From Westeros to Essos : The Crusader King

Chapter 24 – Reunion (2)

Bronn had always been a pragmatic man. He knew that life was not fair, and that the only way to survive was to look out for himself. He had no loyalty to anyone, except for those who paid him well. And he had no qualms about killing anyone, as long as it was not personal.

Coins, that's the only reason he joined a Lannister, and yet as the days pass by and the dead piled up, Bronn found himself enjoying the company of the young Andar and Tyrek Lannister, a man who was definitely in need of a woman. And not only that… in his years as a sellsword, Bronn had seen all kinds of people from happy fools to rich and arrogant magisters. But, never would have he thought that h would end up as a close acquaintance with a future lord from Westeros.

Andar Royce was Bronn could only describe as a pleasant noble to be around. While the boy was dreaming of becoming the greatest knight alive, he didn't act like those Bronn saw in his life. Then again, from what he managed to learn from a drunk Andar, both he and his nephew had been raised for years by Tyrek, something that Bronn had to admit, impressed him.

As for Konrad Arryn, he didn't know much other than how he looks and how he was a moon or so ago. By all means, it made him wonder just who would want a boy, not even ten name days old dead, then again, working in Essos allowed him to see things not many would ever dream.

Thinking about the young lord, made him smile as he saw himself with a lordship of his own, a castle to call home, a wife with big tits, and maybe even some children to carry on his name.

Just as he was about to step out of the forest, Bronn felt something cold and sharp press against the back of his neck.

"Who are you?" A deep voice asked behind him. "What are you doing here?"

Cursing his luck, Bronn tried to turn his head, but the sword pressed harder against his skin.

"Easy now," he said in a calm tone. "I'm just a friend."

"A friend?" The voice said skeptically. "I don't think so. You look like a sellsword to me."

Bronn cursed inwardly his bad luck and with no clear way of getting out of here unharmed, he decided to play nice.

"Aye, I am a sellsword," he admitted. "But as I said, I'm a friend. Well, not of your lord, but of his uncle…"

"His uncle you say?" The voice repeated. "You mean Royce?"

"Yes," Bronn said quickly, nodding his head. "That's right."

He hoped that mentioning Andar would make the man lower his guard. He knew that Andar Royce was very protective of his nephew and mayhaps his nephew said that story to his people?

It took him a second to realize just how dumb he was. The boy was what, seven or eight name days old. How in the fucking fuck could he have people, when he had been kidnapped.

"Whelp!" Bronn spat. "Sure, you don't want to talk rather than killing each other?"

"That would be boring," the savage looking man answered very calmly.

"Fuck me then. At least it's a fair-weather," Bronn sneered, then let himself fall towards the ground before grabbing his sword and standing a few feet away from the savage holding onto his sword and while he'd rather had a shield against the brute, but with any length of blade Bronn was a man to fear. "I'm ready, ladies first?"

Bronn was a tall man, but slender compared with the savage muscled bulk, and judging by the way the savage acted, he was a warrior. Yet Bronn seemed remarkably composed as he took his stance and faced the savage who too prepared himself.

"Do you really want to fight?" Bronn asked the savage hoping that he would not fight the muscle brain in front of him.

 "Then God bless you, and might God give the truth victory," the savage said to Bronn's surprise, not expecting the man to be one of those fire fuckers. Yet it confused him when he saw the savage made the sign of the cross before rushing at Bronn, but halfway across the distance, right by a tree, his foot slipped in the mud, and suddenly Bronn took the lead. Rarely did he fought honorably, as more than once had that almost claimed his life and so, learning from his mistakes, he became a fiend. His energy was poured into just one thing, death, and he laid at the savage with massive, fast strokes that drove the big man back and back. The swords rang harsh. Bronn was spitting at the savage, cursing him, taunting him, and cutting again and again with the edge of the sword and never giving the man a chance to recover from a parry.

But to his surprise, the savage fought well. No other man could have sustained that opening, slaughterous assault. His boots slipped in the mud, and more than once he had to beat off Bronn's attacks which were aimed at his legs, but he always managed to recover his footing even if he was still driven backwards.

Every strike was aimed to kill, as fast as possible. Yet he could not break through that dogged guard, even though he did drive the savage clean back to the place where they met. And there, by the grace of the fucking Gods, the savage's luck changed. Call it a mistake or a divine intervention, but Bronn slipped, and though he recovered the falter was all the opening the bulky man needed as he lunged whip-fast. While Broon parried, the savage's sword slit through the leather armor to draw the fight's first blood from Bronn's waist.

Gritting his teeth, Bronn parried again, then again, this time stepping back before the hard, quick lunges that would have gored a man in two. Only when men and women roared their support at the savage, did Bronn realize that they were not alone in the forest, but before he could curse himself and Tyrek, the savage tried to throw his whole body on him, most likely to drag him down into the mud. Thanking all the luxurious whores and noble ladies he laid for their strange sex ideas, Bronn managed to roll down under the savage and gave a back-cut of his sword that slashed open the back of the savage. The wound, like all sword wounds, bled copiously so that the blood trickled down his broad back.

Not wanting to give the savage a moment of relief, Bronn attacked again, and once again the savage was on the defensive. Both men were panting, both were mud-spattered and bloody, and both too tired to spit any more insults at the other. Bronn slashed again at the savage, hoping to end the fight quickly. He aimed for the neck, hoping to sever the jugular and make the man bleed out. He put all his strength into the blow, confident that he had the upper hand.

But the savage was not done yet. He managed to parry the strike with a desperate move, blocking Bronn's sword with his own. The impact was so hard that both blades shattered, sending metal shards flying in all directions.

Before Bronn could react, the man threw the blade off, then tried again to drive him down on to the ground with the weight of his body. Both fell and for a second it looked as though the savage would trap him, but somehow Bronn scrambled away and climbed to his feet.

For some strange reason, or mayhaps it was exhaustion, Bronn waited for his adversary to rise. Both men were breathing hard and for a few seconds they watched each other, judging their chances, and then Bronn moved forward into the attack again. He swung his fists again and again, just as he had before, and again and again Owain parried the wild blows with his own, then just as he was about to hit the savage's head, Bronn found himself flying above the ground for a second.

He landed hard on his back, feeling the wind knocked out of him. A second later, Bronn looked up and saw the savage standing over him. By the gods, he tried to get up, but the savage kicked him in the ribs, making him groan in pain.

"Enough!" The savage shouted. "You fought well, sellsword, but you too injured to move."

Not answering the savage, Broon choose to look around, only to saw the dozen men and women, all armed with swords, axes, bows, and spears approaching them.

"Grab him!" The savage ordered. "Bring him to the ship!"

Two of the men stepped forward and grabbed Bronn by his arms, lifting him off the ground. Bronn struggled, but he was too weak and outnumbered to do shit. He felt a cold fear in his gut, making him wonder if this how he would die?

"Who are you?"

The savage smirked at him.

"Name's Gendel. Sworn sword of the future lord of the valley of Arryn."

"Fuck me…"

When he saw Gendel and the others returning with a badly beaten sellsword, Konrad feared the worst, especially when he saw Gendel's state.

Before he could say anything, he heard his sworn sword's voice.

"Bloody bugger was tougher than he looks."

"What happened?"

Letting out a pained sigh, the sellsword decided to introduce himself to the boy covering his whole body with cloths.

The sellsword looked at the boy with a mix of curiosity and wariness. The boy was all covered leaving no skin exposed, but then again, if what Andar said was true, then his nephew looked exotic could explain why he might want to his body.

 "Name's Bronn. I'm a friend of Ser Andar Royce and Ser Tyrek Lannister. Well, better said I work for them…"

"And why would I believe you? I mean no offense, ser, but… you were lurking around our ship."

Once again, Bronn winched in pain before decided to use what Tyrek told him to say if he finds Konrad.

"I take you are the young lord. Tyrek… said to tell you that he promised you to knight you under a weirwood tree, and he still wishes to do that one day."

Konrad took a step back, not knowing how to feel. He recognized the words that Bronn had said, the words that Tyrek had told him when he was just a four name days old boy, when he asked him if he could become a knight, before meeting his older self. He remembered how he had promised to knight him under a weirwood tree, the sacred tree of his mother's gods.

After a few long seconds, he looked at Bronn, who was still bleeding from his wounds. He felt a pang of guilt for what Gendel and the others had done to him, then again, they couldn't risk an assassin approaching him.

And so suddenly, Konrad chuckled to himself, finding the situation funny in a twisted way.

"I'm sorry, ser. I'm sorry for this… welcome. You must think I'm a madman."

He then raised his voice and shouted for some alcohol and cloth to clean Bronn's wounds.

"Someone bring me some wine and bandages! And get this man a seat! He's a friend of my uncles!"

He turned to Bronn again and smiled.

"I'm Konrad Arryn, the only Arryn in Essos, I hope. And I'm glad you found me."

Bronn hadn't returned and that was worrying. He and Tyrek had already prepared the men, praying to the old and new gods that Konrad was well, but… his fears only grew with each passing minute.

Looking at the ship, Andar didn't know how they would be able to get to it without being turned into a living dummy by the archers on board. But at the same time, neither he nor Tyrek saw a pirate or slaver flag hoisted, which made him wonder if the ship was indeed his nephew's, just like he letters suggested.

"What do we do, Tyrek?"

"We parley." Tyrek said and Andar looked back at him as if he was a madman. "Don't look at me like that, lad. I don't like it either, but I'd rather not risk, Konrad's life if we can avoid a fight. We have numbers, aye, but they'll shoot us down to half before we even put foot on the deck."

Taking one deep breath, Andar decided not to think about the worst just yet. "Who's going?"

"I will go with four of our men, while you get everyone ready just in case we need to attack. I might fell today, but don't lose hope, Andar. Konrad will need you."

Just as he said, Tyrek picked four of his best men, all loyal and brave, and told them to follow him. He took a white cloth and tied it to a pole, hoping that it would be enough to signal his peaceful intentions. Once that was done, he and his men got on a small boat and rowed towards the ship, while Andar watched them nervously from the shore.

As they approached the ship, Tyrek saw several archers aiming at them from the deck.

"Parley! We come in peace! We seek Konrad Arryn, the future lord of the Eyrie!"

There was a moment of silence, until a loud and deep voice responded.

"Tyrek Lannister?

"I'm Tyrek Lannister. My man… Bronn is there?"

"Aye, he alive. Come aboard."

After that, Tyrek and his group climbed onto the deck, holding their breaths as they saw dozens of armed men and women surrounding them. They looked like a mix of different cultures and races, some wearing leather and fur, others wearing steel, making him wonder who these people were.

As he scanned the deck for any sign of Konrad, Tyrek saw Bronn, standing next to a tall and muscular man with long black hair and beard.

"Bronn, thank the gods you're alive." Tyrek said as he approached him. "Where is Konrad? Is he here? Is he well?"

"Not even how are you doing, are you injured? You hurt me my friend. "Bronn said with a smile." He's here, Tyrek. He's well. He's been waiting for you."

He looked around, trying to spot his young lord among the crowd. "Where is he? Let me see him."

Bronn pointed to a wooden platform at the back of the ship. Tyrek followed his gaze and saw a small figure flanked by two savage looking men, but that didn't even stop him from rushing towards the boy, pushing past the men who tried to stop him. He didn't care about anything else. He only wanted to see Konrad, to hug him, to tell him how much he missed him.

When he reached the platform and climbed up the stairs, he found the young lord smiling at him, with tears threatening to fall on his cheeks.

"Konrad, Konrad, my boy." Tyrek whispered as he held him tight. "I'm so glad you're alive. I'm so glad I found you."

"Uncle Tyrek." Konrad said as he hugged him back. "I'm so happy to see you. Where's Andar?"

"With the others. I feared…"

"That I was a slave. Don't worry, uncle, all of these men and women are my people."

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