Oathkeeper

Chapter 66: A Dream of Death

A young handsome blonde haired man waltzed onto the beautiful white shore. Bursts of confidence seeped into the hearts of the men dressed in chainmail armor surrounding him. His long pin straight locks flowed through the breeze created by the crashing waves as he looked out upon the tranquility of the deep blue sea. He smiled as he inhaled the smell of fresh brine and blood.

Farther out beyond the descending white castles, were two large walls built into the sea. And at the posts, where the two walls stopped leaving a fifty foot gap open for the ships to come and go as they pleased, were two stone mermen holding golden tridents towards one another.

The man wore the merman on the chestplate of his armor as he hovered his trident over his last living enemy. The right side of the enemy's face remained paralyzed and expressionless while the left curled up in complete and utter fear as he had his back in the sand. Arms up in defeat. His sword was lost in the sand, his helmet was cocked down over his left eye, and wine red blood gushed out his leg like a stuck pig. The blonde lifted his trident over his chest, lining the middle point up with his heart before plunging it down. Ser Malson choked as he looked up into the sky, watching the light grow brighter until it was all that was left. Forever

His flesh squelched as the man pulled the trident out of his chest. He looked out upon the sea once more, now grinning assertively at the sigil on the ship of his enemies. A crowned, snarling wolf.

"Should we kill this one too?," A young shaggy haired man said as he dragged the struggling woman towards the blonde. He too held his head high and a bloody battle axe in his right hand.

The woman's dark coffee hair stopped just before her shoulders, with half of it pulled back, making it very easy to identify her without it falling in her face. Embedded at the center of the breast of her chestplate, a bronze kraken.

The man looked at her with a smile bigger than the one he held when he had Ser Malson on his back. As if she was the rarest piece of meat, and his day couldn't get any better than this.

"Do you know who she is?" He asked.

"No,"

"This is Lady Greyjoy," He leaned in close, while examining her face, "The Master of Ships to Queen Sansa Stark,"

The shaggy haired brunette started to laugh. At first it started with a few chuckles, then it grew into a maliciously excited one. As if he had just stumbled upon a treasure full of gold.

"I'm very glad we could come to an agreement, Lord Manderly,"

Sweat dripped down the Prince's face as he awoke in his chamber in Karhold the next day. His heart pounded in his head, fingertips and toes, as he sat up breathing heavily. Normally it took a minute for his mind to catch up with the rest of his body. But this morning, it was on high alert. Bouncing every single frame of what he just saw around his mind like a ball to a wall.

Ser Malson, dead. Ser Petyr, dead. The rest of the knights, dead. Lady Greyjoy, captured.

He wondered if it was something he could rely on. The tingling at the very tip of his fingers suggested maybe he was still asleep. A dream inside a dream. Just before he shut his eyes last night, he struggled to fight off his anxiety about his meeting with Lady Karstark. Maybe his vision came from the twisted root of his morbidly vivid imagination.

Rickon imagined Lady Greyjoy had yet to arrive in White Harbor and since she insisted on sailing, they would need to travel to Widow's Watch before setting sail. Making the journey at least two days longer than the trip to Karhold. He'd never had a vision in a dream, especially not one of something he was sure hadn't happened yet. But the more he thought about it, the less he doubted the reality.