Fantasy Aedighar [closed]

[desti]

Before the eyes of gods and men.
Chapter I
House Hastwyck
Sow knowledge, reap wisdom.
Santrella, Southern lands of Aedighar
​

A rare smile sat on Lady Carlys’ lips. She was a tough woman, made for politics and war, not weddings and love. Yet even she couldn't help but crack a smile, seeing her only son with his new bride.

Looking at her, nobody could tell that the thought of her son being King one day frightened her. Suddenly, the history lessons that her Maester had taught her so many years ago, flooded her mind. All she could think about were assassinations, treachery...

Timos was a good boy, easy to love. The Realm would learn to love him as well. Perhaps she had naught to worry about. Maybe she was witnessing the birth of the second King Tyron.

And her? She'd be the mother of the King… arguably the third most powerful woman in Aedighar. Many had doubted her after her husband's passing many summers ago, but now she was eating fruit and drinking expensive Orinothi wine, the King and Queen sitting just feet away from her.

It was so surreal, she could've laughed.

Tradition required them both to travel from Santrella to Wheldrake together, as the Princess Elaria had been staying with them for a couple moons.Their arrival was received very well in the capital. News of the blooming romance between Timos and the Princess must've travelled faster than them.

Both cities were decorated in crimson, yellow, green and white - the colours of the Houses Hastwyck and Wynver. It was a grand sight that Carlys would have had a hard time imagining in her dreams. She hadn't dared to dream seeing the banners of House Hastwyck in Wheldrake in her lifetime. The fox of Hastwyck had sneaked its way back into the Crownlands.

As the mother of Elaria’s betrothed, she spent quite a bit of time with her. She was wary of her at first - the girl was a Wynver after all. But Carlys eventually had to admit that the girl seemed different from her less than perfect parents. Just like Timos, Elaria was likeable and Carlys found her to be lovely company.

More importantly, Timos liked her. He liked her a lot.

Mayhaps it was because they'd been engaged for a few years now that helped the two hearts beat as one. Carlys didn't doubt that it was enough time for the children to develop feelings for each other, as they spent almost every living moment together.

At the beginning it was hard. Timos only cared for her beauty and forgot that it was the future of the realm at play. Carlys had to teach him to care for the girl more deeply, and Timos fell harder than she imagined. More than she would've liked, in fact, but love had a way of striking their family hard.

When Carlys got engaged to the soon-to-be Lord Benam Hastwyck, she didn't love him. They were married when she was a maid of seven-and-ten and Benam was eight-and-ten. He wasn’t quite a man, but she often found herself admiring her husband, his bravery, strength and comely face.

Love sneaked up on them, if that was the right way to desrcribe it. Carlys couldn't pinpoint the second it happened, but she remembered the moment she understood her love for Ben was true.

Riots had woken in the Eastern side of the South. Rogues and bandits formed a brotherhood of sorts, they stole treasures, murdered men, raped their women and burned cities to the ground. Santrella raised its armies and its Lord had to go with them to fight against the leader of the group - Ramyn Five Tooth

Benam was two-and-twenty years old when he left for battle.

They had already suffered the loss of two children in her belly, and Carlys suddenly felt as though she might lose Benam as well. The thought was unbearable. She felt the amount of fear she'd never experienced so strongly before. Carlys prayed to the Warrior and to the Mother to keep her Lord husband safe.

When he returned a year later, scarred and tired, with the rotten head of Ramyn tied to his horse, she kissed Ben and hugged him, and nursed him back to health herself. For the first time, she admitted her love to him truly and so did he. Carlys liked to think that was the night they conceived Timos.

The boy was lively and running around the day he started walking. He resembled his father so much in both appearance and character, that Carlys was sure he would become a great warrior one day. Timos had long, straight raven hair, with thick eyebrows and eyes the colour of the desert during a sunset. When he laughed, the whole room lit up with him. After Benam fell in a battle, the resemblance hurt her as much as it had amused her once.

When Timos was around ten years old, he suddenly became sick. Someone - Carlys could never remember who it had been - ran into her room, screaming that something was wrong with Timos. Lady Hastwyck ran faster than she'd ever ran in her life to the children's chambers.

Timos was making a horrifying, screeching noise, grabbing at his throat. With a gasp, Carlys found herself sitting him up and calming him down until she finally heard him take in a full breath. He cried in her arms then and only stilled when Maester Konari came to see what was wrong with the poor boy. Even at that age, Timos knew that a Lord shouldn't cry and he feigned strength when the Maester entered his bedchambers.

Bad lungs, the Maester had said. Much help that was.

Timos got better sometimes and sometimes he got worse. Maester Konari gave him herbs to put over his mouth when one of his attacks came. Sometimes he had to breathe in the fumes of a steaming bowl of which Carlys didn't know the contents of and likely wouldn't be able to pronounce the names of the ingredients anyways.

Over the years his attacks lessened in strength and quantity, they came to him barely once a month and Timos seemed to regain the confidence he had before. He still woke sometimes, unable to breathe, or found himself gasping for air in the training yard. But his endurance was getting better and Carlys figured that one day the sickness would go away on its own.

Sick or not, the deal with House Wynvar was too good to let go. The knowledge that if she'd reject them, they'd go the House Bryne made her even more willing to accept. It would secure her children's well-being for generations to come. House Hastwyck would return to the throne after losing it so many years ago. Her son would be the one to bring their House back to its full glory.

Timos was six-and-ten when he became engaged with Princess Elaria. Six years later, they exchanged their vows in the Great Sept of Wheldrake.

If only Benam was here to witness it. So desperately she wished to hold his hand and share this happiness with him. In her mind Carlys could see the proud look in Benam's unnaturally light eyes and hear him whisper in her ear that their boy was going to be King.

Instead of Benam's, she found Leanah’s hand. Carlys gripped it tightly while giving a warm smile to her only daughter. She, too, looked like her father. Strange how her own children had such little likeness to her.

“Be proud of your brother,” Carlys whispered to Leanah, “this marks a new chapter for House Hastwyck and he's the one to write it.”

Carlys and Leanah sat on Timos’ side of the platform. The two lovers sat in the middle on a higher floor than the others at a separate table. Carlys had requested an empty chair where Timos’ father would've sat and the Queen was happy to oblige.

The men and women Carlys had brought with her from Santrella, sat amongst the lower guests. Her and Leanah’s handmaidens weren't allowed to join the ceremony, but in the festivities they could sit at the far end with the rest of the servants who weren't needed to help with the feast. Lords, Ladies, Knights and other special guests sat ordered in importance with the most valued guests at the front.

A large circle shaped stage was left empty in front of the Royal table for entertainers, bards, actors to show up throughout the night. Carlys had heard the Crown planned to serve fifty meals, so she assumed it was going to be a long night and entertainment would be necessary to keep everyone in high spirits.

Sariya Goldenlocks began the feast with her angelic voice and the gentle chords she played on her harp. Men called her the embodiment of the Maiden herself. Carlys on the other hand saw through her blue eyes and golden hair that ran down to her waist. She would bet the gold bracelets on her wrists that Sariya would sing a different song to some handsome Knight later today. All singers were the same - just a tad more talented than regular whores.

Sariya left after her heartbreaking rendition of “Hands of Winter” - one of the most famous ballads in Aedighar, that was part of every bards repertoire. Yet strange how the bard chose to sing that song, even more so that she’d end her performance with it, as everybody knew full well of the tensions between the Crown and the North.

The song told of Northern King Yvar so many years ago when the Kingdoms ruled by themselves. Yvar swore that he saw a beautiful Maid on a ledge of the Mountain that stood near Nilfgaard. He made the dangerous journey to the top of the mountain, only to find the girl's frozen, mummified body.

'Her hands of Winter pushed Yvar then,
He fell, he fell, so far he fell,
To the cries and shrieks of his women and men,
He fell, back down to Nilfgaard he fell’

Carlys always found the song silly, especially the last verse. Yet even she fell under Sariya’s spell and could almost imagine King Yvar staggering back from the body, too close to the edge… Interestingly enough, every Maester proclaimed that King Yvar fell from the mountain not because of a beauty, but because his mule had grown tired of the narrow mountain trail.

Whatever had happened to Yvar mattered naught now. Carlys breathed out a sigh of relief when Sariya left the stage, followed by many men's gaze. She happily found that Timos only had eyes for Princess Elaria. At least he'd be faithful. For now, that is.

The Queen’s polite clapping was mechanic and forced. Carlys raised an eyebrow when she saw her calling over one of the Kingsguard knights, whispering something in his ear. With a nod, he walked off in the direction Sariya had disappeared to.

A shiver ran down Carlys’ spine.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

There was something in the atmosphere, and the feast has merely just begun while Leanah had already lost her appetite. Her fingers were wrapped around the silver fork, tapping it lightly against the matching plate. The rim of the dish was decorated with dancing serpents, and her cup was painted the same way; a serpent dancing around the stem of the cup.

Her eyes tried to meet her brother’s, but without luck, she found herself back staring at the cutlery in front of her.

She acted like a child, but she was hesitant about the wedding, wanting only the best for her brother. Her mother had spoken highly about princess Elaria, but Leanah wasn’t worried about the princess. Throughout the years of her life, she had heard stories about the Wynvers. Stories they would often tell the youngest to frighten them. And here she was witnessing a marriage that would make them her family.

Leanah trusted her family, and she could see the happiness glimmer in Timos eyes. As long as he is happy she told herself. Pushing away the feeling of doubt that brewed inside of her.

He was two years older than her. They had a good relationship to each other, and just like any sister should, Leanah looked up to her brother. He was bringing great honor upon their name. The city of Santrella had been overjoyed with the news for six whole years, and he was a symbol of hope for the southerners who would now feel safe with one of their own stepping into the throne room.

But with all the wedding plans Leanah had discarded the ideas of her one-day marrying, something she once so desired.

Every little girl in the kingdom wanted to become something. A Lady, Princess, or maybe a Queen even. A dream that traveled far and wide, but she had noticed that marriages often were a disguise for politic causes. To bring houses together. To apologize for wars and conflicts. It felt so rare to see two marry out of love. She guessed Timos had been lucky with his princess. He was definitely lucky.

Leanah’s hand tightened around the silver fork before she let it go to not break it.

There wasn’t one person who hadn’t advised her to marry a noble Lord. Ever since she had blossomed into a woman, it was all she would hear. While her brother sat happily engaged to one of the most influential women in the whole land. Their children would one day sit on the throne and rule the kingdoms. While Leanah was struggling to be grateful for the land, she was said to one day lead.

It didn’t matter that she wanted Timos to be happy. The thoughts came sweeping in. Something in her didn’t want the marriage to happen, but if it was out of doubt or jealousy was difficult to tell.

There was no hesitation she wanted to marry someone she loved and be as lucky as her brother.

She wanted to make her mother proud too.

Leanah’s gaze shifted from the decorated table in front of her. Her deep-set eyes wandered, and she studied all the Lord and Ladies that were attending the royal wedding. In her mind, she was confident that no one would approve of the ones she found attractive. Most of the men she found pretty to look at were covered in thick heavy armor, or already married with pretty women by their sides.

It became a struggle to keep a smile on her face every time someone met her gaze.

She wished the feast to be over with so she could be escorted back to her guest chamber, not to be seen for the rest of the day, but her mother would never allow her to do such a thing. Not when it was her brother’s wedding. A royal wedding.

At least he is happy

Again, she told herself those words in an attempt to ease her mind.

Leanah loved her brother more than anything in the world. Just like she loved her mother. Family was important to her, but most of her life she had been competing with his brother for their mother’s attention. Sometimes she would be certain that their mother loved him more, but she found herself stupid to think such a thing. It was foolish to compare herself to her brother.

And she knew better.

In the same moment of her destructive thoughts, she felt a firm grip around her hand.

Her mother’s warm hand worked as a reminder of why they were there. So did her kind words, and a smile tugged at Leanah’s lips. “I am,” she reminded her mother, “I am very proud of him.”

There would never be a moment where she wasn’t proud of what Timos had achieved. Even if some moments were filled with enviousness and conflict. It was a part of their close bond to one another. It had been that way ever since she was born, but it never meant she didn’t love him or wasn’t proud of him. Their mother was right with her wise words. He was bringing their house into a new chapter. A new era.

Once she let her mother’s hand go, she began fiddling with her long hair that was draped over her shoulders. Twinning the strands around her fingers, watching it curl ever so slightly once she let it go.

The breeze felt soothing against her almost ivory like skin, and the large banners hanging from their posts flowed in the wind. She wasn’t used to living by the coast, but it was beautiful being so close to the open ocean, and she was sure she would come to visit Timos often.

Everything about the place was too good to be true. The towering buildings and extensive gardens with sculptures to remind them of the past. Ocean views that made everyone want to sail the vast sea. The excessive amounts of food, and the people dressed in the most beautiful dresses. It felt surreal to think that house Hastwyck once owned all the land she was currently looking at.

But the Wynver’s hadn’t held back with marking their territory.

Where flowers once towered the columns in the garden, now golden serpents wrapped around. In the gardens, they had made a tribute to their first Wynver king. A bed of red carnations by a water fountain with his name engraved into the stone. Leanah had seen it on a walk with Sir Arthor through the garden. Just after they had arrived, she had asked him to walk around with her. She hadn’t wanted to be in the middle of all the chaos of the wedding plans that were ongoing in the castle at that time.

That was her mother’s job, not hers.

Leanah had been pleased that Sir Arthor had been kind enough to escort her around the city. They were close friends. He had been a part of her life for a long time. She enjoyed herself in his company, feeling at ease when he was around. And he wasn’t like the other knights they had back home. Whenever she needed someone to lighten the mood or a person who would listen to her endless thoughts, he would be there.

She tried to spot him in the crowd from where she sat, but it was a hopeless mission.

He was a knight, and their friendship wouldn’t matter to the King and Queen. Things would’ve felt a lot better having him around to entertain her. Leanah was confident that he would’ve kept her spirit high compared to the woman who was singing. But the night was doomed to be long if that were the sort of entertainment they would get.

But her mother’s words played through her mind, and Leanah needed to make an excellent example of herself. A smile stretched over her face while she kept her hands away from her hair and cutlery to not appear bored.

Back in Santrella entertainment was just as dull, and she often tried to stay away from the large feasts.

She preferred the distraction she got from the noble life while riding her horse through the desert with Sir Arthor not far behind. Galloping through the sand while she tried to show off the swiftness of her white steed to him. But sneaking out of a feast with a knight who was sworn to protect to her mother wasn’t always straightforward.

It was somewhat challenging to feel entertained most of the time, but in the outskirts of the land, there were stories about fighting pits. The pure purpose of it was to satisfy people with bloodshed. They weren’t present in Santrella, but Leanah had heard about them ever since she had been old enough to talk. She knew they were causing a bad reputation upon the southerners, and she had overheard the discussion about shutting them down. But now a fighting pit would have been a lot more fun than the boring ballads they were listening too.

The sound of hands clapping brought her out of her thoughts, and she glanced over at Timos and Elaria who both looked to be overjoyed with their day.

“Is their love real?” Leanah’s gaze shifted towards her mother as she asked the question.

“Do you think I’ll ever marry someone I love?” The questions poured out, but she felt the need for her mother’s advice while they were awaiting a new entertainer. Hearing her thoughtful words would make her feel better. Especially when she wasn’t feeling like eating or staying there. Her focus was drifting, though she had listened to the ballad, she hadn’t heard a thing.

It indeed looked like they were in love, and people who were attending the wedding seemed almost jealous of their love. Even the King and Queen had dissatisfaction lingering on their faces. The truth was everyone had arrived to witness a political change in the kingdom. They weren’t there for love. Leanah and her mother were there for those reasons, but the rest of the noble families were here for entertainment, wine and whores they could drown themselves in later.

She reached for her cup, lifting it to her lips to refresh herself. The food on her plate was still untouched.

Just when she wanted to ask to be excused, a whole group of people dressed in costumes walked into the middle, presenting themselves as theatrical performers.

In her mind she wanted the pie to be served and the bedding ceremony to start. Leanah wanted to tell her brother he had done well and go back to her chamber where she would not feel the pressure of being around the royal family. Instead, she pretended to enjoy the show while the performers were pretending to be Lords and Ladies, making jokes at the expense of the Northerners.

 

[desti]

Over a thousand years ago, the gods created the first men, strong and tall warriors with no fears. The first place they were known to inhabit was Santrella. Undoubtedly, it had a different name then, but the town was the same after so many centuries. It was rebuilt hundreds of times, but the heart of it stayed the same. House Hastwyck prided itself of being the rulers of the oldest known city in Aedighar, as any family would.

The first men migrated North soon, where their warrior features are still strongly visible today. Some groups, clans, moved away and inhabited the now West, East and Crownlands. Their language evolved, accents of different regions developed and their bodies changed depending on their surroundings. Simple things changed over years - the further north you'd go, the more likely you were to see those with fair hair and blue eyes, while the south was filled with dark hair and dark eyes.

For a thousand years the kingdoms ruled in chaos. Trade was harsh and expensive, cooperation was hardly imaginable. War ravished the lands, unlike any war in the modern era. The Stranger itself walked across the land, picking up so many souls even it began to feel their heavy weight on its back.

Sure, House Bryne tried to unify the lands, but none of their attempts worked, unlike what any Westerner would ever tell you. They were proud people, always keen on reminding that they were the ones to first sit on the throne. But what was the knowledge worth if everyone knew how much their people suffered under their reign?

Only almost five hundred years after House Bryne first sat on the throne, did the true savior come. Tyron the Conqueror raised his armies and paved his way into Wheldrake with blood and force. The conquest lasted years and it became known as the bloodiest event in Aedighari history.

What did it matter if many died? It was the cost that had to be paid for the realm to finally reach peace. Never before had Aedighar been so rich and unified as it was under King Tyron. The magic disappeared with his sons and their sons, but it was still paradise compared to the Bryne’s Aedighar. House Hastwyck shed much blood, but that was a necessary evil for the greater good.

Hundreds of years later, House Wynver came into the picture. The then-ruler Syvas Hastwyck was not known as a pleasant man, the kingdom suffered under his hand and not even the south denied it. It was a dark period of history for them, but not every ruler can be great, or even good.

Maybe it was the wrath of the gods that brought House Wynver upon them. Lady Adelaide of House Wynver married King Syvas Hastwyck, but soon after the man died under rather unexpectedly. House Wynver managed to push House Hastwyck out of the Crownlands, because the Queen had already birthed Syvas a child - Trevas.

Benam was the son of Syvas’ younger sister Lysa, who was heir to Santrella. If Trevas was never born, he would’ve been King. The death of Syvas was almost a relief to them, due to the bad name he brought to House Hastwyck. But the knowledge that a Wynver would be King was worrying. He had Hastwyck blood, but if Queen Adelaide was the one raising him, it'd matter naught - he'd be Wynver through and through.

Only when she married Benam did Carlys find the tension between House Hastwyck and the Royal House Wynver. As the daughter of a minor Lord, she didn’t have to be involved with politics whatsoever. All she had to worry about was singing, dancing, sewing. Politics? A young girl would not understand such complicated matters. Her father, Lord of House Irash, was wrong. Carlys played the game just as well as any man.

The goal of the game was to place yourself or your chosen one on the throne. Carlys had done just that. Through gritted teeth and clenched fists, but one day her Timos would rule alongside Elaria.

Too many times had she had to sit down with King Trevas and Queen Katlyn. Immediately she felt dwarfed by both of them, not only by their physical appearance, but how intimidating they were from the way they sat, spoke, even looked at her. Carlys didn’t have Benam to lean against, she was all alone in a cage full of serpents. That’s what they were, there wasn’t a drop of Hastwyck blood present when they were in the room together.

Carlys had spent her whole life with House Hastwyck, she knew them. Trevas? As far from a Hastwyck as a… well, a fox from a snake. As for his wife, Queen Katlyn was from a rich house that owned the one bank in Wheldrake and she was about as horrible as Carlys had imagined.

Yet somehow she got through the discussions with the nausea inducing pair. She spoke with them as though they were old friends. Like the fox in Benam’s sigil, Carlys was sly and cunning, all smiles and pleasantries. She was sure that they looked right through her, but what about it? In the end, she got the best deal she could ever hope for.

In the start, they had offered to marry Timos to Ashara, but Carlys didn’t want that. The thought of a Wynver ruling in Santrella made her stomach churn. She had to convince them to give Elaria to her, because, as much as the thought of marrying Timos in this family frightened her, the thought of him being King was full of hope. Many promises were made on her behalf, too many for her liking.

Now, watching Timos, she felt as though her troubles had been worth it. She wasn’t sure if he would’ve ever grown to love Ashara - the whole feast she was sitting with her hands delicately folded in her lap with a look that matched her mother’s as she watched her elder sister. Truly her parent’s daughter by the look of it. If Trevas had any Hastwyck blood in him, it all had gone into Elaria. A sweet girl, a kind girl, she’d be a good Queen and a good wife.

Her only worry came from the looks that sometimes fell over the King and Queen’s faces. Though they hid them well most of the time, sometimes it broke through and it made Carlys shift in her seat. She remembered the singer… just one word to a Kingsguard and…

“Is their love real? Do you think I’ll ever marry someone I love?”

Carlys turned to her daughter and smiled sadly, “people of our birth cannot marry for love. Behind it is duty, money, ulterior motives, never love, not really. But I’ll find someone for you, someone you’ll learn to love.”

“Your father and I didn’t love each other at the start either,” she continued, knowing full well that Benam had died too early for either of their children to really get to know him, “but love found us and to this day it hasn't left me. That’s what I want for you as well.”

“As for Timos and Elaria,” Carlys sighed, looking at the two, “they really do look like lovebirds, don’t they? You could never tell the marriage is arranged… I’ve seen the way Elaria looks at him, and I’ve heard Timos talk about her… it’s real, I’m sure. A mother can tell.”

Carlys smiled at her daughter again. Leanah was still young, she’d turned twenty this year. While Carlys was still the Lady of House Hastwyck, she’d do her best to find her a good match. A strong, gentle man from a noble house would do her well. Carlys had already rejected dozens of marriage proposals and she knew she’d reject hundreds more. Her only girl deserved the best there was.

The sound of a fanfare brought her out of her wonders as she looked towards the stage again. Mummers were entering, dressed in furs that likely made them sweat in the autumn heat of Wheldrake. It was a play much to the liking of the Queen, at least, she was laughing delightfully at every poor jape at the expense of the Northerners.

They painted Lord Yan Rhyne as a blubbering idiot and Lady Elysa Rhyne as a whore and not much else. Four dwarves played the parts of their children - they were dressed as bear cubs and acted as immature as possible for their entertainment. The Lords and Ladies all around laughed, likely to get on the good side of the Royals. Carlys didn’t believe for one second that they all hated House Rhyne.

Carlys had expected it, but she hadn’t imagined it’d be this brutally against the Northerners. Yan Rhyne was dead and Elysa Rhyne was imprisoned from what she’d heard, what was the point of ruining their image any further? They could’ve at least let Lord Yan rest easy. And the children? Carlys didn’t think that the King and Queen underestimated the wrath of the North. It must’ve been a ploy to paint them all as small children, not the grown men and women they truly were. A silly plan, in Carlys’ mind, what they should do is let everyone know that the North is a serious threat, not some joke. Soldiers will go into battle unprepared, too many will die all because of some mummer’s play at a wedding.

If the Northmen would take the city…

‘Gods, I hope I made the right choice,’ she thought to herself as she chewed her lip.

Over the heads of the mummers, she looked through the crowd. She seeked a sense of comfort and she found it behind Lord and Lady Alsber. Sir Arthor Overton, her sworn shield, and Elias Sawler sat, taking more interest in wine than the entertainment. Carlys had reminded them not to take the drinking too far as they were on duty, but it was a feast, after all, and even they needed a break. Seeing them there made calmness wash over her and she relaxed in her chair. She even clapped when the mummers left the stage, more because of relief than anything else.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

Love did not look easy. The way her mother explained it to her, it sounded like tough work. How was she going to learn to love someone? For her inexperienced self, it was difficult to imagine how one learned to love another. In old stories and songs love sounded like a magical thing. But her mother words spoke of love as something else. She described her worries. Leanah wouldn’t marry for love; she would have to learn to love.

Leanah tried to smile away her disappointment.

It felt comforting to know that her parents had gone through tough love, but Leanah felt more discouraged about marriage now than before. She was going to trust her mother and her decisions, and Leanah knew deep down that she only wanted the best for her. It was easy to tell.

The thought of her father made her look back at her mother. Watching her as she watched the play. Leanah was so grateful for her always reminding Leanah and Timos about their father. She had been so young when her father died. There were some memories she had of him that she distinctly remembered. Leanah often thought about the times he’d come home from his horseback rides. Late at night, he’d step into her chamber to kiss her forehead. Telling her how much he loved her.

Other things she struggled to remember. His voice, his face, and the smell of him.

When Leanah had been younger, she had tried to remember what it felt like hugging him, and she would always visit him by sitting by his urn to tell him about her day. She would pray and listen carefully to every story her mother told her about him. And when she was old enough, she took an interest in horses just like her father had. Learning how to ride and care for the big animals. She would nearly force Arthor to join her every single time.

But as Leanah grew older, the memories became fainter, and her mother’s stories became a rare treat.

It had been a long time since she last had thought about him. She felt the need to visit his urn and pay her respects. The guilt filled her stomach. Her poor father hadn’t heard from her for many moons. Leanah had started thinking of it as childish behavior. Sitting in a room filled with urns which roomed the ashes of all the noble rulers of Santrella, trying to talk to her father. But now she understood that one day her ashes would be buried there, and hopefully, her children would come to visit often to pay their respects.

Leanah’s eyes broke away from her mother. A genuine smile rested on her lips. She wanted to thank her mother for always being there for her, but she looked to be more interested in the play than what Leanah was.

The play was a base for politics, and it bored her.

Instead, she was pouring the rest of the wine down her throat, taking sips from it ever so often to keep herself awake during the performance. And when her cup was empty, new wine was poured for her. Leanah didn’t want to disappoint her mother, so after the second cup had been poured, she stopped sipping from it. It was better to not become drunk at her brother’s wedding.

Leanah’s eyes just wandered again, listening to all the people laughing hysterically at the performers. Even Timos laughed. She knew his laugh well, and she was sure it was him who she had heard. He had terrible taste in humor and entertainment.

When the play was finished everybody clapped. Even she clapped. She would sure get a smack on her fingers for not being polite, so she clapped even if it had been dreadful to sit through and watch.

The entertainment seemed to be over. There was no one walking on stage. Instead, Lords and Ladies had started walking around in the back garden, and others were too busy drinking their wine while they gossiped about politics and money. Everyone’s attention drifted further and further away from the wedding. At least that was the case until the loud noise of a silver spoon being hit against a silver cup rang through the area.

Leanah looked in the direction of the noise.

On the other side of Timos and Elaria, King Trevas Wynver rose up from his chair. His hair was slicked back behind his ears, slight curls forming at the ends of it. A golden crown placed on top of his head. It almost suited him too well. His clothes were colored in crimson and had accents of gold and white. He looked like a true king there he stood in front of his people. Everyone had their eyes on him as he pulled his lips into a smile.

“I want to thank everyone here who is with my family and me, witnessing the birth of a new chapter for the royal family,” He began speaking. His voice was hoarse. Deep and able to keep everyone’s attention. Even Leanah was staring at him. Giving him her full attention as he spoke.

“I am overjoyed seeing my daughter this pleased, and I am certain their love will inspire the kingdom to step into this new chapter with hope for great prosperity.”

Trevas’ gaze was on the newlywed couple. Smiling brightly to them, and they smiled back. Looking happy that the King approved so much of their marriage. Leanah smiled too. Though he was a Wynver, his words were kind and sweet, and a part of her believed what he was saying to his people. This was the beginning of something new, something so big she hadn’t been able to see that until now; how huge the wedding was.

“I want to thank everyone who has helped us with making this happen. I’m thankful for house Hastwyck for giving my daughter a good husband who I’m sure will protect her.” Now he was looking right at them. His eyes were almost piercing through her. So intense it made her feel uncomfortable in her chair.

The effect he had on people was intimidating, but he was the King after all.

Any King would’ve been intimidating. They had the power to do things to benefit themselves, and they could turn things around to favor them. Leanah had heard about what would happen to the people who wronged the king. It was brutal, and it didn’t matter who sat on the throne; whoever it was would make people feel frightened.

“Without the support of our people, we would never have reached this beautiful day. Let us toast for this great couple and may their lives be filled with love and joy.” Trevas lifted his cup which was filled to the brim with wine. He held it high, smiling to his wife before he turned towards Timos and Elaria.

The Lords and Ladies rose for their chairs, holding their wine into the air while others clapped at the King’s speech. Timos and Elaria shared a kiss before the both of them also rose from their chairs. They were holding hands, fingers laced together, and they looked so happy that Leanah couldn’t help the big smile on her face as she clapped her hands together.

Timos looked at Elaria as he raised his cup, and as he took a sip, everyone else sipped deeply from their cups. Including the King, who was now seated in his chair. Leanah didn’t pay much attention to the King as Timos put his cup back on the table. At that moment she was overjoyed with seeing her brother stand there so proudly in front of many people. One day he would be King. Maybe then Leanah’s description of a king wouldn’t be so accurate.

Just when he opened his mouth to say something, Timos turned around, his hands grabbing hold of the table. “Timos?” Elaria spoke. Her eyebrows knitted together on her rather sweet face. Worry in her eyes as she grabbed Timos right arm. Leanah stood up from her chair, immediately feeling her heart sink through her stomach.

The silent atmosphere was filled with the sound of Timos coughing. He was grasping for his cup of wine, nearly drowning himself in the liquid as Elaria said his name more frantically. Leanah’s immediate thought was his sickness. He had been sick for years with bad lungs, but it hadn’t happened in a long time. She had assumed he had gotten better by now, that he had grown out of it, but he stood there coughing to the point where blood was running down his mouth and splattered onto the table in front of him.

Panic rose through the attending guests. Some screamed at the top of their lungs for someone to get help. “Get the maester.” A Lord yelled out.

Leanah pushed her chair away in an attempt to clear the way so she could walk over to Timos, but handmaidens and knights were blocking the small pathway behind all the chairs. While she pushed her way through, Timos raised his hand, his fingers gripping around his throat. Almost like he was trying to ease the pain. His eyes were filled with fear as he looked over at his family. They were crying for help.

A feeling of horror and panic ran through her veins as she watched him struggle. Leanah was fearing the worst watching her brother in such pain. It was far worse than any other attack Leanah had witnessed through the years. She remembered seeing him in his bed with herbs covering his mouth, and back then she would also worry for her brother. Seeking comfort in her mother’s arms when she wasn’t too busy seeing Timos.

While the sight was causing chaos. Everyone was too busy screaming for something or watching Timos to realize the slightest smile Trevas had on his face as he took a sip of his cup. Leanah was too distracted to notice. She screamed for her brother, yelling out his name in a devastating cry as she got closer to him. She yelled his name again, and so did Elaria as she called out for help. The Princess’ eyes filled with tears as she wanted help for her lover.

“Timos!” Leanah yelled his name out for a third time before watching him tumble down the small flight of stairs and fall to his knees.

 

[desti]

The stage was empty; the only sound was chatting, the clinking of cups and laughter. Carlys much preferred to hear that rather than any performer. It seemed real, it seemed comfortable and she could ignore it much more easily. She so wished to stand up and walk around, stretch out her legs and wander around the gardens like many had left to do. Carlys had not had the time to explore Wheldrake much with all the wedding planning. But, of course, she had to stay put at the table. As the mother of Timos she had to stay in the same seat for however long this was going to take. The knowledge that the Queen had to do the same, was comforting, at least she wasn’t suffering alone.

As fast as many guests had disappeared, they came back when the King was about to give a speech. They would sit like loyal dogs, lapping up every word he'd say. Though Carlys had to admit that the man was exactly how a King should be - tall, intimidating, with a voice that could quiet thousands. No wonder so many people rushed to bend their knees to him, hoping to get any favour.

Everyone seemed under a trance as he spoke. An elephant could storm onto the stage and nobody would notice. Even Carlys found herself watching him intently. Just like the Queen, he was dressed in crimson, white and gold. They both looked stunning and it annoyed Carlys to no end, for she wished to hate them.

But his words were convincing. Carlys found herself thinking that this man cared more about family than she'd ever thought. Somehow it made her feel guilty - in her mind, King Trevas and Queen Katlyn were neglectful, as rude to their children as they were to the commoners. She had no reason to think such things, Carlys had judged them too quick.

Trevas and Katlyn both smiled during the speech at Timos and Elaria, at Leanah and Carlys. They both had perfect smiles as well, kind and nice to look at. Even Queen Katlyn managed to get the look of slight disgust out of her face for one second. Carlys was almost excited to hear Queen Katlyn’s toast she'd inevitably have to give. Of course, Carlys would also have to give hers, but she wasn't worried, as it'd be at the near end of the feast and most would be too drunk or bored to care.

“Let us toast for this great couple and may their lives be filled with love and joy.”

Carlys smiled. Maybe she was wrong about the Wynvers. Maybe marrying him into their family wasn't her worst decision - they obviously cared about each other, and ultimately they'd love Timos as well when they'd see how happy he'd make their daughter. The way Trevas and Katlyn smiled at Timos and Elaria said it all.

Carlys stood and raised her cup to her lips, taking a delicate sip. It'd be a long night and she mustn't let the wine take ahold of her. She smiled over her goblet at Leanah and was about to say something when that horrible sound came. Carlys could remember that sound from anywhere, she still had nightmares about that night and the many others Timos had woken the castle with worry.

Leanah stood up then and Carlys twisted her head around to see Timos.

Her son was grasping at his wine, spilling the blood red liquid over himself, over the table. All she could hear were Elaria’s screams and Timos’ terrifying gasps for air. Carlys gasped and her own wine spilled on her table. She nearly fell back down to her chair - it felt as though both of her legs had been broken just then.

Blood mixed with the wine as Timos coughed it up. That had never happened before.

“Help the poor boy!” she heard Katlyn, but she sounded so far away.

The pathways were blocked with handmaidens and others servants. Carlys pushed the with roughness a Lady should never have, but a fearing mother didn't have to attest to the proper rules.

“Timos!” she shouted as she saw his body disappear from sight as he fell down the platform.

Carlys broke through the crowd of people, seeing Timos kneeling on the ground - his face was a gentle shade of blue, his fingers were ripping at his throat. She’d never seen him so scared and she wished she never would’ve had to.

“Timos,” she cried as she fell to her knees next to him, gripping at his crimson tunic, stained with blood and wine.

If Timos wanted to answer, he couldn't - at that point he couldn’t even make a single noise, only claw at his throat and bulge out his eyes in terror. Carlys only felt his fingers grip her hands as he leant against her. He needed his herbs, he needed his medicine… but they didn't bring their Maester. She was so dumb, she should've brought him along, but they'd convinced her Wheldrake’s Maester was better than hers, there'd be no need. Besides, Timos had grown out of it...

Her eyes frantically searched the crowd, but nobody came to help her. Everyone was staring or running away, fearing that whatever had befallen Timos would harm them as well. She wanted to scream at those who ran and claw the eyes out for those who stared.

If he wouldn’t get this medicine… tears stung at Carlys’ eyes as she held her son against her chest, Timos’ hands gripping hers painfully.

“Don’t look, my Lady,” she heard Arthor’s voice and for a second she thought he’d come to help her.

Arthor had grabbed Leanah, shielding her against the horrors of the world. He was murmuring something to her, as one hand braced against her back and one was in her hair, holding her face against his chest. His own eyes were locked on hers, and for the first time Carlys saw him frightened.

Carlys wished someone would grab her, take her away from this as well, but nobody dared to come near her and Timos. Deep down she knew that she’d hit and push away any man that would try to move her away from her son.

Timos’ body was twitching, his feet kicking at an unknown enemy as she felt his full weight start to press against her. Carlys shook her head at the realization and tried to sit him up, sometimes it helped him get a full breath.

‘Gods, please don’t take him away from me. He’d be a great King, a kind King, don’t take him away before he can do something great. No… no… please... ’

“Please,” she whispered outloud as she pressed her cheek against Timos’ dark hair.

Timos stopped moving then, his legs fell limp in odd angles on the floor and the grip of his fingers on her hands weakened as he relaxed in her grip and fell against her chest. Carlys tried to hear the wonderful sound of him taking a breath, but it never came. She could only hear a horrifying, desperate cry and too late did she realize that it came from herself.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

The Ruin of the Lord
Chapter II
House Rhyne
May all be as one
Nilfgaard, Northern lands of Aedighar​

The sound of hooves clashing with the ground filled the air through the tight forest. Tall trees creating the illusion of nightfall as they shadowed over any creature in the woods. On the field, all flowers had died, and the grass looked bleak like it was dying too. A slight amount of snow had fallen during the early mornings. There was a thin layer of the snow over the gravel pathway, but the galloping horse ran roughly against the gravel, kicking up any evidence of the snow. The stallion’s ears were alert, pricking forward like he was ready for anything to jump out from between the trees. A hand reached down to clap the stallion gently against its neck.

“Easy boy,” Willelm spoke through the harsh wind he was riding against.

Four rabbits were tied in a tight rope around the northerner’s waist, their skulls clacking against each other as Willelm’s body followed the motion of the horse. Their blood had spilled ever so slightly on his black cloak. The dark red color of their blood was impossible to see against the black dyed wool. It was made of fine material, and it was easy to wash. He wasn’t worried about a little blood spill.

The path was getting smaller, the trees were closing in on them. Willelm’s hands were tight around the leather reins, encouraging his steed to run faster with pushing his heels against the horse’s stomach. There were predators in the area who could easily smell the dead rabbits he wore from a mile away.

Willelm had been out hunting. A finely handcrafted quiver was strapped over his shoulder. There was a beautiful pattern engraved into the leather. A bear standing on his two feet. The sigil of his house.

A sigil he wore with honor.

After the brutality that had happened to his parents, Willelm had found himself spending his time in the forest behind their castle. His brother had done an excellent job with taking charge over their land, but Willelm missed his parents dearly, just like his siblings did. They were good people who had stood loyal to their own. They were proud people, and it made the King mad.

He hoped his mother was still alive and well, but there were no words. No ravens. There was nothing to help them or guide them on the right path. But he had his suspicions if she was alive. The Wynvers had a dungeon underneath their castle. It would be their place to keep their mother hidden away if they had her. Willelm hoped she had managed to escape. That they would see her at the gates someday ready to come back home to her children. But as every day passed the hope of her returning grew fainter.

“Faster,” Willelm called out to his horse as they reached the end of the forest, galloping out on the open field.

Further up a castle laid on top of a hill. Built with dark cobblestone and accents of food pillars around. It was old, but it had lasted through many winters and summers. Standing just as tall as it did the day it was built. The castle was the only building within a mile radius, isolated by towering mountains and vast forests. But the Rhyne’s had everything they needed inside the castle walls.

The walls were decorated with large banners, the colors green, and grey in the background of the proud bear.

In the towers by the large gate, knights roamed, protecting the gate against strangers. Willelm was no stranger to them. On his red stallion and hooded cloak, the Knights opened the gates while he was still a distance away from the castle. He steered his horse towards the gates, pushing him forward in his saddle. It was a surprise that the rabbits hadn’t fallen off the rope on his ride back.

Willelm rode through the gates, bringing his horse down to a slow canter before he pulled on the reins to make him stop entirely. He stopped him in the middle of an open area by the gates. The stables were on the right side, and a stable boy came rushing out when he spotted Willelm on his horse.

“My Lord, how was your ride?” The stable boy asked once he took the reins to hold Willelm’s horse in place as he dismounted.

Hearing the words Lord sounded strange. His older brother Brynden was declared Lord of Nilfgaard after their father’s execution, but the servants and stable boy would refer to Willelm as a Lord too though he didn’t claim himself to be one. He was the son of a Lord and the brother of one. He was no fit for a Lord, and he never would be as long as his brother was alive. His sisters were more suited for such work than he was.

“Four rabbits. I think I will consider that a good ride,” Willelm smiled at the boy, giving his horse a gentle clap on the neck once more before he turned to walk away from the boy and his horse.

Willelm enjoyed hunting. Ever since he had learned how to use a bow and arrows, he would practice on the poor animals living in the forests. Rabbits were difficult. They were quick, and their bodies were small. In the winter they would easily camouflage in the white snow with their white fur, but now, before the snow set in Nilfgaard, they were simple to spot. Patience helped too. Without it, he would have arrived at the gates with no rabbits around his waist. Their fur was soft, perfect for sewing onto clothes and their meat tasted good. At least Willelm enjoyed the flesh of a rabbit. He knew Rhea preferred cattle and sheep.

Once he was inside of the castle walls, he made his way towards his chamber.

Their castle wasn’t as the size of the one in Wheldrake. It wasn’t like the size of any castle in the South. It was small and compact compared to those. To him, it felt like enough. He never understood the need for big castles filled with rooms and corridors to get lost in. This was his home, where he had been raised, and he wouldn’t trade it for some fancy castle in the South.

It was a place were great Lords, and Ladies had lived for centuries, protecting the northern people against predators and enemies. Willelm felt honored to live in such a castle, though it was old and often smelled of dead livestock.

Willelm was in the middle of the stairs once his name was called from one of the knights they had working for them. “Your brother wants to see you in the Great Hall.” He turned to face the Knight that was standing at the bottom of the stairs. Willelm suspected he wanted to talk about whatever it was that had been eating on his mind for the past few days. He had seen it on his face, and he knew his brother well. “Okay,” Willelm spoke, walking down the stairs he had just walked up. His rabbit still hanging around his waist.

The Knight walked with him through the castle, but they didn’t speak a word to each other.

Instead, he opened the doors for him once they reached the great hall, and Willelm walked in to see his brother by the main table where their father had used to sit during large feasts. The room was decorated with candles lighting up the dark atmosphere.

Willelm untied the rope around his waist, now holding the rabbits in his hand as he walked up to his brother.

“Look at these beauties,” He smiled as he shook the rope, making the rabbits clash with each other. Blood oozed out of their wounds, onto the floor. “I wonder if Rhea and Antra would appreciate it if I were to put one in their bed at night.”

He laughed, knowing damn well that his sisters would’ve murdered him if he were to sneak dead rabbits into their beds. Willelm nearly slammed the dead rabbits against the table once he stood on the other side of Brynden. Little splatters of blood filled the table around them. “I Imagine the girls will love their fur,” Willelm was happy after his ride. Not thinking of what his brother had called him there for. Usually when he was summoned to something it was never serious. Willelm had never had to think about dealing with dangerous things like his father did. But things were about to change. Their father was dead, and deep down he knew they would have to take matters into their own hands.

Willelm disguised his worry with laughter and jokes.

 

[desti]

Brynden remembered the raven that they received days after his father's execution. The Maester had a dark look in his eye as he passed the letter to him, the wax seal of House Wynver unbroken. There was no doubt what kind of message was inside, there was only one outcome plausible and it was confirmed when Brynden read the letter.

In that moment, he became Lord of Nilfgaard, the Great house of the North. Once this thought excited him, but he never expected it to come so soon. He would've much rather preferred his father to rule for many years, but the Wynvers had successfully ruined that. His first act as Lord was telling the news to his siblings, and comforting them through the pain while keeping a brave face himself.

Yan Rhyne was executed for 'treason’ and his wife, Elysa Rhyne, was held captive somewhere. There were no letters in the coming days of her passing, so they all hoped their mother was at least alive. The thought gave them hope that they weren't orphans.

Their parents were loving and the knowledge that they were mistreated made Brynden’s blood boil. He knew them, he knew how kind and sweet they were and now… Brynden would not let their pain be for nothing.

As Lord of Nilfgaard, he immediately sent ravens to his bannermen all over the North. Brynden informed them of Lord Yan’s passing and ordered them to come to Nilfgaard. He failed to mention that he'd immediately put their men to use. Even his own siblings weren't told of his place, and Brynden wondered how they might react.

Willelm had grown a bit distant since father's death, but Brynden knew he'd support him. Maybe he'd be hesitant at first, but the thought of taking revenge might convince him. Rhea? Brynden thought she'd rather fight a war with House Wynver with her mind, rather than swords, but she too would never speak against him on this. Antra was the youngest, barely a woman yet, and she'd spent her days crying and praying in the Sept ever since the raven came. Brynden thought she was too grief struck to care about anything now.

The siblings were close and Brynden knew they'd support him through this. He only hoped they'd get no harm from this, Brynden couldn't handle losing another one from their pack.

“Lord Hyrst has arrived, my Lord,” Maester Cyeran informed him.

Brynden raised up his head from the undoubtedly controversial letter he was writing and nodded, “about time. Make Lord Hyrst and his companions feel welcome in Nilfgaard. Let everyone know I want them all in the Great Hall after an hour.”

“As you say,” Cyeran nodded and disappeared.

Lord Hyrst was of the furthest corner of the North, therefore he was the last of Brynden’s bannermen to arrive. He'd waited for weeks after father's death, but finally they'd all arrived. Would they follow him into war? Their vows meant they'd have to, it didn't matter if they wanted to or not.

Brynden finished writing his letter, wondering if it was a wise choice. Lord Aeron had been surprisingly supportive towards Brynden's ideas, though they were never spelled out in case the raven was read by someone else. The north wouldn't accept him at first, but once they'd see his support, they'd have to. Without the support of the East, they couldn't even march South.

“If you see my brother and sisters, please let them know to go to the Great Hall,” Brynden said as he caught a knight while walking to the Hall himself, “it's important.”

“Yes, my Lord,” the Knight nodded hurrying away.

Brynden had been so busy in his new role as Lord, he hadn't had much chances to speak to his siblings apart from meals. It made him feel alone for the first time in his life, although he was constantly surrounded by people who tried to give him shitty advice. Brynden swore that once the war was done, he'd make up for his absence.

The Great Hall was lit only by candles as he walked inside. It gave it a creepy, dark mood, but that had been the overall atmosphere of Nilfgaard ever since father's passing. Days of mourning had turned into weeks, and Brynden was going to put a stop to it. It was now the North that would make the Crown weep.

The first to enter was Willelm with dead rabbits. Not exactly the turnout Brynden imagined and he immediately ordered a servant to bring the rabbits away to the kitchens. Brynden didn't even really register Willelm’s words as he tried to figure out what he could say to convince the entire North to commit treason alongside him.

Brynden thought of his father as he stood in the same place. What would he say? He tried to think of it, but he couldn't. Suddenly, the thought of giving a speech was more terrifying than being apart of a battle.

The room started to fill. He saw Lord Royse, Lord Tryos, Lord Raknor, and the rest of his bannermen as they took their seats. Brynden swallowed thickly as he tried to gather his thoughts. Why was this so hard? In his dreams it had always been so easy…

Rhea and Antra entered soon after. Antra's head was hung and she didn't even look at Brynden as she passed him. It broke his heart to see his siblings like this. Even Willelm with his laughs and jokes made him upset, as he had a feeling it was only an act.

“Everyone's here, my Lord,” the captain of his guards said, dragging him out of his thoughts.

Brynden nodded, clearing his throat as he looked around the Great Hall. It was likely the largest room in the whole of Nilfgaard, though that didn't say much, as the castle was rather small, no comparison to southern castles. It was filled with his bannermen and he suddenly felt small and weak, but he straightened his back and took a breath, feigning confidence. Suddenly, all the words he planned to say had left his mind.

“Thank you all for coming and still adhering to the vows you've made to House Rhyne, vows you've followed for centuries. Due to my father's passing, I am now the Lord of Nilfgaard and your liege lord by law.”

It felt important to mention that. Remind them that they had to follow him, that doing otherwise would erase alliances that had been between House Rhyne and them for hundreds of years. His voice was loud, deep and filled the room, echoing gently from the walls due to the silence.

“I'm sure by now you’ve heard about what happened to my Lord Father and Lady Mother. I won’t waste time reminding you of the crimes House Wynver has done towards them, towards the North, towards you. Along with the letter informing me of my father's passing, I was asked to go South and swear fealty to King Trevas, as I am the new Lord in the North. I am planning to go South, but not to bend the knee.”

They must've expected it, but hearing it from Brynden directly made whispers sound across the Hall. What he said was treason and they knew it. In the act of them losing, all of the people present would suffer greatly. Brynden stepped into a very dangerous game now and he knew there was no going back.

“King Trevas murdered my father and still holds my mother captive. It is against Northern beliefs for me to sit and let that happen, let that tyrant go unscathed for what he's done to the North.”

Men nodded their heads in agreement as they moved in their seats, anticipating his next words. Suddenly Brynden didn't have to fake his confidence and the words came out of his mouth on their own.

“You have sworn to protect House Rhyne and now I ask of you to keep your word. Raise your armies and we will show those southern bastards just what the North is worth.”

The hall filled with chanting and fists being hit against the oak tables. Brynden grinned as the Lords stood from their chairs one after another, pulling out their swords and waving them above their heads, thus showing their willingness to fight alongside him.

“March South with me and the North will free Aedighar of the pest known as House Wynver. Join me and Aedighar will have its first Northern ruler.”

Brynden smiled at the cheers he received. All he thought about was which sibling he'd sit on the throne.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

It was almost instantly that Willelm could see the seriousness on Brynden’s face. That was when he understood that Brynden hadn’t just called him to the Great Hall to chat with him about his dead rabbits. Something was going to happen, and he was afraid his brother was going to do something stupid. Willelm was also upset about his parents, but he knew deep down that he would’ve never managed to do anything to avenge them. He could’ve tried, but it would’ve ended up as a suicide mission. Willelm wasn’t a skilled fighter. He knew how to shoot a bow and ride his horse, but fighting was something he had to work on.

When his brother didn’t even acknowledge his joke and ordered the rabbits away, he kept quiet. Instead, he sat down by the main table.

There was a strange feeling he got sitting there as the Great Hall filled with people. Even his sisters were there now. Now he feared the worst. Was Brynden going to commit treason against the Crown? He had seen what they had done to their father, and Willelm felt like it was a terrible idea to do something so extreme. Their parents deserved justice, but in his mind, he wasn’t ready for something big like a war. He didn’t want to think of the consequences it could make for them. What if they ended up walking into their own death?

But just like Willelm had feared, Brynden had gotten all his bannermen into one room just to ask them to fight for him.

Through his speech, Willelm sat there with a worried look on his face. He wanted to tell Brynden this was not the way to go but knowing his family, this was going to happen whether Willelm liked it or not. Rhea would agree with Brynden, and with her support, he would have more than enough to lead an army to the south. Even if none of the siblings approved of Brynden’s speech, he had his bannermen, and that would also be enough. Willelm felt helpless sitting there listening to his brother talk about how his bannermen had sworn to protect them.

Willelm looked up at his brother, seeing the smile on his face.

It should have brought him joy to see his brother smile again, but instead, it made him frightened for what he might be capable of. Committing treason against the Crown to avenge their parents sounded like a foolish idea. An idea that wasn’t thought through. He thought to himself that it seemed like an idea a drunk knight had told him under a feast. Willelm shook his head, looked over at his sisters for a second before he stood up.

The bannermen were so busy cheering at Brynden’s speech that they didn’t seem to notice that Willelm was standing like he was about to say something. He wasn’t going to say a word to them though.

Instead, he grabbed Brynden’s shoulder.

“This is a stupid idea. You will bring our house into extinction. You will be the reason House Rhyne will never rule in the North or the South,” Willelm snapped. It was unlike him to be mad at his brother, but now he found his own brother to be irresponsible.

Their house had always been about family. At a young age their father had told Willelm and his siblings about how important family was. He remembered his words clearly. They needed to protect their family no matter what, and in a difficult situation, family was always the right path to go. Now Willelm doubted Brynden’s loyalty to their father’s words.

“You’ll be doing this by yourself,” Willem pushed his brother before he stepped away.

What was a war against the Crown going to solve? Willelm questioned himself as he walked away from the table in the Great Hall, walking through the closest door to get out of there. He couldn’t handle it. He could barely handle the loss of his parents, and now he had to sit and watch while his brother went into a war he was never going to win. Most of all he was scared to lose Brynden too.

People looked up to him. They were happy with their new Lord, and Willelm did not wish to ever take that title away from his brother. He feared he would have to if Brynden decided to march south with his bannermen. Anger was boiling inside him. Most of all he was angry at the King for what he had done. How the King had managed to drive Willelm’s family to this.

Willelm walked through the kitchen, not minding the looks he got from the servants and cooks who were not used to having anyone else in the room except themselves. He pushed through the back door where it smelled like rotten flesh from the dead pig that was laying on top of other rotten food. The smell made him want to vomit, but he walked past the compost, making his way down to the stable instead.

There was only one thing he could think of doing even if he had just come back from a ride.

The stable boy who had unsaddled his horse looked surprised to see Willelm back in the stable. “Back so soon?” He asked. His hands were busy cleaning the leather saddle with some fat. Willelm didn’t answer his question. “Help me saddle him up,” Willelm commanded once he reached his red stallion. “I’m cleaning your saddle- “Before he could finish his sentence, Willelm turned to look at him. “Help me saddle him up,” He repeated his own words. Usually, he would treat the servants and stable boys nicely, but he needed a break. A break from his family for the rest of the day.

Without another word, the poor stable boy nodded and began saddling Willelm’s horse. The stallion was still sweaty from the ride earlier. He was eating his dry grass, and Willelm felt terrible for taking him out again, but he needed it. He needed it now more than anything. If he had gone to his room, then Brynden would have had the chance to come to talk to him about Willelm’s words, but he didn’t want to give his brother that chance.

“Let me help you my-’’ The stable boy had finished saddling Willelm’s horse. He offered to help Willelm onto the horse, but instead, Willelm walked out of the stable with the reins in his hands.

Willelm mounted his horse. The saddle felt sticky from the fat, and his horse looked exhausted, but Willelm hit his heels into his sides to make him trot out of the castle’s area. Once he was out of the gates, he asked his stallion to increase the speed, galloping away from the castle, and away from any responsibility.

Whatever it was that was happening back at the castle didn’t matter anymore.

By the time the gates were closed, he was already far away from his home. Running towards the forests he had been hunting in earlier. He was well known in those woods, and since the days were becoming shorter, he didn’t have to worry about getting lost once the dark consumed the light. He would return home later. That he knew, but at the moment he entered the forest he knew he was going to stay there for a while.

 

[desti]

Brynden felt a hand on his shoulder. His head turned to see Willelm. Immediately a frown went over his face, none of his siblings were supposed to stand while he was giving a speech. Even if they wished to agree with him, that was to happen in private. They were to sit obediently and patiently, like they all had sat while father gave his speeches. Willelm… he not only stood, but plainly talked back to him.

“This is a stupid idea. You will bring our house into extinction. You will be the reason House Rhyne will never rule in the North or the South.”

His jaw clenched as he listened. Maybe some men that had gathered in the Hall caught up on the disobedience by his brother, but too many were still cheering and drunk with excitement. Brynden had been sure that Willelm would be hesitant, but not flat out hostile towards the idea. This was not what he expected at all and it made him wonder if his words were true. No, it didn’t matter. This was the right decision, it was the only decision they had.

“You’ll be doing this by yourself.”

Though much stronger and bigger than Willelm, Brynden still stumbled back a bit when the boy pushed him. He was caught off-guard, not expecting the treatment he was getting. Blood pounded in Brynden’s ears as he tried to control the rage that was threatening to burst from him. He couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him, not in front of his bannermen.

Brynden gathered himself and took a deep breath before turning to his bannermen as though nothing had happened, “thank you. I will repay you all when House Wynver is gone. To celebrate this new chapter, we’ll have a feast later tonight. I hope you all and the men you’ve brought will join me and my family.”

Like loyal dogs they slowly left the Great Hall. Brynden stayed in his spot, his fingers digging into the oak table as he leant against it. He watched them leave, one by one, wondering if some of them felt the same way as Willelm did. Brynden could only hope that they didn’t hear his brother’s words… there was no place for seeds of doubt in war. Only confident men could win.

“Leave us,” Brynden said to the captain of the guards as he looked at him quizzically when the Hall was empty. With a nod, he left, closing the double-doors behind him.

The emptiness of the Hall weighed on him. His decision was the only option he saw, but he couldn’t help but wonder how many would die. How many of his men would curse him for bringing war upon them? What if Willelm was right, what if he would bring House Rhyne into extinction?

“Well?” he said quietly as his eye moved over to Rhea and Antra who had stayed behind with him in the room, “I’m glad at least you two have the decency to wait until everyone leaves before yelling at me.”

If he’d lost Willelm, his only hope would be the support of Rhea. She was smart and had more knowledge about war than most men. With her by his side, there’d be no doubts about their victory. Brynden loved Antra, but she would be absolutely useless in war. All she could do was to be the image of what they’re fighting for.

Both of them seemed shocked to say the least. Only Brynden couldn’t tell whether it was due to his words or Willelm’s.

"Give him some space. He's just as upset as you are over the loss of our father. We are all upset,” Rhea said, her voice always managed to reassure him.

She stood from her chair and walked towards him, resting her hand on his arm. A small touch from her was all he needed. It was gentle, loving not like the push he’d received from Willelm, filled with anger. Brynden moved his hand to cover hers, squeezing it gently as though he was comforting her.

“This is going to be tough on all of us, but you know I will support you. I will march South with you."

That was all he needed to hear. Rhea was the key to the South, his hidden weapon against the much greater Western army that would undoubtedly be their biggest issue in the coming months. Brynden smiled a little, relief filling his mind. At least he had Rhea. If he had her, all was well.

“Thank you,” he whispered, bending down to kiss the top of her head, “tonight we’ll feast, but tomorrow I expect you in the Small Hall. I’ll be holding council there with you and others I’ve picked to help me lead.”

Brynden ignored the shock that showed in her face then. He had expected it, but didn’t really know how to approach it and reassure her. So he didn’t and Antra saved him from having to.

“I support you,” she said and he smiled at hearing her voice again after so long, “I don’t think I can help, but I support you.”

“You’ll be the one telling me to continue when I’d much rather give up,” Brynden said with a smile, “You’ll remind the northerners what they’re fighting for. Every war needs a pretty face bards can sing about years later, right?”

Antra crushed herself against his chest. Her shaking shoulders made him understand that she was likely crying again, but he didn’t want to think about it. Brynden stroked her hair gently until she pulled away from him, wiping at her eyes as she took a step back. Antra was too sweet for the harsh world around her.

“I hope you both know that I would never put you or the whole North under risk if there was another option. If I lose House Rhyne… let the history books shame me, let the Southerners laugh, let them write songs about my failure... But I will never bend the knee to a man who murdered my father.”

“I hope Willelm will understand that as well. I simply have no other option,” Brynden continued, stepping off of the platform where their chairs stood, “now if you’ll excuse me, I have a raven to send.”

 

[scoorpiuuss]

The sun had started to set. It was getting darker by the second, and in the forest, it was becoming impossible to see. Willelm had to rely on his horse to guide him through without ending up in the mud somewhere. Far away he could hear the howling of wolves, and the red stallion seemed wary as it trotted forward on the small path. Willelm suspected he’d been gone for a while. Enough time for him to think about the words he had spoken in front of his brother’s bannermen. Willelm felt guilty but fearful of the aftermath that might be if they were to go south. It was foolish, and he should have trusted his brother to make the right decision, but he did not.

Willelm was uncertain of if Brynden’s mind was in the right place.

A war was something he was not ready for. Willelm did not want to handle that responsibility. It wasn’t his responsibility either. He knew Brynden would lead and Rhea would plan a strategy. Willelm didn’t have a job, and still, he was frightened about the thought of going to war.

This family was all he had, all he could worry about. There was no woman in his life. No one he was promised to. Everything he owned and cared for was inside those castle walls. Willelm didn’t want to lose it.

The sounds from the woods sounded like something was lurking behind the bushes. Leaves rustled in the wind. They were like a whispering audience as the wind howled against the trees. It brought the whole forest to life. Willelm expected a storm would be approaching. He gently nudged his horse forward. They had to get out of the woods before they became stuck in what he thought was going to be a snowstorm. Winter hadn’t arrived, but while he got a glimpse of the sky, it looked dark, ready to let down enough snow to cover the whole north.

Willelm got through the forest. The wind became stronger without the isolation of the trees around him, but he pulled his warm cloak around him with one hand on the reins to steer his horse in the correct direction.

There was no point for him to even hold onto the reins. The stallion was hungry, and Willelm knew he would run straight home once he got the scent of the hay that laid in his crib. He would have to remember to order the stable boy to feed him some carrots too.

Food sounded like something Willelm lacked himself. Though he was not looking forward to seeing his siblings after the words he had said to his brother, he was looking forward to eating something to fulfill the starvation he was feeling.

Willelm wondered if his siblings had looked for him. Maybe they had seen him ride away or expected that he would’ve gone to his room.

Once he was getting closer to the gate, the last thing he had would have predicted was to see Brynden walking towards him. He was dressed in his feast clothes, but it was impossible for Willelm to understand the look on his face which made him want to turn his horse around and aim for the woods again.

Instead, he slowed his horse down. Stopping as he reached his brother.

At first, he felt at loss of words, and no matter what he said he was afraid Brynden would become angry with him. But Willelm knew his brother, and he knew himself. He expected the both of them to be angry, but Willelm was only feeling slightly annoyed with his brother.

“Have you come out here to yell at me?” He questioned Brynden.

"I won't if you don't give me a reason to. We're grown men, I'm sure we can talk without raising our voices,” Brynden said. Willelm looked away from his brother as he spoke, wanting to laugh at him for his foolish words. They were men, but they were also brothers who fought from time to time.

“Grown men. You sound like father,” His tone was almost mocking Brynden.

"Get off that thing. I want to talk to you face to face, not look up at you from below. Hurts my neck."

Willelm wondered if he should have ordered the horse to run towards the castle and past his brother, but sooner or later he would have to talk to Brynden. Hiding in his room wasn’t an option and hiding in the forest was an even worse option. So, he dismounted the horse, letting go of the reins before he smacked it to make the stallion run towards home, towards food.

"You spoke against me, you walked out on me in front of my bannermen. You're my brother, I love you, and I will listen to your concerns, your worries, but you will not doubt me in front of my men. Do you understand me?"

The words hurt, but Willelm took a step closer to Brynden. He was older, taller and more skilled at everything compared to himself who looked like a small commoner compared to Brynden.

“You will never be able to order me around like I’m some servant to come sit by your table and support this plan of yours. I said what needed to be said.” Willelm was still not happy with Brynden’s plan, and he wanted to make that clear to his brother that he didn’t care what Brynden thought about Willelm doubting him.

"I am your Lord, if you've forgotten." Brynden stepped closer to Willelm, and their difference in height became even clearer now. "You could've waited until they left. I would've gladly heard your opinion, but you had no rights to question me then and there." Now he was raising his voice, and Willelm knitted his eyebrows together. His brother didn’t scare him at that moment. Not when the anger was getting to himself too.

“You’re my Lord, but you’re not my father. You will never be like him, and you know that well. I will question you when I want and when I feel like you’re doing this family wrong.”

 

[desti]

Brynden entered the Great Hall last, followed once again by the sound of fists against tables. It was welcoming, yet now he couldn’t find it in him to smile like he had hours before. Willelm’s actions were still fresh in his mind, though he tried to numb it with speaking to his bannermen and focusing on the war to come. His mind drifted back to his brother, though, and not even a flagon of ale could erase his words.

When Willelm failed to show up, Brynden stood up and left, using the need to relieve himself as an excuse. The cheers and laughter drowned away in the distance as he walked up the stairs, only to see a lone rider out in the fields. The distance was far too great - he could never tell who it was, but Brynden had a rather good guess who it might be.

Brynden walked faster then, outside of the castle, through the muddy pathways and outside of the gates, ignoring the looks the guards gave him. He needed to face his brother then and there, and find out if he was with him or against him. If only Brynden could convince him that this was truly the only way… Willelm loved his family just as much as he did, Brynden was sure all he needed was a little push.

Part of him expected Willelm to turn his horse around and leave, some part of him thought he might gallop right over him, but instead Willelm slowed his mare down.

“Have you come out here to yell at me?”

That wasn’t his intention. If they could settle this as maturely as possible, he’d be glad. Brynden knew his anger often got ahold of him and made him say things he didn’t mean to, do things he didn’t like to. He was afraid he might do something he’d regret if Willelm would give him a reason to become angry - he’d only stayed calm when Willelm defied him because of the crowd in the Great Hall.

"I won't if you don't give me a reason to. We're grown men, I'm sure we can talk without raising our voices.”

“Grown men. You sound like father.”

His tone of voice annoyed him. There was something childish in it that Brynden couldn’t quite place, but he knew that he didn’t like being spoken to like that. Even if Willelm was his brother, they weren’t children anymore. His sibling would have to understand that things would not be as they once were.

"Get off that thing. I want to talk to you face to face, not look up at you from below. Hurts my neck."

Brynden waved his arm at the horse. Looking up at his younger brother felt silly, especially at times like this. He just wished to speak to him, eye to eye, not feel as though Willelm was looking down at him. Thankfully, Willelm obliged without speaking against him. Brynden heard his hand hit the horse before it ran off back to the castle.

As they stood in front of each other, Brynden understood that he wouldn’t be able to keep calm during the conversation. He loved his brother, but this was too much. Willelm was acting immaturely and impulsively, and that would not do.

"You spoke against me, you walked out on me in front of my bannermen. You're my brother, I love you, and I will listen to your concerns, your worries, but you will not doubt me in front of my men. Do you understand me?"

Willelm took a step towards him then. Brynden didn’t quite understand his reasonings for it - he was much taller and bigger than him. If his stature was supposed to intimidate him, Willelm failed greatly. Brynden would’ve laughed at him had the situation not been so dire to him.

“You will never be able to order me around like I’m some servant to come sit by your table and support this plan of yours. I said what needed to be said.”

"I am your Lord, if you've forgotten,” Brynden stepped closer to Willelm, mocking his brother from before, "You could've waited until they left. I would've gladly heard your opinion, but you had no rights to question me then and there."

“You’re my Lord, but you’re not my father. You will never be like him, and you know that well. I will question you when I want and when I feel like you’re doing this family wrong.”

Brynden’s jaw clenched. Of course he wished to be like father, but most boys did just that. Most boys, of course, didn’t have to step in their father’s footsteps as Lord, but Brynden wasn’t trying to mimic their father. Brynden wanted to finish what his father started, continue his legacy and rid the North of House Wynver.

“Tell me, then. What would you do in my place? What would you do if you’d get a letter from the King, asking you to bend the knee or die like your father? Do you wish for me to bend the knee? Is that what you want, brother?” Brynden growled, clenching his fists by his sides as he still battled with his temper.

They stared at each other for seconds. The wind around them seemed to pick up, but everything else quieted down - birds didn’t chirp, he couldn’t hear any other animals and even the sounds of the feast were long gone this far out. The silence felt too long and Brynden felt the need to break it, but Willelm managed to speak first.

"The fact that our father is dead hurts me just as much as it hurts you. I do not want to lose you too. I am afraid I will have to see you march into a war we are doomed to lose,” he spoke.

Brynden understood his worries. He’d dreamt all of the scenarios that could go on the second he became Lord. What if they’d all die? They’d lose the North, just like Willelm said, the King would likely make some of his lap dogs as the Warden of the North. But Brynden would prefer that over waving the white flag at him. As harsh as it was, he’d rather wipe out House Rhyne entirely before he’d let his house lose all values the North holds dear. It was a morbid thought and he didn’t like it one bit, but death was better than dishonor.

Willelm’s tone had turned from mocking, to sorrowful, “I want you do what you think is right. My opinion does not matter to the Lord of Nilfgaard."

“I promise I would never go to war if there was another option. Family is important to me and I hate risking any of your lives, but if we want justice, we'll just have to take it ourselves,” Brynden said, resting his hand on Willelm's shoulder.

His fist collided with his brother’s nose. Brynden held back, but still made Willelm stumble back and move his hands to where his punch had landed.

“That’s for being a dick,” Brynden said.

Though he should’ve just turned and expected Willelm to follow, Brynden couldn’t. He had to give props to Willelm - he tried to act tough, but the tears in his eyes spoke for themselves. It had been a while since Brynden had seen him so hurt, and he knew that he was at least partly responsible. Well, he was the sole reason is Willelm was only upset about his nose.

“Come here,” Brynden sighed as he pulled the boy over to him and squeezed him against his chest. Maybe if Brynden would break his ribs, his nose won’t hurt as much.

It was nice, though, to know that Willelm was only worried about him. He had a right to be, Brynden hadn’t expected him to be reckless about it. All of them had to be worried, otherwise they’d be stupid.

Brynden clapped his palm against Willelm’s back and pulled away, gripping the boy’s shoulder as he shook him, “now, let’s get back to the castle. The feast feels awfully lonely without you, brother.”

 

[scoorpiuuss]

In Cold Blood
Chapter III
House Wynver
Forward from Beneath
Wheldrake, Crownlands of Aedighar​

Harsh waves crashed onto the seaside cliffs, the sound of a typical windy day in the city. Men were struggling to get their boats on land as the waves brought them further out on the ocean. From far away they looked small, more helpless, and Trevas stood on the balcony in his chamber studying the commoners. His mother had traveled across the sea, young and beautiful. Every man in Aedighar had a fantasy about marrying such beauty. But every man had to watch as she walked through the Great Sept of Wheldrake, exchanged vows with a Southern King to become the Queen of Aedighar. A lucky woman. A woman Trevas had grown to forget.

Trevas held his hands against the cold stone of the balcony railing. His knuckles were rough, and his grip was almost crushing against the stone. Down below the castle laid an overloaded marketplace. Commoners were yelling out their prices in an attempt to sell their best fish or best chicken for a gold coin that could buy them more fish or chicken.

It had become a morning ritual for the King. Watching his people struggle to get their hands on a coin they so much desired. While Trevas lived in a castle with enough gold to feed the whole land of Aedighar.

The golden-brown curls on top of his head were hardly manageable. His hair was getting long. The beard he had grown was making him look old. Trevas was in need of getting a trim, but the castle was mourning. All the whispers were about the Royal wedding. The dead Timos Hastwyck. Just a boy, tragic, they said. His beloved daughter who had cried all night in her chamber, crying over her dead lover.

Far away in the distance, the carriage that was carrying the Hastwycks out of the city was through the gates and on their way off his land. The moment his body had been confirmed dead, and the cause was his terrible sickness, Trevas had made sure they would get a pleasant ride home.

The southerners had nothing else to do in Wheldrake. Their part was played and completed. Trevas hoped to never see those banners at his gates again. A foolish fox sigil had no place in Wheldrake, no place on the throne. Elaria had loved the southern boy, but she had to grow up sooner or later. His daughter had to see that love gets you nowhere in such a land they lived in. Trevas had never loved her mother. The Queen was someone he enjoyed having beneath him in their bed, but he despised that woman. She was getting old too.

She hadn’t given him a son like he wished. A son who could sit on the throne after he died. Trevas found her useless for giving him two pretty daughters who had no clue what it meant to rule a kingdom. They must have gotten it from their mother. Clueless women who did no good in the castle.

Gold-hungry whores were what they were.

Trevas smiled once he could not see the carriage anymore. He turned around walking through the open doors and into his chamber. By the table his goblet stood, decorated in the most beautiful crystals. A gift from the House Bryne after their alliance to the Crown. He filled it up with some wine that he needed to be able to do his duties all day. Talking with the small council about the death of Timos Hastwyck would be unnecessary, but it was still happening. Trevas had made sure that Lord Baldor would be there. He had an idea to make sure he got to hear.

The wedding between Elaria and Timos had not been consummated. She was still highly priced when it came to Lords in the kingdom. The westerners had helped the crown with armies, minerals, and money. They had shown great loyalty to Trevas, and he wanted to repay them with an offer.

Justan Bryne, who was their first-born son, would be an excellent husband for his daughter.

Trevas had never met the boy, but it didn’t matter. He would make sure he would fit the role of a King one day. Most of all he would make sure he put a child in Elaria. That was all that could be considered relevant to Trevas.

The goblet of wine in his hand was becoming empty.

A similar goblet had stood on Timos’ table. All it had needed was a drop off some old poison originated from another land across the sea. A poison that had been used in his family for centuries. One drop was enough to kill any human or creature. It was special to him, something he kept hidden well. A small drop in Timos’ wine had done the trick, and Trevas was satisfied with the outcome. The southerners would never rule Aedighar. Neither would the northerners. He wasn’t afraid of the children in the north. If they were smart, they would send a raven, bending the knew to him unless they wanted to end up like their pathetic father.

Though the southerners were enemies, they knew nothing of the actual cause behind Timos’ death. They would continue to support the Crown. If not then Trevas would make sure they would feel more pain than the pain they were feeling right now.

He was the King, and there would be no mercy for those who committed treason.


A knock on the door brought his attention away from his thoughts, and he looked at the closed wooden door. “Your Grace, Lord Baldor is on his way to the small council,” The voice behind the door spoke. “Tell them I will be late. They can wait for their King,” Trevas answered. The quick footsteps of the man who had spoken could be heard leaving. It almost sounded like he was running down the hall.

Trevas looked over at his wife. The blonde woman who was laying in his bed. It felt wrong to call her his wife. If she had been a good wife, she would have given him a son to place his crown on. She would have done everything in her power to pray to the Gods that she was to receive a son. He was still angry with her for that, and he had been mad at her for years. The maester had concluded that she was soon getting too old to carry now, and Trevas felt done with her.

With slow steps, he walked over to the bed, stopped as he stood right next to her sleeping body. His calloused hands grabbed her chin. “Are you going to lay here all day doing nothing like the useless whore you are?” His eyebrows furrowed as he looked at her. Awaiting her answer.


"I'm tired. Your stupid plan kept me up all night.” Katlyn seemed tired but awake enough to slap away his hand.

Trevas wanted to laugh. “Do that again, and I will make sure every man in this city gets to bury themselves between your legs,” He said as he slapped his hand across her face. “I am going to tell Lord Baldor that I will be marrying Elaria to their son Justan. This time let us hope that I don’t need to murder another boy on his wedding day. You will agree with my plan and make sure Elaria understands that she needs to give him a child.”

Nothing Katlyn said would mean anything to him. Trevas did not care that the murder of Timos had kept her up all night. If she had given him a son, they wouldn’t have needed to worry about their daughters. Then Trevas wouldn’t have murdered an innocent boy. That was what she needed to understand. If she were going to survive being his Queen for any longer, then her foolish act would have to stop.

Trevas was not going to take any shit from her.

She needed to support him and his plans. That was all she was good for, making sure he looked good with his Queen’s support. If not then he wouldn’t be afraid of letting the threat become a reality for her. Trevas didn’t like sharing, but if it was for her to make her understand then he would sit back and enjoy her screams as it happened. Surely she would listen after a few cocks between her legs.

 

[desti]

In her dreams it was Elaria that had perished, not Timos. It was her, crying and screaming over the body of her child, not Carlys Hastwyck. Never did she feel bad for the crime they had committed, but Katlyn felt her pain as though it was her own. Lady Carlys’ scream was etched into her mind and she heard it the whole night.

Katlyn yearned to press against Trevas and have him comfort her, stroke her hair lovingly and assure her that no harm would come to their daughters. But she knew better than to even attempt it. When she finally fell asleep, Katlyn was as far away from him as possible on the bed, hugging the pillow instead of him.

When her father informed her of her engagement to the recently crowned King Trevas, Katlyn could’ve cried from joy. At the time, Trevas was only twenty years old and she was six-and-ten. Two years later, they were formally introduced to one another and she had to admit that she’d fallen in love with him straight away.

Katlyn had spent those two years fantasizing about her King, quite obviously bragging about it to her friends and handmaidens. She was to be Queen, marry the man that so many women dreamt about. Of course, they all were jealous of her already - she was rich and beautiful - this only meant that they envied her more. Katlyn couldn’t be happier.

The day she met him, all of her dreams seemed to come to life - Trevas was handsome, tall, strong and charming, just like she’d imagined him. Katlyn had always been quite confident, but she couldn’t help but blush whenever he looked at her. It was sweet and over too soon - she went home just after a few days in the castle, and the next time she saw him was at their wedding.

That was four years after their engagement - they said their vows in front of gods and men in the Great Sept of Wheldrake. Katlyn remembered his strong hands on her shoulders as he put his cloak around her, promising that he’d take her under his protection. When they finally kissed, it felt like the gods themselves were cheering for them.

Those first years with Trevas were a dream - he was so sweet and attentive. Sure, she noticed that he wasn’t always gentle and kind, but she brushed it off. Sometimes men needed a bit of harshness in their life. It wasn’t anything that frightened her and she always found herself forgiving him whatever harsh word he had spoken or whatever bruise he had caused her. If anything, knowing that he was dangerous excited her, because Katlyn thought he would never hurt her, that she was in control of him and could always tell him to stop.

It all started changing after their daughters were born. Though he didn’t outright say it, Katlyn could tell Trevas wanted a son. After Elaria, she prayed in the Sept for weeks, but a son didn’t come - her next child was a girl as well. Trevas was a good father and spent time with his daughters, but she knew that a son would be the light of his life.

Katlyn tried to give him a son, she did. But after Ashara, her body was too spent after two children. She needed to rest, needed to let herself heal. It had always been hard for her to carry and birth children - while they were still in her belly, Katlyn was always tired and weak, and her narrow hips meant for a difficult birth for any child she’d have.

That’s when her lie truly started Then, she felt guilty, but now? Trevas deserved what he got for the way Katlyn was treated.

When she started drinking the moon tea religiously, she had no intent to continue to do so for almost twenty years. The Maester himself suggested it when she came to him, crying about how she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to carry another child. He suggested she’d let her body heal for at least a year, maybe more before attempting again. And so she followed his orders, begging him to tell Trevas none of it.

Maybe it hurt Trevas pride that he couldn’t get her pregnant, maybe it had already been hurt that he could only make daughters. Either way, he grew distant from her after his efforts to bring another child into this world failed and failed and failed again. Katlyn noticed him becoming rougher, needier whenever they were alone. He wasn’t gentle, nor sweet. All Trevas needed was to put a King in her and he only grew more angry and frustrated as time went by.

Suddenly, Katlyn found herself resenting him. The boy she had fallen in love with was long gone and a man she didn’t recognize stood in his place. Trevas was unforgiving and rude, sometimes he frightened Katlyn with his words and deeds. The nights left her sore for days and dreaming of when there was love between them. Though Katlyn would never dare to ask Trevas if he’d ever loved her. It was a question she didn’t think she’d want to hear the answer to.

Some nights when they’d kiss and make love - though that was not the right way to describe it - she was just as into it as Trevas. Only Katlyn drew pleasure from fucking him over, knowing that she was smarter than he was. It made her feel powerful and better than him, exactly what Trevas kept reminding her that she wasn’t. That was so much more satisfying than any touch her gave her.

That and her daughters were the only things that kept her going. Other than that, she was an empty shell that followed Trevas’ orders and nodded along when he asked. Maybe she was useless to the realm at the time, but she had been lying to her King for almost two decades now. Because of her the realm would be ruled by Elaria, she'd be a kind Queen, one Katlyn was never able to be. The history books would never write of her troubles, but Katlyn would forever be proud of what she'd done.

Maybe she’d admit to her plan on her deathbed. Katlyn did want to eventually see Trevas’ reaction to her beating him in his own game. Though she had a nagging suspicion that he’d likely beat her to death if he were to ever find out, rather than sit still, shocked at her capability.

Katlyn awoke from strong hands gripping her chin, “Are you going to lay here all day doing nothing like the useless whore you are?”

Her eyes fluttered open, landing on Trevas standing over her. It was really a shame he had become unbearable, Katlyn would've found it easy to love him, he'd aged well. Even in the mornings, he looked so much like a King. If only she'd still feel like his Queen.

"I'm tired. Your stupid plan kept me up all night.”

The thought of Elaria came to her again… her fingers dropping the cup, wine spilling from her lips as her throat swelled up and blocked her airways…

Katlyn slapped his hand away in a bold move that she regretted instantly. Her fight against him was in secret, Katlyn would never stand a chance if she were to fight him directly, with words or fists.

“Do that again, and I will make sure every man in this city gets to bury themselves between your legs.”

Trevas’ threat was only made worse and more real with a sharp slap aimed at her cheek. Tears stung at her eyes as she rose her hand to cover where his hand had connected with her face. It burned like fire once the shock was replaced by pain.

“I am going to tell Lord Baldor that I will be marrying Elaria to their son Justan. This time let us hope that I don’t need to murder another boy on his wedding day. You will agree with my plan and make sure Elaria understands that she needs to give him a child.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Katlyn replied as she rose from the bed.

Trevas was gone by the time she had downed a cup of wine and called in her handmaiden to help her dress. When the girl asked if the new bruise hurt, Katlyn told her to shut up and cover it with powder.

When she entered Elaria’s room, Katlyn heard her crying before she even saw the girl. Covered in her blankets, Elaria seemed so small in the bed that could easily fit four people.

The death of Timos had struck her unexpectedly hard. Katlyn knew of her feelings, but she had thought that it was only a childhood crush that would pass. Now she wondered if Elaria had truly fallen in love with Timos, like she had with Trevas.

“My love, it pains me to see you like this,” Katlyn whispered as she sat down on the mattress next to Elaria, reaching out to stroke her tangled, dark hair.

Katlyn opened her mouth, trying to say what Trevas would want her to. But all she could manage were comforting words and promises of a better future.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

There was no time for arguing with Katlyn. He knew better than to stay in their chamber to listen to her needs and cries. Things had been easier between them years ago, but Trevas couldn’t appreciate her anymore. It had been easy to pretend before, but not it felt like a task he was unable to complete.

Trevas couldn’t pretend to care for a woman he didn’t love. A woman who didn’t know how to treat him. It was easier for him to show affection towards his daughters. It was more comfortable to pretend around them. Still, he felt like he was missing something, security. With a son, there would be no question to who the true heir to the throne was. The throne wouldn’t be occupied by a Hastwyck or Bryne man then. If Katlyn only saw what she had given away. She was a Wynver too, and now they were practically giving away the throne.

It was irrational to think that their daughters could do well on the throne.

The words Katlyn had said kept playing in his mind. Thinking about his plan. Did she not trust him?

Trevas knew what he was doing, and he knew what he had done towards the boy had been the right thing. Elaria would forget him one day, or she would have to live the rest of her life mourning over a dead boy.

Grief was though. Trevas had felt it, but he knew weaknesses were terrible to have as a King.

People who despised him would seek out his weaknesses and crush him, bring him down to his knees and off the throne if they had the chance.

It was better to walk through the castle knowing he had nothing to worry about. That no one could hurt him as bad as he had felt hurt before. Trevas felt overly strong, confident, making him a threat to others which he much more enjoyed. But deep down he knew he would never hurt his daughters intentionally. It was never his plan to make Elaria fall in love with Timos. Never part of his idea that she was going to be filled with grief.

Still, he did not feel sorry for Katlyn. There was no way he ever could.

Trevas made his way through the castle. The small council was waiting for him, but it wasn’t anything new.

Usually, he would arrive late to make them wait for his arrival. They had to understand that he was in charge, and while they waited, they could gossip about the whores they had fucked and the people they had killed.

As his role as the King, he had a job to make sure people understood how serious he was at his position. That he wouldn’t show mercy to traitors.

‘This is what we do to people who commit treason. People who do not respect us Trevas.’

Her nails dug into his cheeks as she forced him to look at the headless body. Blood was pouring out if and the head laid face down against the ground. The grasp on his face was harsh. He couldn’t look away. He wanted to look elsewhere.

“Your Grace?”

Trevas was standing outside of the room where his men of the small council sat. Lord Baldor Bryne was standing in the doorway looking at his King as he spoke.

“Yes?” He didn’t know how long he had stood there for, but he knew Baldor wasn’t one to question.

“We have been waiting for you,” Baldor said, opening the door all the way for Trevas to step into the room. In the middle was a table and around it sat all his men except the Lord Commander of the King’s Guard and his Master of Ships. Everyone else was there, well and seated by the table. All they were missing was him.

“Tragic news, that poor boy. I heard they rode south this morning your Grace,” the Grand Maester spoke. He was the only one who knew the truth. The look he had on his face as Trevas sat down was making it visible that his words were nothing but a mere lie. Trevas looked him in his eyes, ever so slightly knitting his brows together.

“There’s no time to speak about the horrific incident that happened at my daughter’s wedding. We have other important things to discuss. I do not want to hear a single word about the southern boy,” Trevas demanded. His gaze traveled around the table. “With no man to put a child in my daughter, there will be no one to protect her claim to the throne once I die.”

Everyone grew silent in their chairs, not making a single sound as they all had their eyes on him.

“There is no other man I want to see with my daughter than your son, Justan Bryne.”

Trevas’ eyes found Baldor’s who looked surprised at the proposal.

“Your Grace, don’t you think the southerners will-” Before his Master of Coin could speak, Trevas raised his hand as a sign for him to be quiet. “I do not care what the southerners think of it. Their son dies at my wedding before the bedding ceremony, they have nothing to say on this matter. My daughter needs a husband, and I do not see that the south has any good little Lords to offer me.” He raised his brows. “Yes, I’m sorry your Grace.”

“With that said I’d like you to bring your family to my castle. We’ll have them meet and announce the marriage shortly after. You’ll have to send a raven soon. I don’t want to wait years for this marriage to happen.”

With Timos he had waited six whole years for the marriage to happen. That was not something he could wait for again.

“I will send a raven and tell them of the wonderful news. Thank you, your Grace,” Baldor had a smile on his face. Trevas could only imagine what was going through his mind. Now house Bryne had their shot at the throne as long as they could put a son in Elaria the deal was set. Unless Katlyn was able to conceive a son for him. Then their son would become King once he came of age, but that dream was slowly being crumbled into pieces.

He could see it in front of his eyes. His claim to the throne dripping between his fingers as he became unable to hold it. His own name falling into extinction in Aedighar.

‘Look Trevas, look.’

The words played in his head as the conversation around the table went on. Words he wanted to rip out of his mind and a sight he wanted to claw out of his eyes.

Trevas sat there, his forehead wrinkled, and his lips were in a thin straight line. His hands gripped around the arms on his chair, holding onto it as he heard the words over and over again. “That would be all for now,” Trevas informed the small council as he stood up from his chair.

He wasn’t certain of what they had spoken about, but he was sure of one thing. He needed time for himself in the gardens or somewhere peaceful.

 

[desti]

Hope and Prayer
Chapter IV
House Bryne
Righteous In Duty
Aeredale, Western lands of Aedighar
​

The only thing Elysa Rhyne could do was pray. Pray for her sons, her daughters, the North, for Yan and for herself.

Sitting in a dark cell could drive a person mad. Too many times she remembered the story of Queen Rhaenna the Mad who was imprisoned by her husband for promiscuity. She spent days in the dark, black cells of Wheldrake and her mind must’ve broken then. The guards found Rhaenna while bringing her breakfast - her eyes were clawed out, her fingernails broken and bloody.

Imagining her bleeding, scarred face made Elysa frightened of the shadows around her. She mustn’t think about such things. Elysa had to stay hopeful and think of when she’d see her family again.

Their oldest, Brynden, had grown to be so much like his father, both in appearance and character. That frightened Elysa - Yan would never sit still, so she doubted Brynden would after the news would reach Nilfgaard. Her heart ached as she imagined the weight on her son’s shoulders and Elysa wished for a single letter she could send him. Though a harsh warrior, Brynden had always yearned for love and family, and Elysa was afraid to think what he'd do after losing his father and mother.

Willelm was her little boy, though he had already grown taller than her at age four-and-ten. Though he loved and looked up to Yan and Brynden, he never had their harshness. Willelm was gentle in a way. At first, Yan was upset that the boy didn’t enjoy fighting, but he grew the love his son as he was. Yan taught Willelm how to shoot a bow and arrow, which the boy picked up so fast that he soon became just as skilled as his father.

Rhea was a handful, to say the least. Elysa dreamed of her first girl being a nice lady, always proper and kind, and Rhea was quite the opposite. Her daughter was running around and always wanted to fight with the boys the second she learned how to walk. Too many times Elysa had to run after her to stop her from interrupting Brynden’s sword-fighting training. Though Rhea wasn’t the daughter she had dreamed of, Elysa loved her with all of her heart, no matter how difficult she was at times. Yan was obsessed with her and only agreed not to put a sword in her hand after Elysa convinced him that it was a bad idea.

Antra was the opposite of all of their children. She favoured Elysa in appearance, while all their other children looked more like Yan. Antra was kind and sweet, she always remembered her courtesies and never spoke back to anyone. She was Yan’s little princess, although Elysa knew that her husband would never admit that he too had wished for a daughter like her. Antra was always there to comfort her siblings when they had suffered bruises during their adventures, or trainings, or whatever they were up to.

Her children were all so different from one another, but the love that was between them warmed her in the cold cell she was imprisoned in. Elysa knew that they would stay together in these dark times, and she was so happy that they had each other. She was alone in her cell, but they had each other and it made her confident that at least they would make it through this.

Elysa’s comfort in these days, Yan, had been long taken away from her. They hadn’t explicitly said they had killed him, but when he didn’t come back after the guards took him, Elysa understood. She cried for days after, but when the guards came for her she didn’t shed a tear for herself. Elysa thought that her time was up and she’d suffer the same fate as Yan.

But the sword never came, Elysa never saw the executioner or the crowd that would gather to see this traitor be laid to rest. The guards instead bound her hand behind her back and put her on a horse sideways as though she were a bag of wheat. Along with an escort of a dozen men, she spent too many days on the road, riding through mainly deserted forest roads she couldn't recognize. They laughed at her, mocked her, said cruel things that made her afraid to fall asleep. These were the men that first told her that Yan was dead.

Elysa had known, but the confirmation hurt her to the point of her body physically aching. No tears came, though, she must’ve cried them all out in those dark Wheldrake cells. But along with her tears the will to fight was gone as well.

For a moment.

When she remembered her children, it came back to her. Elysa started eating again, drinking again and wouldn’t cause a scene in the morning when she’d have to leave her bedroll. The men didn’t notice the change in her mood, her determination to survive, and they just kept mocking her. But they couldn’t harm her with words and they weren’t allowed to make their threats a reality.

One of them let it slip that they were heading West. Immediately, Elysa felt this would be her last journey. Anyone else might listen to her, hear her side of the story, but Westerners? They were King Trevas’ pets that would do anything he’d ask them to. Her story was coming to an end and she could feel it.

Elysa considered running off into the forest too many times. Over the days of riding, her escorts had lessened their watch on her. They weren’t as worried about her escaping and this could be her chance… but she couldn’t get her feet to move. There was at least one man with a crossbow amongst them, and the thought of his arrow piercing her back frightened her too much to do anything. Yan would've been able to convince her, but without him she was a frightened, weak woman.

When they finally reached the West, they waited for nightfall to enter the castle quietly, without a scene. Elysa didn’t have time to really see anything or meet the Bryne’s themselves, as she was escorted straight to the dungeons below. It was better than Wheldrake, but that didn’t say much.

It was dark and lonely, the days were cold and the nights were freezing. Elysa’s Northern clothes had been exchanged into formless, grey rags and her hair hadn’t been washed ever since she and Yan were taken captive. Never before had she felt so pathetic in her life, but her children kept her moving forwards.

Nobody talked to her while she was there - not even mocks or cruel japes from the guards. Elysa would’ve even preferred the men from before over this crushing silence. Her savior came in the form of a girl. When she first came to her cell, Elysa thought she had finally gone mad, but the girl convinced her she was real.

Sarisa.

Elysa hadn’t met Lord Baldor’s children, but she had always thought they were the same as their parents. Useless children without a backbone. But Sarisa wasn’t at all what she imagined - she was almost sweet with her. Elysa was careful, she didn’t say much in case it was a trick played by Baldor Bryne, but in the end she had to start wondering if the Lord was even smart enough to attempt such a thing.

Sarisa reminded her of both Rhea and Antra. Rhea in the way that she obviously was disobeying her parents and Antra due to her caring nature. Elysa was still wary of her true motives, but any conversation, even one with ulterior motives, was a welcome change for her. Against her own will, Elysa found herself cherishing those few moments with Sarisa and dreading the dark hours without her.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

For the whole day, Sarisa had been avoiding her family. Ever since a raven had arrived with the news of Justan marrying Elaria the castle in the west had been celebrating. It was big news for House Bryne. Everyone said it was wonderful news. Justan would be King one day, and he would father children who would one day sit on the throne. The Westerners would be ruling just like they had in the past. They would be right where they belonged, and the people couldn’t be happier.

To think that she would be the sister of a King and attract many Lord to ask for her hand seemed surreal. But Sarisa did not care for marriages and Lords. She did not care that she would one day be the Lady of Aeredale.

Family never mattered much to her. Her father was a proud man who could not let go of his own pride. He was too proud of his friendship with the current King Trevas that he could not see the damage that was happening back home. Sarisa didn’t want to think about her mother either. The only person who felt like family to her was her brother. Justan truly deserved the offer he had gotten, but their parents were going to overshadow him and make it about them. Sarisa felt sorry for him.

There had never been a moment where she had felt her father’s intentions were genuine.

In the land they were living in there was no need to be genuine or sweet. That was easy to understand in the west where everyone had too much pride to ever mean a word that came out of their mouths. With the amount of gold they owned and the strong armies guarding their mountains, the westerners never needed to worry about being honest.

Sarisa had seen the way her father acted when he spoke of the King. It made her feel dishonour for her name.

A feast was being held, and Sarisa was nowhere to be seen around the family table with her mother and brother. While everyone was too busy celebrating she had something else she needed to do. Something she found more important than eating and drinking for the rest of the day.

Ever since she had overheard the gossip between some guards of the Lady in the dungeons being mistreated she had grown an interest in helping her out in the ways she could. Only recently had Sarisa snuck down to feed her some real food and talk to her about the current news in Aedighar.

It was going against her family’s morals, but Sarisa found comfort in helping Elysa.

When she was down there with her, she often couldn’t stay for long. Sarisa had enough time to briefly tell the Lady about a few things before she had to get back into the castle to be around her family.

Today wasn’t like those days. They wouldn’t be looking for her until the feast was over, and that could be a long time with the amount of wine they were drinking. Maybe her handmaidens would look for her, but they weren’t allowed down in the dungeon. Neither was she, but Sarisa had her ways of getting down there to Elysa.

Sarisa had gathered some food from the kitchen on a piece of cloth that she was carrying with her.

The stairs down to the dungeon were dark, only a few candles to light it up. It smelled rotten from the place, and they didn’t have many prisoners. A few thieves that were rotting away and Elysa Rhyne. Still, it reeked from the area like thousands had died there. Sarisa did not want to imagine what it felt like living in such a place. It had to be horrible.

A knight was guarding the gate that led to the cells, and he watched as Sarisa made her way down the stairs.

“You should not be here my Lady,” He took a step forward, a hand was placed on the handle of his sword. Like there was any need to threaten Sarisa. “Oh, Larris, or whatever your name is, do you not have any knightly duties to go do,” She smiled ever so sweetly to him as she reached the bottom of the stairs.

His mouth opened as he was going to say something, but Sarisa was one step ahead of him. The cloth of food was gently put down against the stone floor before her hands went to her dress.

Her fingers worked on the knots, untying them slowly and the knight in front of her stood there in complete silence as he watched every deliberate move she made.

Halfway once her cleavage was showing she stopped. “I will let you get a taste later if you promise to not say a word about this,” Sarisa was only giving him a tease, knowing damn well she wouldn’t take it further. Instead, she could give him some gold to spend on a few whores, but the knight had his eyes glued on her.

Sarisa watched as he nodded, agreeing to her terms, and she began fastening her dress. “Open the gate and give me those keys,” She nearly demanded once her dress was back in place, not revealing parts of her breasts anymore. Another nod from the knight and while he turned to unlock the gate, Sarisa leaned down to pick up her gift to Elysa.

The knight handed her the keys without hesitation. A foolish man.

This would be the first time Sarisa was bringing something to Elysa. Something she would appreciate. It was to gain trust and to show loyalty. She had no interest in torturing Elysa or making her feel horrible in her cell. Though her father had different thoughts about what he would do to the Lady, Sarisa would never agree with him. One goal she had put out for herself was to give Elysa hope, make her see that this wasn’t the end.

Sarisa knew she could never promise such a thing, but if it ever came to the day where she would take her last breath, she would do everything in her power to make sure they showed mercy.

The King was a madman, and her family would sooner or later have to realise that they could not hold the Crown’s prisoners for them. It was a dumb trick the King did to appear to have clean hands, while she and her family were getting their hands dirty. Sarisa assumed it was the reason to why they were holding here prisoned in the west instead. Though she had no clue if it was just a suspicion she had or if it was the truth.

“Lady Elysa,” She spoke. She stopped by her cell. A gentle knock on her door before she inserted the key to unlock the door. Sarisa had the power to give her freedom, let her attempt to escape, but the guard wouldn’t be foolish enough to make that happen. Giving her the keys while he guarded he dared to do, but he knew better than to allow Sarisa to escape with a prisoner.

“I brought something for you.” Sarisa walked into the cell.

It was under horrible conditions with no bed to sleep on, and it was dark. The only light came from the barricaded window.

Sarisa kneeled down, not worrying about getting her clothes dirty, and she placed the piece of cloth on the ground to open it. Inside was a piece of bread, some fresh meat of some sort and an apple. “The southern boy died at the royal wedding. My brother is taking his place and marrying the princess,” She spoke.

There was no news from the northerners though she wished she could give the Lady comfort, her parents had heard nothing new from the King or the north.

 

[desti]

“Mother, I ask of you to protect my children in these times of trouble. May the Smith and the Warrior give Brynden and Willelm strength and courage. May the Maiden and the Crone keep Rhea and Antra safe and show them the way to go.”

A knock on her door. Elysa heard the lock turn as she quickly finished her prayer.

“Father, judge King Trevas and Lady Katlyn justly.”

Elysa rose from her knees, brushing the dirt off of her stained dress. She stepped away from the only source of light in the cell. Back in Nilfgaard, the sept was small and comfy, with light filling in from the glass ceiling. This was no sept, but Elysa hoped the gods would still listen to her words.

“Lady Sarisa,” she said with a smile.

Part of her wished Sarisa would let her escape. Feign that she was knocked unconscious and couldn’t stop Elysa from escaping. But the woman knew better - there were likely guards outside and above the dungeons would be even more people that Elysa would not stand the chance to evade alone. All she could do was smile at Sarisa and thank her for what she was already doing.

“Oh, you don’t have to bring me anything. Just coming here is enough,” Elysa said, though her eyes were glued to the small bundle of cloth Sarisa was holding.

Elysa had never felt hunger before her imprisonment. Even during the harsh winters in the North, Elysa never had to worry about food. Now she finally knew what it felt to fall asleep hungry, with cramps stabbing her tummy, her head always dizzy and hurting. It was no way to live, but for so many people in Aedighar it was the way of life.

Sarisa kneeled and so did Elysa. The ground was cold and hard even through her dress, but the sight of food outweighed her discomfort. Elysa could’ve cried when Sarisa unwrapped her gift for her. But still, starving or not, she had to act as a Lady ought to.

It wasn’t much, but to Elysa it was a feast. Bread, not stale or covered in white fuzz, but soft and perhaps still warm from the looks of it. Meat, too. When was the last time she’d had that? Elysa would leave the apple for a nice desert, she could almost imagine the sweet juice running down her chin. If Elysa could savour the food and hide it, she would, but the fear of it rotting away meant that she couldn’t possibly do that.

Immediately, she ripped a piece of bread off the loaf and ate it, nearly moaning in pleasure. When she was a girl, she’d seen men fight over bread and milk in the market. Elysa had been so confused then, asking her father why they’d fight over simple food. He only replied that they were savages. Elysa understood those men now.

Would her own father call her a savage now? Elysa could’ve laughed, imagining her father, Lord Karr, seeing his beautiful daughter now. When he married her to Yan Rhyne was this an outcome he’d thought about? His poor, pretty girl imprisoned in a dungeon. It was a good thing he was already long dead, else his weak heart would go out.

Sarisa spoke then, telling her of what was going on in the outside world. It had become an almost ritual. Sarisa would come and tell her the news and it would help her keep sane. Rarely did she bring news of the North, and Elysa wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

“Timos Hastwyck?” Elysa raised an eyebrow, “poor Lady Carlys.”

At the wedding, Timos’ mother was likely by his side to witness his death, however that had happened. Elysa imagined the Lady’s heart must be broken. If she wasn’t so worried about her own children, Elysa might’ve said something about how peculiar it was that he’d died on his wedding day.

“Your brother… Justan, yes?” Elysa nodded, “you’ll be the King’s sister, I suppose. The heir of the Western riches. I’d say congratulations, but the less power you have in this world, the easier your life is.”

Elysa finished half of the bread before nibbling at the piece of meat. She had to ask. She always had to ask.

“What about the North? Have you heard anything about my children?”

Are they well? Have the Northmen accepted Brynden as Lord? Has the King asked him to bend the knee? Will he? Elysa could’ve asked all of those questions, but she held back.

“I have not heard anything from the North.”

Like usual. It hurt not knowing. At the same time, the news of her children dying would spread like wildfire across the realm. It was good that nothing was heard of the North. That meant things were as usual.

What would she do the day that Sarisa would have news from the North? Elysa was too afraid to imagine.

“I’m sorry,” Sarisa continued, Elysa must’ve been too quiet and seemed upset of the lack of news, “I wish I knew.”

Elysa blinked and shook her head, “no, there is no need to apologize. No news is the best news I could get from you. Gods know I wish things could just calm down.”

When she didn’t dream of her children or Yan, Elysa dreamt of a quiet life in the mountain villages of the North. A quiet life as a farmer’s daughter where she would be free to go where she pleased, love who she wanted to and hold no expectations. It was funny to her, because Elysa knew there were too many farmer’s daughters dreaming of exactly the opposite right now. They would never become Ladies and she’d never become them. Her dreams would stay dreams and she’d die Lady Elysa of House Rhyne. Whether it’d be in this cell or in Nilfgaard, would be the only thing that’d change.

“I wish your brother a long and happy marriage. Gods know love is what we need in these dark times.”

 

[scoorpiuuss]

Maiden
Chapter V
House Hastwyck
Sow knowledge, reap wisdom.
Santrella, Southern lands of Aedighar​

It would have been Timos’ nameday. A day for celebration and gifts where the family gathered to cherish the days together. People would be singing and performing just for him, remind him that this was his day. Just maybe would there be a new steed in the stables for him, or a new sword more suited for fighting.

But there were no gifts, no singers or no Timos. There was an empty chair next to her mother, the chair Timos would sit in during feasts, and it was a sight that made her heart ache.

Once where the southern castle would be decorated for his nameday, there was nothing now.

People were now mourning his death, praying to the gods for what Timos had gone through. The memory was still fresh in her mind, watching as her brother fell to the ground with blood nearly pouring out of his mouth. How it sounded as he struggled to breathe, and how his eyes cried out for help. Leanah couldn’t get the sight out of her head. Ever since they had gotten back home, it was all she could think about. All she could see once she closed her eyes at night. She wanted to scream every time she woke up after seeing him in her sleep.

The sound of her mother’s cries haunted her too.

How desperate the cries had sounded once Timos had stopped breathing. It echoed through her head like something she was never going to be able to forget. Leanah brought her hands to her face, burying herself in her own grip as she rested her elbows against the table.

It felt like an immense pressure against her torso, making every breath she took feel painful.

Her world was falling apart right in front of her eyes, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Timos was never coming back, and Leanah wanted someone to blame. The Grand Maester in Wheldrake had told them it was his sickness. He had been certain that the bad lungs were the cause of his sudden death.

But it didn’t feel like it was enough. It wasn’t giving Leanah the closure she needed.

Nothing was giving her comfort. People were telling her to give it time, to remember to breathe and that they were terribly sorry to hear such sad news. They were giving her hugs and doing the same to her mother. Still, it made her knees feel weak, and tears push to the brim of her eyes.

Leanah brought her hands away from her face to look out into the crowd. The wine was being poured more often now than at any feast she had even been to before. Some were laughing away the pain they were feeling, drowning themselves in the precious red liquid.

Even Arthor and Elias were drinking the night away.

Her goblet stood filled to the very top in front of her on the table. Leanah reached for it raising it to her parted lips to pour the wine down her throat. It was her third cup, and it was starting to get to her head.

The wine was making her body feel more at ease, and even with the pain, it was easier to ignore it now.

Time was moving slow, nothing like any nameday would generally feel like. Leanah found it dumb to celebrate and remember Timos the way they were. How could some laugh and find time for enjoyment when he was dead? She would have preferred to stay in her chamber through the night in an attempt to forget that Timos was gone, but no matter where she was or what she was doing, every little detail was reminding her of him.

Why were people dressing up in their nicest feast clothing to remember him?

Leanah sat there, question everything they were doing as her goblet grew empty with every sip she was taking. Wine was something she was rarely allowed to drink, and if she were allowed it would be on special occasions.

That day she was allowed three servings of it. Three cups of wine to ease the pain of loss. It didn’t feel like enough. Nothing felt like it was enough.

The food was making her want to vomit, and the wine was making her want more.

She studied the crowd just like she had on the wedding day. At least some were showing their grief by quietly sitting by the table while they softly spoke with the people around them. Timos would be missed dearly. He was the only male heir to House Hastwyck, and now he was gone. Leanah didn’t have the power to bring her name forward onto her children. They would earn the name of their father.

Her mother hadn’t spoken to her about the plans for their house. It was still a subject that felt sensitive to touch on even for Leanah.

Suddenly the goblet on the table felt too empty, and though she had been allowed three cups that evening, Leanah called for a servant to pour her some more wine. The night was never going to end if she weren’t allowed at least one more cup. She wasn’t in need of it, she was already getting lightheaded from the wine, but the servant still walked to get more wine for the young girl.

“You’ve had enough, Leanah.” She looked at her mother who told her she wasn’t allowed to have more wine. “Go to your chamber,” she said.

Going to her chamber would have been a blessing. Being able to leave the feast early was something Leanah had wanted, but instead, she grew annoyed with her mother. “Why do I have to go to my chamber while everyone else is allowed to drink wine until the sun goes down? I will not leave,” Leanah scoffed like it was an insult to her that she was being ordered to go back to her chamber.

“I am not leaving. I want to stay here and pretend everything is fine like all these people are,” she snapped at her mother which was not like her. Leanah respected her mother, but tonight was different. She had raised her voice to the point where people had stopped talking to each other and were now looking at her as she was acting like a child.

Leanah stood up from her chair to turn towards the servant who stood frightened behind her with the wine in her hand. She reached out getting a hold of it to take it away from the servant. Finally, she had found something that eased the pain away, and now her mother wanted to take that away from her. Leanah didn’t understand why she had to be so cruel. She did not want to feel sad anymore or feel the physical pain pressuring against her chest every time she looked at his empty chair.

“I am not going to my chamber.”

 

[desti]

Usually, namedays in House Hastwyck were a time of joy. Even Arthor, Elias, the closest handmaidens to the both Ladies and other servants that directly served them were allowed to participate. Now the feast before them was rich in food and drink, but lacking in laughter and joy. There was still laughter now and then, but it quickly died down when everyone remembered why they were here.

Arthor sat with Elias during the wedding, drinking and laughing and paying no mind to the bullshit activities the King and Queen thought were entertaining. Granted, they drank a bit more than Lady Carlys had advised them to, but there had been nothing the men could’ve done when they finally reached the platform. His first instinct was to go to Leanah - Carlys’ always reminded them to protect her children first. A horrid thought, but in his mind Arthor could already tell that Timos was done for, so making sure Leanah came out of the situation sane was his main priority.

“Don’t look, my Lady,” Arthor said as he held her tight against her chest.

Nobody was there to turn his head away, though. He watched as Lady Carlys broke, no mother should ever see her child die. When Arthor closed his eyes, he could still hear her screams and he was sure that most of the guests would have nightmares about it. Never before had he seen Lady Carlys so depressed and it pained him to see the woman he had sworn to protect so hurt.

That’s why he drank tonight and didn’t move an inch from his seat next to Elias. His best friend, his only friend, really. So there Arthor and Elias sat, drowning their sorrows in sour wine and pretending to take interest in the women that moved around the room.

While Arthor, arguably, kept his head while drunk, Elias was a bit different. Wine made him a bit strange, a good type of strange, but strange nonetheless. He spoke of things that would usually make him blush and change conversation. Arthor liked Elias like this, at least he seemed happy and carefree now. His dumb stories and japes were the only things making him smile now.

The last time the castle was in such sorrow was when Lord Benam had died. Arthor remembered it too well. He had been at the castle for a few years by then and he’d known the Lord, but he’d always been closer to Lady Carlys. Seeing her so distraught, so lost after her husband's death was crushing to him. Now, she was even worse than then and Arthor hated that he couldn’t do anything about it.

As Lady Carlys’ sworn shield, he was required to protect her children as well. He had failed and it hurt him. Since the day, Arthor hadn’t looked either Lady Carlys nor Lady Leanah in the eyes. He couldn’t. He felt responsible for Timos’ death.

Something didn’t quite sit right with him, though. Timos was sick, yes, but it hadn’t been that bad in years. The Maester told them all he was getting better, Arthor remembered being in the room when he said that.

“It seems it was a childhood illness, like I thought. Timos will be as healthy as any other adult man once it fully passes.”

Carlys had been overjoyed and Timos seemed relieved. What had happened? Had their Maester been wrong? Was this some sort of last act of the illness before leaving Timos? Whatever it had been, it didn’t make much sense to Arthor. He’d tried to voice his concerns to Elias, but the poor man was still mourning the loss of Timos and would go out of his way to always change the conversation away from him.

Arthor had turned to the Maester first. After the events at Wheldrake, the old man was under immense pressure. Everyone wondered if Timos’ fate could’ve been avoided if Maester Konari had gone with them. Arthor wondered that himself, but he also had a nagging suspicion that no herbs could help the blood that was pouring out of Timos’ mouth and nose.

When Arthor entered the Maester’s chambers, he was immediately pushed out of the room once Konari found out what he was there for. Obviously, he wasn’t in the mood to talk about it. Apparently, the pressure was enough that Maester Konari hadn’t really left his chambers once since the Hastwycks returned with their grave news. Arthor wished he could do the same, but his duties remained and all he could do was protect Lady Carlys and her daughter.

Now, of course, he couldn’t quite do that drunk, but Lady Carlys had explicitly told him that he could drink as much as he’d like tonight. She had other guards on duty and had freed him of his responsibilities for the night, leaving him to drink wine and chat with Elias.

Though his eyes too often went to the Lady and her daughter. They both looked lost, as though they weren’t quite here with the rest of them. Arthor didn’t recall any of them leading any type of conversation, with each other or with the guests. His heart ached for them and he hung his head whenever his eyes wandered to the empty chair next to Carlys.

Elias was getting attention by speaking about a whore that had gone too far with a donkey after no man could satisfy her. Arthor laughed along with the rest of the people around their table. They were fine Ladies and Lords, letting go of their hair as wine started to make them forget courtesies and manners. All of them were dressed in fine clothes that would cost a fortune to replace if someone spilled wine on them.

His own somewhat expensive tunic with the coat of arms of his House laid… somewhere. The last time he had seen it, it was draped over the back of his chair, but that was long gone. Arthor was left in a long-sleeved white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up around his elbows. With the room hot from the amount of people and the wine making his blood boil, Arthor didn’t care much where the heavy garment had gone off to.

Arthor leant against Elias with his arm wrapped tightly around his friend's shoulders, while the man talked about donkey cocks. It was really a wonderful feast, if that was the only part he’d remember tomorrow.

“You’re a funny man, Elias,” Arthor said as his head leant against his, “I know I don’t say it often, but you really are a joy to be around. I’m so lucky that you endure me. How do you do that?”

Even just one cup of wine made Arthor a danger to platonic relationships. Elias must’ve been used to his not-so-knightly drunk persona that he never really seemed to mind. Everyone was so handsome when Arthor was drunk that he just couldn’t help himself. They should really never allow him to drink.

Before Elias could answer how Arthor hadn’t annoyed him to death by now, the Hall quieted down in an instant. It was as though someone had dropped something, so Arthor looked around to spot the clumsy servant or too-drunk Lord. Yet nothing was amiss, except for Lady Carlys and Leanah.

Frankly, the latter was making a fool of herself. It was a painful sight and Arthor would’ve been the first to scold her if he wasn’t hold his best friend in a loving embrace. Leanah seemed to really take a liking to wine, which obviously wasn’t going well, even the servant seemed frightened of her. Lady Carlys looked more upset than angry with her daughter, only the red blush in her cheeks showing that she’d had something to drink.

Their eyes locked and she beckoned him to come to her. He wasn’t in the most professional setting, but he felt honored that Lady Carlys still chose him over some sober guard.

“I’ll be right back. Be a dear, save me a cup of wine,” Arthor said as he squeezed Elias to him before getting up from his comfortable position.

When was the last time he had stood up from his chair? His legs felt strange and broken as he slowly started to get them to work again. Arthor laughed as he stumbled into a chair he hadn’t noticed, but regained his composure as he reached Lady Carlys, “my Lady?”

Even in his current state, Arthor knew his place and would do his best to serve House Hastwyck. It took him all his strength to stand in front of her with his hands behind his back and not sway back and forth on his heels. Was he really the best choice for whatever she needed to be done?

“Sir Arthor, please escort my daughter to her bedchambers. It seems to me the wine and the heat have gone to her head,” Lady Carlys said. Her voice was sharp as steel, but had a gentle note that Arthor picked up on.

“Of course, My Lady,” Arthor bowed his head.

Well, at least that'd be over soon. If Leanah won't put up much of a struggle, she always had a bit of fight in her. Either way, soon enough he'll rejoin Elias at the table.

Arthor stepped towards Leanah, “Lady Leanah.”

A part of Arthor was afraid that she’d throw wine in his face, but she only weakly protested against him when he took her arm. One wrong move on her part and they’d both end up on the floor, so Arthor prayed that the wine hadn’t taken her motor skills along with her decency.

“You’ll thank your Lady mother and I in the morning,” Arthor chuckled as Leanah stopped struggling against his grip and accepted her fate.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

A look of disbelief washed over Leanah’s face once she heard her mother’s words. There was no questioning if Arthor would escort her or not. It was his job to protect them, and at that moment Leanah was causing a scene that could have easily hurt someone or herself. With the loss of Timos and wine in her blood she was far from her usual self. It was overwhelming, and she felt helpless once Arthor placed his hand on her arm.

“I don’t need you escorting me,” Leanah muttered angrily towards Arthor. Stupid Knight.

Still, she let him take her away from the table, following him closely as they were walking towards the large doorway leading to the corridors. Arthor had let her arm go, but Leanah was now holding onto him, her hands grasping a hold of the white fabric of his shirt. It was only to keep her balanced.

Quietly she got escorted out of the hall, but once they were out of sight from the feast, Leanah let him go. Nearly pushing him away in the process. Once her hands were free, she brushed the strays of hair that had fallen in front of her face, letting out a slight scoff at how stupid the whole situation felt.

“I’m just trying to help,” Arthor spoke, and Leanah met his gaze as she began walking down the hall.

Was he? She shook her head. It didn’t feel like anyone was trying to help her through the pain she felt every night thinking about her dead brother. “Everyone tells me that, but do you really? Are you really trying to help me or are you doing this because my mother told you to?” Leanah furrowed her brows at him.

Lately, she hadn’t believed a word that came from anyone’s mouth. It was all talk to try to make her feel better. No one really meant half of what they said. Surely some could relate to her feeling of loss, but there were some who couldn’t genuinely show her sympathy. It made all those who meant it seem irrelevant too. Leanah couldn’t tell the truth from the lies anymore.

She felt more alone than she had ever felt, and Arthor was just another stupid person who didn’t really care.

"Well, I -- that's a tough question.” Leanah scoffed at his answer.

No matter how good of a friend he was to her at that moment, nothing felt right. Nothing felt right without having Timos there with her. There was a big hole in her chest that no one could seem to fill. Something that had been ripped out of her and that would never feel okay again.

"What does it matter if I help you because Lady Carlys asks me to? I still care about her, about you, about Timos.”

Hearing his name from someone else made her halt in the hall.

“Don’t.” Leanah’s voice was cracking as she spoke. “I don’t want to hear his name. I can’t hear his name,” She looked at Arthor, feeling conflicted about the topic of her brother. “It doesn’t matter, escort me to my chamber like mother told you to.”

All the wine and emotions she was feeling were making it difficult for her to see that Arthor was just trying to help. Leanah was difficult like someone half her age would act, but she didn’t know how to handle the grief. If the wine wasn’t helping then what would? She had given her mother many hugs, but Leanah was too old to be cradled to sleep. Her mother was also mourning, and she knew to give her some room to breathe so she wouldn’t worry too much about Leanah through tough times like these.

"I apologise, my Lady."

With his words she kept walking, keeping a slight distance between her and Arthor.

The silence grew between the pair, but Leanah didn’t mind it. It was easier for her to get her thoughts in the right place with the peace and quiet. No one to yell at her, no laughing or chatter. Just silence.

The wedding had been entirely silent once people had calmed down. No one had dared to walk up to them while Timos laid dead in her mother’s arms. Leanah had been crying, holding her arms so tightly around Arthor. Feeling the warmth of his body against hers, taking in the scent of him which had made her feel safe.

Sometimes when she closed her eyes, she could feel the closure he had given her that day. Instead of seeing Timos she would see Arthor’s face.

Leanah was thankful for him that day. More grateful than what she was now. They had both had too much wine for her to feel thankful. If she remembered tomorrow, she would’ve thanked him for not letting her embarrass herself in front of the whole crowd any more than she already had. Hopefully, they were drinking too much wine to remember in the morning. The one person she would have to apologise to was her own mother.

Once they reached the door to her bedchamber, Leanah stopped. It felt like she had to say something to him. Was she supposed to thank him for escorting her all this way? She had no words, but Arthor beat her to it.

“I apologise for bringing him up, my Lady. I still think about him and what happened a lot. I am so sorry for your loss. I cannot imagine what's it like to lose a brother.”

Again, he brought up her brother something she had asked him not to do. It was painful enough to think about the loss, but to hear that he was thinking about it and listening to him being sorry for it didn’t make it easier. Leanah was sure it wasn’t easy for anyone that had been close to Timos, but it was her first time handling losing someone so close. She couldn’t remember what it had felt like losing her father since she had been so young.

Maybe he was hurting too just like she was. Though Timos was her brother, Arthor had known him well too. He had been with their family for a very long time and Leanah could only imagine it must’ve hurt for him as well.

“I can’t handle hearing about him. Every time I hear his name or get reminded of him it feels like someone is trying to rip my heart through my chest,” Leanah turned to lean against the door to her room. She didn’t dare to meet his gaze and had her eyes glued on the floor beneath them instead.

“I try to forget about it. There is nothing else I can do.”

Leanah felt helpless, and she had for a while. Maybe she even felt guilty though there was nothing she could’ve done to change the outcome of the wedding. No one could’ve done anything. Timos had been sick his whole life almost, and that was the day it decided to take him. Leanah or her mother couldn’t have done anything about it. It was the painful truth.

The door creaked ever so slightly once she leaned more of her weight against it. She shifted her gaze from the floor, trying to meet his now.

 

[desti]

What had happened between them in that hallway was a blur to him. It had all happened so fast, so unexpectedly. One wrong word, a hard slap, a gentle kiss, and the proper little Lady Leanah made him melt in her arms. Throughout the thing he wondered why wasn’t he stopping, why wasn’t he telling her no? It was as though the words were stuck in his throat and all that came out were breathy moans and quiet grunts.

Leanah had captured him, taken him under her spell. Her lips on his skin felt like fire, her touch burning him in the most pleasant of ways. No man would be able to resist her.

When he woke, Arthor was sure it had all been a dream brought on by the amount of wine he’d had. He was likely passed out in his small bedchamber, with his hand still gripping a leather flask of the evil, red liquid. Yet when his senses slowly came back to him, the soft body against his was a bit too real to be a hallucination stemming from his hangover.

Arthor’s hand was on the girl’s thigh as he held her leg over his hips, his other arm was around her shoulders and numb from the body on top of it. Her hair was dark and thick, and tickled his neck with every breath they took.

All of his muscles awoke then, Arthor was painfully aware of his pounding headache and the threatening twists that were knotting his stomach. But that was nothing compared to the thoughts that were racing through his mind, and his beating heart that seemed to be ready to burst at any moment. Arthor was sure the whole castle could hear it beat. Could she not hear the loud thump coming from his chest? How could she sleep through it?

Leanah’s hands were on him and he wanted to embrace her again. He wanted to look at her beauty in the light of the rising sun, hear his name fall from her lips again and make her shiver under his touch. But all Arthor could do was think about how he had made the biggest mistake of his life, how he had ruined her.

“Arthor…”

His name had been so sweet on her lips, it made Arthor’s nerves jolt awake in every inch of his body. It had been said so lovingly, so gently, but once Leanah would sleep off the wine she’d realize that it had been a grave mistake.

A Lady had to keep her maidenhead, savour it for her husband. Arthor had ripped it from her in a selfish act, driven by lust and alcohol. His jaw clenched in shame and rage at himself, as he thought of the pain he had caused Leanah. Yet she slept soundly on his chest, unaware of her life changing because of one stupid kiss.

“You really shouldn’t have done that…”

What if she wouldn’t have kissed him? Or, better yet, what if Arthor was a stronger man and would’ve remembered that she was his Lady, not some common woman? It was his fault, not hers, Arthor could never blame her.

Leanah was a young girl with no experiences, as far as he knew. Lady Carlys hadn’t invited any men to Santrella to court her, so Arthor had a bad feeling that he might’ve been her first true kiss. Of course, she’d never slept with someone and now he’d stolen Leanah the chance to give her maidenhead to someone she truly cared about.

“Don’t leave.”

Her voice echoed in his mind. Arthor wished that he were of higher birth or maybe Leanah were of lower. Then he could stay, he could wake her with a soft kiss and explore her body once more with no guilt eating him up. But he was a Knight and she was the Heir of Santrella, as much as Arthor would’ve liked otherwise.

Arthor’s hands were gentle and slow as he moved her slowly off of himself. If she’d wake up… no, he really wasn’t ready to face her. Was he a coward? Sure, but at the moment he knew he just needed to get the fuck out of there. Maybe Leanah wouldn’t remember anything from last night, that would be the best case scenario.

As he slowly stood from the bed and gathered his clothes, fear overtook him. Arthor realized at the end he had failed to remember that what they were doing could have serious consequences. He could’ve fainted then and there and had to clasp his hand over his mouth so that a gasp wouldn’t escape him. If Arthor had put a child in her…

Arthor braced himself against the wall and rubbed his hand over his face. The room was spinning from the wine, leaving him dizzy and sick. Arthor could fight five men at the same time and cut them all down with a sword, but Leanah had beaten him with one kiss, turning him useless and weak under her touch.

His fingers felt lame and broken as he tried to fasten the laces of his pants and get his shirt over his head. Arthor left his feet bare as he grabbed his boots from the ground and left the girl alone in her room, never before managing to be so quiet. It was better this way. Better for her to wake up alone and hate him. Meanwhile Arthor would pray in the sept day and night that she wasn’t with child.

“Don’t leave.”

Leanah’s voice repeated through the hallway. Arthor slipped on his boots outside in the corridor and walked off in a fast pace, doing his best to not run off in a full sprint to his room like a little boy. He needed a drink.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

Black and Blue
Chapter VI
House Rhyne
May all be as one
Nilfgaard, Northern lands of Aedighar​

Since the day in the Great Hall Rhea had been spending every day and night by the map of Aedighar which was laid over a table in the Small Hall. The map was detailed, beautifully painted with every single house and road mapped out. It was her specialty, studying the great map to come with ideas and plans for her brother to use as they marched South.

They had been lucky. The East were on their way to Nilfgaard granting them permission to march through their land to get to their desired destination. From what Rhea had heard House Fearson were rather small compared to Great House in the east, but they held a lot of power there now, and Brynden trusted them to come. They were what they needed to make the march easy.

Without the East, they would have to get many fleets to take them out on the sea to hit Wheldrake at their shore.

Or they could travel over the small sea to the West, but Rhea would never advise her brother to march through the mountain lands of House Bryne. They were skilled fighters. She had heard stories about barbaric men who slaughtered anyone in their way. Having their army march through the west would be a foolish mistake.

The best would be to march through the East with the Lord Faerson who could secure their need for land to sleep on and food to eat.

Rhea’s eyes were glued on the map, her fingers dragging along the road she would advise her brother to take. It went through the north where they would have to cross the big river by their land, down through the east where they would follow the long river all the way down to till they would reach the crownlands.

If they managed to reach Wheldrake in time, they would strike the castle on the East side towards the sea where the walls were weak from years of standing so close to the raging ocean. They would be expecting them in the West where the main gate was, but Rhea imagined it would be more accessible from the back. As long as the northerners could handle the cliffs and the nearby sea.

Standing by the map made her feel helpful and worthy.

It had been some time since their father had been executed in Wheldrake. Being helpful to Brynden had for sure made the loss feel smoother.

Rhea would still grief like the rest of her siblings, but now she had a purpose. She had something important to do, and her thoughts were more surrounded around this war they were going into. Brynden needed her help. Though she had been skeptical of his plan, she would support her family no matter what. Her siblings meant everything to her, and she would make sure they had the upper hand in their rebellion. Rhea was going to keep them safe on their travels.

As long as they had Brynden’s bannermen and the East Rhea would assure them a good chance at taking Trevas down.

There was a knock on the door to the Small Hall, and Rhea turned to look at the maester who walked in. “Lord Faerson has arrived with his men.” She didn’t say much to the man. Instead, she gave him a quick nod before she turned to look at the map again.

Rhea was not dressed like a proper lady. A beautiful dress didn’t belong by war strategy. Instead, she clothed in dark muted colors and leather with pants instead of a long skirt. Hadn’t it been for her long hair that laid over her shoulders she would’ve looked like one of her brothers.

Had it been a meeting of something important like a potential marriage she would’ve dressed in one of her nicer gowns, but this was a meeting for war. A war to take down the current King of Aedighar. How she looked would make no difference in planning a war.

The maester had left to go down into the courtyard where they would meet with the easterners.

On the other hand, Rhea was taking her time with making her way from the map to the yard. Maybe she would be scolded for coming a little late, but she was in the middle of something important. Brynden knew how focused she would be around that table. How hard she was trying to help him through this plan of his. If he scolded her, she would make sure he would hear about it later.

Rhea got a glimpse of the courtyard through the window on the way down the stairs in the castle. It was filled with men holding banners of a bird, and there was a carriage which she assumed belonged to the Lord and his closest.

It had been a while since they had last had such a big meeting with a different house in the north. The bannermen who had arrived in the Great Hall not long ago were familiar faces. These were strangers that were staying in their castle until they were ready to march.

Once she was out in the courtyard, she walked over to her siblings. They were all there. Brynden then Willelm, Rhea would be standing next to him while Antra next to her. There was a slight smile on her lips as her gaze met with her sister. At least one of them was dressed as a proper lady.

“You’re late,” Willelm mumbled to her as she stood beside him. “Shut up,” Rhea glared at him as she whispered the words to him.

It looked like he wanted to say something to her, but out of the carriage in the courtyard came a man with a younger lady which Rhea first assumed had to be his daughter. Unless she was his wife, but she wouldn’t know until they introduced themselves. And Willelm made sure to be quiet since Brynden would be the one to have the word since he was their Lord. There was also a knight standing by them as they stopped in front of the northerner siblings.

"Welcome. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Lord Brynden of House Rhyne." Brynden spoke to the Eastern Lord. Rhea kept the smile she had given Antra on her face. Though she wasn’t dressed for it, she wanted to provide them with a good impression of the north.

“This is my brother Willelm, and this is my sister Rhea. She is our war strategist.”

Before Brynden could get to introducing Antra, the Knight who stood by the Eastern Lord spoke. “A woman as a war strategist? We're going to fight men, not embroider napkins.” The comment sent Rhea’s blood boiling, and before she could even think of the consequences of her actions, she took a step forward. Her eyes blackened as she looked at him right before she hit her head forward against the Knight’s head.

Rhea made it clear she didn’t approve of his comment, not caring about the pain she felt after hitting her face against his. Instead, she just smiled. This was the north they had come to. Not some southern lands where people would resolve things with words.

“Say that to my face again, and we’ll see who will be stuck here embroidering napkins.”

 

[desti]

If Darron would never have to see a horse again, he would be a very happy man. Though he was a sworn knight and a horse was necessary to him, by the Seven he hated them with a passion. He always felt uneasy as he bounced on top of his stallion, Gods forbid he had to ride faster than a trot. Even a knight had fears and he thought being trampled by his own horse was a reasonable one.

Lord Aeron had received the first letter from Lord Brynden Rhyne a few weeks ago, shortly after the death of Yan Rhyne. Though House Faerson wasn’t the Great House in the North, it was really doing what House Furrow was supposed to do. The Crown had weakened the Warden of the East so much, that it seemed he had given up on war, on economics, on politics, on everything. So the weight of taking care of the east laid on House Faerson.

It was only expected that Lord Rhyne would eventually send a raven to Lord Aeron. Who else could they trust in this realm of lies except for the East? It was hard to push their differences aside, but what did it matter that a person killed another person hundreds of years ago? In the end, they were both dead, and Lord Aeron insisted on burrying the sword.

Obviously, the whole plan had to be as quiet as possible. Lord Aeron only spoke to those men that he was sure would agree to the terms. Nobody who swayed on it would even hear a whisper of the North. It was too risky - if the Crown were to find out, they’d surely all be dead before they could even finish forming their combined army.

Darron didn’t care for secrecy and intrigues, he only cared for the war he would be able to partake in. It was exciting to imagine himself in a legendary battle, cutting men down one by one. Darron might die, but the bards would sing of him for centuries to come. His father was from the deep South - Darron’s hot-headed nature and thirst for fight came from him. Other men were made for politics, Darron was made to kill those men.

When Lord Aeron asked him to join him and his closest on his journey to Nilfgaard, Darron was hesitant at first. It was another one of his Lords tricks to get him interested in politics, but the older man assured him it was to secure good faith between them. While the East was filled with knights, the Northmen had few of them. Lord Aeron said that they would need the help of Darron and the rest of the knights he was bringing to let the Northerners get a sense of how southerners fought. Fair enough.

At least Aryana was with them, as well. Lord Aeron had mused that he’d marry her off to one of Yan Rhyne’s sons, if he would deem them worthy of her. It’d be a logical match, but Darron would’ve much rather preferred her to stay in the East. The North would be too harsh for her sweet nature. Yet he was in no position to oppose Lord Aeron and if he’d wish to marry Aryana to a Northman, he would have to stay quiet and pretend to agree.

The trip to Nilfgaard was calm and quiet, they didn’t run into any issues other than hearing a pack of wolves once they went further and further North. Darron felt as though they were always coming closer, but never did they actually see the beasts. He thanked the Seven for it - one wolf would be easy, but a pack would be deadly even to a dozen men.

Nilfgaard was smaller than he expected. Darron had never been North, so the simple way of life in the North was strange to him. He was used to money being thrown around aimlessly, while the North seemed to spend it on necessary items. The castle of House Rhyne had stood there for centuries, ever since the first men came to the North and built Nilfgaard, so, in his eyes, it could do with some modern touches, but who was he to judge.

Two riders awaited them once they exited the forest that encircled the castle. One of them had a banner with House Rhyne’s bear on it, but it seemed old and faded, with tears along the edges. The two escorted them to the castle, leading them inside the gates. Darron was happy to get off of that damned horse and didn’t even look as it was lead away to the stables.

Lord Aeron and Lady Aryana sat in their blue and silver carriage, that he thought was a bit too noticeable for such a journey, but his Lord had insisted. He didn’t want his daughter to be stuck on a horse for days on end and insisted on good impressions as they entered the Nilfgaard grounds.

Everyone else entered the courtyard on foot, followed by curious stares. Darron wondered if they’d had lost their tongues - he’d imagined Northerners to be a bit more discreet with their stares. Was it because they were Easterners? Those bastards.

It was hard to miss Lord Brynden Rhyne. Though already tall and with broad shoulders, he made his appearance even more intimidating with the large, brown bear fur draped around his shoulders. The only thing easing Lord Rhyne’s appearance was the small, content smile on his lips.

Next to him stood a boy, much younger. He shared some similar features to his brother, but was nowhere near as large of a figure. Then there were two girls - both beautiful, but shockingly different. While one was dark haired and dressed in a man’s clothes, the other was with fair hair and so ladylike she stuck out between the other Northerners.

The carriage stopped and Darron opened the door, letting Lord Aeron and Lady Aryana out as he took his spot next to his Lord.

"Welcome. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm Lord Brynden of House Rhyne,” the man introduced himself, his voice stern and deep, “This is my brother Willelm, and this is my sister Rhea. She is our war strategist.”

Darron couldn’t help himself. He’d always found it hard to keep his mouth shut and this was too much for him. A woman as a war strategist was ridiculous. How did Lord Brynden expect men to trust her and follow her? Women knew about as much about war as men about childbirth.

“A woman as a war strategist? We're going to fight men, not embroider napkins.”

He heard a snicker coming from behind him amongst the other men they had brought. Darron looked back and grinned, but when he turned his head back, the girl introduced as Rhea had taken a step forward. Before he could react, her head shot forwards against his and he stumbled back, caught by the elbows by a man standing behind him. Darron stared in the woman and though her mouth moved, he couldn’t hear a word she was saying.

“Yes, Sir, but not just any woman - my sister is capable of doing the task, I assure you,” Brynden said slowly as the corner of his mouth twitched in obvious amusement.

Not just any woman, that was for sure. Usually women just batted their eyelashes at him and gave him pretty smiles. Awfully boring, really. This one was exciting. At least she had a mind of her own and wasn’t afraid to defend herself.

“I apologize, Lord Rhyne, for Sir Darron and his inability to act as a knight is supposed to,” Lord Aeron said, his voice was always kind and calm. Darron almost felt guilty.

“It’s quite alright,” Brynden said, his eyes still twinkling with the laughter he was trying to suppress, “and that’s my youngest sister - Antra.”

Lord Aeron went and took the hands of both Antra and Rhea, kissing their knuckles as a good Lord was supposed to. Part of Darron wondered what Rhea would do if he’d walk up and do the same. Claw his eyes out? Punch him?

“It’s a pleasure to meet you and your family. It’s only a shame that I never knew your parents personally,” Lord Aeron said with a smile.

“My Lady mother is still alive, my Lord. You might get to meet her yet,” Brynden nodded.

“I’ve brought a dozen of my closest guards with me in hopes that we might show your fighters what to expect from knights. This is my most trusted partner that I already introduced, Sir Darron Netley. I assure you that when he keeps his mouth shut, he is a wonderful fighter,” Aeron said with a smile.

Darron bowed his head as he clenched his jaw at the remark. He loved Aeron like a father, but gods this whole trip seemed to embarrass him more and more by the second. Was it too late to ride back home?

“And this lovely girl is my daughter, Aryana,” Aeron’s face always lightened up while talking about his only child.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Aryana,” Brynden said as he took the girl’s hand, bowing and kissing her knuckles as Aeron had done before, “I hope your Lord father and I will start an unending alliance between the North and the East.”

“I so hope that happens,” Aeron said.

“Shall we, then? I’m afraid we don’t have time for welcoming feasts and have to get straight to war,” Brynden said as he made a gesture towards the castle.

“Of course,” Aeron nodded, then looked to Aryana, “war is an awfully boring topic, my love. Grab one of the soldiers and explore the castle, or the woods if they’re safe. I’m sure you’ll have more excitement that way.”

“If I may, my sister Antra is not expected to participate in war talks either. She finds them upsetting. Mayhaps your daughter and my sister can spend these hours together?”

“A lovely idea,” Lord Faerson nodded.

Like a shadow, Darron walked behind Lord Faerson as they made their way into the castle. His eye hurt and he could almost feel the bruise forming around it. But he resisted the urge to touch it and moan about it while Rhea was still close by. Darron had a nagging feeling it would only cause her joy to see him wince in pain.

 

[scoorpiuuss]

The look on Sir Darron’s face made it all worth it.

Rhea had truly given him the welcoming he needed to the North, and instead of being scolded by Brynden she was being praised. It felt as though he was giving her more credit than what she deserved. Being alone in a room with a map and a couple of books was one thing, but now she would be in front of another Lord and his men.

These weren’t her brother’s men who were used to seeing Rhea speak about war strategies. Maybe they would judge her like Sir Darron had, but somehow that gave her more confidence to show them she knew what she was doing. Brynden wasn’t some stupid Lord who let his sister do things just because she was his sister. They would soon come to realize that. Especially Sir Darron.

“Pleasure to meet you, my Lord,” Rhea smiled as Lord Aeron reached for her hand to press a kiss against it.

It was a relief that he did not act like his Knight. Rhea couldn’t get the comment out of her head, imagining how foolish he had to be to say something like that in front of his Lord and the Lord they were visiting.

Luckily for him, Brynden hadn’t been the one to act for Rhea.

Still, she hadn’t held back, and there had been quite a punch to it since the Knight had nearly lost his balance had it not been for another man behind him. She would’ve enjoyed seeing him laying on the ground completely helpless, but she could save that for another time if he dared to open his mouth around her again. If she heard another comment, she would for sure show him that he was in the North now. There was no need for him speaking about who did what and what she could or could not do.

The blonde lady, Aryana, was Lord Aeron’s daughter. She looked too pure for war just like her own sister. They would keep each other great company during the harsh times, and Rhea was relieved that Antra wouldn’t be wandering around in the castle alone. She deserved a friend.

Brynden seemed to agree with Rhea’s thoughts though she hadn’t said them out loud. So did Lord Aeron.

Rhea watched as Aryana walked up to Antra, every so gently taking her sister's arm in hers like they had known each other for ages already. There was a bright smile on Aryana’s face as she began speaking about something with Antra. At least they would get along. Maybe Aryana would help Antra out of her state of grieving about their parents. She looked like a person Antra needed right now in the times of war.

Like Willelm, Rhea followed Brynden into the castle would they were walking up to the Small Hall where they could be isolated from the people who did not need to hear about the plans they had so far. It was just the five of them including one Knight from the North as well.

Though she kept herself in the background, for now, she kept her distance from the Knight, Sir Darron. Rhea didn’t look at him, not even a quick glance in his direction. He had said what he had said, and he had paid for it. It wasn’t the first time someone had doubted her because she was a woman.

Ever since she had been a mere child, Rhea had wanted to be like her brothers in every aspect of her life. Dresses were too tight and uncomfortable, and fighting with a sword with Brynden seemed so much more fun than sitting inside the castle doing lady things with her mother. She had been quite the feisty child, but she had loved growing up in the North, and though her mother hadn’t approved of her interests, Rhea had learned quite a lot over the years.

Sadly, she hadn’t been able to hold a sword in her hand, but she had been lucky enough to learn how to read. She had been allowed hours, upon hours with her father in his councils where he spoke about war and other noble things that had been interesting to her as a young Lady. Countless nights in her room she had snuck out to look at the map of Aedighar, fascinated by the sight of it.

It all had led to the passion she had for it today.

Rhea had lost count over the number of books she had read and all the stories she had heard about Aedighar. The wars, the different types of fighters and the land where they lived.

All the terrains and different climates the areas had. They had a lot to prepare for, and it was difficult to tell what kind of weather they would be going through. It was all depending on when they started marching South towards Wheldrake.

They reached the Small Hall where everything was laid out on the table just like she had left it.

Rhea walked over to the map, expecting that her brother would take the word, but she still stood there ready to explain what they had planned. It was like she felt the need to prove to them that she was good in her field. That just because she had a pair of breasts didn’t mean she couldn’t plan battles.

“With your support my Lord you will make this march a lot easier for us,” Rhea looked at Lord Aeron with a gentle smile, knowing that they didn’t have their full support just yet. “We will march across here, trying to keep away from the forests as both bears and wolves are getting ready for winter,” Her finger pointed on the vast forest that was painted on the map. During this time of year, the predators would be on full alert for anything they could eat to make them last through the harsh winter.

“We would march down towards the east, hugging against the coast to make the travel shorter and keep us away from the crowded roads,” Rhea dragged her finger down from Nilfgaard to the border to the East.

It was better for them to stay off the main roads to not seek unwanted attention from travelers from the South who came roaming in the North or East. “We don’t have a strong fleet, my Lord. It would be impossible for us to cross here-” Rhea dragged her finger from Nilfgaard to Wheldrake over the ocean. “and here.” She did the same only from Nilfgaard to the West the last time.

Rhea stood up straight, not leaning over the map anymore to let her brother have the word. What he was telling Lord Aeron were things she had already talked to Brynden about. Instead, her eyes were glued on the map as she tried to figure out if it was the best and safest way to travel. If snow fell then going off, the main roads would be dangerous for those not used to the thick snow, but Rhea hoped they would be out of the castle before the snow got too thick to walk through.

If they had to go the main road, then they would have to deal with the people they met on the way accordingly to who they were. Rhea was just afraid they would run into soldiers they didn’t need snooping around in their business.

Every word her brother was saying sounded like distant chatter to her as she was so focused to the point where her eyebrows knitted together while she watched the map. To everyone else, she must’ve looked silly, but Rhea didn’t mind. She showed great passion for it, and she knew she was doing something useful. Her father would’ve been proud of her, and she hoped her mother was proud of her wherever she was.

Hopefully, she was still alive. Rhea prayed for that. She was sure every single one of her siblings prayed for that.

King Trevas was going to pay for his crimes, but if their mother were still doing well somewhere, Rhea would be overjoyed to meet her again once the King was gone.

 

[desti]

Darron stood by Lord Aeron’s side, his arms crossed on his chest. His face was pulsating, a throbbing pain above his left eye. The thought of his eye swelling up and turning black and blue made him almost audibly groan, as he half-heartedly listened to Rhea Rhyne pretend to know anything about war. It was more likely that Lord Brynden had taught her all the things to say and she was merely repeating it in her soft voice.

His eyes watched the map as she dragged a slender finger over it, showing where exactly they were planning to go and how. At least it made sense. It seemed they were planning to leave just as winter was to come around, covering the lands in frost and snow. Darron wasn’t looking forwards to it and he knew many other wouldn’t either, but it was just one of the Northmen’s tricks to be in the advantage over southerners.

“Thank you, Rhea,” Brynden nodded, gently touching his sister’s arm before turning to Lord Aeron.

The Lord leant against the table with both hands as his gaze went to the map, “like Rhea said, our fleet isn’t strong enough for war. We have maybe half a dozen ships. That’s nowhere near enough to go into war. The Crown itself has too many, combined with the fleet of the West, our ships would sink the second they’d see our flags in the distance.”

Darron knew. The North and the East had lost their fleets in the Great War between them. Though they had tried to rebuild them, their efforts were futile and their ships never returned to glory. After the disaster that happened at the Frozen Sea, not too many people were brave enough to even become sailors. All of Aedighar’s ships were owned by the Southern regions, they would never stand a chance, just like Lord Rhyne said.

“That leaves us with only men on ground. I have rallied all the Houses in the North to fight for me,” an almost proud look came over Rhyne’s face, “thousands of men are currently marching to Nilfgaard to join our army. I hope your Easterners will join us soon.”

It wasn’t formed as a question, but still, Brynden looked at Aeron, waiting a response. The Lord Faerson nodded, “yes, half of my men. I have managed to get around half of the Eastern houses involved. Half of my men are currently marching North, they will meet you by Lake Rosar. There’s wonderful fields there, perfect to house an army for a few weeks until you get there.”

Lake Rosar stood between mountains, a lovely, beautiful valley. It was just North from the North-East border and would be a proper place for the Eastern army to wait and not arise too much suspicion. Darron was only worried that if they wouldn’t move quickly, the army might get to experience the harsh Northern winters.

“Of course, we want to move as discreetly as possible at first. I realize hiding an army is impossible, I don’t expect to sneak up on King Trevas with thirty thousand men in tow. Really, I don’t even expect to leave the North without him knowing.”

The Crown had eyes everywhere, that was known throughout the Kingdom. Darron had only figured that the North would be under watch after the betrayal of Yan and Elysa Rhyne. He doubted that the King was stupid enough to leave them without surveillance.

“Best case scenario, we enter the East unbeknownst to House Furrow and House Wynver. How far do we get?”

Without waiting for an answer, Brynden shook his head, “I will not play hide and seek with King Trevas. I was clear on that from the beginning. There’s no point, he’s going to find out eventually. The only difference is where we are when he finds out.”

“We were thinking on tricking King Trevas and Lord Baldor. Send out rumours about or whereabouts, then surprise them, trap them. For example, here between the Two Sisters,” Brynden said, as his hand pointed between the Mountains that lay in the East, “if they go in there, they’ll be fish in a barrel.”

Darron nodded to himself as he thought about the valley between the mountains. It was already tough to cross during summer, but in winter? Snow would be up to their knees and no coat would save them from the harsh winds. The Two Sisters gave off an eerie feeling that they were constantly moving towards each other, ready to crush those between them, so that psychological threat would work as well.

“But that is just one of our options,” Brynden continued, “we’re going up against an army that’s likely twice our size. We can’t face them in a battle field, we’ll be doomed. The only way we can even stand a chance is to beat them with our minds.”

Brynden’s eyes travelled to Rhea for a split second before he looked at Lord Aeron again, “if I may, I’d like to speak with you alone about the terms of our alliance. As for the rest of you, we will talk more in depth when all of my closest Lords are amongst us. Willelm, stay for a second.”

“Yes, of course, Lord Rhyne,” Aeron said and nodded, standing opposite Lord Brynden.

The two men stayed quiet as the room slowly cleared out for them. Darron stuck his thumbs into his belt and walked out last, closing the door behind him with his foot.

“War strategist, huh?” he said as his feet lead him to walk next to Rhea, “how did a pretty girl end up doing that? A bit stressful. Aren’t you afraid of your hair going grey?”

“Piss off.”

Darron grinned and jumped in front of her, stretching out his arms by his sides to brace against the narrow corridor around them. Nilfgaard was small, its hallways were barely enough for two people to walk next to each other. Walking to the Small Hall, he had thought it was claustrophobic, now he was appreciating them.

“Come on, brighten up. I’m just trying to understand how you ended up where you are,” he chuckled.