The Three Houses of Westeros (Patreon)

Chapter 5: 

Dimitri:

The morning air was cool and crisp as the crown prince stepped out of his tent, rising with the sun itself. The serfs and servants were also already up, getting ready to pack up the camp and continue on their journey.

It was the fifth day of their journey and they were only just now, scarcely crossing the border into the Riverlands. 

In another, they’d be at Harrenhal. Hopefully. Their pace was excruciatingly slow, what with his mother’s wheelhouse and the sheer size of the column. 

“Ahhh.”

The crown prince of the seven Kingdoms was surprised to hear the voice of his father, turning to find the King emerging from his own tent with, quite literally a spring in his step. His cheeks, normally flush with color from alcohol now seemed red with just childish delight.

It looked like he’d inherited his enjoyment of being away from court from at least one side of this family.

“Father.” He called.

Robert turned, and his answering smile lit up his face. “Son.” He said simply with a nod. “You’re up early.”

“We’ll need to break camp soon if we wish to reach Harrenhall in a timely way.” Dimitri said by way of answer.

His father snorted. “You and I both know this camp isn’t moving a bloody foot until your mother’s whittled the morning away just deciding what fuckin dress she’s gonna wear to ride in that fuckin wheelhouse all day where no one’s gonna see it anyway.”

His father… was not wrong. 

The great black haired man sighed, shaking his head before he reached up with one, big meaty paw, clapping Dimitri’s shoulder. “Come on son- lets go for a morning ride, we can at least get some fuckin wind in our hair.

“I’ll call-”

“No no.” His father interrupted staring at him with an eager smile that lightened his face by years.. “No calls, no followers, no bloody well wishers. Just you and me. A father can damn well take a ride next to his son.”

They really shouldn’t. Many things could happen on the road, and they were the King and heir to the throne. If anything did happen, witnesses needed to be there for any number of reasons.

But…his father’s look was so openly honest and eager, that Dimitri really didn’t have the heart to ruin it.

So instead he simply nodded. “I’ll get my horse ready.”

Robert smiled, clapping his shoulder again. “Good lad. I’ll do the same.”

Dimitri did take the precaution of informing Ashe, with very strict instructions not to inform anyone else until at least twenty minutes had passed after they left.

—

Riding up the dirt, mud and barely laid stonework mess that was the Kingsroad in its current state father and son reached the crest of the hill that marked the very edge of the border.

“Ahh the Riverlands.” His father sighed, squinting into the distance. “Huh. Funny. I could have sworn we should’ve seen the Gods eye from here.” He remarked. 

Dimitri glanced around too, but the great body of water was too distant still to make out. “Soon enough.” He consoled. Then a thought occurred to him. “Is it true that back when you were young Pegasi could be found there?”

Robert’s face grew irritated and stone-like. “I’m not that old boy.” He growled, making a threatening fist as Dimitri felt a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“I don’t know, father. You were born back when the Tyrells still had a whole cavalry division of them.” He teased

“Hah!” His father’s stony visage cracked and fell away, leaving him smiling happily. “You ever hear the story on how those flowery cunts lost their preening feathery ponies?”

He had, but he listened to his father retelling the story of the siege of Storm's End. 

The ancient Baratheon seat was a monstrous fortress, nearly impossible to take by force. But still the Tyrells had tried. With an army’s worth of seven hundred mounted Pegasi Knights they’d stormed the castle walls with siege equipment, ladders and on winged mount to simply soar over the walls.

Uncle Stannis had bled them for it. The Tyrells had lost nearly a third of their infantry, half their brave flying Knights and their mounts while the Baratheon men were still strong and hadn’t run out of food, arrows in their quivers or bolts for their scorpions. 

Led by the head of House Tarly the remaining Knights had flown close to the inky blackness of the Storm sea by night. Hoping to catch the defenders unprepared by the ocean side of the castle walls.

Then the Om rose from the depths.

Dimitri wasn’t sure how much he believed the tale. Given that it was only told by Reachmen survivors.

Most scholars, and Dimitri himself were inclined to believe that simply a lucky storm had caught the Greenland Knights by surprise and dashed their bodies against the rocks; rather than believe some great, massive monstrous tortoise that could control the sea and bend the very heavens to its will- a beast from the literal mythic era of creation had rose from the depths to single handedly destroy their Knightly contingent before vanishing as though it had never existed. 

Either way; whatever the case; it was the deciding blow in the siege. Mace Tyrell would not launch another attack, merely determined to starve out the defenders, which weakened the royals which led to his father’s victory over them.

The rest was history.

Now the Reach houses could barely count on, at most Fifty Pegasi in total. Twenty of them were in the Tyrell household. Practically given to House Tyrell so that Wylas, a legendary breeder of horses in his own right could hopefully bring their numbers back to the rebellion’s days of several hundred. A long and arduous process. Not the least of which because Pegasi only bred once every few years; their longer lifespan allowing for such… stretches of time being ‘off season’

His Grandfather, Tywin, had purchased one as a foal for his aunt Ingrid at a princely sum from what he’d heard. 

“Feh.” His father snorted. “Fucking flowers. Only flowers would find it at all fitting to die to a fucking turtle rather than a storm.”

In spite of himself, Dimitri couldn’t stop the sharp bark of almost laughter that escaped him.

It really was a ridiculous story.

Glancing a bit further up the road, the crown prince found himself squinting. “What’s going on over there?” He asked.

His father followed his gaze, also now peering into the distance. “That right there is a looker son.” His father teased with a bawdy chuckle, elbowing his eldest son in the ribs. “I didn’t know you had a thing for redheads. Ya shoulda said something son.”

Dimitri tried not to roll his eyes but it was quite an ask. Every time he even looked at a girl his father would tease and try endlessly to get Dimitri in bed with her. ‘Encouraging’ his eldest son as only Robert Baratheon knew how.

Honestly. Any girl. The only one who seemed safe was Bernadetta and Dimitri had no doubt it was for the love his father had for Jon Arryn- otherwise she too would have been on the proverbial ‘menu’ so to speak. 

In one of his drunken stupors he suggested he bed that ‘fine looking lass over there’. To this day Dimitri hadn’t quite managed to tell him he’d been encouraging Dimitri to bed his own cousin. Lorenz.

He thanked the Gods that Lorenz was nowhere in earshot, and that the Kingsguard were forbidden from laughing about it under pain of death.

One of these days he’d carry out the threat too!

Still; today wasn’t that day. “It looks like the wheel of their cart broke.”

“Seven fucking hells if I have to hear about another broken spoke on another fucking wheel-” Robert snarled. 

Still Dimitri couldn’t help but smirk. “Do you see now why renovations and repairs for the road are a good investment?”

“Aye. But you’ll be putting bloody carpenters and wheel makers out of business.” Robert shot back.

The laughter this time on Dimitri’s part was entirely genuine. 

Robert turned in his saddle. Sighing. “Ahh bollocks.” He groaned. “Looks like they finally woke up.”

The crown prince looked over his shoulder. White armored Kingsguard and Baratheon bannermen were riding towards them. Not many. Perhaps a dozen.

But it seems like their father son time that Robert had been enjoying… was done.

Dimitri did feel bad, knowing that he’d been the one to tell Ashe, so to console his father he reached out, patting the man on the shoulder. “We can extend their travel time by going over to see if the lady needs help?” He offered. “She might not even realize you’re the king at first.”

Robert chuckled. “Aye. The look on her face will be a good one if that’s the case eh.”

They trotted forward at a brisk pace. Not quite galloping away from the approaching troupe of bodyguards… but definitely faster than a light canter.

“Honestly boy-” His father said. “When are you gonna go and find yourself a nice girl to keep your bed warm at night? You’re a man grown now. It’s natural.”

Briefly, Dimitri’s thoughts flashed--a glimpse, a shadow–of blue hair.

“I imagine I’ll be betrothed to the most important political alliance.” He mused aloud.

The Reach. Or Dorne perhaps. Build bridges. Mend the scars of the war.

Margery Tyrell and Arianne Martell were gorgeous beauties as far as he’d heard.

But he doubted either of them had the blue hair he’d see in his dreams sometimes. Or the scent of jasmine and lilies. 

“Says who?” Robert answered him.

Dimitri blinked, confused. “Pardon?”

Robert was quiet for a time staring straight ahead towards their ‘destination’. In this space between the woman’s cart and the approaching bodyguards, they still had some semblance of privacy.

So, the king spoke. 

“I didn’t marry for love.” He said.

No. His father hadn’t. Even if the enmity between his father and mother weren’t as sure and clear as the sun rising every morning- Robert Baratheon’s ‘Love’ for Lyanna Stark was woven into the tapestry of song. 

“I know you know that.” The King said, uncharacteristically gentle. Almost soft. “But I would’ve. If things had been different. Ned didn’t marry for love either. But he would’ve. If things had been different. So who the hell says you can’t have what I couldn’t. Fathers should always give their children what they never had right?”

Dimitri turned his head, staring at his father who kept looking straight ahead, not meeting the crown prince’s eye.

The sentiment was touching- it really was but-

“I’m the prince.” He answered dumbly.

A prince did not marry for love. A prince did not have that luxury. 

“And I’m the fucking king.” Robert grumbled. “That means I get to do what I want-”

Again… not quite how it worked. But Dimitri didn’t have it in him to argue as his father reached over, thumping him in the chest with a meaty fist. 

“-So if you ever come to me, and you say ‘This is the woman I want to marry’ ‘This is the woman I love’ I’ll back you. No matter what your mother or grandfather or anyone says. She can be a princess from bloody Yi-Ti to a damn peasant. As long as you’re sure.”

Dimitri… didn’t know what to say. 

And Robert seemed content to let them fall into silence, kicking his horse lightly to speed up the beast's trot as they finished approaching the wagon. 

“Oh Hi!” The woman-a young, beautiful lady with flaming red hair-smiled brightly despite the state of her wagon. “Fine silks, fine armors. I know money when I see it!” She winked. “Care to buy any of my wares, dear gentlemen!?”

“Not quite my lady.” Dimitri smiled. “Our party will be passing through here, we merely wish to see if there was anything amiss.

“Wheel broke. But don’t worry-” The lady winked, smiling even wider. “My buddy here-” She gestured to a pair of feet Dimitri could see  poking out of the front of the mule drawn wagon. No doubt her ‘buddy’ was currently working on the axel. “-will get us where we need to go. I’m Anna by the way- and you are?”

Just then, the thunderous rumble of horse hooves rolled over them as the column of guards that had belatedly followed them finally caught up. 

“Your Grace.” Barristan breathed in a mixture of relief and annoyance. “You should have woken us.”

“It's fine Barristan.” Robert answered, though the prince very much doubted Barristan agreed with that statement.

The woman–Anna’s–reaction was… odd. He noted her mumbling the words ‘Your grace’ and the slow dawning realization on her face before the prince could practically hear the clink of Gold dragons in her imagination just as he saw her eyes gleam with absolute glee at an imminent profit. 

That was… perhaps a mite concerning.

“Hey, Balthus, how close are you to fixing this thing?” Anna the Merchant called lightly kicking ‘Balthus’ in the foot. 

Oddly though, his father’s features scrunched up and Dimitri heard the name mumbling from his lips. ‘Balthus?’

“Huh? Fix? I was just taking some shade under here. Its fuckin hot out there Anna.”

The Merchant blanched. “WHAT! YOU IDIOT!? YOU TOOK A TOOL BOX DOWN WITH YOU!”

“What? It makes a pretty good pillow if you put some wool over it.”

The man that began to extricate himself from under the carriage was massive. The Mountain born again; easily. His armor was thick, black plate and the surcoat was a coat of arms he recognized; 

Jeralt’s Ashen Beasts.

The sigil was distinct. A Dragonbone Regalia in the shape of a sword.

The Regalia were rare artifacts. As rare as Valyrian swords. Indestructible. Made from the ancient bones of what could only have been dragons. Often they were fashioned in the shape of weapons though they were useless as such things. 

The Maesters at Old town speculated that they were once symbols of prestige. Badges of office or pieces of greater rituals that had been conducted in Valyria before the doom. 

Now they were still symbols of prestige. But they were purely decorative in society today. 

The Targaryens had held several of them in their vaults, including the ancient Regalia of house Stark, given to Aegon the Conqueror by the King Who Knelt as a formal symbol of his surrender. His father had kept some when he’d found them. Gifted others to the houses that supported him. Arryn, Lannister, and returned the ancestral Regalia of house Stark to House Stark.

But still… come to think of it none of the Regalia in the Targaryen vaults had been in the shape of a sword. Odd. 

Regardless; Jeralt’s beasts were well known even beyond the peculiar oddity of their sigil of choice being such an esoteric decoration piece. Why the man had decided on that, none knew. But it mattered not; he’d given it infamy through his deeds, like the Golden Company in far off Essos Or the Second Sons. 

The Beasts were a smaller band from all he’d heard, but their leader was friends with his own father.

Still, as the massive man stood up to his full height; a friendship didn’t quite explain the reaction he saw between Balthus and his father.

His father gaped, then a smile lit up both men’s faces.

“Hey old man.” Balthus grinned, waving; and it took Dimitri a moment to recognize that he was actually addressing his father. The King. 

The whole troupe behind them was similarly flabbergasted; and the gleam of coin vanished from Ana’s eyes as she stared at Balthus with a dumbfounded, horrified look. 

“You are addressing the King of the Seven Kingdoms mercenary-” Boros Blount spat. “You will show due respect or I will see you flogged!”

Given the sheer size of the man; they’d need quite a few men to subdue him to make good on that threat. And a very large flog. 

“Nevermind that!” Robert barked. “Lancel! Lancel! Where is that stuttering shit? LANCEL!”

“He’s at the camp Your Grace.” Barristan said, his eyebrow hiked to his receding hairline. 

“Fuckin hell the one time I actually need the little shit! Arys!”

“Your grace.” The Kingsguard bowed as best he could in his saddle. 

“Puttin’ you in charge of it. Make sure this girl and this boy get whatever they need to fix this wagon!”

The Knight was visibly very confused. 

Dimitri couldn’t blame him really; he was confused as well. 

But there was no denying the King. “As your grace commands.”

Robert nodded. “Good man.” He looked down at the two. “Where are you two headin’?”

“Vale.” Balthus answered. “Heard old man Arrynn died. He was always good to me and Mya. Figured it was as good a time as any to head home, pay some respects. Check on Big Sis. Ya know? Anna here was headin’ that way to sell some wares then head across the sea to Bravos to do some more trades for silks and spices.” The large man grinned, pointing to himself. “Ol cap’n Jeralt asked me to bodyguard her.”

“More like you were eating them out of house and home like you’re trying to do to me!” Anna complained, glaring at him.

Dimitri’s eyes widened, the realization hitting him like a  sharp slap to the face. 

Mya. Mya Stone.

His half sister.

That made this man Balthus Stone.

Dimitri’s own half brother.

—

They did make it to Harrenhal that night.

It was late at night. Of course. Late enough that it might perhaps be early morning soon. Lady Whent greeted them with all the pomp and splendour she could afford. Which was not much truth be told. The King declared that they would stay in Harrenhal three days. To rest and recover before continuing.

It was no doubt going to put an unbelievable strain on Lady Whent’s reserves of food and coin; but truth be told Dimitri couldn’t help but be glad of the brief stay. . Mostly because Harrenhall would be the place where no doubt many of the entourage would take their leave of the royal party. Their connections made, their kowtowing and bootlicking done. They must’ve seen that the King wished for no other hand other than Ned Stark by now

Most would go home, speeding up their travel considerably.

Balthus and Anna had followed along with the convoy, with the red headed merchant hawking her wares under the watchful eye of the seemingly laid back attitude of the massive mercenary at her side. 

Truth be told, Dimitri would consider any man that would try to steal something from a woman with him as a guard a supremely stupid example of the population. 

But more than that, Harrenhall; blasted ruin it may have been; it was still titanically large.

It offered a lot of room for one to get lost in, and have private discussions in.

Something he was ready to make use of come nightfall- well… come the second day’s nightfall. The first night when they arrived the royal party were greeted by Lady Whent and promptly went to their rooms to sleep.

But tonight; after all the pleasantries, all the mindless mingling, all the pomp and ceremony, Dimitri did find the time to slip out of the… soiree. Uncle Jamie wouldn’t hear of him heading off alone so he did accompany the crown prince, albeit with a very heavy woolen cloak hiding that white Kingsguard plate. 

Dimitri similarly, made sure to dress… lowly? Was that the word? It was hardly peasant garb but certainly below the usual quality he enjoyed in his clothing; with a brigandine piece over his surcoat and trousers he looked more like a guardsman really.

Add a procured helmet and it just completed the look.

Uncle Jamie did not look the least bit pleased being stuffed into a bucket helm either.

Still, the task was done and so Dimitri Baratheon quietly slipped out into the camp housed in the main courtyard.

Harenhall did have more than enough room to house everyone of course; the monstrous castle was obscenely large and could have housed three times as many people as those in the royal column easily; but it was simply easier logistics wise, for the nobility to know where their servants and guards were and likewise, simply keeping the royals to one wing and the nobles to another wing simplified security measures needed for all parties. Something that would have been much much more complicated if they gave everyone individual rooms of their own.

Not to mention the possibility of mix ups and ‘lost items’ when luggage and valuables moved hands between servants and it was just much much simpler this way.

Even so the courtyard of Harrenhall was still much much more comfortable than the road, with its paved stone flooring and solid walls and boundaries, clear lines were drawn between the various house staff and an impromptu mess hall and tavern had already been set up by the men, who laughed and roared in high spirits as the night wore on; glad that they were getting a reprieve of the constant travel.

That’s where Dimitri found… well… his brother.

“COME ON!” The crown Prince almost felt Balthus’ voice more than heard it, the titan of a man laughing happily as he planted his elbow on the table, a solid stack of coin at his side being overlooked by the giddy Anna who’s eyes almost gleamed like Gold Dragons themselves. “WHO WANTS TO TAKE ON THE KING OF ARM WRESTLING!?”

One of the men, a stout westerlander no less, stepped up his mates laughing and cheering him on as the man planted what looked like a silver stag on the table, his own elbow landing on the wood a moment later as he grasped Baltus’ hand.

It was almost comical how ridiculously large Balthus seemed next to him.

The outcome was predictable.

And then another man stepped up and another and another and another.

Ale flowed freely and that pile of coins grew ever larger and larger and larger, tempting more and more men to take their chances because hell; maybe, just maybe the Ashen Beast mercenary was finally tired.

Deep in his cups, Baltus turned, searching for any new challenger as the other men jeered at him good naturedly.

His eyes landed squarely on him.

The black haired giant smiled wide; arms opening just as wide. “Lil Br-urp.” Luckily the word he was no doubt about to say died in his throat with a burp that somehow looked acidic as his elder half brother swayed on his legs. “Anna- Coin’s all yours.” He laughed, stumbling forward towards Dimitri. 

The merchant’s smile was almost demented.

Dimitri for his part, was left wondering just how deep in his cups his brother possibly could have been to recognize him so easily; given that no one else had. 

But as the much much larger man reached him, placing his meaty paws on Dimitri’s shoulders similar to how Robert himself would do, he didn’t resist much as his half brother man-handled him out of the tent; Uncle Jamie right behind them.

As soon as they exited the tent Balthus’ demeanor changed completely. Half stumbling and certainly drunk becoming a barely tipsy individual in a second as he breathed in the cool, crisp night air outside of the tavern tent. “Ahh! Now that was great.” He laughed.

Dimitri blinked. “You were… faking how drunk you were?”

“Of course.” He laughed. “The High rollers always think they’re the only ones that’ve thought of waiting for the big guy to get tired and drunk before they step up to win it all.” He offered Dimitri a smirk. “Got more ale on the floor than in me.”

Now that he mentioned it Dimitri did remember several boisterous and overly enthusiastic toasts that spilled plenty of Ale more than once. Or slamming his cup down on the table, or a particular bout of dancing rather ridiculously as he joined some stormlanders in a merry song, drink in hand and spilling everywhere.

His eyebrows rose up to his hairline, surprised and… admittedly somewhat impressed.

“I thought-”

“That I’m just like the old man!?” Baltus interrupted smirking. “Well- I am.” He chuckled. “But I got Anna with me. Damn girl knows a thing or two about makin’ money!”

Dimitri blinked “I see.” He… really didn’t but- “So you’ve been with her for long then? I thought this was just a temporary posting for you-”

“Oh it is. But I’ve known Anna for years.” Balthus shrugged. “She’s one of the regular tagalongs with Jeralt and By and she ain't afraid to tell me what’s what when she needs to.”

“Hmm. Jeralt’s Ashen beasts yes?” He began to walk, hands clasped behind his back, Balthus walking alongside him, hands behind his head and Jamie behind them; one hand resting over his sword. “How long have you been working with them?”

“I dunno.” His half sibling brought his eyes upwards. “Jeeze, almost fifteen years now. Joined up when I was five or six..”

“That young!?” He asked, aghast.

Balthus shrugged as if the answer was obvious. “Well… yeah. Mom got sick. Someone had to get us some coin-” He placed his thumb on his chest smirking wide. “I was the man of the house! So it was my job.”

“And…” He hesitated. “You don’t resent father for that?”

Balthus shrugged. “Didn’t feel much of anything about it honestly. Life is what it is. It's up to you to punch it in the face, not sit around bitching about it.”

That was… straightforward?

He was fishing for words, something to say but before he could actually do so Balthus continued.

“Far as I heard the story, it was kind of a one two punch for the old man. That Lyanna lady died, and then mom died almost right after that too. So I figure if he did care about her, and I think he did- he didn’t need me adding to anything by holdin’ a grudge.” He shrugged again. “Besides- I’m doin fine, big sis Mya’s doin fine and that’s what matters.

“I’ve never met her.” He confessed. “I’ve heard, of course. And tried to seek her out when I was in the vale but I wasn’t able to find her.”

Balthus raised an eyebrow, lips pursing. “Hrmm… You probably did.”

Dimitri blinked. “N-no.” He promised. “I asked around and-”

“She probably told ya she was someone else.” Balthus answered with a shrug. “Her mule boys backed her up.”

He blinked. “But- why? I only wished to meet her.”

“Ehh.” Balthus rubbed at the back of his head, looking… mildly uncomfortable. “Big Sis isn’t like me. She either thought you were there to pity her, or give charity and she wouldn’t like either comin from the old man or you.”

Dimitri’s mouth opened, and then closed, then opened and closed again. 

He’d… only wanted to meet her.

Though… he supposed she could never have known that… and she had a right to be angry.

Bastards suffered cruelly and unjustly. 

He tried to think back to his time in the Vale, vaguely remembering a woman that owned the collection of mules and mounts that would travel up and down the mountain and through the checkpoints.

Black of hair and blue of eyes.

Respectful but… cold. Distant. 

He’d chalked it up to mere nerves not…

Well.

Balthus’ hand clapped him on the shoulder, laughing boisterously. “Don’t feel bad about it lil-bro. She barely even takes my money when I send it and I’m pretty sure she’s gonna hit me with a shovel for something when I visit this time around too!”

That… didn’t make him feel much better.

Though he was trying to decide how he felt being called ‘Lil- bro’ for the first time ever.

—

Before long, their travel continued through the Riverlands.

As expected; the majority of the houses that had initially joined them in their march fell away; their heads and heirs returning to their homes and castles.

Though the desire to, perhaps, move faster as the train diminished in size was dashed as his father (and mother) stopped by every castle and holdfast along the way, sometimes staying for days at a time in some of the larger ones.

Sometimes it felt as though they would never reach the North.

But little by little, bit by bit- they inched their way up the King’s Road. 

Balthus and Anna had left them shortly after Harrenhall, diverting east to the Saltpans to continue towards the Vale as they’d intended.

The loud mercenary had kept his departure quiet, as had his father… he wondered if that said more about them or the presence of his mother here and the… possible ugliness that would arise if she found out about Balthus. 

He knew his mother well enough to know she would not react well and after much cajoling he’d eked out a promise from Uncle Jamie that he’d say nothing either. 

That was, thankfully, one crisis averted. 

Even so, he’d managed to convince his father to (thankfully) not add to their already slow pace by diverting them westward towards Riverrun and merely continue through Harroway towards the Oldstones.

Once there; the Twins.

And finally the North.

Another week. Two at the absolute most and they’d be in the North at long last.

Of course; they still needed to pass through Greywater Watch, Moat Cailin and either White Harbor or Barrowtown, then Cerwyn before finally finally reaching Winterfell-

But reaching the North itself marked the halfway point of their journey.

This morning, his father wanted to hunt and in spite of the diversion, Dimitri found himself agreeing. Boar or Deer meat sounded very good for tonight’s dinner. 

And so it was with the sun rising he joined his father, mounted on horseback and with lance in hand.

“Father.” He greeted.

Robert smiled at him. “Good lad!” He looked behind them. “Ya think any of these pansies will join us?” He asked with little real heat. More reflex than truth honestly. 

Dimitri nodded. “I think they will.”

As if waiting for his words, several other horses began riding up the slope. Cousin Lorenz, Ashe and surprisingly Connington of all people.

But the one that caught his father’s eye immediately-

“Bernie?” Robert asked, bushy eyebrows rising up to his hairline as the oft times shy and reserved Arynn daughter makes her way over.

Bernie is of course, a stuttering mess but she still manages a bow in her saddle, eyes planted firmly somewhere on the floor. “Y-y-your g-grace!”

“I… well- Jon’s daughter is always welcome to be with me.” His father said, acquiescing easily. 

Turning to look at Dimitri though his eyes were still wide and… somewhat dismayed? Concerned?

He leaned closer to the crown prince and Dimitri leaned in to listen. 

“Since when does Lil Bernie know how to shoot a bow?” His father ‘whispered’ and Dimitri had to resist the urge to facepalm. 

“Since forever!” He ‘whispered’ back. “She’s a better shot than any of us.”

Robert’s eyes were wide as dinner plates, as if he just woke up from a long nap only for someone to reveal the Sky was green and Magic had returned. 

Still; he didn’t make a fuss about it… probably because he was immediately distracted by the next thing that caught his eye. 

“Connington!” Robert balked. “You lot are showing your faces here!?”

Dimitri did sigh, rubbing at his forehead. “Father- Claude’s been with us since we left the Red Keep.”

“What!? And you didn’t tell me!?”

“I… was fairly sure the griffin banner gave it away.” He answered helplessly

“You have to admit your Grace-” Claude smirked, seemingly not put off in the least by the King’s sudden notice (and ire) “I wasn’t exactly hiding this pretty face.”

Robert squinted at the half Dornishman. Sizing him up and down. “You don’t look like that ginger haired Rhaegar lover.”

“No I do not.” Claude shrugged easily, bowing in his saddle with all the grace of a man that could control a Ballroom just as easily. “Claude Connington. My father was Ronald Connington;  who was Brother to Jon Connington. The ‘Ginger haired Rhaegar Lover’ I assume you were referring to.”

“And why the hell are you here?” Robert demanded. 

Claude shrugged. “Simple. Jon Arryn was the man who legitimized me. I figured it's only right I pay my respects and well- I stumbled into acquainting myself with the crown Prince.” He nodded in Dimitri’s direction. “Shot a horse through the eye -purely by accident of course- rescued a princess-” He tossed a wink towards Bernadetta. “It was all very dramatic. I’m sure the Bards will start singing any day now.”

Robert, and Dimitri certainly couldn’t blame him, did not look as though he believed him- frankly, when you summed it up like that it sounded rather… absurd.

The King looked to his son in askance and Dimitri could only shrug. Nothing Claude had said was strictly untrue…

The King huffed out a breath. “Whatever. I can’t keep track of half the fuckers following us anyway. Let's go and kill something- and Connington if you take a shot at me I swear to the mother you’d better not miss or I’ll bring back the Mad King’s execution method just for you!

“I’ll keep it in mind, your grace.” Claude answered easily drawing a sharp bark of laughter out of Robert at that. 

Yet another crisis averted it seems.

And he didn’t even have to do anything this time!

—

“Gods be good what a fucking shot.” His father said in a rare moment of genuine praise before smacking Dimitri on the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me little Bernie could shoot like that!”

Dimitri chuckled. 

It had indeed been an incredible shot. From Horseback no less. 

They’d been chasing down an elk. It had been startled before they could get into proper range, but luckily Ashe, Lorenz and Claude had been in position to herd it towards the open field where their horses could chase it down.

So they gave chase.

And Bernie, lighter than all of them had pulled ahead, drawing back on that bow with all the skill he’d ever seen and had shot the Elk straight through the neck at full gallop, the arrow sailing straight and true.

The surprise and momentary flash of pride was all the more beautiful and tragic for how fleeting it was. Ashe and Lorenz rushed up to her, showering her with praise she didn’t quite know how to handle as Claude made his way closer to the downed kill to secure it. 

“Father-” He called in their momentary privacy, only ser Barristan and Oakheart were here with them now. “May I ask you something.”

“What kind of question is that?” His father said. “You can ask me anything.”

“Balthus and Mya’s mother.” He answered quickly, turning to look at his father. “Might you tell me about her?”

His father looked startled, his whole face going through a rictus of emotions; too many to really count. “I… well-” He sighed, his horse shifting in its place as if sensing the King’s discomfort.

Robert held his silence, long enough that Dimitri began to wonder if he’d answer him at all. 

“Her name was Alya.” He finally said. “Met her when me and Ned were still fostering in the Eyrie” 

“And around that time is when you and she had Mya.”

“Aye… I almost married her, ya know. Would have married her if Jon hadn’t found out.” His father confessed. “She was my… well” He trailed off. Though Dimitri could guess what he was about to say. 

“Did you love her?” He asked. He tried to keep the melancholy out of his voice. He knew his father did not love his mother. He’d made peace with that long ago.

It didn’t stop that knowledge from squirming and writhing somewhere in his chest. 

“I did.” His father said candidly. “Think it's the one thing I ever resented Jon for. Stopping me from marrying her when I tried.” He confessed. 

Then he took a breath, reaching over and grasping Dimitri by the shoulder. “But. Then again; I can’t stay mad at him for that either. Because if he hadn’t. I probably never would have had you. Much as I loved her, I wouldn’t trade you for her ever.”

That…

“Thank you father.” He said. “But… the reason I’m asking- Balthus and Mya. Why did you never legitimize them?”

“Thought about it.” He answered. “But… never a good time. First, fostering with Jon. He wouldn’t hear of it. My parents neither. After, when I was lord of Storm's End; the King was, well. Fucking madder than a march hare. Then- everything happened. The War. Lyanna. Jon was the Hand and you were on the way. Before I could even stop to catch my breath- Got word Alya was dead and that Balthus had gone off to join ol’ Jeralt and make his own way.”

Hmm. Dimitri supposed that made sense on some level. 

But still…

“I would like to do something; for the both of them, when we return.”

“Got something in mind?”

“I… was hoping you might have an idea.” He confessed, finally reaching the downed Elk that Claude was beginning to tie up for transport. “I don’t know them at all or what might help.”

Robert nodded, smiling at him. “Aye. When we return, you and I we’ll think of something. Promise.”

Dimitri smiled, nodding before proceeding to dismount to help Claude. 

—

The remaining journey through the Riverlands lasted longer than he’d wished, but was faster than he’d feared. 

The Twins, of course, had been their final stop at a castle before they would pass Greywater watch and arrive at Moat Cailin. His father hadn’t wanted to stay for more than a single day, though they had to stay for two to fully resupply and give the horses enough rest to continue. 

Walder Frey had prepared a lavish feast for them and even had the bards sing songs that glorified both the Westerlands and the King. From the Rains of Castamere to the ballad of Robert’s final duel against Rhaegar upon the waters of the ruby ford.

If he had to hear one more song of Rhaegar riding his great Wyvern one more time-

Well… he took a deep breath.

It was quite literally behind them now.

Greywater watch was a swamp. The second to last barrier between the North and the south; the final line of course being Moat Cailin. 

His mother’s wheelhouse stalled and delayed their travel ever more by the day in the bogs and more and more he wished to politely insist his mother return to King’s Landing- but he did not want to be… well… a bad son.

And frankly, as much as his mother complained, time outside of the vipers nest that was King’s Landing was good for her.

It was certainly good for Tommen and Myrcella, who were overjoyed and amazed to see all these new places and people and things. 

And so, they plowed on.

And then; one day, peeking out of the Gloom; he finally saw it.

Moat Cailin.

The ancient fortress was withered. Like an old beast, long dormant. Its battle scars were visible and proud upon its features.

But its walls were strong, and their placement well thought out. Even in its old dilapidated state, it would take a great host to lay siege to this place, and with the Bog making it all but impossible to field such a force… well…

He could understand why this place was called the final Bulwark of the North. 

Even so, Dimitri was surprised to find a banner flapping atop the foremost tower. As the column drew closer, and the flickering of torchlight began peeking through the fog and gloom, he saw it-

The distinct and unmistakable image of a sword made of bone

As soon as his father saw the emblem of Jeralt’s company flying atop Moat Cailin, he could not be stopped. With the expression upon his face looking as though his nameday had come early, Robert slapped Hammerhead’s reins, urging the destrier forward at a full on gallop.

Having little choice but to follow, lest the king be left alone in what was potentially enemy territory, Dimitri urged Loog forward as well, and heard the Kingsguard follow suit, their horses closely behind and then in step with his.

As Ser Barristan came up beside him the two exchanged a look of curiosity and perhaps exasperation at his father’s habit of riding off ahead like an excited child, before turning forward and urging their horses ahead once more. It would not do to lose the king in the fog, after all, and he knew his father would loathe having to be pulled out of one of the many bog pits that littered this section of the Kingsroad.

‘Still,’ He thought wryly, 'At least if that does happen I won’t have any problems convincing him to pave the damned thing.’

 The approach to the castle gate was rather precarious. Thick mud reached up past the Horse’s hooves, the wooden boards that were strewn about to give some firmness to their footing felt slick in the damp atmosphere and more than one of their horses looked rather unsure as they struggled up the hill.

How in the seven hells had his father pulled ahead of them so fast? Did he or Hammerhead grow wings when Dimitri wasn’t looking?

When they finally caught up to the king, his father was standing in the courtyard of the old fortress and laughing boisterously with another man. Said man was dressed in well maintained–though older–metal plate with the sigil of Jeralt’s Beasts emblazoned on the chest. He had a thick mustache and a full head of hair he seemed delighted and laughed just as loudly as Robert did; the king clapped him on the back hard enough to send most men to the ground.

“Father!” He called in greeting as he and the kingsguard dismounted. “We almost lost you in the fog” He said as he walked over, managing to inject only a small amount of disapproval into his tone. He would let Ser Barristan take the brunt of those responsibilities. 

“What my big ol’ self?” Robert chuckled. “Nonsense,” His father dismissed.

Dimitri sighed, turning his eyes on the man next to his father, extending his hand to greet him. “I presume you are the Mercenary leader, Jeralt. I’ve heard much about you..” He said, giving a slight, respectful incline of his head to the other man, only to be caught off guard when both men burst into laughter once more.

“Son,” His father said once he tamped down his laughter enough to speak, “I’d like you to meet Alois Rangeld, First Lieutenant of The Ashen Beasts and the funniest damn man I know!”

“Well, mayhaps not funniest, Your Grace,” The newly identified Alois said jovially, before bowing in greeting to the prince. “But I can certainly Ran-GEL a laugh out of out anyone!” 

Dimitri did not react.

His father on the other hand, roared with laughter, which made Alois laugh as well. “Ran-GEL? WranGLE? Get it my prince?”

Dimitri thought perhaps it was a good idea to return to King’s landing. The northern air did strange things to people…

“Ah, relax, Alois, the boy’s got no sense of humor; it’s the Lannister in him.” The King clapped the sellsword on the back and guided him into the fort, the world around him completely forgotten. “Now c’mon, man, what say you an’ me go find where ol’ Jeralt’s hidin’ and drag him out for a stiff drink! Just like old times, eh?”

 —

The eponymous “Ser Jeralt” turned out to be in Moat Cailin’s Northernmost Tower, taking inventory after the Ashen Beasts’ most recent job.

After everything he had heard of the man, particularly given his position as the captain of a well-known sell-sword company that fought in the Rebellion and as an old war buddy of the king, Dimitri was rather surprised at how…unassuming he looked, with armor that looked to be a mix of steel and sturdy, undyed leathers.

His long surcoat covered the front of his dark plate, trailing down almost to his knees, the  bone sword Regalia crest emblazoned proudly on the chest.

His hair was the color of dried straw, his features had an aged look to it that spoke of more than just years battling the elements or scars from fighting, and there was a sharp intelligence behind his grey eyes, but even so, Dimitri could tell several of the lines were from laughter, a fact made more evident by how his face broke into a grin when he noticed their approach.

“King Robert Baratheon, as I live and breathe,” He said, moving to take a knee, before said King told him to “Get the fuck up ya sodden idiot.” Robert laughed, clapping the man on the shoulder. “What are you even doin’ here!”

“Honestly, just passing through. Greywater Watch suspected that bandits were hiding in the swamp to raid the north and the south. Howland asked Ned if he could use the fort to help set up a staging ground to hunt them down. We happened to be in the area, needed some time to restock and rest up. Been here now for about three days. Howland is pretty sure he should be wrapped up in another two in terms of tracking down where the bandits are. After he’s done we’ll be heading out.”

“What, not hunting them down yourself?”

“Not as simple as that.” Jeralt held up a hand, fingers rubbing together in the universal gesture of ‘Coin’. “You know Northmen. They would never pay a swellsword to hunt down bandits on their land. But if, perchance, the local lord allows an old war buddy to stay somewhere for a few days after a recent job, and that location were to have a bandit infestation, well…it would only be right to do something if we happened upon them.”

Robert snorted. “True. Still, last I heard you were in Braavos. Bit of a ways away from Moat Cailin.”

“Figured it was time to come back. By should see our homeland.” But Dimitri could tell there was something the Bladebreaker wasn’t saying, and he wasn’t comforted by the thought.

“Bah!” His father said, and waved a hand dismissively, inadvertently cutting through the prince’s inner turmoil, “Whatever your reasons, it has been too long since we’ve seen each other last!”

And with that, he practically dragged the other man in the direction of the door, all thoughts of inventorying left behind.

 —

Dimitri did join his father, at least for a time; While there was no ‘Tavern’ in the near abandoned Moat Cailin, the Mercenary band had been here long enough that they’d taken one of the buildings to be their ‘Mead Hall’ So that’s exactly where his father went.

Of course Dimitri wasn’t one to drink overmuch during the day; but he honestly could have tolerated it just to meet and mingle with some of the people beyond the Royal court. Traveling for so long and meeting only the same people was a recipe for looking for diversion; any diversion, even drinking in a mead hall.

Unfortunately; well… Only one of his parents approved.

His beloved Uncle Jamie had practically run towards him, warning him that his mother was very much on the proverbial Warpath; with an immediate hatred of the bog, a dislike of the northern climb and now hearing her husband and son were drinking in a “mead hall” with peasants had thrown her right off the proverbial edge.

Dimitri considered himself a brave young man.

He also considered himself wise enough to know when to run away.

So off they went to an impromptu hunting trip.

What exactly they would hunt in the middle of a Bog he had no idea. 

But hunting trip meant time enough away for his mother to calm down. And hopefully not scold him too harshly when he returned.

Which of course, led them here

“By all the gods I’ve never seen an animal like that!” Ashe whispered as quietly as he could.

Dimitri could hardly blame his squire for his astonishment; he had set outwith no expectations of truly finding anything and yet here they were standing infront of a… well… ‘wonder’.

Like his encounter so many years ago with the Blue Lion of the Westerlands.

If every other member of their group were not staring in shock at the bright red horse placidly eating swamp grass not 100 paces in front of them, he would think himself mad. Indeed, he had never seen cousin Lorenz so closely resemble a fish.

‘A Dothraki Blood Steed. It must be.’’ His cousin whispered. 

The horse was massive. It looked like it could kick down a castle door with its hind legs, and the blood red pelt–the unique coloring for which the breed got its name–stood out amidst the drab browns and greens of the marsh landscape like it simply did not belong here. An artists rendition on the wrong painting..

 He had only learned about the Great Blood Steeds of the Dothraki Sea during his travels, from stories out of Essos and tomes from the Citadel. They were known as vicious mounts, impossible to tame. Most books said that they chose their rider, not the other way around. Many an ambitious Khal were said to have found themselves killed by the beasts they tried to forcibly subjugate, or so the legends went.

As a result, reliable knowledge on the breed was so scarce, many of the maesters of Oldtown thought them to be little better than children’s bed time stories.

“What on earth is it doing here?” He whispered back towards his squire. 

“Dunno.” Connington said at Dimitri’s other side. “Definitely far away from home that’s for damn sure. But I see no saddle on it… that means catching it is fair game as far as I can tell Prince Baratheon.”

It was dangerous; but by all the seven gods was he tempted, if for nothing more than to show the court before releasing the beast in the Dothrakki sea again. 

“Do we have enough rope on ha-”

“Please don’t interrupt Mr. Fish while he’s eating.” A young woman’s voice–flat, monotone, and low-pitched–interrupted Dimitri’ as he spoke.

The interruption was so unexpected–so bizarre–that it took a moment for the reality of what had occurred to sink in, and when it did the whole scene played out as though they were performers in a mummer’s farce:

In unison, as though they had rehearsed, the group spun around  to face the interloper, surprise and panic on each face as some reflexively went for their weapons. 

In any other scenario, that would have been the natural thing to do, but on the muddy, wet terrain of the Neck, it was an error of near comical proportion: 

Uncle Jaime, slipped on some moss or wet mud. He nearly tripped and fell several times in his haste to unsheathe his sword and get in between Dimitri and the interloper, and was not helped by the fact that his famous white cloak–normally so pristine as to be recognized anywhere in a crowd–was caked in so much mud at the hem that it ruined his balance.

Dimitri himself fared little better, nearly pitching backwards to fall ass over end down the little hill; saving himself at the last minute by using his lance to keep upright. Glancing to the side he saw Lorenz didn’t quite manage the same and tumbled down the hill. Only Connington, who’d been standing just a bit further away from the rest of them was able to turn his torso without moving his legs; thus maintaining his balance was staring at whoever this was, utterly gobsmacked. His mouth hanging open enough that bog flies were sure to go down his throat soon. 

Poor Ashe, though, who had rarely been anywhere beyond King’s Landing or the Rocky foothills of the Vale, was even worse; for a moment his arms bore a comical similarity to the cheap pinwheel toys Myrcella and Tommen used to play with, before falling face first in the mud.

Dimitri finally managed to glance up at their mysterious “surprise” attacker.

His heart all but stopped.

It was no joke, no exaggeration, no poetry or romanticized fable when the first thought crossed his mind at the sight of her.

You are the woman of my dreams.

He’s seen her before. Pale of skin, dark o hair. 

She was beautiful. Impossible. He wondered if perhaps this is what it felt like to die for a single instance.

The woman’s gaze all but passed over Uncle Jamie and his drawn sword to look at the four of them instead.  

When her eyes fell on him he felt warm. He saw a smile dance upon her lips, soft, gentle… and happy. 

“Watch your step.” She said deadpan and monotone… but not unkindly. 

(X)(X)(X)

Very happy with this chapter personally. One thing that always irritated me about canon was how George kept SAYING Robert was good at making friends and getting people to love him; but we never actually SEE that. He was just an all round unpleasant person.

But here with the Influence of the Fire Emblem people I can actually give Bobby B a bit of a Facelift.

And don't worry; I promise, Cersei will have her interactions to show with Dimitri too that give her a similar treatment. Its just that she's in the Wheel House for now and Bobby B... Might not be with us for very long xD

At any rate, next chapter we check on Edelgard and the Tagrs across the sea. Gonna have a lot of fun on that end too; hope to see you all there :)