The Little Cub
Part 35 - The Pointy End
--
News from Dragonstone were disturbing. King Edric had sent five thousand men to clear my lands of rebels, yet reports about their numbers had been highly underestimated. Not only had the Crownlander militia been outnumbered two to one and slaughtered like cattle, but the intervention had also led to even more followers of R'hllor taking up the arms. More and more people joined the revolt, and the numbers of the rebels were now estimated to be close to twenty-thousand men and women. Ser Rolland Storm, the Bastard of Nightsong and Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing had lost his life in the fighting, and more reports about the casualties came to the capital every day.
Dragonstone in its entirety had fallen to the Red God's followers. Although everything seemed to be going well for them, the rebels were still facing the rest of Westeros. King Edric had over a hundred thousand men at his disposal, and it was only a matter of time before my uncle would cast the rebels to the sea. Angered by the death of the Commander of the Goldcloaks who'd led the small army and died fighting, Edric swore vengeance. The defeat had been a blow to the reputation of the Faith of the Seven and my uncle himself, and he was not a man with tendency to forget and forgive his enemies.
I do not think Edric hated the followers of R'hllor despite his past with them. After fleeing from Dragonstone, he spent years in Essos. Unlike Westeros, the eastern continent was a place where many gods were worshipped. Whereas the Westerosi people acknowledged four deities; the Seven, the Old Gods, the Drowned God and R'hllor, their number was hundredfold in the east. Living among people of different religion and culture, Edric learned early the things I'd began to realise only now. Gods were but a tool to unite people behind a single cause, and if they even were real, they seemed not to care what happened in our world. And I was fine with that.
The only god I acknowledged was death, and even it was my enemy. Every day I practiced swordsplay and honed my skills, knowing that the day would come when I would have to stand up against it. My body was a temple dedicated to surviving, and both time and constant training shaped me for that purpose. Despite being only twelve years old, I was already able to surpass most of the knights in King's Landing in mêlée. I was eager to learn and Ser Balon always had yet new move or trick to teach me. Although he served as the Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep and therefore was responsible of training everyone willing, he always found time to aid me in my 'studies.' Dragonbane had a strange ability to notice every flaw in a person's way of fighting, and it sometimes made me feel like he knew me better than I myself.
People had always looked up to me because of my father, a thing that hadn't changed even with Edric sitting on the Iron Throne. As I began to earn my name and place as a Baratheon, people of my age began to treat me with even higher respect. Whenever I spoke up, everyone else went quiet and listened. I gained more and more authority over the other children as time passed and learned to choose my words carefully, knowing that they would be heeded. I was a king to the young folk, even if not to rest of Westeros. My role among the children of my age had become a position that placed me higher than anyone else. I was a cynical little rascal who'd never quite liked taking orders from adults, and growing up didn't soothe my temper. Acting like a leader in front of children and then bowing and scraping in front of people older than me didn't fit so well in together, so soon I found myself talking in a similar manner to all people regardless of their age.
Ser Balon soon noticed the change in my attitude. Instead of trying to do something about my manners, he was glad I'd adopted the role I was born into. Not only was I a leader by my blood, but also by my nature. Seeing how everyone looked up to me and listened closely to my every word could've been frightening to some people. I didn't allow myself a moment of hesitation, though, knowing that others would take their strength from me one day.
If their leader is a craven, how can his men look up to him and try be brave? If there was one thing that I feared, it was fearing itself and it's consequences.
I'd learned the names of all the regions, their leading houses and the words. Still, the Red Keep was my world. I'd left the capital only seldom, and the last time had been years ago. I'd always thought that rest of the world could wait until I was old enough. I myself was not yet, but it seemed Brenna was. My uncle was soon heading to war, but during his preparations he'd received a letter from the Vale. He confronted me about the matter, informing that Lord Harrold Arryn was asking if my twin sister's hand could be given to his son, Gylbert. I recalled that Damon Arryn, my father's former squire, was heir of the Vale, and Edric confirmed that, saying Gylbert was Lord Harrold's second son. Apparently my uncle had already talked with my mother about the matter, and they both had agreed to the marriage between my sister and the Arryn boy.
I was fourteen and old enough to marry as well. The plan for Brenna's future was not the only thing the King wanted to talk with me; indeed, he and my mother had talked about my marriage as well. Although I was but a high lord, one of the many that Westeros had, my name carried a lot of weight. I was also a son of a king, a prince, and therefore a possible threat to Edric's rule should someone try to use me as a tool in their plot. To minimize the risks, my mother and my uncle had agreed that I would be betrothed to King Edric's daughter, Malora. The King had wanted to ask my opinion first, although I was but a child in their standards and therefore unqualified to make my own decision. Malora was four years younger than I was, which seemed like a huge difference to me. Edric assured me it would be nothing in the future, though. There was also the matter that she was my cousin, but intermarriages were common within nobility. I didn't have a high opinion of my uncle, but still agreed to be betrothed to his daughter.
Better a person I know than some girl half-a-world away who I've never seen before, I assured myself.
It was common knowledge that King Edric would make a move against the rebels soon. After Commander Rolland's defeat at Dragonstone, the King had began to raise a levy in the capital. Now, after a month with close to thirty-thousand men at hand, he was ready to take the fight to the enemies. Rhaegal, Ser Barristan's dragon would've been a great asset to the crownlander army, but the green beast had never recovered from the wounds it'd received during the battle of Last Refuge. Leaving behind a single egg, the winged creature had died. Barristan the Bold, the oldest person alive in whole Westeros, had soon after fallen into a dream from which he never woke up. But death hadn't reached the old knight yet: even if not conscious, Ser Barristan was still alive.
Over three hundred ships departed from King's Landing, carrying the army first to Driftmark. King Edric personally led the attack, determined to bring an end to the rebellion. By the time Edric's army arrived, both Driftmark and Dragonstone had fallen to the followers of R'hllor. Instead of staying in the smaller island and retaking the castles, Edric embarked once more and sailed his fleet to Dragonstone where the rebel army awaited for him. There was a massive battle at the beach of Dragonstone. Hoping to hold the Crownlander army from landing and defend their homes, the rebels fought hard and fiercely. King Edric's army was bigger in number and better armed, but the followers of R'hllor had the ground advantage. In the end, as we all had known, King Edric's men prevailed.
When the royal fleet returned from war, the capital was filled with war stories. Men were drunk from both wine and glory, and watching the whole King's Landing celebrate made me feel even more confident about my decision to learn the ways of the sword. I was the Lord of Dragonstone, but I hadn't personally joined the fight to clear my lands from the rebels. The fact shamed me, and made me regret not asking to come along with King Edric. When I happened to tell that to Ser Balon during one of our sparring sessions, he looked at me, tilting his head as if not believing what he just heard. As the Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep, he was bound to the capital even though his place as a kingsguard would've been beside the King. Though he had not taken part in the campaign, he knew more details about the rebellion than I myself.
''Not all rebels died in battle'', Dragonbane began after looking at me for a long moment in silence.
''Do you know what happened to the rest of them?'' I was confused by his sudden change of tone and only shaked my head. He looked at me sharply as if pondering whether he should go on or not.
''Those who surrendered and refused to renounce their red god'', Ser Balon went on, ''
Were put to sword like animals. Several thousand people, men and women both.'' I looked at my guardian, frightened by his words. Ser Balon explained that it had been ordered by the King himself.
''War brings the worst out of people'', Dragonbane told me with a serious voice, and I realized he meant my uncle though he didn't say it. It was not his place to speak out loud against his king, no matter how cold my uncle's heart had turned into.
''
The gift of words is a rare thing'', Ser Balon told me weeks later,
''But you also have a talent with swords.'' The look on his face was distant when he finished saying it, and I knew he was once again comparing me with my father. It'd been years since his passing and I'd been but nine years old at the time. Yet I still remembered the way the courtyard's attention turned to King Tommen whenever he decided it was time to spar a bit. There were only a handful of men that could match him in a swordfight - Ser Balon included.
''In roughly over a year you'll turn sixteen. Then you'll be a man of your own.'', he went on.
''I've taught you what I could, and you've learned everything that I have to offer. But you do not posess such strength as myself or King Edric and it can be a disadvantage during a fight.'' It was something that couldn't be helped, but Ser Balon had something else in his mind. And so I was assigned to a different teacher.
The name Meralyn didn't say anything to me. He was a Braavosi swordsman who recently had arrived in King's Landing. Ser Balon had accomodated him in the Red Keep, and this stranger from a foreign land was now to be my new teacher. I wasn't enthusiasted about the whole matter for I'd grown fond of Ser Balon. Meralyn had a strong accent and it was sometimes hard to understand what he said, but he talked with swords well enough. He was not as formidable fighter as I was, but his technique was interesting. Waterdancing, he called it. I'd mastered the Westerosi style of fighting, and now Meralyn helped me to understand the Braavosi way.
For my entire life I'd known only one way to use a sword. I could use it for many purposes, but they were all but means to a brutal end. Meralyn showed me a different, more elegant way of fighting. I'd grown accustomed to the hacking and slashing, and suddenly facing an opponent who fought entirely in a different way was fascinating. Whereas I fought like a bear, he was a shadowcat. I wanted to switfly put an end to our fights and landed heavy blows. Meralyn but dodged my strikes or parried and countered them. He moved swiftly, he moved unpredictably - and made his way of fighting look like dancing. It was not a coward's way, I soon came to realise, for his sudden moves sometimes caught me unawares. Every time I learned to shield myself from his moves, he tried a different trick. I could not use my body to pin him down: first he was in front of me, then he was moving behind me, and all the while he forced me to defend myself from sudden strikes.
I didn't learn to fight like he did, for it would take years of practice to master all the arts of waterdancing. Those few weeks that we spent training wouldn't have taught much to an amateur, but I was already one of the best swordsmen in King's Landing. That made it easier for me to adapt what he was trying to teach me, and so I was a quick learner. I embraced what I was taught, and used the moves I'd learned from Meralyn against other sparring opponents out in the courtyard. When I noticed how more effective the Braavosi way of fighting was against my countrymen, I was surprised. It'd taken me a while to learn to hold Meralyn's attacks back at the beginning of our training, but even so, I was better swordsman than most people. As I experimented what I'd learned, I slowly began to realise the full extent of my abilities. I no longer needed to learn to fight to stay alive and cheat death.
I had become death.