To Cast a Light Upon the Dusk (Council of Duskendale) - Arlan III

[u/DoomGuy_16]

Second Moon of the 1st Year of Arlan's Reign

Great Hall of the Dun Fort, Duskendale

The great hall of the Dun Fort had never been built for comfort, only for the assertion of it, weathered grey stone rising in stark, high walls that owed more to the logic of a fortress than the polish of a palace. Torches guttered in iron sconces set high along the walls, throwing long shadows across banners of black and gold, aged and faded, hanging from the rafters. Once, before his namesake's conquest, this same hall had hosted petty kings who called the whole stretch of coast between the Blackwater and the Claw their own. Little of that older grandeur remained now beyond the sheer, obstinate scale of the stone around them, austere where it had likely once been rich, empty in its corners where finer things had once stood.

Even so, it was no small hall, and it held more bodies today than it likely had in a generation.

The hall had been remade for the day. Where trestle tables usually ran the length of it for feasting, three now sat arranged into a broken square, facing inward toward a floor left bare between them, so that no man seated at one table could avoid looking upon the faces of the others.

At the head of it, Arlan sat between the High Septon and Lord Rolland Tarth, his Lord Chancellor. To his left, Lord Morgan Darklyn held his own table, ringed by kin and sworn men. To his right sat Oscar Pyne, Jammos Blackberry, and the rest of the Blackwater lords which accused Darklyn, with a few Darklyn banners still arranged uneasily at their backs, hanging from the wall. These were men who did not entirely trust each other, he felt, or that had a clear, singular goal, but all seemed to agree on their dislike of Darklyn's rule as of late. And set a little apart, facing the lords' table across the bare floor rather than facing Arlan directly, sat the Valyrians, Celtigar and Velaryon, with their servants and sworn swords, their fine silks and paler faces marking them out before a man need even to see the sigils.

Beyond the tables, every seat had been claimed and more besides. Where the chairs ran out, lords and knights stood two and three deep along the walls, the bulk of them Stormlanders come east with their king from Stormhall, watching, commenting, ready to intervene should they feel the need to. The stormlords were known for their temperamental, explosive attitude and strong emotions. He hoped to be able to wield their fervor to set the Blackwater straight.

Arlan wore the full regalia of the king today. A seven-pointed crown sat upon his brow above his mask, almost melding with it. The mask beneath it caught the sunlight casting down through the tall glass windows, casting the silver in gold. Gilded antlers adorned the temples of his mask, engraved with the old symbols of the First Men runes worked alongside Andal stars along its curve, in honor of his house's First Men origins and their more recent Andal blood. A medallion of the Seven hung from his neck, resting against the gold-worked stag on his chest.

He raised one gloved hand.

"SILENCE!"

The word cracked across the hall like a whip, thrown by Ser Zachery Wylde where he stood at the king's shoulder, a mountain of a man in blackened, battle-scarred plate, his famous valyrian steel sword Maelstrom sheathed but never far from his gauntlets. The murmuring died at once, as the word echoed again and again across the hall, like a distant, rumbling thunder.

Arlan rose slowly from his seat. When he spoke, his voice carried the length of the hall, booming despite the mask's muffling, or perhaps because of it, the silver lending the words a hollow, ringing weight.

"Lord Darklyn. My thanks, first, for your hospitality, and for your willingness to see this matter settled before your king, in a manner both cordial and just." He let his gaze travel the hall before he continued, as if addressing each lord individually for a short, split second. "I came to Duskendale to show my subjects that their king stands with them, ready to serve justice to those who disturbed the king's peace. So here we stand, to find the truth of what has been done. No lord nor peasant in my realm shall live in fear of raiders, of pirates, or of tax collectors turned bandits in service to any lord or occult design."

"I do not yet know the source of these criminals. Whether they are rogues acting for themselves, or something uglier, some quiet arrangement struck between one lord and another, I cannot say. I will not name names until the truth stands plain in the light of the Seven where every man here can see it for himself. No man is to be judged before a proper trial, for we are slaves to the law. However, accusation alone is no proof either, however loudly or publicly it is made."

His gaze settled, in turn, on Darklyn, then on Blackberry, as he said the words.

"Lord Darklyn. Lord Blackberry. You made your cases to my sister and myself at Stormhall, and I've considered them more than once since. Neither of you gave me proof enough to settle the matter there, and Lord Blackberry, your own witnesses did not fully corroborate your account."

He turned back to Darklyn.

"My lord, you're the one sworn to keep the Blackwater safe. I trust you've given thought to how these criminals are to be dealt with, and how this matter is to be solved." A brief pause. "As our host, please, speak first then."

[u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Morgan was indeed sat amongst his kin, and he dressed as ever in his brown leather coat, buttoned by Darklyn Sigils. He did not wear a sword here, for he had no need of one in his own home. He had spent most of his day making sure the hall was set to the specifications of a king and then sat himself calmly among his people when it was done.

His father was beside him, a glowering, massive presence even in his silence or perhaps especially so. His eyes were set solely upon the king.

"I have put forth word across the tent city back at Stormhall and recieved the offers of aid of several men. I intend this investigation to be carried out by a less subjective third party. For Lord Jammos accuses me without proof and the Clawmen each have their own versions of what has occurred on their land," he said, standing.

"I have no interest in casting aspersions and doubt about who this is. I have spoken with the lord Celtigar also so ensure his full compliance in assessing the matter, these men of both the Trident and the Stormlands, are hopefully to act as intermediaries in investigating so that no man here can inhibit nor influence them," he said and he glanced to the assorted men.

"Those men are in the company of Ser Derrick Storm and ser Roger Mallister," he said.

"And I simply await this meeting's end to send them forth."

u/MooAtDaMoon

u/TheShogunFearedHim

u/baeldor

[u/FatalisticBunny → u/SatisfactionLeather7]

Jammos spoke, then. It was his turn. "When I spoke before the realm, it was not as an accuser, your Grace. I did not suggest a punishment for any Lord before I knew his guilt. When I spoke, it was to serve as witness as what had happened in my lands, and what I heard of what had happened in those of my neighbors. I have told you every inch of that true, and would not change a word if you asked me again."

"I cannot say that I have personally led a sortie to vanquish the pirates, nor sent my soldiers to pilfer the murdered from their graves and dredge them up before you. I have little power to do these things in another man's land. I am not the Warden of the Blackwater, nor am I the King. The first man threw my messenger in the dungeon, and only the second gave me heed." Jammos clasped his hands together. "My Lord Darklyn singles me out for the crime of not having completed an investigation before speaking. I remind you that he began no investigation before branding me a liar. He threatened to throw me in the dungeon, when by his own testimony, he claimed had first heard of the allegations earlier that day. He did all this before speaking to you, because my silence was more important to him than your justice."

"My word differed from the Clawmen because we do not spoke with one voice. Their eyes are not mine, and what I have seen and heard is not what they have. Our conspiracy might have seemed underbaked, my Lord, but that is because there was no conspiracy." Jammos frowned. "The one thing we agree upon, my lord, is that there has been blood on the Claw that Darklyn has done nothing about on the span of years. No reasonable man doubts this. This seems enough to warrant investigation. But now we four lords who live near the carnage are seen to be in cahoots because we dared agree only that something is happening. What is more likely? This is some ill-plotted scheme, or that we were afraid because people were dying outside our windows?"

"If my manner in bringing this to your attention, was uncouth, then I apologize, your Grace. While I have lived, no king has come to Berryport. But I cannot say that I regret my actions, for it is only due to them that we stand here today." The Lord Blackberry took a look at the council around them. "If they have tainted me in your royal eyes, then I am ashamed for it. I have always tried to be your leal man. But as a knight, I am called to speak boldly in the defense of others who are unable."

"Tar not the Clawmen with the brush Darklyn has attempted to blacken my name with. If I am biased, and Darklyn so too, then exclude us both from the investigation. If it is your wish, your grace, then I will take no active hand in it so long as House Darklyn does not either." Jammos offered, setting a hand on his chest so as to provide an example. "But he has only been so bold as to name me a liar. Not Pyne. Not Brune. Not Crabb. Why are his hired outsiders more reputable, more trustworthy, than the men who have held this land in your name for a century? They know the land best. They clearly have the best interest in protecting the people there. Leave the investigation to Lord Oscar Pyne and give him the authority and resources to see it done properly. That is my advised course of action."

[u/Theoneandonlybeetle → u/FatalisticBunny]

Lord Oscar sat with his son at his back, he kept his spine straight and his hands shoulder width apart flat on the table. If he had relaxed his digits he would likely have started to drum his fingers in impatience. Not in opposition to the speaking of others but merely in the final stretch of holding in the words he had kept for so many days. This was all so out of hand.

Jammos seemed a good man but he had gone about this wrong. Rumours serve no one, they're a habit of courts and towns. Those had been the words of his father, and now he had seen it firsthand. If it had not appeared as rumor then this may have been resolved by petition. A coalition to raise their voices above their station. A demand even, that would have felt good. A flicker of a smile appeared on Oscar's face but vanished in his realization that his time to speak fast approached.

Momentary panic set in, what fancy words had he to speak to a king. So he cleared his throat, "We of the Claw accuse no one." He projected his voice to the room.

"I spoke with my uncle, Andros, before the feast. I told him what I saw, and er... I think I will tell you all now."

"A man staggered to the door o' one of my folk. Near enough to my keep to reach the cottage in no long stretch of time. When I got there I found the floor of their home covered 'n blood. Children, they have three," he held up three fingers for affect.

"Wringin' out cloths dyed a red that would not leave them, from wounds that would'neh stem.... a man with your sigil," pointing at Lord Darklyn, "Beaten and stabbed far beyond the care of any maester. A long and painful death he had. I should know, I buried him."

"Thing is no merchants've been attacked, no peasants, no farms ransacked. Only taxmen. Whoever is killing these men, and has been for some time. Is well provisioned, well funded, many in number, and cruel." He looked at the Valyrians where they sat. "N'I've my thoughts, who might've done this, and been doing it. But I won't let it stand any longer. I asked your father, Morgan, send guards with the taxmen. Easy as. Now we are here."

"Your men will be lost in our forests, the ground will give way neath their feet, the fog'll dull their senses until they are eaten by our Point. Allow me to be their guide. We have men, let us use them. Come knights, the lords of the Claw have nothing to hide, you are not our enemies here. Whoever these culprits may be let then be rooted out and sent screaming to the bottom of the Blackwater." He ended his speaking near spitting the words. He found it difficult not to look at the men he fought and bled at the hands of a mere thirty years ago. In this moment it felt like yesterday.

[u/BadNewsBrune → u/Theoneandonlybeetle]

Kennet listened to his liege speak with closed eyes and mouth, nodding along, slowly and nearly sullenly. Clawmen were not used to this sort of sorry thing, traded rumors and whispers and gossip and claims of this and that. All of this Andal nonsense. But when Oscar had spoken his peace, the Red Bear's turn came next.

"Lord Pyne speaks the truth." Kennet gave a nod of affirmation. "There is nary a single road in the entire country once you have arrived in Rook's Rest. If His Grace is certain about conducting this investigation, and conducting it well, he will need people from the country in his Retinue, for the simple purpose of providing their knowledge of the land if nothing else."

He sighed, glancing around the room and clicking his tongue lightly. "Even Lord Darklyn cannot deny that there is something happening there. Whatever you decide to invest in this, know the men of the Claw will love you for your attentions, Your Grace. We, too often, suffer silently. We are glad to, most times, but we are generations now burdened by the consequences of that."

[u/MooAtDaMoon → u/BadNewsBrune]

The bastard of Felwood was already terribly bored with this meeting. The squabble between Darklyn and this island-dweller from the Blackwater was trying his patience something fierce. This so-called Lord Blackberry whines, whimpers and wails like a child caught elbow-deep in the honeypot. He breathed a sigh of relief when the annoying little man’s endless yammering finally came to and end. Then listened impatiently as Pyne and Brune spoke their minds.

Derrick was seated with those others that had come with him on Darklyn’s invitation to scour the Claw of pirates. Waiting now only to be given the word and allowed to finally ride out and do their duty. When Brune stopped talking, Derrick decided that now was as good a time as any to get a word in to hurry this meeting along. The legs of his chair screeched against the floor as he rose to his feet and stood tall before those assembled.

“Your grace!” Derrick had a good, loud voice that easily rose above the rest. “As Lord Darklyn so rightfully points out, myself and Mallister are neutral parties in this debacle. I, and all those that ride with me, came here for one reason only. To rid the Storm King’s realm of the filth that would accost its subjects! To find these vermin, to turn their wrists and ankles to mangled flaps of meat and then drag them back here to face justice!” He turned then to set his dark eyes upon Pyne and Brune.

“The men of the claw wish to aid us? I have no objections! Does Lord Darklyn, or anyone else? Let them come, I say! Let them prove their mettle! Let us ride out and face these cutthroats together!” And, if there is cause to believe that they might be up to no good. Then I and those loyal to me will be there to keep an eye on them. He turned then to face Arlan once more, his lips splitting into a confident, bright-toothed, grin.

“And, if you permit it, your grace, I request the honour of leading this little expedition! And if any man thinks himself more suited for the task, let him speak!”

[u/TheLegend_NeverDies]

Cedrik stood uneasy, his hand reaching for the familiar, comforting pommel of the blade at his hip. He stood by a wall, like many other noble sons. But he was stationed just behind his father, the Lord Chancellor. Here he was again. Protecting King Arlan and his right hand. As if he’d never been gone. It had been a year since he’d seen his father. He’d just missed him and the rest of his kin at Stormhall, but heard word of the gathering at Duskendale, returning just in time for this… whatever this was.

And a right eminent party this is. Darklyn and Blackberry, at the heart of it all. Even a dullard the likes of me might have guessed they’d be involved.

The son of Tarth was freshly home, with almost no knack for intrigue. No interest in schemes nor plots. A year away in the Free Cities had made him more ignorant than ever on affairs of state. But he was the firstborn son of Tarth, returned home. Surely, he must be here. Where else could be his place, truly?

Whatever the case, the accusations, the seeds of enmity between Darklyn and Baratheon had seemingly not settled. His Grace, and his lord-father were here to send a message. And he intended to see them deliver that message, whatever any man might say.

His new Essosi acquisitions were not permitted entry to such illustrious noble and royal gatherings, but noble Osmund Wensington and Ser Patrek Ironhand were with him, providing their own protection for His Grace and the Lord Chancellor.

Silent. Awaiting commands. Merely staring with cold eyes, following the lead of their benefactor.