Disclaimer: I own nothing but my original characters and works; all other characters and worlds belong to their respective owners. I'm just playing with them.
Betad by Mike God of Lore, Priapus, Marethyu, Beans
The Unbound
Chapter 01: The Journey North
– Orys Baratheon –
As the carriage makes its way further north, I watch out of the window with a mildly interested expression. I should be riding, not sitting in the back of a carriage like my little sister, but my condition made my father put his foot down.
It's just a headache, nothing more. I'm a talented enough rider that it wouldn't serve as a distraction, but for once, my father couldn't be swayed. Naturally, this means I have to deal with Joffrey's jokes aimed at me as he rides with the knights. Still, beyond aggravating an already irritating headache, Joffrey is, as always, irrelevant.
I don't mind a chance to rest, but there's only so much I can see through the narrow window of the carriage, and this is my first time coming to Winterfell. I wish it had been on better terms or that we'd left Joffrey back in the capital.
Glancing to the side, I see the frown on Mother's face as she looks out of the other window. The North is not a pleasant place, and the ride is becoming noticeably less smooth now that we are officially in it. The road is far less travelled and far more bumpy, and the area we are passing is noticeably less developed. I'd call the North the poorest of the Seven Kingdoms if the Iron Islands didn't exist.
My mother hasn't hidden her displeasure at all of us coming so far north, nor at the reason the entire family is on this month-long trip to Winterfell. Eddard Stark is supposedly a very honourable man, and my father has nothing but praise for him, but to make someone so far from King's Landing the new Hand?
I don't doubt his honour, but there's a sizeable difference between ruling the North and dealing with the position as Hand of the King. Especially given my father's disdain for ruling. Jon Arryn practically kept the Kingdom running. Can this Stark really handle such a responsibility?
That said, my father was never going to go for my mother's desire to put Uncle Jaime in the position. Married or not, my father has his issues with his Lannister in-laws and rarely tries to hide them. That goes double for the Kingslayer himself.
Still, bringing the entire family to Winterfell, leaving King's Landing in the hands of the Small Council for at least two months… when a letter would probably have brought Stark down to us? I can understand my mother's displeasure even if I'm happy for the chance to see the North for myself.
A fast rider could make the trip in a couple of weeks, but an entire royal camp? We've already been travelling for over a full month, and we're not even there yet. It's no wonder my mother is so displeased.
In truth, I'd not been back in King's Landing long myself before Lord Arryn passed away. My fostering at Casterly Rock had kept me away, but it didn't take me long after returning home to see the issues plaguing my future kingdom.
Of course, it turned out my entire fostering happened because my grandfather, Tywin Lannister, had offered a lot of gold for me to be sent to Casterly Rock. The original plan was for me to be sent to the Arryn's in the Vale like my father originally wanted since that's where he was fostered, but gold speaks.
Giving Myrcella a smile which she returns, I go back to watching the cold, nearly frozen countryside pass by. I haven't spoken to her enough; we've written a lot and seen each other on occasion, but my time away from King's Landing has put some distance between us, and I want to fix that. Tommen as well.
…I'm fine with keeping my distance from Joffrey. I suspect I'll punch him if I don't. I think he was trying hard to forget that he isn't the crown prince, and having me return and shatter his delusions of being King hasn't sat well with him.
Going back to watching the countryside pass by, I wince painfully as my head throbs. I can't stop my physical reaction as I hear something in the back of my mind, and my vision blurs. The snowy forests change and warp, replaced with a brutal rocky hellscape with rivers of lava and towering spires of black metal. As I hear someone calling my name, I blink the visions away.
Fine, maybe it's not just a headache.
"Orys?!" Mother says sharply. "Your headache again? It's getting worse, isn't it?"
Despite her stern look, I can see the worry in her eyes. I don't know what is happening, but it began during this trip.
"I'm fine, I will be fine," I say, more defensively than I mean to. A prince can't appear so weak. The look she gives me tells me that she doesn't agree with my words.
"This damned trip. If Robert had just sent a letter to summon Stark, as I told him to, Pycelle would be able to see to these headaches. Maybe it's the cold?" Mother asks, looking over me. She shuffles over to a closer seat, sitting directly opposite me. "You've never been this far north, have you?"
"No. Whenever I travelled with Grandfather, it was either to King's Landing or, more rarely, to the Reach," I explain, watching her wipe some of the sweat away from my forehead that I hadn't realised was there. "The furthest north I've been was to Riverrun with you and Father."
"This entire thing has been a mess from start to finish. You've never had headaches like this before?" Mother asks, and I quickly assure her that I haven't. Mother always panics whenever I'm even slightly ill. Apparently, I had a near-deadly fever shortly after I was born, and she's never gotten over nearly losing me so young. "We're almost there; I just hope the Starks' Maester knows what he is doing. I doubt we'll be that lucky."
The last sentence is muttered under her breath, her disdain for the North clear.
"I'll be fine, really. I'm not so weak that a headache is going to take me out," I promise, running a hand through my hair. Like my father, I have shoulder-length brown hair that I'm rather proud of, to be honest. No beard yet, but it'll grow! I'm only seventeen. I have time to grow a magnificent, regal beard.
Sure, the fact that I've not even had a whisker of hair on my chin yet is strange, but it runs in my blood.
"Get some rest. We should arrive in Winterfell today, and while I wouldn't call it civilisation, it's a step above these uneven roads," Mother orders, taking a moment to stroke my hair as she examines me.
Myrcella gives me a worried smile, taking one of my hands in her own. Taking my mother's advice, I rest my head against the wall of the carriage and try to push past the headache to get some sleep.
I don't know how much later it is when I wake to Myrcella's urging, nudging me awake. At some point, my head ended up in her lap, but at least I got some rest. If it can be called that, my dreams were anything but peaceful.
"We're here, Orys," Myrcella whispers, watching me rise as I blink away images of impossible landscapes.
"Thanks, Myrcella," I say, giving her a smile even as Mother fusses over me, fixing my hair so I look like less of a mess. At least I didn't drool on Myrcella's dress. Myrcella just smiles back, giggling as our mother fixes my hair like I'm a child.
Looking out of the window, I get my first look at Winterfell. It's an impressive sight as we are let into the walls. I see Father get off his horse (with considerable assistance, given his weight) as the gathered crowds bow to him. A single hooded figure doesn't bow, staring right at me before I blink, and they're gone.
The carriage door opens, with Mother leaving the carriage, and I quickly follow behind in time to see my father embrace Lord Stark, looking happier than I've seen him in a while.
"Your grace-" a red-haired woman, who I assume is Catelyn Stark, starts, but father cuts him off.
"None of that, Cat. Where's your maester?" Father demands, making Eddard Stark blink with a frown. "My eldest has been plagued with headaches for the past week, sweating and thrashing around in his sleep. It's probably this bloody cold. I don't know how you lot handle it. Orys, get over here."
I hear Joffrey snigger something in the background, looking as smug as always, but I move to my father's side with my mother following behind.
"Father, please. You're all making far too much out of nothing," I say with a sigh, embarrassed that this is my introduction to House Stark. First impressions are dangerous things, and I don't want my future wardens of the North to remember me as weak and sickly.
"I'll decide that, lad. Gods know I've tried to get the maesters to fuck off and let me drink in peace every time I've been ill," Father laughs, an arm around my shoulder before he proceeds to ruffle my hair (despite me standing almost as tall as him), undoing my mother's work to fix it.
"Luwin will look after him; don't worry, your Grace," Lord Stark says, giving me a small bow. I give him a respectful nod back despite my annoyance at being babied. Father goes on to greet the other Starks, and I have to hold in a reaction as my head cries out in pain. The crowd of people before me change, their skin growing red or grey, horns growing from their heads, but once again, I blink it away.
'It won't go away. The more you ignore your powers, the worse things will get.'
The voice is melodic and soft, and it is whispered right into my ear. I can't stop myself from looking over my shoulder, but naturally, nobody is there. I disguise my action, giving Myrcella a smile as she trails behind Mother.
Lady Catelyn gives me a concerned look, seeing my reaction, but I try to give her a reassuring smile as she introduces their maester, pulling me away from the procession.
What follows is something I'm far too used to: the constant examinations and questions from a maester. Mother hates any of us being sick. When she heard I'd caught a flu during my time in Casterly Rock, she made Grand Maester Pycelle ride out with what felt like an army of maesters to look after me.
Luwin knows his stuff; even my mother can't deny that as she lingers around us during the testing. He does admit that he can't identify the source, though he plans to do some reading, but he gives me a tincture that lessens the throbbing. His recommendation is bedrest, but I'm not missing the feast tonight. My mother practically demands that I stay in bed, but I manage to convince her to let me go to the feast in exchange for me resting for the entire day before it.
I know Luwin knows his stuff, but I don't think he has a cure for this. I doubt sleep will help either, not with how my dreams are getting worse with every night.
She finally leaves me, if only because I convince her that I won't be able to get any rest with her fussing over me, but as the door closes, my eyes aren't on it.
"How are you doing this?" I ask, staring at the hooded figure I saw earlier. Her face is cloaked, hidden from my sight as she lurks in the dark corner of the room, but upon her neck are strange markings, which are glowing blue.
She was there the entire time, and neither my mother nor Luwin noticed. Her outfit is strange to me, especially for the North. Her top is made of what seems to be high-quality blue silk, with a hood attached and her midriff and arms exposed, revealing more of those strange blue markings. Her lower half is clad in a matching blue and golden skirt that goes down to her feet. I can see some long blonde hair coming out of the hood, but her face is entirely clouded in shadows.
Witchcraft? Somehow, I know that isn't the case. Since these headaches started, I've felt something… multiple somethings reaching out to me, whispers and temptations paired with horrific visions. This is no black magic, of that I am certain.
"Who are you?" I ask, irritated at the lack of an answer.
"Someone whose name was stricken from time itself."
Well, that's helpful. It's the same voice as earlier, and she sounds amused.
"I have many titles if you'd prefer to use one of them. The Prince of Paths, the Last Tomorrow, or the Fate-Changer."
"Prince?" I ask, my eyes lowering to the shapely and decidedly feminine curves. That gets a laugh from her, the sound dancing through the air.
"A title, nothing more."
"...are you one of the Old Gods of the North?" I ask hesitantly. Somehow, I know that despite her human appearance, she is more. These headaches started after we arrived in the North, and it's my best guess.
"Close, Prince Orys, but not quite."
"What do you want from me? Why the visions? Why me?" I ask, my temper short despite the power of the being before me. And why this bloody headache? "You feel foreign, not to the North, but to everything. You feel like you shouldn't exist."
I don't know what prompts me to say that, but again, she just laughs.
"An interesting statement from you, of all people. Not an inaccurate one."
"And what is that supposed to mean?" I ask, and in a brief moment, my vision changes. I'm not bedridden in Winterfell but back in King's Landing. I watch as a young woman desperately clings to an unresponsive baby, warding off maesters who are trying to reason with her.
It isn't until another figure steps in, restraining her, that I realise who I am looking at. I really do look a lot like my father, as the younger, fitter man tries to comfort a sobbing Cersei as the maesters take away… me.
The hooded figure watches it from the shadows, and with a gesture of her hand, she plucks at golden strings and the scene changes. My parents sobbing in relief as I fight through the fever that should have claimed me.
This didn't start when I arrived in the North; it began when I arrived in this world. When she changed fate so that I would live.
"I- that doesn't answer my question, the one you ignored. What do you want from me?" I finally ask, trying to process what I saw.
"I thought I had more time," she replies after a moment, with a sigh. "I knew that making you one of my Unbound would draw attention, but I was sure I could hide you for longer."
"Unbound?" I ask.
"Unbound by fate. Someone who decides their own destiny, able to change what is written, what should be. You should have died, but I decided that it was not to be," she explains. "From that day, you were Unbound, and every tiny action you've taken has sent waves through this world's fate. Every step you take sends earthquakes through destiny itself. It was only a matter of time until others noticed those tremors."
"So why do it? What's a single mortal life to someone of your power?" I ask, well aware that she's still not answered my question. "What is causing these… visions?"
"You are. My kin might be reaching out to you, but uncontrolled as they are, your powers are reaching back into their planes," she answers. "I didn't give you these powers, nor would I dare provoke the beings who did by naming them. Even I must dance to the tune of some. Even still, I can help you control them."
Moving forward, she grasps my wrist, and I gasp. My headache vanishes, replaced by a rush of knowledge before she steps back.
"You need to make a pact. It will stop your power from reaching out into the planes of anyone who reaches for you. I wish I had more time, but you're right. I don't belong here, and the very world is rejecting my presence," she explains, her form flickering. I can tell I only have time for a single question as she becomes translucent. "Your power needs to be used; if you ignore it, it will act without your will. It won't just be visions; you are a doorway, and without control, you'll open this world to something worse than just my kin. They followed me, but soon others will follow them."
There are a million things I want to know, but there's just no time. As the shroud covering her face starts to fade, exposing her mouth enough for me to see the sad smile on her lips, I know what I want to ask.
"Who am I to you?"
She hesitates, seemingly willing whatever is affecting her away just long enough to answer.
"My last chance."
And then she's gone, and the room feels so empty without her. I don't have long to think about it, my eyes closing against my will. As I fall back, I'm asleep before my head even hits the pillow.
Again, my sleep is not restful.
I can feel them, beings of immense power calling out to me from planes that should have never touched my world. They're calling for me, and the Fate-Changer thinks I need to reach out to one of them. A pact will stabilise my powers.
Hesitantly, I try. There's over a dozen of them, each seemingly muscling the others out of the way to get my attention.
The first one I touch causes my vision to change to a realm made of knowledge itself, infinite books holding all the secrets of the world. A cloud of malformed eyes, tentacles and other misshapen limbs calls to me with a surprisingly soft, tempting voice. He tells me of the power of knowledge, to know more than every maester in history could even dream. With this knowledge, I could bring my kingdom into a golden age, elevating the lands under my rule. Oddly enough, his inhuman appearance doesn't unsettle me; I think I prefer it. It makes it easy to remember just what I am dealing with.
Before he can continue, I feel the others push him away, and the vision of his plane fades.
Another muscles in, and the vision is far darker. This one promises me power, the kind where I could crush even Uncle Jamie with ease. He shows me what could be, using my might to dominate the world, first bringing my Kingdom into line and then the rest of my world and beyond. All those who scheme against me, brought down in chains as I lounge on a throne, my rule eternal with my enemies dead or enslaved.
Again, he's pulled away as these powerful beings fight for my attention.
The next is a feminine voice, sweet and seductive. She tells me of the power of secrets and warns of the countless webs of betrayal and deception being weaved around me and my family. With her gift, a single whispered secret could destroy their scheming.
The one who follows her promises something very different: revelry. Hedonism on a scale unimagined, and my vision changes to a bed big enough to fit an army with an endless supply of supple, beautiful nude lovers beckoning me to join them. I recognise many of the figures on the bed, my own mother and Myrcella in the centre of the pile of debauchery, Lady Stark and her two daughters amongst the other figures I recognise. He offers the power to make such hedonism a reality, descending the seven kingdoms into such an orgy of debauchery that nobody will have time to scheme or fight with other matters on their mind.
The others fight, but I sense one that isn't trying to muscle in. He stays in the back, watching with patience. Curious, I extend my mind toward him, and my vision once again changes to endless forests and fields filled with wildlife beyond imagining. No, not wildlife. Prey, ready to be hunted.
He cares little for the games of my world; politics are irrelevant to him. He towers over his plane, a humanoid figure with the head of a stag, watching as his followers hunt eternally. He doesn't promise the world, enslaved or otherwise; he doesn't offer me all the knowledge or secrets of the world.
He just promises a hunt.
Maybe it is the fact that he resembles my house crest, and for some reason, I can sense that he did not change to impress or influence me, but something about him and his plane calls to me.
I reach out to him and feel him reach back. The others would have leapt at the chance to get a foothold in this world, but I feel him judging me first. Am I worthy of a pact with him? I sense him searching through my memories, years passing by in seconds, only slowing whenever I am hunting with either my father or grandfather, and I can sense he finds me somewhat lacking before he makes his decision, and the pact is sealed.
The others back away, but I know it isn't forever. They have their sights set upon me now and aren't so easily deterred.
'Hunt well, Stag Prince. Time will tell if you are the Hunter or the Prey. Hircine, Lord of the Hunt, shall be watching.'
Sitting up with a start, I breathe in, and for a moment, I feel myself awed by how alive the world feels. My headache is gone, and the world is brighter than ever. I can smell the food being prepared for the feast, hear the whispers of a pair of maids down the hall as if they were speaking in front of me, and everything looks so sharp.
And this is my pact at the weakest level. Unlike the others who offered me far more power from the start, Hircine demands I earn his favour. There's only one way to please the Lord of the Hunt.
Leaving the room, I enjoy the way my head is mercifully free of the pain for the first time in a week as I start to move.
"Ah, the sleeping prince rises."
I heard him coming, and more than that, I smelt him coming, thanks to his particular scent (expensive wine and sex), but I don't show it as I turn. Leaning against the wall, Uncle Tyrion stares up at me with a lazy smile.
"I told them I was fine, and look, I survived… but you know what mother is like," I say with a shrug.
"Don't I just. Still, I'm glad to see you on your feet, just in time for a feast with our generous hosts," Tyrion agrees with a sardonic smile on his face. Still, there's something in the way that he's looking at me that puts me on edge. Uncle Tyrion is very smart.
"Do you know where my mother is? I don't want her coming to check on me and finding me missing," I say, getting a laugh from him.
"Seventeen and still hiding behind her skirt? Still, after getting you back from Father's clutches, I'm not surprised she's so eager to keep you close," Tyrion drawls. "She was with Lady Stark in the courtyard, last I heard. I decided that discretion was the better part of valour and avoided her attention. Jamie was trying to get her to relax and not send for Pycelle."
"Then I had best show her that I have indeed survived my brush with a most deadly headache," I joke, giving him a wave and heading out. He watches me go silently, and I can feel his eyes on my back.
A gift from Hircine, no doubt. I can feel when anyone is watching me, feeling their gaze prickling upon my skin.
Naturally, Mother is not thrilled to see me up and walking around, but with some convincing, I do manage to assure her that I'm fine and that Luwin's tincture and some bedrest were all I needed.
Or, at the very least, I convince her that I won't drop dead during the feast and that some food could do me well. I'm pretty sure the entirety of House Stark is going to see me banished to bed mid-feast.
Thanking Lady Stark for her maesters good work, I mingle for a time (getting a slap on my back from my dad, who claims that no sickness could keep his son from a feast), and it turns out I've missed something while I slept.
Apparently, there are talks of betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa. I do briefly meet Sansa, and she seems like a nice, if maybe a little too proper, girl. I hope for her sake it doesn't go through because I think her crush on Joffrey wouldn't survive a single week with him.
"Why doesn't she marry Orys instead?" Arya Stark says, making me turn to where she's talking to her sister and eldest brother. Robb notices that I heard Arya's words, despite the distance, giving me a nod. "She's the eldest daughter, and Orys is the eldest son. Besides, Joffrey is a complete-"
Robb silences his sister, glancing my way, but I just snort and nod. He looks relieved, but I do notice the slight smirk on his lips. I could think of a dozen words to finish that sentence.
The reason why Father wanted to use Joffrey to tie the Starks to us is laughably simple. I'm already engaged. Not that I've ever had a chance to meet my betrothed, only going to Highgarden once before I was engaged. That's royalty for you.
It was actually the Small Council who convinced my father to bind the Tyrells to our family to lessen the realm's reliance on Lannister gold, as the Tyrells are also a very wealthy family. It's a good match, very logical, and I've heard that Margaery is a true beauty. Of course, the Tyrells also supported the Targaryens during my father's rebellion, and that's something he's never forgiven them for, so he's not thrilled. I guess his desire to weaken Grandfather's hold on the kingdom's finances is stronger than his grudge.
Not that I learnt of any of this until after it was arranged, having been happy and busy in Casterly Rock. Grandfather's tutoring gave me little time for gossip.
The feast is a rambunctious affair, far more so than the 'dignified' feasts of the south. Turning down some ale as I sit with Robb Stark, I spot mother giving me an approving smile. She hates it when father drinks and made me promise not to follow in his drunken, often unsteady, footsteps. Somewhat hypocritically, given the wine I see before her. Still, another thing that my grandfather taught me was temperance. Moderation is an important skill, and as much as I love my father… it's not one he practices.
Talking with Robb, our conversation is interrupted by Arya deciding to throw food at her sister, who seems far less amused by Arya's playfulness, and Robb has to depart to send Arya off to bed.
Not that I lack for conversational partners, doing my best to make up for a questionable first impression. These people will be my subjects one day, and the North has always been so very remote from the crownlands.
As I expected, it's not long before Mother decides that I've socialised enough and still require more bed rest. It's more than a little embarrassing to get escorted out of the party by my mother, in full view of the Northmen, but I suspect she realises that if she sent me out alone, I would find something else to do for the night.
Still, I almost don't mind the early night. I know my father, and there's one thing that I can guarantee he will be doing when he wakes up tomorrow. He's not had a chance to go on a hunt during our trip, and he won't resist an opportunity to see what the forests of the North have for him.
Playing the dutiful son now will make joining the hunt all the easier.
As I reluctantly close my eyes and drift off, I dream of the Hunting Grounds. In my dreams, I run through the endless forests as a stag, avoiding the hunters, while Hircine warns me that the others are already playing their games. They cannot interact with my world directly, but they are far from powerless.
— Bonus Scene — Melisandre
As she awoke, she felt the fire inside of her burn as she jolted upright.
She'd found him, Azor Ahai reborn.
The omens were unmistakable, and her vision was never clearer. The Stag Prince would claim Lightbringer soon… no, it wasn't Lightbringer anymore. He would claim Dawnbreaker, a blade with the sun itself in the hilt and the power to drive back the darkness.
Still, this would require caution. In hindsight, it was unsurprising that a crown prince would be the Prince that was Promised. Targaryen blood ran through his veins, as Aegon the Conqueror claimed it would. Getting close to him would not be easy; the followers of the Seven saw her practices as heretical at best.
She had much work to do.