The Three Houses of Westeros: Prologue-1 (Patreon)

Prologue-1:

I was perhaps… four- the day I realized my mother was not my mother.

A horrid thing to think.

But it was true. She is not my mother.

She birthed me. Her blood is my blood. Flesh of my flesh.

But I- who regretted and raged at the loss of my family once before, knew intrinsically, instinctively, and implacably… that she was not my mother.

I am… Dimitri. They call me Dimitri Baratheon, the first of my name. Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. The boy that is the blood of Cersei Lannister and Robert Baratheon. The Queen and King of these, our seven Kingdoms.

But that is not my name.

I know my name. I know my family. Or what was once my family. The family lost. The ghosts that have chased me even now across the length and breadth of death and rebirth… or madness.

My name is Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd.

The King of Faerghus.

The Mad Boar

The Blood Lion.

The Red Tempest.

The King of Delusion

I am all of these things.

I love the woman who calls herself my mother. And the man who calls himself my father.

How can I not? Flawed as they are- they are parents and I know the curse of orphanhood. The horrid crushing pain of loss.

Perhaps I am mad. Perhaps I have always been. A curse upon my line. The Ghosts of the Mad King coming to claw at the spawn of the man who now sat on his throne.

Who’s to say?

I wonder, distantly- if others find themselves like me. Even as I try to grasp for their names and reach out to touch ghostly faces that will not come to clarity no matter how much I try and plead and beg.

Even their names slip through my fingers like water droplets through a net.

Perhaps that is, in and of itself a sign? A sign telling me that though I know it false; I must accept it. That I must cling to my hold upon this life. This identity for the other is simply beyond my grasp as ever the ghosts have been beyond my ability to influence. I will keep the madness away Tenuous and fragile as my hold on sanity is.

For what else can I do? What else can I be? But Dimitri of house Baratheon?

…

It is not such an ill fit.

The words of this; my house- can indeed become my own.

For mine- is indeed the fury

—

My brother falls into Madness.

I see it.

Though I am the youngest. Though he thinks me an insipid girl, too stupid to do more than toddle after him- I can see it.

I can see his madness growing. Writhing like a cancer, eating away at his brain.

Anger fuels it. Driving it faster.

But he is mad.

Worse, he is cruel.

Even worse than that- he is stupid

In my old life, I was subject to the whims of madmen. Cruel men. And yes. Even stupid men.

I have no care for it.

But I am a child still.

So is Dany.

But still I will not suffer that fate again.

I know not its true nature. But I know enough to fear it. Shadows, pain, red blades drawing my blood.

I will not suffer it again.

Even so; I am sad to say, ashamed really- to admit that I did not free myself from this fate. Wrest control under my own strength, my own skill, or my own guile.

No. My salvation came in the form of a man.

Pale as death. Face long, sunken cheeks and hollowed eyes. An empty obedient servant.

But the most loyal of servants nevertheless.

I knew him.

Somehow, in my infancy I knew him.

And he knew me.

His oaths compelled him to obey my brother. And if not my brother, my sister, who was a girl in truth- rather than the faux semblance of an elder mind in the body of a child that I held.

But he listened to me… not them.

Because he knew me. He knew my name. My true name.

Edelgard Von Hressvelg.

The world could call me Targaryen all it wished.

But I knew my name.

And I knew his.

Not the false name. Not the one given to him here. Emile Velaryon

No. The name I knew him by.

Jereitza Von Hrym.

My Servant

My Royal Guard

The Last Loyal Kingsguard.

My… Death Knight.

And he would defend me from anything until I was ready to reclaim… everything.

And this I swore. This was My oath.

The oath of Edelgard Targaryen.

—

The creek babbled and trickled by my feet. My eyes watching the fish trying to swim upstream.

They struggled so, tried so hard and I felt… almost a longing as I watched them.

There was the crunch of a boot on gravel and I had a moment to see the shadow of a spear before I brought my hand up.

I grasped the haft and father stopped, staring at me with open surprise as I shook my head, pleading without words.

I saw his features twist with worry. I always made him worry more than I should. He always tried to hide the worst of it… but I know.

He was always a good father.

“Something wrong kid?” He asked; kneeling at my side, the fish we would have eaten forgotten  at our side.

I shrugged. “I… I don’t want to kill them.” I admitted. “Not when they’re trying so hard.”

He let out a snort half amused, half disbelieving. “You never ask me for anything… and today you’re asking me to take food out of your mouth?”

“Please.” I asked, my eyes turning back down towards the fish.

How to tell him. How to explain that I somehow knew what this felt like. This impossible, monumental struggle, only to have an uncaring world tear you down?

…

“Alright Byleth.” He nodded. “Deer might be more complicated. But alright.”

Father’s hand fell over my head, and it was such a familiar gesture I felt the sudden, irresistible urge to hug him.

So I did.

He was still kneeling, so it was easy for my hands to coil around him.

He hugged me back. No hint of hesitation. No sign that being this close let him feel more acutely than ever the fact that I was… wrong. Broken.

What kind of girl… has no heartbeat?

But he was always a good father.

“Thanks dad.” I said.

Jeralt grunted, confused to be sure, but he rubbed circles along my back.

“Come on kid. If we’re hunting deer, we better do it before the sun drops some more.”