The Stormlander - Ch. 4 (Patreon)

Ser Damon took another sip from his horn of ale. He’d been nursing the same drink for the last few hours and it had since gone flat. But Damon did not mind. It was unwise to conduct business while drunk anyway.

It was long after sundown and the tavern was bustling with patrons. Bakers, tanners, smiths, and merchants of other stripes, they all came to this place for food, drink, and song. Damon, however, wasn’t there to indulge his vices. He was there for another reason entirely. Tonight, Ser Damon Storm was hunting.

Sitting by his lonesome in the far corner of the main hall, Damon could see his target from across the room. A tall, slender man with the silver-gold hair of Old Valyrian stock. He was dressed in a blue velvet doublet with a dark indigo cloak. And he was singing. Poorly.

AND SO THE LIONESS WED,

NOW QUEEN TO THE KING STAG

A FIERCE BEAUTY, GOLD ON RED

FLYING HER BROTHER’S FLAG

HER SON CAME THE NEXT YEAR

WITH A MANE OF LANNISTER GOLD

THE KING’S FURY, SHE DID FEAR

HER BETRAYAL SO CLEAR AND BOLD

A jaunty little song, Damon had to admit. The patrons of the tavern seemed to enjoy the bawdy tune even if the man singing it was drunk off his arse.

Surely the singer was the target Cersei wanted silenced. But Damon needed to be absolutely sure. He may have been a bastard who spent his gold on the whores and drink, but he was still a knight. Killing without asking questions was for common sellswords.

Of course, he couldn’t simply walk up and ask the man his name. Damon was well aware of how intimidating he could be, especially so with his dark cloak and a sword and dagger both hanging from his belt. One look at him and the singer would run off and cause a scene. A not-so-preferable outcome. The Queen had told him to be discreet.

Fortunately, Ser Damon had been watching his quarry long enough to devise a different approach. The singer, drunk as he was, appeared to be quite free with his affections - particularly with the tavern’s serving girls. Or rather, the younger ones. There were no wenches who could escape his grabby hands if they had the misfortune of walking by. And there were none he hugged and groped who looked older than fifteen.

The singer was not the only man in the world with unseemly tastes. Ser Damon had the misfortune of meeting other degenerates of the man’s like. But if he turned out to have the right name, Damon would have the crown’s blessing to dispose of him. And King’s Landing would be well rid of such a depraved little worm.

One of the girls the singer had just bestowed his affections upon happened towards Ser Damon’s corner of the room. And the bastard knight seized the opportunity.

“I beg your pardon, girl.” Damon reached out and gently set his fingers upon her arm, getting the server’s attention. A closer look at her face and Damon could see just how young and fresh-faced she was. There came a spike of sympathy to his heart… And a surge of disgust in his gut. Damon kept his voice calm, warm. The girl needn’t be afraid of him. “Who is that singer over there?”

Damon pointed to the man in the indigo cloak. The girl’s eyes followed his hand. She pressed her lips into a thin line, looking to the floor.

“That’s Johono.” She told him flatly. “He’s a loud one, isn’t he?”

“He has a unique voice, tis true.” Damon took another sip of his flat beer. “Strange accent, as well. Where is he from?”

“He’s Lyseni, he is. If you haven’t already guessed.” The girl cast a dark look towards the singer.

Damon, for his part, felt a measure happier. The singer was confirmed to be his target. And thus the Bastard of Blackhaven had an excuse to make the city a better place by having one less drunk degenerate.

“They teach minstrels differently across the Narrow Sea, I suppose.” Damon japed, setting his horn onto the table.

The serving girl chortled then, a bit of brightness returning to her eyes. At the very least, she seemed to tolerate Ser Damon’s company far more than Johono’s. She noted his half-empty drink, putting on a small grin.

“Another ale, good ser?” She offered, pointing to his mug.

Damon opened his mouth to politely refuse, but stopped short. He blinked. He hadn’t told the girl he was a knight.

“Ser?” He feigned innocence, but the girl’s eyes had a sharpness he had failed to notice before. A humble serving girl she may have been, but the maid before him was no fool.

Her grin widened, pleased with herself at having found him out.

“That’s castle-forged steel, is it not?” She pointed towards the hilt of his sword that poked out from under his dark cloak. Damon glanced at the steel sheathed at his side then back to the girl’s face. Cunning she was for a girl who couldn’t have been older than fifteen. “And I’ve been watching you all evening. You don’t carry yourself like a lord. So you must be a knight.”

“You’re a very observant girl.” Ser Damon said after a moment. He returned the young wench’s smile. She was cunning indeed… And could perhaps even help him in his task. Damon’s hand retreated under his cloak. He dug into his coin purse. Then his hand returned, a single coin glimmering between his fingers. The girl’s gaze was drawn to it instantly, her eyes widening.

“How would you like to earn yourself a gold dragon?” Damon asked, smiling.

- - -

Damon didn’t feel guilty. But perhaps he should have. He watched the serving girl flirt with the drunken Lyseni, watched her pretend to enjoy his touches and affections with a false smile stitched upon her face.

The plan he had devised was a simple one. The wench would draw the Lyseni’s attention, lure him out of the tavern and into the alley where Damon would be waiting. And then Damon would strike, his dagger drawn and ready. Johono Jaar would be silenced. The serving girl would receive her due payment. And Ser Damon would return to Queen Cersei as her triumphant sworn sword.

It wasn’t a brave or noble thing to send a maid into the clutches of a drunken lecher. But if this was to  be a quick and clean killing, Johono’s guard needed to be down.

And the girl was getting a gold dragon out of it anyway, Damon told himself. That single coin was probably worth more than an entire year’s wages working as a tavern wench. Surely, it was worth it to suffer a brief moment of a drunk’s affection in service to the crown.

In any case, the girl would not have to suffer for much longer. From Damon’s spot in the shadows at the far end of the alleyway, he could see them both approaching.

The girl, who was very convincingly acting as the playful minx, giggled as she ran further into the alley. She beckoned the drunken singer to follow her and he did so laughing. Damon remained in the shadows, still as stone. But as the girl ran past him, her eyes met his and they shared a quick look. Ser Damon gave her a short nod and flicked the gold dragon into her waiting hands. She closed her fist tight around it and darted into another alleyway, disappearing with coin in hand.

Now it was just a knight and his prey. The drunken singer stumbled further towards Ser Damon, unaware that his young female company was long gone.

The bastard knight sneered under his hood. He strode out from the shadows, dagger in hand, watching Johono Jaar lumber close and closer to his death.

The minstrel lost his footing then, falling to his hands and knees mere feet away from the towering Stormlander. The Lyseni grunted and spat a curse, moving his long silver-gold hair from his face. Then he turned his reddened eyes onto the cloaked man standing over him. Ser Damon saw confusion etched upon Johono Jaar’s thin face. It was as if the singer had just now noticed him.

“What is this?” Johono spoke slowly, his voice slurred, pointing in Damon’s general direction with a lazy arm. “Where is the sweet girl?”

“Far away from you, should the gods be good.” Damon said. The words came cold as death. He looked upon the drunk with marked scorn as he closed the distance between them. He spat upon the cobblestone. “A traitor and a degenerate. The queen will be well rid of you.”

Maybe his deadly contempt was too clear in his eyes. Or maybe the Lyseni finally noticed the dagger in Damon’s hand. But in that moment, Johono Jaar possessed a moment of clarity through his drunken haze. A look of fear flashed through the man’s eyes, along with the realization that the Stranger had come to meet him in the dark.

“Help! Guards!” Johono cried, desperately scrambling to his feet. But his voice was weak from hours of singing. Nor would his words have carried out to the main streets from his place deep in the alley. And so too did the vice of drink betray him. His balance shaken and his senses dulled, Johono Jaar was killed by ale and beer as much as by Ser Damon’s blade. He made a feeble attempt to flee, only to lose his footing after a single step, crashing back to the cold, stone floor. “Help me! Murder! A murderer!”

It was dirty business to kill someone so pathetic. But it was the queen’s will and Ser Damon had sworn himself to her. So he kept his vows and did his duty.

Damon stood over Johono Jaar and drove his dagger into the crawling man’s back. The singer seized up, the air forced from his lungs as he gave a silent cry. For a moment the singer squirmed, rasping. Then his limbs went limp and his head fell to the cobblestone with a thud.

The bastard knight pulled the dagger from Johono Jaar’s back, the blade dark with blood. Then he opened the man’s throat. Just to be sure.

“I’ll hear no more songs from you, swine.” Damon muttered, wiping the blade clean on the corpse’s indigo cloak.

The stormlander cast his eyes about the dark alley. There was no one else about at the hour of the owl. At least, none that he could see. Damon was alone, with nothing but a fresh cadaver to keep him company. A quick and clean kill, made with no witnesses. Damon had accomplished his task. There was nothing left for him here.

He sheathed his dagger and pulled his cloak shut as he stood. Damon spared the body of Johono Jaar one last glance, frowning. Then he turned and retreated into the shadows, making for the Red Keep to report his success.

The Queen will be pleased, Damon thought.

Surely she would be sweet to her loyal sword.

- - -

It was sunrise by the time Ser Damon made it back to the Red Keep. And it did not take long for word of his return to reach the queen. Damon hadn’t even made it to his chambers when a page summoned him to Cersei’s solar.

Tired he was and sore from the long walk. But before the queen, he stood tall and proud as a knight should.

Queen Cersei was dressed in a morning gown of gold silk, her hair loose and tumbling down her back and shoulders in ringlets. She had been sitting when Damon arrived and remained so, her green eyes looking upon him expectantly.

“You’ve returned.” She said evenly. “I trust the matter is settled.”

The ugly business now finished and behind him, Damon found his bold nature returning. He gave the queen a curled smile, pleased that he could report his success.

“The singer will trouble you no more, my queen.” Ser Damon gave a short bow of his head. He gripped the hilt of his dagger, resisting the urge to present it as the weapon that finished the task. That would have been unbecoming behavior towards a woman of Cersei’s standing.

Cersei Lannister didn’t smile then, but there was a spark in her eyes, those pools of green becoming bright with triumph.

“Good. Very good.” Cersei’s full lips curled into a smirk. “It is a blessing to have the loyalty of such a true knight. I find I have so few friends during these troubling times.”

She stood from her cushioned seat, taking slow, graceful steps towards Damon. She was before him then, graceful even when still. And the way she looked at him… Not with adoration or admiration, but rather in the way a cat looked upon a toy. Silent promises, her eyes made to him. And Ser Damon was reminded again that he made the right choice swearing his sword to the Lioness of Lannister.

“It’s too terrible to believe, your grace, that the men of the Seven Kingdoms haven’t already pledged their swords to your beauty and your charm.” He spoke so lavishly to the queen that one might have thought him to be a lickspittle. But there was a measure of sincerity to his words, Damon knew. Cersei was a radiant woman. And she did have a certain charm about her. And it was baffling to the Stormlander that there were men who would pledge themselves to fight for grizzled men over such a lovely woman. “They are senseless, the whole lot of them. Those men, they cannot see what I see.”

Shockingly, Ser Damon’s praise seemed to please the queen even more than the news of Johono’s demise. Cersei feigned a bashful laugh, but there was a keen interest about her face. She was almost leering at him, devouring him with hungry eyes. It was as if she was looking upon a man for the first time after spending her whole life among rats and snakes.

The queen reached out and took Damon’s gloved hand. Tugging off the wolfskin mitt, she held him with bare skin and Damon found her touch warm and soft.

So soft… Her hands…

Cersei brought his hand to her lips. She pressed a gentle kiss upon his knuckles. A sweet, feminine thing it was. But Damon knew better. The queen was not some demure maiden. She was a lioness, a fierce creature beneath her silk gowns and golden tresses. She was toying with him. And the bastard knight was happy to be toyed with, so long as it was a woman like Cersei doing it.

“You’ve earned your place in my service, Ser Damon.” She cooed in a soft, silky voice. Already the knight could imagine that same voice whispering to him in bed. That was the prize he so desperately wanted. The prize he was willing to fight for. What he was willing to kill for. Cersei continued, purring. “I believe you will find your time in King’s Landing fruitful beyond your dreams. And your loyalty to me will be rewarded, Ser. Soon, my sweet knight. I swear it. But it will be at another time. I have business to conduct with my small council today. You may go. You’ve earned a rest.”

Ser Damon’s heart soared. His spirits were thoroughly raised by the prospect of spending a night in the queen’s bed. But as her grace had told him, it would be a prize for another time. He would have to wait just a little longer. But Damon had been raised to be a patient man. He would endure.

“My queen.” Damon affirmed himself to the golden lioness, bowing his head.

Then he departed, eager to get some rest… And perhaps to tend to the very hard prick that strained against his trousers.

The things beautiful women do to me…