Paleblood Bastard

The Waking World

I was told that Kings Landing smelled terrible, so I had taken a precaution. My body was malleable, made from my thoughts and turned into flesh, so it was fairly easy to alter. In this case I had simply removed my sense of smell. The city was still disgusting. The air was vile and almost seemed to cling to my skin as we moved through the streets toward the Red Keep. At least Yharnam had the decency to be coated in the delightful scent of blood to cover up the rotting flesh.

The young hunter trailing behind me seemed to get the much worse of it though, with his pathetically rigid and unchangeable body. None of the Northerners were fairing well, the girls were holding their noses while Lord Stark was simply giving a grimace at the scent. But Bran's senses were that of a hunter, a dozen times better than a normal man, comparable to a hound. If it was simply annoying that would have been fine, but it seemed to agitate the parasite, causing the creature to dig into Bran's flesh every so slightly deeper to escape. The boy seemed unsteady on his feet, which I could not allow. So I reached into his mind and turned off the part of it that acknowledged scent. Yet still the agitation of the parasite did not fade, nor did Bran's, and I realized why. I had taught him to fear the city, he had not yet learned that he was the predator, and that all others should fear. He was surrounded by all sides by screaming and wailing, and he urged to lash out and silence what he saw as threats. I felt the same way, if to a lesser degree.

I could feel it, a million minds in this city, caked in rage and blood and madness. This was a city on the verge of a hunt. All it would take is a single drop of blood, a single push to set it off. I smiled.

The boys mind had become like an open room to me. The connection he had created by accepting my blood had only grown stronger as the boy did the same. By this point I could read through his mind like an open book had I wished to. I bet father, the Moon Presence, had been able to do the same with me, but unlike the Paleblood human thoughts were not so foreign to me. I could still comprehend them, still grasp them to a degree, even if I could no longer empathize with them. Just another reason why I was superior to that nightmare. It could not understand its hunters, and thus was unfit to rule them, unlike myself.

It wasn't long until we stood in the shadow of the Red Keep, and began to approach its walls. The people, beasts, waved and cheered in welcome as we passed, with some offering blessings from their gods as if they had the right to do so. They all parted as we moved, the guards stood at alert, yet I could see through the façade, they simply wanted to appear to be doing their jobs.

I looked up at the Keep as we neared it and was thouroly unimpressed. While the girls were looking at it with a measure of awe, enough to cause them to forget about the disgusting conditions that surrounded it, I saw that Bran did not feel the same. Why would he? It was an impressive building to be sure, but compared to Yharnam, or to Castle Cainhurst? It was nothing special. The memory of that castle, of those ghost and statues, of the men turned-ticks, and of the queen in the iron mask filled me with a bit of joy. The boy had yet to see it, yet to wade through the rivers of blood and learn to fear the crying servants. That would need to be rectified soon enough.

My disappointment continued as we entered the throne room, yet I felt a bit of joy run up my spine as well. The room was plain and uninteresting by my standards, nothing like the Vileblood throne room, but the iron chair was a different matter.

It was a monstrosity, towering above everything else. A colossus made from a thousand melted blades. It was impressive to a normal man, but it was the first impressive thing I had seen in this city. It was wreathed in blood and madness. The chair was almost alive, like the gallons of blood that it had been seeped in, that had been spilled from it, had given it its own heart. And what a heart it was. It pulsed madness with every beat, and I realized this was the source of that delectable feeling in the city. Just as the Amygdala loomed over Yharnam, as did many other of the Great Ones, this chair loomed over the entire kingdom, soaking the soil in blood.

I returned my sense of smell, twisting my flesh so I could experience it fully. The sanguine smell was dried by now, but the room reeked of blood, almost akin to the streets of my home city. It was not the quantity or the freshness of blood that brought a smile onto my face, it was simply the efficiency of it. I realized it then. I was not needed in this country, blood would flow regardless, and madness would bloom. There would be a hunt, whether or not I did anything, all because of this chair. I will need more hunters if I am to make it memorable. I realized. I needed to start looking for candidates.

The king said a few things, not that I listened, and people began to disperse. I looked to my apprentice, and saw that he was just as agitated as the sight of the throne as I was, he simply lacked the wisdom to comprehend why that was. I strode passed him, and beckoned him to follow, we had things to take care of, and soon. I could not have a green hunter any longer.

The Dream: Yharnam

The boy faced a Cleric Beast, his first true hunt. He moved well. The parasite attached to his arm moved almost without input, lashing and striking constantly. Unlike most hunters that had to stop attacking in order to dodge, Bran could do both at the same time. The advantage of having two brains. He jumped back from the creature's slam, pointed his pistol at its face, and pulled the trigger, stunning it. He then shoved his arm into it head, and let the parasite run wild. The tentacle tore the beast's brain to shreds, and soon the tendril ripped out of the other eye. When he took him arm away, he was showered in blood from head to toe, not a single inch clean of the viscera, and the Cleric beast fell to the ground, dead and unmoving. It had only taken him four tries, one less than it had taken me, though he was twice the age I was at the time. He was skilled.

I materialized behind him, appearing in my human form, and I began to applaud. The sound of my palms clapping together echoed of the stone walls of the city, and captured his attention. Without a beast he spun on his heel and lashed out with his parasite. The tentacle moved like a blur and stretched twenty feet toward me. I quickened, vanished in a cloud of smoke, and was suddenly behind the boy. If I hadn't it may well have ripped my head off, not that that would have killed me, and I couldn't help but smile at that.

"Your reflexes are improving," I said as I laid my hand on his shoulder. The parasite went limp beneath my hand, like a cat showing its belly to submit. The boy flinched at the sudden contact, but relaxed as he realized my presence. I took my hand off him and sat down, using the still bleeding head of the beast as a chair as he turned to look at me.

Bran was panting, like he struggled for every breath; his body wanted nothing more than to fill his lungs. No doubt he could taste blood, the beasts and a bit of his own based on a hit he had taken, on his tongue and he inhaled with an open mouth. There was sweat dripping from his brow and matting his hair to his head as it flowed from his skin, barely noticeable against the coat of red plastered to him. I could see the viscera hanging from his arm. But he seemed unbothered by it for the moment. Good. He placed his hands on his knees as he caught his breath, but still his guard wasn't lowered, having long since learned that I would punish him for a slip like that.

Soon he was smiling, and then he was laughing. It was a bloody, full bellied laugh where he threw his head back. He tossed his fists into the air in victory, and began to relish in the kill. I allowed it. It was his first truly successful hunt. This was a triumph. But soon he was done, and his laugher died down, no longer echoing across the city. Tiredness filled him, no doubt seeping into his bones. It was like he could barely hold himself up. I decided to give the child a hand, and I stood from the corpse and walked over to him, and grabbed him by the shoulders to steady him. He did not hesitate to let his muscles fall slack in my grip. But he didn't look at me, he had long since learned that that brought him pain. Even in my human form, it was beyond him.

"…what now?" He asked in between pants. There was excitement in his voice, along with anticipation. It was practically flowing from his mind as insight flooded it.

"A good question lad," I said as I looked out over the city. Where should he go? So far he had not wandered from central Yharnam. "The Cathedral Ward," I decided. He did not need to take the same path I did, Yharnam was more open now, but the Cathedral Ward was a great hub.

"How do I get there?" he asked, and I decided to give him a bit of help.

"There is a great bridge that leads to a graveyard. You've seen it from the lantern. Cross it and then ascend, and you will reach the Cathedral Ward," I said as I pointed in the direction. Maybe he would get lucky and find the elevator, the door was still open after all.

"But for now, rest. You've earned it," I said. And he had. Killing a Cleric Beast at his age was no small feat. I doubt he was in a condition for another hunt anyway. He took another panting breath and fell against me chest, into my arms. He had passed out of his feet.

I lifted the boy into my arms and returned to the workshop. I washed the blood from him before I handed him to Mother to look after. There were no beds in the workshop, we had never needed them, so she simply laid him across the grass on that flowery hill overlooking the cemetery, right beneath the tree, the white flowers parted around him.

I took the time to gaze into his mind. He had not returned to the waking world, I hadn't yet allowed it. He was growing strong. His insight seemed to increase with every day. He was becoming proficient in the arcane at an astonishing rate, no doubt due to the help of the parasite and his own unique nature.

A Raven sat in the tree above him. "Quite bold of you to come where you are not invited," I said. The birds three eyes stared at me as I sat draped across mothers' shoulders. He could see me, barely, but I was not invisible to him. His mind did mot melt in my presence. Good, if he was so weak then he would not even be here. Nor would it be worth my attention.

"The boy must fly…" It said. There was a harrowing tone in its voice, as if the world would end if it was not obeyed. I just smiled at that.

"My hunter is not a bird any longer. He is not yours. He is more than a fragile little raven. But do not worry yourself too much vagrant, his eyes will open soon enough." At that I banished the creature, though I was of half a mind to tear his soul to pieces. Still, I felt that would be a bit of a waste. It would be far more interesting to leave the Bloodraven alive.

Bran's forehead was bleeding. He would see soon enough.

AN: We are finally in King's Landing, which means that this is where the plot really begins to get going. It also means I need to go back and start rewatching the episodes, so it may take a bit for my next chapter.

I will be using a mix of the show and book canon for this. Mostly I'll just be taking whatever I find the most interesting from each. Or what I can have the most fun with.

As for one review question about stats, that isn't really how I'm doing things. Jon is beyond that as this point, so consider him at 99 across the board. Bran on the other hand will be running a full int build.