GAME OF THRONES: WRATH OF A DEMON - CHAPTER 1 (Patreon)

I remembered pain, confusion, and a bit of sadness. But nothing more, that was all I could remember, when I forced myself to think about my death, about my ending. It’s funny really, I don’t even remember how I died, or when I died, as my memories are a fog of misdirection when I try to remember, but I am sure of it, as I am sure of the sun above the earth. It's a feeling that you can’t put words to, it’s unique.

But that’s not the part that troubles me the most, dying is an inevitability, something no man can truly avoid, just postpone and hope for the best. What really troubled me was what came after death.

And I am not talking about the afterlife and such, whatever my final destination is, I am sure I earned that gift or punishment with my actions. No, what really troubled me was what I was feeling.

Wrath, there was no other way to describe it, any other feelings I ever remembered feeling at one point of my life were gone, all I had now was anger. Pure and uncontrollable anger, so much that it burned my very soul with blazing agony, I could feel it... tearing me apart.

I had no idea why I was feeling like I was, but it was unbearable.

Perhaps I was in hell, and this feeling was my punishment, perhaps wrath was my capital sin, and this was poetic justice.

But in the midst of everything, as I tried to make sense of my entire dilemma, I felt something. Something new, that could only be described as pain, physical one, and what soon followed, well, it shocked me, enough to overwhelm my inner rage for a brief moment.

“It’s a boy, Talana.” It took me three seconds to understand two things. One thing, I was alive… and two, I was a baby... now the question was… why?

“Let me see him.” I heard a tired strained voice ask whoever was holding me, female by the tone I assumed.

In turn, the person holding me handed me over to whom I assumed was my mother considering the situation. I couldn’t really tell, all I could see were shadows. “He’s beautiful.” the woman breathed out as she held me with a blissful tone.

“How will you name him?” I heard the person that first held me ask her, all while I tried to make sense of the situation, being a baby, reincarnation, it all seemed like out of a book, entertaining but quite unbelievable.

“Bradley.” was her short reply.

[Year 263]

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I was two months old when I finally accepted this new reality or life as my own, as confusing as it was, with things seeming to be set on a medieval era, and was three years old when I discovered something troubling, a very particular mark located on my left eye, the mark of Ouroboros. 

I particularly didn’t know what was more troubling, the fact that I had the Ouroboros mark on my left eye, or that no one had commented on it for three years, I mean, I would’ve certainly said something.

However, this mark while troubling brought me some very wanted answers answers as to why the only emotion I could fully feel was anger.

It seemed reincarnation like in novels and anime was real, and I had been cursed, or blessed to have the powers of the homunculus known as King Bradley. I even had his name, how poetic.

“Please don’t take him!” Talana, the woman who had birthed me into the world shouted, in a pleading tone, snapping me out of my train of thought.

“He is mine!” Someone shouted in reply, his tone full of anger.

“He’s my son… please, I beg of you my lord,” Talana begged, her voice letting me know she was crying.

“You lied to me Talana, you said you weren’t pregnant.” I heard the man who I now assumed was my father growl, “Just for that, I could cut your head.”

“My lord.” I heard a new voice say, “I found the baby.” 

“If you must take him, please let me be there for him… I will work for free, just give me a plate of food, and I will do anything.” Talana begged as she entered the room following a man, possibly my father.

The man stared at her, as if pondering whether to humor her request or not, eventually he said. “I will grant you that wish, but he will never know you are his mother.” a bit of an assumption thinking I won’t remember.

“I just want to see him grow, my lord,” Talana replied, tears pouring down her face.

“What’s his name?” The man asked, ignoring her tears.

“Bradley,” Talana replied.

“Bradley Storm, aye, I like the name.” The man said in approval.

Bradley Storm, why do I feel like I know that last name, it feels somewhat familiar.

“Lord Baratheon, we are ready to depart at your command.” and from that point, I stopped listening to the conversation. Medieval times, the last name, it all made sense now, or at least to some extent, life stopped making sense after my death, to think I would reincarnate in the world of Game of Thrones, how ironic, especially considering I never liked the show, though I supposed I liked the books, so I’m on a fence, I guess. 

[Year 266]

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By my four-name day, I found the answers to some of my questions. For one, I had originally assumed I was the bastard son of Robert Baratheon but soon learned that was not the case, I was instead his younger bastard brother, by only a few months.

As for my life within the Baratheon house, well, aside from the venomous look the lady of the house would give me at every turn, and Steffon ordering me to wear an eye pad for reasons I could only imagine were related to my Ouroboros mark, things were okay. I suppose that being a bastard has its benefits, I have my three meals a day, and the best medical care medieval times can offer, which is not much, but it’s something.

As for my relationship with Robert and the three year old Stannis, well, it was odd, Stannis was too young to fully grasp my status within the household, and Robert simply didn’t seem to mind, seeing me more like an eternal playdate than a bastard.

It was almost funny, I suppose. If I didn’t feel like murdering everyone around me, I would perhaps enjoy some of the events happening around me, but I simply can’t, I however act, I pretend to be normal, I pretend I don’t want to murder everyone around me, not because of them, but because I wholly refused to let my anger control and dictate the path of my life.

As for my mother, well, she was working as a maid, the Lord of the House, Steffon Baratheon, hired her two months after he took me into his house, to avoid his lady wife killing him I suppose.

Though she wasn’t a maid of the house, it was more like… of the stables and such, perhaps the right term was stable girl. At most, I would see her once or twice a month, for seconds at a time.

I felt bad for her, I really did, for the love she had for me was something I would never be able to return, I already had a mother. I already loved her more than life itself, and that love can’t be replaced.

And even if that love could be replaced, I no longer remembered how was to feel love at all, all there was in me was anger, every other emotion I felt was dull and brief.

I hated the feeling. Being perpetually angry was exasperating, infuriating, and well, it created a vicious cycle, of me getting angry because I was angry, I suppose we can call this the angry paradox.

[Year 267]

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By my fifth name day, Steffon Baratheon, the man I had to unenthusiastically call father, decided it was time for me to join Robert’s lessons in the way of fighting a month after he started. Which was something that surprisingly excited me, giving me a sense of hope, for there were things that could actually bring me joy, and this seemed to be one of them, although it was an angry type of joy, but it was different, and I was at a point where I wanted… no… I needed to feel different.

As I had predicted, I took the lessons quite easily, besting Robert with ease. My body was stronger, my mind was faster, and in turn, I reacted like I had been born to fight, which seemed to be the case.

Surprisingly, Robert took the defeats rather well for a five-year-old. Instead of crying, and throwing a tantrum, he was excited I was so good at it, as for the master of arms, and my… father, well, I couldn’t really read their faces, but some of the soldiers around seemed angry at my prowess.

[Year 268]

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Two months after my eight-name day in the year 271, Steffon Baratheon decided it was best to send Robert to be fostered by Lord Jon Arryn. I knew this was a trip for Robert alone, I actually expected this to be a trip for him and him alone, alas, Robert surprised me once again, begging his father to send me with him.

Robert was treading in very delicate waters, sending a bastard to be fostered was an insult, something the maester made sure I knew weeks prior to this event, perhaps he knew what Lord Baratheon was planning.

After a lot of shouts and other loud noises, Lord Baratheon agreed he would consult Lord Arryn to see if he was okay with a bastard in his house, at times I can’t help but wonder why did he even bother taking me from the streets, perhaps was a thing of honor, or perhaps I didn’t get this world at all.

“Don’t worry brother! We are going to Vale!” Robert was particularly excited to take me with him, in a way, he himself had created the illusion we were friends, that we had a brotherly bond of some kind, a pity really, since my reincarnation and anger, well, I have become more pragmatic with these things, meaning I had no friends, I had no need for them, at least for now.

[Year 271]

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Once Lord Baratheon got a reply from his inquiry from Lord Arryn, we set off to Vale, a journey of forty days if the weather was good. It really makes you appreciate planes and cars.

“Aren’t you excited brother?” Robert inquired, doing the equivalent of jumping up and down in joy but in medieval times.

“Not particularly,” I replied with just the hint of a smile, I had learned how to smile in a way others would believe it.

“You’re always so serious.” Robert sighed, rolling his eyes.

“I, unfortunately, don’t have the liberty of being… fun…” I replied, my eyes on the road, a little game that was getting old, the same scenery every exhausting mile.

“It’s because you’re a bastard?” Robert asked, doing his equivalent of a low tone, which was not low at all, he was loud, but he was trying.

“I guess that’s one reason.” I nodded, not really wanting this conversation to go on, this little chit-chat, the waiting, it was all getting on my nerves.

“Not with me!” Robert exclaimed, “I won’t let any fucker tell my brother bastard or not if he can have fun or not!” 

[Year 271]

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We arrived at Vale a week after we intended, at the gates of the castle, Lord Arryn, and no other than Eddard Stark greeted us. “A pleasure to have you here, Lord Robert.” Jon Arryn greeted, as I started to unload my things, for the servants were for Robert, not for me.

“And my brother,” Robert remarked as if complaining Lord Arryn hadn’t welcomed me yet.

“He’s a bastard.” A random soldier commented.

“One that can shove your sword up your arse!” Robert growled, his face going red at the insult, for a moment forgetting he was an eight-year-old, wanting to five an adult soldier.

“I required no pleasantries,” I stated, grabbing my bags. “Don’t get in trouble for me, it would ultimately win you nothing.”

“Nothing my arse!” Robert muttered.

“Robert, you would do well to listen to your brother, and I would do well to listen to you.” Jon Arryn smiled. “I apologize for not greeting you, bastard or not, you are a guest in my house, and I was rude for not remembering that,” he said, turning to look at me.

“That I would win nothing eh?” Robert grinned victoriously, as I rolled my eyes at him.

“I stand corrected.” I nodded, turning to look at Lord Arryn, “A pleasure to be in your care, Lord Arryn.”

[Year 271]

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As with Robert, Eddard, or Ned as he had requested us to call him, was no match for me in combat, this turn of events surprised Lord Arryn and his soldiers, now finally understanding from where Robert’s claims came from, that I could kick anyone’s arse.

Granted, none of them actually believed I could defeat a trained soldier, something I was sure I could do, with or without using my left eye with enough finesse, though for now I would restrain from using my eye, as Lord Baratheon himself had ordered me never to take off my eye pad.

He thought the Dragon’s of King’s Landing would take my eye as a bad omen, something I also believed as medieval people were as one would say, stupid…

“You are pretty good with the sword,” Ned commented.

“It’s a gift.” and a curse, it is like they say, nothing is ever truly free in this world.

“He’s bloody good with every weapon.” Robert guffawed, his eyes on Ned as he approached me giving me a one-armed hug. “He is my brother after all!” the eight-year-old declared proudly.

Ned smiled ever so lightly, “He also kicked your arse today.”

Robert gasped, impressed that the kid that had barely said anything since we arrived had jested him. “Hahaha! I like you!” 

“I shall return to my quarters,” I announced.

“Fine, but tomorrow, I want my rematch!” Robert grinned, as I wondered on the way to my room, was he ever gonna stop asking me to spar? After all, it was the literal definition of madness to do the same thing over and over again, and expect different results.

[Year 271]

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By my tenth name day, Lord Arryn offered me, and Robert something, the opportunity to be knights. It was more than obvious by this point he was offering me this because of my absurd prowess in the training yard.

And seeing as Knights could participate in tourneys and such to win considerable amounts of coin, I accepted. A title like that would certainly be of use to me later on.

Not surprisingly, Robert accepted as well, and soon we started our lives as squires, Robert to Jon Arryn, and I to Yohn Royce.

The man in question I was squiring for was an old man, by medieval standards. And he seemed to be particularly interested in me, most likely because of my unique circumstances.

“I heard and have seen you are a force to be reckoned with in the training yard lad.” Lord Royce commented as he came to introduce himself. “But that doesn’t matter, for I will shape you into the right path.” The right path, an hilarious statement.

“Understood.” I nodded, ignoring the man for the most part. As my goal was not to learn from him but to get my knight title.

[Year 273]

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A week before my fourteen-name day, I was knighted, becoming Westeros' youngest knight to be ever knighted, and I had a few mixed feelings about the entire thing. Yes, I wanted to be a Knight, but to be knighted so young could backfire, especially if a lord considered my early knighthood an insult. 

“Ser Bradley… I like it brother!” Robert however was more excited than I expected him to be.

“Congratulations.” Ned smiled, amused at Robert’s behavior. 

“I wish you could be knighted with us, Ned.” Robert pouted, he knew full well why Ned refused the concept of Knighthood, by the old gods such a thing didn’t exist.

“I have no need for such a title,” Ned replied, with a small smile. “Besides you’re still no knight.”

“Quiet Wolf my arse, you should be called the Boring Wolf.” Robert rolled his eyes, walking out of the room with his usual boisterous laugh, probably on his way to a whore house. I don’t know when he started to visit such places, but it was around his twelve name day, quite a promiscuous kid if you ask me.

“Would you spar with me? Ser Bradley?” Ned said after a moment of silence.

“Yes,” I replied.

[Year 277]

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It was two months after receiving my Knight title, when a little rebellion began against the Iron Throne, known as the Defiance of Duskendale, according to the whispers of the small folk. Lord Denys Darklyn had refused to pay taxes to the Iron Throne, in turn King Aerys II Targaryen, decided to go to Duskendale quite eager to sort out the situation himself peacefully, but for the lack of planning ended up being captured instead.

“Do you think the King will be alright?” Ned inquired.

“Lord Darklyn made a desperate move, and now is trapped from all sides, his defeat is unavoidable,” I stated, as only a fool would kidnap a King and expect the world to bow.

“I wished I was there.” Robert grouched, angry at the fact Lord Arryn, and Lord Baratheon were refusing to let us go and aid in battle.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Ned said, looking at me. “Do you think the King will be okay?”

“Hard to say, but I highly doubt Lord Darklyn would kill his only bargaining chip on this ill-planned war he himself created,” I replied, a part of me was furious I wasn’t fighting, though to be fair, I was usually angry at everything, just that now these days I had learned how to deal with it, like a pain that becomes bearable after decades.

“Aye, I suppose that’s right.” Ned sighed.

The next few months were rather uneventful, until the betrothal of Lyanna Stark, and Robert came to happen. It all happened quite fast, Robert saw Lyanna during one of her visits to Vale to see her brother, and immediately fell in love with, head over heels like some would say.

Two months later he practically begged Ned to talk with his father, and allowed him to have the hand of Lyanna in marriage, Ned was skeptical considering how much of a whore addict Robert was, but eventually caved in, sending a letter to Lord Stark. 

Three months later, Robert and Lyanna were betrothed.

[Year 277]

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The Tourney of Storm End, a tourney Lord Baratheon was throwing for several reasons, one apparently the King had ordered him to go to Essos to find something, so he was throwing the Tourney as a goodbye, and to celebrate Robert’s betrothal to Lyanna Stark.

Robert was elated by this, for in the Tourney, Lyanna would be there alongside her family to see him in combat. It was surprising really how infatuated he was, considering he was fifteen years old and had bedded grown women, while Lyanna was barely twelve, I really couldn’t see what he saw on her, but that wasn’t my problem.

“Are you going to participate in the tourney brother?” Robert asked, grinning like a child on Christmas eve. 

“It depends,” I replied, if the tourney had no monetary price, I would refrain from wasting my time. 

“Come on, father told me the winner will get ten thousand gold dragons!” Robert whispered/shouted. “Don’t tell anyone, it’s supposed to be a surprise.” 

Ten thousand gold dragons, well now I had a reason to participate, the question now was, would they let me? “I suppose I could participate, but will Lord Baratheon allow me? I think that’s the real question.”

“Of course he will!” Robert fumed, already getting angry at the idea of me not getting the chance to smash some skulls, even if the Tourney had rules to prevent deaths and such.

“Well, if that happens to be the case, I will enter the tourney.” And I will win, that was left unsaid.

“I will make sure father allows you to participate, you are a knight, after all!” Robert smiled, patting me on the back in good humor.

I sighed, perhaps he would convince that man, who knows.

[Year 277]