personal6

Chapter 6Notes:It's Targin time.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter TextFaircastle - 43 AC

Despite any predispositions that Flement might have had about the Targaryen Prince, the man knew how to make an entrance.

The heir apparent of the Iron Throne before the crowning of King Maegor was a tall man, standing just over six feet. He had long gold-silver hair that flowed down past his shoulders, and a lithe, muscular frame beneath his ornate robes. A fine dragon-headed sword rested in a sheath at Aegon's waist, and his arms were decorated in a series of golden bands. He was a kingly figure and had the followers to match.

Flement knew that the majority of Aegon's supporters were gathering their men, as he and his father had been doing for the past few weeks. House Farman had been in communication with Aegon's other supporters in the Westerlands and was to muster at the Golden Tooth in preparation. The Leffords, Tarbecks, Westerlings, and Lord Lannister's bastard all supported the young prince and would march to Pinkmaiden to assemble with the Riverlands forces.

Following Aegon into Faircastle's great hall were the sons of all these lords, the next generation of Westerlander and Riverlander nobility. Flement's good friend, Ser Jason Westerling, was among their number, alongside his three younger brothers. The Blue Scorpion, now the head of House Lorch after Maegor's brutality, stood at Aegon's shoulder, his freshly married Corbray wife clutching his arm. Even the old matriarch Argella Connington was among his company, presumably having journeyed all the way from Griffin's Roost in the Stormlands.

But the crown jewel of Aegon's retinue was Princess Rhaena Targaryen.

She was all her brother was and more. Flowing gold-silver hair, violet eyes, sculpted features. Tall, taller than her brother by an inch or two, and elegant beyond anyone he'd ever seen. Her chin was raised proudly into the air, and the princess gazed imperiously over the assorted lords and knights of the West. Flement was man enough to admit he was very attracted to her. Privately. In his head.

Alas, his attention was quickly swept from Princess Rhaena as his father spoke again, greeting Prince Aegon and welcoming him to Fair Isle. The prince was kind and courteous and quickly had the court charmed. He would find many more allies tonight.

Flement took a moment to look to his side, scanning his assorted niece and nephews. The grisly business between Franklyn and Androw had yet to see its conclusion, and the two had been sniping and bickering for moons. Flement wasn't sure what had caused the normally even-tempered Franklyn to lash out, but he would find the root of it. The next generation wasn't going to fall apart with their darling uncle guiding them.

Elissa, despite normally being a problem and a half during these affairs, seemed generally peaceful for the first time Flement could remember. His only niece was consistently fiery and chaotic and tended to find herself absent from feasts just as her father was getting drunk. Marq would often awake the following morn to learn that his dear sister had stolen yet another ship, and ventured off on one adventure or another. Personally, Flement loved her for it, but it was a concern nonetheless. She wouldn't fare well long-term in the Seven Kingdoms with those mannerisms, and a marriage match would be near impossible.

And yet the girl was surprisingly quiet.

Following her gaze, Flement glanced out onto the dance floor, where many of the younger folks at the feast were out and about. Franklyn had joined them not too long ago and was having a swell time alongside some others his age. At first, Flement thought she might have been observing her brother, but when he focused he saw that his niece's focus was on a different target. She was eyeing the crown prince.

The man was dancing with his wife, the lovely Rhaena, moving about the dance floor with a practiced motion. Flement allowed himself a rueful smile. His niece was a teenage girl, after all. He honestly should have expected it.

Well, more power to her. Farmans were a seriously ambitious lot.

As the night went on, Flement eventually approached him, greeting the prince as a peer and discussing the war to come. Despite being Valyrian and married to his sister, Prince Aegon seemed a generally affable man. Flement's apprehensions eventually faded, and by the feast's close, he too felt willing to follow this man into battle and see him onto the Iron Throne.

He was still jealous of him, though.

"Not now, not now!"

I was not even remotely prepared for this.

War was something I had been thinking about for a while, but it wasn't something I was ready for at the moment. I was only eleven namedays old, and despite my comparatively large size for someone my age I was in no way remotely ready to fight in a proper battle. Soldiers, fully grown men of plate and mail that they were, would demolish me in open combat, and that wasn't even accounting for the fact that this was decidedly not the war I wanted to be involved in.

Prince Aegon was strong and kind, charismatic, and a generally swell guy. But he was called " Aegon the Uncrowned " for a reason. The first battle of the prince's war would be a massacre, and not in his favor. Prince Aegon was going to die, and those who followed him would die with him.

Here's the thing: my family was following him.

House Farman had joined dozens of houses across the realm when they swore to Prince Aegon's cause. Great and powerful names followed behind the man's banner, including House Lefford, House Corbray, House Connington, and House Piper. Major houses.

They all were going to die.

Maegor the Cruel rode Balerion, the Black Dread. He was merciless, vicious, and sadistic. And he was insecure in his rule. He would crush Prince Aegon above the God's Eye, throwing him off the dragon Quicksilver and into the lake below. He would then wheel Balerion over Aegon's shocked army below, and grill the world's most brutal barbecue.

If I remembered correctly, and I did, my grandfather, uncle, and brother would all be in that battle. My grandfather and Uncle Flement would die in Balerion's flames, and Franklyn would return, presumably traumatized. I loved my uncle, my grandfather, and my brother. My grandfather was gruff, my uncle was wild, and my brother was a teenage asshole. But I loved them.

I couldn't let them die.

Rushing back to my room, I swept anything I might need into a large rucksack I'd been keeping for this exact situation. Say what you will about me when it comes to thinking ahead, but Westeros was chaotic enough I knew that making a quick exit was probably somewhere in my future. Hence the rucksack.

Dried fruit, fish, and hard tack went into it first, followed by rope, flint, and a spyglass I'd recently gotten made. I tossed a couple of blankets in, too, and a pouch full of Golden Dragons, Silver Stags, and Copper Pennies assembled over years and years of preparation. I had no idea what I was going to need to buy out on the road.

My leather gambeson went under my tunic, hidden away from the casual observer. Toughened boots and gloves went on as well, and a solid belt wrapped around my waist. On it, the castle-forged mace rested in a loop, easily accessed. I was ready.

I wouldn't have dealt with this entire procedure if I was just a bit older, if I had been given just a little longer to prepare. But I was eleven. It may have been Westeros, but I was still a prepubescent boy who didn't even come up to my father's shoulder. If I asked to come with them, I'd be laughed at, dismissed, and then watched. My father would be especially concerned, and he'd likely not let me out of his sight.

Nope, couldn't have that.

The soldiers, knights, and lords of House Farman marched out of Faircastle the following day, where they began a procession across all of Fair Isle to retrieve our various vassals and landed knights. The island was large, about the size of Vancouver Island back on Earth. There were dozens of hamlets and villages that dotted the landscape, as well as a half dozen assorted towers and keeps that kept them company. My family drew on soldiers from all over the isle, and thus would take some time to gather them.

If I wanted to make it to Harrenhal in time to save my family, beating them to the mainland was my only option.

So I packed, and prepared, saying subtle goodbyes to my sister and father before I left. I couldn't outright say I was leaving, but I spent some time with them, simply enjoying their presence. I sat with my father as he began his duties as acting lord, and I fished with my sister off one of Fairport's docks.

But as night fell and the castle slumbered, I made my move.

I stole away past some dozing guards and fled down the hills into the night. Quickly, tumbled and rolled my way for a good stretch, then caught myself before I could build up too much speed. Gripping tightly to the boulder that had kept my roll from becoming one of the most embarrassing deaths I could conceive of, I paused.

My left hand still burned from all those months ago when that sonofabitch Franklyn had bashed it in, and I gritted my teeth to get through the pain. Eleven-year-old or not, I still had way more experience with pain than any other kid my age. Getting burned by frying oil all across your neck and chest will do that to you. My hand was healing, and I just had to get through it. Stupid Franklyn.

For a second or two, I contemplated turning around. Sue me, I wasn't made of stone. Despite all my experience, I was physically a kid. I could suffer through all the training and pain I wanted, there was no beating the natural progression of time, or lack thereof. Maybe someone better suited should handle all the adult stuff until I was ready.

No. That was old me talking. That was the me who had wasted his life at a minimum wage job, with no aspirations or goals or anything. That hadn't been me for a good decade, and I wasn't going to let it become me again.

I moved again, slowly prancing down the remaining slope. Arriving at Fairport, I moved through back streets and in between storefronts, keeping out of the lantern light. As beloved by the people here as I was for my inventions, they weren't going to betray my father for me. Not when he was acting lord of Fair Isle.

Finally reaching the docks, I spent a good minute looking around the assorted ships. I knew which merchants took which routes, so it didn't take me too long to figure out which one was headed to Lannisport. A good-sized galley was eventually my pick, and it was child's play to climb up the side and head down to the hold.

Hiding amidst collections of fish, stone, and silks, I allowed myself a gleeful smile.

I had always wanted to see Casterly Rock.

Notes:We're going on a road trip.

I'll admit, I wasn't sure about this little part in the story, but I think long-term it will pay off. I want to have our little SI grow as a character, unlike some stories where they remain unchanged. There isn't anything particularly wrong with those kinds of stories, but it's not what I'm interested in.

I hope you didn't find the shift between third-person and first-person POV to be jarring, but I wanted to make the SI's POV a bit more unique than the rest of the cast's, so that's how I did it. This is going to be a pretty regular thing.