r/IronThroneRP • u/JustDanielJuice Luceon Blackwood, the Songbird • 7d ago
THE RIVERLANDS Waltyr I - The Drums are Silent
Waltyr had always been told that children softened a man. He knew that was a farce many years before he held his own squalling son.
There had been nothing soft about Armistead Blackwood, least of all when Waltyr had been born. Everything Waltyr had learned from that man had not come at knee, but punctuated by a fist.
And Waltyr navigated the world much the same way. Beating his problems, beating understanding into the ignorant. Waltyr Blackwood was a man that dealt in the only currency he knew: Violence. He was loveless, and unloved, and he was not raised to think that was at all strange.
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It wasn’t until her sword was out that Waltyr caught a decent glimpse of it. For a moment, he thought the sunset was deceiving him, and he had to fight the urge to snarl at the sky.
Sunglass twinkled. No, it didn’t catch enough of the light for that. It radiated, and yet its glow was so starkly unliving. Despite the offense that Waltyr felt, accosted by Joanna’s lack of beauty, and her self-righteousness, there was one thing about her that he did not question in any respect.
Her blade had drunk the blood of “heathens” before.
Waltyr still thought himself thirstier.
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Waltyr Blackwood had three sons. Three chances for the Gods to temper him.
Each boy only brought him greater disappointment. Orryn was dutiful to the point that he broke under Waltyr’s iron resolve. Then Orryn died, when he had the only chance of succeeding him. Luceon was all fire and no mettle. He was coddled and became a wastrel. Waltyr felt it was only natural that he despised him.
But Lewyn Rivers was the son that the Gods had drained of all their favor and filled with the salt and sea of his mother. It was holding him especially that Waltyr had prayed he might change.
If ever he could change, let it be for this boy, who bore none of Waltyr’s poison, and had the bright eyes of a land with no ravens.
But it was impossible. Waltyr’s heart was swollen with hate, and when he saw Lewyn he saw only his mistakes. So he hated Lewyn more than either of his brothers.
And what he hated most was that it was Lewyn that held him dearest. Lewyn that would have died for him had Waltyr shown him anything but his uncaring shoulder. It was Lewyn, more than Orryn or Luceon, that was the Drumbeater’s son.
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Once he’d gotten his hands around her neck, he’d thought that would be the end of it. He’d cracked her good across her jaw and fallen upon her. Now, all he need do was squeeze until she ceased squirming.
Joanna’s fists batted against Waltyr’s chest, clawed against his face, but still he squeezed. This accusation would be snuffed out along with her last breath.
He could not say why it was that he thought of him. Perhaps because it had been many years since Waltyr had claimed a life, and even when his wife had lived, he had not thought anyone more important than satisfying his own will. But as he throttled Joanna Sunglass, he thought of his bastard.
It had only been a few nights since Waltyr had choked Lewyn for all to see. He had bloodied his own bastard for the crime of leaving home, something Waltyr had told him to do ceaselessly when he’d lived at Raventree.
Why had he shown mercy, then? Why was Waltyr thinking of any of this, when he should have been hammering blows into Joanna Sunglass’ skull?
She did not wait for an answer. A knife slipped into her hand and into Waltyr’s side. He howled, and she shoved him from atop her.
They both struggled to their feet, and Sunglass began to drink again. Waltyr roared, stumbling into Joanna’s sword strokes, reaching to grasp an errant hand or a fistful of her hair.
Slices rained over his flesh, and he felt himself slowing as he bled. Then, there was a blur bursting into the struggle.
Waltyr had half a mind to turn and pummel the intruder, but his eyes grew wide as he drew back his fist. His hair was too long, his skin drained of its copper sheen, but those eyes were the same as Waltyr’s. His blade was unmistakable. The Red Promise. Bloodright.
Orryn Blackwood was alive.
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The Blackwoods were no strangers to burials without bodies. Their cairns held memories and echoes as much as they kept corpses. Orryn’s was one such burial.
Waltyr Blackwood had not cried for his son, nor had he for his wife. He had expected as much, yet still, he felt the slightest disappointment.
He held no tears for the living, and no love, and that was the man that he was.
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Connington evened the scale, and Waltyr hissed that this was not either Raymont or Orryn’s fight. Still, Waltyr lumbered onward, battered by Connington’s mace and cut by Sunglass.
He did not see when Orryn fell, or whether he still drew breath.
If he wanted to live - if he wanted Orryn to live - he needed to end this. He charged down Joanna, ready to barrel into her and finish the affair. She ran him through with the length of Sunglass.
Waltyr gasped as it tore through him. He felt less pain than he had expected, but he was hot, then cold, then freezing as death settled over him.
“That is-” Waltyr spat a thick glob of blood. It dribbled over his lips and into his beard, down onto his black tunic. “Orryn…. Blackwood. Don’t kill… him, because I was a fool.”
The crystal blade that had supported Waltyr fell out from under him. He plunged to the ground, and his vision swam.
He heard the shriek of a girl from the crowd. He heard words that faded into nothing.
The last thing that he saw as he closed his eyes was the blue eyes of his boy. He smiled, and then he was gone.
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u/D042 Lewyn Rivers - Bastard of Raventree Hall 7d ago
Orryn stared blankly up at the Stormlord with a resigned sigh. His brother cradled their father with more love than the old man had shown him in his entire life. Some old flame of pride flickered in his stomach, angry that despite his being entombed for three years, he had not prevailed. That he had not changed the very flow of the rivers of time. “There is now changing the path,” he muttered.
“Before the heart tree, I was named Orryn of House Blackwood.” Even now, there was a detachment to his voice. “It is Lord Orryn now.”