A little Prince Bed Time Stories part 1!
Omake: A little Prince Bed Time Stories part 1!
Myranda's Storytelling: Tales of the Witchblade.
Once upon a time there was a lake, its surface was crystal clear and its water a deep sea blue but no living thing drank from there for it was a salt water lake instead of fresh water.
But such detail wasn't important for the man fighting in there, as blood spilled and corpses rotted on the ground just as the man's dying were not of interest for the lake.
No, the important thing came after that.
Some time later a young maiden walked through the place, her gaze unfocused, lost as if trying to find something desperately yet failing.
Her face started to clear as tears fell from her checks, and dirty again from snot on her nose. So she went to the lake to clear her face completely but her eyes only got more irritated because of the salt water and as if a dam broke the girl started to cry in earnest, knees hitting the ground and dress getting wet.
That interested the Lake, for all the time its been there it had felt it all, the taste of rain and blood, it never tasted tears, something salty and sweet so similar to its own waters yet not it at the same time. So its surface rippled and a voice called from its deeps.
And the girl answered.
Here the tales diverge, some say that from the lake rose a Salt Shore Witch, with hair of seaweed and cloak of whale skin, others that the girl saw her own reflection strangely distorted by the ripples.
However all of them agree on that in the end the maiden pulled a dagger from the lake, a queer thing with the blade resembling a white salt rock and the handle made from bone all of it for the revenge on the King.
You see little Prince, the King at the time was waging a war not for glory, gold, conquest or even justice or meaneless hate. None of it, he simply liked to fight the rush of danger and blood filled his heart with joy like none could quell and for a man that had such simple needs the realm also bleed from within for he was no mere man but a King, or so it was what the people said.
So the girl went for her quest of revenge, carrying the witchblade. It took her time and skill to get close to her target but revenge was night.
The King only saw a maiden not beautiful and neither ugly, she had a strange aura that drew the eye in, a fragility of the heart that in turn made the others weak and that's all that she needed, to catch his attention and lure him into a secluded room.
The dagger was plunged right into his heart bypassing meat and bone like air as the King's vision darkened the only thing he saw as the maiden's empty eyes staring at him like all the corpses he left on the battlefield.
However when morning once came, the King woke up there with not a sign, not even a scar of the dagger in his heart. Dismissing it as a nightmare he continued in his war campaign as before.
Time passed, and for a moment everything was just like before for the King but soon it was clear that something was wrong, first was his hunger and thirst. No longer could he drink or eat, being more simple he lost completely his desire for sustenance.
It was unnatural, people whispered how could the man continue without food or drink? But even without it he continued health as ever, calling it a sign that the gods favored him. Next it was his need for sleep, and so it went.
Little by little the King lost what made one a person, it was said that in his last night he couldn't feel the wind on his face neither see the moon in the sky however he would still charge blindy in the battlefield like a enraged bull with a supernatural skill, for the last thing he could feel was the siren call of the battlefield.
By the sword he lived, and by the sword he died, in one of the bloodiest wars ever seen.
The place was littered with the dead, people amounted on top of each other in a rot so big they melded together forming a big rotting blanked across the land. They tried for days to find their King's corpse and found it they did and more, in the center of the carnage and on his hand was a sword.
A queer thing it was, with the blade being made of an white crystal almost like a rock salt, its handle made of bone and when it cut even when the wound was healed the person would forever feel the pain. Without sheat, the sword would slowly bleed saltwater, like tears dropped in a lake.
For instead of the endless joy of the battle, the King was forever doomed to feel the pain of those he harmed.
And thus it ends the Tale of the Witchblade, after passing through many warriors hands it got lost in time. Some say the Lake claimed it again, to expand its waters and claim the continent as its own, other that its last wielder was Brandon of the Bloody Blade who passed it to his son Brandon the Builder who used its frozen waters to make the barebones of the Wall, the sword secretly hidden in the crypts of Winterfell waiting for its next punishment.
Notes: I wanted to make a cute scene with Baby Baelon and people telling stories and playing with him, instead this was born. I hope at least the randomeness of it all was enjoyable? Tell me if I managed to get the fairytale feeling right.
Myranda's Storytelling: Tales of the Witchblade.
Once upon a time there was a lake, its surface was crystal clear and its water a deep sea blue but no living thing drank from there for it was a salt water lake instead of fresh water.
But such detail wasn't important for the man fighting in there, as blood spilled and corpses rotted on the ground just as the man's dying were not of interest for the lake.
No, the important thing came after that.
Some time later a young maiden walked through the place, her gaze unfocused, lost as if trying to find something desperately yet failing.
Her face started to clear as tears fell from her checks, and dirty again from snot on her nose. So she went to the lake to clear her face completely but her eyes only got more irritated because of the salt water and as if a dam broke the girl started to cry in earnest, knees hitting the ground and dress getting wet.
That interested the Lake, for all the time its been there it had felt it all, the taste of rain and blood, it never tasted tears, something salty and sweet so similar to its own waters yet not it at the same time. So its surface rippled and a voice called from its deeps.
And the girl answered.
Here the tales diverge, some say that from the lake rose a Salt Shore Witch, with hair of seaweed and cloak of whale skin, others that the girl saw her own reflection strangely distorted by the ripples.
However all of them agree on that in the end the maiden pulled a dagger from the lake, a queer thing with the blade resembling a white salt rock and the handle made from bone all of it for the revenge on the King.
You see little Prince, the King at the time was waging a war not for glory, gold, conquest or even justice or meaneless hate. None of it, he simply liked to fight the rush of danger and blood filled his heart with joy like none could quell and for a man that had such simple needs the realm also bleed from within for he was no mere man but a King, or so it was what the people said.
So the girl went for her quest of revenge, carrying the witchblade. It took her time and skill to get close to her target but revenge was night.
The King only saw a maiden not beautiful and neither ugly, she had a strange aura that drew the eye in, a fragility of the heart that in turn made the others weak and that's all that she needed, to catch his attention and lure him into a secluded room.
The dagger was plunged right into his heart bypassing meat and bone like air as the King's vision darkened the only thing he saw as the maiden's empty eyes staring at him like all the corpses he left on the battlefield.
However when morning once came, the King woke up there with not a sign, not even a scar of the dagger in his heart. Dismissing it as a nightmare he continued in his war campaign as before.
Time passed, and for a moment everything was just like before for the King but soon it was clear that something was wrong, first was his hunger and thirst. No longer could he drink or eat, being more simple he lost completely his desire for sustenance.
It was unnatural, people whispered how could the man continue without food or drink? But even without it he continued health as ever, calling it a sign that the gods favored him. Next it was his need for sleep, and so it went.
Little by little the King lost what made one a person, it was said that in his last night he couldn't feel the wind on his face neither see the moon in the sky however he would still charge blindy in the battlefield like a enraged bull with a supernatural skill, for the last thing he could feel was the siren call of the battlefield.
By the sword he lived, and by the sword he died, in one of the bloodiest wars ever seen.
The place was littered with the dead, people amounted on top of each other in a rot so big they melded together forming a big rotting blanked across the land. They tried for days to find their King's corpse and found it they did and more, in the center of the carnage and on his hand was a sword.
A queer thing it was, with the blade being made of an white crystal almost like a rock salt, its handle made of bone and when it cut even when the wound was healed the person would forever feel the pain. Without sheat, the sword would slowly bleed saltwater, like tears dropped in a lake.
For instead of the endless joy of the battle, the King was forever doomed to feel the pain of those he harmed.
And thus it ends the Tale of the Witchblade, after passing through many warriors hands it got lost in time. Some say the Lake claimed it again, to expand its waters and claim the continent as its own, other that its last wielder was Brandon of the Bloody Blade who passed it to his son Brandon the Builder who used its frozen waters to make the barebones of the Wall, the sword secretly hidden in the crypts of Winterfell waiting for its next punishment.
Notes: I wanted to make a cute scene with Baby Baelon and people telling stories and playing with him, instead this was born. I hope at least the randomeness of it all was enjoyable? Tell me if I managed to get the fairytale feeling right.
Last edited:
.