The Legacy of Oldstones

The Legacy of Oldstones

Annatar spent his final week in the Red Keep in quiet contemplation. He had grown accustomed to the opulence of King's Landing and the constant undercurrent of intrigue in the halls. But now, he was ready to leave behind the whispers, the watchful eyes, and the tension that seemed to cling to him every moment.

On the morning of his departure, he was led to the courtyard where Silverwing awaited, her silvery scales glistening in the early light. He mounted her with ease, feeling the familiar rush of anticipation as she unfurled her mighty wings and took to the skies. Below him, the Red Keep grew smaller, a distant memory against the vast expanse of the Seven Kingdoms.

Their journey was swift, and as they neared the Riverlands, Annatar looked down at the landscape—a rolling, green quilt of hills and rivers, with ancient forests stretched out beneath him. At last, the ruins of Oldstones came into view, perched on a hill overlooking the Blue Fork of the Trident. The castle was a shadow of its former self, but Annatar could still see the remnants of its ancient glory. Moss and ivy clung to broken walls, and the once-mighty towers were now skeletal remains.

As he landed, he took in the ruin with a heavy heart, though he quickly steeled himself. This will be a home worth restoring, he thought. A legacy worth reclaiming.

He wandered through the remains of Oldstones, taking in the haunting beauty of the castle's broken structures. Once, this had been one of the grandest castles in all of Westeros, home to the ancient Kings of the Rivers, the Mudd Kings, who had ruled as First Men long before the Targaryens had come with their dragons. In the great hall, once filled with the laughter and stories of the Mudds, only shadows remained. Crumbling walls and shattered floors spoke of centuries of neglect.

"I will restore you," Annatar vowed softly, his voice carrying over the desolate space. "I will make you greater than you ever were under the Mudd Kings."

Determined, Annatar immediately set to work organizing a plan. He needed masons, architects, builders—workers from all over Westeros who could help him rebuild Oldstones. The castle, he decided, would rise once more, a beacon of strength and resilience. He would not let his house die in a ruin; he would breathe life back into these walls and make Oldstones a place worthy of his name and legacy.

A few days later, Annatar found himself once more in the throne room of King Viserys, presenting his plans and requesting his support. Viserys, pleased by his nephew's passion and sense of purpose, listened intently as Annatar described his vision for Oldstones.

When Annatar had finished, he asked, "Your Grace, may I ask about my liege? Will I be sworn to Lord Tully, as the Riverlords are?"

At this, Viserys chuckled, an amused smile softening his features. "No, Annatar," he replied, his voice warm. "You have a dragon, and that makes you a direct vassal to the crown. You answer to no lord but me."

Annatar's eyes widened. He hadn't fully grasped the gravity of what it meant to have a dragon and a noble title. He would be a lord in his own right, beholden to none but the king himself—a privilege few could claim. And Viserys, he saw, took pride in this decision, wanting his nephew to forge a path that was distinctly his own.

"Thank you, Your Grace," Annatar replied, a sense of pride and purpose filling his heart. "I will honor this responsibility."

Viserys leaned forward, regarding Annatar with a paternal warmth. "I have faith in you, Annatar. Oldstones will rise again, and it will be a place the realm will speak of with admiration and respect."

As he left the throne room, Annatar felt a new sense of purpose. This was more than a simple inheritance; this was an opportunity to create something that could last for generations—a place where he could build his own family, his own legacy.

Returning to Oldstones, Annatar called for master craftsmen and workers, spreading word throughout the Riverlands and beyond that he sought skilled hands to aid him in the rebuilding of Oldstones. Slowly but surely, people began to arrive—stonecutters, carpenters, and laborers—all drawn by the promise of restoring a castle to its former glory. As they worked, Annatar oversaw every detail, lending his own hands to the labor when he could.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, the foundations began to take shape, stone by stone. Annatar could already imagine the castle's great hall filled with light and laughter once more, the sound of footsteps echoing through corridors long abandoned.