benblvckwood

[benblvckwood]

Anne Carson, H of H Playbook

[benblvckwood]

"that's fair enough," he nodded his head. "i'll let you be the one to break that news to lucius, though. i don't fancy being on the pointy end of one of his arrows." he was teasing, and he stretched his legs out before him, pondering her words for a moment. "i suppose so," he conceded, in a tone that sounded like he was not entirely convinced. "but what if it ain't enough? what you do when a man dies, i mean. what if that's not enough to take away all they've done?" it was a question that gnawed at him, and not just for lucius. had he done enough for his father? would it be enough when his own time came?

he laughed then, a sound of genuine amusement low and rough in his throat. "an arrow to the heart can solve a lot of problems, but i guarantee it won't be enough for lucius. he'd drag himself on his hands and knees from death's doorstep just to spit at the feet of whoever shot it at him." it may have sounded as though he was painting an ugly picture of his brother, if not for the fact his tone was full of the sort of fondness only a younger brother could muster.

another question came to him then, one that was entirely more thoughtful that what had come previously. "when my time comes, will you be the one to do my sálþyrja?" there was little emotion in his voice, just a quiet sort of curiosity. for a man as young as he was, ben had spent a lot of time pondering when he would die. it had been at the back of his mind since he picked up a sword and took himself to war, but he never much thought about what would come after.

“I won't stop doing something I like just because someone is better than me at it,” Vilde answered, brushing the back of her hand against the corner of her lip. She'd sensed the faint taste of blood and wiped the injury clean. As clean as she could now. And the brawling had only been for fun, or for forgetting, whatever it was that felt like a stronger impulse then. “Your brother can keep his victories for now,” she added, “One day he'll lose. No one stays the best at anything forever,” she added casually, her words almost sounding like an omen of some kind.

After the fighting Vilde's hair looked a mess of wild curls, not aided by the breeze blowing around them, and she brushed some stray strands to tuck behind her ears. Ben's question caught her off guard and she turned to him with a deep frown, considering the possibility for the first time. “I've never done it,” she stated. “It might defeat the purpose of it. Even after being freed from it all, the living can keep burdening themselves”. Such a burden would be maddening for her too, she thought. There was some finality to what she did, after all. Cleansing and consuming it all, and that was only when a person's story was done.

“Your brother does not need a sálþyrja, Ben,” the Northerner scoffed then. She was no one to judge what the bastard did or did not do. But from what she'd heard, and what the Blackwood lord was implying now, someone like Lucius Rivers would not be unburdened or changed. Someone like that only stopped sinning when they died. “He needs an arrow to the heart,” she joked, grimly, “In which case, he would need a sálþyrja, after all”.

[benblvckwood]

vindication rushed through him at aidan's words, voicing everything ben had come to believe about ronan bracken and his intentions. "i haven't said anything about it," he admitted. what was there he could say, that would not look like he was arguing for the sake of arguing, causing dissent amongst the riverfolk at a time where drawing together was the necessary cause of action? "he'll be looking for any excuse to cause an issue, though. i'd put coin on it. half a mind to give him what he wants and turn in my council badge." let hugo vance take his seat, and step away entirely. it was tempting, and the only thing that stayed the impulse was the fact it would further diminish his house, give bracken more of the upper hand than he already had.

who would be better to trust that you, ben? it was a sentiment he appreciated from aidan more than words. here was a man who, in his childhood, ben had near enough idolised. knowing he had his trust was a sort of pride, but despite his words, there was a niggling doubt. he had aidan's - but did he have iona's? ronan bracken certainly did, family or not.

it took little convincing for ben to rise to his feet, following aidan without protest. it was a reminder, of sorts, that though ben had experienced much men beyond his years had not, in other ways, he was still a green boy, the indulgence of drink and flesh on display in the hall all a bit overwhelming for him. he trailed a half step behind until they reached the river's edge, a black, glistening sheet under the night's sky, and he crouched for a moment beside it, forearms coming to rest on his knees.

"it is better," he nodded, turning to look up at aidan from his lowered position with a lopsided smile upon his face. "sorry to drag you from your party, cousin." there was genuine apology in his tone, as though he were ashamed, despite his relief to be out here rather than back in the hall.

the mention of kingship was the topic ben knew many had on their mind, and it hung in the air between them, heavy and unavoidable. ben's gaze turn thoughtful, and he rose to his feet, brushing the dirt from his palms as he did. "i don't blame you," he said. "i wouldn't want it, either." in that he was sincere. the responsibilities he already bore were a weight around him. if he had power, it was because others saw fit to bestow it upon him. only a madman or a masochist, he had decided, would seek it.

he turned to face aidan now, the thought behind his dark eyes obvious. "i don't think there's many within the riverlands who don't stand behind her," he spoke slowly. "obviously, it does the vale no good to discredit her, and i don't think the north will give her trouble either. dorne is dorne, they probably haven't even thought of it as an issue, and the reach sends ronan bracken's friend to suss everything out. might be something later, but for now, it's the lions and the dragons." he was repeating only what everyone knew, what aidan himself should know. "if you think saying nothing is the best option - well, that's for you to decide. but they might look at you and decide that no declaration is in itself a declaration."

he shrugged his shoulders, hands finding his pockets as he looked back towards the water. "them kings, they'll tell you to take her throne. people here might tell you to stay in her shadow. i don't think you need to do that, either. what the riverlands needs is stability. someone to make sure the bank will hold if the river begins to flood."

Aidan drained the last of his wine, setting the goblet on the table with a thud. His blue eyes glinted with a mix of amusement and frustration as Ben spoke of the council, particularly Ronan Bracken. He couldn’t help but snort, shaking his head. "Lord Ronan Bracken as Hand," he repeated with a tone thick with disdain. "My sister in her infinite wisdom. It’s like appointing a fox to guard the henhouse. But she insists it’s politics, that it keeps the peace. What peace is there when he’s plotting ways to dig at our kin? I’m sure his appointment had you ready to bite through your tongue." Some things had not changed about Aidan Tully, a temper as hot and fiery as his Tully red hair.

Aidan leaned back in his chair, his grin softening into something warmer. "Well, who would be better to trust than you, Ben? You’re not some scheming Frey or a self-important Mallister. You’re family, and family is the only thing that matters at the end of it all."

But as he glanced at Ben, noting the way his cousin’s gaze avoided the women and how stiffly he held himself, Aidan frowned slightly. "Come, take a walk with me. It’s hot in here." He pushed himself up, motioning for Ben to follow. "Let these fools enjoy themselves. I need some air."

They weaved through the crowded hall, the revelry continuing behind them as Aidan pushed open a heavy side door. The cool night air greeted them, a stark contrast to the stifling heat of the party. Outside, the river murmured softly, its dark surface reflecting faint glimmers of torchlight from Riverrun.

For a moment, they walked in silence, the only sounds the crunch of boots on the dirt path and the distant laughter echoing from the hall. Aidan finally stopped near the water’s edge, his hands resting on his hips as he inhaled deeply. "Better, isn’t it?" he said, turning to Ben with a small smile. "I suppose I’ve been too long away to remember what makes for proper company. You’ve been patient with me tonight, cousin, and I thank you for it."

A beat.

"I don't wish to be king. I won't declare intentions or support for anything until I know she can do this." And perhaps some lingering anger and uncertainty. Aidan didn't care for any of it, alas, he was the man of his house and he at least needed to be informed.

[benblvckwood]

it had seemed like such a good idea on paper. tie himself to the mallisters, take the lord's sister - the younger, the one closest to his age, on that he'd been clear - to wife and make an ally of them. he would need them, if bracken was to serve as hand, and if the master of ships could be counted on, it assuaged a little of ben's worries about what that might mean for his kin. so he would take emira to wife, make her his ruling lady, and stand a little more secure. it was the practical choice. logical.

so why could he not think of anything to say to her?

it was not as though he were a shy man. those who knew him well would often remark on his bravado, some calling it arrogance. it was just another form of armour, a suit worn by a man who had been shaped and sculpted in the camps of war, and now without it, did not know who he should be, only that the options left to him did not quite fit right. ruling lord. member of the council. husband to be. he carried titles other men aspired to, and yet, felt like a child playing pretend, his father's cloak too big and too weighty around his shoulders, because in the end, all of those titles would always pale next to the moniker that stuck. bloody ben.

and emira mallister was... who was she, beyond a woman? that was terrifying enough on its own, but more terrifying still was that he knew nothing about her, what she liked and what she didn't. what did she like? who were her friends? what was the key, the magic words he could speak that would convince her that he was worth marrying, not for alliances sake or because her brother said so, but because she wanted to. did he want her to want to? maybe he did. it almost made everything else seem simple. his whole life had been divided into a series or battles, where you either won or you lost, and that was all there was too it. courtship was different, a hidden language he did not speak and could not make sense of.

ben cleared his throat, lips quirking into a small, crooked, abashed smile at her teasing. for all his nerves, he found that oddly grounding. "well," he began, his tone dry. "i thought it would be easier to talk if you didn't have to chase me through the gardens. didn't want to give you the wrong impression, you see." but even as he spoke, he picked up his pace a little, as though she had given him permission to walk a little quicker.

and there was a moment when he wasn't sure if she'd take the gift he offered her, and ben felt incredibly stupid for even considering giving it in the first place. what was he thinking? of course it wouldn't impress her, of course she wouldn't want it. but then she took the eagle, and gave him her thanks, and he let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. "it's nothing," he waved off her thanks, and when she spoke of her assumption of him, he hesitated only for a second before speaking, as though weighing up if he were about to show her too much. "the thing about war is... well, there's more time between the battling than you'd think, and a lot more sitting around waiting to battle," he explained. "and i was still quite young when the dance was going on. not all that good at patience, and didn't have much to entertain myself with. but i had a blade, and you can pick up a bit of wood anywhere. so," he gestured at the eagle, as though that explained the rest of the story.

he couldn't help it. when she mentioned a menagerie, he laughed, some of the tension in the set of his shoulders easing. "you don't ask for much, do you?" he said, with a grin that indicated that it wasn't a slight or a complaint. "maybe we should start with an aviary. a little raven next, to go with your eagle? else i'll be all out of ideas by the time we get to the actual marriage."

.

emira walked alongside ben, the gravel crunching softly under their feet as they strolled through the gardens. the air was crisp, the faint scent of blooming flowers mingling with the late afternoon breeze. it was picturesque, almost uncomfortably so. she was keenly aware of the presence of her chaperone lingering just out of sight—close enough to observe, far enough not to intrude. for propriety, of course, she thought wryly. as if her she’d actually do anything wrong and risk everything.

this was silly though. her marrying ben blackwood. her. a mallister. a man of the old gods. maybe he was not as devoted as she thought. maybe that didnt matter to others. he have a charm about him. gods what would the girls say at the next gathering? would they be happy for her….would they laugh at her. she couldnt imagine anything worse. what would they think? the younger mallister. the spare sister…. was this an honor or something to just be passed off to her? time would tell.

her hands clasped lightly in front of her, emira glanced sideways at ben, studying him in brief, stolen glances. he was quiet, his expression calm but unreadable, and for the life of her, she couldn’t decide if he was shy or simply uninterested. it unsettled her more than she cared to admit. she’d expected… something more dramatic, perhaps? some grand declaration of intent, or at least an air of confidence befitting a man of his reputation. instead, he was reserved, almost boyish in his quietness.

“do you always walk this slowly, or is it just for my benefit?” she asked lightly, breaking the silence with a teasing tone. her gaze flicked to him with a playful smirk, though there was a hint of tension behind her words. gods, is it always this awkward? she wondered, feeling the weight of the unspoken expectation between them.

her gaze flicked to the carved eagle he held out. she hesitated for a moment and took it from him. her fingers running over the smooth wood. it was simple, almost unassuming, yet there was something about it she couldn’t quite place. it felt… personal. too personal, maybe. she refused to let her thoughts linger on it for too long. but when had anyone given her a gift? something they made….it felt strange. instead, she forced herself to focus on ben, studying him for a moment. he was handsome, no denying that, but quieter than she’d imagined. perhaps too quiet. it made her feel like she needed to fill the silence for both of them. “thank you for this” she said. “it is very thoughtful. it’s quite fitting, i suppose. an eagle for house mallister. i’ll admit, though, i can’t quite picture you sitting still long enough to make something like this.”

her steps slowed slightly as she glanced over at him again, searching for any hint of a reaction. “so,” she began, her voice lighter now, “was this a one-time act of goodwill, or should i expect a whole menagerie by the time we’re married? i might like a whole collection” she said a soft smile on her face.

[benblvckwood]

the look ben gave lucius was reproachful. his brother was a hard man, one who knew what needed to be done, and the kind of man ben could never quite bring himself to be. he valued lucius' advice, and certainly benefitted from having a man of his talents by his side, but the murder of his kin was not something he'd ever approve of.

"what would that solve?" he asked, though there was no heat to the question. it was as though he was unwilling to exert any real control over his elder brother. "doing ronan bracken's job for him, and leaving me to explain to the rest of the riverlands why my brother turned two trueborn blackwoods into corpses." it was not meant as a slight on lucius' own birth. just a simple, if blunt, statement of what was true. he bristled a little when his brother mentioned his soft side, but said nothing. there was no denying that it existed, even if he didn't want to acknowledge it.

"you're gonna point your blade at someone, point it at her. if necessary." the latter was added hurriedly, as though afeared lucius would take that a little too seriously. "you're right, though. i've let her get under my skin." one hand went to his hair, dishevelled curls that never seemed to lie any other way but unrulily. "it's fucking exhausting, though. always trying to be one step ahead of it all. but that's what she wants, isn't it? for me to second guess myself." there were shadows under his eyes that had not been there when he had finally returned from war, a young man who had known nothing but the blade since he was but a child. "and i need you to make sure she has nothing she can use against me." because he did not doubt that she would, if he gave her half the opportunity. "we need to play this smarter. use brains instead of blades." was that something the brothers of house blackwood were even capable of?

Lucius tilted his head slightly, studying Ben’s expression as his younger brother spoke. His brother was the Ruling Lord of Raventree Hall, and yet, every now and then he spoke in a way that reminded the bastard that Ben had always been a boy with too much responsibility on his shoulders. Sometimes, he still sought advice.

Lucius exhaled quietly through his nose, stern blue eyes on his little brother. “Willow Wylde is a predictable woman,” Lucius said, his voice steady. “She uses the same tricks— guilt, manipulation, and tries to wave the authority she lost the moment our father took his last breath”. Sam and Hugo were not on the same level to Lucius as they were to Ben, and perhaps that was where some of his brother's weaknesses laid. “You need not defend or justify your decisions to her, Ben,” the bastard added on what he'd already stated earlier. “You give her power she doesn't deserve when you do that. And dragging her son into it? That's mere desperation. She felt cornered and sought to manipulate you through your soft side”.

Lucius stood tall, crossing his arms across his chest. “If she attempts to retaliate in any way that harms you, or Agnes,” he began, his nose scrunching slightly as a quiet growl wished to form in his throat, “I'll take out her boys and let her be the one to clean the bloody mess”. He meant every word. It was no empty threat, and it wasn't him asking Ben —his lord— for permission either. His tone of voice had dropped, there was a cold and steely edge to it. It was easy to see why he'd earned his brutal moniker in the war if he could so plainly speak of ending the lives of two boys. If Willow pushed it, he'd add her sons to the rivers of blood he'd spilled.

[benblvckwood]

ALEX FITZALAN in The Wilds (2020-2022) S2.E7  ·  Day 50/33

[benblvckwood]

ben found his eyebrow raising, eyes glancing over her battered face before his face split into a grin. "your first mistake was competing against him in the first place," he leaned back casually in his seat, his legs stretching out before him. "he's the best shot in the realm, i'll give him that. you're not the first to lose to him, and you won't be the last."

there was something that came to his mind, then, something about lucius and vilde. it was a question that might have been stupid to others, and that was what gave him pause, his gaze turning to a cluster of nearby revellers in an attempt to rid himself of it. in the end, though, his impulses got the better of him.

"have you ever ate the sins of the living?" it came from him suddenly, with little preamble. he turned back to her, head tilting in question. "or is it only those who have already stopped breathing?" he was trying to make it sound like a joke, only, there was genuine curiosity in his tone. "it's only, i feel like our champion bowman could use a bit of extra help. maybe you can lighten his burden a bit."

Closed starter for @benblvckwood Setting: During the Litha festival in Riverrun. Context: After years of preparation, Vilde was officially named a sálþyrja (sin-eater/soul cleanser) when she was fifteen. At the time, Lord Samwell Blackwood had just died and she was summoned to carry out the rituals for Samwell Blackwood, Ben's father.

The Litha celebrations were lovely, but foreign, and her attention had focused so much on the newness and difference of it all. She observed intently, craning her neck, peering through feasts and balls and fights. Vilde had not really considered participating in the competitions when she arrived at Riverrun in the morning, but by midday, her name was on some of the lists. The young woman had felt restless and ended up walking to the camps and open grounds by the Red Fork River, signing up for some of the matches.

A little bloodied and a little bruised, the Northerner managed to play for a time to reach some finals. It didn't hurt her ego to lose. Much to her father's dismay, there was in fact little ego to The Harclay's daughter. Any elevated self-perceptions she could have developed had been violently shattered many, many moons ago.

“Your damned brother beat me,” Vilde murmured with a smirk as she sat down next to Benjicot Blackwood. “Not this,” she scoffed, pointing at her own face; a cut on her nose, brow and lip. That had happened in some of the hand-to-hand combat matches. “Archery”.

[benblvckwood]

Ben stared at her, her words reaching deeper into him than he would care to admit, and for a moment, he was a little boy again, forced into a role that some grown men still balked at. a little boy, on his knees in the midst of the dead, tears and blood hot upon his face. "a child in armour?" he repeated, his voice tight. "your visions tell you that, or a bard you heard squawking in the markets? your little friend tell you the tale of bloody ben?"

she was speaking on things she had no right to speak of, trying to trick him with things she had no right to touch. he wrenched his hand from her grip and stepped back, rolling his wrist as though to shake off the shade of her touch. "i don't have time for this. hold on to that stupid coin, then. and hold your tongue while you're at it." his jaw was clenched, his expression laced with anger. "but don't think that you know who i am. you're not the first to try and weave together a story out of my name, and you won't be the last."

he didn't want to be here anymore. not with her, not at the festival. he wanted to go home, but even that was not a safe place for him. there was no peace to be found in raventree hall, nowhere he could leave his troubles at the door. without another word, ben turned and walked away.

Her teeth ground together, the noise merely adding to the rush in her ears. Rhythmic, dark and slightly painful. Gaia let out a breath of air, looking at Benjicot Blackwood as though he had hung the sun in the sky for the mere intention of making her feel far too hot and sweaty. She rolled her shoulders back, clenched her fingers into fists before quickly stepping forward and taking his hand. This time, she did not look down at the stupid lines that ran across his palm, or the tiny scars and discolorations that spelled out the life of an accomplished soldier, even if he could not have been very old yet.

She held his gaze, her own eyes narrowed in sharpness at his own mix of confusion and mockery. Something flashed through her then, a feeling of sympathy that she did not quite know how to reconcile with how she had gotten to know the Lord from their brief interactions. Someone too small for the shoes they were designed to fill, shoes that fit but also not, as though they were poorly, hastily crafted. "You're a child in armour," she muttered, shaking her head. Her grip on his hand was tight, tips of her fingers touching the callouses on his. "How does it feel?" she mused, voice softening, icy eyes going unfocused. "To never know what is good enough? To not know it is alright to weep for lost things?"

A loud crashing sound from nearby, the roar of laughter that followed right after ripped her out of the fog that had overtaken her mind and she quickly let go of Lord Blackwood's hand. Gaia stepped back, crossing her arms in front of her chest. She was back to scowling at the man in front of her. "I am keeping that damned coin."

[benblvckwood]

ben watched as sam nodded, disappearing around the corner to do as his mother had bidden him. it was always a strange thing to witness, the way she was with her sons. he had little doubt that she loved the both of them - as ben did, too, but watching her speak with her children was almost violently opposite to the way she spoke to pretty much anyone else. the boys were easy to love, though, sam in particular, his boyish eagerness a welcome reprieve from ben and willow's bickering.

and it was strange for another reason, for ben had never really known a mother. even when willow had come into his life, there was nobody who had much cared if he had bathed before dinner, or who pushed her anger to the side so as not to dampen his excitement. their father had not been the sort to do so, either. it felt like he were on the outside looking in, at something so alien to him that it felt like he was witnessing something he had no right to.

when sam had gone, he turned back to her, not bothering to conceal the fact he was smug. they both knew, in this instance, he had come out on top, that somehow, he had managed to turn the tables on her. perhaps sam would remember later, and come to ask ben more about his decision. that would be dealt with when the time came.

"when your new chambers are ready, then." at this point, she had no choice but to agree. "just don't be taking your time with it. dragging your feet pretending you've lost something or you're getting sentimental." there was little sympathy for willow in his voice. she had never offered him any, and so there was none to spare for her now.

"nothing else," he turned to take his leave, but could not resist calling back over his shoulder. "have a lovely day, stepmother. enjoy the time you have left in your chambers."

willow took a lot of pleasure in watching ben trying to figure out how to break the news to sam. his argument was a bad one. she was certain that her son would see through it, just as she had. before she, or even sam, could properly react to his answer, he suddenly changed the subject. she opened her mouth to say something, but then he tempted sam with the only thing that she could not compete with. a chance of adventure, of getting out of raventree hall and on the road. all of which her son craved more than anything else. sam had never been good at hiding his emotions, and his hint of disapproval transformed into sudden excitement from the promise of adventure.

she could probably ruin her son's excitement by reminding him of her sadness of being kicked out of her chambers, but she did not have it within herself to do so. her sons were her ultimate weakness. she knew some people considered her heartless, but they were her heart, each walking around with half of it. she stared daggers at ben for turning the situation on her, wishing he would actually feel each cut. however, she quickly changed her expression into a forced smile as sam turned around to ask her for permission to go. “of course, dear.” they all knew that willow was protective, and she could be strict. but it was rare for her to deny hugo and sam if they truly wanted something. before sam could get more swept up in ben's promise, she put a hand on her son's shoulder to draw him back to reality. “now go on and bathe. you can plan the patrol with your brothers at supper.” once sam had said his goodbyes and disappeared around the corner, willow's expression turned dark.

her gaze turned back to her stepson, and her green eyes were alight with silent fury. there were plenty of things she wished to tell ben, threats of what she had been planning for years. he might have won the battle, but she knew that she'd win the war. she imagined the look on ben's face when he realised that she had taken everything from him. it was the only thing that kept her calm. she took a deep breath. she had to be patient. willow knew she could spin it to her advantage later. she could paint him as the cruel lord who'd take away his grieving stepmother's comforts for his own amusement. “fine, i will vacate my current chambers when my new chambers are ready.” who knew how long that'd take? she could not delay forever, she knew that, there were only so many excuses to give. but she could do so with a few weeks, as it would take some time to move all her stuff, and both chambers needed to be cleaned and prepped.

“is there anything else you want?”

[benblvckwood]

alex fitzalan

[benblvckwood]

ben did not know how, but somehow, there was a cup in his hand. he raised it to his nose and took a sniff. wine. he was more partial to beer and ale, but he'd drink it all the same. a cup or two, at least. he did not like how it felt to be drunk, as though his wits and defences were lower, his reactions clumsy and slow. the shadows of war never quite left him, a side effect of the fact he had practically been weaned on the battlefield.

but his cousins casual dismissal of the brackens brought a smile to his lips. finally, here was a tully who was of his way of thinking. "blood weren't enough for her not to make him hand." he didn't expect to be hand himself, nor did he want any inch of it, but to give his sworn enemy the position was tantamount to an insult to house blackwood. for the sake of his cousin, his queen, he had made no fuss about it, but aidan had a way of loosening his tongue. "whatever it is she sees in him, he means no good for me and mine." he had long known either he or bracken would die on the others sword, and he could not shake the feeling that this appointment would be his own undoing.

his gaze flicked to a nearby woman, a beauty with long, brown hair and so much exposed skin that he did not know where to let his eyes rest, instead turning to them to the safer ground of his cousins face. aidan wasn't looking back, far less reticent about where he let his eyes roam.

"the freys look after the treasury, and the mallisters the ships. i've had little contact, and little issue, with either of them." he began, quick to relay what he knew of the council. "bracken's hand, and the less i say about that, the less trouble i'll get myself in. jalabhar mooton does what he does, don't really know much about it. and then there's me, but since we ain't at war, i'm a bit of a spare part at the moment. hugo vance looks after things on the home front, pretty much. he's all right - takes himself a bit too serious, but he's not a bad sort. i'll be honest, the meeting drag on a little bit too much for me. i usually just sit there and wait for them to finish."

he paused for a moment, head cocking to one side. "did you really ask me here to hear your fill of council gossip?" his tone was once again teasing. it felt good to be in his cousins company again - there was still a part of ben that sought to please him, to follow him anywhere. if he had gone with him to lys, would things have been different?

Aidan's laugh a deep belly laugh as his smile grew into a grin. He was pleased to see the other man. There were days when he wondered what had become of Bloody Ben Blackwood and here he stood, he looked a young man, but he was a man and Aidan was glad to know the dance had not taken the soul from them. He didn't know if he could stand the fact should such a matter come to be.

The Prince nodded as he listened, leaning forward to grab a cup from the center table and then fill it up. For a moment he wanted a woman walk by them, eyes focusing on her until she was out of sight and then he looked at the lord. His brow furrowing. "You share blood with the Queen. None should feel above you, let alone those turncloak Brackens." He spit on the floor and then took another drink.

Aidan smiled. "What she does not know won't hurt her, of course." The Prince was deep in his cups, too deep to notice the discomfort of the other, his own eyes wandered briefly, looking towards the dancing girls and then the singers and back to the girls. He brushed cooper curls aside as he reached out and picked up a chicken leg.

"Tell me of my sisters council. I have little mind for politics but I needs speak with a man I can trust. And who better than Bloody Ben."

[benblvckwood]

his brow furrowed. the conversation was morphing to one of politics and nuance, areas where ben had always floundered. it was not that he did not care about cyrene - it was that he had no words of comfort to offer her, nor the experience to come up with them. swords and war - that was what he was good at, not words. "hmm," he hummed again. "dunno why that's the case. your blood is worth more than his, surely." she was a princess, a sister to a king. her husband was... a frey.

"he's three, cyrene," his eyes rolled. "if you're worried about people taking him serious, you should probably worry about teaching him to eat dinner without getting it in his hair before his vocabulary."

Cyrene could not help the way she quirked her brow at Ben, an instinctual response to his question. Do you see yourself as a Frey? "It does not matter what I see myself as. For the sake of my children, my son, others must believe it." Ben knew about her complicated relationship with her husband and those that resided in the Keep. Cyrene did not want to call herself kin of those who had made her life a living hell for years before finally being placated by an heir.

"Ah," she sighed, overly dramatic. "I see how it is. By the time I return, Mako will be swearing like a sailor. Who will take him serious then?"

[benblvckwood]

the noise hit ben before he'd even stepped soot in the halls, a din of laughter, and music, and the clink of glasses, but he was not prepared for what was waiting beyond the heavy door before he pushed it open. it was the women he noticed first, dancing on the tables, circling their hips in various states of undress. the back of ben's neck grew hot. he'd never seen a naked woman before, and that was enough to make him want to turn and leave then and there. and perhaps he might have done, had the invitation not come from aidan tully. prince aidan, his cousin, who as a child ben had trailed after, looking up to the older boy, wanting to be like him and earn his favour. but that had been before war had taken hold of them both, twisted them from the person they used to be into the person they were today. ben could not say it hadn't altered him irrevocably. it had been years since he saw aidan last - what had time done to him?

he scanned the room, looking for somewhere, anywhere, to rest his eyes that wasn't a woman's bare flesh. it did not take long for his cousin to come into his sight, cutting a fine figure in his silks. in contrast, ben felt rather underdressed for the occasion, a black tunic with red stitching, a simple leather belt, and boots still flecked with dried mud from the ride to riverrun. respectable, but more practical than ornamental.

the shout of his name from aidan was loud enough to draw attention, and a few curious glances towards them. before ben could get a word, aidan was upon him, pulling him into a hug that ben gladly returned, a grin breaking across his face.

"yeah, yeah. not so little." ben pulled away, studying aidan for a moment. he had been taller than ben, before, so his height was not something he could comment on, but a smirk crossed his features nonetheless. "that crease in the corner of your eyes is new. what did it, age or stress?" he teased.

he laughed then, making it clear his jest was meant in good nature. "you wouldn't think i was a man grown, the way some of the council talk to me in meetings. the bracken cunt seems to think i still need help learning to shave." he took the seat at the high table beside aidan. from here, it was harder to ignore the dancing girls.

"does your sister know you're about three scraps of silk away from turning her home into a pentoshi pleasure house?"

who: @benblvckwood what: aidan is hosting a party in his apartments at riverrun, an invitation sent his cousin, the young lord ben blackwood.

"In the east they call them dancing girls. I would have brought over Lysene girls but we have an issue with the Lysene." Aidan spoke loudly as he watched the makeshift stage of women dancing, pulling off their clothes to the sound of the music. Upon his return home, the Prince of loaves and fishes wanted to make sure his men enjoyed their time and what better way to enjoy oneself than with the company of many, many women. "It's fine, of course, these girls come from Pentos. We've no issue with them that a cock cannot solve." Laughter rolled through the hall as the Prince smiled.

In the apartments of the Prince his grand hall in Riverrun, filled with the flickering light of torches and lanterns casting dancing shadows on the red sandstone walls. The hall was alive with energy and noise, filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. The air is thick with the fragrant smoke of burning herbs and the rich aroma of roasting meats. It was the sounds and smells of being home.

In the center of the room, another group of dancing girls twirl and sway to the rhythm of lively music played by a band of minstrels. Their colorful skirts and shimmering jewelry catch the light, creating a mesmerizing display. Around them, men in various states of revelry cheer and clap, some joining in the dance while others watch with appreciative grins.

Prince Aidan Tully, dressed in fine silks and adorned with the sigil of House Tully, sat at the head of a long wooden table. His presence commanding respect and admiration from his guests. He raised his goblet in a toast. The prince's guests are a motley crew of sellswords and freed slaves from the Lysene magister who dared to hold a Tully hostage. Some share stories of their travels and adventures, while others simply enjoy the food, drink, and women.

Aidan smiled as he walked away from the group and made his way through the crowd, speaking to different men. His sellswords would get their payments and perhaps they would leave, but he would be able to keep many of them. They would need them. Aidan didn't know what would happen with his sister's reign, but having sellswords protected anyone.

In one corner of the room, a group of men sits around a low table, engaged in a heated game of dice. Their shouts of victory and groans of defeat add to the cacophony. Elsewhere, a bard recites tales of heroic deeds and legendary battles, his voice rising above the din to captivate those nearby.

"Little Ben Blackwood!"

Aidan smiled through his drink, setting the cup down as he walked over and hugged the other man. A cousin he last saw in the middle of a war where the dragons danced and changed the way war was forever.

"Well, you're not so little anymore, aye? A man." He clapped him on the shoulder, turning his head he shouted for more ale and then glanced back at the man before him. "I will hear tale of all your adventures of course I shall bore you with mine. Come sit at the high table with me."

[benblvckwood]

closed starter for @emiravmallister

he had met emira mallister before, but this was different. their conversations had never really gone beyond polite greetings, and now, they were betrothed. perhaps it was a rash decision, but he supposed there were far worse matches he could hope for. the mallisters were a good family to be aligned to, and emira was undoubtedly a good looking woman. yes, he'd gotten quite lucky.

it wasn't lady mallister that was the issue. it was ben himself. ten years old when he first rode to battle, and twenty when he returned. ten years of his life - all without the presence of women. he knew very little about them, how to speak with them, how to act around them. and he had few people to ask about it. it went without saying that lucius was not exactly the kind of brother one would approach for romantic advise, and the closest thing he had to a parent he had was his stepmother, so that idea was already out of the window. the closest he had ever had was a mortifying conversation with brandon karstark in his teenage years, where he had been informed on the mechanics of bedding one. that, too, would be of little help.

yes, under his bravado, the arrogance he wore, women made benjicot nervous.

"i have something for you," mentally, he patted himself on the back for having the foresight to think to bring something they could talk about, rather than relying on small talk on awkward silences. he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small, carved eagle. he had made it himself, whittled it with a piece of wood he had picked up from raventree hall's weirwood.

"it's an eagle. if you couldn't tell." whittling was a hobby he had picked up in camp, was one of the few ways he spent his time that did not involve swinging a sword. "for house mallister. i thought - well, i thought you might like it, i suppose."

[benblvckwood]

@alexfitzalan : 🎉 Aussie Anthology TV series release alert 🎉

[benblvckwood]

he could not help it. there was a threat somewhere buried in her words, and that made him burst out laughing. "oh, should i?" he made no attempt to conceal the mockery in his voice. "you seem to be glossing over the fact you did lie to me," he pointed out. "does that not make you, by definition, a liar?" what need had he to take care with his wording, when she had in fact been untruthful?

he blinked a little, confusion furrowing his brow. "do you think i was born yesterday?" he asked her. he was not the most educated of men, but he was far from stupid. "or do you truly think you can shoot some more vague untruths my way, call them prophecies, and that would satisfy me?"

Gods, he was infuriating.

A deep crease formed between her brows. He was upset about the entirely wrong thing and did not even realize it. Yes, she had lied about his fortune. No, she had not lied about the ability to tell one. Gaia had been carefree with her visions before, chasing them as they came, but never before putting them to focussed use. She had to now, had to sharpen her talent to secure her quite unusually given position.

"You should be very careful with who you call a liar, Lord Blackwood," she shot back, ice in every syllable she threw at him.

A scoff scratched up her throat and she took another step forward, reaching out to take his hand. This time, fully intending to tell him a truth instead of an amusing lie. For better or for worse. "I'll proof to you, that taking back your coin would be a disservice to me, but most of all, to yourself."

[benblvckwood]

"hmm," came ben's only response. there had been far too much talk recently about the topic of his marriage, and he was not eager to delve deeper into it now. "cross that bridge when we come to it," he shrugged his shoulders, casually. it was a bridge he'd have to cross sooner, rather than later. he could not leave willow wylde's son as his heir, and yet it was not something he was sure he was ready for. "i don't know." did a woman belong to her husband's house, or her fathers? he supposed it depended on the woman. "do you see yourself as frey?" he knew willow did not see herself as blackwood, no matter how much she might claim otherwise in public.

"wow, cyrene." he was doing his best to look affronted, and failing miserably at hiding the glint in his eye. "he could never have learned it from me. i never fucking swear."

"You will know it when you get there." The comment was spoken dryly, very little sincerity behind it. She did not wish her own fate upon him, and at the same time knew he was not destined for it. Their paths were wholly different. Benjicot Blackwood was a ruling lord, and most importantly in all its banal essence, a man. He was not expected to obey and submit to a spouse. "Am I not a Frey now, too?" Cyrene asked, almost tired in the way the question was posed. "I fear the dichotomy of treatment is getting downright exhausting."

"Are you truly asking me that?" she deadpanned. "I am fairly certain my husband did not teach my son to swear like this. I am less certain about myself, but there is a far more likely culprit."