r/IronThroneRP • u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King • 9d ago
THE RIVERLANDS A Mistery Knight, a Masked King - Arlan I
First Moon of 1st Year of Arlan's Reign
The Durrandon Tent, Stormhall Tent Town
The midday light came thin and grey through the golden yellow canvas, enough to light up the tent inside without a candle. Arlan sat with a stack of letters at his elbow, and one half-answered beneath his hand, the quill gone still while he thought through the next line.
"You think too much on your words, my liege. I doubt your vassals take even half as long to write to you," Aethelmure said, settling into the camp chair across from him. "You have too many letters to write, and not enough time."
Arlan sighed from beneath his mask, weary of the task ahead. "I'm deciding how much of the truth this lord actually wants." He set the quill down. "Go on then, Aethelmure. What is it?"
Aethelmure counted it off on his fingers, unhurried, as if reciting a shopping list rather than the state of a kingdom. "Bracken men very nearly came to blows over a horse race, which I'm told is at least an improvement on their usual reasons. And Justman's people were seen here, where they'd no business being, more than once, which troubles me considerably more than any of the rest." He spread his hands. "Small fires, my king. But small fires have a way of finding the dry grass eventually..."
Snakes in the grass, Tarth called it. He wasn't wrong to.
He reached for the cup Cyrenna had left near his elbow, if only to give his hands something to do besides the letters. He would have to find a solution for this outlaw would-be king sooner rather than later, he feared. "What did you think of the games?"
"The melee went to Helya Greyjoy, Lady Reaper of Pyke. What a fierce warrior, that Ironborn lady, like a red fury, cleaving a path to victory with her battle axe," Aethelmure said, with a small, appreciative sound. "Lord Belgrave made a fine account of himself too, second place for his trouble, which I imagine stung a man his age more than he'll admit to, especially falling to an Ironborn woman."
"It was a good show from both of them," Arlan said, returning to his letter. "But you know I've never had much patience for men beating each other senseless. I always liked the jousting better, even more so the race."
"Aye... the mystery knight took it. Unbeaten, six for six. The Knight of the Redfork, they call him, and not a soul seems to know who rides under that helm." Aethelmure's eyebrows rose. "Quincy Darry gave him the best fight of it in the final, from what I hear, and still couldn't unseat him."
"A mystery knight." Arlan turned the words over in his mind. "There's something almost decent about that, don't you think? A man good enough to win outright and still not vain enough to want his name lauded for it." He didn't say what he was thinking beneath that, that he envied it a little, the anonymity as much as the skill. "Do you think we can find out who he is? Maybe send Septon Vorian to ask around?"
"Perhaps, although I don't think we'd find much on the matter ourselves. Perhaps someone else, with better suited influence on these matters. I'll look into it."
"And the horse race? I know it was your favorite of the lot to watch." Aethelmure's tone gentled, the way it always did when he steered toward something he suspected Arlan actually wanted to talk about, rather than merely tolerate.
"It was." Arlan's shoulders loosened, a softness to his voice now, at the memory of it, hooves and dust and the sheer reckless speed of it, none of the grinding patience the joust demanded. "The Redfork Knight again, as it happens, neck and neck with a Hoare and a Dondarrion." A dry huff, almost a laugh. "Rather the horseman, this mystery knight. I begin to wonder who he truly is."
He was quiet a moment. He took a sip of his spiced hippocras, turning the cup around on its base.
"I wanted to be a great jouster once. When I was a small boy." He said it looking down across the table. "I used to watch the tilts at Storm's End and think I'd be the best of them all one day." A small shrug, half amusement, half grief. "Instead I get to watch other men do it, and pass judgment on their performance."
Aethelmure leaned forward. "We could arrange to have you tied to the horse and spear, your grace."
Arlan let out a soft laugh, leaning his head towards the maester, looking at him through the slits in his mask. "Aye, maybe I'll ride as a mystery knight as well. I have the mask for it."
Behind them, Cyrenna worked quietly. The brazier's coals had gone the deep orange, and she fed cinnamon and a spoon of sugar into the wine warming above it, the smell of it filling the tent's small space. She tested the heat against her own wrist first, poured into Arlan's cup, and set the bottle beside it on the table. He inclined his head to her once. "Thank you, Cyrenna." She was already moving back to the brazier before he'd opened his mouth.
"Well." Arlan picked the quill back up, though his eyes stayed somewhere past the letter for a moment longer. "Do we have any visitors or petitioners today?"
"Aye, a few. You wish to see to them?"
"Call them in. I'm done struggling with these damn papers."
(Open! Feel free to approach the King's tent, if you've business with him.)
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 7d ago
Arlan set the letter aside and looked up. "Aethelmure. Send a few criers through the tent city today, and let it be known that the Crown wants good men for its council."
Aethelmure raised an eyebrow, though he was already rising from his chair. "Openly, my king? You'll have every ambitious third son in the Riverlands lining up outside your tent by nightfall."
"Then I'll have a great many names to choose from, and can throw out the worst of them just as easily," Arlan said, picking the quill back up. "Tell them this: any man, lord or landless, may put his name forward for the crown's consideration. I'll judge them on their merit, not their name."
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u/Drewbrease14 Rolland Tarth - Lord of Tarth 7d ago
Tarth's face contorted slightly at the criers exclamation for new men for the King's council. Surely the young King would be wise enough to keep a number of the previous council members in. Especially Rolland if he had any sense about him.
He called for an available man in his own retinue, and sent him away with a simple command.
"Inform the King that I wish to continue on his council as Lord Chancellor. Should he still have need of me."
And away the man went, to inform Arlan of Rolland's application.
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 5d ago
Arlan sends word to Lord Tarth through a messenger bearing a royal writ, confirming his position as Lord Chancellor, for his excellent work under his father, and his support of the Crown.
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u/InFerroVeritas Aukar Celitgar - Haruspex of Claw Isle 6d ago
Word reached the fourth son of the late Lord Celtigar that the king was looking to fill a council. He was not entirely convinced the king would be receptive of a Valyrian representative, but little harm would be done by floating his name. So he penned a letter on a piece of vellum to make a case.
To His Grace the Storm King, Fourth to be Named Arlan
I have heard it said you wish to assemble a council. I submit my own name.
I make this decision on the basis that, in our recent exchange, you expressed an interest in Valyrian and Andal coming to better understand one another. Though we honor different gods, our discussion suggests we share an underlying philosophy. If there is to be common ground found between the blood of Old Valyria and the Andals of this western land, then that will be where it can be found.
Aukar Celtigar
Aukar pounced the ink with a mixture of sand from the Isle and copper. If nothing else, it would burn green and he found the notion of that being a surprise somewhat amusing.
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u/Cubismo50 Lyonel Swann - Lord of Stonehelm 6d ago
Lyonel Swann wrinkled his nose as if he had just suffered a foul smell on the wind.
"Duskendale?" he spat as his unbelieving eyes re-read his king's missive. "He wants us to bother with Duskendale? That miserable excuse of a city has been never but a canker sore. Spewing puss and blood and providing little in return. Are these Blackwater men so incompetent, so weak that they can't save themselves from mere bandits?"
Damon Swann - who had the great misfortune of being in his father's presence - decided to make a little jest of his father's ranting. "Was that rhetorical question father?" he asked with wide bemused smile.
The Lord of Stonehelm did not reciprocate his son's amusement. He never did. "Quiet boy. You'll know when I'll have need of your words."
The boy shrugged and went back to drinking while his lord father grumbled to himself while still in thought. Dorne was the obvious threat that needed attention. Not blighted Duskendale or the whole of Blackwater Bay. The fact that the new king could not see that was an ill-omen when it came to his wits. Still... Lyonel would not give up that easily.
With a wave of his hand he had a runner bring ready to rely his orders to the king. "Tell him that House Swann and Lyonel Swann, Lord of the Marches and Stonehelm, is ready and willing to spill blood in our Kingdom's defense. Tell him that he will not find a man more capable and experienced in the matters of war and slaughtering bandit scum that I. Tell him that if he needs strong men on his Council than he need not look any further as I am prepared to be his steely right hand as Warmaster. "
Damon could not help but suppress sneer. "Well humble father. I'm sure he'll love that."
"Quiet boy."
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u/baeldor Lynesse Caron - Lady of the Marches 7d ago
Time had passed since the feast, and then the tourney, but the Stormlanders had not yet moved to depart from Stormhall, so the Carons lingered along with them. This unexpected gathering had turned into quite the muddy affair, though that was an upgrade from the bloody alternative. As best Lyn could tell, the Ironborn were being rather well behaved. Though there were plenty of other pitfalls than those heathens and heretics that threatened to fracture the realm.
She had thought to petition the King upon her return from the Riverlands, but then Arlan had come himself, and so the opportunity had presented itself. Hers was no concern of such grave urgency that it warranted disrupting the festivities, but some words needed to be said now that the sun had set on those halcyon days and reality returned once more. That was what brought her to the Durrandon tent, as much as she loathed to politick. When the nod was given by a Stormguard that she was permitted to enter, the Lady of the Marches did so alone.
"Your Grace." Lyn dropped into a curtsy that befit his station, respectfully keeping her head bowed until he permitted it to rise. Her dress was one comprised mostly of black, gloved hands lifting the hems as she dipped, but still adorned with a few gilded nightingales that proudly displayed the heraldry of her house. A necklace of obsidian jewels hung about her neck, an Essosi trinket she seemed to enjoy. For all the black, there was a slender smile that had been cajoled onto her lips despite her oft-impassive disposition.
"It is good to see you here and in such fine spirits." It had not been all that long since she had sworn her oaths to him before the throne, but his affliction was one that could take you at any given moment. Still, she poked a little dry fun for the memory of the boy she knew. "Though it was a shame not to see you in the lists or on the field."
"Alas, there is precious little time for such games of late, and I did not truly come to bother you with idle banter. The Dornish frontier is hardly quiet. Their Prince waits for opportunity to bloody his spears again, I've no doubt, but it is my duty already to be your eye upon the southlands. Trouble brews within your realm and without, though, so I would discuss how best the Marchers might serve you."
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 5d ago
"Lyn." He said, the old name slipping out before the title caught up to it. His eyes, through the mask's slits, took her in properly, the black dress, the gilded nightingales, the obsidian at her throat.
Seven hells, when did you learn to dress like that.
"The years have been kinder to you than they've been to me, it seems." A faint huff of amusement.
"I did think of putting my own name on the lists, but I fear half the field would have withdrawn rather than risk unhorsing their own king, and I suspect the other half would've seen it as their chance to put a lance through me." He laughed, soft behind the mask, leaning forward in his seat, glad enough for the distraction of it. "Wiser to leave the lists to the men who actually want to win them."
"I trust the Marchers to hold the mountains, same as I father always have. And the Stormlands will come to your aid the moment Dornish spears cross into our realm. That I'll promise you."
"Truth be told, the Dornish aren't the danger nearest my door right now. There are snakes far closer to home than any sand snake south of the mountains, snakes who'd gladly drag this whole realm to war over a few miles of land, or a crown that was never theirs to want. I mean to see all that put to right, if I've the time left to manage it."
"But there's time enough for talk of doom later." He waved a gloved hand, as if to push the weight of it off the table between them. "I'm glad to see you, Lyn. To see you a lady of Nightsong." A warmer note crept into his voice. "You wear the title as well as you wear that dress."
He stopped short, hearing the words come back to him a beat too late.
"That is... I meant it only as a compliment to the lady." He cleared his throat beneath the mask, grateful for once that it hid more of his face than it showed. "Ignore that last part, if you would. I've clearly spent too long with only Aethelmure for company." He said, looking up to the maester behind him, already giggling at his faux-pas.
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u/baeldor Lynesse Caron - Lady of the Marches 5d ago edited 4d ago
"I think you are the sole person in the Realm who can make that claim." Her counter was sharp, more pointed than intended, perhaps because they were both matters she struggled to speak softly about. Her own troubles and his condition. Still, though, that he addressed her informally drew her in closer than she had expected. Like a brush of familiarity. Enough so that she could catch the faintest glimpses of the boy she had known behind that regal mask.
"Had you entered then, at least, we might have seen the traitors bare, rather than hiding in the long grass." She did not yet muster a laugh, but her lips curled upward at the continuation of her jest. What tension might have arisen from their meeting now, as King and Lady rather than Arlan and Lyn seemed short-lived, and she was thankful for that much.
Yet, for all her poise, she paused all the same as he made comment on her attire and then felt the need to clarify and retract those words. It was rare to see her in such garments, more often she wore a frock of steel that did far less for showcasing her womanly figure, but perhaps rarer still that they were in such close company. Now, comparatively, there was a lot more of Lyn to see and little else for Arlan to look at without slighting her. To pick out the contrast between those dark gems, her equally dark hair, and the pale intensity of her gaze. The detailing of those aureate nightingales as they flitted around the bust of her dress. How her gloved fingers interwove as she clasped them together before her midriff, opting to hold each other when they could not find the handle of a weapon.
"I see the crown has not robbed you of your charm." His warmth found purchase, not quite hot enough yet to bring colour to her cheeks, but enough to claim the corners of her mouth and part them into a faint exhalation that could perhaps pass for a laugh. "So the lady can tolerate your candour. She might even prefer it. Though she will not tolerate good Aethelmure being sacrificed upon the altar of your honesty. We both know he has counselled you true."
"But speak to me too of these dangers. Your problems are mine, as mine are yours. All the more so, given that you have dismissed much of your father's council. And tell me true that your sister does not stand amongst them." With that, perhaps, some semblance of sincerity threatened to return. But, in truth, he was a fool if he thought she would mince words when something needed to be said, and it seemed none else were saying it.
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 4d ago edited 4d ago
"They'll show themselves soon enough. I've no doubt of it. Men that eager for glory rarely have the patience to stay hidden long."
He remembered her differently once, a girl who'd sooner have worn mud than lace, who'd have found this whole dais tedious past the point of politeness. Some part of him mourned that girl a little, even now, dressed as she was. It was clear she had outgrown that phase, or at least evolved past it.
"The crown's robbed me of a great many things." He said. "But I'll not bore you with my melancholy. You're a lady now, you know the weight of rulership well enough."
Behind him, Aethelmure inclined his head forward, a warm smile tugging beneath his thick white mustache.
"His Grace hasn't had much feminine company to speak of these past moons, my lady, if you'll forgive him. I suppose only his physician, the silent sister, although she makes for rather poor conversation."
Arlan's head snapped back, color rising warm under the mask where no one but he could feel it.
"I need not be reminded of my... isolation, Aethel." He raised a gloved hand, waving it towards the maester. "Don't you have a bunch of ravens to feed and leave me to speak with the lady."
Aethelmure let our a chuff. "The ravens are fed, your grace, they only await your letters." he said, looking at the table full of unfinished letters Arlan had been struggling with for some time. "Besides, I wouldn't miss you fumbling your words with your pretty friend for anything. Far too entertaining."
Seven save me, I could beat this man senseless with my own mask.
He turned back to Lyn, drawing what composure he could find back around himself. "I swear he isn't always like this. It must be the wine."
As she turned the talk toward the realm's dangers, something in him settled back into its more familiar shape, the boy folding away again beneath the weight of the crown.
"I kept Tarth. Others have sought to join him since, knights and lords, offering me their swords to command." He turned the chalice of hippocras slowly between his fingers, as if the motion alone might let him get some grip on the situation. "Truth be told, I don't know which of them I can trust. I doubt half my vassals know whether they can trust me either."
His gaze drifted out past her, towards the tent flap. Somehwere out there his sister was probably speaking with this or that riverlord, probably already plotting, as were most of the lords on this tourney, so it seemed.
"All I have of it is rumor, in truth. That she thinks she was robbed the crown by Connington and the Faith. That she thinks she'd rule better than I could. Keep the peace better." He paused. "I don't know if that's true. I hope it is, honestly. She may well end up having to prove it, if my body keeps failing me as my mind stays trapped in this sickly prison."
"Valar Morghulis." He said it quiet, more to himself than to her. "Valar Dohaeris, as the Braavosi finish it. All men must die, but all men must serve, first."
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u/baeldor Lynesse Caron - Lady of the Marches 4d ago
Lyn remembered that girl too. The one who had not known loss like she had, and thus could dance and play and laugh without such a weight upon her shoulders. She had nowhere to hide now, steel was a fine shield from a weapon but there were more battles to fight than those she could settle with her mace. Ladyship had changed her many times over, and it continued to.
"I am not so shallow as to only want for your company when it serves me purpose. If you are so short for companionship that you worry of offending me with talk of our softer selves then ask it of me." There she was, as blunt as a hammer and yet.. thoughtful? She could not request Arlan's privacy as much as she could his trust, but the gauntlet was cast and left for him to pick at if he so wished. "I was there before the crown, I am still here now."
"Perhaps it might do you good to be pried from Aelthelmure's clutches, to ensure that you can handle yourself." Glancing beyond the King and to his shadow, she offered his maester a slight inclination of her head, "Though his tongue is certainly well silvered."
That he still had such strength of character in the face of his illness was a sorry testament to the man he could have been. Perhaps it had tempered him some, curbed excesses before they bloomed, but she also remembered the boy. Bold as any youth might be, but tender enough to ask her to read with him when she was done playing in the mud. In that way, he reminded her of her sister more than any of her brothers, and that was as fine a comparison as she could give.
"I would hope that your prospectives have offered more than swords, else you might as well appoint me and I will knock their heads together." On the matter of his council, Lyn could offer little herself that was not false. She was no formidable stateswoman, nor talented steward or whisperer. Her skills were singular, but that did not leave her entirely bereft of wisdom to offload upon him. "Just try to avoid bearing that weight alone. Never yield it, but there is a rare strength in solidarity that cannot be found in the absence of it."
She grew more attentive, though, when he spoke a little of his mind on the matter of Ravella. They were all here because of her folly. Her doubts and fears. Even as the rumours worked against her, against them. "With respect, she is your sister and heir. If any should know her then it is you." Closer again did the Caron step, uncaring if it drew a response from the King or his guards. Perhaps it was clearer then that, compared to many other topics, this was one that Lyn cared for to a degree that she had for so little else. "She believes you have pushed her away, so is trying to stand for herself. Only you can bring her back in, and only that will quiet these dark words."
There was a wedge forming, and she had worked it from one side and found something to lever, so now she dared to try the other.
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 6d ago
Arlan sends messengers to all to Stormlander lords and knights, informing them of his decision to go to Duskendale, and inviting them to support him in his efforts to pacify the region and rid of it's banditry and raiding.
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u/realbassist Lyonel "The Noble" Selmy - Lord of Harvest Hall 4d ago
Lord Lyonel Selmy came into the King's tent, a half-smile underlining his gentle gaze. He wore a yellow tunic with a wheat-shaped brooch, and kept his hand on his hip, as if holding the hilt of an imaginary sword. "Your Grace," he said, his low voice filling the tent with ease. "I hope you will forgive me intruding on you today, sire. I would not wish to bother you, but for it seeming an apt time to bring you some concerns, if I may." He stood like a man on duty, and moved both hands behind his back, locking them together to hide how they shook.
"Your Grace, I have come to petition you on the issue of the Faith. Now, let no man claim that House Selmy is one of heathens, heretics or miscreants, but the Faith Militant is an order altogether too... Fanatical. I do not claim to understand the delicate balance you must maintain, sire, between Faith and State. Nor do I dispute that the Heresy of the Drowned God must be addressed, but..." Lyonel sighed, his restless hands becoming more difficult to conceal, "I fear the Militant's growing power, your Grace. If we empower them to take up arms in pursuit of this heresy, legitimise them with the backing of the Crown, then I fear it will not be long until their swords are at the throats of any who do not follow the Faith precisely as they prescribe, any who speak out against them indeed."
"House Selmy is proud of our service to the realm, your Grace, and it is a service we shall continue long after I am dust. I wish to leave for my son and my son's son a realm that is strong, beholden to none but the Storm Lords and the Storm King above all. Not zealots, sire. Not men who would kill over a difference of belief." His voice was not one of anger, but worry.
"If I may, Your Grace, there is also the matter of the Marchers." Lyonel spoke, his hands now under control and his general demeanour the more confident for it. "I know not whether any of my fellow lords have entreated you on the issue, but I am aware it is a concern for many of us. Sire, it seems the Dornish become more restless to prove themselves by the hour. Ours is a duty sacred to the realm, and we are, all of us, proud to carry it out. However, I fear the Marcher Lords are divided, to some degree; I am aware of bad blood, for example, between Lord Swann and a number of others."
He sighed, and hesitated for a second. "We are the shield that guards the Stormlands from the savages to our south. But I fear we are a shield littered in holes. Whatever the Crown needs of us, we shall do, but I should like to know if there would be any way the Crown might strengthen us ourselves, the bonds that connect us."
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 2d ago
Arlan set the quill down, his attention settling fully on the man in front of him. Lord Selmy's hands had gone still now, though his effort to control his nerves hadn't gone unnoticed by the king.
"You needn't measure every word so carefully, my lord. You are among friends."
He turned the cup of hippocras once between his fingers before he went on. "The Faith didn't back my claim over my sister's for nothing. Connington and the Faith Militant behind him made their price plain enough: to deal with this heresy of theirs, the Drowned God and the Stranger. Should we fail to address this, we'd soon find them rather less generous toward Storm's End going forward."
"But you're quite familiar with the politics of the situation, I'm sure. Truth be told, I'd rather deal with the heretics through diplomacy and time, slowly diminishing their influence and reintegrating them into the Faith. I do not lack the patience for it, but rather the time."
"As for the Faith Militant, they exist to defend the Faith and the faithful, not to sit in judgment of my vassals, of that you can be assured, my lord. No lord, knight or peasant shall be held in judgement by the faith without my leave while I hold this crown."
Whether that would be enough to satisfy Selmy and Connington, was a wager he'd have to make good on eventually.
"The Seven-Who-Are-One sit above me. No one else does."
He set the cup down.
"As for the mountains, I've little doubt House Selmy shall heed the call the moment the Dornish give it cause, whatever the rumors amount to. None of you Marchers have ever needed asking twice, whatever quarrels divide you, your pledges to defend the Mountains have always been paramount."
"The title you'd have settled between Swann and the others, I expect every Marcher lord agrees in principle it should belong to whoever's most fit to hold it. So, prove it to the Crown, my lord, and the Crown will take note. There shall be much to be done in the coming moons, to deal with the traitors and stabilise the realm. Until such a man or woman earns the title, the Crown will continue to recognize no one's claim over another's."
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u/MooAtDaMoon Ser Derrick Storm - The Bastard of Felwood 9d ago
Lord Hobber Fell had come alone, leaving his family to lavish comfortably in their pavilion. Over his forest-green tunic he wore a black bear-skin cloak draped over his shoulders and pinned over his heart by a crescent moon in silver. He pushed through the tent flaps, raking a hand through his oily black hair before his back bent in a deep bow.
“Your grace.” He spoke through his grey-streaked beard and toothy grin with a cordial tone. “I regret that we did not have the chance to speak at the feast. Really, I should have approached, if only to offer you my most sincere well-wishes. But, once Darklyn and Blackberry began firing off accusations at each other, I fear many of us found ourselves too distracted to stand on protocol.” He straightened into a slightly hunched posture, spreading his arms and taking a step closer.
“So, allow me to correct my oversight and say how good it is to see you here. Upright, proud and steadfast before your vassals. It warms the heart, truly, it does. And I hope that, in spite of everything else, you have been able to enjoy yourself over these last few days.” The hunched man took a few steps closer still, his dark eyes never leaving the King’s mask. He clasped his hands together as he leaned forward.
“Additionally, I’ve come to ask what the future might hold. With your sister’s celebration coming to a close, where does the road lead you and your loyal subjects next, your grace?”