Chapter 21

"My lord hand," A dark skinned man with an extravagant green and scarlet cape greeted Brandon as he was about to leave to his chair in the Great Hall.

It was truly a splendid celebration. At first Brandon has contemplated hosting it as a masquerade party, but he didn't think that it would go alright with Robert who was currently groping yet another maid.

The ball was thrown with the same flair and magnificence as everything else in his castle. Magnificent silvery drapes adorned the wall and the roof was made entirely of glass to show the moon and the stars and moon. At day however, the roof was closed using a mechanism similar to the moon door in the Eyrie. Instead of the traditional long tables, small round elaborate tables filled the hall to allow an inkling of privacy, while the head table remained as it is.

Everything was silver- the beams, the walls and the window mullions. Chilling blue ice sculptures of different sigils, castles but mostly wolves on the silver tabletops and in the flambeau bowels. Musicians, actors, acrobats and jesters entertained the guests.

A cough interrupted Brandon's narcissist thoughts and forced his attention to the man in front of him.

"My name is Prince Jalabhar Xho, former prince of the Red Flower of the Vale in the Summer Isles," he said, introducing himself with a smile.

Brandon returned it and shook his hand, "How may I help you?"

The man looked slightly nervous and asked, "Perhaps we can talk in a more private place?"

Brandon frowned, slightly intrigued about what a foreigner and a Summer Islander from his looks, would want from him, "Of course."

They reached a slightly empty corner in the Ballroom which was somewhat quiet.

"You may be aware of the circumstances that led me to Westeros?" The man asked, taking the cup of wine offered.

"I'm afraid I'm not," Brandon took a sip from the champagne he was holding.

The Wolf's Hangover was one of the largest vineyards in Pentos. Brandon had to pay a pretty amount of money to be able to buy it, but it was totally worth it. While conjured wine pretty much tastes like piss, Brandon had to make use of magic to speed up fermentation, aging and riddling the champagne. You'd be amazed at how much nobles paid for it. Given that each bottle was gold plated and encrusted with Onyx gemstones, a bottle of it cost 200 golden dragons.

"I have again and again appealed to King Robert to help me retake my homeland but he was sadly convinced against it by the previous hand, Lord Arryn," He said.

Brandon frowned, reviewing his memories and books organized in his mind, "I'm afraid I don't follow. Aren't wars in the Summer Isles heavily ritualized and usually resemble a slightly large tournament?"

Jalabhar brightened at the prospect of someone willing to listen to him, and hopefully help him, "Indeed, my lord hand."

"You require skilled warriors to retake your homeland then?" Brandon asked.

Jalabhar once again nodded, twiddling his thumbs nervously.

"I'm afraid as the Hand of the King, I can't help you," Brandon said, as Jalabhar's face fell into disappointment, "But as Lord Stark, I may be able to assist you."

Jalabhar's face held a look of confusion so Brandon decided to elaborate, "I will send with you fifty of my best men, to help you take all the Summer Isles, not just your own island. In return however, I expect some concessions from you. This will be a partnership between the North and the Summer Islands, nor the crown."

By that point the man could've asked for his cock and he would gladly cut it for him, "Anything, my lord."

"It's nothing much," Brandon said, "Some favorable trade agreements between both of our provinces as well as some wood."

Jalabhar stiffened slightly, "Wood, my lord?"

Brandon smiled. The most skilled archers hailed from the Summer Isles', mainly due to their bows, which were the best in the world. Goldenheart. No one has been able to arm his army with goldenheart bows for more than five thousand years.

You see, a few thousand years ago, princes of the Summer Isles' found out that dragonlords would offer them handsome payments of gold for slaves. The Summer Islanders are a handsome people, tall, strong, graceful, and quick to learn, so they soon became a favored target for slavers from Valyria, Old Ghis, and the Basilisk Isles. A couple of decades later, a warrior-woman by the name of Xanda Qo, Princess of Sweet Lotus Vale, who had been herself enslaved for a time, set out for a series of wars that would go by the name of The Years of Shame in the future.

She armed her sailors with goldenheart bows that were capable of firing yard-long shafts of hardwood so forcefully that they would penetrate even steel plate armor, eventually conquering all the Isles' and holding them under her rule.

In the end, Slavery was strictly outlawed in the Summer Isles' and the export of Goldenheart wood was forbidden.

"I will provide the Summer Isles' for whatever military protection from any foes until you replenish your stores. In return, you'll provide me with 5,000 goldenheart-bows and a few trees to start planting in my trade colonies. Also, I would be extremely interested in some of the maps you possess. "

Jalabhar seemed torn, "Perhaps I could interest you in something else, my lord? We have bloodwood, ebony, mahogany, purpleheart, blue mahoe, burl, tigerwood, goldenheart, and pink ivory, among others. Maybe even new exotic animals to breed in the north?"

"It's this or the deal's off," Brandon said shrugging, "I forgot to mention that these men will be with you at all times, to help you hold the Isles from any attempt to take it once again from you."

Jalabhar remained stubborn before closing his eyes and sighing, "Very well, my lord."

Brandon clapped his shoulder cheerfully and said, "Cheer up; you'll be the first prince to maintain and rule the entire Isles since Xanda Qo's time."

The man seemed surprised, "You're aware of my people's history?"

Brandon nodded, "Books on the Summer Isles History are rare but they are there for anyone curious enough. I make a point of knowing everything."

The man chuckled and Brandon added, "The men will be ready and you could take them at any time you wish."

"I believe I would like to depart as soon as possible. As alluring and magnificent your tourney is, the prospect of retaking my home is even more enticing."

"Of course," Brandon agreed, leaving the man with his cup of wine

Brandon walked back to his chair and motioned to a servant to bring out the goodies.

The man came back with an ornate black and gold single-stemmed water pipe with a glass water jar at the bottom and some small amount of smoke drizzling out of the bowl, with another one following behind with a bowl of charcoal in it.

Given the fact that I ordered them to walk directly through the Great Hall in the eyes of everyone, we had everyone's attention.

The servant placed the hookah on the table and handed the hose to Brandon which he promptly took and began to inhale, exhaling out large amounts of smoke to the astonishment and gasps of the guests.

Brandon smirked. It wasn't that hard to produce… well almost every smoking product. The tobacco was already arriving in copious amounts and stored in the small factory built next to the distillery. The flavors were pretty easy to make as well. The only thing that had to be accelerated using magic was the steeping of the flavor. So instead of steeping mints in a cup of vodka for a month or two, the process usually took less than a week.

"What the fuck is that?" Robert asked.

"Water-pipe," Brandon said briefly.

Instead of going into long discussions of how it's made, Brandon passed the hose to Robert who cautiously took a breath and looked in wonder as the smoke made its way out of his mouth.

Brandon clapped to the rest of the servants, causing them to jump into action, with almost two or three hundred hookas passed around the tables, for some of the minor lords, multi-hosed ones. Soon enough, everyone was enjoying the feeling of smoke entering their lungs and exhaling it, even the queen managed to look regal as she smoked her hookah.

Brandon planned to gift the water-pipe for every lord in attendance and give them as much as tobacco they used for as long as they stayed here, that and a couple of addictive charms placed on it.

The moment they left Winterfell, they had to buy the tobacco molasses regularly.

At the same moment at brothels and taverns owned by Benjen, loyal agents and owners of the buildings were using hookahs in plain view, intriguing the customers and causing many to order one for them, although the ones available in these brothels were much much less fanciful and elegant.

"It's like eating a lemon from Dorne, without actually eating it!" Sansa said excitedly in her usual intelligent and expressively descriptions.

Soon enough, hookahs were passed around and different flavors introduced from Vanilla, mint to citrus, cinnamon and almonds. Given that he didn't have a chemical lab with chemists ready to derive flavor compounds from amino-acids, fatty acids and other nutrient pathways, he wouldn't be getting a tropical explosion flavor anytime soon without tasting like a shitty concoction.

It would've been funny to see an archaeologist thousands of years in the future marveling on the discovery of a fluorescent-lit lab with 300 different variations of strawberry flavors that was there before even a light bulb was invented. The amount of confusion that would've caused back in the Society of Historical Archaeology would've been hilarious. But alas, too much innovations and rapid developments would lead to a decay in nobility and the equality of all humans, something which I wasn't too keen on causing this fast. Brandon liked to let the human species evolve and go through eras naturally.

Also, a "You get a hookah, you get a hookah and YOU get a hookah. EVERYBODY GETS A HOOKAH" Oprah moment wasn't going to happen either. So Brandon just settled with informing them that these were gifts from the north without any bit of the fun he imagined having.

Not all heroes wear capes…

Back to the point, everyone was smoking their water pipes from the youngest to the eldest, causing the servants to open the windows and doors to allow some of the smoke to escape.

"I'm glad all of you liked the new waterpipes," Brandon said with a smile after a few minutes of smoking. Yeah that silly dragon comment wasn't coming out either. Bobby B was sitting here.

"We are hoping you like this one as well," Brandon said as servants started distributing and lighting blunts around.

In the end Bobby B regaled us for twenty six times in a row about the commoner in the Vale who buggered his goat and married her in the eyes of the Seven with a drunk Septon officiating the service. Several fights broke out but were diffused with even more joints passed out. Some even say that Tywin Lannister outright laughed last night, but none can confirm that fact.

Almost everywhere in the Seven Kingdoms and the western Essosi cities, people were marveling of the different types of dragon-breath as it would come to be called that could sober you up if you were drunk, refreshes you if you were weary, sleep soundly or awaken your brain when you're drowsy. The Essosi were marveling at the paradoxes while hallucinating from the marijuana they smoked. Septons smoked it during their prayers to strengthen their connection with the gods. Westerosi knights smoked it just for the sake of smoking it.

For the glory of the Starks!

The Melee, Quarter-Finals

"Ohhh, I think that guy's dead," Ramsay muttered.

Jon rolled his eyes, "Ramsay… his head was cut off."

"Yea," Ramsay agreeing, looking at the blood with interest, "Like I said, probably dead."

"Next match!" The herald announced, cutting of Jon, "Lord Jon Stark and Ser Gregor Clegane!"

Jon closed his eyes tiredly and got off the pavilion to suit up for the match.

"Good luck," Ramsay yelled cheerily.

Jon shot him a dirty look, "I don't need luck."

Jaime chuckled from the King's side, while the rest of the pavilion and lords quickly lost their horror-stricken faces with interested ones as a direwolf race commenced during the brief break.

Soon enough Jon was outside, looking comically small next to the mountain that rides, wearing his standard suit of black and grey armor with a longsword at his side.

Everyone was leaning on the edges of the pavilion, remarkably silent.

The silence stretched until a blast of a horn announced the beginning.

While everyone thought Jon was confident and maybe a bit foolish. Jon was slowly freaking out behind his visor. He could still see the rest of the crowd and the pavilion but it was getting all blurry and the voices and cheers sounded like they came from a faraway place.

The only thing Jon could clearly see was the Mountain that Rides standing in front of him in all his thirty stones of muscle. He was almost eight feet tall and arms the size of a small tree's trunk, with huge broad shoulders. The monstrous six foot two-handed greatsword that he was casually twirling with one hand was also a cause of concern, given that it could cut him in half with only one strike.

Jon vaguely recalled the herald announcing the beginning when he noticed that Gregor was starting to approach him and Jon still hasn't moved from his stance. He couldn't for the life of him figure how to manage to land a hit effectively on that monster.

When he was wearing his armor, he managed to sneak a peek at Gregor's armor. It had to be the heaviest, thickest plate armor a man ever wore, requiring three squires just to carry it and fit it. He was wearing a plate helm with only a narrow slit for vision, that Jon couldn't even try and discern his intentions from his eyes from.

Clegane was within sword reach right now and brought his sword from up to down, trying to hack Jon in two pieces.

Jon rolled out of the way easily; only pausing to recover from the feeling of the ground being shaken heavily beneath him from that single blow.

That was the man that killed Arianne's aunt Elia and her cousin. It was said that he dashed the boy's head against the wall and proceeded to rape and murder Elia with her son's blood and brains still on his hands.

The Martell's looked downright murderous right now; even Doran the usually composed one had a calm façade but a flaming rage burning in his eyes. The rest of the Martell's had varying expressions of anger and hate, only difference was with Arianna who had a deep amount of worry itched on her face.

Ahh… Sweet Arianne. They were roughly the same age, but were as opposite as day and night. She was wild, adventurous and wild-tempered while he was calm, a bit arrogant and used to be shy before she broke it out of him. He hasn't told anyone but he exchanged letters with her weekly after leaving Dorne. She often had some very vivid descriptive sexual acts written on the parchment, causing him to frequent the brothels his uncle owned.

Jon barely managed to duck under the furious swipe from the mountain that threatened to take his head off. He shook his head quickly and refocused on the fight.

The situation went on for a few minutes the same, Jon landing fast blows on the Mountain that didn't even seem to budge his armor while quickly evading his slow but destructive hits, well until one of those hits managed to pierce through Gregor's armor cutting through his legs and causing him to howl with pain.

It was a superficial cut, but painful nevertheless.

Jon tried to take on the advantage of the kneeling mountain but was rewarded with the mountain roaring and back handing him, causing him to fly… honestly fly… almost 20 feet to the back.

Jon winced as he tried to get up. He couldn't even move but he could hear the shouts of panic. He could feel his armor half-caved inside, causing it to hold tightly to his chest and struggling with breath.

With a struggling yell he managed to strip himself of the chestplate and roll out of it.

His torso was covered with blood and the chainmail almost split to the sides. The force of the blow had probably broken a rib or two, but none got close to the huge gash he got from the sharp edge of the caved armor.

Jon could see that the mountain was recovering as well, limping softly in his directions. But he was still too far away.

He looked to his side, his sword laid broken into two.

Fucking cheap swords, he thought with a grimace.

If he had Ice with him, he would've probably manage to finish this as soon as it started, but it was not allowed as it gave an unfair advantage.

So with a grimace he straightened up, removed his helm and whatever remained of the chainmail. He quickly stripped out of his armor, only leaving his bracers on his arms and wearing his breeches.

He took several deep breathes, Uncle Ne- Father, was going to berate him for what he was going to do.

But there was no win or lose when you fight with the mountain. It was win or die. The man was so angry right now, he doubted even Tywin Lannister could get him to stop.

So Jon took off and started sprinting towards the mountain taking the man with surprise.

20 feet… 15 feet… 10 feet... 5 feet… and JUMP!

And jump he did, with a loud yell he managed to lift himself from the ground and jump over the Mountain, using the mountain's shoulders to help him flip in the air further.

He landed on the ground with a sprint, looking out of breath and bowed to the king with his bloodied torso and tiredly.

The crowd muttered in confusion. Sure the jump was an impressive acrobatic move but that man had the mountain on his tail with no protection whatsoever.

All muttering stopped abruptly as a choked gurgle sounded from under the mountains helm and he fell on his back with a huge thump.

There between the tiny slit of his visor, a wolf head hilt of a dagger settled with an increasing amount of blood being splashed on it from the ever increasing amount of blood gurgled.

Not a single soul made a sound in the huge crowd until Brandon Stark started slowly clapping, breaking the silence and causing the nobles and the commoners alike to break out in a cacophony of noises and cheering.

Jon stumbled slightly to the Stark side of the pavilion and muttered, "I'm going to pass out from blood loss, aren't I?"

"In a few seconds," Brandon affirmed.

"Oh well," he smiled tiredly, sparing a wink towards the Martell Princess in Dorne's pavilion and suddenly going limp, only stopped from falling on his face by Brandon's steady hands.

"Here he is!" cried Robert with a loud laugh, "How're the ribs?"

Jon walked slowly towards the king nodding politely at those who congratulated him, and cringing whenever someone clapped him on the shoulders.

He finally reached his seat with help from Benjen and sank in it, "I'll have to take it easy for two months."

"You won't be able to make it to the finals?" Jaime asked.

Jon shook his head, "The Maesters made it clear that the damage wasn't just the ribs; fractured bones and a slight concussion and a blood loss to top them."

Jaime smiled sympathetically at him and Barristan added, "You've earned more glory than the champion of this melee could've gotten, boy."

Jon nodded at Ser Barristan with a smile and turned towards the next group of performers that entered the great hall.

"Please return to your seats," The performer said, "We're going to close the lights."

The lords and ladies returned to their tables and chairs grumbling, but nevertheless complying.

After a few moments of silence and darkness light was focused on a certain wall and a voice sounded from every corner in the room, "Once, there were three brothers, who were walking along a long twining road at twilight."

Shadows formed in the shape of the brothers and showed the story on the wall, causing the crowd to gasp.

"Not unlike any brothers," the voice said, "these three brothers were gifted sorcerers."

The shadows showed three figures holding wands and lifting objects and transfiguring them.

"Now, they came to a river, which was far too dangerous to cross over. However, since the three were gifted in magic, they gave a simple wave of their wands, and made a bridge grow from the side of the bank."

The entire crowd was watching attentively at the shadows on the wall that seemed to be real and playing out, listening to the voice that came out of every direction.

"Yet, before they could cross, a hooded figure crossed their path. Death. And he felt cheated. But Death was cunning. He congratulated the three brothers upon their magic, and promised to gift the trio for having been clever enough to evade him. The eldest brother, Antioch Peverell, asked for a wand to beat all other wands. So, Death created a wand from a nearby tree for him."

"The second brother, Cadmus Peverell, wished to show he'd bested Death even more so than his elder brother, so asked for the power to recall loved ones who'd passed on." Once again, the crowd gasped at the sight of the hooded figure crafting the magical artifacts on the wall.

"Made from the stone plucked out of the depths of the river, Death handed the stone over before turning to the third brother. The youngest, Ignotus Peverell, asked for the power to leave their meeting, and to never be followed by Death again. To which he was given a cloak, of Death's own."

Everyone was so absorbed in the tale and the background music played suddenly shifted, "The elder brother went on to kill a man he had fought with, bragging of the wand he'd been gifted. He was slain that night, killed for the Hallow. And so Death claimed the life of the first brother."

The shadow of Antioch being slain and death retrieving his soul played on the wall.

"The second brother returned home, summoning up the girl he'd once wished to marry before her sudden death, and she appeared. Yet she grew sad, for she did not belong in the living world. So if she were to not stay within his realm, he decided to journey to hers. And so Death took the second brother."

There was only one figure on the wall now, and two Black brothers on the bed, holding their breath. "As for the last brother. Well, Death searched and searched, but he was hidden under the being's gift. It wasn't until he willingly shed the cloak, passing it on to his son, that the third brother allowed Death to take him, greeting him as an old friend."

The three brothers stood in the end with death looming and holding strings above them.

"A thousand years later, the strongest sorcerer of all time; the Sorcerer Supreme, the Master of Death, Conqueror of Death, Vanquisher of Death and Death's companion, united the three hallows, rendering him immortal and invincible, ruling the world to the end of time."

The last shadow showed a young man standing proudly on a huge tower while millions of men and women stood underneath him, Death by his side.

"For in the end," The voice said, "Only he understood the fact that death is inevitable, and that there are other things worse than dying. And thus, he was rewarded by remaining youthful forever, never passing on, and serving death's justice on his enemies."

The voices faded and the shadows disappeared with a puff causing the candles to miraculously light on their selves.

The entire crowd cheered and clapped in awe and excitement while the Master of Death stood with narrowed eyes glaring at the four faceless men that were disguised as mummers.

"A wonderful performance," Prince Doran said, capturing Brandon's attention.

"Indeed," Brandon said.

Doran looked at his daughter before looking once again at Brandon and saying, "I was hoping to strengthen the ties between our kingdoms."

Brandon stiffened and closed his eyes, several other people were listening in, so he couldn't cast a compulsion safely, "I'm afraid that getting married isn't a priority of mine at the moment."

"Oh, not you," Doran said, "We've all heard of your legendary hate against the shackles of matrimony."

Brandon chuckled, "Who then?"

"Jon… and my Heiress, Arianne," Doran said.

The sound of a goblet breaking and wine splashing was heard and oddly enough it wasn't Jon, rather Catelyn Stark. Brandon spared her a dirty glance and looked back at Doran.

"Have you approached Jon and Arianne with the subject?"

Doran looked amused and just motioned to his daughter.

She was deeply snogging Jon in the middle of the hall much to the embarrassment of the other.

"This isn't for killing the Mountain, is it?" Brandon asked, looking back at Doran.

Doran's eyes held a hint of smugness, "It was deeply appreciated, and house Martell would be in your house's debt forever for serving justice to that… monster. But no, I seek to find an acceptable marriage for the future Princess of Dorne and strengthen the ties with the North as well."

Before Brandon could reply, Jon stumbled into his way his arms around Arianne's waist and said happily, "Cousin! Bad news," he grinned, "I can't rule Azkaban; I'm going to be the future prince consort of Dorne."

Brandon just looked at him blandly for a moment before nodding and sending him off.

"I'll meet you later to discuss the arrangements and wedding, Prince Doran."

"Awesome," The Red Viper yelled, interrupting his brother and causing Brandon to jump from the loud noise, "To the new prince-consort of Dorne! The breaker of Mountains!"

The men cheered and ladies clapped while Catelyn Stark remained noticeably silent and glaring at Jon with hate in her eyes.

Brandon was irritated at the second time, a lordship of the grandest port and coastal city in Westeros was rebuffed from a relative of his.

The sight of his cousin looking happier than he ever saw him and grinning smugly at Catelyn made it kind of less irritating, to be honest.

I'm getting too soft, he thought disappointedly with a smile still on his face.