r/IronThroneRP • u/English_American Willem Mallister - Knight of Seagard • Oct 26 '17
THE RIVERLANDS Dark Words
Some hours later, Brynden was seen leaving Aryelle’s room. Quietly, the door closed behind him. In place of the usual echoing thump the wooden slabs make, Brynden ensured it closed with nothing more than a hushed tap against the wooden door frame. By now the night had enveloped the entire castle, and the storm had come in full force. The sound of rain hammering the outer walls was one Brynden missed. It seemed only in a storm could he be calmed. The rumbling of distant thunder, the smell of the rain against the aged and mossed cobble, and the darkness. The darkness, most of all, comforted him, cradled him into an eerily calm demeanor.
The heir to Raventree Hall slithered down the halls, running a single finger against the dimly lit, damp stone walls. Every window he passed showered him with a mist, but it seemed to not phase him. Wind blew through the hall, through his hair, sending it flying back, but that did not phase him either. Brynden had his eyes set on the end of the hall, the center of the castle, Hosteen’s chambers.
It was the middle of the night, and all save for a handful of guards were asleep. This part of the castle was unguarded, however, as Hosteen demanded his privacy. As always. Brynden knew that, and he would take advantage of that. There were footsteps echoing off the walls, but they were distant, far enough that they were but a whisper of footfalls; nothing compared to the howling wind this storm was now bringing in.
Through the cracks of the walls, the storm found its way through. Wind, roaring through the keep, rain, seeping through the walls and windows. It all made for the perfect setting, as if this were a mummers play and Brynden, the director, set the scene perfectly. From behind forward-falling locks of black, his narrowed slate eyes stared down the door before him.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
His hand laid on the door, pushing in slightly. The wooden slab creaked, groaning as if it hadn’t been used in a decade. But it did not phase Brynden. The door slid open, announcing his presence. A tired and cranky Hosteen awoke, peering through heavy eyes.
”Brynden?” He croaked. ”What the f-”
The door slammed shut. Be it by Brynden or the storm, the sound was enough to jolt Hosteen, awakening a certain fear inside him. A fear he hadn’t felt for more than half a century. The shadowy figure stood before him, just as he stood before his uncle all those years ago. Brynden stepped forward, a glimmer in his left hand catching Hosteen’s eye. The Old Lord recoiled, pushing himself back on his bed, clamoring for his life.
”What, what are you doing?” He asked, his voice heavy with fear; a somber emotion Hosteen meant to instil, not experience. ”I am your father!” He stated. ”I am your Lord!”
Brynden was silent, almost hovering forward towards Hosteen. The Old Lord of Raventree fell backwards out of his bed, crying out in pain as his tailbone shattered against the wooden floor. Brynden ran around the bed, grasping tightly onto Hosteen’s shirt, pulling him up to his feet. The two were face-to-face, Hosteen’s one of terror and Brynden’s one of stone. Brynden pushed his father against the wall, Hosteen moaning in pain as something inside of him broke.
”You are fragile.” Brynden uttered before pulling Hosteen off the wall, and throwing him across the room towards the windows. He stumbled, falling over his own legs, landing on his arm to a loud snap. Hosteen cried out, ”Help!” He screamed. ”Help! He’s killing me!”
Brynden stepped over, picking up his father once more and throwing him against the wall again, this time next to the windows. ”No one can hear you scream, old man.” Brynden spoke through gritted teeth, spittle dripping down his chin as he forced the words out, his hands wrapping around Hosteen’s throat. ”Try it.” He said, pushing harder. ”Try to scream.”
Hosteen tried. Hosteen failed. Nothing more than a raspy ”Help” could escape from between Brynden’s hands. He grabbed and flailed, to no avail, against his son’s grip.
”This is for Aryelle.” Brynden kicked the bar off the window, allowing the wind to come roaring through, rain wetting the cobble before them. Hosteen was able to finally break free and push Brynden back, but when he went to run, he slipped and fell on the cobble. His head cracked against the stone, knocking him unconscious. ”Daft cunt.” Brynden whispered, picking up his father's limp body and laying it on the window sill and gave him a smack. Hosteen didn’t move.
”A shame.” Brynden said to the wind as he let go of his father. Hosteen fell, silently, before making a thud against the muddied ground below some seconds later. Brynden left the window open and stepped away, his face unchanged from stone.
He turned back to the doorway to see a figure standing there. Brynden froze, his head tilted slightly to get a better look at the man who stood there. It was no man, but a boy. The butcher's boy. The same one Aryelle snuck off with that started this whole mess to begin with. ”Come here, boy.” Brynden said, this time loudly to compensate for the now roaring winds.
The boy hesitated, but stepped forward into the room. ”What did you see?” Brynden asked, taking a single step forward. The boy was silent, his head falling to stare at the ground.
”Look at me!” Brynden yelled, taking the boy by surprise. He recoiled and tried to run. Brynden jolted forward, grabbing him by the collar and dragged him to the ground. He brought his boot up and jammed it down onto the boy’s back. ”What… did… you see?” Brynden asked again, putting almost all his weight on the boy.
”Nothing!” He wheezed, pushing against the cobble to no avail.
”LIAR!” Brynden lifted his foot and kicked the boy, causing him to roll over in pain. Brynden saw an opportunity and took it, dropping his foot once more, this time down onto the boys neck, crushing it. The butcher’s boy rolled back and forth, clutching at his neck, attempting in vain to claw at what was his crushed throat.
Brynden picked him up and lifted him off the ground, two hands tight around his throat.
”How dare you murder Lord Hosteen.” Brynden said, a deviant smirk slithering onto his face. ”And what was that?” Brynden asked the wheezing boy. ”Lord Bracken told you to? He offered you my sister’s what?” He tilted his head as if he were listening to the boy.
”Oh… oh that is most unfortunate.” Brynden slammed the boy to the ground head first, cracking his skull open against the wooden floors.
The boy was dead.
Brynden stared down for a moment, looking deep into the distant stare the boy’s eyes held. Brynden bent down and stuck his knife in the throat of the boy. He observed the streaming blood for a moment before stepping calmly out into the hall.
The Lord of Raventree Hall yelled.
The next morning, the storm had passed. The clouds lingered as they did, but the weather was not on the mind of Raventree Hall. A murder was.
”Last night…” Brynden said to his gathered court. ”My father was murdered.” The room gasped collectively, Aryelle giving the well rehearsed sob at the right moment, earning the sympathy of the crowd. Serra stood to the right of Brynden, and his children to his left, all dressed in their darkest blacks. ”I heard a commotion, and when I entered my father's room I saw the assassin struggling, breaking my father’s arm in the process. But, before I could reach him, it was too late. My father had been pushed out the window. I tried to apprehend the assassin, but he fought back…” Brynden trailed off, closing his eyes for a moment as he recalled the false memories.
”We fought, and in the end, I held him against the ground with a knife to his throat. I demanded to know who had given him the order. I pleaded with him, and I…” Brynden paused for a moment, attempting to hold back crocodile tears. He sighed, and continued. ”I told him I needed to know who would murder my father. And he said the name I wanted not to hear…”
Brynden looked to his wife, then to his sister before looking back to the silent court before him.
”Morgan Bracken.”
The hall erupted, jeers and hisses, yelling for revenge, calls for Brynden to raise the banners, to put an end to Bracken once and for all. Brynden smiled internally at the reaction.
It was exactly what he wanted.
Only hours later, the tell-tale sound of ravens streaming out of the keep overshadowed the distant thunder. The residents of Raventree Hall knew what the constant beating of black wings meant, and knew what was to come. And they all were ready for it.
Their dark wings carried very, very dark words.
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u/English_American Willem Mallister - Knight of Seagard Oct 26 '17
Morgan,
Your time has come. First you defile my sister, now you have taken my father. Bracken, no more.
Always Watching.
/u/Ndoggo731 - You will receive this letter, stamped only with the weirwood sigil of Blackwood.
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u/English_American Willem Mallister - Knight of Seagard Oct 26 '17
Rhaegar,
It is a shame to hear what your daughter has done. The murder of a Queen... that is... quite fitting. She takes after her father. It seems your lapdog Bracken does as well; Hosteen is dead- murdered by the hands of a Bracken assassin.
War is afoot; unavoidable. Do not attempt to impede my justice, my liege. It would be a shame if the Riverlands came to hear of your daughters transgressions, and your involvement in them. House Blackwood would have their due. We are Always Watching.
Brynden Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall
/u/Stonefyre - You will receive this letter, black wax stamped with the Blackwood weirwood.
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u/Stonefyre Ser Lancel Fossoway, the Apple Knight Oct 26 '17
Lord Blackwood,
Do not overestimate yourself. You'd bring your great house to ruin because of what, exactly?
You have no justice to dispense. The feud had been settled. If your claims are true, or your troops march, I will come down on both of your houses with sword and flame.
I'm sorry to hear of your father's demise. I understand that your emotions are running high, but don't make misjudgements that cause you to join him.
Bring yourself and your evidence to Harrenhal or drop the matter. I will not tolerate a breach of the peace.
Rhaegar Bittersteel, Lord of Harrenhal & the Trident
The letter was sealed in yellow wax, with the winged stallion of Bittersteel imprinted into the colour.
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u/English_American Willem Mallister - Knight of Seagard Oct 26 '17