[Contains GoT spoilers! This series follows Seasons 2 through 8 of Game of Thrones.] Rhaena Velaryon is the daughter of the late Lord of the Tides, Trysten Velaryon, and of the former Princess of House Targaryen, Visaerya Velaryon. Living on the isl...
Life on Driftmark can have it's ups and downs. Being Master-of-Arms all these years has made Torlin feel at peace. Living on a coastal island with his own chamber in the castle was a remarkable feat compared to those below him who were sent to live in a much too crowded barracks some distance away from the castle. Each wall has small waves carved into them that gave the feel of being in an underwater castle. Chandeliers hang in every corridor and every room and are adorned with crystal and gold. The castle seems like it could house a family of royals, that certainly is the case with the Velaryon's blood being close to that of the Targaryens. Perhaps before Dragonstone was their main castle, they lived on Driftmark. That would also explain 'Lord' Daemon's red and black throne-like chair.
The slight thought of Daemon sickens Torlin. Rhaena had confessed everything to him - of how he is the illegitimate heir to Driftmark. A bastard of Aerys that forces himself upon his sister. The sweet girl came to Torlin on a dark night, surprised and terrified that she had found someone in the empty clearing that is usually noisy with the clash of metal. She looked at him with such horror in those purple eyes that Torlin now believes it to have been fear of being punished. Instead, she found friendship in the Master-of-Arms. It took some time for her to warm up to him, with her history of neglect and torment, but now Torlin sees her face brighten every time they meet each other or come across one another in the courtroom. He must admit, when he sees her in a silver gown, sitting in the courtroom beside her disgraceful brother, she has grown into a strong woman. With Torlin's guidance, of course. Though dresses accentuate her beauty further, he would much prefer her to wear something he knows she would be much comfortable in - dark leathers.
Now, his little room in the larger castle of Driftmark houses him and his fresh bottle of wine. The room has small waves carved into the walls like the rest of the castle but has no windows. Small candles on a dresser and the table in the corner of his room kept it properly lit, however. Torlin doesn't mind at all. As long as he has a place to house his belongings and could call it his own, he is happy. He felt warm inside knowing his little girl is somewhere in the castle as well. Possibly several floors above him, but there nonetheless. A bed of soft satin is about the only thing nice in this room, apart from the walls. The rest is not worth remembering if he is given a better, bigger chamber.
There then came a swift knock on his door, rousing Torlin from his rest on his glorious bed. He sits up before calling to the person outside. "Come in." A scraggly, old man enters, carrying a scroll with a red seal on it. His chains clink loudly as he comes into the tiny room. Extending his wrinkled hand, he presents Torlin the scroll.
"Ser, a scroll from King's Landing." He says in his exhausted old voice. Torlin takes it, eyeing the old maester with a curious look. Never has Torlin ever received a message from King's Landing - especially one that appears to have been sent from the King himself. There has to be some mix up here, and Torlin wonders if the maester had finally lost it.
"Has age finally gotten to your brain, old man? There's no way that this..." He examined the scroll closely. It was crisp paper, with the red seal of King's Landing on it, obviously scraped off in order for the maester to read it's contents. "Rather extravagant looking scroll from the capital could possibly be for me.
The maester huffed, scratching his beard. "Pardon, Ser, but it is addressed to you. If you would read it-"
"Alright, alright." Torlin braced himself to prove the maester wrong once again and opened the scroll. Written in delicate handwriting, the words left Torlin in a daze.
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To Ser Torlin, Master-of-Arms in Driftmark, 'Best Fighter in all of Westeros'
Your presence is requested at your earliest convenience to King's Landing in the Crownlands. With war on the horizon and reports of Stannis Baratheon preparing an invasion on the city, the Queen Regent has called upon you by name. Please make your preparations and come at your earliest convenience.
Torlin closes the scroll, swallowing hard as he processes the words on the paper. To him, he knows these words are a death sentence. To go means dying in the field of battle. To not go, Torlin may be branded a traitor for refusing the King's commands. No hope lights inside of him, nothing that tells him he will come home. Not coming home means leaving Rhaena alone with these horrid people. Torlin blinks quickly and eyes the maester still standing in the doorway. "What am I to do now? Write the King a letter saying I will go? To lick his boots and do his bidding?"
The old man is taken aback. "They will want an answer, Ser." His old, wrinkly face awaits a command. "Shall I write one?" Torlin sighs, looking up at the ceiling in a defeated manner.
"What does it matter? I will be going. I have no say in that." He waves his hand like a lord, dismissing the maester. The old man shuffles around and out the door with a clink clank, shutting the door behind him. Torlin lays on his bed, staring at the canopy and contemplating how his life came to this. Why does it have to be him? He covers his face with his hands and groans loudly.
Some part of him wanted to make a break for the Wall, to join the Night's Watch so they couldn't touch him. If they found him, he would remark he's been forgiven already in the eyes of the law. He would be surrounded by other scoundrels and thieves and murderers. He'd receive the rank of ranger and die beyond the Wall fighting for a better cause. Anything is a better cause than to die fighting for the Throne of a Thousand Needles or for anyone sitting atop it. His mind drifts to Rhaena, the sweet girl. How crushed would she be if he were to perish? He couldn't bear to even imagine what she would do. She would be lost and alone with... her brother.
Torlin sits up at the thought, balling his hands into fists. He needs to find a way for her to escape. She can't be here with these people a moment longer. He remembers the idea he had just the other day: the Wall. How would she go about joining? They would reject her immediately, of course. No woman has ever been apart of the Night's Watch in the history of the order. However, Torlin has seen what she is capable of. Hell, she's even bested him in combat and he was trying as hard as he could. If they could see what a proven warrior she is, she may join them. Torlin rises from his bed to prepare to head to the clearing, searching for the words he needs to explain to Rhaena what is happening and snatching a small black box on his way out.
