear from a child with Stark or Dayne blood in them. Or with a title of the Bloody Wolf.”
His using my nickname a second time so quickly felt like a test. “My name is Cregan, my lord.” I kept my voice calm, as if not annoyed by the nickname even if that wasn’t the truth.
Tyrion smirked before glancing at the book I was reading. “I am aware. But the King himself has given you a title, one that, after the various hosts gathered here depart, will spread across the Seven Kingdoms.” He took a few more steps towards me, which confirmed that even a few moons shy of my eighth nameday, I was taller than him. “How does such a thing make you feel? Proud? Nervous? Angry?”
I shrugged once more. “I don’t like it, but I understand that it’s common.” A single brow rose, imitating his father though I doubted either would like the comparison. “My birth father was known as the Wild Wolf while my step-father is the Viper.”
Tyrion’s smirk evolved into a smile. “Yes, I’ve heard those before. And the stories behind them. And that of your uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne.” He paused as he looked down once more at the book I’d been reading. “And I see you’re interested in the Old Wolf. Understandable as your mother likely named you after him.” His eyes came back to me, searching my face for something. “I wonder if stories will be told of you as they are of him when your song is over.”
I opened my mouth to reply, only for the sound of the main doors of the library opening to draw our attention. The white armour of the Kingsguard gleamed in the light as the figure stepped through the door frame, which when combined with the flowing blond locks, made it easy to tell this was Jaime Lannister. Beside me, Tyrion tensed for a moment though once it was apparent Jaime was alone, he relaxed.
“Tyrion, I…” Jaime paused mid-sentence as he saw me beside his brother. His brow creased as he looked me over. “I do not believe we’ve met young one.” Unlike Tyrion, whose tone had always seemed to carry an air of curiosity, Jaime’s was slightly dismissive, as if I was beneath him.
“Ser, Jaime, I’m Cregan Sand,” I explained as I lowered my head to him as I’d done with Tyrion, though I went a fraction lower as Jaime was the more accomplished and renowned brother. Hopefully, Tyrion wouldn’t take it as a sign of disrespect, but Jaime was a member of the Kingsguard.
“Ah, yes.” A light seemed to flick in Jaime’s eyes, and he gave me another look over; this time taking the time to really see me. “I’ve heard the tale of how you killed a dozen Ironborn bare-handed to save your family. Most impressive.” The words were polite, but I caught the challenge in them; with the embellishment of what I’d done making it very easy to pick up on.
“Thank you, Ser Jaime. However, it was only four, I was armed, though I was very, very lucky to make it out with only this.” I tapped my left eyebrow, drawing attention to the scar that cut through it and over my eye socket. A few millimetres and I’d have likely lost my eye so while I didn’t like the reminder of how close to death I’d come, I wasn’t going to complain about it.
Tyrion chuckled. “Lucky you may have been, but as I said, soon the story will reach every corner of Westeros; and dare I say, it will be more impressive than the one my brother here mentioned.” I groaned at that idea, but Tyrion wasn’t finished. “Mayhaps, many will soon proclaim you the heir of your uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne, and next Sword of the Morning.” My groan grew louder at that, and I heard Jaime join his brother in chuckling at my expense.
“Still, be it four or forty, you fought with honour to defend others, a mark of a true knight.” The remark came from Jaime after the two brothers had stopped laughing. “And while I doubt you’ll reach the level of Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan says you have potential; a rare honour.”
I blinked. “I… Thank you, Ser Jaime.” I was unsure if that was a compliment from him, or just him being polite, but I’d take it. And seeing an opportunity, I decided to try something. “And thank you for King Aerys.” Jaime stiffened at the mention of the Mad King while beside me Tyrion stilled. “That… mad man killed my father and grandfather because his son kidnapped my aunt.” Yes, I might know that, in this world at least, that wasn’t the case, but most people would never know the truth.
“I…” Now it was Jaime’s turn to pause in confusion and he swallowed his words for a moment. “I didn’t do it for you, or House Stark. I…” He paused again, though this time he looked away, finding a spot on a wall to stare at. A plausible reason had been given by the show as to why Jaime had killed Aerys, and Jaime certainly looked conflicted about his reason as to why he did it, but I couldn’t say for sure if the show-given reason was the truth here or not.
“Regardless of why you did it, for whatever it might be worth, you have my thanks.” I bowed deeply, making it clear that I was serious. I then gave Tyrion a shallower bow. “Lord Tyrion. With your permission, I’ll take my leave. My mother doesn’t like me being away from her side for too long since… the battle.”
Jaime ignored me, continuing to stare off into the distance, lost in his thoughts regarding why he’d broken his vows. Tyrion though gave me a slight but respectful nod. “Understandable. And I hope that before you leave Casterly Rock we might speak again. It is rare to find someone so young with a mind as sharp.” The second-long glance he sent his brother made it clear he understood what I’d done, though perhaps not fully why. “A most unexpected, and not unwelcome, surprise.”
“Of course, my lord.” I lowered my head once more to both then moved off. While I didn’t think either cared too heavily about courtly etiquette, it was better to make it clear that I understood and respected the rule, even if I disliked them.
I exited the library, Erac at my heels, only to realise that not only hadn’t I returned the book I’d been reading to its place but that I’d left it open on the table. A mistake, but given who I’d ended up speaking with, one I felt/hoped no one would hold against me.
As for Tyrion’s hope, I doubted it would come true. The Dornish host would be leaving early tomorrow morning though if he could’ve, I suspected Oberyn would’ve left before this evening’s feast. That would’ve been disrespectful to Robert; enough that it could lead to problems for Dorne in the future. Still, whenever I next met them, I should have some groundwork in place. Tyrion was interested in me and I’d not called Jaime Kingslayer; hells, I’d even thanked him for what he’d done which was likely the first time that had ever happened. When Tywin learnt of it – there was little doubt in my mind he would – then it would further improve his opinion of me; regardless of if he had managed to gain Nightfall or other Valyrian objects that could be reforged into a blade.
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“Cregan?” I turned at hearing Ned’s voice and saw him approaching on foot while I sat in the saddle of a light brown Sand Steed that Oberyn had left for me. “Are you ready?”
“Yes, uncle,” I replied, earning a nod from him before he turned as someone approached.
With him busy, I looked around the yard we were in just outside Casterly Rock and took in the sight of the Northern host. It had been about a week since the fleet had returned from the Iron Islands and while the Dornish host and my family had left the day after, I had stayed behind. This was because Oberyn had come to an agreement with Ned that until around my ninth nameday, I was to be a ward of House Stark.
Oberyn had sprung this surprise on me the morning after the feast, away from my stepsisters and cousin, by taking me and my mother to meet Ned. Beyond a few subtle digs towards Ned having a bastard of his own – though one or two sounded as if Oberyn knew or suspected there was more to Alysanne’s story than what most knew – the meeting had been relatively quick and when over, I’d said my goodbyes to my mother and stepfather and gone with Ned to where the Northern lords were staying.
Most of the lords had taken a liking to me, saying that the son of a Stark, trueborn or not, belonged in the North. There’d been a few jokes wondering if I’d be able to survive the cold, but nothing too rude that Ned felt a need to step in and comment. Not until Benjen had walked into the area with Obara at his side. That had drawn more than a few glances and sly comments but those were ended when Obara sparred with and beat, Harlon Poole. Harlon had been teased over the loss until Jorah Mormont had commented that he was sure his aunt and cousins would likely have words for the other lords.
Jorah was tall, with thick black hair, but other than that, and the role he played in Daenerys’ future, nothing about him stood out. Well, save for his new wife. Lynesse Hightower was very attractive, and even knowing how that relationship would go, I could tell it was a bad match. Still, Jorah’s winning the tourney had earned me ten Dragons to add to the number Oberyn had left with Ned to help me pay for things while in Winterfell.
“Cregan,” I turned back to look at my uncle to see he was standing beside the Greatjon and boy, while Robert was big, the Greatjon had him beat. I was seated on a horse and was at eye height with him. Yet the giant of a man – and I wondered if his family had some giant’s blood in it – was the nicest person I’d met in the host. He’d spent time telling me stories about my birth father; some of which were, frankly, not suitable for a child, but I didn’t complain. He even said my father would be proud of me for killing Ironborn cunts – his words – and defending my family. “I want you to ride with Greatjon and Theon Greyjoy.” I must’ve failed to keep my dislike of the idea – borne both for what Theon had done in the canon timelines and what the Ironborn had almost done to my family in this one – from my face because Ned sighed. “I know you have issues with his family, but the crimes of the father are not those of the son.”
“Yes, uncle.” He gave me a quick nod before walking away, the Greatjon beside him. I sighed then walked my horse over to where Theon was. The boy, while older than me, was on a smaller horse; one that looked less for riding in battle and more for working in the fields. That was likely to ensure he didn’t try and run off while the host moved north. Just behind him, separating him from the few hundred captured Ironborn who had been forced to Take the Black, were Harwood Stout and Hallis Mollen and their retinues. Harwood saw me approach and gave a slight nod, which I returned. I hadn’t interacted with either noble, so I didn’t know how they felt about a bastard of Brandon being raised in Dorne, but Ned obviously trusted them to guard his ward and the prisoners, so that would do for me.
I’d spoken to Theon a few times since I’d learnt I’d been heading north, but he’d been very withdrawn; almost shy. Likely that was just him struggling to come to terms with everything that had happened and having seen his sister, and only remaining sibling, leave for Dorne making her further away from him than any other member of his family. Save Euron who, apparently, had slipped off into the sea before the assault of Pyke and hadn’t been seen since.
It was hard to put aside my issues with Theon for what he’d done in the other timelines, but I knew that this Theon wouldn’t necessarily head down that road. Balon was dead, his sister so far away as to be all but dead, and Euron in the wind. While I doubted it could happen, I wanted to see if I could make him stay loyal to House Stark, or at the very least, not betray Robb as he had done in canon. If there was a chance I could pull that off, or convince him to, somehow, join me in my plans to prepare for the Others/make a name for myself in this world, then I had to take it.
“Greyjoy.” He lifted his head, wondering who had spoken. When he saw it was me, the faintest look of anger flashed across his face. Perhaps he hated me because I had killed other Ironborn, or just blamed everyone for his lot in life. Regardless, the look faded a second later.
He opened his mouth to say something, only to stop. “Sand.” The words came out quietly, in a resigned tone. For a moment I wondered if, like every other time we’d spoken, he’d planned to call me a bastard as a stupid way to try and annoy me, but honestly, it wouldn’t matter if he had. I didn’t take offence to the term, though that wouldn’t stop others from trying to use it to annoy me.
“Lord Stark wishes for us to ride together.” I left out the part of the Greatjon, as I’d rather enjoy watching Theon’s reaction when that mountain of a man approached. I had considered lying and suggesting I’d come over here on my own as he was the only boy my age in the host, but I’d decided against it. That approach hadn’t worked well the few times I’d used it before; mainly as while there were no official squires and pages – outside of the House Manderly contingent – there were younger men and boys who’d come south with the host to act in similar capacities to the various Northern nobles. I’d spoken to a few, though none had stood out as interesting, with a few even being dismissive of me for being Dornish.
“Ok.” Yeah, that lacked any interest in, well, anything, but that wasn’t a surprise. No matter how many times Ned called Theon a ‘ward’, we all knew he was a hostage to ensure Lords Victarion Greyjoy and Rodrik Harlaw behaved themselves.
I shook my head at Theon, then moved my horse alongside his. Back from where I’d come, I saw the Greatjon mount a horse that looked more like a plough horse than a warhorse with how large it was and smirked in anticipation of Theon’s reaction.
“My Lord.” I was broken from my thoughts by the voice to my left and turned to see a servant of Casterly Rock standing there. Seeing he had my attention, he lifted a decent-sized pouch which looked to be made of what looked like high-quality leather with a lion embroidered with gold thread on the front. Hesitantly, I took it, being surprised first by the weight and then by the faint jiggle from inside; a sound only produced by coins rattling around together.
“From Lord Tywin as a thank you for your suggestions.” I nodded to the servant, which he took as a signal to leave, and then placed the bag on the saddle in front of me. Slowly, not wanting to risk the contents falling out, I loosened the strap. My brow rose at what was inside.
“What was that about?” I schooled my features not wanting to let on about what was inside and turned to see Lord Harwood had moved his horse closer to mine. His eyes shifted from me to the bag, and I suspected he wouldn’t accept an answer that was too vague.
“Lord Tywin… he wished to purchase Red Rain. I refused, but to avoid angering him while his guest, I gave him other options for such a weapon.” I paused and glanced at Theon to see him trying to look at me without making it obvious. “Obviously those worked out and he wished to, I guess, thank me.”
I turned and looked towards the castle in the mountain. As expected, I didn’t see Tywin anywhere, but I knew that he’d gained Nightfall, which had been one of my two suggestions. Clearly, he had decided that was enough to reward me with some coin and sent this pouch to me. It was hard to say for sure, but at a guess, I felt there were up to a thousand Dragons within.
Helping the Lannisters gain a Valyrian steel blade wasn’t something I’d have expected to have done, but now both blades that had been on the Iron Islands were on the mainland. Thus, they were closer at hand when it came time to fight the Others. That was a win, or at least I was taking it as one and ignoring the chaos Tywin Fucking Lannister having Valyrian steel would unleash to what I knew of the future. And, if I had to guess, he’d also acquired any object made of Valyrian steel his men could find on the islands. It might not be enough for a second sword, but even a few extra daggers of the metal could cause waves to erupt over Westeros.
All I could do was hope that the ripples didn’t alter the timeline too much to disrupt most of my plans. Chaos could be useful, but I was nowhere as keen on unleashing it as the Mockingbird.
… …