Sauron of the Vale 1 (Commission, GoT) (Patreon)

Year 12 Before the Tower Lord’s Ascension
Valelands

There were many things about my current life that I hated. Not the least of which, was the fact that I was currently stuck as a baby. Reincarnation is a bitch. Combine that with the fact that my new family, which as of a week ago consists only of my older brother and sister, were struggling to gather enough food to eat three times a week, and it’s safe to say that my new live is complete and utter garbage.

That was without taking into consideration the current circumstance. That being, a bunch of self righteous twats in plate armor storming into our camp, holding my brother down, and getting ready to rape my sister. Who, I might add, is only thirteen. My brother is ten, and I haven’t even reached the point that I can walk under my own power yet. So there we are, a thirteen year old girl who has just had her clothes torn off of her being held down by a knight removing his codpiece, a ten year old boy with a broken arm and a second knight with their foot on his back, and me, a baby still in swaddles being held over a ledge by an Arryn making jokes about betting how many times I’d bounce before I died.

I may not have seen it often, but I still recognized the fancy medieval symbol thingy on the chest of the asshat holding me. Now, normally, in like 99.99999% of cases, this would end with two dead boys and a raped girl. We didn’t have any other family, our father having died to an infected cut last week and our mother had died popping me out, our clan had kicked us out because I was apparently “cursed” or some bullshit like that.

Now, where am I going with this? It’s not to earn pity points like I was a participant in the Victim Olympics, no, it was just to provide context for the next part. You see, while I hate most parts of my new life, there was something that I quite enjoyed. That being the reason the clan thought I was cursed. Even at this age of how the fuck ever many months, I’ve got magic.

Not the warging of Bran, or the greensight of whatshisname with the 5/10 sister that traveled with Bran, my shit’s more practical than that. It’s also not the kind that lets me shoot fireballs, as awesome as that would be, no it’s not quite that flashy. For example, healing my brother’s broken arm with a glance and imbuing him with the strength and speed of twenty men.

I’d done this before, just not to this extent. So I feel that I can be forgiven for not knowing about the side-effects. Specifically, the fact that my brother’s upper body swelled to the point that he looked more like a pink, shaved gorilla than a human. Now, obviously the knights weren’t expecting this, and the one who’d had his foot on my brother’s back was used as an improvised bludgeon against the one leaning over our sister.

In mere moments, I was in the palm of a hand that was about three times my size, and the Arryn who’d been holding me was on the ground clutching at the stump where his arm used to be. My sister took a dagger from the knight who was preparing to rape her and opened up his throat, as my brother stomped the other knight’s head like a can of spaghetti sauce in a machine press.

Now, typically about this point, I would let my brother’s boost fade. But I had an idea. I freely admit that most of what I’ve been doing with my magic has been largely guesswork, but I do remember that the majority of magic in this world is based on sacrifice. Using my magic infusing him, I guide my still gorilla-bulky brother to the screaming Arryn, have him reach down and pick him up. This was going to be interesting.

As my brother held the Arryn up, I reached out, with both one of my chubby baby arms and my magic. I could feel their life, leaking out of them along with their blood, and focused. I took the life energies, tore them out of the dying man, and used them like a thread to stitch the strength and power I’d imbued upon my brother to his own life force. It worked, after a fashion, but not even close to the level I was hoping for, and it felt… incomplete. Like there was an aspect of the sacrifice that hadn’t been done yet. Letting the instinct guide me, and thus my brother’s body, I watched as I was placed in our sister’s arms as my brother ripped open the steel breastplate the Arryn was wearing, before he dug a finger into his chest behind the collarbone, prying the man open like a box of candies, and then ate his heart.

Well, I’d known magic was brutal in this world, so it wasn’t too big a shock. But I still wasn't expecting that. That wasn’t to say I felt bad about it, the dick was going to drop me off a cliff before I was even potty trained, the rich snobby bastard deserved it.

“Sroggor, are you okay?” my sister asked, looking down at me. Right, that was my name now: Sroggor, son of Shathor.

I gave a nod, as best as I was able, and pulled back into myself, releasing the control I’d held over my brother. What followed was a reality that we’d been forced to accept, with this winter being the harshest their of my siblings had faced. As my sister held me to her breast and I drank what little milk she could give, my brother started to strip the knights and Arryn of everything useful, before starting a fire and began to cook them.

Hunting, despite what some would claim, was hard. Especially when you’re ten years old, and I’d just shot his ability to hunt to shit with his new size. Which meant that if we wanted to eat, we needed to take advantage of every source of food that was made available to us. This was unacceptable to me. I didn’t know how yet, but somehow, I was going to make it so that we never went hungry again. We would rule the Vale, one way or another.

[center]<<One Year Later>>[/center]

There was a wet cracking and tearing sound as my brother, my Beast, tore the Chieftain’s head from his shoulders. With his massive hand, he shoved it into the Chieftain’s chest through the hole that was once his neck, and in mere moments lifted up his bloody hand, showing the still beating heart held within it. There were shouts and roars from the observing Mountain Clansmen, both those who’d served under the now dead Chieftain and those we’d brought with us, as he brought the heart to his mouth and devoured it in a single bite.

That was the fifth boost I’d made permanent on my brother, and the fourth Clan we’d added to our ranks. As far as most of them knew, my sister, Drerra daughter of Detish, was the one in charge. An unfortunate side effect of the boosts I’d given to my brother was that his mind was basically gone at this point. Everyone knew that he was a mindless brute and killer, but they thought that he was Drerra’s brute and killer, rather than mine.

It was an understandable mix up. For now. I had plans that would change that soon. There was a reason we’d targeted this Clan in particular. A few of our scouts reported that they’d seen this clan capture a member of House Royce. I wasn’t willing to wait the fifteen years it would take for me to rule openly, so I was going to speed things up, and if I could make some of the nobles suffer in the process, well, that was just a happy perk.

Since I still couldn’t get my baby mouth to work the way I wanted it to, I used the crude pseudo-telepathy I’d managed to get working to send instructions to my sister. I couldn’t send actual words, just vague sensations and impulses. Still, it worked well enough for what I needed.

Drerra stood up, drawing the attention of both crowds. It wasn’t just the fact that “her” champion had just killed one of the most powerful Clan Chieftains in the Vale, it was the fact that, much like I’d done with our brother, I’d enhanced her. Not her strength or other combat related attributes, but her appearance and beauty. Thanks to me, she was now easily the most beautiful woman in the world, making noble ladies, with their personal care, makeup, and fancy dresses look like leperous prostitutes in comparison.

“Bring out the Royce you captured,” she ordered. Her voice was equally enhanced, more melodious than any bard or minstrel could manage, able to inflect and adjust to achieve exactly what she desired. A number of the clansmen scrambled, all but falling over themselves to obey her.

In a few minutes, an obese, balding ponce looking douche was brought out. As I'd been expecting, he was bellowing out orders left and right, while calling everyone present savages, barbarians, and a number of other words unsuitable for polite conversation. I learned a surprising number of swear words.

That all came to a stop once he got a look at Drerra. She was  the most beautiful woman in the world, and he couldn’t help but stare. He apparently forgot that he was being held captive, because he had the audacity to try and walk up to her, to try and talk to her. One of the clansmen, a particularly burly man, grabbed the man’s shoulder and jerked him back, and his eyes never left Drerra.

“Not so fast,” the man said, in a voice like a growl. “You will address The Lady with respect.”

“This is an outrage!” the man shouted. “How dare you, you filthy savage...”

“Enough,” Drerra said, her voice dropping to a silken purr, “I have heard enough of your insults. Look upon me, and know the truth of my words.”

The man turned, and I saw his eyes go wide as he took in Drerra. She was dwarfed by most of the Clansmen, with her head coming up to just below their shoulders. What followed was… it was simultaneously the most insulting and pathetic attempt at a come on I'd ever heard, in either life. How someone managed to sound both like an internet simp and a pompous aristocratic douchenozzle at the same time was beyond me.

Fortunately, I didn’t have to pay attention to his rambling, as Drerra approached, and our brother grabbed him. A single, meaty hand completely enveloped the Royce noble’s head, while others grabbed onto his hands and legs, keeping him from struggling as Drerra drew a dagger. The tell tale ripple pattern of the blade showed everyone that it was valyrian steel, the one such blade we currently possessed. With a smooth motion of the arm not holding me, she brought the blade across and through his throat.

The clansmen let go of him, and his hands flew to his neck, trying desperately, futilely, to stem the bleeding. I paid his body no more mind, pulling and grasping with my magic at his life energy. As he grew weaker, slipping into the embrace of death, I changed. Drerra put me down on the ground, as I grew too heavy for her to carry. From the moment the blade cut him open, I pulled and drained as much as I could, but in the end, when he finally died, it was a small portion of what I’d been hoping for.

I looked over my body, examining it. Where before I’d been a baby of almost two, I was now physically a child of five. I looked up, meeting the shocked gazes of the clansmen around me, as my brother dropped the noble and stood behind me, a silent warning to any who thought to kill me for my magic.

There was only one thing to say in response to the stares I was getting, “Looks like we’re going to need some more nobles.”