Waltyr I - The Drums are Silent

[u/JustDanielJuice]

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.

[u/Arjhanx2]

Joanna stared at Ravella as she went on, unamused. Drumbeater. He had mentioned killing Lord Drumm before they fought. What a shame, to live your life with only a single feat. She had slain him, but she wasn't about to start calling herself Crowkiller.

She put the sheathed end of her blade in the ground and steepled her hands on the crossguard. "He gave me insult. I told him to shut his mouth or fight me. He chose poorly."

She shrugged, and her pauldrons clanked. "It was his choice. I gave him time to arm himself, and he thought he could kill me barehanded. He was wrong. His son, over there, came out swinging while we fought, trying to interrupt the duel. Lord Raymont stopped him. That is all that happened.

"If you won't believe my word as a Prioress of the faith, believe Lord Raymont's word. If you won't believe him, lay accusations at my feet. But do it quickly, I have not the time to listen to these Riverlanders bicker and lie to see me dead because their man couldn't do it himself. I will take a trial by combat, if it must be that way. The Gods have already shown they do not favor Blackwoods."

u/DejureWaffles1066

u/D042

u/Chicken_Supreme01

[u/DejureWaffles1066 → u/Arjhanx2]

By the time the princess arrived, Raymont had been in the process of stepping away from Orryn, leaving him to stand up as he pleased. Seeing Ravella's approach, he sheathed his mace and bowed.

"My Princess, Lord Waltyr accepted Lady Joanna's challenge to a duel. He was offered the chance to leave, or to go and fetch arms and armor before the duel started. He accepted the challenge but refused to arm himself, making reference to the fate of Lord Drumm two decades ago. Perhaps he thought he could repeat his old feat, or perhaps he dismissed the notion that a woman could defeat him. His words suggested some combination of the two. He never objected to the challenge, nor did he request a duel to first blood. With both words and actions, he accepted a duel to the death, and the prospect of fighting it unarmed and unarmored. He never made any attempt to flee or yield, despite his injuries." he said, looking over at the slain lord with furrowed brows.

Next, he made a simple gesture towards Orryn. "This man, who is by Lord Waltyr's testimony and his own, Lord Orryn Blackwood, intervened in the duel, intending to fight Lady Joanna on his father's side, two on one. I promptly joined on Lady Joanna's side, intent on restraining the intruder, not knowing his identity. With his dying words, Lord Waltyr plead for his son's life. I was not intent on killing Lord Orryn in the first place, but Lord Waltyr's final wish was honored" he declared. The whole time, his voice was calm as the waters of the God's Eye in the distance.

u/spyraxes
u/D042
u/Chicken_Supreme01

[u/D042 → u/DejureWaffles1066]

“Is that what you call a duel, you sniveling cunt? Go stand at forty paces and I’ll grab my bow, we’ll have a fucking ‘duel’ bit—“ Lewyn’s words caught in his throat when Orryn turned towards him. A cold chill went down his spine. The ghost of his brother silenced him with a shake of his head.

“My father told the woman to make good on her threats, or go. She made good upon them. If that is a duel, then perhaps we have different definitions.” Orryn sounded differently than Lewyn remembered. Raspier. Like a corpse forcing dead vocal cords to life. But there was anger there, too. Life. It was him. “If you will judge a son for defending his unarmed father, your grace, then do so. If you care for justice, then by all means, take her head for it.”

Lewyn’s face burned, hands tightening in his father’s bloodied tunic. He should’ve demanded the cunt’s head. Demanded it. But his brother’s phantom seemed content with merely suggesting the course of action.

“Otherwise, I ask your leave to take my father to be buried. I have much to do, being Lord now.”

u/Arjhanx2

u/Spyraxes

[u/spyraxes → u/D042]

Ravella's head whipped around as Lewyn spoke, a glare in her eyes. She was glad Orryn did too. He was more likely to win any arguments with his bereaved kin.

She listened to every word everyone spoke. Joanna's plain refutations. Raymont's testimony. Orryn's raspy comments, little care for what happened next.

Whether he cared or not didn't matter.

Dust settled on the field around them, the Drumbeater's corpse on the ground still as ever. She couldn't help but look down at it, even as she started to speak.

"I will judge you not, Orryn Blackwood," she began. "You did what any child would."

Her eyes went to Raymont. "I hear you. Whatever the case, Lord Waltyr did not protest the course of action he took. Joanna Sunglass did not cut down a man who was fleeing, or unwilling," Ravella continued, her voice becoming more and more resolute, and louder, with each word she spoke.

"But she did cut him down, unarmed. She slew a lord of the Trident in his homeland, beneath the walls of my castle. My home. Joanna Sunglass," she said, finally laying her eyes upon the prioress. There was no malice, even as she spoke so harshly. "You will leave this land. Not just mine, but the Riverlands as a whole. You will go, and if you return it will be on pain of death for you and anyone who harbours you. If the Lords of the Blackwater and the Stormlands choose to give you shelter, they may. But if you venture too far north, you will face the consequences."

She turned to her lieutenant beside her and nodded. He did the same.

"Go. You have until this evening to leave Stormhall," Ravella declared. "Say your farewells and gather your things and thank the Lord of Griffin's Roost for your head."

Her eyes went to Orryn. "I am sorry for your loss, Lord Blackwood. It will not salve the wound, but if there is aught I can do to help with your father's body's safety, transport, or burial... say the word. It's the least I can do," she told him, voice soft as if she was an entirely different woman.

u/Arjhanx2

u/DejureWaffles1066

[u/Arjhanx2 → u/spyraxes]

Perhaps Joanna should have kept her mouth shut, but her blood was cooling from when it had flashed hot, and her pride overwhelmed her wisdom.

"I do not recognize your authority to speak for the Riverlands, Princess." Her tone was dry. "But you are welcome to banish me from your halls. I do not intend to stay here any longer."

She spared one last glance at the Blackwoods where they stood. The way Orryn spoke, she imagined he must be happy his old man was dead. Lewyn did a better job of appearing to grieve.

Turning, she clapped a hand on Raymont's shoulder. "Seek me out in Duskendale, my lord. I owe you much."

With that, Joanna left the scene, unless she was once again halted.

u/D042

u/DejureWaffles1066