The Stronghammer - CH - 60

Eddie's eyes fluttered open to the faint creak of iron hinges. He was greeted by the sight of two guards entering his dimly lit cell, their faces hard and devoid of emotion. Before he could gather his thoughts, they grabbed him roughly by the arms, dragging him out of the cell.

“Get up,” one of the guards barked.

Eddie didn’t resist but kept his mind sharp, silently observing every detail around him. The dark, damp corridors of the dungeon gradually gave way to the stone staircases and brighter torch-lit halls of the Red Keep. He forced himself to focus, his years of training reminding him to stay calm even as adrenaline coursed through his veins.

The guards’ grips were iron, but Eddie noted the slight twitch in one of their hands. They’re nervous, he thought. It was a small comfort, knowing that his actions had unsettled even the royal guards.

As they ascended, Eddie’s mind raced. I knocked out the crown prince with one punch. No matter how justified I think I was, they’ll use this as a way to make an example of me. He calculated his options. Escaping now would be impossible with the layers of security, and he couldn’t risk exposing his true identity. He needed to bide his time.

The grand doors to the throne room loomed ahead, and Eddie could hear the murmurs of an assembled crowd. This is a spectacle, he realized. They want everyone to see this trial.

The doors swung open, revealing the sprawling throne room. The Iron Throne sat at the far end, its jagged swords gleaming in the light of the massive chandeliers. On the throne sat King Viserys Targaryen, his face a mixture of weariness and curiosity. Around him sat members of his council, including Otto Hightower and Lord Corlys Velaryon. Behind them, a sea of nobles and commoners filled the chamber, eager to witness the fate of the man who had dared strike the crown prince.

The guards dragged Eddie forward and forced him to his knees. He straightened his back, refusing to appear weak before the gathered crowd. He felt their eyes boring into him, some filled with disdain, others with curiosity.

The herald stepped forward, his voice echoing through the hall. “Before you stands Eddie, a knight’s squire accused of assaulting His Grace, Prince Aegon Targaryen.”

A murmur rippled through the crowd. Eddie raised his head, locking eyes with King Viserys. The king’s expression was difficult to read, but there was no denying the tension in the room.

Viserys leaned forward slightly on his throne. “You’ve caused quite the commotion, young man. Tell us—what do you have to say for yourself?”

Eddie took a deep breath. “Your Grace,” he began, his voice steady, “I acted in self-defense. I had no idea that the man who barged into my room and demanded the girl I had paid for was the crown prince. To me, he was just another man trying to take what wasn’t his.”

The room erupted in whispers, and Viserys raised a hand to silence them.

“You dare justify striking the crown prince of the realm?” Otto Hightower interjected, his voice sharp and accusing.

Eddie turned to face Otto. “I dared protect what I had rightfully paid for, Lord Hand. Had I known he was the prince, I would have handled things differently. But a commoner like me can’t be expected to recognize royalty dressed as a commoner.”

His words caused a ripple of amusement among some of the gathered lords, though Otto’s face darkened.

At that moment, Prince Aegon entered the throne room, still nursing a bruised jaw. The crowd parted for him, and he walked to the center of the room, standing a few feet from Eddie.

“Aegon,” Viserys said, his tone softer. “Tell us your account of what happened.”

Aegon hesitated, glancing at Eddie before speaking. “He’s telling the truth, Father. I went to the brothel in disguise. I didn’t announce who I was, and I… might have been a bit forceful in my demands. He didn’t know who I was.”

The admission caused another wave of murmurs, and Viserys’s expression softened. “Then this was a misunderstanding.”

Otto Hightower was quick to interject. “Your Grace, this man still struck the crown prince. Such an act cannot go unpunished, lest others think it permissible to raise their hands against the royal family.”

Viserys leaned back on the throne, deep in thought. Finally, he spoke. “The matter is clear. This was a misunderstanding caused by my son’s actions. While striking a prince is a grave offense, it is also true that my son provoked the incident.”

He turned his gaze to Eddie. “You will not be executed, but neither will you leave here without consequence. You are to serve my son Aegon for a year. Consider it a chance to redeem yourself.”

Eddie bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Grace. I will serve loyally.”

The decision brought a mix of reactions from the crowd, but Eddie was relieved. He had avoided execution, and now he had an opportunity to observe the court from the inside—a valuable chance to learn more about the political intrigues of Westeros.

As he was led away, Eddie caught Holden’s eye in the crowd. The old knight gave him a subtle nod, a silent acknowledgment that this was far from over.

Eddie's new role as squire to Prince Aegon Targaryen was a far cry from the adventure and excitement he had anticipated. The crown prince, while amiable and indulgent, lacked the gravitas of a ruler. Aegon’s days were consumed with lavish feasts, frequent trips to brothels, and long hours spent in idle pursuits.

Eddie, as his squire, was tasked with the mundane duties of fetching his meals, polishing his armor—though Aegon rarely wore it—and ensuring he was presentable for court. But the most draining part of the job was accompanying the prince on his infamous secret outings. These nocturnal escapades often ended in drunken brawls or awkward escapes from irate brothel keepers.

“Eddie!” Aegon called one evening, his voice slurred from too much wine. “Tell me, have you ever tasted Dornish red? There’s a new shipment in the cellar. Fetch it, and we’ll celebrate!”

Eddie gritted his teeth and obliged, his mind wandering to more meaningful pursuits. Serving Aegon might have been a punishment for his earlier transgression, but it felt more like a tedious chore. Still, he performed his duties diligently, always careful to maintain the guise of a loyal squire.

While Eddie’s role as Aegon’s squire left him disillusioned, he found solace in his interactions with Prince Aemond. Unlike Aegon, Aemond exuded a sense of discipline and ambition. His sharp intellect and unyielding dedication to training reminded Eddie of the knights back in Stormrage.

One morning, Eddie came across Aemond in the training yard. The young prince was sparring alone, his strikes precise but lacking the fluidity of an experienced warrior. Aegon, as usual, was nowhere to be found, likely nursing a hangover from the previous night’s revelries.

“Prince Aemond,” Eddie called out, catching his attention. “Your form is strong, but your footwork could use some work.”

Aemond turned, his piercing gaze sizing up the young squire. “And you are an expert, I take it?”

Eddie smirked, grabbing a training sword. “I’ve seen my fair share of battles, Your Grace. Mind if I show you?”

The two squared off, and Eddie quickly demonstrated a series of moves, correcting Aemond’s stance and teaching him how to transition between strikes more smoothly. Despite his initial skepticism, Aemond took to the lessons with enthusiasm, his hunger for improvement evident.

Over the weeks, Eddie and Aemond developed a camaraderie. Eddie found himself drawn to Aemond’s sense of purpose, which stood in stark contrast to Aegon’s hedonistic lifestyle.

One afternoon, as they rested after a grueling sparring session, Aemond spoke candidly. “You’re not just a squire, are you?”

Eddie froze for a moment before responding, “What makes you say that?”

“You fight like a knight who’s seen real war,” Aemond replied. “Not like someone who’s spent their life serving an old Knight.”

Eddie chose his words carefully. “Let’s just say I’ve had a unique upbringing.”

Aemond nodded, respecting Eddie’s privacy. “Whatever your past, you’re a skilled warrior. I appreciate your help. Most people here only care about pleasing Aegon.”

Eddie saw an opportunity in Aemond’s words. The young prince had potential, but he needed guidance and support. Over time, Eddie began subtly mentoring Aemond, sharing strategies and techniques he had learned from Holden Cross and the Blackstone Legion.

While Eddie’s bond with Aemond deepened, his relationship with Aegon grew increasingly strained. The crown prince, oblivious to the world beyond his pleasures, often mocked Aemond’s seriousness and Eddie’s newfound loyalty to the younger prince.

“Why do you waste your time with Aemond?” Aegon scoffed one evening. “He’s not going to be king. He’s just a spare.”

Eddie bit back his retort, knowing it was pointless to argue with Aegon. Still, his respect for Aemond only grew. The young prince’s determination to better himself, despite the lack of attention and support from those around him, resonated deeply with Eddie.

Eddie’s days continued in the same routine: serving Aegon during the day and training with Aemond in the evenings. Yet, he felt a renewed sense of purpose. While Aegon represented everything he despised about privilege and idleness, Aemond symbolized the potential for greatness.

One evening, after a particularly intense training session, Aemond turned to Eddie. “Why do you help me?”

Eddie paused before answering, “Because you remind me of someone I admire. And because I believe you’re capable of achieving great things.”

Aemond’s expression softened, a rare moment of vulnerability. “Thank you. I won’t forget this.”

Whenever Prince Aegon ventured out into the labyrinthine streets of King’s Landing to indulge in his favorite pastime—brothels and wine—Eddie used the opportunity to step into his role as a quiet overseer of events around him. Though disguised as a humble squire, he had an intricate network of loyal guards in the city, blending in as merchants, travelers, and locals. During these moments, Eddie would meet them secretly, ensuring his well-being was never in doubt.

“I’m perfectly fine,” Eddie reassured one of his most trusted guards, a burly man named Garrick, in a shadowed corner near Flea Bottom. “Aegon’s escapades aren’t half as dangerous as the man himself would like to think. Keep your distance, but keep watching.”

Garrick nodded. “And you, my prince—”

“Eddie,” he interrupted with a stern look. “Here, I am just Eddie. Let’s not forget that.”

The guard smirked but acquiesced, “Eddie, then. Just remember that we’re here if you need us.”

Holden Cross observed this budding mentorship with quiet approval. The seasoned knight, who had shaped Eddie into the formidable warrior he was, now saw an opportunity to impart his wisdom to another young mind.

“Aemond reminds me of you when you first started training,” Holden confided to Eddie during one of their private discussions in the old Blackstone Legion hideout. “Hungry for purpose, desperate to prove himself. But he’s still raw, still finding his footing.”

Eddie nodded, his expression thoughtful. “He has potential, Holden. More than Aegon ever will, I’d wager. But he needs someone to guide him. Someone who can help him see beyond the shadow of his brother.”

Eddie’s interactions with Aemond grew more frequent, and their bond deepened. Aemond welcomed Eddie’s candid advice, a rarity in a court where flattery was currency.

“You’re wasting your strength on these drills,” Eddie said one evening, watching as Aemond practiced his swordplay. “If you’re going to face real opponents, you need to learn unpredictability. Precision is only part of the fight.”

Aemond paused, wiping sweat from his brow. “And you think you can teach me that?”

Eddie smiled, picking up a practice sword. “Let’s find out.”

The sparring session that followed was intense. Aemond pushed himself to the brink, determined to meet Eddie’s expectations. By the end of it, he was exhausted but exhilarated.

One morning, while Eddie was sparring with Aemond in the training yard, a commotion erupted in the Red Keep. One of Aemond’s guards had been discovered accepting bribes to pass sensitive information to a lesser noble, and King Viserys ordered the guard dismissed and replaced immediately.

Aemond, who rarely found satisfaction with his current entourage, seized the opportunity to suggest someone he trusted.

“I want Ser Holden Cross,” Aemond said firmly to the gathered council.

Lord Otto Hightower raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Holden Cross? The old man who follows the squire around? A squire’s associate is hardly fit to guard a prince.”

“He’s more than fit,” Aemond argued, his voice edged with conviction. “I’ve seen him train. He’s stronger, faster, and smarter than most of the guards we have now. I trust him with my life.”

The council exchanged uneasy glances, but King Viserys, tired of the ongoing debates, waved a hand to silence them.

“If Aemond believes this Holden Cross is capable, then let it be so. We’ll assign him on a probationary basis. If he falters, he’ll be removed.”

Later that day, Holden Cross was summoned to the throne room. The guards who escorted him to the presence of the king looked at him with suspicion, as his worn armor and weathered face gave him the appearance of a common sellsword rather than a distinguished knight.

“You’ve been recommended to join Prince Aemond’s personal guard,” Viserys said, studying Holden from his seat on the Iron Throne. “The prince speaks highly of you.”

Holden bowed low, his voice calm and respectful. “It would be an honor to serve the crown, Your Grace.”

“Do you swear loyalty to the realm and to my son?” Viserys asked.

“I swear it,” Holden replied without hesitation.

“Then it’s done,” the king said, signaling the end of the conversation. “Serve him well.”

As Holden exited the throne room, he noticed Otto Hightower watching him closely, suspicion etched on his face. But Holden paid it no mind. He had served under far worse scrutiny in his years with the Blackstone Legion.

Holden quickly proved his worth as Aemond’s guard. He accompanied the prince on his outings, offering sound advice and keeping a watchful eye on potential threats. His presence also allowed him to remain close to Eddie, ensuring the young Stormrage prince could continue his mission without interference.

“You’ve really ingrained yourself here,” Holden remarked one evening as he and Eddie trained in the Red Keep's training ground. “Even Aemond sees you as a trusted ally.”

“He’s a good lad,” Eddie replied, wiping sweat from his brow. “But he needs guidance, someone who’ll show him how to be more than just a prince. Someone like you.”

Holden smirked. “Don’t flatter me. I’m just doing what I’ve always done—helping those who can shape the world.”

With Holden now firmly established as part of Aemond’s guard, Eddie found it easier to maintain his dual role as squire and secret mentor. Together, the three of them formed a bond that extended beyond mere duty.

Holden’s presence brought a sense of discipline and order, while Eddie’s sharp mind and unconventional wisdom offered Aemond perspectives he had never considered. And for Aemond, the two became not just protectors but trusted confidants.

“Do you think I could ever be a good king?” Aemond asked one evening, as they sat in a quiet corner of the training yard.

Holden looked at him, his expression serious. “That depends on the choices you make and the lessons you learn. But if you’re willing to listen and grow, there’s no reason you can’t surpass everyone’s expectations.”

Eddie nodded in agreement. “You’ve got the potential, Aemond. Now it’s up to you to use it.”

In the months that followed, their camaraderie grew stronger, and the Red Keep became a silent witness to the unlikely trio’s influence on the young prince who could one day shape the future of Westeros.

While Eddie focused on honing Aemond’s physical skills, Holden Cross worked to shape the young prince’s character. In private conversations, he spoke of the responsibilities of leadership and the weight of ruling justly.

“A king isn’t just a warrior,” Holden told Aemond one evening as they walked through the Red Keep’s gardens. “He’s a protector, a guide, and, most importantly, a servant to his people. Never forget that.”

Aemond listened intently, his respect for the old knight growing with each passing day. Though Holden rarely spoke of his past, his words carried the weight of experience, and Aemond recognized the wisdom in them.

Eddie’s growing bond with Aemond did not go unnoticed in the Red Keep. Servants and guards whispered about the squire who seemed to hold sway over the young prince. Even Aegon, oblivious as he was to most things, remarked on the closeness between the two.

“You’ve got Aemond wrapped around your finger,” Aegon said one evening, his tone half-mocking. “What’s your secret, Eddie?”

“No secret,” Eddie replied casually. “I just see potential where others don’t.”

Aegon laughed, dismissing the comment. But for Eddie, it was a point of pride. He wasn’t just biding his time in King’s Landing—he was making a difference, shaping a future leader who might one day change the course of the realm.

The announcement that the royal family would be traveling to Dragonstone stirred little excitement in the Red Keep. For the Targaryens, Dragonstone was a familiar retreat, a stronghold of their ancestors, and a place they had visited countless times. The servants prepared the royal entourage, packing fine clothes and supplies for the trip, while the guards made arrangements for their protection.

For Eddie, however, the prospect of visiting Dragonstone ignited a deep curiosity. It was more than a historic island; it was a cornerstone of his family’s legacy. His father, Robert Stronghammer, had claimed the fearsome Cannibal there, setting the stage for the rise of the Kingdom of Stormrage. It was on that volcanic island that the daring act of a single man reshaped the destinies of countless lives across Essos.

Eddie sat in the chambers he shared with Holden Cross, polishing his sword in preparation for the journey. His mind was abuzz with thoughts of what he might find on Dragonstone.

“Excited, aren’t you?” Holden asked, leaning against the doorframe, a smirk playing on his lips.

Eddie looked up, his blue eyes shining with enthusiasm. “Of course I am. It’s not just any island, Holden. It’s where my father changed everything. If he hadn’t claimed the Cannibal, Stormrage wouldn’t exist.”

Holden nodded thoughtfully. “True. Dragonstone is where your father took his first step towards greatness. But remember, lad, it’s not just a place of history—it’s still home to dragons and secrets. Tread carefully.”

“I intend to,” Eddie replied, sheathing his sword. “But I want to see it for myself. I want to stand where he stood, feel what he felt.”

The royal fleet set sail under a clear sky, the sails of the Targaryen ships billowing in the wind. Eddie stood on the deck beside Prince Aemond, watching as the coastline of King’s Landing faded into the distance.

“You seem unusually eager for this trip,” Aemond remarked, glancing at Eddie.

Eddie shrugged, hiding his excitement. “It’s not every day you get to visit the birthplace of legends. Besides, I’ve always wanted to see where your family began.”

Aemond smirked. “It’s just an island with a castle, a few dragons, and lots of volcanic rock. Hardly legendary anymore.”

“It is to me,” Eddie said firmly, earning a curious look from Aemond.

Holden, who stood nearby, chuckled. “Let the boy have his excitement, Prince Aemond. Dragonstone may not seem like much to you, but to some, it’s the start of something bigger.”