Damian Clearwater (The King Slayer)'s Story

The Red Keep, even the name denotes a degree of isolation from the rest of the world. Outsiders aren’t aware, but the royal castle is a castle within a castle, and the private residence of the royal family can only be accessed by a drawbridge which spans a surrounding dry moat with iron spikes. Within the 12 foot thick walls are a series of hidden passages and tunnels, and which Isadora knows like the knuckles of her hand. Her shadow long, cast out by the seeming sourceless light that sift through, slithered against the walls and closely behind her walked her twin brother Damian. If the walls could talk they would scream out secrets that extend back for 12,000 years. But it was the secrets of today that mattered, the secrets that if public can change the future of King’s Landing in ways unimaginable. The brother and sister sealed the end of their trek with a lustful kiss.

She pushed Damian away when he clumsily fought the seams of her gown, “No, wait.” She lifted the heavy fabric that made the part of the skirt and exposed her naked silky legs underneath, she turned and leaned forward against the wall and he took her like he had done countless times before. She looked particularly beautiful dressed in a red formal gown and smelled of sweet flowers. He liked her golden locks carefully made-up in fancy adornments; he liked the long shape of her naked neck and the mounts of her breasts crushed together under his grasp. He lived for this moment, for her pleasure, for the idea of taking that which is taboo, for the risk, for the gall of it all. Even if all they can have is fleeting moments of pleasure in secret places. He learned long ago fate and love are never equals in the game of life.

The incestuous act came and went, forever concealed and hidden by the 12 foot walls of Red Keep. Not even the cold winds carried with them news of what they had done. And Isadora felt the cold breeze against her exposed skin and winced. She quickly fixed her dress and fought the disagreeable folds of its fabric to perfection. No words were exchanged between them none were needed. The glancing stares and smiles on their faces were the same one found on wicked spoiled children. He leaned against the wall and admired her, and she playfully bowed before she trailed back from where they had come. He watched as her tiny figure disappeared through the passage and waited until the loneliness of the place became unbearable before doing the same.

When Isadora reached the Queens Ballroom her trusted hand maid was waiting. She quickly placed a red velvet cape around the queen and fastened a golden lion broche upon its collar. The room was lively with domestic activity and preparation. “Where are my children?”

“I believe the Prince went to escort Lady O’Connel to the Duel. The princesses are waiting for your orders in their chamber, your grace,” replied the hand maid.

“And my husband?”

“He is out hunting, your grace,” said the maid hesitantly and took a step back.

Already the fire of anger Isadora felt was evident in her emerald green eyes and the shape of her lips. She knew exactly what bitch her husband hunted. She raised her chin and commenced to walk the long lavished room. Inspecting the work of the servants, pointing out what looked out of place, making last minute changes. At the end stood six guards in royal armor, covered from head to toe, their armor shimmer with the hues of yellow candle light and colors of the room. They stood still and erect like living statuettes before circling the Queen. These men worked for her, not for the hand of the king, not for the king himself. They belonged to her. They were her pets, loyal dogs that never left her side and would kill without question at her command. She set aside the anger she felt. Today was a day of celebration, her son’s 18 birthday. She’d been waiting for this day and it had finally come. And she prepared a lavished ball for her son's day. Everything must be perfect. Not even her husband can ruined the day. She won't allow it.

The Queen’s Handmaid entered the queen’s chamber and parted the heavy drapes, a gentle morning breeze ran through, and the warm morning sunlight fill the large and opulent room, bringing to light the square chairs with high curved backs arranged with colorful cloths and cushions, the tables which corners flared upwards and finished with golden animal legs. There were several boxes filled with small jars of imported perfume oils, mirrors, kohl containers and make-up items, combs, and rare jewelry. The most elaborate furniture in the room was the oversize round-shape-bed surrounded by four large columns, inlaid with colored stones and ebony and ivory, carved into lotus flowers and snakes, and in the center of the bed laid the naked frame of the Queen. Her emerald eyes open vibrant after the long sleep, and she stretched her body ever so gracefully that even the handmaid stopped and stared at the naked beauty. The handmaid’s name was Claudette and she’d been the queen’s favorite since the last handmaid was killed, a woman no older than the queen yet hard eyed and aged by the scars and rigid life of a slave. But she was a happy slave, content with the life the gods handed her, and she loved the Queen unconditionally, a love without prejudice beyond the erotic world that is hidden and which is sometimes horrifically revealed.

Claudette gathered up the queen’s robe and carefully laid it on the bed, and stood on the side and kept quiet, with hairbrush in hand waiting for Isadora to get up from the bed and take the morning tea as custom. But today the queen was unusually lazy, held Claudette. There was a smile on her face and by the looks of her she seemed happy. Claudette could not help but wonder what happened after she took the Princesses to bed. The Queen was livid then and now, now she was practically glowing.

“I’ll have breakfast with my girls today, in the garden,” said Isadora.

“Yes your grace,” said Claudette.

Isadora finally got up and took her morning tea. She walked toward the open balcony and stood there in contrast to the golden sun light and the colorful backdrop of Kings Landing. She looked on beyond the tops of the buildings and towers that stretch the landscape, toward Visenya’s Hill and the Great Sept of Baelor, and took in all that her eyes could see. There was a knock at the door. Claudette answered and Damian entered the room. He joined the Queen in the balcony and Claudette dressed the bed listening to their conversation, they talked about Lady Lillian...

“I don’t know,” said Isadora, but it did not have the tone of truly I don’t know, but rather, let it be.

“But you do believe…that she will play her part even against her own father?” asked Damian.

“Of course I believe it. You don’t understand the advantage of fear. She reeked of it. She was baffled, helpless, with a bowed head she understood she bore the whole responsibility for her father’s life. She understood perfectly well where her loyalty is required most if she weds Alexavier. She will do her duty as the wife of the King.” She looked at Damian intently. “Don’t think on it, Damian.”

“There is a matter I came to speak to you about,” said Damian abruptly. “This morning I noticed Graham O’Connel riding fast through Street of the Sisters. He was alone and the hurried manner in which he galloped allured me to follow him. At some point I lost him through the winding streets of Flea Bottom.” Isadora wondered what the Hand of the King could be doing in Flea Bottom of all places. “I circled the area looking for Graham but didn’t see him. Then I noticed a boy with Graham’s horse, a few coins paid and I learned Graham and the Whore Laurea were having a secret meeting.”

“This is not news my dear brother,” said Isadora.

“It is when it involves your husband and his whore and the child in her belly.” Damian said finally.

“Another one, how many is that now, eighteen, nineteen?” she laughed a sweet, poisonously mocking laughter. “Get rid of it. The Godwin bloodline ends with mine.”

“I’m afraid, dear sister; this one won’t be as easy as the others. The whore is Godwin’s favorite; she is well protected by the King and his dog Graham,” said Damian.

“Must I do everything?” There was a spite of a cobra’s hiss in the soft response. The Queen stepped inside the room, grasped the handmaid’s shoulders with fierce fingers, and bent to scowl full into the terrified glare of Claudette. And under the violent hands laid on her, Claudette felt a chill she could not explain creeping along her spine.

“I’ve trusted you,” sneered Isadora. “I’ve allowed you a freedom unlike any other beneath my roof. But don’t be fool by my generosity. Betray me and you will suffer such pain only death can relieve.” And having finished her words Isadora struck Claudette with all her might.

Claudette exited the palace by way of a hidden passage. Her face had been severely beaten and her clothes torn and all stained with blood. She ran like a trained runner as if death personified ran behind her, she ran nonstop until she reached the doors of Laurea’s Whore House and collapse.

With the arrival of Arthas and his men, Winterfell fell into a wind of mixed emotions. With him, he brought food and gifts…and Robert seemed to welcome the man joyfully. Even Marcellus, who trusted few, boasted of these strangers arrival….but Ossia feared the worst. No, not because of Arthas, nor his men, they were good souls who only wished to lend a hand in the approaching battle. It was the people of Wineterfell she had begun to fear. Men of Robert’s army felt their places were threatened, and although none dared raise a sword to the strong warriors…talk of abandonment had begun to spread.

Despite these worries, a celebration took place, and for the first time since the leaves turned...Winterfell wasn’t such a dreary place.
Not long after the soldier’s arrival Arthas, Robert, and Marcellus decided to make their first move. King Godwin would know they existed, and what strength their allies had brought to them. The outcome of what the messenger would bring back to the north was uncertain…but they remained strong.

Many mornings passed since the messenger was sent off, and no word had reached Winterfell. Despite this, they trained endlessly, and there were times she thought she would die from the bitter wind rather than the sword of Godwin’s men.

Just after the messenger was sent, Marcellus learned from one of his many sources of a threat hidden within the walls of Kingslanding. A soul-less man, he killed many great men…most of them the flesh and blood of our very own fathers. He called himself the Kingslayer.
With the following dawn, she decided to seek answers. With Marcellus gone to seek answers of his own from his source, and Lord Robert nowhere in sight…she approached Arthas.

She has to admit the sheer size of the man alone had her rethinking her decisions at once. Dweyth was the only man, besides my father, she ever forwardly approached.

Cautious as ever, Ossia entered the home Arthas resided in. Head held high and shoulders broader, she reminded herself who it was he saw, Huntley, son of the knight.

“Excu…*cough* Excuse me, sir.” Glancing outside for a moment, Ossia considered bolting “About the King slayer…is he? What I mean is…” Once again Ossia raised her head “What is to be down with the bastard?”

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Placing his hands along the throne of his fathers, Alexavier fought off a grin. His father may wear the crown, but he would rule soon enough. His father had become weak and frail. The man he once longed to mirror had become an embarrassment.

Glancing to his human shield, a brute by the name of Bortaveous, he sneered at his marred face “My father is a drunken fool, and my mother is a woman. What does that make me?”

“Our bright future, My Lord.”

Turning towards the knight, Alexavier nodded his head appraisingly as he strutted to where the man stood. “That is where you are right.” Looking to a painting of the Godwin family that hung just above the iron throne, Alexavier tisked is spite.

“My father allowed weakness. He allowed his own men to make choices of their own. I will not stand for it.” Turning to Bortaveous once again, he spoke “You are my shield. You will do as I say, and ask no more.”

Walking to the window overlooking the edges of town, Alexavier narrowed in on the home of the blacksmith. He was not unfamiliar that his bride-to-be fraternized with the commoners “I understand that scar on your face was the result of the losing of a duel?”

“Yes, My Lord. It was only a friendly..”

“I did not ask what it was, beast!” Snapping his head toward where to Bortaveous towered behind him, “The old blacksmith Stonehammer, he knows you are my shield. Your sword was not properly fastened. You could have lost your life.”
Turning away, Alexavier strolled towards the hall, before stopping to speak over his shoulder “Kill him.”

Damian entered the hidden passage rather careless, he didn't notice the eyes that spotted him and now followed him from a distance. He walked as he had many times to that hidden spot where Isadora was waiting, and there she was unqueenly naked. She wrapped her supple arms around his neck. Her eyes blazed like emerald jewels. Her upturned face drew close to Damian's, and he submitted to her embrace, he kissed her. "I love you!" she cried fiercely, writhing her body against his, almost strangling him in her wild embrace, shaking him in abandon. He did not hold back the searing heat of his passion for her. With an inarticulate cry he crushed her to him, bending her backward and showering gasping kisses on her lips and neck. Isadora was panting, shaking like a leaf in his grasp. He staggered like a drunken man shedding off his garments until his manhood entered the hot pocket of her womanhood, and both abandoned body and soul to the fury of yearning passion. And not far yet far enough were the wide and in-shock-eyes of the spy, hidden in the shadowed by the darkness and unnoticed by the scandalous sight they witnessed.

…………..
Graham paced the marble floor of his private study with a worried look upon his face. The King had been unreasonable and unwavering in his decisions today, and the body of councils instigated and manipulated Graham’s advice to the King. Graham was realizing he had no influence over these men, men with agendas of their own, and his good old friend Charles was always too drunk to make sound decisions for himself. The crown was heavily indebted to the Queen’s father, and he learned that House Clearwater had positioned themselves in all powers of influence over the Kingdoms. They controlled lands and held titles and everywhere he looked there were golden head lions circling the Kingdom like a pride of lions circling its prey. The Clearwaters had become richer and more powerful than any other House in the land and this was dangerous. They were all cunning and power hungry and he trusted not one of them. Unlike the King he had not lost his instinctive sense, as far as the political points of the Kingdom were concerned, but he did not know how it would all end ahead. Damian (Kingslayer) was ordered by Godwin to gather an army, an army that his father will fund and provide for the King. He is to take this army to Winterfell and bring to justice the Bandit King. Graham was refused his request to lead the army himself. He was told to handle kingly matters in Kings Landing in the King’s absent – the King was going hunting.

…………
Claudette stared at the mirror, the scars were healing well, but her face was still bruised and she didn’t recognize the reflection of the woman in the mirror. Her face was nothing more than a reminder of the charge given to her by the queen, and a reminder of the danger in which she found herself. She was now in a dangerous game paid only with blood. She looked away with a heavy heart. Her heart had been bruised too but she loved the Queen, and above all she feared the Queen. And it was this fear that gave her the strength to continue living for she did not want to die.

She entered Adarra’s chamber with her hands inside the pockets of her dress, her hand tightly holding the small flask given to her by the Queen – Its content an untraceable and untreatable poison that will mask its deathly grip like a fever and claim the life of any who consume it. “I…I’ve come to warn you, My Lady.” The two women were alone. “You are in grave danger. I was sent to kill you,” she revealed the small flask in her hand, “with a poison that will kill anyone who drinks it instantly. But I cannot do it. I too am a mother and I understand the love of a mother for her children. For that reason alone I confess.” Tears filled her eyes.

Outside the whore house the caravan of the King arrived. King Goodwin dismounted his horse and made his way inside the building. He was already drunk and equally horny. His arrival stirred the house into frenzy. His loud voice could be heard all throughout. He wanted pleasure and today he had an appetite unlike any other day, he craved for his young and beautiful whore.

Claudette was petrified and her hands trembled, and the flask rolled out of her hand to the floor. “I will surely die by the Hand of The King when he finds I’ve betrayed his orders. Please, you must hide me.” She fell on her knees sobbing uncontrollably. “I don’t want to die, please, please hide me.”

…………..
The Kingslayer rode a great black stallion, a gift from the Queen. He wore no head-peace, and his golden locks and white satin cloak flowing carelessly from his shoulders. He dressed in armor of the Kingsguard, shiny and practically new, though worn before in battle. On the breast of his armor, the lion of his house was embossed in gold. He looked the part of a Clearwater who held title and wealth. But the only part he felt was the part of a quintessential warrior; the awakening of old memories, the resurge of mad, glorious days of old when he was but a wet lad of the Kingsguard, adventuring, with no desired save a keen sword to swing on all the battlefields. Unconsciously he reverted to the old ways; a new swagger became evident in his bearing, in the way he sat his horse, and as he pushed the black stallion as hard as he dared. He rode steadily on a road stretch bare, knowing that he was traveling faster than the ten-men that traveled with him.