Year 108 A.C.
POV: Denovan
As soon as I left the heavy doors of the council chamber and stepped out into the inner courtyard of the Red Keep, the sea air hit my face, bringing a momentary relief from that nest of snakes. But I was not alone.
Walking in the opposite direction, surrounded by some handmaids and two tense Kingsguards, was Queen Aemma Arryn, accompanied by the young Princess Rhaenyra. The girl couldn't have been more than eleven years old. Neither of them had any blame or power over the negotiations that had just taken place, so I decided to be courteous.
I stopped, giving them space to pass, and gave a respectful nod. "Your Grace. Princess."
Aemma offered me a polite smile, though her eyes betrayed a clear nervousness. However, Rhaenyra completely ignored etiquette. Her violet eyes were not on me, but on the colossal black beast with deep scars sniffing by my side.
"He is enormous..." the princess murmured, in awe, taking a step forward. "Can I pet him?"
"Rhaenyra! Step away from the animal, please," Aemma asked, her voice rising an octave, while the two Kingsguards immediately brought their hands to the pommels of their swords.
I found little Rhaenyra's boldness amusing. I smiled. "You can go ahead, Princess, Fenrir likes brave people."
Before the queen or the guards could react, I leaned down, held Rhaenyra by her thin waist, and lifted her effortlessly, placing her sitting on the broad back of the direwolf.
"By the Seven! Unhand the princess, you wildling!" shouted one of the guards, drawing his blade halfway.
I raised my hand, stopping him in his tracks with just a look. "Sheathe the steel, Ser. There is no danger at all while I am here. Let the girl enjoy it."
Rhaenyra was ecstatic, sinking her fingers into the thick fur of Fenrir's neck, who merely let out a lazy snort. Aemma seemed on the verge of a nervous breakdown, so, out of pity for the queen, I took Rhaenyra off the wolf and placed her back on the ground delicately.
"There. A quick ride," I said. I extended my hand to bid farewell to the queen. "It was a pleasure, Your Grace."
When Aemma touched my hand, my senses flared. Like every magical being, the golden threads felt magic, and in the queen, I felt two possible connections. Something similar to Scarlet years ago. Through the contact, I felt a second spark of life inside her. Weak, newly formed, but undeniably there.
I kept my voice low, leaning slightly toward her. "May I tell you a little secret, Your Grace?"
Aemma stepped back half a pace, uncomfortable with the proximity of my savage face. I subtly pointed to her womb.
"My congratulations. There is a new soul in there," I whispered. "If you want your child to be born one hundred percent healthy, and for you not to suffer in the process, I could inscribe a rune or two on your skin. It is painless and guaranteed."
The queen widened her eyes, surprised and somewhat skeptical. She clearly had no physical symptoms yet. But the fact that I was known as a "sorcerer" brought a gleam of genuine hope to her face.
"I... I do not know what you are talking about, Lord Denovan," she whispered back, touching her belly protectively. "But, even though I am very grateful for your comforting words, I am a follower of the Faith of the Seven. I cannot stain my body with pagan marks or witchcraft."
I sighed, letting go of her hand. "Respect for your gods is yours. But if you change your mind, you can seek me out."
I left the queen and the princess behind and kept walking, now accompanied by a Kingsguard designated to guide me to the training yard so I wouldn't get lost.
I tried to break the silence in the stone corridor. "So, Ser, what is your training like around here? Anyone up for a real duel, or do you just play at sword-fighting?"
"Yes." He replied dryly, looking straight ahead.
"Was that a yes for the duel, or a yes for playing around?"
"No."
I was about to give up talking to the white armored wall when a drawling voice full of mockery echoed through one of the courtyard arches.
"I accept the duel in his place, Northerner."
I stopped and gave a lupine smile, showing my teeth. Prince Daemon Targaryen was walking towards us with a lazy posture. He was tall by southern standards, with lean muscles beneath his expensive doublet. But next to the monster I was, the difference was glaring. I was over two meters tall, my shoulders were broad as boulders, and my lean body was defined by pure functional muscle. At the peak of my strength, speed, and magic, my slitted golden eyes radiated a ferocity that made him stop smiling for a fraction of a second.
"Prince Daemon," I greeted, crossing my arms.
"You may return to your duties, Ser," Daemon said, dismissing the guard with a casual wave. The knight hesitated, but nodded and headed toward the council chamber.
As we walked side by side to the arena, Daemon resumed his provocative rogue pose. "You know, Denovan, I even thought about flying North a while ago. I wanted to see this 'Beast King' up close. But I was told that Northern women are pale, cold, and utterly plain. So I preferred the brothels of King's Landing."
He hoped to irritate me. I just laughed. Words without action don't get to me. "The women of the Free Folk have a very high value, Prince. And we are called Wildlings because of our actions in bed and on the battlefield, not because of the name you gave us."
I turned my head, evaluating him from top to bottom with mockery. "On the other hand, one thing that impressed me in the South was the beauty of you Valyrians. You are truly beautiful. You look like... magical elves. The only problem is that you are too delicate. All of you look like maidens."
Daemon's smile died. He clenched his jaw, and before he could answer with anything other than fury in his eyes, we arrived at the training yard.
My Marcas were already scattered across the wooden bleachers, mixed with the Gold Cloaks of the City Watch, who provided Daemon's security. As soon as they saw me with the prince, my men understood what was about to happen.
"There it is! Boss, finish this maiden off already!" shouted Sigorn, one of my oldest warriors, drawing roaring laughter from our side of the yard.
To my surprise, Daemon walked over to the weapon rack and pulled out a common steel longsword. I frowned, disappointed.
"Are you going to fight with that?" I asked. "Aren't you going to use your House's famous Valyrian sword? Your best weapon?"
The Marcas started banging on the wooden benches. "Use your best, silver-hair, or you're going to lose badly!" "No use making excuses after you're on the ground, maiden!"
Daemon turned, twirling the common sword in his hand with dexterity. "If I use Dark Sister against you, Denovan, there will be no duel. She would cut through that weapon of yours before you even manage to parry my first strike."
I stared at the prince, pulling my old battleaxe from my back. "I will not fight if you do not use your sword. I demand a real challenge. I want to see if this damn Valyrian steel is all it's cracked up to be."
The provocation was the limit for Daemon's pride. He threw the common sword on the ground with a clatter and unsheathed Dark Sister from his hip. The dark, rippled blade seemed to suck the light around it.
At that exact moment, from the top of the balcony overlooking the yard, Viserys appeared in quick steps, followed by Queen Aemma and Rhaenyra. The Kingsguard had delivered the message of our encounter. They arrived just in time to see the beginning.
"Let's see what the Black Beast is made of," Daemon whispered.
He lunged forward like lightning. The bastard's speed was formidable. I decided to hold back to test his technique. Dark Sister sang in the air, seeking my chest, but I raised my axe. The blade of my weapon was made of the excellent steel of Thenn, but my brutal combat style and the years of exaggerated use of force had left the metal worn out, full of chips on the edges.
CLANG!
Our weapons met. I exchanged defensive blows with him, spinning and parrying. But then, Daemon made a quick spin on the flank. Instead of aiming at the blade of my axe, he aimed for the handle. My handle was thick, forged from the bone and ivory of a mammoth. Hard as stone.
But not for Valyrian steel.
The black blade slid, and with a terrifying shriek, cut the ivory handle clean off, as if it were a dry branch. The heavy steel head of my axe spun in the air and embedded itself in the packed dirt ground.
I was left holding only a stump of bone in my hand.
Daemon smiled victoriously and pointed the dark tip at my throat. "Yield."
I shrugged and broke into a wide smile. "Think it's over? I can beat you even unarmed."
The statement made my northerners burst into laughter in the stands, while the Gold Cloaks murmured, irritated by my lack of respect.
"Enough!" Viserys's voice sounded from above the balcony, projecting authority. "You have been defeated, Denovan! Without a weapon, any attack from now on could gravely injure you. If you wish to continue training, fetch another weapon!"
I sighed, shaking my head. I looked back. "Hey! Get me something!"
One of my men, without hesitating, threw one of his one-handed axes through the air. I caught it firmly by the handle. I stopped smiling. The game of testing skills was over.
"Ready," I whispered.
I sprinted forward. I didn't hold back this time. The speed and brute force of the bonds kicked in. Daemon widened his eyes, caught off guard by my change of pace. He delivered a lethal horizontal strike.
I crouched, sliding under the blade, spun my body, raised my axe, and struck hard not on the blade of Dark Sister, but on its flat back, violently pushing Daemon's arm upward and opening his guard completely.
I took advantage of the perfect fraction of a second. I stepped in, pressing my body against his, and placed the cold edge of my axe directly against the Prince's jugular.
Daemon went static. The entire yard held its breath.
"That was fun," I said casually, stepping back and lowering the weapon. "But I have to admit, seeing what a Valyrian steel blade can do is impressive. It cuts mammoth ivory like butter. It's a truly dangerous weapon."
Anxious not to see a fatal accident or wounded pride escalating into a war, Viserys sighed heavily and clapped his hands, drawing attention. "An excellent demonstration from both of you! And that is enough for today. Let us get something to eat. Denovan, later you can go to my blacksmiths to get a weapon to compensate for the one that was destroyed."
I accepted, putting away the borrowed axe. I looked at the broken piece of my weapon on the ground. "I accept the offer, Viserys. But I doubt I will find anything in your armories more beautiful than the axe I made myself."
Viserys came down the stairs and came to meet us in the yard, curious. "You are a blacksmith?"
"I am," I confirmed.
"And how did a King of the Free Folk learn to forge so well?"
I gave an enigmatic smile. "The Thenns have been forging bronze for a long time up in the far north, Your Grace... the rest of what I know is my own secret."
The rest of the day was celebratory. My men and I were invited to eat in Viserys's hall. The contrast was comical: tattooed warriors laughing loudly and banging their beer mugs in a richly decorated hall. They were talkative, animated; we had never received so much comfort and abundance. I enjoyed every bite of the southern meals, replenishing the calories my body demanded.
When the "feast" ended and night fell, a problem arose. The keep had no room for the one hundred and twenty warriors. The solution was to send them to sleep in the city's taverns.
"I will pay for the lodging and drinks for all of you," Viserys said generously. "But only for tonight."
Before releasing the men, I gathered everyone in the yard under the torchlight. My voice sounded low, but lethal enough to reach the last man in line.
"Pay close attention. I explicitly want you not to make a mess in the city today. Do not pick fights, do not steal, do not cause trouble in the taverns. If I find out anyone disrespected this rule... I will cut the culprit's cock off myself. Am I clear?"
A chorus of tense nods echoed through the yard. They knew my fury.
The next morning, guided by a trembling young squire, I was taken to the street of the royal blacksmiths to choose my compensation weapon. Taking advantage of Viserys's generosity, I ended up taking three pieces: two light axes, similar to tomahawks, and a castle-forged steel longsword.
But my expression was one of profound disappointment. I had turned over every corner of the shops and armories.
"How is it that you don't have a single decent battleaxe?" I grumbled to the last master armorer, throwing the tomahawks on his table. I had seen perfect warhammers, shining-tipped halberds, spectacular spears, and every kind of sword possible. But broad, brutal axes for close-quarters combat? Nothing. Only these little tools.
"In the South, we fight with elegance, Ser," replied the armorer with foolish pride. "Axes are tools for woodcutters."
I returned to the ships revolted. I had lost my most faithful weapon and found nothing to replace it on the same level.
As soon as I sink some of those damn pirates in the Stepstones, I thought, clenching my fists, I am going to come back and make an axe that will make Dark Sister look like a bread knife.
Later, at the port, Viserys came to bid farewell to our entourage in a more diplomatic tone. As soon as the winds blew, we set sail. The ships began to tear through the sea towards the Stepstones.
I sat at the bow of the boat, observing the salty horizon. I spent all the rest of the time thinking about the proportions of the metals, the obsidian, and the runes I should use on the blade I would forge myself.