𝔚𝔞𝔯 𝔟𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔡𝔞𝔯𝔨 𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔰

By nameless master

Written around 305 AC

In that time that Brandon of House Stark, the son of the honourable Eddard Stark and his lawful wife Catlyn Tully, sat on his chair firmly and was called a king by those that claimed the right to decide such an important issue, the first doubts and ills came to surface. A man whom possessed such a power, not just the absolute ability to control every situation, all knowledge and informations, but even the mind of the men itself, to be crowned a king, a man holding a power over all the lords, soldiers and people of the realm, that became to seem brightly on the instant, that such a matter should never be given to a creature of those abilities, with an unnatural power of dominating men's spirits and hearts. It was inevitable for uprisings to come. For if men can yet think for themselves, their greatest wish and prayer is that they may keep that faculty and right to themselves when that right is threatened. Even those and they in the first place, the men who made that king, felt the cold wind rise and they foresaw the dire consequences of their very own deeds, but since it was their fault, they were too ashamed and too proud to do anything at all to save the realm.

Besides this men belonged Tyrion of House Lannister, lord Samwell Tarly, ser Brienne of Tarth, and the one called ser of Blackwater once ago, now holding many titles as rewards for vile deeds and disloyalty, an outrageous creature, villain, wretch once a robber, a killer, than a knight and lord afterwards, that man did not felt dread as those of whom was spoken before, for he belongs to the kind of men whose sense and wisdom extends to that art of treachery and slaughter in which they are insurmountable, but not far beyond.

For lord Tyrion blindly trusted in the sanity of Bran Stark, he was not willing to let down the illusion of his goodness too. On the other side lord Samwell Tarly was left by all of his fears and his mind was once clear, for he was able to admit and correct his mistake. Lady Brienne was a woman of honour, in her bosoms dwelled knightly spirit, but her allegiance, for the sorrow of many, lay with the king, of whom she was a sworn  protector.

Lords and ladies all over the Westeros, even the common folk split into fractions, everyone must have picked a side, everyone was sooner or later forced to choose. The choice was between two very well known sides. Future and the past. The future was represented by that young newly elected king, the past by the old dynasty which not so long ago hold the power all over the realm, the house that forged the kingdom in fire. One was cold, emotionless, the other was heat itself, firing excitement and burning passion. Ice and fire. Crossing once again. And whole the realm holds their breaths and waits which side of the coin will land. Direwolf and dragon, the people said. But the king even if he came from that ancient northern house which once ruled as kings of winter, was no longer a Stark in his heart. A three eyed raven, so he called himself. So if a men could be a raven, then he can be as well a dragon. And dragon are much more fearsome than ravens. For no black raven, even as black as the darkest night, or the worst of the Seven Hells can not be as dangerous and dreadful as a dragon, no matter if black or in red colour is the beast clothed. For it is true. The dragon did rise again. And he was not alone.