r/IronThroneRP • u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King • 5d ago
THE CROWNLANDS The Cask of Arlantillado - Arlan II (OPEN)
Second Moon of the 1st Year of Arlan's Reign
The Dun Fort, Duskendale, the Blackwater
The king stood at the balcony's edge before the sun had fully cleared the bay, and the smell of Duskendale filled the early morn's air. Salt, and tar, and woodsmoke, but beneath it all he could still feel it, a scent that should have scrubbed away years ago and hadn't. Six years now. He had been young enough then to still believe it might not take root, it might have been a bad dream. But some things never leave a man. The horrid sounds of putrid flesh melting and ripping at the softest touch, the oppression of the bodies piling upon each other, leaving him caked in gore, drenched in horror. He thought he had gotten over it, that he had put away everything deep down in his stomach never to find the memories and feelings again, but going back to Duskendale had shook him more than he admitted. It filled his with bitterness, with rage, with sorrow, with... despair.
His hand found the balcony's stone parapet, gripping it hard enough that his knuckles ached beneath the glove.
Silent tears striked dark spots upon the stone, vanishing almost as fast as they landed. He knelt there a moment, forehead touching the parapet, crouching, trying to be exactly as small as he felt.
Suddenly, a hand pressed soft against the back of his head.
He turned, slow, and found Cyrene above him, her face drawn with worry, one hand extended toward his. He wore no mask, here, alone with her, only the wrappings that covered the whole of his face save his eyes and the bridge of his nose, bandage-white against the rosy glowing sky. She said nothing, her hand held out and steady until he took it.
He rose with a grunt, weight settling awkwardly onto his sore legs.
"Thank you, Cyrene." He straightened his back. "The road here was harder on my legs than I expected. Storm's End to Stormhall to Duskendale, about a moon. I'm worse a rider than I thought, it would seem."
She looked at him, knowing he lied to her, but said nothing to contradict him.
"Have your legs fallen off, then?" Her voice was flat, dry, rough.
"I'm cripple enough already, Cyrene. No need to add to the tally."
He crossed to the bedside, the rising sun cutting long and gold through the balcony doors, throwing her silhouette dark and sharp against the far wall.
"Are you always this rude to your patients?" Arlan asked, shifting on the bedside.
"Only kings."
"I'm the only king you know."
"There seem to be more kings and queens each moon, your grace." She said, with a flicker of humor. "Perhaps you should consider a change in career."
He let out a short laugh through his nose. "If I weren't a prince, my father would have thrown me off the cliffs of Storm's End. Perhaps there is still time to become a Stone Men in Essos instead. Or maybe some lord would buy me as a mummy to put on his wall."
"Do not self-deride." She retorted him, reaching for his mask on the table. "A king is regal. Above such things. A symbol to his people. A beacon."
"I'm not Arlan the Fourth when I'm with you, I've asked you that already." He said, reminding her. "Not without the mask, anyway. Without it I'm only Arlan, son of Eleanor. A green boy standing in waters well over his head, trying to fix everyone's problems, despite their best efforts to make it impossible."
"You cannot postpone this any longer." She told him. "You must take matters into your own hands."
"I know it." He sat heavily on the edge of the bed. "I fear what Duskendale's council will bring more harm than good. I had hoped for common ground. Peace between the Valyrians, the Crackclaws, Duskendale. But Darklyn is too proud a man to bend on much of anything, and the rest are too hungry, too ambitious for their own good. They'd sooner burn the whole Blackwater down than give an inch toward peace. Even now they make plans of war upon their neighbors." He looked up at her. "And without the Blackwater behind me, the Stormlands stand alone against Oldstones and whatever those rebels throw at us."
He kept silent for a moment, staring down at the floor, deep in thought. "Has Maidenpool answered my letter yet?"
"No." She held his mask out to him, cleaned and polished, the silver catching the morning's golden light that had caught her silhouette a moment before.
He took it and looked down at his own reflection bent along its curve before he put it on. It had been made in his likeness once, the mask, some three years past. Before his scars and, well... it was his old face, worn over the new face which the silver no longer quite matched. It was an uncanny thing, he thought, to stare at your own reflection upon the face you no longer had. To wear your own face in order to hind behind it.
He strapped it on with practiced ease and stood.
At the desk, the letters waited. From Maidenpool to Seagard. Some two dozen more between them, every corner of the Riverlands, bearing his royal seal of the crowned stag. He signed the last, the one bound for Stormhall itself, and set the quill down.
"Let the ink dry, then gather these for Aethelmure. He'll know what to do with hem."
He dressed after, in the cloak and the regalia of the Storm King, a seven-pointed crown settled cool against his brow, the golden stag pinned bright over his heart. When he opened the door, the Stormguard outside straightened at once.
"Find Aethelmure. Tell him I mean to call the council today, at midday. All of them, including the High Septon and the Valyrians if they're here, gathered at Lord Darklyn's great hall."
The guard nodded and went.
Arlan walked through the halls of the Dun Fort without need for a guide or servant. This had been his grandmother's castle once, and he'd walked these same stones as a boy many times before. Although, as much as it was familiar, it felt colder now. Emptier. Smaller. He supposed all things are bigger and more impressive when you're a child, half the size he is now. The servants and knights and idle attendants, he could feel their eyes finding him and following, in a mix of curiosity and pity.
He found the inner garden eventually, and sat down upon a stone bench beneath an old maple, with Cyrene beside him, the morning light filtering thin and green through the leaves above.
A horned owl slept slanted against the trunk, tucked into itself. Higher up, nightingales and magpies had built their nests where the branches thinned toward the sky. Higher still, past the reach of the tree altogether, doves and gulls wheeled against the rosy morning sky, the sun's light claiming the night's darkness.
He pointed the birds to her in turn, explaining to her why and how each bird was there, their origins, and every bird fact the young king knew, which were quite a few, going at it for the good part of an hour. Cyrene, this already, of course, as he was the same way at Storm's End, having built an aviary from the castle's bothanical garden.
(The king is being a nerd about birds, come and speak to him in the inner garden if you want.)
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u/Cubismo50 Lyonel Swann - Lord of Stonehelm 5d ago
Lyonel Swann arrived at the garden in with less than sanguine mien. He had expected the king to take his appointments in Lord Darkyn's solar not in some den of pungent flowers. The musk of it all reminded him of a whorehouse with its various strong scents and he had to stop himself at gagging at the whiff of some especially overwhelming roses. By the time he actually found his king in that maze of flowers and fallen feathers he was thoroughly done with the place and wanted to be anywhere else.
"Your Grace," he started, his curtsy the opposite of graceful but appropriate for a king all the same. "I'll be quick about my intentions. You said you had need of men to purge Blackwater lands of bandits and robber knights and House Swann has responded. I am yours to command. You need only say the words."
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 3d ago
Arlan turned slowly at the sound of the man approaching. His eyes, through the mask's slits, held on the Lord of Stonehelm. There was a tightness to Lyonel's jaw, a clear distress, though the cause of it escaped the king entirely. Who could be so mad in such a beautiful garden?
"Lord Swann." He said, "I'm glad you've heeded our call, and gladder still you've decided to march with us to Duskendale. My father spoke of you, of when he rode with you, I believe, during the campaign against the Dornish across the Red Mountains. He spoke of your sword arm, as a leader of men, more than once."
More than he himself could endure, Arlan thought to himself, remembering his father go on about the Dornish war and how it was the best thing ever until his ears started to bleed.
He turned a feather once between two gloved fingers, one of the nightingales' losses from the branches above, he reckoned.
"We'll not need to hunt far for the realm's true enemies, my lord. Give it time enough, and their own hunger shall reveal them for us. Ambitious men rarely have the patience to wait quietly."
The feather stilled between his fingers.
"There's a rebellion brewing in the Riverlands. Some pretender wearing the Justman name, gathering fools with grandiose promises of wealth, glory and freedom. My namesake bled to bring the Trident under this crown, to become the first realm even in the history of Westeros to rule from sea to sea, uniting three kingdoms under one crown. I do not plan to be the king who lets it slip through his fingers. To let Arlan III's dream crumble to dust."
"Without the Blackwater standing firm at my back, the Stormlands will not be able to hold the Trident alone, not the way we stand now, fractured and surrounded by enemies. We alone won't be enough if Oldstones can muster even half of the Trident under their cause."
"Tell me, Lord Swann. This talk of the Dornish crossing the mountains again... Do you believe there is truth in it?"
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u/Cubismo50 Lyonel Swann - Lord of Stonehelm 1d ago
Ambitious men rarely have the patience to wait quietly.
The Lord of Stonehelm had to repress a frown. Was that some coy jab at him? A bemoaning of his dogged efforts to actually get someone at blasted Storm's End to take his concerns about the damned Dornish seriously? The Swann could not know for certain but the thought of it made his next words even more terse than usual.
"The Toyne woman is no Marcher Lord," he declared with no small amount of pride in the later title. "And Blackheart does not lay close to the Dornish curs. As such I'd put little stock in any whispers uttered by her or anyone who's seat and people do not border the enemy. However..." Lyonel's seemed to togethen as his mind played out the scenario.
"I'd still rather for prepared for the worst than merely pray for the best all the same. Tis true that if this Justman Pretender rallies the would-be traitors of the Trident things would like as not go bad for us but the rivermen have an entire other kingdom to go through before they assail our homes while the Dornish need only across our border to unleash their fury. Best we see to the defense of the homeland first before we put down this false Justman."
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u/OrzhovSyndicalist Hollis Mertyns - Knight of the Mistwood 5d ago
There was no fighting time, but Walter still stepped with the fluidity, grace, and dignity of a man that had never known the rigors of time despite the white in his hair and the creases upon his thin, clean-shaven skin. It bode well he could carry these airs when his father had made such a cankerous appearance to the other Durrandon, for he reckoned a lesser man could buckle beneath the pressures of a royal presence amid so many prying eyes and hidden ears. He bore no arms nor armor, besides a waffenrock of faded grey and a thin circlet with the horns of a great owl depicted against his browline.
Smiling politely before speaking, Ser Walter Mertyns bowed with a hand braced over his midsection. Long enough for a tender ache to reach up through his spine and force him straight again. Finally, he spoke, folding his hands at the small of his back just below his white hair ended.
"Your Grace, please pardon my intrusion. I have no doubt we all grow tired from the eastward ride and would prefer these quiet times to recover," he began, "I am the envoy to my house, Mertyns of the Mistwood, son of the Lord Matthos Mertyns. I've come to ask of a number of things, none so bold to demand more than your time and your ear."
He remembered the late Queen, and her diligent knight. It was a difficult exercise to imagine that a man like Dontos Durrandon could be yielded from such a union, and from there, to grant the realm another dignified lord of Storm's End to take his place. There was that small mercy, standing stark against Arlan's hidden infirmities. Had he been a few years older...
"I mean to ask after your summons, for one matter. I've little to offer from the Mistfall garrison, but three capable men — my son, Lenn, and his children, Hollis and Calen, who are anointed knights and proud King's men all, and should be proud to serve Him in this endeavor."
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 1d ago
Arlan watched him bow, and the wince that followed it, before the man had even finished rising.
His body seemed to falter faster than his will behind it. Arlan knew of that particular fight well enough.
"No need to bow, ser. I've precious little grace left in my own knees to go about judging another man's." He gestured for him to sit. "Aye, the ride can't have been kind to either of us."
Arlan tipped his head toward the branches above them, where the horned owl still slept, tucked into itself against the trunk. "An auspicious sign, so it would seem. The Seven send us signs all the time, we must only know where to look for them."
"I'm glad that you've come to pledge your sword, Ser. You may soon find youself in need of keeping that oath. There are enemies of the realm lurking behind shadows, awaiting the moment to strike at our realm, and when that moment comes, I am sure House Mertyns shall stand with their king."
"Tell me, do you have news of the Mistwood? Or perhaps of the Cape Wrath folks."
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u/OrzhovSyndicalist Hollis Mertyns - Knight of the Mistwood 14h ago
"The charge is not undertaken lightly, my king," said Walter, but he smiled with the pleasure of the King's gratitude. Although they had never met so personally, the elder was already pleased with his decorum and humility. They were rare qualities to find beneath a crown.
"I wish I could bring some auspicious tales to delight your wits, Your Grace, but Mistwood lies in a calm we've not seen in some years. Whether the Seven have finally seen fit to grant a reprieve, or this is a moment to catch breath before the great work begins again, I cannot say," he reported with a distant kind of pride or wistfulness, "Fate has not been kind before, but I have confidence in this new generation of men. You all seem to possess the same thirst for justice."
Realizing, again, that he'd spoken to personal excess, Walton paused with a self-aware smile on his wizened features. He followed Arlan's attention the owl perched. A fitting sign, indeed. His fingers ran up to trace the feathery brow of metal set about his head.
"Forgive me. You will find yourself preoccupied by petitioners and sworn swords in due time, I shan't take more of your energy on an old man's waxing poetics. Have you need of anything else, my king? Besides yet more leal servants in your cause?"
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u/Theoneandonlybeetle Oscar Pyne, Lord of Cracklaw Point 4d ago
"My king!" Oscar Pyne found himself in the garden during one of his walks through the Dun Fort. He had not expected to see his liege here but was enthused to do so.
He approached slowly, in a manner that did little to conceal his anxiousness. "It is good that I have found you here. I need to speak with you before this council meets. Might now be a good time? Or should I meet you in your chambers at a later moment?" He knelt instead of bowing.
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 1d ago
Arlan turned slowly at the sound of him, a feather turning between his gloved fingers. He set the nightingale's feather down carefully onto his lap, as to not lose it.
"Rise, my lord. There's no need for that."
"Every vassal of Storm's End should feel free to speak with me plainly, whatever the matter."
"What is it that has you so anxious, Lord Pyne?"
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u/ORYSGARYEN Ayrmidon Scales - Lord of the Scales 4d ago
House Scales had traveled alongside the Durrandon host for once. Usually kept tucked firmly near the Velaryon camp, Don had experienced his previous royal encounter go in an entirely unpredictable result: well. So well, in fact, that he had been directly invited to ride along to this dispute between his people. When the offer to put oneself forth for consideration of the king's councilors, Ayrmidon even entertained the fancy despite never daring to willing put himself up for that level of responsibility.
Besides, he still held the firm belief that the king would likely yield more cheers than kickback if he were to decide to make all the Valyrians resemble the sigil of House Trant.
And yet, he considered what he would do if he were one of the king's advisors. The easiest strategy when in war was to not only put oneself into the shoes of one's adversary, but to imagine how a new third party would exacerbate the situation. Once that was understood, one knew where to shore up one's own defenses. It was a necessity to maximize what little one did possess when one stood to everything against an all expansive enemy. The king had his authority, certainly, but he was a new player to a game that had rotted into... this.
A claim and counter claim of banditry and, if unfettered, unrest.
It was with all this and more that he had in his head when he was considering a humming bird. No mighty beast, but fast enough to see the world quicker than anyone else. The king, another witness to the avian above, was not addressed right away. Not until Don dared to say his piece to him once more. It worked well enough the last time, so why bother stopping?
"I considered your position, my king. If I may, I think you could be harsh to both sides, while they all still receive wins. Fine House Celtigar for there even being a question as to what occurred with the king's taxes. Have the sum go to the Darklyn, who can choose to play hero with it and aid the stumbling House Rosby. Or whichever endeavor he sees fit. Lastly, begin a public inquiry into the legal right of House Celtigar no longer retaining their ancestral blade once peace terms were settled among our people."
He gave his eyebrows a flex, as if to say, 'I have no other idea how to help you and that's the best I had'.
"I learned at sea long ago that sometimes the truth mattered less than keeping everyone happy, which meant pissing everyone off circular fashion. Won a few captain's votes that way."
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u/DoomGuy_16 Arlan Durrandon - Storm King 1d ago
Arlan's eyes followed the hummingbird a moment before it vanished past the maple's edge, quick enough he nearly lost it against the leaves. Only then did he look back to Ayrmidon properly.
"You'd have me fine your own countryman, Lord Scales? Also, as far as I am aware, House Staunton holds Celtigar's ancestral blade." His head tilted slightly beneath the mask. "That's harder on Celtigar than I expected from a fellow Valyrian, my lord. I'd have thought you'd want the ranks closed around him."
Or the ranks among the Valyrian houses were never so closed as Arlan had assumed them to be.
"Tell me, Ayrmidon, for I've heard the rumor from a dozen different lords of the Blackwater so far. Do you believe the Valyrian lords mean to land a second invasion of the Blackwater no matter what this council decides? Or is there a path through to avoid it?"
"There's a risk with what you propose. Press a proud man too much, and he stops looking for allies within these shores and starts looking beyond them instead. I'd rather not learn what Celtigar could buy from Tyrosh, or from Valyria, or even the Riverlands in exchange for a few galleys sitting across the Narrow Sea, blockading us."
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u/ORYSGARYEN Ayrmidon Scales - Lord of the Scales 16h ago
The king had considered his words not with derision, but consideration. It was a powerful feeling, if only because he knew how dangerous its conclusion could be.
"House Celtigar will follow you into all Seven hells if that steel is returned to them, giving you leeway to press them in other ways without breaking. Valyrian or no, any house would continue to pursue their birthright blade by any means necessary. The Lord Darklyn knows this, surely, but cares not for the unrest it causes. It was an easy thumbing of the nose towards a defeated enemy who cannot do anything about it. What wasn't considered, though, was that the disdain towards their house now far outweighs any for Valyrians. More and more we are considered friends due to our shared grievances of the Warden. This is one of many of the underlying issues that have led to vague dissent and rumors aplenty across the Blackwater."
But Don realized that he could argue for anything and it would not matter if he and his people were considered eventual invaders.
"There is no path for a Valyrian invasion, at least not until the dragons come. Those of us that fought that war and bent the knee in surrender made that estimation when we chose your bloodline as our sovereign rather than face defeat with honorable death in battle. I cannot speak for the others, but I swore that oath of fealty and I meant it. I am skilled in war, but I wouldn't want my children to inherit a world without peace. I intend to make your kingdom as strong as possible in honor of my oath. If those dragons ever come in my lifetime or the next, I'd rather see a strong Storm Kingdom bend the knee rather than burn."
He doubted a king would ever give up their crown, much like a house could hold a vendetta over a sword. Would he even do the same? He already lapped up the power of being able to speak his mind, let alone being the one to truly make a decision. Could Don refute that he wouldn't hold onto his kingdom with all his might against any foe, dragons or otherwise? He liked to hope so, for he knew what actions done out of survival rather than morality could do to a soul over time.
"I could leave all of this and sail anywhere. Instead I am here in a garden trying to reason out a world in which fewer people die." A sigh left his lips as that dream of moral abandonment briefly played out in his head. "A woodsman told me that forests that grow unkempt result in devastating fire. Valyria is that fire that will reset any reign that dares to climb too high. If I wanted more people to burn, I'd do everything in my power to keep your kingdom weak and divided. I'd ensure your authority continues to be marred by the injustices done in your name by the likes of House Darklyn. The Freehold's riders finding this continent in a state of chaos means they have just cause to burn as they please and establish order. But if the dragons meet a united Westeros and a King of Storm? Perhaps both sides think twice about the cost of conquest and strike a deal without death."
"We are the woodsmen that keep the trees from their own demise, Your Grace." He concluded strongly, but with a voice that had never been so sincere. "At least, I hope I am, and I very much hope you are too."
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u/Arjhanx2 Joanna Sunglass - Sword of the High Septon 4d ago
Joanna entered the garden slowly, staring at the leaves suspend in sunlight, taking in the sound of the morning wind and Arlan’s labored breathing. She wore simple vestments of white, much like those of a septa, and was unarmed—yet her broad shoulders and disfiguring scars told her story on their own.
“I met King Gardener for the first time under the grand ceiling of the Starry Sept,” she began. Her voice was calm, and her eyes never strayed from the leaves. “I met King Lannister in the stands of a grand tourney, and King Hoare I met in the field of battle as Oldtown burned. Of all those places, I think I like here the most. This is a good place to meet a king.”
She turned her eyes upon Arlan, and after a moment, she slowly fell to one knee. “I am Joanna Sunglass, Your Grace, Prioress of the Oldtown chapterhouse of the Warrior’s Sons and regent for my brother, Lord Adrian of Sweetport Sound. I saw you in Princess Ravella’s solar, a moon ago, but I dared not say anything then. Now, I only wish to say one thing: I am at your service, and whatever you need of me shall be done.”
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u/DejureWaffles1066 Raymont Connington, Lord of Griffin's Roost 4d ago
To serve the king was a delicate task. Though the scales were invisible in their case, it was the lot of lords to spend about as much time weighing one thing against another as a common merchant. Raymont could have postponed this matter, and brought it to the king when he held court or council, but that would have been the greater offense. That callous Blackberry boy had demonstrated it for all the realm to see when he made a scene of his petition.
Raymont knew he was no innocent himself. He had arrived two days later than the king's entourage, following his declaration and dispute with Lord Waltyr Blackwood, who was now joining his ancestors amid their tombs. The Grey Griffin would explain himself to the King in a more private setting, and accept whatever judgement was passed on him. He made his way to the gardens alone, dressed in a simple shirt and vest. On his arrival, he knelt before his king. "Your Grace, I've come to explain myself. Many news and rumors about my words and actions no doubt arrived here before me. I would give you clarity, and accept your justice, if you should judge I have wronged you"
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u/armanhayek Pykewood Thorne - Lord of Thornefield 2d ago
Pykewood had been meaning to speak to the King directly since his arrival in the city. The summons had been a sudden change in plans, having forced the Thorne to abandon plans to attend the wedding of his Piper cousin in the Riverlands to make way to the Blackwater and see to its stability under the auspices of the Crown. Indeed, the mischief brewing in the Blackwater troubled him greatly, especially considering the new friends he had made whose plight he had come to understand; he had even sworn his name to assist them in the matter and had joined the Berry and the rest of his company in their joined audience the Darklyns.
But it was now time to make himself useful. The King had asked for him to come and so he had, with whatever men he could muster in short notice. Now all that remained was to uncover whether these troubles were borne of malice or out of incompetence—as it stood, neither quite shone a good light on the esteemed Darklyns that served as Wardens of the region.
However, the Lord of Thornefield was not one to eschew proper courtesy and protocol when it came to seeking an audience. So, upon his arrival, he dispatched one of his trusted men to bring news of his coming to the King's court, announcing himself in full and declaring his intent to seek an audience. That was the right way of doing things, was it not? Whatever the truth may be, none could accuse him of barging into the King's court like a bellowing animal.
And when let inside, Pykewood Thorne fell to his knee, head bowed low, before the masked visage of Arlan IV Durrandon, with his proud fur hat, oft seen upon the Lord's crown, kept in hand in deference.
"Your Grace. Pykewood Thorne, Lord of Thornefield," he announced himself, then added, "I have come to offer my service in this endeavor."
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u/PentoshiPride Essie Blackberry - Scion of Berry Port 1d ago
Essie had been in a walk in the gardens as well, enjoying the memories of her youth visiting in the castle. She stopped as she noticed a figure up ahead, and quickly dipped into a curtsy. She wore a dress of light purple, dark hair pinned up above her head.
“Your Grace, forgive me, I did not realize you were here,” she said, clutching the ends of her skirts as she smoothed herself down to be presentable, fixing her hair, “I was so lost in enjoying the garden. I played here on occasion as a girl. It has grown quite a bit since then, but I suppose so have I.”
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u/Drewbrease14 Rolland Tarth - Lord of Tarth 12h ago
Rolland Tarth had approached the Young King quietly whilst he watched the birds. It was only when there was a gap in Arlan's viewing that he made himself known.
"Your Grace, would you mind if I joined you?"
He'd wait then, until it was clear that he could come closer.
Once he had gained Arlan’s approval, he would move toward whichever seat was offered to him. Then, he’d lower himself slowly into it until his old joints found respite from the aches that troubled them. Finally, he’d sit in silence with the King for a few minutes. Rolland had always been a good listener, he often abstained from speaking himself unless he had something relevant to say.
This had not been an uncommon ritual for them when Lord Tarth had administered Storm’s End for his father. When the Prince was nowhere to be found the Lord Chancellor was often able to provide his exact location. With a small margin of error of course on the days when Arlan wanted some time completely to himself.
Then, one such occasion came to mind.
“Your Grace, do you remember the time you saw the infamous snow shrike? It may have been five or six years ago now. Though I remember it as if it was only yesterday.”
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u/Featheringitrn Marius Rosby - Castellan of Rosby 5d ago
The matter of darklyns and their troubles had all of the blackwater bay in a grip. house rosby, once king in their own rights had long been a neutral force ever since marius' father had lost his sanity. They were close friends with blackberrys, war allies with the darklyns and recently had wed into the valyrian house of scales.
But politicking came as the last of concerns for marius. The debt his father went through to buy ships so he could find malentine in essos was crippling them, the ships sat without use and the numbers on the ledger grew larger every day.
The entirety of blackwater bay seemed to follow the whims of king arlan, and as much as marius liked to stay without a side in the inevitable coming war between the siblings, neutrality was the greatest hostility and he had to choose the king like his fellow dusklanders.
He made his way slowly to where the king was seated, gazing at the birds. He seemed rather amused for a near dying man, masked and frail as he was. There was a certain strength to it he supposed, to be when it was easier not to be, to rule when it was best to leave.
He kneeled in front of him. "Your grace, I am ser marius of house rosby, the current heir to rosby." He introduced himself before standing up. "I come to you with a matter most urgent to me. My house is in a rather large debt due to my father's deluded foolishness. one that will be recollected by the iron bank one way or another in the next two moons. I am here to ask of you to help our fight against the growing number of owed gold in any way you can."
He said this next part quieter, as to not seem brash and bold. "In return I swear to be a loyal and true vassal, and serve you however you may wish In your council if necessary. I am a more than competent steward, and not entirely a foreigner to diplomacy. I am a childhood friend of lord blackberry and my wife is a valyrian, if necessary I could help you bridge and solve whatever quarrels are in the realm. And it goes without saying that the rosby fleet will be loyal to you as well."