THE DRAGON WHO CHANGED THE GAME
A Game of Thrones fanfiction.
The black cells were not as dreadful as these southrons made them out to be, aye there was hardly any light and the neighbouring cellmates often screamed inhuman shrieks of pain and yet the black cells held nothing in front of the tortures of winter. The reason Rickard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North was in a sorry state was not because of these puny black cells but because of the ever constant worry over his children. His Lyanna, his poor sweet and brave she wolf of a daughter had been kidnapped by that vile prince who hid behind his good looks and royal demeanour. That curr had come to his tent during the Tourney of Harrenhal, asking for help in overthrowing his father, however in the evening he had gone on and shamed his sweet girl in front of half of the kingdom. When that curr nabbed his daughter away, his foolish yet brave son Brandon, currently occupying the cell besides him had made his way to King’s Landing and gotten his Nd his friends imprisoned for his efforts. Rickard’s attempt’s to appeal for justice had gotten him a night in the black cells and a trail in the morning. Rhaegar must have been a cunt but he was right about one thing, the King was truly and utterly mad. His nails had grown as wildy as his hair and beard and his body was decorated with scabs. The lunatic had believe his appeal for justice as an act of treason. His mood changed wildly from extreme joy and utter crippling silence. How do these southrons keep suffering so many unstable reings. A king like that would’ve been taken down in the north in a couple of years, but the South was not the North, deceit and backstabbing ruled here more than justice and truthfulness, a viper den. He felt regret now, regret over his attempts to ‘grow the influence of the North’ in the South. Had he kept his family firmly isolated in the North, they’d be sitting happily, eating away in the Winterfell hall. Aye, they would’ve had lesser influence in the South, but they could’ve had been happy…
Pouring over regrets was the only thing Rickard was capable of currently, his throat was parched and he had not seen a single ray of lights for days on a trot, a tray of watery gruel would be passed underneath the door once in while, water less frequently than that. Beneath the dark wall, he often heard faint whails of torture the sadist gaolers would inflinct on his son and his friends sometimes. Then his blood would boil greatly, but there was hardly anything but more humiliation bought on him by banging his fist uselessly at the door. The black cells had not broken him yet, they never will, he hoped to put some sense into the Mad king come tomorrow at the trail. What must his son Ned must be going through, for all his despair Lord Rickard had not lost sense, he knew the power bloc of the Riverlands, the North and the Vale that he had painstakingly created would rise up for him if he shall die tomorrow. Perhaps Ned's friendship with the Baratheon lad may secure the Stormlands too. Lastly he thought about his littlest son Benjen, a boy still. All lonely and scared at Winterfell.
The door creaked suddenly, the mere faint streaks of light torturously blinding him, maybe it was the time for the trail. Night or day, Rickard could not tell, he had lost track of time. However out of the light came a young silver haired boy with a lone kingsguard at his back. As the child came near him, he realises it was the young prince Viserys. His eyes held a different glint to them than the scared visage of a boy hiding behind his mothers skirts that he had seen all those days ago.
“Your Grace”, uttered Rickard, his throat rasping painfully.
“At ease my Lord, at ease”, the young prince said.
“Your grace, what is a child like you doing out here down below, tis not a place for children."
“No it isn't”, said the prince, “But circumstances often force a child to mature”
What is this boy playing at, he mused, “Circumstances like?"
At this the boy let slip a short laugh, “Circumstances like freeing you of course.”
Rickard remained quiet, 'What cruel japes is the boy playing at? Has the father's madness passed down to the son?'
It was then that he notice a score of bodies lying outside and then he looked at the young blonde kingsguard's bloodied blade. He glanced at the prince again who was looking at him with a knowing look.
“Tis no time for brooding over your doubts, my Lord, time is of essence. ”
The kingsguard revealed to be young Jamie Lannister, who was currently unlocking his son's cell.
Rickard looked back at the Prince and then back to the neighbouring cell.
He could only hope.