Travel by horseback is exhausting, boring and time-consuming. A shame there are no other options in Westeros. Each kingdom is the size of a large country back on Earth. Reading the books doesn't give you any real idea about the fucking size of Westeros. After two weeks of travelling with my ever stern guard, whom I now know is called Adrian, we could finally see Storm's End standing proud on the horizon.
It is a truly gargantuan structure, especially considering the primitive building techniques present in Westeros. Such things just shouldn't be possible. Durran's construction is still impressive even after living next to Harrenhal for the past three years.
Adrian and I rode through the gates of Storm's End and into the outer yard. A stable boy is quick to walk up to us and we hand the reins over.
I look around, somewhat unsure of what to do. Everywhere there is activity. The sound of hammer on anvil beckons me as I greatly enjoy my time in the forge before I left my village. Guards patrol the outer walls with the proud stag blazoned on their chests. Adrian beckons and begins walking to the inner keep and I jog to catch up with him.
"Ever been here before Adrian?" I asked.
"Yes, my lord. I was born not far from here and only entered the service of House Targaryen shortly before I was sent to find you. The new King needed more guards who have not previously served under Maegor." His mouth twisting as he said the honorific. A pleasant man Adrian is not. Though whether that is from the stress of dealing with a precocious young lad or just because he is a cunt, I am unsure.
The gates of the inner keep are soon in my sight and the guards block our path.
"Who might you be?" The guard appears to be young with a rather high pitched voice.
"I am Adrian, a guard of the King. The boy has been summoned to speak with the Castellan." Announced Adrian with a deep rumble.
Adrian waves me forward and I present my letter from Lord Baratheon. The guard, who I assume can't read, just looks at the seal and nods before handing it back to me.
The guard takes a step back, "The castellan is in the highest tower, present that there letter to the guards at the entrance and you will be allowed through, my lord."
Adrian turns to me, "You will go alone from here. I return to King's Landing on the morrow. I wish you well." He announced before turning around and marching off before I can even say farewell.
I am sad to see him go, as unpleasant as he is sometimes he helped me a lot on the way here. Mustering my courage, I look around for the tallest tower and walk towards it.
Presenting my papers to the guards at the doors, I ascended the tower and was allowed entrance into the castellan's solar. Adrian had informed me that the Castellan is a Ser Bruce Buckler. A man from a cadet branch of the ancient house. He has been Castellan for over ten years and is now a man in his late fifties. One of few men left who still remember the Storm Kings from pre-conquest.
I find him sitting at his desk with stacks of paperwork that would make any bureaucrat cringe. He is a man that shows his age, grey hard with streaks of black and a lot of wrinkles. Most likely from the stress of his job. I walk into his view. He doesn't notice me. I should probably wait for him to speak to me considering until papers are sorted out I am just a second-generation Qoherys bastard.
A full minute passes and he still doesn't look up from his writing. Bringing my fist to my mouth, the purple bruise on my thumb still sitting proudly on my thumb flickering into view, and clear my throat.
Ser Bruce jumps and his eyes meet mine.
"Ah," he coughs, "I am quite sorry about that lad. What is it you need?"
I placed my letter on his desk in front of him and watched him read it.
"So, you are Aelon Rivers? Though I suppose Rivers is inaccurate now since you have been raised up to nobility." He sounded tired, I guess sitting in an office doing paperwork all day would do that to a person. Ser Buckler looked down his nose at me. I am still a twelve year old despite being tall for my age after all.
"I am, Ser." I mumbled.
Ser Buckler gave me a kind smile as he finished, a rather patronising smile but then again, I am only meant to be twelve, not a man with a combined age of thirty.
"Let us get to it then. You are here to determine a few things about your new house. Firstly, do you have any idea what name you will take and what your sigil will be?"
I scrunch my eyebrows together as I think. What is the point of having lived another life if you can't appropriate ideas? For as long as I can remember I loved Roman history. Perhaps an Aquila? The golden eagle.
The Roman Aquila would make a nice sigil. Simple seemed to be the best way to go considering the sigil will have to be stitched or carved onto a lot of my possessions and banners around whatever lands I am being given.
I am unsure of what name to take though. Many houses take names from things prevalent in or around their lands, perhaps I should do the same?
I spoke in as strong a voice I could manage. "I would like my sigil to be a golden eagle on a field of black. I am unsure of the name however, might I enquire what lands I am to be given to help me make my decision?"
Buckler's eyes widened.
"Well aren't you a precocious lad! I will mark down your decision of a sigil. As for your lands, the village of Eastwood north from here on the coast is to be your seat. There is a modest keep there atop a hill. The previous lord of those lands died during the conquest near fifty years ago and the lands have been administered by Storm's End directly ever since."
Trying not to come across as older than I am, has always been difficult. Being a man in a child's body is bloody hard. Keeping up a child's act forever is exhausting and after I made a few mistakes I decided to discard the idea. It wasn't worth the hassle just to appear normal.
Eastwood. I guess that would be my new name then.
Looking up at him I explain, "I will take the name Eastwood for my house name then if that will be my seat."
Bruce nodded and jotted it down on the parchment in front of him. "Lord Aelon Eastwood, then, as fine a choice as any. What of your house words?"
I can feel the smile slip onto my face, from the blacksmith's apprentice to a Lord. It is highly likely that no matter what words I come up with. They will still be cheesy. Well, I may as well be known as a doer.
I settled for, "Deeds, not words."
After that was dealt with it was only a matter of minutes before he politely dismissed me and I made my way to the temporary chambers I have been assigned. All in all, that went pretty well.
I have a lot to think about.
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I sat at one of the middle tables of Storm's End that night, amongst frivolity and wealth that I hadn't seen since before entering Westeros. Plates of various meat and poultry sat on the table with jugs of arbor gold and dornish red which were consumed with gusto.
I ate and enjoyed it immensely, though I avoided alcohol. The body of a twelve-year-old isn't made for drinking.
I found myself seated next to a rather boring old knight who sat wordlessly with a blank stare. I figured he was either very drunk or had been dropped as a baby. We ate in silence, for which I was thankful. The sudden turn around of my new life was enough to give you whiplash. An hour or two passed sat like that. Watching the court mill around, some laughing, some drinking, some dancing.
I continued watching people until one man in particular, caught my eye. The only man at the feast who was stood at the side wearing a full set of plate armour, only missing a helm. His armour was unadorned and bore no sigil that I could see. A jagged scar crested his face from jaw to brow, making him look a good decade older than he would otherwise. I continued to stare until his gaze met mine and I looked away.
It was at the end of the feast that the Castellan got my attention.
The wizened man smiled at me before clicking his fingers at a servant. "Lord Aelon, I have somewhat of a welcome gift for you."
The servant carried over a black banner, as it unfurled I saw a pretty accurate recreation of the Roman Eagle that I had requested, underneath was stitched 'Deeds, not Words' the house motto that I had chosen.
I couldn't fight the grin that spread across my lips. "That's excellent Ser, thank you!"
The old man smiled, "I am glad you like it. I have arranged something else for you as well. Ser Morden!"
The same man that had caught my eye earlier marched forward and my eyed widened.
Ser Bruce continued, "This is Ser Morden Storm, son of Walter Brownhill."
Ser Morden stepped forward, "Lord Aelon if you will have me, I would swear myself to your service."
I smiled. This was a rather obvious plot by Ser Buckler to keep an eye on me, considering my lands are rather close to Storm's End. Yet still, it couldn't be too bad. Every lord needs knights and every man has his price.
"Of course, Ser Morden. I will be glad to accept your sword." Westeros was definitely a place that valued courtly showmanship.
Last edited: Jul 5, 2020
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