A plot bunny of a story that wouldn't go away. This is my version of GoT, but with animals. I have no idea how this came about, but I hope you like it. Enjoy, mwah!
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In the middle of a vast forest lay a towering mountain. Wild animals roamed the surrounding land around the mountain. While the mountain looked solid and unmoving on the outside, the truth was… it was hollowed out. On the inside, a vast cavern covered in soft moss and small puddles formed from the dripping stalactites. Up on a raised portion of the cavern lay a worn stone throne, a small patch of sunlight shining on the throne. Golden flowers were slowly creeping up the side of the throne.
Upon the throne, lounged a fat, but regal looking stag with thick black fur. Golden markings lay around its throat in a design that closely resembled a crown. A pair of slimmer stags flanked their brother from either side. One was lean and battle- scarred while the other was handsome with not a scratch on him, a golden flower tucked between his antler and ear.
A golden lioness curled around the base of the throne. Three cubs rolled around on the moss covered floor, play fighting. The oldest of the cubs was the roughest of his siblings, batting his younger brother with partially extended claws. The middle cub had stopped playing and trotted over to her mother and curled up next to her, sparkling green eye shining as she looked around at the rest of the activity in the cavern. An older, male lion stood watch off to the side in a shadowy corner, green eyes watching everything closely. A third stood guard near the stone throne, his eyes trained on the rest of the cavern’s occupants but occasionally flicking over to watch the cubs play and their mother.
A pack of wolves had taken up residence in a corner of the cavern. The oldest and largest was coaching his two youngest pups in the art of attacking prey. The old wolf had dark fur, turning silver with age. A she wolf with a trim brown fur and her favorite pup watched on in proper silence. The fourth pup chased a butterfly around, jumping around in frenzied way, paws reaching within inches of the insect. A little ways away, an almost fully grown wolf crouched near a pool where several large squids floated and snapped their beaks ferociously.
The largest in the group floated near the bottom and seemed to be conversing with a slimmer, sleeker squid, the elder’s daughter. Every once and awhile, the two would surface and flick their eyes to the stag. The third of the squids was perpetually near the top of the water, having almost a conversation with the eldest of the wolf offspring. The wolf patriarch and his mate seemed fine with the friendship; however, whenever the squid’s father caught his son with the young wolf, his eyes filled with disappointment and focused his energies on training his daughter.
A smaller adjacent pool housed a hover of trout. Two trout were circling each other with a brotherly rivalry, the brown trout was slightly larger than the other that exuded a more royal presence than the other. The other trout was the same brown color but the brown quickly faded to black which is why the animals called him the Blackfish. A smaller brown trout hovered off to the side, observing his father and uncle closely. When he was certain that they both were busy, he took off, swimming through a small crack in the mountain and off into the rest of the forest.
A large spiral was cut into the cavern walls that led up to stone landing overlooking the entire cavern. Here is where the half son of the wolf patriarch couched and peered over the edge. The half-son was a loner, an outcast to his own family. The old wolf’s mate held him in disdain. The only form of contact he had, came when his uncle visited the cavern when his pack was around. The pack his uncle traveled with was nicknamed the black brothers by everyone, both in the cavern and in the forest. The black brothers protected the northern side of the forest from external attacks. Because they protected the forest, they made few trips to the cavern, leaving the half-son alone.
The sun was beginning to set. In the cavern, small cracks in the walls allowed sharp rays of sunlight, almost like spears, to beam into the vast area. These shafts of sunlight hit two of the clans more directly that the others, the lions and the stags. It was almost as if the sun wanted to hit the animals and wound them.
The young trout swam through many rivers and smaller caverns until he reached an aging castle. The castle was nicknamed Frey as a jape. Stones of various sizes and shapes littered the castle’s main hall, the animals of the forest whispered that the stones were the children of the castle. The stones, they japed, were like their father: old and ugly.[ML1]
A low snarl echoed through the castle and the sound of paws drew closer to the castle. The young trout hid in the shadows of a pool made by a falling boulder, filled with rainwater over the years. The lioness padded into the center of the hall, lifted her head and sniffed to the air. Moments later, a smaller and slimmer lion came around corner and bumped noses with the lioness. The pair moved to a darker corner to converse.
The trout, unable to see what was going on and did not wish to suffer his father and uncle’s rage if they found out at he was gone, swam back to the cavern.
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The next morning, a wolf’s howl pierced the still morning air. A large stag with black fur and gold markings lay dead upon the stone throne, long claw marks around his neck and blood pooling around him. The animals in the cavern awoke quickly after that, those that could rushing to the throne and expressing their grief.
The lioness held back, licking the top of her eldest cubs’ head, green eyes twinkling and her muzzle turned up in a satisfied smirk.
