Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Author note, inspired by crown of laurels.

Prologue, straight onto the burning Cole's.

When I woke up I didn't know where I was, not a hospital, and it definitely wasn't anywhere near my home, I raised a hand to block the sun from my eyes and sat up, God's it was hot.

I wiped a hand across my face and paused, staring at my hand and arm, blood, a lot of blood.

I turned and looked around me, it was a small village or town, very poor and rustic, putting my hand down to push myself up I gripped something, looking down I found a fucking sword lying next to me.

Slowly lifting my head I see a man bleeding from a massive cut across his entire chest, deep and still wet, holy shit.

Grabbing the sword and standing up I look around, more bodies, some in armor like the first with sword, spears, axes, hammers and more, some in rags and what can just barely be called clothes, and some others in full suits of plate armour.

I'm wearing armor too, not full plate but definitely armor, half-plate, chainmail and leather, that kind of thing, I lift the sword and see a different face staring back at me in the reflection of the steel.

I'm freaking out when I'm driven to my knees by a blistering headache, grabbing my head I fall, dropping the sword, MY sword onto the ground in front of me.

As quickly as the pain hits me it recedes, not gone but filled, numbed even, though definitely not gone, it did nothing to cloud the sudden clarity that assaulted my mind and vision.

I knew who I was, I knew where and when I was, who I was supposed to be and what I was destined to do, before whatever happened.

I was Ser Criston Cole, son of the steward of Blackhaven and squired and recently knighted by Lord Dondarrion at fifteen, I was here responding to a Dornish raid on a small village in Dondarrion land.

I lost my helmet and horse in the fight, it had been a lot worse than we expected, triple the dornish we had been expecting, almost a fair fight.

I looked back at the corpses around me, dead men at arms, hedge knights and more, and now I could make out some heraldry and sigils, one with a simple horse on his shield, one with a triple thunder cloud, one with a tree, all good men, all murdered by these Dornish bastards!

The village was still burning, and now I could hear fighting, screams, the clash of swords and other weapons, the thwip of bow and arrow, and sound of hooves on desert sands, and so much more.

I looked at the body of the knight with the tree on his shield, an apple tree mixed with a pine tree, I picked it up, he had no use for it, not anymore, and grabbed his helmet, and pulled it off.

A pair of brown eyes stared at me, empty and hollow, but almost peaceful.

I wanted to vomit, well part of me anyway, the part that wasn't a knight hardened by perhaps a dozen and more similar encounters with the Dornish and their raiding parties, even being on three raiding parties into Dorne, it was pretty normal for that part of me.

The part that would have gone on to become the Kingmaker in another life, but this was my life now, and that fate didn't sit well with me.

But for now, placing his helmet on my head, it was only a little to big, I turned towards the battle still going on, or at least the sound of it, and began walking towards it, the future was a long ways off, and I would have to fight and survive just to get there in the first place.

Author note, all criticism is welcome and appreciated.

Chapter Text

Author note, a direct continuation of the prologue please, enjoy.

Chapter 1 Red mountains, Red sands.

CrISton Cole POV.

The first dornishmen I find has his back to me, pulling his spear from a man who might have been a brother, a father, a son, a small folk man in rags.

The bite of my sword in his side sends him screaming to the ground, I twist once, twice again before managing to pull my sword from his ribs, I put him out of his misery, a mercy he doesn't truly deserve.

I spare a glance at the man on the ground, he's already dead, I swallow hard to keep down my broken fast, and rip my eyes from the man.

Marching towards the next foe, I don't catch the next one from behind, no, the next one is a viscous fuck who charges me with duel daggers that he knows well how to use.

Shoving him back with the shield as he tries to jump on me and missing a swing with my sword entirely as he pulls back, he's jittering like a mummer, or a madman.

We circle each other for a moment before he tries his luck again, his lunge is met with sword, forcing him back, this continues in a similar way three more times as I start to get frustrated, this time when he lunges I smash the shield into him as hard as I can, sending him stumbling.

He trips, it might have been a body, a spear, the ground or the wind for all I care, the satisfaction I feel as I shove my sword through his face overrides the disgust of killing a man, and the knowledge of the village burning around me has me discard some guilt for killing the man.

Pulling the blade out, now fully covered in blood and even some brain has me rethink that for a half second, before shaking my head and refocusing on the battle around me, walking forward I can see lord Dondarrion now, fighting two of the bandit dornishmen by himself, and losing…

Charging forward only to have to bring myself to a halt quickly to avoid the spear that almost guts me, I shove the spear aside and swing, cutting the man's flesh, I don't wait to see what I hit as I again rush to aid Lord Dondarrion, who's now cornered.

Just as lord Dondarrion’s sword arm falters and one of the dornishmen raises there sword to finish him, I tackle the bastard and bring my sword down across his neck, pulling it close with both hands, having tossed the shield at the other one, with a twist my hands are covered in blood.

Making to rise quickly turns into a roll to the side as the second dornishmen lets out a cry and tries to crush me with their morning star, rising cautiously to my feet as the dornishmen glances horrified between me and his now very much dead friend.

On a second glance, squinting a tiny fraction, is this one a woman?

I don't have much time to contemplate it as she charges me with a scream and a swing, I move back, parrying the swing, I take a swing at her face, she dodges the first one, but the second one cuts the cloth covering her face, and a cut now bleeds across her right cheek.

But I've overextended and the pain in my thigh from her morning star makes me pull back, that's going to be a nasty bruise. for a week, looking at her, is she… crying?

Now I feel bad, only a little, she's still Dornish, I look at her shield, a snake wrapped around a leg, the sigil of house wyl of wyl, I glanced at the body of what? her husband?

“Weeping willow does you no good, your lover's killer stands before you lady wyl.” I said, not mocking, just plainly, I wasn't going to coddle the enemy.

“He was my father, you cunt!” her fear and tears now drowning in rage, face contorted in anger and a little pain, both from the cut on her face and the loss of her father.

Rude, and disgusting, she's Dornish so there only one way to interpret that, “I knew Dornish were faul, but I didn't know your kind were that vile.” I said with all the disgust I felt from the killing, making it genuine.

Come on get angry, do something stupid, I had to hold back my smirk as she took the bait, she didn't blindly charge unfortunately, she was to skilled and not quite that dumb, but she was coming at me.

Ducking under two swings and parrying a third and leveling my blade at her neck so bloody fast it looked like she might have whiplash, she looked like she might give it another try, even with a sword at her neck.

Grabbing the morning star from her hand and throwing it to the side I commanded her to yield, and she did so a few moments later, with fury and hate in her eyes.

When word spread of their Lord's death and the capture of his daughter and heir the dornish either broke and ran or surrendered.

Lord Dondarrion thanked me for saving his life and promised me reward, I honestly just wanted a new horse and replacement helmet and shield, this helmet was good, but it had come from a fallen friend, not a foe, and I couldn't go around all the time with another man's family sigil.

Most of the prisoner chose the Wall while others chose death, the handful of Dornish nobles and knights would be ransomed back to there houses.

The new Lady Lord of house wyl, Aimerys Wyl, would be ransomed for quite a bit, along with her father's bones, I received four fifths of the ransom, a lot of gold for a meer steward’s son I could hear some muttering already.

When we got back to Blackhaven my mother and father hugged me with such force I could feel their pride, a little uncomfortable, my father like most usually wasn't so quick with affection, especially physical affection.

Though given that Lord Dondarrion raised us to a truly noble house and granted us a little piece of land with a small keep, japing that he wouldn't be able to find a decent steward to fill in for my father as he became accustomed to his new holdings.

It wasn't that surprising that they would be so proud of me, and I got a new horse and armor, Lord Dondarrion was being very generous, I did save his life, but he wasn't obligated to reward us like this, I shook my head, there was certain to be another raid, and we were closer to the border now, so maybe he wasn't as generous as I thought.

My father and mother were swamped with work, but they were both used to it, as stewards they were used to managing significantly more than this, I left them to it, and sat here, in my room in our new home, it was no grand castle, but it was ours and that was what mattered.

I thought about the future, all the things that would happen, I don't know what to do with all this information, most of it either is useless, or will be useless soon enough, so I'll have to do the one thing I'm truly good at, train, for all the battles to come, and plan for what to do.

Mind made up I made my way towards the yard, there was no master of arms yet, and there might never be, it was pretty unlikely there would be anyone to train here.

Author note, one battle made does a very minor Lord make. All criticism is welcome and appreciated.

Chapter Text

Author note, might be some controversial statements, fair warning, please enjoy.

Chapter 2 earn your Keep.

The raven arrived three and ten days later, or just thirteen days later, he'd have to get back into the habit of using the westerosi way of saying things, he didn't want to be seen as strange, it wasn't really a problem, just a bit of caution on his part.

Anyway, it arrived in the morning before they had even had the time to break their fast, and they probably wouldn't have noticed if not for the squawking it made that could wake the dead.

He and his father, both groggie from waking up made there way to the small rookery in the third tower, it's top reminds me of a wizards hat, so I chose it to be the measters tower, the keep was unsymmetrical but it wasn't a bad thing by any means.

The measter was still at least a moon away, and that was if they would bother giving us one, running around to catch the bloody bird was unbefitting of a Lord, but if answering a message to our Lord only cost us some dignity it was fine.

Opening the message with a flick of the knife I read through it, it was mostly congratulations, with only the important part actually being in Lord Dondarrion’s own hand, and with any word longer than 7 letters being in the measters hand still.

The standards set by the other world were specifically of one of the better land, not this “China, Russia, India, or anywhere in Africa” were billions of people suffered from starvation and such, India supposedly held over 11 million slave's, more than there were probably people in any three kingdoms of westeros today.

In other words I was more annoyed with my mind insulting my Lord's hand, it was one of the things that annoyed me and made me consider that I really might have just hit my head and this was all just some madness, I shook my head, having a headache this early from thinking about all this would just annoy me further.

Passing the letter to my father I went to prepare the food, we did have a cook, but she could probably use the help, anything to distract myself from the asinine standard of my “other half”.

God's did I miss soda, or coffee or tea, or any of the “modern” conveniences.

It was not too long later that mother entered the “great” hall of our keep and sat next to father as we did our prayers to the seven and ate our meal. It was a good day, decent weather, such as weather could be anything but “heatstroke”.

One and ten men-at-arms, and three hedge knights, or to be more specific two grey beards, three green boys, a fisherman, a carpenter, a logger, a Tanner, and two decent men-at-arms, and three honorable squatters, it wasn't much, but I liked them well enough.

Enough to trust them with my own life?

Yes.

My mother and father’s lives?

No.

We'd been called to aid with another Dornish incursion, after the last one it had been quiet, too quiet, and now it was being broken, we were going to meet them, defeat them, and then launch our own raid into Dorne.

Simple plan, that had worked most of the time for probably centuries at least, if it ain't broke don't fix it I suppose, didn't mean I didn't have a bad feeling about this one though.

we'd be riding to Blackhaven to meet up with Lord Dondarrion, and then we'd march out to throw back the dornish bastards, then we'd make like common brigands and pillage a village or three before returning home, it was horrible, but blood must be repaid with blood.

If we didn't answer their aggression with our own, the dornish would only grow bolder, they were snake's, searching for even a whiff of weakness, and they were more than capable of capitalizing on said weakness.

After we finished breaking our fast, we began preparing to leave, mounting my horse, a strong charcoal black beast I named Bean, because he's big and he's mean and definitely no other reason, and we made our way to Blackhaven, where I'd leave my mother since it was much safer than our little keep.

All of us were mounted and decently armed, there was plenty of gold from the ransom's to splurge on good horses and arms and armor, we just had the problem of finding people, blacksmith's, all the necessities of a castle's maintenance, it did need some work after all.

Spending the gold was proving more of a problem now than making it.

The trip wasn't long, only three hours of steady riding at a safe pace, we trotted into the courtyard of Blackhaven, all courtesy were exchanged, and Lord Dondarrion pulled my father and then me into a strong hug, he was a close friend of my father, obviously since he'd made all but a peasant his steward.

His son's, Leric and Meric, twin second and third sons respectively, since his heir is fostering with the Conningtons, greeted me and gave thanks for keeping their father's head on his shoulders, his daughter wasn't present, sick apparently.

I thought I might have heard him mutter “-ey ca—ver mea-” or something under his breath with a strange look on his face, but I probably just misheard.

We weren't the only ones to arrive, House Caron, Foote, Selmy, Horpe, Lonmouth and Swann just to name a few were also present.

Including one and ten Joffrey Lonmouth, who's likely just here to visit and not to join the battle, he's not even a squire yet, and- why is Lord Lonmouth and his son walking towards me?!

I keep my face carefully neutral as he and his son stop before me while screaming internally, he's a good bit taller than me, eyeing me up and down, his son isn't hiding an somewhat awed expression on his face.

“My Lord, what do I owe the pleasure?” I ask with a firm nod of greeting.

He nods back, almost to himself, like making some decision in his head, “you have my thanks and gratitude for killing the Wyl Lord, I only wish I could have seen it done myself.” He stared at nothing with a dark, but satisfied look.

It jogged a bit of memory, a few years ago, a cousin of Lord Lonmouth was kidnapped, raped, forced to bear the child then she was killed by the Wyl’s, supposedly all that was done by the Lord Wyl himself, the bastard was real though and so was his fostering with the Blackmonts.

That explained a good bit, but he looks like he has more to discuss…

“Your welcome, a service to all good men. It was to put him down, but I wrecken that isn't all you've come to talk with me about…” I say glancing at his son who seems to suddenly find the dirt very Interesting.

“Aye, I would have my Joff squire for you ser, he's a good lad I promise, quick and talented.” He says, voice filled with nothing but pride, pushing him forward, Joffrey looks incredibly embarrassed by it all, face turning slightly red.

I want to refuse, it's not like I know how to teach him, not really, but I don't want to insult him by rejecting his son, it might not feel right, but I won't let that future come to pass.

“I'll make a fine knight out of him, you have my word.” he looks positively jubilant, walking off with a proud pip in his step, I watch him go on his way.

Turning back to Joffrey I wonder what I've gotten myself into now.

‘What do I do with you?’ I didn't really want you, but I'd given my word, so I'd do my best to make the most of it.

Two days later, after we'd decided on who would march, and to where, pragmatism warring with pride, honor and blind arrogance, we finally began marching, not as one host certainly not, the marches were simply too big for that.

No, of all the men gathered, just shy of one and ten hundred, and just shy again a third of which were mounted knights in steel, the group me and father and our men would be marching with would be some eighty strong, a good enough number.

The largest group, led by of course Lord Dondarrion himself was one hundred and forty strong, and would be marching directly to face the dornish, we on the other hand, didn't necessarily have to fight them at all, but distract them.

Joffrey was… alright, good with a sword, decent footwork, he really did have potential, we were near the village we were set to burn, torches piled high on the back of a donkey in case we needed more to do the job.

It was grizzly work, brutal and just shy of completely pointless, I spent most of that time hyping everyone else up, moral was good but it could always be higher, thankfully most of the villages residents fled at the sight of us, and the few who didn't broke and ran as well after the first few went down.

Looting the village of anything valuable, food, tools, cattle that sort of thing, not much value to me, but to my men?

Priceless.

No women was raped, only a few small folk bloodied and beaten, and the village fully looted in the span of maybe an hour, good.

We marched on, in the direction of our next target, this village would actually put up a fight, it was walled with a large watch tower and had a small holdfast inside, all wood, this was to be our prize, this village had a name, not in the way all villages probably have a name.

I personally didn't know it until someone else brought it up, but I knew the village's reputation.

This one was pretty famous if only locally for its hardy folk, levies and militia, and being an actually fortified village, most couldn't afford it really, that's what drew eyes here though, and I was going to put it to the torch.

The Wyl banner was flying over it, along with Blackmont and Yronwood, but the surprising one was the sword and star of house Dayne, not that it should have been really, since Darloss Dayne, the Sword of the Morning was husband of Lady Aimerys Wyl.

This might actually be a proper fight, I frowned, looking back at the men with me, Lonmouth men mostly, come to defend their Lord's heir, thirty-three Lonmouth men, twenty-two Caron men, twelve Swann men, our fourteen men, and four hedge knights we picked up on the march so far.

Eight and eighty men counting me, my father and Joffrey, it might be enough, it also might not be, as I was contemplating this the gate opened, and out road a dozen men under the white banner of parley, my frown did not fade.

We weren't hiding, but we weren't out in the open either and well outside the range of archers, something to watch for I suppose, as they drew near they slowed, maybe thirty paces away from us, and the man at the front, almost definitely a Dayne cousin, lifted his visor to speak to us.

My father answered his demands that we leave with a snort, and that we had been ordered to burn the village he and his men guarded, and if he and his men were going to burn inside it that was fine with him, the man spat at us and swore we'd die on the village's walls.

It was around seven if I had to guess based on the sun.

We'd already burned one village, and rode most of the day.

We weren't so tired that we couldn't lift our swords, but the dornish Inside the village we're likely fresher than us at the moment.

We didn't know their number, but I'd guess they outnumbered us, and they had the walls, we couldn't take it by storm, we'd need at least triple the enemies number to manage that, and we'd still likely pay a heavy toll for it.

This seemed like a hopeless situation, that we'd have to abandon the attack and retreat entirely, but I wasn't so sure about that, looking around at the walls I knew were strong and wouldn't burn easily because of the lime process or whatever it's called that makes wood hard to burn.

Instead I looked in front of the walls, at the tall dry grass all around the village save the gates and the dirt roads, and the fields of wheat and other food further from the wall, we could set those ablaze under cover of dark, and if they ran out to put the fire out we'd be waiting for them.

A plan was forming in my head as we set camp on a hill a ways from the village, camp fires clearly visible as the sun set.

We crept forward cautiously, the wind to our backs running towards the village, torches oiled and ready to light, then I gave the signal and we lit the torches and ran through the grass lighting everything on fire, the fire spread so fast we had to flee much faster than I expected.

Grabbing a man who was decidedly lacking in self preservation I dragged him as he complained, the fire completely consuming were he had stood in mere moment’s, we ran as fast as we could, when we finally reached safe ground we were all wheezing and huffing.

Mounting my horse I circled around to join with the rest of us on the other side with those not to exhausted from the run, the gates didn't open sadly, it was to be a bloodier affair then we had desired, we left a few men to watch in case they still opened the front gate and we joined my father at the rear gate of the village.

We prayed their men had been diverted to the front, seeing the smoke fill into the city, that we could catch them with surprise.

Joffrey was beside me on his own horse looking very nervous, I gave him a few words of encouragement before we stormed the village.

“Have faith in yourself Joffrey, and you've won half the battle already.” It wasn't much,but it did seem to help.

Then we charged, as quickly and quietly as we could, moving the three ladders we had up against the wall and climbed, getting to the top I quickly raised my sword to meat the first man, kicking him back I pushed forward, fainting a punch and stabbing at his leg, forcing him back further as this time I did punch him in the face, repeatedly.

Tossing the body off the wall I moved forward and was met by another man as my own made their way up, the sound of screaming, choking and panic filled the air as readily as the smoke from the fire.

Forcing his blade onto the side post of the wall and holding it down with an armored forearm I kick him down and throw his sword behind me leveling the sword at his face, “yield!” He's quick to do so.

One of the ladders is lifted to let us get down into the village, as a few more Dornish are cut down, Joffrey follows closely behind me, blade shining red from the blood of his own battle.

Getting into the village is when the worst of it begins, a few of my men get hit with arrows, only two of them go down, not dead yet, but screaming in pain.

I focus on the enemy charging us, grabbing a thrust spear and pulling the man forward into a stumble and stabbing him in the gut, I shove him back, having to twist the blade to rip it out.

Throwing the spear at a man sees the man panicky jumping out of the way, running right into a mace, moving forward and stabbing and slashing at the shield in front of me, having to duck a swing or two of the man's morning star.

I hit his shield over and over again that his arm must have gone numb as his guard slips and I took his arm off, and stabbed him in the neck.

Looking at the bent, chipped and dulled sword in my hands I grabbed the man's morning star.

Swinging it around as I advanced forward, the arrows have stopped entirely by now as I move forward, smashing aside a shield and caving in the man's helm, God's that just right, the man fell like a puppet with its strings cut.

The next five are almost the same, only that three don't have shields and each has a different weapon.

Eventually they break fully, Joffrey is right beside me when the captured Dayne cousin is paraded around the burning village, he'll be ransomed off probably, we watch the tower fall as it burns from our hilltop camp, the smoke rising high into the sky.

Eight and ten men, that’s how many of our men died, and six more wounded, none of them will be crippled or such but they'll not be able to fight for at least a moon each, of the dead nine are Lonmouth men, five Caron men, four Swann men, the wounded would need an escort to be taken back to Blackhaven.

On the other hand, we had killed or captured eighty men, likely wounding many more who fled, Joffrey helped me take off my armor.

We'd have to prepare to march tomorrow to join with one of the other hosts, but first we drink, eat and sleep.

Author note, all criticism is welcome.