A month had passed since the day the Loyalists received the most terrible news pertaining to their supplies. As expected, putting the stocks back to acceptable levels had been a long endeavour, but Gideon welcomed the respite.
It allowed him to train, to cross the gap that existed between him and those in the army who had received an actual martial education, or at least been given more lessons than he.
It quickly became apparent that he was horrid with any and all far-reaching weapons. For some reason, he kept trying to get closer to his adversaries, and nothing could quite knock the habit out of him, certainly not the countless beatings he received from his officers. All the same to him, it merely meant he would have to stick to swords and axes. His skill with the bow and crossbow also did not seem to grow as much as the rest did.
But in a month's time, he could tell he had truly become a warrior. Nothing to write home about for any other man, but his current Prowess put him above a large part of the army. He had expected to feel even a smidge of shame at that, but he had quickly found out how easy it was for him to completely smother any such thoughts.
Had he truly deserved this gift? Was he a true warrior if a major part of his ability to hack and slash came from the Gods and not from his own sweat and tears?
Yes. He very much believed so.
No one could tell him otherwise anyway, and that was a good thing.
But there were more pressing matters than these questions of merit. The siege was fast approaching. With each day the men grew more and more restless, none more so than the lords.
This continued defiance of their authority, this mockery of their ability as lords and commanders was grating on their nerves more than they would ever care to admit. For men who continuously played in the great game of nobles, they certainly lost their composure easily. But perhaps that was not far, this war had raged on for far longer than any had expected.
During this month, he had often found himself invited to the keep. Whenever he walked across the hall and the corridors of cracked and aged stones, he heard whispers and sighs. And in every mouth, only one name kept being repeated, always with no small amount of exasperation.
The Lannisters.
By this point, and through no real proof of their actions but rather by way of sheer annoyance, every loyalist lord in the keep was convinced the Great House was secretly backing the rebels.
Of course, he never gave it much thought, mostly because of the very reason as to why he was invited to the keep. Lord Lyonel Mallister often called for him, and not once did he refuse. He simply pretended that he was not, in fact, shivering at the very mention of the man, and answered each of his calls.
To this day he could not truly point out what made him avoid the man's eyes as they spoke, nor what summoned the goosebumps on his skin whenever he would approach the lord. There was something deeply wrong with the man, but nothing directly threatening. That is to say, Gideon did not believe that the man could harm him directly, and he did not scare him as a great warrior standing across from him on the battlefield would.
No, in fact, he trembled at the sight of the unknown, for not once had he been able to peer into this man's soul. He could never seem to understand what was going on in the head of the only beside Commander Oswyn who genuinely looked past his freakish nature with ease. And in a way, this casual dismissal filled him with far more fright than mirth.
The man never wanted more than innocent little discussions. But every time, he would lead the conversation into dangerous territories. Gideon easily realized that he was being tested. More than that, Lyonel Mallister seemed to be questioning the young sellsword's loyalty. With small comments on how resilient the Rebels had proven to be, and hidden backhanded compliments for the loyalist lords, he searched for any and all reaction he could find.
For four days now, he had not called for him. So perhaps he had found what he had been looking for. Gideon hoped not. But that did get him thinking. Despite himself, he listened intently to all that the lord had to say on both the Rebels and Loyalists alike.
That is why he sat in the fresh grass, caressing it with his calloused hand, as he watched Beryn train. When the man finally stopped, he finally noticed his young comrade and offered a small smile. They knew each other a tad more now, and both he and Lieutenant Constantine had considerably warmed up to the pink-eyed freak by now. Enough so to hand out corrections to whoever called him so behind his back.
"Enjoying the warmth before it inevitably rains again are we?" Beryn asked him as he sat down with a groan. Constantine had not gone easy on him.
" Can't say I prefer this weather to the arid wastes of Essos." Gideon shrugged. He glared at Beryn when the older man flicked him on the temple.
"It'll grow on ya kid. A friend of mine used to say 'Nothing like a good rain to wash your sins away'."
Gideon simply stared in silence, forcing Beryn to cough in his fist awkwardly.
" W-Well, you'll learn to appreciate such wisdom at some point…maybe. Anyway, what did you want from your exhausted pal, eh?"
Gideon did not answer immediately. He returned to his passive staring at the forest in the distance. Standing defiant in the slight winds that parted his snow-white hair with ease, they barely shook. They lost part of their splendour with the distance, but their sight alone made him scratch his cheek in remembrance.
" I was just wonderin'...if we chose the right side," Gideon said, keeping his voice low. Beryn froze as he was about to take a sip from his water pouch. He gave him a small glance before putting the pouch down.
Then, he started laughing. Gideon recoiled somewhat from the surprise but otherwise let the man laugh, and he did so for a good minute.
" What do you find so humorous?" Gideon questioned him, his tone carefully measured.
" Haha, I do not mean to mock you, Gideon, I assure you." He finally took his sip and wiped his mouth as he calmed down. " Eh, I'll tell you at some point what I found so funny. But I do find myself curious, boy. What exactly makes you question our allegiance? Especially a month after the battle?"
Gideon's frown was quite fierce but he did try his best to contain his emotions. Unbeknownst to him he had taken a handful of grass blades and had begun tearing them slowly.
" The Loyalists seemed the obvious choice. The choice of one who sides with the winners and does not revel in taking unnecessary risks….do they still seem so now?"
Beryn nodded his head without really looking at him.
" I can understand that the slow progress gives way to doubts. But truthfully, this war has not been raging on for more than a decade for some reason as simple as incompetence from our good loyalist lords. That would be too easy, wouldn't it?" He asked with some insufferably smug smile.
Gideon threw the grass away and sighed.
" So are we destined to trudge through the mud as though we are but farmers ploughing under the heavy rain with some hope that the Gods will shine their smiles on us?"
" Not quite. You fail to consider the obvious."
In his older colleague's place, Gideon imagined one of the many cavalrymen who were not quite as lucky and crumbled under the unending volleys.
" The obvious to me is what this first battle taught me. They are apt tricksters and devilish strategists." Beryn snorted and he couldn't help but punch the man in his side. " One also cannot deny that with the Rebels, we would stand to gain a lot more should we somehow defeat the ruling house."
"Would we not gain exactly as much as lowborn sellswords such as us could hope to, when the Loyalists do win and certain rebel Houses need to be…replaced?" Beryn countered. Gideon's head snapped in his direction with frightening speed. He pondered over those words in silence. He returned to his staring, this time towards the far horizon.
"And what about the Lannisters? Should we not worry that, at one point, they will reveal their hand and openly enter this war? Even if they do fear the Crown's intervention and merely remain hidden…I do fear they will prove to be too great of a backer in the shadows."
Beryn went up on his feet in one motion and stretched his back. Then, he put his head atop Gideon's head.
The younger man's eyes widened when he felt Beryn's long fingers further mess up his already wild hair. Still, he smiled without quite intending to.
" One would be right to fear the Lion. Whether masked by the shadows or standing proudly beneath the sun, it pounces with great effectiveness. But I do not quite believe that the proud lion will further embarrass itself with an unending war that is sure to be an unacceptable drain on the coffers."
Beryn started to walk away, but Gideon remained perplexed.
" The answer does not come to me as easily as I hoped it would." He shared his thoughts and Beryn merely laughed again.
" Unless you intend to run away before the siege, I reckon you will go through a dance with death again, and do not think you will be able to see yourself on the other side once that happens. You'll have bled too much by then to envision a change of heart." Beryn answered though he whispered something else beneath his breath. " You have not been toughened enough to withstand the weight of betrayal. For now, you will remain…"
Gideon watched Beryn lift his head to look at the clouds above. The rain was upon them once more. He idly wondered if this was an omen courtesy of the Gods themselves.
"Know what, kid?" Beryn turned back to smile at him one last time.
"If we do survive again, I think I'd like to test you once more. "
This time, he truly did leave.
Gideon decided to remain despite the rain, more so to wash off his fearful thoughts than his sins.
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( Tyrion Lannister )
Not one glance, not even to sneer at him in poorly disguised disgust. Ever the unshakable and focused picture of what a lord ought to be, his father navigated through a seemingly endless pile of documents without even so much as entertaining the thought of partaking in the bottle of arbour gold beside him.
A shame to see such fine wine go ignored. Be it wine or women, Tyrion would never provide such cold shoulder treatment. He wondered why his father even bothered to let the wine remain on his desk, an overbearing temptation just a hair's breadth away.
Those steely green eyes caught on his interest and only then did the quill in his hand stop its constant movement. Tyrion held his breath but held his gaze against his father's.
" Perhaps you have fooled yourself into believing I have called you to share a drink. Have your attempts to prove yourself a greater whoremongering oaf than our dearest King finally dulled your senses to such a point?"
He did not wince, not this time. And he did try to hold his head high, but what importance would it make? The head of a dwarf held high would look to his father as no more than a demon's arrogant provocation.
He poured himself a drink still.
" What I believe matters not, that much I do believe." He smirked despite his instincts screeching at him not to make such a mistake. He pointedly did not meet his father's eyes as he did so.
" You have been paying attention to matters that did not call for it, Tyrion. Will you make a habit of sticking this…nose of yours where it does not belong?" Tywin Lannister put down his quill and clasped his hands on the desk.
What fell power allowed his father to command the elements and turn the very air frigid? He would always wonder. And without an answer, he would simply continue to tremble slightly and hide such movement from the lion's gaze.
" I do have a habit of sticking my body parts where they do not belong. I find that I need to be told rather expressively when doing so is unacceptable." He joked. Immediately after, he gulped in fright when the lion narrowed his eyes.
This was no time for his japes. He never did like them, but in such moments he always felt like they could get him killed. His father certainly held no such great love for him as to spare him the punishment for a perceived slight. But was his sole existence not a slight anyway?
"What possessed you to ask these questions? I find myself curious as to how you could have possibly come to know of my projects, Tyrion. Does the rock we call a home happen to have one too many ears stuck in the walls?" He was starting to sweat despite the impossibly cold glare his father fixed him. He adjusted his collar beneath that stare and gulped the content of his glass in one go.
" Do we need to cut such ears? A Lion cannot suffer the scurrying rats in its own den."
He swallowed too quickly. He started to cough in his fist, rather violently at that. Under his father's somewhat amused stare, he fought to keep his composure, and thankfully enough, the coughing subsided before he could further make a fool of himself. Not that a dwarf wasn't a fool from birth. His father did always treat him as such.
" I-I believe not, father. And while I do apologize for my actions…I find myself curious still."
His father rolled his eyes and he found himself agreeing with the gesture. He was truly incorrigible. But the thoughts were nagging at him for months now.
The Lion left his seat and slowly walked around the desk, with measured and threatening steps. He towered over Tyrion, as he always did, and somehow found great pleasure in it.
He never understood where his father's love of feeling superior towards those who were subservient to him anyway came from. What a petty feeling. And he had the gall to call him a petty and vain creature. He took after the great lion in more ways than he would care to admit.
" That is exactly how you will find yourself on the other end of a blade one day, with no Lannister gold and equally gilded tongue to save you from this ultimate blunder. But I will at least humour you for your efforts."
He walked back to his chair and poured himself a drink as well. His glass was noticeably half-full. Tyrion ignored that smugness in his eyes and stared ahead.
It would never cease to amaze him how this man who seemed to find no pleasure in life nor any activity which he could call a passion, transformed into such a catty child when it came to pick on the dwarf. His favourite time of day one could claim.
" As you have undoubtedly guessed, for you at least possess a measure of wit, Lannister coins are flowing in the purses of the Riverland Rebels."
His father stared at him as he sipped on the wine. He nodded but held his tongue.
" The fish has proven itself unable to put down mere upstarts. And unlike what they seem to think, to justify their incompetence most likely, I was by no means connected to the Rebels when they first rose in defiance."
" But you peered through the cracks and pounced on a great opportunity. For what Lion would not do as such?" Tyrion continued for him.
His father paused before sitting back down.
" Quite so," Of course, he could not help himself and sneered. His father was quite fond of such gestures. " And perhaps I was too careless with the trail of coin leading back to our House. If you found out, it would not be a mere fantasy to imagine that others could as well. Although we shall soon be fixed on whether to hide our involvement…or push through for a final assault."
The words sent shivers down Tyrion's spine. There was a horrid hunger in his father's expression. The same terrible ambition that pushed him to horrible lengths and which he justified with his favourite word: Legacy.
" You believe that the war will soon see an end?" He asked.
His father picked up his quill and signed yet another letter.
" Beliefs matter little in the face of simple facts, Tyrion. And we shall soon find ourselves with said facts, the realities of this conflict once the Loyalists' latest plan comes to fruition and they besiege Pinkmaiden. They will continue to float with great uncertainty, or they will sink at the bottom of their lake."
Tyrion found that his thirst was missing for once, his lips oddly dry despite his prior sip of the godly liquid that occupied his days and nights.
" With a victory on their part, we reconsider our investment and take advantage of their current weakness in ways that could not be traced back to us. With a defeat…."
" The House of the Lion may stand to gain more from this one foolish conflict than it has in a decade. Perhaps even more than when I had convinced the oaf on his bladed throne to marry my daughter despite his attachment to…the she-wolf."
He remembered a time when he spoke of these two with far more vitriol. With time, disgust made way for mere condescension. Given enough time, he might come to believe himself superior to the Gods themselves.
Without even a parting word, Tyrion knew he was dismissed. This had been no more than an opportunity to gloat and to warn him not to prod any further.
Again, this would not be a lesson he would learn from. But he would keep this in a corner of his mind.
Depending on the actions of either side, this conflict could very well shape the future of the Seven Kingdoms as a whole.
And with all his heart, he prayed to the Seven despite their years of abuse. He could only hope this would not evolve into the opportunity Tywin Lannister had been waiting for.
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A.N: Hey y'all, just wanted to say comments and reviews will be appreciated as like many authors, I function with interaction be it positive or negative. And it also helps me know what I'm doing right and what I'm completely messing up.