EPTChapter I: http://www.teamliquid.net/blogs/viewblog.php?topic_id=354243
No, you can't skip the opening tune ^.^
Geoff (Incontrol)
The black bird soared above the grey stone walls of Winterfell, flew through the window of the lord’s chamber and landed on the master crafted wooden table. The raven pecked at its wings, cleaning itself after the long journey north. “Dark wings, dark words.” Geoff removed the old parchment scroll from the bird’s legs, and broke the black boar seal of Dongraegu’s House. He followed the words with his finger as he read the letter.
“Dark words indeed.”
“What does it say?” Benjamin asked as he moved his bishop across the board.
“The king is dead, as the majority of the people who were at the defense-meeting appear to be.” He pushed his pawn one space forward.
“What happened?” Benjamin ran his fingers through his thick brown beard as he considered his next move. The strong wind hinted at the end of summer and whipped through his hair.
“Lord MC killed the king and all those who stood by his side. Luckily the valiant Dongraegu managed to stop him, and he has crowned himself king now. Almost everyone else is dead.” Geoff’s face was motionless. His closely-trimmed light brown beard was shot with white sparks. He had spent most of his days training for battle, and the remaining ones fighting them.
“And do you believe that?” Ben gasped as he realized his castle was trapped between Geoff’s knight and pawn.
“Of course not. Victorious rebels usually end up on the iron throne. Very much like Dongraegu.” Geoff slew Benjamin’s castle with his knight.
“I reckon the letter asks you to travel south and swear your loyalty to our new king.” Ben’s knight captured the white bishop, a small victory.
“Yes, it does ask that.” Geoff riskily sent his queen to the other side of the map.
“Will you?” His pawn took one of Geoff’s.
“If there’s one thing chess teaches us, it’s to think before you move. Once the piece hits the board you cannot put it back again.” He rushed his castle across the black and white battlefield.
“We have to go to war. What men are we if we let this treachery go unpunished?” Ben confidently took his opponent’s queen with his own.
“Living men. Smart men. Men of peace.” Geoff carefully thought about his next movement.
“Cowards, sheep, oathbreakers.” Ben replied cynically.
“Oaths are only as strong as a man’s willpower and dedication. We usurped with Greg against this same king ten years ago. Why would we risk our lives, and the one’s of many northmen for him now.” Geoff cautiously moved his knight forward.
“We owe him the north. He could have taken both of our heads, and given Winterfell to one of those southern idiots.” Ben sacrificed his knight to kill the last remaining white bishop.
“We bought the north with steel. When we surrounded his army in the king’s wood, a crushing defeat was inevitable. We dropped our swords in return for the north. Many men saw the sun rise that next morning, all because we thought carefully about how to move our pieces. We outplayed him, we owe him nothing.”
“He’s our king. The king stays the king.” Ben noticed how he had foolishly walked into a trap.
“Only in chess, my friend.” Geoff moved his castle one space forward. “Checkmate.”
“You fucking cunt”, Ben smiled.
“Good game, ser Baker. You can find me in the godswood if you need me, I have to think about what piece we want to move.” Geoff said.
The gods of Winterfell created a different kind of forest. The trees were dark and primal, three acres big and untouched for millennia. The grove was older than the stones of Winterfell. The trees weren’t planted in the city, but the towers built around the forest. At the center of the godswood an old white tree loomed over a dark pool of water. The heart tree, an ancient weirwood. Its leaves read as blood, its bark white as a piece of chess and a face carved into the great tree’s trunk. Its eyes were old, and full of memories. It had seen all there was to be seen, from the dawn of the age of men until now. The old gods gazed through it, Geoff could sometimes feel their presence. They spoke to him.
He found his wife praying in the small sept. She was Anna Prosser of the reach, they worshipped different gods down in the south. The Seven they called them, but every northener knew the only true gods where the old ones. The Prosser’s were probably the richest house in all of Westeros after the Satouri’s of Casterly Rock.
Her auburn brown hair danced to the rhythm of the wind. She was truly beautiful. Their marriage was one of love, which was very uncommon for people of noble birth. He still couldn’t believe how lucky he was. She walked towards him and they stood together under the weirwood tree, the old gods had their eyes fixed on them.
“What’s wrong my love?” she asked.
“Dark words from the south. Dongraegu killed the king and took King’s Landing. He sent word to all corners of the realm, and asks to go south and swear an oath to him.”
“You don’t have to go, you can send Marcus or Benjamin.”
"I’m Geoff of House Robinson, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I have to go, the question is how many men will march behind me.”
“You have fought your share of battles, you don’t need to do this. There are other men to do that now, your duty is to protect the north and you do that by staying here. Don’t pull men away from their wives, don’t let boys who haven’t seen a long winter take up arms. This is not your war.”
“My bannermen will disagree. We don’t forgive, we don’t forget. The north remembers.”
“Then remember without holding steel in your hand. You have three children, they’re not even eight yet. They need you, Geoff.”
“And I need them, and I need you…”
“Then stay.”
“If the north doesn’t fight, who will?”
“House Quantic of the southern deserts, House MC of the Eyrie vale, House Satouri of the Rock, House Liquid of the Stormlands, … we are not the only family in Westeros with an army. The glory days of house EG are over, they died when Greg took Bryce and Jacob with him across the narrow sea and left us to die while fighting his bloody war. We are house Robinson now, we are not obliged to march eagerly into battle anymore.”
“Greg moved the right pieces. I will never forgive him for leaving me and Benjamin alone in the king’s wood, but he moved the right pieces. Sometimes the king has to suffer even mighty units like the bishop and the castle to survive.”
“You are the king now. You can decide to sacrifice nothing. You can’t lose a war if you don’t fight.”
“You can’t win one either.”
“But there’s nothing to win. Remember the words of my house: ‘We shed no blood’. My family has never taken up arms, we have always been of peace. It has given us great wealth, happiness, scientific knowledge …”
“The words of House Robinson are ‘Dead men tell no tales’, and if I don’t act Dongraegu’s tale will echo in eternity.”
“Then let it echo, words are wind my love.”
A guardsman approached, he wore black armor with the polar bear sigil of House Robinson. “I’m sorry to intrude my lord, but an emissary from King’s Landing is requesting to speak with you. He is waiting in the Great Hall.”
The Great Hall of Winterfell was enclosed with grey stone and covered with banners. It was the place where guests were received, and where the household would dine together. There were four long rows of tables on each side of the central aisle, capable of seating over five hundred people. Some of his most important bannermen had gathered around the center space. A cozy warmth came from the natural hot springs, which Winterfell was built on, and heated the air. Geoff pushed the wide oak door open and entered the hall. The emissary was an obvious southerner; he wore a lush satin cloak and meticulously tailored sable cloth. He kept his black hair short and neat, his beard was perfectly shaven. Geoff hated him already.
“Greetings, southerner. What brings you to the north: business or pleasure?” Geoff asked with a hint of a smile.
“I’m not the kind of man that goes through cold and snow for amusement, I’m afraid” the messenger replied.
“Yet here you stand. Speak.”
“King Dongraegu sent me with a question. I take it the raven flew faster than my horse ran, and you know all about the grievous news from the capital.”
“It did fly pretty damned fast indeed.”
“Then you know every lord, small and great, has been ordered to renew his vows before the king. I am here to listen to your response, and bring back word of your decision to the king.”
“So I have the choice to refuse?”
“It would be, if I may speak frankly, very unwise. But yes, you have that choice. Of course you would be marked a traitor and an enemy of the realm, the king’s reach even extends to places as cold and far as the north. Declining his grace’s request would be the same as declaring open war.”
The northerners eagerly awaited Geoff’s decision. Benjamin peered at him, and Geoff hadn’t seen that look since the rebellion ten years ago. He could see the rage in each of their eyes. They were proud people, strong people, they did not take betrayal lightly and oathbreakers were the lowest of all in their minds. They silently urged for war.
Geoff spoke: “Tell your king that I will come south and swear fealty to him. The north will not take up arms against his grace, king Dongraegu. We are his loyal subjects, and will not resist in any way. I am his Warden of the North for this day, and all days to come.”
“A wise decision my lord, the king will be pleased to know you stand behind him.”
“Are you sure you will be capable of telling him these exact words?” Geoff asked.
“Why, of course my lord. I’m a messenger, why wouldn’t I be able to tell him this?”
Fast as the wind Geoff pulled the gigantic Valyrian steel greatsword “Winter” from the sheath on his back, and swung it through the air. The messenger’s head came off with a single blow and rolled over the Great Hall’s floor.
Geoff looked at the decapitated head and said: “Because dead men tell no tales.”
