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Ever since he was a child, Ser William Stebbins received visions.
Visions was perhaps a generous term for it. Sure, sometimes it was actual visions, but sometimes it was simply knowing something he shouldn’t. Sometimes it was words that weren’t his own thoughts popping into his head, a disembodied voice whispering a secret to him.
If there was one thing he was certain of, it was that all his visions were true. Even the ones that made no sense.
His first one came when he was just a boy. He had been playing in the field by the farm, after finishing his chores for the day, when a horrifying scene overcame his mind: A three-headed dog pursuing a horned rabbit, who fled into a burrow, where a three-headed baby rabbit was waiting for her.
The vision had frightened him so, and he ran crying to his mother, who wiped away his tears and pet his hair. Soothing him, she explained what a Cerberus was, what a Jackalope was, and most importantly, what a Seer was.
Seers received visions of the past, present, and future. They knew things they should not be able to know. They received and spouted prophecies, some clear as day, others that could take years to decipher. And in the end, most are driven mad.
“I’m a Seer,” His mother explained, still stroking his hair, “And it seems you’re one too.”
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It didn’t matter how often Stebbins proved himself to be reasonable, or calculating, or of sound mind. His title, The Mad Knight, would follow him everywhere. All because he was a Seer.
He preferred being known as a Knight, as opposed to being known as a Seer. Unfortunately the title the King had given him ensured that he would forever be known as both, both identities intertwined, inseparable from one another. He was a Knight just as much as he was a Seer.
But he wasn’t mad, as his title suggested. Not yet, at least.
“One of us ought to be getting a squire, soon,” Ser Raymond Garraty said as he polished his sword. “It’s been enough time, I think.”
“You can request one, I’d rather not have a kid following me around,” Stebbins replied coolly, looking over the armory’s inventory. “It’s bad enough having you follow me around.”
“Someone needs to be there when you inevitably lose your mind. Would you rather it be someone else?” Garraty half-joked. Stebbins didn’t respond, not wanting to admit Garraty was right but also knowing he wasn’t necessarily wrong. “Have any visions lately?”
“You’re going to cut yourself on your own poisoned blade and die,” Stebbins deadpanned. There was a pause, and Stebbins knew Garraty was giving him a worried look.
“… Do I really?”
“No. That was a lie,” Stebbins looked over his shoulder with a smirk, and Garraty flipped him off.
“Sers,” A new voice piped in. Both Stebbins and Garraty looked to the doorway, where a nervous servant was standing. “The King has requested you both in the throne room.”
Both knights exchanged a look, before Stebbins looked back to the servant, “Very well. We’ll be there.”
The servant nodded, before scampering away. Garraty stood up, sheathing his sword. “What do you suppose it’s about?”
Stebbins’ mind flitted through the possibilities: Finally being assigned to a house, being ordered to a town to quell an uprising, rumors of some beast that needed slaying. When he couldn’t land on a particular one, he simply shrugged.
“Damn, what’s the point of being a seer if you’re not actually all-knowing?” Garraty teased, giving Stebbins a smile. Stebbins rolled his eyes as the two headed out of the armory.
It didn’t take long for them to reach the throne room, a long stone hall with dark yellow banners depicting a Cerberus— The sigil of The King’s house, an ornate throne at the end, behind which was a large stained glass window depicted various beasts— Cerberus, Hydra, Dragon, Gryphon, among various others. One of the first things Stebbins had noticed when he first saw that window years ago was that there was no Jackalope.
Looking out the window, instead of sitting on his throne, was the King. Stebbins wouldn’t be able to tell someone what the King looked like— He always wore a helm, which had his crown welded onto it. He wasn’t sure anyone knew what the King’s face looked like. What he could say was that Stebbins was taller than the King.
Stebbins and Garraty both took a knee, bowing to him. The King looked over, and said in a grizzled voice, “On your feet, boys.” Both immediately stood, keeping their heads bowed.
“As I’m sure the two of you know, there is a Tourney being held in Amberwood next month,” The King said, walking to stand in front of his throne. Stebbins could feel his eyes boring down on the both of them, even if they couldn’t be seen past his helm. “The two of you are to go compete in this Tourney. Understood?”
“Understood,” They both said in unison.
“Good. You’re dismissed.”
Stebbins stood up, sparing the King and his throne one last glance— a vision flashing before his eyes for a moment— before turning and walking out of the throne room, Garraty following closely.
Every time he saw the King by his throne, he’d get the same brief vision. The most beautiful person he’d seen, sat on the throne with a crown atop their head. For years he’d tried to figure out if this was a vision of the past or the future. He still hadn’t solved it yet.
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You took every prophecy you heard with a grain of salt.
It wasn’t that you thought the visions that Seers got were lies, per se. But it was hard for you to forget that Seers often go mad. So who’s to say they don’t misinterpret the visions and prophecies they receive?
There was a Seer in one of the towns near Quickpeak, the castle you grew up in. You never learned her name, but she gave you and your family many prophecies, before she died of old age.
One of the prophecies to you was “Your mother’s face will see you become Head of your House.”
This was the prophecy that sowed doubt into you. It led you to believe that your mother would outlive your father, that while he had to die for you to take his place, she’d be there to see it.
But mere months after this prophecy was given, your mother died giving birth to your younger brother. You were only ten. Your mother would never see you gain your title.
So while your father kept track of the prophecies given and people whispered about what the Seer’s words must mean, you ignored it in favor of reality. To trust a Seer was to trust a Madman.
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You crept through Quickpeak, holding your brother’s hand as you made your way to the kitchens late at night. He was thirteen now, with a head of curly hair and a sweet face, just like his mother.
“You’re not lying, are you?” He asked.
“Why would I lie about this, Adam?” You said. Pausing outside the kitchen doors, you nudged the door open with your foot and peered inside. Once you confirmed no one was there to catch you, you stepped inside, pulling Adam in with you.
Letting go of his hand, you walked over to the hearth, which was lit (it was always lit). Adam followed you, looking at the lit coals with curiosity.
You grabbed a fire poker, reaching into the hearth and nudging around the wood and coals. “Just watch, it’s in here somewhere…”
“Dragons are rare, there’s no way we have an egg,” Adam says, crossing his arms and glancing around nervously, as if waiting for a bogeyman to pounce from the shadows.
“They are rare, and we do have an egg— Here!” You grab Adam’s arm and pull him over, pointing to a glint of blue among the coals. His eyes widen with wonder and you pull the shape closer with the poker, revealing an egg large enough to hold a dove, shimmering green and blue.
“No way…” Adam reaches a hand towards the egg, before you quickly smack it away. “Ow!”
“That thing’s been in the hearth since before you were born— Probably before I was born, and you don’t think it’d be hot to touch?” You scolded.
“It’s been there that long?” Adam asked, his eyes widening once more.
“It’s been in our family for centuries,” You explained, using the poker to push the egg further back into the hearth, “Legend says some dragons can take up to a thousand years to hatch their eggs. Probably part of why there’s so few of them out there.”
“And we just have one?”
“Why shouldn’t we? The dragon is our sigil, it’s only fitting,” Another voice chimed, causing both you and Adam to jump. You whipped around to see your father, Lord Weiss, watching you and Adam. “I hope I’m not interrupting.”
You and Adam both gave your father sheepish smiles, before you said, “I just wanted to show Adam the egg!”
“Both of you should be turning in for the night. I went to your rooms to get you and found both your beds empty. I have enough to worry about without wondering where my children are,” Your father scolded, though you could see the fondness in his eyes. You’ve heard from servants and commoners alike that your father had a cold streak and an iron will, but he had a soft heart when it came to his family.
“We were gonna go to bed right after!” Adam said.
“I’m sure you were… Well, before either of you go, there was something I wanted to tell you.”
Your back straightened a little, mentally preparing yourself.
“There’s going to be a Tourney in Amberwood in a month,” Your father started. You felt your heart deflate a little— You rarely got brought to Tourneys, and Adam never did. “I’ve been doing some thinking… And I’ve decided I will be taking you both with me, this time.”
You brightened, “Really?”
“Yes, really,” You father said, a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. You and Adam exchanged excited looks. “Now go to bed, both of you. Before I decide to change my mind.”
“Goodnight, and thank you!” You said, quickly hugging your father, before breaking away and racing out of the kitchens, Adam not far behind you. Excitement followed you your whole way to bed, and you could scarcely wait to tell Clementine and Hank the news tomorrow— You were finally going to get to attend a Tourney again.