#benjicot blackwood... born to die

[viperixsworld]

Born to die

━━ Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Chapther one : the riverwoman

Year 126 A.C.

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Sometimes, Lucrezcia thought to herself how easy it would be to escape. The Arbor was an island wonderfully connected to practically the entire world known to man. Volantis seemed like a good destination, all she needed was a ship, of which she had thousands at her disposal.

But there were several factors that deprived her of such a plan. First, her father was as tenacious as she was, and would find her and drag her back so that he could marry her off to whomever he offered.

The second, and at that moment more important, Lucreczia was sitting in a carriage, on her way to her first audience with her possible future husband. Her father, sitting opposite her, seemed to be trying to ignore her by any means possible. Lucrezcia, for her part, tried to annoy him, making noises with her rings.

"Could you, my child, stop being a nuisance for a few moments?"

The girls stopped her movements, to offer a sarcastic smile to her father.

"Oh, excuse me dearest father, it must be pre-marital nerves".

"Are you always so unbearable?"

I have someone to look like

But she preferred to swallow her words. Lunch with Lord Tarly's niece had been most victorious for her lord father. Julianna Tarly was a slender and tremendously young girl, no older than Lucrezcia herself. The young Redwyne found her stepmother-to-be irritating and exceedingly sordid. A childish girl who could compete in immaturity with her nearly five-year-old sister.

The irony of the gods, he was getting rid of a daughter to return to a wife who might be confused by one of his offspring.

Luckily for her, she would not have to put up with the new Lady of the Arbor, as she would be married by then in any corner of the fucking continent.

Honeyholt was the home of the Beesbury house, sworn to the Hightowers. With their lord at King's Landing as part of King Viserys Targaryen's council, it was Lady Beesbury, who had kindly offered to host the court. Not out of charity, of course, but out of business with one of the richest houses in all of Westeros. Lucrezcia was just a pawn, just like in her father's chessboard.

The Reach was undoubtedly a beautiful place, filled with flowers of all kinds and palaces that looked like something out of a book about knights in shining armour. Lady Beesbury greeted them at the entrance, an elderly, petite woman with an unbridled taste for pie and tartlets. Lucrezcia tried to smile and look delighted at the auction of her person to a bunch of usurious lords, as the old woman led her into the garden where the tea was to be held.

They say that you are not aware of your destiny until it is staring you in the face.

That's how Lucrezcia felt when she set foot in the garden, becoming the centre of everyone's attention. It seemed that they had deliberately arrived early, to make her entrance more conspicuous. Pairs of eyes scrutinised her as if she were one of the cakes on the table.

So far, the trip had served to psych her up, but the possibility that her future husband might be among these men made her want to vomit horribly.

"Cheer up, dear, they're watching you," her father's voice echoed behind her.

Fuck off

A strange tingling settled in her spine. She approached the small table with the cakes, while her father stood talking to some men in pompous clothes.

Lucrezcia contemplated that apart from herself, the only other woman at the soiree was the elderly Lady Beesbury (except for the maids who went to and fro). The rest were men. Tall, thin, short, fat, ornately dressed, full of jewels. With the balance on the side of men of her father's generation rather than her own.

She wondered if her mother suffered such a thing, being from the Iron Islands, they probably put her on a ship straight to the Arbor in a wedding dress and called it a day.

She didn't know if it was worse than what she was going through at that moment.

"My lady"

Lucrezcia gobbled down the raspberry pastry in her hand before turning to the person who spoke to her.

A short, chubby man with a terrible grey moustache and little hair in the centre of his head, he took the hand that previously held a pastry and planted a kiss on the back of her hand.

"My name is Lord Daryl Florent"

She watched him wordlessly, chewing the pastry exaggeratedly. Lord Florent began to talk about his life, still holding her hand. When the man stopped talking, seeing that the girl did not answer, he said to her.

"You would be prettier if you smiled."

A spark lit up the girl's eyes. She tugged at the corners of her mouth, preparing a flamboyant smile. A smile that showed all her teeth covered in the raspberry filling of the pastry.

Lord Florent made no secret of his displeasure as he let go of the young woman's hand and walked indignantly towards another group of men watching the interaction.

Preach the word, fatty.

The afternoon was summed up in a series of frustrated attempts by different men to approach her in an attempt to woo her. When the man was old to begin with, her tactic was to be disgusting, play with food and make comments that implied she was a woman with ideas.

When they tried to elicit information about her interests, Lucrezcia didn't bother to lie. She liked to hunt, enjoyed wine and ale (no surprise, being the daughter of the leading exporter of ale in all of Westeros), could barely do needlework, and was very interested in the political situation in the realm.

Most did not endure up to that point in the conversation, but the few who did, asked the golden question.

"And you are an avid reader from what your father says. What is the last book you read, my lady?"

"A caution for young girls, my lord"

That used to be the final strike.

Who wants a wife who reads about sex with the intention of self-pleasure rather than to give heirs?

With the many horrified looks from the gentlemen, Luther could only resist the urge to slap his daughter in the middle of the garden.

Night fell upon them, and Lady Beesbury invited them into Honeyholt's great hall. Lucrezcia watched as less than half of the large crowd of men who had been there at the beginning of the evening remained. It was clear that the great hall table was almost empty, apart from Lady Beesbury, her father, herself and some nine suitors.

The food was extremely sweet for her taste. The girl chewed in silence as her lord father spoke to the few remaining men.

Unfortunately for her, most of them were old men who had not succumbed to her tactics. She was very bored. The dress of salmon-coloured fabric was particularly itchy, the belt of thick golden thread cut off her circulation. The hairstyle that Nyssa had done for her this morning was pulling at her brain cells.

The kingdom was in the springtime, according to the maesters. The Reach's crops were thriving, but Lucrezcia wished at the moment that everything would freeze over. At the very least, for a breeze to blow. She felt like she was in the middle of Dorne's Red Desert.

In those moments of desperation, she considered faking a fainting spell. She could pour some wine over herself, lie on the floor and hope that her father would get fed up with this fanfare and decide to return to his island.

Oh, her island. Lucrezcia had always dreamed of leaving it, but now she missed it more than anything. The walks through the vineyards, going to the Ryamsport harbour market to watch the seafarers' festivals, skinny-dipping on the beach with Nyssa at an hour her father hadn't allowed.

Even her palace on the cliffs of the Arbor, right by Starfish Harbor. The library's stained glass windows, its chambers overlooking the sea, the passageways to the kitchens and stables where she could go out with her pack of hounds.

How she missed her puppies.

She hoped to transport them to wherever she was getting married.

The last litter had been of 8 puppies, 5 of which survived. Now with the perfect age and training for a good hunt. They were fast and strong, they could tear a fox apart in a few seconds.

Surely their dogs were more loyal than all these men sitting at the table. She wondered if she could use them as bait for her little puppies. As a form of training.

Nah, they'd be too easy prey.

In her reverie, Lucrezcia ignored the doors to the great hall and it was not until Lady Beesbury rose from her seat at the end of the table to greet the new visitors.

"My Lady Blackwood, what a surprise, I was not expecting you yet."

That made the Redwyne girl look up from her plate of gooseberry duck. The sight stunned her.

A tall, slender but athletic woman with a cascade of obsidian-black hair curling like tornadoes. Behind her, six men, all somewhat rough-looking, dressed in the same clothes as her. Riding clothes, black and crimson.

The men looked hungry, staring at the bloody roast duck as if they hadn't eaten in days. They reminded her of her dogs, waiting attentively at the woman's command.

"I hope I have not interrupted with our entry" said the woman "We have a long drive to Oldtown and Lord Beesbury had offered us accommodation for the night".

Lady Beesbury did not look very pleased, but she could do nothing against her husband's orders.

"Well... I guess you may sit down, please, please, you must be starving" said the old lady.

Lucrezcia sent an amused glance at her father, who looked tense but intrigued as Lady Blackwood's men swept through the feast.

"And tell me, Lady Blackwood. What is your business so far from the Riverlands?" asked her father, sipping from his wine glass.

"Our maester fell ill a couple of moons ago. We were travelling to the Citadel to request reinforcements at Raventree Hall. My Lord Brother sent me on his behalf".

"I understand" said her father.

As the rivermen gulped, Alyssane looked at her father.

"And what are you doing, Lord...?"

"Lord Redwyne" interrupted Lady Beesbury "Lord Redwyne of the Arbor and his daughter, Lady Lucrezcia, are here as my guests, as are all these distinguished gentlemen".

Black Aly surveyed the table, the distinguished gentlemen looking rather uncomfortable at the presence of her men. She then looked at the girl in the salmon-coloured dress. Lucrezcia felt a little self-conscious, but smiled at the new guest. She smiled back.

The woman from the Riverlands could not be more than ten years older than her. And she was not stupid. The picture was so obvious that asking the question was totally unnecessary.

The dinner went as smoothly as possible. With the suitors gradually withdrawing as Lucrezcia's father and Lady Alyssane had an arduous conversation about the politics and succession of the realm, with the recent birth of Prince Joffrey.

Lucrezcia learned there that the Blackwoods were a Riverlands family of considerable prestige, the only one in their lands to practice the religion of the Old Gods. Lord Luther had long sought to expand into the interior of the continent, exporting mostly to coastal cities.

Any occasion is good for business, Lucrezcia supposed.

Her maid, Nyssa, was quick to come and fetch her as the hour of the wolf approached. As did Lady Beesbury.

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Lady Lucrezcia," Alyssane said goodbye. "I had hoped that tomorrow we might be able to breakfast together in the gardens, if Lady Beesbury sees fit for your... matchmaking".

The old woman didn't seem to agree, but after the disaster with her first twenty suitors, she figured that giving the girl the morning off would be a good idea.

"The pleasure was all mine, Lady Alyssane," said the girl before following Lady Beesbury and Nyssa to her chambers.

Once the girl was out, only Lord Luther, Black Aly and an empty jug of wine were left in the hall.

"She is a beautiful girl, you are very lucky, Lord Redwyne," congratulated the woman.

Luther wanted to laugh in her face. Yes, his third daughter was beautiful, a light brown-haired beauty with huge green eyes, a fine face and a pretty composition.

"She'd make an ideal wife, if she wasn't a problem with legs." The man began as Lady Alyssane listened " The girl is the smartest of my four daughters, and the most ambitious. Nine septas she has cost me in less than four years, they say she is incorrigible" the man massaged his temple "I had hoped a husband would soothe her spirit" he lamented.

In his deepest dreams, Luther regretted that Lucrezcia was not a man. She would have been the perfect heir, but sadly the laws and her own opinions deprived her of that status.

Luther had to marry off his daughter. That was the custom and the law.

Black Aly listened with attention, scheming in her own mind.

Lucrezcia reminded her of herself, a young woman who just wanted her place in the world. Though Aly had been luckier in the family, from what she was hearing. While her father described his third with a mixture of resentment and pride, as she noticed, the girl did not remind him only of her.

A highly intelligent, cool-headed young noble who enjoyed risk but knew how to keep her composure. She couldn't help but compare her to her own nephew.

Benjicot Blackwood had just turned six and ten, a year younger than Lucrezcia. The boy was proper and somewhat shy among his own kind, but lately quarrels with the Brackens had him in a mess, hanging out with his grooms at the tavern, brawling and neglecting his lessons.

He needed to wise up.

He needed a new goal.

He needed a wife. Her brother, and father of the boy, Lord Samwell Blackwood, had tried to bring up the subject several times, perhaps this was the right occasion.

"I believe, my lord, that I can offer clarity on our problems," the woman commented. "My own nephew, Benjicot Blackwood, future Lord Blackwood and heir to Raventree Hall, may stand as a suitor for your daughter," she explained.

Luther seemed to sober up suddenly. It was a good way to make contacts with the Riverlands, as well as sending his daughter far away.

"How much do you want for her?"

He knew it wasn't smart to send it to the first person who would offer. But she had been on the marriage market for years and nothing. It was a golden opportunity, both for him and for Blackwood.

"I shall write to my brother first thing tomorrow morning. He will discuss with you the details of the dowry, the wedding and so on".

"As tempting as it sounds, I know my daughter, she is capable of galloping away if I promise her to a complete stranger who has never seen her life".

"And for that, my lord" Black Aly leaned her elbows on the table to approach the lord in front of her and say "She'll think it's her idea".

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tag list: @erysione @asteria33 @shifter-101 @drwho-ess

[spider-stark]

LADY STRONG

Benjicot Blackwood x Velaryon/Strong!Reader

Summary - Stuck in the Riverland's on a marriage tour, you pretend to be Lady Strong when Benjicot Blackwood doesn't recognize you as the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms

Warnings - none except not edited!!

Word Count - 3.1k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

As if the prospect of a marriage tour was not horrid enough, your first stop was proving to be positively dreadful.  

You had imagined the lands surrounding the Trident to be beautiful. A lush, verdant landscape—filled with fragrant herbs and bright, blooming flowers, painting the Riverlands in rich, colorful hues. You pictured babbling streams and plush grass, stunning castles and, perhaps, some equally as stunning men.  

What you hadn’t imagined, however, was the weather.  

Even from within the confines of Riverrun—the ancestral castle of House Tully—you still feel the effects of the merciless heat beating down upon the sandstone walls.  

Your handmaids had tried to dress you accordingly, stuffing you into your thinnest—and, consequently, your least regal—gown, in hopes that it might prevent sunstroke. Yet still, even as three of Lord Tully’s own servants try fanning you while you sulk in the dining hall, you feel as though every inch of your body is drenched in sticky sweat.  

“This is miserable,” you groan to Ser Lorent, the Kingsguard who had been assigned to your tour. Flanking your right, you spare the knight a pitiful, sidelong glance. “I believe I would sooner die a spinster than be forced to live in this sweltering purgatory!”  

The servants, haphazardly positioned around the table, remain utterly stone-faced, not letting on if they found your comment about their homelands to be humorous or offensive.  

Ser Lorent merely laughs. “The Riverlands are known for their humid summers, princess.” With a wink, he adds, “If you ever bothered with your studies, you would know this.”  

“I study!”  

“With the blade, perhaps,” Ser Lorent muses, his teal eyes twinkling with lighthearted mockery. “But certainly not with books, princess.  

Rolling your eyes, you slump further into your chair, your body practically melting into the upholstery. “Leave the geography lessons to Jace,” you tell him, waving an idle hand. “After all, he's the heir to the Iron Throne. I am merely the prized broodmare—” focusing on your plate, and the half-eaten lunch upon it, you try swallowing the bitter tang now filling your mouth—“a royal womb to be sold off to the highest bidder.”  

And, at times, you aren’t even sure if that is considered an honest truth… You’ve certainly never felt royal.  

Like your brothers, you were born extraordinarily plain-featured. With no silver hair or lilac eyes, you appear more like a common-born peasant than someone of prized Valyrian stock—and it didn’t help that, unlike your brothers, you had no dragon, either.  

Ser Lorent watches as you absently push a piece of seared cod around your plate, sighing. “That isn’t true, my princess.” His words are tinged with sympathy. “You are being sold to no one. Your mother wishes for you to have a marriage born of love—not duty.”  

“Ah, yes,” stabbing the fish with the prongs of your fork, you bring it to your lips, “which is why I’m being forced to spend my summer meeting with the haughty sons of fat country lords—for love.”  

His tongue clicks with disapproval. “Your mother has given you a choice in selecting your own husband, princess; which is a luxury not granted to many women.”  

Frowning, you pop the piece of fish into your mouth, turning his words over in your head.  

Gods.  

You hate it when he’s right.  

“Fine,” you relent, still chewing. Turning sideways in your chair, you raise your fork to him in a mock threat, “But my earlier statement stands! If I must take a husband, then it certainly won’t be anyone from here—lest I become no more than a puddle of sweat.”  

Ser Lorent cracks a smile at you. “Should you turn to a puddle, princess, then I vow to mop you from the floor.”  

“How valiant of you, Ser Lorent,” you laugh. “I’m unsure of how I might ever repay you for such loyalty.”  

“I’m not sure you have to worry about that, princess—I don’t believe that puddles are much concerned with matters of debt.”  

Turning back to the table, another soft laugh spills from your lips. “I suppose you’re right, Ser.”  

All too soon, however, your amusement begins to fade. A warm breeze blows in through the many open windows lining Riverrun’s dining hall, the stifling air only accentuating the stickiness of your skin.  

Sucking in a deep, heavy breath, you ask, “How long do we have?”  

Ser Lorent doesn’t ask for clarification, knowing almost at once what you were asking him. “We’re expected back in the Great Hall in a little under an hour, princess.”  

You blow the breath out, groaning slightly.  

An hour—that's all the time you had left before you would be forced back upon the dais, expected to once again smile and be cordial as men and boys from all across the Riverlands made their case for your hand.  

How many of them could possibly be left? This morning alone you had met with dozens upon dozens of them, their voices all blurring into a monotonous hum as they spoke of the history of their Houses—if one can consider nonsensical legends from the ancient Age of Heroes as true history, that is.  

Noticing the dreadful pall cast over you, Ser Lorent clamps a comforting hand on your shoulder. “How about a walk before we go back? It might help to clear your head,” he suggests. Then, with a wry grin, “Perhaps you might wish to think back on the men from this morning—see if any of them might make you change your tune about life in the Riverlands.”  

You pin him with a playful scowl. “There’s not a man alive that could change that tune,” you vow. “But you’re right—a walk might be nice.”  

Rising from your seat, the servants around you lower their fans, silently dismissing themselves.  

“Will you be accepting my company on this walk?” Ser Lorent teases—though you know what he’s really asking is: will you be accepting my protection.  

“After this morning, I believe I’ve had enough company for a lifetime.”  

The knight’s brow draws tight, an apprehensive frown beginning to pull at the corners of his lips. You roll your eyes.  

“Oh, don’t worry so much, Ser Lorent. It gives you wrinkles,” you tease. Adjusting the slit running along one side of your dress, you reveal the dagger holstered on your thigh. “I assure you that if any of these Riverlanders dare lay a hand on me, they’ll lose some fingers.”  

Ser Lorent snorts, head shaking. “It’s not you I worry about, princess,” he jokingly admits. “Just stay close by, understand? Your mother will have my head if anything happens to you.”  

“Yes, yes—understood,” you dramatically gripe, already walking past him to the exit.  

“Oh, and princess?” He calls out just as the guards pull the doors open for you to leave. You glance over your shoulder at him, brows lifted. “At least try not to injure anyone.”  

With one last roll of your eyes, bright with mischief, you shout on your way out, “No promises, Ser Lorent!”  

Wandering through the outer yards of Riverrun, the blistering sun beating down upon your skin, you find yourself overwhelmed by a sudden ache in your chest.  

You miss home. Desperately.  

You miss Dragonstone’s near-constant cover of clouds, forever shielding you from the heat. You miss the cool breeze rolling in off the Blackwater, the air peppering your cheeks with salty kisses.  

But even as you dream of a reprieve from the muggy Riverlands, you can’t help but miss your family—your brothers—most of all.  

Perhaps it is that feeling that led you here, to the training yard, guided by the familiar lull of splintering wood and steel slicing through the air, the sound offering a much-needed remedy to the homesickness twisting in your gut.  

Smaller than the one at Dragonstone, Riverrun’s yard was no more than a cramped stretch of dusty-dirt, lined with old training dummies and archery targets. Mostly encircled by the towering sun-bleached stones of the castles, only a small part of the yard remained open to the sprawling gardens beyond, sectioned off by ornate iron fencing.  

Striding over the open gate, your attention falls upon the lone boy standing in the yard's center.  

As the sunlight beats down overhead, long shadows dance around his feet as he glides through a set of movements—each step calculated, every strike deliberate.  

You step closer, keeping your steps light as you approach. With his back turned to you, you watch as sweat drips down his neck, glistening. It soaks into his tunic, the thin black material clinging to his lean, muscled back.  

He’s talented—you think, studying his form.  

Talent is something you're familiar with—intimately. You were raised around warriors—trained by the Rogue Prince himself. Yet never before had you found yourself so utterly bewitched by a fighter.  

He didn’t move like other boys.  

He wasted no time on the flowery style displayed by so many summer children—the ones who thought of battle as a performance rather than a matter of life or death.  

Instead, he moved with the lethal prowess of an apex predator—his blade cutting through the air with a controlled ferocity that, while lacking the flourish of other warriors, was undeniably impressive.  

Dirt flies as he throws himself into another set of movements—a series of strikes and parries, executing with unbelievable precision. With every twist and pivot, muscles tense and shift beneath his tunic, his body as powerful a weapon as his sword.  

He lunges forward—and wood cracks! as he slashes his blade along the belly of one of the dummies, a move that would have disemboweled a living opponent.  

Cutting through the sudden stillness, you bring your hands up to your chest, filling the yard with a slow clap. Back still turned to you, the boy's spine goes ramrod straight at the unexpected sound.  

“Impressive,” you muse, taking another step towards him. Mere feet remain between the two of you, now. “You move well—better than most, I’d say.”  

The boy spins around to face you, his once elegant movements now blundering as he nearly trips over his own feet. Biting your tongue, you try to hold in a laugh.  

Big, storm-cloud eyes meet your gaze, pinning you in place as he blinks, visibly thrown-off by your presence. “Sorry-” he stammers, out of breath. “I didn’t think anyone else would be coming out here-”  

You lift a hand, cutting him off with a smile. “Oh, no—don’t apologize on my account! I enjoyed the show,” you tell him. “Seems that you have a real talent for swordplay.”  

His cheeks flush, his lightly sun-kissed skin turning a stark crimson. “Thanks.” His laugh is a nervous, awkward thing—endearing, too. He sticks a hand out towards you, the other still limply holding his sword. “Benjicot. Blackwood,” he introduces himself, fumbling over his words, “but you can call me Ben or Benji—or anything, really.”  

You take his hand, biting your lip to mask your amusement. “Pleasure to meet you, Benji.”  

A beat of silence passes before confusion finally tugs at his features, his hand falling back to his side. “Uhm—” another sweet, awkward laugh— “and you are…?”  

Realization dawns on you, leaving your brows to shoot up to your hairline.  

Seven Hells. He doesn't know, does he?

A sudden speechlessness grabs hold of your tongue.  

You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised—after all, you aren't what many expected of a Targaryen princess.

Plain-featured and dressed in thin, common clothes, you imagine you likely appear no different than the servants surrounding you at lunch, fanning you to keep the heat from going to your head.  

Even so, it's rare that you met someone who doesn't know who you are. And, selfishly, after a morning filled with insincere compliments from haughty Lord’s, you like the idea of remaining nameless—titleless—for the first time in your life.  

“Wow—sorry—that was thoughtless of me, wasn’t it?” Tapping a finger to your temple, you laugh. “I’m Mylissa,” you lie, stealing the name of one of your handmaidens. “Mylissa Strong.”  

“Strong?” He echoes, brow furrowing. “Strange—you don’t sound like you’re from the Riverlands. Your accent is—”  

“Southern?”  

Benji nods.  

“Well, I’ve spent the better part of my life in the Crownlands, so I suppose I’ve picked up their accent,” you explain. “I’m here with the princess, actually—as her lady-in-waiting.”  

The mention of the princess—you—turns his skin a pasty white.  

Keeping a tight leash on your curiosity, you try not to sound too intrigued when you ask, “And what about you? Raventree Hall is a decent ride from here, is it not?” On horseback, the ancestral seat of House Blackwood was two days away from Riverrun, if not three. “Are you here to meet with the princess?”  

Benji shifts his weight, leaning from one foot to the other. “Supposed to,” he begins, his words tumbling out, “but I don’t know—I’m not so sure that I’ll go through with it.”  

Your expression falters, disappointment washing over you like a cold wave, combatting the intolerable warmth of the sun.  

“Why not?”  

He shrugs—a timid, shy gesture that feels so unlike the predator you had snuck up on. “There are over a hundred men in there,” he waves an arm to the castle, to the Great Hall within, “all waiting for an opportunity to impress the princess—meanwhile, I can hardly get out a single sentence without choking on my own spit.”  

Your laughter bubbles up involuntarily, a few giggles spilling past your lips. The Blackwood boy shoots you a playful glare from beneath long, dark lashes.  

“Well,” you begin, absentmindedly toeing the dirt between you, “perhaps the princess might find it endearing, don’t you think?”  

Benji scoffs. “Doubtful. I mean, think about it!—she’s a princess!”  

Your eyes widen, glimmering with mock-offense. “And what is that supposed to mean?”  

Once again, that crimson tinge returns to his skin, crawling up his neck, this time.  

“I meant no offense,” he defends himself, mistaking your expression for one of a Lady meaning to defend her princess. “But what could I possibly offer a princess?”  

You tilt your head, pretending to think on his words. “Well, the Blackwoods do have a history of being valiant warriors, do they not? And you seem to be quite skilled yourself,” you say, daring to let your stare drift down to his arms, the short sleeves of his tunic revealing well-muscled, sweat-slick biceps.  

He snorts. “I’m willing to guess that the princess would likely care naught for my skill with a sword.”  

“Then you would guess wrong,” you retort, a faint, teasing smile on your lips. “Many say that the princess herself is quite skilled with a blade—I imagine she would quite like a boy that’s capable of challenging her.”  

Benji’s eyes darken a shade, an unreadable expression crossing his features. “And what about you, Mylissa?”  

The false name catches you off-guard, but you do your best to hide it.  

“What of me?”  

A bit nervous, he asks, “Would you like a boy that can challenge you?”  

Your heart stutters in your chest—skipping several beats as his stare lowers, dipping past your waist and falling upon your thigh. On the dagger sheathed there, no doubt.  

Heat begins to crawl up your neck, hotter even than the sun's blistering rays. “Oh—” You stutter, words lost upon you.  

It’s true that you were used to the attention of men. After all, your morning has been filled with it, and soon enough the rest of your day will be, too.  

But this was different.  

Benji wasn’t giving you attention because you’re a princess, a mere royal womb to strengthen his House’s bloodline. Rather, he was doing it simply because he wanted to—a feeling that was utterly foreign to you.  

Wiping a clammy hand on his sweaty tunic, Benji misreads your silence, taking a half-step back. “Apologies, my Lady—that was too forward and-”  

You don’t let him finish his rambling. Taking a step forward, you close the gap he sought to create between you. “I’ll make you a deal.”  

“A deal?”  

You nod. “As you know, the princess will be in the Great Hall for the rest of the evening, holding court with the other Lord’s who’ve come for her hand. I'd like for you to meet with her.”  

Benji cocks his head, confusion crinkling the corners of his eyes. “I truly mean no disrespect to your princess, my Lady, but I was asking if you might be interested in–”  

“I know what you’re asking, Benji.” You lift one shoulder in a casual shrug. “And after you meet with the princess, if you still wish to inquire about my hand,” you say, placing a palm to your chest, “then I will happily hear you out.”  

In the distance, a bell sounds out—signaling the time, you realize.  

“If you’ll excuse me,” you start, already taking a few small half-steps backwards. “I’m expected inside.”  

Letting his sword drop to the ground, Benji lunges forward to catch your wrist. “So you agree to meet with me after court, then?”  

“If you’re still interested,” you muse, a tinge of anxiety laced through your tone, “then yes.”  

The corners of his lips twitch into a bashful smile. “I give you my word that–”  

You planned to interrupt him. To tell him not to make oaths he wasn’t certain he could keep, knowing that he may very well change his mind about you once he realizes who you are—that you’re not technically a Strong. But, before you can, another voice intervenes.  

“Princess!” Ser Lorent calls out, exasperated, as he walks through the gate. “We must hurry, princess,” he continues, pausing only to give a wary glance at Benji’s hands wrapped around your wrist. “We’re late.”  

Your pulse begins to pound, a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins at being exposed as a liar by Ser Lorent. 

Benji’s face goes blank—then his eyes go wide, big as saucers as you snag your wrist from his grip.  

“Princess...” He utters, voice laden with disbelief. “Princess?!”  

You can hardly bring yourself to do anything other than grin stupidly at him, nearly stumbling over yourself as you back-up to where Ser Lorent is waiting impatiently.  

“It was lovely meeting you, Benji!”  

You hope he can hear just how genuine your words are.  

“I’ll see you in the Great Hall,” you call out over your shoulder, sparing him one last glance as Ser Lorent guides you to the gate, watching as he blinks in astonishment, still processing the revelation.  

Walking back towards the inner-castle, Ser Lorent glances down at you with a knowing look. “You seem giddy.” There’s a teasing glint to his words that makes you roll your eyes, cheeks flushing. “So,” he continues, his brisk pace never faltering, “does this mean that your statement from lunch no longer stands? That, perhaps, this sweltering purgatory may yet grow on you?”  

You bite your cheek, a permanent grin still etched onto your face.  

“Let’s just say that I’ve decided it’s best to keep my options open, Ser Lorent.”  

a/n - you may ask yourself: lainie, why would you refer to him as mostly BEN in the last fic and BENJI in this one??

and the answer? I have not ONE clue. my brain is rotting and benji is cute.

anyways, hope you guys enjoy this one! feel like I got to explore more of his personality here. additionally, I need HBO to know that if this boy ends up not being benjicot blackwood then I'm gonna fucking riot

benjicot blackwood tag list - @a-song-for-ages @ghostinvenus

[bucknastysbabe]

criston cole in a greens win au really is the kingmaker if he’s cucking aegon. slapped a crown on the king and now he’s making bastard kids to go on the throne. u go king.

Now I must write a blurb hnghhhh cuckingggg this is prob ass bc I’m sick rotting in bed with flubonic plague but OH WELL

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Dayne!reader, greens win AU, Criston is dark and manipulative, Aegon sad sacking around the place, cukolding, exhibitionism, breeding kink, crispy creme pie, infidelity, v!fingering, oral (m!receiving), pnv!sex, no beta I die like Ned stark, jealousy, one-sided-ish

Taglist: @starogeorgina @moncherri @bambitas @aemonds-holy-milk @targaryenbarbie @arcielee @valeskafics @sugarpoppss2 @fairysluna @lovelykhaleesiii

Do Your Job - C.Cole

Criston stopped caring long ago, pulling himself out of the layered filth of blood, gore, and dirt. Bodies of his men. The butcher’s ball they called it. Criston made sure that the Winter’s Wolves, Benjicot Blackwood, and Roddy the Ruin got a nice death by dragon. After some torture.

He saw through with that, as the Hand of the King and Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Criston had to attend to such matters. Such as what to do with Rhaenyra’s last child. Or the fucking mess that was Aegon. Aemond was still lurking around Harrenhal— said to return when his child was born. Aegon meanwhile, made Criston’s blood boil. Alicent was a maddened gnat in his ear.

Aegon had been recently remarried to a Dayne of Starfall, seeking out the ashen hair and Valyrian eyes of the Dornish house. She was gorgeous, eager to please, and could suck Criston’s prick under his desk for hours. The adorable queen had trouble with Aegon— considering the man was a bag of shattered bones and burns. The maesters had been attending to the two’s fertility plan.

She was not hard to woo, seeking Cole’s comforts as Aegon still wanted to hoard playthings and whores, uncaring much of his wife at the moment. He bedded her regularly— but they had to be careful with his bad leg and hip. Criston’s little star, beautiful as one, was the shiniest thing in the dreary keep by far. But horribly lonely, so he’d been keeping an eye, asking the Queen to help him with letters and tasks of the realm.

It wasn’t long before she was in his lap crying about how terrible the Red Keep was. Criston had his proverbial claws sunk deep into her by then. He meant his words of praise, how special his star was, and meant doubly on how much he too hated the Keep. Criston’s fingers crawled up her dress as he cooed, bringing the girl to likely her first orgasm since arriving.

They sat together in the Hand’s foyer, Ser Cole writing a letter to some raucous lordling. He ran a hand through his hair and sat back, dark eyes meeting a strange indigo of sorts. “Have there been any advancements with the maesters and your womb?” She shook her head, blush dusting her cheeks.

“Go on, what’s the issue my star?”

She leaned over the table to grip his hands, pleading in her body language. “Do not grow wroth when I tell you this okay?” Criston nodded, there was no chance he would not be pissed. Just a feeling. The Dayne sighed, “He’s impotent but he swears it’s me, I don’t know, they’ve started transferring his, seed, into me. By now I’m not sure, he berates me about it.” Criston’s eyes narrowed and she squeaked.

The smaller figure was picked up by him, striding to the King’s chambers. Where Aegon was like to be making two court favorites defile themselves. The queen begged, “My lord, please, I know you feel strongly for me but-“

He growled, “No!,” then softer, “No. He’s being a fool, a lady’s desire should help the process. I’ll oversee you two. We need heirs to the throne.”

He kicked open the door, startling a half-awake Aegon. Criston gently laid the Queen on the bed then turned to a glaring Targaryen. Aegon’s burnt face twisted in annoyance, slightly slurring, “The hell is going on here Cole?” A goblet of wine sat in front of him— of course he was drinking.

Criston folded his arms. “You’re drunk right now? It’s barely even past midday.”

“Sorry, one tends to get bored when his wife would rather cavort around with the Hand,” he acridly spat back.

She protested from behind, “Alright, I can stay around, it’s fine!”

Criston eyed his star and back to Aegon. He asked “You have a beauty like that and can’t fill her belly with seed? You have the maesters stuff her like a turkey instead? Pathetic.”

Aegon’s form shook with rage, reaching for his crutch, Criston swiftly kicking it out of the way with a clatter. Aegon barked, “I’m your goddamn king, bring that back now! Maybe she’s the one barren, dirtied by lowborn seed!”

That little fucker! Criston’s eye twitched. He had not put his cock into her sacred place but now? Someone had to do the job— and it would be him. The taller brunette forced Aegon’s chair closer to the bed, the king hissing in pain, violet eyes wide. Cole chastised, “Since you’re so smart, I’ll do a little test, see if my lowborn cock has sullied her womb.” Aegon’s soft face pulled into a frown, squirming in position.

Criston began to pull at his gauntlets in quick snaps, then the bracers, and the chest plate along with the heavy shoulders. He decided to keep his chain of hands on as an ego boost. Lowborn cock raised to the second highest position in the realm, doing the highest position’s job.

Dayne stared at him, eyes flicking to the strangely silent Aegon, then back. Criston smiled at the queen, winding a tan hand into her ashen locks. He murmured, “Don’t worry dearest, we’ll have you feeling wonderful in no time, right your Grace?” Aegon remained stone cold— lips pouting.

The hand began to ease off the simple Dornish layers of her dress, baring that gorgeous body. How could she not be fertile? His star was all curves and soft skin, she would be great as a mother. Criston told her that, earning a whine, her legs wrapped around his waist. He panted to the king, “First, they need to be actually attracted to you.”

Cole pressed lush kisses to her neck and shoulders, his big hand testing the waters between her thighs. She was a little wet, not yet how he could get the Dayne, sopping. He rasped just for her ears, “Relax for me, he’s so jealous you might get an obedient king. Gorgeous star doesn’t know her own wiles.” She writhed a bit, tits pressed tight against flat chest.

“Oh, oh, there my Lord,” the blonde panted.

Criston was pumping one finger into her velvet heat, sliding in a second one to crook upwards. His thumb swirled around her swollen bud. He laughed carelessly at Aegon, whose scarred hands dug into the sides of his chair, puffy lips open. The brunette snarked, “See how easy it is not to be a selfish prick? It’s quite rewarding to make your lady come— although I think she’s already too attached to me.”

The king whined softly.

The queen moaned louder, crying Criston’s name and wetting his fingers further. The knight pulled from her full tits, purposely working her cunt over while asking. “Doesn’t that feel good little star? Don’t you wish your King would take care of you like that?” The queen gasped and mewled, cheeks a deep flush, eyes guiltily looking over at the squirming Aegon.

Criston patted her cheek, pressing a kiss over plump lips. Inky eyes and smug lips turned again to talk down to the Targaryen. He added in a dark voice, “Obviously you can’t do the fucking job so I will until you get it up and pump her with a blonde one. Although I am quite attached myself, she’s a wonderful little star. I’m going to fuck her good and thorough. Our first time too.”

Aegon whined, begging, “Ser, stop, I didn’t know, don’t!” But his hard cock was pulsing and the king had made no attempt to call for help. He couldn’t move either, the crutch out of his grasp. Aegon watched Criston work his wife into a peak, her pretty breasts heaving, thighs twitching. Utterly gorgeous. Jealousy swelled within his burnt chest.

The Dayne beauty sloppily mouthed against Criston’s mouth, trailing down to press kisses against his lower belly, grabbing his cock before asking. “You want to impregnate me sir? Give me an heir?” She could almost explode at the thought. Criston nodded, eyes hazy as her plump lips enveloped his cock, hands expert on rolling his balls and the other working in tandem with that warm mouth.

Aegon made a gutted noise.

Criston groaned deeply, watching his length disappear down velvet throat. The queen kept her indigo eyes on him, teary and wide. Fucking beautiful. He swallowed down a weak noise and rasped to Aegon, “She’s quite good at this, willing to please and eager to learn your Grace. But there you are, quickly back to your old ways.” She shuddered at the praise, Criston easing his star off so the real fun could begin.

He murmured, “On your back sweetling.” He pecked her once, shivering at the taste of him. The queen laid on her back, instinctively tucking a pillow under her hips. Criston rumbled, playfully giving her ass a smack. “Good girl, mmm, you just want to be a mama hm?” The shared noises of Aegon and his Queen made the Knight laugh.

He eased himself on top, making sure her thick thighs spread around his waist. The knight laid forward, grinning and nuzzling her nervous face. He cooed, “You’re safe with me star, pretty baby, doing so good.” Her arms slunk around his shoulders, their bodies fitting with together as Criston eased himself into her slick, swollen folds.

Fuck, she was tight and pulsing already, inner walls aiming to milk the man. Lady Dayne cried out, busty tits heaving as she was filled up by Ser Criston’s heavy cock. It was foreign, having so much care put into her pleasure. She moaned in surprise when he bottomed out, rasping nonsense against her neck.

Aegon sniveled now, watching his Queen get something he couldn’t possibly provide. Ser Criston, the crafty fucker, already worked his magic and cock into his queen. The blonde regretted many an action against his wonderful wife— seeing how she mooned over fucking Cole. Cole; a common born conniving oathbreaking madman, he truly enjoyed seeing suffering and agony. But there he was, giggling and gently fucking Aegon’s queen, the picture of chivalry. He needed more wine, and to tug his miserable cock.

Criston hiked her legs up, the back of her knees in the crooks of his arms— a mating press. She cried out, little hands scrabbling at his shoulders, eyes getting teary with pleasure. He moaned low, forcefully fucking himself inside her tight cunt, making sure she could feel every little drag and thrust. She mewled in ecstasy, “Criston, Ser, breed me, breed me please! Ohh I want it, need it!”

He grinned at Aegon’s sobs and pulling of his own prick. Criston teased “You want my seed star? Want to be all pretty and round, knowing your Lord Hand made you swell? Tits and hips so ripe for me, such a pretty mother you’ll make.” She tightened around him, arching her back, practically drooling. He focused on fucking her deep, swiping his thumb around her button, earning the cutest little mewls.

“Yes! Gods yes! Criston,” she howled, clamping down on his prick. He pressed his lips to hers, grunting as he fucked her to the point of no return. He cooed at his cute little star crying out her peak, gushing all over his still-moving cock. She weeped, “Please, give me your seed, want to be a mama, please!” Cole couldn’t deny her request, groaning long and low as his tummy tightened, emptying pump after pump of his cum into her tight pussy. He bit his lip bloody in the process, feeling feral, but the knight wouldn’t tear her skin like that.

He let go of her legs, gently holding her canted hips, humming, “How long do they say wait Aeg?”

A sharp cry, gasp, and tortured, “15 minutes.”

The Dayne didn’t even seem to be worried about her broken husband, smiling and holding Criston’s big hands. She kissed at each knuckle, eyes full of adoration and love. How they should be. How he deserved all along. What a special little star.

The first two came out with brown hair and eyes, sending a familiar shock across the keep. Then the third had ashen hair, just like the Queen. Mayhaps the Targaryen seed wasn’t that strong within Aegon, people whispered. Criston would smile, not indulging a secret. He’d rub her pretty bump alone, let Aegon play the daddy. He did alright enough.

[benblvckwood]

♛ → THE RIVERLANDS presents BENJICOT BLACKWOOD/BLOODY BEN, the RULING LORD of RAVENTREE HALL/MASTER OF WAR. when the dragons danced in the sky they thought THE BLACKS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. the TWENTY-FIVE year old MALE who was PLAYFUL & COURAGEOUS before they saw the first of the flames, is now ABRASIVE & ROWDY after seeing the last. they’re often associated with the sound of metal upon metal, fields of red, the feelings hundreds of eyes upon you in the forest ( alex fitzalan. )

pinterest ⚔︎ playlist ⚔︎ wanted connections ⚔︎ character building ⚔︎ timeline ⚔︎ tasks

tws: war, death, violence

history.

one

it was a shock to the riverlands when the widowed samwell blackwood announced his second marriage, a scandalous elopement to a woman already promised to another that took place not long after the death of his first wife. of benjicot’s mother, very little is said, nowadays - she did not cope well with the rumours that swirled about her marriage, and so, spent most of the rest of her life in raventree hall, where not a year after her wedding, a son was born, the first trueborn son and heir of the blackwood lordship. 

of those who remember the second lady blackwood, some say she was kind. others say that she was dim-witted. for benjicot’s part, he remembers her as the former, but sensitive, so much so that he struggles to recall a time where she did not have tears in her eyes. perhaps if she had lived longer, he would have more happy memories with his mother, but she did not. at four years old, a fall from a horse causing an injury that led to an infection, an infection that led to her death. 

his earliest memory of his father was after his mother’s funeral. samwell came to his tearful son, and the young ben expected words of comfort - but what followed was a harsh example of the expectations his father would set for him. and from that moment, ben resolved to never been seen as sensitive again, for that was to be seen as weak. 

from that point on, contact with his father was limited, samwell’s looming expectations felt primarily by his absence from ben’s life, his lack of interest in his true born heir. another wife followed ben’s mother, two more sons of house blackwood born, and still, samwell showed little but apathy for ben - until the dance broke, and it became apparent the blackwoods would need to pick a side. perhaps samwell knew what was to come, or perhaps he was just preparing for a likely inevitability, but when ben was a young boy, he was called to his father’s solar, and entrusted with a task a child of his age could not comprehend - if samwell were to perish, willow wylde was not to get her hands on raventree hall. her family had declared for the greens, and samwell would not see his legacy fall into the hands of the enemy. a few weeks later, he was dead. 

two

the eleven-year-old ben, suddenly ruling lord in a time of war, made the only decision he was sure his father approved of, one somebody should have stepped in to stop him making, and ended his childhood then and there. from now on, he was a soldier, and so he dressed himself in armour that a smith had to hastily make to fit his stature, and picked up a sword, and, before he had even reached his teenage years, benjicot blackwood rode to battle. 

his father’s wishes at the forefront of his mind, ben placed his elder sister, maggie, still a girl herself, as regent of raventree hall. thus began a pattern that would continue to adulthood, an overreliance on the capabilities of his sister. 

on the battlefield, ben found a talent with a blade, an innate skill at warfare that made him a fierce soldier. though many were reluctant to follow a boy, a child, at first, he soon won them over, making a name for himself for his capabilities - and with notoriety came a name that stuck to him, one he still carries to this day : bloody ben. 

the blackwoods carry magic in their bloodline, the sole practitioners of the faith of the old gods in the riverlands, but ben has always doubted that such power exists in him - however, it does. he has always been an incredibly intuitive boy, often plagued by a sense of deja-vu, always a able to see what is coming a few seconds before it is able to happen. he is no seer, nor greenseer, but he does have a very, very weak gift of premonition, a foresight that told him in the heat of battle when to duck, when to swing, that gave him a unique feeling of what the enemy might do. it isn’t enough for him to believe there’s anything special about him, beyond an uncanny gut instinct - but it is there. 

it is said that, after his first battle was fought and won, bloody ben looked upon the dead and wept. the bards would make much of the story, using it as a symbol of the tragedy of war, often holding it as a noble action that showed the boy possessed both bravery and compassion, but ben views things quite differently. he hates being reminded that it happened - for to him, it is his greatest shame. 

three

the war was over, and now a man in every sense of the word, ben returned to raventree hall, and tried to settle into a life of peace in the newly-created kingdom of the riverlands, his tully cousins leading their homeland into a new era. in times of peace, it soon became clear that though he was an incredible, formidable commander, bloody ben was not suited to the life of a lord. perhaps it should have been expected, that a boy who became a man in the camps of war, surrounded by men who live each day as their last, would not adapt well to peace. chaos and bloodshed is all ben has ever known, his battle-hardened mind constantly attuned to the need to strike back, fight back, and greatly unsettled by peace and quiet. 

and so, he turned to his siblings. both margaret and lucius are held in high regard by benjicot, both able to extend great influence over their younger brother, and in turn, raventree hall - maggie, through diplomacy and encouragement. lucius, through expectation and candour. ben craves their approval like water, even when the path to their approval seems mutually exclusive. 

and then, there is the brackens. without a true enemy to focus on, it is they that ben looked to for a foe, a way to turn his world to a battlefield once more. during the conflict with lys (the first time his mind has felt clear in so very long), there was a brief reprieve to his hatred, but with the threat ended, bloody ben once again finds himself in need of something to fight. samwell had fallen at the hands of a bracken, and ben had avenged his death and relished in it - the blood is too fresh to put the feud to bed. 

for the majority of his time as lord of raventree hall, he has had little to do with his stepmother, the lady willow, but upon the dance reaching its conclusion, they have found themselves having to share a roof for the first time since he was a child. it has not been a pleasant experience. he does not get on with her, but he does bear affection for her children - particularly her youngest son, who he spends a lot of time with. 

personality.

basics

ben does not go out of his way to look for trouble, and would not consider himself an argumentative man, but he is certainly an abrasive one. he has a way of speaking before he thinks, almost a direct contrast to his thoughtful and strategic demeanour on the battlefield. as somebody raised in the company of men on the battlefield, he has grown accustomed to a direct, brusque way of thinking, and he can be very uncouth. 

he doesn’t start fights, but he’s determined to finish them. 

there is a very confident swagger to the way ben carries himself. it is a little bit of a front - this is the way he believes he should be perceived, the way his house needs him to be perceived. he does not want to invite any talk of uncertainty or weakness. 

the day to day of ruling, however, holds little interest for him. he has been known to make impulsive decisions and overlook details, leaving it to his sister to undo any potential mess he makes and check over his work. the transition from battlefield commander to ruling lord is a slow, ongoing, painful one. 

despite everything, he’s not a serious man - he is often found laughing loudly, talking freely and openly, and enjoying himself wherever he goes. ben is a man who values levity in the most trying of times. 

rumours

tbd

goals

a large part of ben is still figuring out who he is and what he wants away from being bloody ben. until he does so, any goals he holds are short-term and superficial.

fears 

similar to the above, until he figures out who he is, an overarching fear isn’t likely to present itself, but for now, he is very fearful of loss or hurt to his siblings. 

other.

he is not very tall, standing at 5’9. however he will often claim to be 5’11.

his education was interrupted by his decision to go and fight in the dance. as such, he is not the smartest person in any room, and struggles with reading, his letters, and remembering his history lessons. this is often at odds with his intuitive nature.

he feels most at peace in the outdoors, surrounded by his gods. he often takes his horse and goes riding, with no plan to return for several days on end, just to sleep under the stars.

he whittles in his spare time, and carries with him at all times a small figurine of a tree with a face carved into it.

he is hyper aware of the expectations of his father, and spent most of his teenage years trying to live up to that. since he has returned home, however, that sense of needing to live up to expectations has transferred from his long-dead father - it is now lucius rivers he looks to the most for approval.

[viperixsworld]

Born to die

━━ Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Chapther two: proposal

Year 126 A.C

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Benjicot Blackwood remembered little of his mother. He remembered slightly wavy, honey-coloured hair, and large, expressive eyes that he himself had inherited. He was six years old when she died. He remembered that she had a good heart, everyone at Raventree Hall adored her. Soldiers, servants, cooks, grooms, stable hands, all charmed by Lady Blackwood.

Ten years had passed since a terrible fever had taken her. Ben's father, Samwell Blackwood, Lord of Raventree Hall, wept by the bedside. It was the first and last time he had seen him cry. He was a good guy, respected by his men and vassals. Not so much by the neighbours, as one might say. The Brackens didn't like him much.

But then, the Brackens don't even respect themselves.

And neither did Ben.

The Well Tavern was a place frequented by men between the Red Fork and the Blue Fork. Both Bracken's and Blackwood's. The owner of this tavern, an old man with one eye and three golden teeth, had forbidden them to fight in his establishment.

There they were that spring night, Ben Blackwood and two of his loyal friends, Corvin and Jon. Both boys from Blackwood's house, both of whom he had known since he was born. His father considered him young to frequent such places, for it was not good for a young lord's reputation. But that did not detract from the fact that he did it anyway.

It was fun, the festive atmosphere and the drunken tales. Ben had had two pints, not enough to get him drunk, but enough to be amused by the nonsense a much drunker Corvin was spewing from his mouth.

"...and then the bloke said "but that's not where to put it" "cackled the young man.

The whole table erupted in laughter and banging. Ben slapped Jon on the back as he nearly choked on his beer. That brought more laughter to the Blackwood men's table. But the revelry ended as soon as the tavern doors burst open.

The place fell silent, the musicians abruptly gave way, and the men at the table turned their gazes to the doors.

Aeron Bracken and six men in golden colours and a red stallion. They seized a table and called the barkeeper, under the watchful eyes of the Blackwoods. The tension could be cut with a dagger, not even the best beer in the Arbor could lighten the mood.

Ben sipped his beer, one hand near his belt where he held a sword and another knife strapped to his back camouflaged in his clothes.

Then one of the Brackens bumped into a drunken Jon. The young stable boy was considerably small compared to the Bracken man, who stood there staring at him.

The two collided forehead to forehead, foot to foot. Ben rose from his seat, in an attempt to separate his friend from the Bracken bouncer.

"That's it! My friend and I go that way and you go this way".

"Are you scared, Blackwood?" teased Aeron.

"I don't feel like smashing your face in a tavern, Bracken," he replied, "We're leaving".

Aeron also stood up and unsheathed his sword, aiming it at Benjicot's back. Blackwood stood still. He had been told to stay away from fighting, to save his strength and momentum for his lessons and important battles to come, and not to waste them in taverns with childish brawls.

He took Jon by the shoulders, to take him to the table with his other friends and leave the dreaded tavern. The hour was late, tomorrow would be a new day and the alcohol was beginning to dampen morale.

"And little Benji comes running back to his mummy's skirts" mocked one of the Bracken boys "Oh wait!, that's right, his bitch of a mother has been in hell for years now, like all the Blackwood heathens".

His father was going to be very angry.

It took a second for the tavern to turn into a pitched battle. Grab what you can and hit the enemy with it. A classic Blackwood versus Bracken as usual since the age of the Heroes.

The offence against the late Lady Blackwood and the ancient gods could not be retaliated against by the lords of Raventree Hall. Jim, the landlord of the tavern, tried to calm the shouting match, trying to move the quarrel out of the establishment at least.

Corvin saw the disadvantage. There were seven of them against the three men from Blackwood House. The boy lifted Jon off the floor, kicking a drunk who had thrown himself on top of him.

"You go get the horses, I'll grab..."

A circle formed where the Brackens were previously seated. Shouts of fighting echoed off the stone walls. Jon looked at Corvin with concern. The latter nudged the former, indicating his previous order, as he reached for the young lord.

Ben was in the middle of the bloody circle. Straddling a Bracken, the one who had dared to speak ill of his mother, brutally beating his face, to the point that Corvin couldn't tell which of them it was.

After that beating, not even the bastard's mother could recognise him.

The boy tried to get Ben's attention, but his young lord seemed possessed by rage. Bracken blood splattered on his face, his gaze unfocused, his tongue between his teeth in an almost satisfied grimace.

"Ben! Oi! Come on, mate!"

Corvin grabbed his master by the shoulders, trying to lift him off the Bracken before he sent him to his false gods. Dodging a blow, Ben seemed to snap out of his reverie.

"Come on, let's get out of here, mate," Corvin pointed, guiding the boy towards the exit.

Outside, Jon was waiting with the horses. Once saddled, the three rode into the night along the road to Raventree Hall. They reached the entrance to the Blackwood ancestral home as the sun rose over the horizon.

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The sun was rising in the east and Lucrezcia had not slept a wink all night.

A ringing in her ears, the spring heat made her sweat, and her quarters in Oldtown were ugly to say the least.

Her only solace was the company of Lady Blackwood. Alyssane had accompanied them from Honeyholt to Oldtown on their quest to find a new master for their house. Along the way, she had advised her and told her all about her home.

The stories about the Riverlands had become a moment of peace amidst the relentless search for husbands. Between dates and teas, Aly and Lucrezcia would go out riding to clear their heads.

Her father had finally managed to get his wonderful horse from the island by boat. A dornish stallion with a black coat and white mane, as big as a carriage and as strong as a bull.

Lucrezcia had named him Maegor.

"... I thought all Riverlands practised the faith of the Seven," questioned Lucrezcia.

"The Blackwoods are an ancient house descended of the First Men. Family traditions state they ruled most of the wolfswood in the north before being driven south by the Kings of Winter from House Stark" replied Alyssane "Then Blackwood river kings claimed the mouth of the Blackwater Rush".

Everything she learned fascinated her.

She felt like a little girl, eager for knowledge, full of curiosity. The many septas she had had throughout her life had not focused on teaching her history. The basics, the Age of Heroes, Aegon's conquest, Maegor's wars of faith, Jahaerys's reign.

They never delved into other houses, let alone other kingdoms, or maybe they did, but Lucrezcia was more interested in ignoring them.

"My father says that the First Men were barbarians and do not accept true religion while worshipping false gods".

"That's rich coming from an Andal" said Aly.

"My mother was an Ironborn, actually" Lucrezcia said.

Alyssane listened carefully. It is true that the absence of a mother or lady of the house was noticeable. It was the father who chose the suitor, but it was the mother who instructed the daughters in the way of marriage. And the lack of maternal presence was very clear in Lucrezcia's attitude. Her manner and demeanour, Alyssane wondered if she had mastered a weapon of some kind, as she had with the bow.

"You don't talk about her much," Aly mentioned.

Lucrezcia seemed to tense up, as if she had spoken too much. Just because she thought a lot about her mother did not mean she wanted to talk about her. No one at home did. Her father seemed to have forgotten all trace of her. Livia was already married when she left, Patricia had barely stopped feeding at her mother's breast.

Olga could barely stand Lucrezcia, so she wasn't much of a support.

"She... she's gone" she murmured "Not that she was a very loving person, anyway...".

Alyssane didn't want to stretch the conversation any further, seeing the change in the young woman's attitude.

"She taught me how to ride though," Lucrezcia blurted out to the riverwoman's surprise. "She gave me the first puppy, it was a breed from the crown lands. We trained him together... his name is Vinn, after the vineyards".

"What a ridiculous name," laughed Black Aly.

Lucrezcia nudged her horse.

"I was eight! I thought it was original!"

They both laughed and Alyssane decided it was a good time to put her plan into action.

"You know, my nephew enjoys hunting too, though no more than his sword, damn him."

"You have a nephew?"

Bingo.

"Benjicot Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall".

"Benjicot? Now that is a ridiculous name".

Now it was Aly who nudge her horse. A little bit stronger.

"I jest! I jest..." laughed Lucrezcia. A spike of curiosity tingled down her spine. "And what is he like?".

"He's just turned six and ten, he's as tall as the weirwood tree, the damn kid, and very strong. He's been in a few little battles, against bloody Brackens, at least," mentioned Aly "But between you and me, he's a nice kid, pretty shy to tell you the truth."

Blackwood could feel the curiosity shooting out of Lucrezcia's eyes.

"I could introduce you to him."

Lucrezcia shook her head, drawing out the little birds.

"And why would you do that?"

They had arrived at the Hightower stables in Oldtown. Alyssane unsaddled her horse and handed it to a groom, while Lucrezcia still watched her from the height Maegor provided.

"Take it as a favour, he's young and you may have more in common with him than with Daryl Florent".

Alyssane winked goodbye and left the young woman speechless. She watched her walk away towards the High Tower gates.

Lucrezcia's mind was soon racing.

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Ben's bloody nose was playing tricks on him. They still had no maester and had to make do with the healing wiles of Bessie, the cook and housekeeper.

The hall was tense with silence. Lord Samwell stood at the head of the table, while Ben sat at the other end, with Jon and Corvin on either side of him.

With the pain in his head from the blow, he struggled to distinguish his friends. Bess had given him a cloth with very cold water to bring down the swelling in his nose, the water dripping from which mixed with the blood in his nose. He felt iron in his mouth, and could not help the urge to spit.

Father was lecturing him, as well as his friends, who crestfallenly responded with "yes, my lord" and "sorry, my lord". All this while Ben tried to focus his eyes on his father.

"Tavern brawls, this is where it's come to" the man said "I didn't raise a drunken brawler, I raised a future lord, a warrior!" he slammed his hand on the table, startling Ben "You have responsibilities, and you don't fulfil them by getting into trouble.

"They were Brackens," Ben replied.

Samwell fell silent. His wrinkled eyes narrowed in his son's direction. The feud with the Brackens was centuries old, many barely remember the beginning of it. Each day of the other's life was a threat to the other. Grover Tully, Lord of Riverrun, their overlord, was old and his attempts at peace between the houses were faltering.

Any excuse was a good one for bloodshed.

And as things were going in the capital, war was coming.

And ravens and stallions would not fight for the same side.

Samwell was aware of this. But he knew he had time to prepare himself and his house for a war until the dragons decided to dance. And if he could keep the peace with Stone Hedge until then, so be it. For his son's life was worth more than any battle.

He was not so sure that son was aware of that.

"The winds change fast, my son. Someday you will realise that it pays more to protect your own than to fight with the enemy," said the Lord of Raventree. "We need a strong and secure future".

Corvin and Jon shared a look of intrigue at the direction of the conversation. Benjicot looked straight at his father.

"And you, my son, you shall settle down". Samwell pulled two parchments from his sleeve, one with a crimson seal, his own, and another with a purple seal that Ben did not recognise.

"Lads" the lord pointed to the two boys guarding his son. It was their cue to leave the father and son.

Both boys looked at each other and then saluted their master, to walk out the doors of the great hall.

Once alone, Ben pulled the wet cloth away from his face to listen to his father.

"Your aunt, Alyssane, has agreed with Lord Luther Redwyne on a very interesting proposition," he said. He stretched out the parchment of the unknown seal.

"Lord Luther Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor. One of the richest men in Westeros, offers the hand of his daughter, Lucrezcia Redwyne, with a dowry of six thousand gold dragons, two hundred of his men and a prolific trade agreement with the Isle of the Arbor" read Samwell.

"The hand... of his daughter" Ben repeated.

Ben's mind was faster than a dragon. His daughter's hand in marriage, he read the letter. Marriage. He was getting married. To a complete stranger. From another realm. Another faith. An unknown woman.

"Believe me, my boy" said the lord "This is a new beginning, for you and for..."

" They offer us men, for what purpose?" interrupted Ben.

"Gold and men bring security to a family," Samwell reminded him.

"Security against what? What's coming?".

Samwell put a hand on his son's shoulder, still seated.

"I want to see you happy, son. And I want grandchildren for my house that you won't beget in taverns."

"You think a woman will make me happy?"

"A wife ? Yes".

He patted his son on the back twice, before heading for the door of the great hall.

"You'll thank me one day".

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"I have made a decision".

Lucrezcia had entered without warning the temporary office that Lord Ormund had offered her father during his stay in Oldtown.

Luther was going over the trade accounts from the last full moon. He looked up from the numbers to find his third daughter. Lucrezcia looked dishevelled, in her silk dressing gown and Lys nightdress. Her dirty blonde hair was tangled in what had once been a braid.

"And what decision would that be?"

Lucrezcia held her head high. Late at night, the only thing illuminating the dingy office were the candles. The light from the High Tower kept her awake. Alyssane had not visited her since their talk in the gardens, busy with her initial task of finding a maester for her household.

She had reconsidered all her options. Men of the Reach, of the Westerlands, but what appealed to her most, Alyssane's proposal.

A man from the Riverlands, who had no respect for the faith of the Seven.

Would that anger her father enough?

"I will marry Benjicot Blackwood"

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tag list: @erysione @asteria33 @shifter-101 @drwho-ess @hotdxdragon @username199945 @nixtape-foryou @saturnssrings

[viperixsworld]

Born to die

━━ Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Chapther three: friends

Year 126 A.C

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Dearest sister,

We hope this raven finds you on your way to your new home. Father wrote from Oldtown with the good news, both Olga and I are delighted with your recent engagement.

I want to hear all about it once you arrive at Raventree Hall (I had to look up the location on a map). IT'S A LONG WAY AWAY.

Unfortunately, Olga says we won't be able to come to your wedding, as it's a long journey and Father and Lady Julianna's wedding is taking place first. You have met her. Is she nice? Does it smell like horse poo? Is she pretty? Please, please get a quick crow to tell me before she arrives.

Anyway, Livia will attend, she's got your wedding dress. Olga didn't want to show me the drawing and fabric selection because she says I'll ruin the surprise for you. IT'S NOT FAIR, YOU DON'T EVEN LIKE SURPRISES.

That's all for now, Olga says her hand hurts from writing this letter. But we'll send you more once you get to the Riverlands.

Give Livia a big hug for me, I miss you both so much.

Best wishes,

Patricia Redwyne.

Lucrezcia reread the letter three times on Maegor's back. The huge black horse was restless, eager to gallop as soon as his owner gave the command.

They were waiting for the servants to load Lucrezcia's belongings into the cart, along with Nyssa.

Alyssane Blackwood's six men were preparing for a long journey home, their mission accomplished in securing a new maester.

Kyle was a skinny young man with blond hair and a grey habit. He was two years younger than Lucrezcia and had gained his chains at the tender age of twelve. A prodigy, the archmaesters said, but a tremendously shy and frightened prodigy. The young maester was on a small grey horse, which looked like a pony compared to Maegor.

The Redwyne girl looked out to sea, specifically to the boat with the blue sail with the cluster of grapes on it. Her father and his young betrothed were setting sail for their former home.

She would miss the wedding, and so would her family miss hers.

It didn't make her sad, but it gave her a certain twinge in her stomach.

It's not as if they were one big happy family, she herself nor her sisters attended the eldest's wedding. Livia had married her husband at the Sept of Oldtown, only her father and mother attended the ceremony.

True, she would not marry for the Seven, much to her father's dismay. Lucrezcia would marry for the customs of her new house, the faith of the Old Gods.

Now she had to face this new phase alone. Without her father's orders, Olga's disapproving looks and Patricia's laughter.

She didn't know if she liked or dreaded the idea.

"Ready?" asked Alyssane, pulling her horse ahead of her.

The girl nodded, starting on the road to Raventree Hall.

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The journey would be a long one. It would take three weeks on horseback, four if the weather was bad.

In the long hours of the day that they could ride, the Blackwood banner would only be taken out in towns or on land, not on the road, so as not to attract bandits.

One of the rivermen, Butch, would tell stories during meal breaks. Mostly to pick on Kyle.

They had been in a routine of teasing the young maester for several days, as well as trying to flirt with Lucrezcia's maid. To which Nyssa responded with amusement. When Lucrezcia looked at her with some judgement, the bravoosi would reply in her thick accent.

"You are the betrothed, not me."

Lucrezcia could only shake her head and agree with the young woman. Despite the jokes and the good humour of the rivermen guarding her, Lucrezcia felt tremendously bored.

Alyssane always walked a few yards ahead, flanked by two of her men, while the other four guarded Lucrezcia, Nyssa, and Kyle, as well as the cart with all the belongings.

She led and when it was time she hunted. Lucrezcia had helped a couple of times, getting a couple of hares and birds. She was not so skilled with the bow, she was better with the spear and commanding the dogs.

Dogs that would sail to Seagard, and then be transported to their new home.

How she missed them.

Her pack of four dogs could now run all over the Riverlands.

In the days they had been travelling, Lucrezcia had tried to learn as much as she could about her new home. She had asked Alyssane, about the castle, the people, how many people lived under its protection, what kind of organisation they followed.

Not only the duties of the lady of the house, she wanted to know as much as a lord.

Alyssane looked more than pleased, she had made a good decision with the girl. As they rode side by side, the women talked about Raventree and its lands. Kyle helped by contributing maps and scrolls, it was one of the few times Lucrezcia appreciated that the boy did not stammer.

They had formed a friendship. A shy boy and a mouthy girl.

"Oi! Baby Maester! C'me here" one of the men called "Do you have a cure for this one here?It stings like hell" he cried, clutching his private parts.

The party gathered around the fire, for it was getting dark in the forest. Alyssane, as usual, walked a couple of leagues ahead, leaving Lucrezcia and the others with the carriage.

They were preparing dinner, Lucrezcia had managed to catch two hares and the men a wild boar, which would last for several days. What little was left of the journey.

Kyle blushed and looked at the ground in embarrassment. Lucrezcia, sitting next to him, said.

"If you spent less time in brothels and more time doing your job, your dick wouldn't itch, Robb."

Robb stood up and walked over to Lucrezcia, who sat on a log, impassive.

"And who says I don't do my job? A spoilt child?" he spat.

"I say so," said Lucrezcia, "The future lady of your lands, so leave the future maester of those lands alone, because maybe, in the not too distant future, your parts will fall off, and this master won't feel like helping you".

Robb looked down, somewhat embarrassed.

"Now, apologize to Kyle for being rude."

Robb looked at the boy and pursed his lips.

"I'm sorry Kyle" Lucrezcia raised an eyebrow "I'm rude and I apologize".

"Now that is..."

Lucrezcia's words were interrupted by a thunderous noise in the bushes. In the hour of the bat, the only thing separating the group from the pitch darkness was the campfire.

Blackwood's men became alert at once. Robb signalled the others to put Lucrezcia, Kyle and Nyssa in the carriage. Lucrezcia rose from her seat, but stood still as Robb drew a dagger from his belt. It was pitch black, but Lucrezcia could make out one figure, two figures, four?

"Enter the carriage, my lady."

As the girl approached the cursed caravan, with Kyle and Nyssa already inside, an arrow stuck between the sleeve of Lucrezcia's dress and its door, breaking the handle and locking her two friends in. Or her outside.

Robb's men drew their swords swiftly. Lucrezcia tried without reward to disengage herself from the carriage.

From the shadows emerged three figures, shabbily dressed men with daggers and short swords. They did not look malnourished, and despite carrying sacks like soaps, one of them wore a gold tooth, one wore pearls in his ears, and one wore the carcass of a suit of armour that had once belonged to the Royal Guard.

"It's our lucky day, isn't it fellas?"

The man had an accent that was not from the Riverlands, nor was it from the Reach or the Crownlands. But she recognised it, it was the same one she had heard in Starfish Harbor.

"They are from Volantis," she whispered from behind Robb.

"They're filthy bandits."

The apparent ringleader of the group, a man with sparse red hair on the crown of his head and a golden tooth, tried to approach them.

"Clever girl."

Before they could get any closer to the chariot, Robb and his men charged the bandits. For Blackwood's men were not known for their patience. Lucrezcia found herself pressed against the carriage door as she tugged at the sleeve of her dress. She had counted four figures, and none of the men carried a bow.

One was missing.

Amidst the chaos of the scuffle, cries for help from inside the carriage caught the girl's attention. Kyle and Nyssa were pounding on the door from inside. One of the bandits had cut Robb, the one with the tooth. Lucrezcia watched as they scrambled around the fire, stamping their feet.

They were trying to put out the fire.

So they would have the advantage in the dark.

With all the strength she had, Lucrezcia tore the sleeve of the dress.

"Robb! Don't let them put out the bonfire!"

But Robb seemed very focused on fighting the red man who dodged her blows with ease. Lucrezcia was beginning to panic. Perhaps if she screamed, she would alert Alyssane and the reinforcements. Or more bandits.

Lucrezcia found herself in a situation where shouting wasn't going to help, but she didn't know how to fight either. So with the knife she was skinning the hares with, she tried to prise Kyle and Nyssa out.

One of the bandits fell right into the fire, the smell of burning flesh and hide was not pleasant and made Lucrezcia want to vomit.

Just when she thought the bandits were at a disadvantage and could get out of it, arms wrapped around Lucrezcia, lifting her off the ground.

"Hold still there, girl."

When the Blackwoods heard their future lady's shout, they turned in fright. Seeing the girl clutching a dagger to her throat, Robb and his men looked at each other and threw their weapons to the ground and raised their hands in defeat.

"Tie them to a tree," said the ringleader.

"You may take the gold," said Robb, "but leave the girl."

The man holding Lucrezcia, the archer, stood still, waiting. The red-haired man approached the girl, cupping her face in his dirty hands.

"And why is gold worth more to me than this pretty face, mm?"

There, Lucrezcia did the only thing she could. She spat in the bandit's face.

Apparently, this caused her other captor, the one who was holding her, to laugh.

"Shut up, Astor" said the red-haired man "What a playful little thing, yesterday?" he said this time referring to Lucrezcia. "You're going to entertain me tonight."

"The only thing that will entertain you is the beating my men are going to give you." she said haughtily.

"I'm terrified" laughed the red head. "Take the things and the girl," he ordered, "and kill the rest."

Astor, her other captor, seemed to hesitate.

"They are unarmed, Oren." he said, Lucrezcia noticed that this one was not from Essos, but spoke the common tongue like her.

Oren, the ringleader, addressed Astor in a mocking tone.

"Have you grown honour in your balls, now? At this moment? What a fucking idiot."

At that moment, an arrow flew into the forehead of the bandit who had tied Blackwood's men to a tree. It pierced his ugly head.

The galloping of horses could be heard in the darkness, broken by the torches carried by Alyssane and her men.

Astor loosened his grip on the girl, while Oren, seeing himself cornered, grabbed a stick from the ground and lit its tip with the fire of the nearly extinguished bonfire.

"If I'm not taking anything, neither are you, girl."

And he threw the flaming torch under the carriage.

Kyle and Nyssa screamed louder from inside as they felt the heat beneath their feet.

In terror, Lucrezcia kicked out of Astor's grip. The bandit made no attempt to recapture her, seeming too busy trying to tear his companion's head off with his eyes.

Lucrezcia tried again to pry open the locked carriage door with all her might. The smoke stung her lungs.

Alyssane arrived just in time to stop the bandits, who were trying to flee. Except for Astor, who, at the last moment, approached the carriage door.

Lucrezcia and the boy looked at each other for a second, before Astor assisted. A silent agreement. Then the bandit drew his sword, and failing to leverage it as the young woman had before, he slashed at the hinges of the door with the hilt of his sword.

Then Lucrezcia pulled hard, opening the door. She reached inside and tried to pull her friends out.

Meanwhile, Alyssane and her men rode to the scene. As one of them untied Robb and the others, Alyssane charged at Oren, who was trying to flee. And from her horse, Alyssane grabbed him by his thinning hair and pointed her sword at the bandit's throat.

"A last word?"

"Lord of Light, lead me. The night is dark and full of terrors. Lord of Light, protect me."

Then Alyssane slit his throat.

Once Kyle and Nyssa were out of the burning carriage, Blackwood's men were unleashed.

"This is my cue to leave," said Astor.

Lucrezcia looked at him. Trying to look grateful. He had saved her friends, but there would have been no need to save them if he and his gang had not attacked them.

"Thank you for your help" said Lucrezcia "Go, before you get caught."

"Many thanks to you, Vala."

Lucrezcia's head whipped around as she heard her mother's name from the stranger's lips. A name that had not been mentioned aloud for the last four years of her life. Spoken by a bandit in the Riverlands rather than in her own home by her own family.

"What did you call me?"

The boy gave him a half smile, and set the dagger he had helped rescue his friends on the ground between the two of them. Before disappearing into the shadows, he said to her.

"You look a lot like her." was not the only response "Valar Morgulis"

And he left. Leaving Lucrezcia confused and dizzy. Dagger in hand.

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tag list: @erysione @asteria33 @shifter-101 @drwho-ess @hotdxdragon @username199945 @nixtape-foryou @saturnssrings

so sorry if i left anyone out the tag list, i just don't know how to add more people

[viperixsworld]

just watched my lady jane... inspo in coming

[viperixsworld]

Born to die

━━Benjicot Blackwood x oc

Prologue.

Year 126 A.C

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Lucrezcia was never fond of the Seven God's.

Perhaps it was due to her aversion to the septa, perhaps the seven gods seemed cruel to her, with their expectations of purity and penance. Maybe the gods didn't like her either.

There were few occasions when she had to go to the Sept for liturgy on special days. This was one of many. Maiden's Day, a day on which maidens of noble houses are required to go to the sept to light tall white candles at the Maiden's feet and hang parchment garlands about her neck and sing songs of innocence.

Prostitutes, widows, and men are barred from the sept. So were mothers, but Vala Harlaw was absent these day and all the following.

Lucrezcia thought of her mother at least once a day, where she would be, would she still be alive, perhaps she was happier now. These thoughts clouded the young woman's mind as she entered the small sept of the Arbor.

Vala had disappeared from the face of the earth, in the morning she was there, and in the afternoon she was gone.

But that was three long years ago, and Lucrezcia, still a maiden, was no longer a child.

A little tug on the sleeves of her gown brought her back to reality. Looking down, he found a pile of reddish swirls, covered by a tiara topped with a veil. Large, bright green eyes watched her intently, waiting for her to take the first step into the building.

Patricia, her younger sister, she was dressed in a small purple dressing gown, adorned with blue embroidery. It was her first Maiden's day in her four years of life, so little Patricia watched her big sister's every move with determination.

"Gals! Gals"

Septa Rowan hurried up the stairs to the sept portal with difficulty, catching her breath and fanning herself with her fat arms. As tradition dictated, young girls from noble houses were to be accompanied by their septas. Lucrezcia rolled her eyes in disdain, the old woman was like a watchful hawk, always on the lookout to correct any and all behaviour deemed inappropriate by the faith.

"What are you waiting for girls? We'll be late for the chants, come on, get a move on! "

The woman wasted no time in snatching little Patricia from Lucrezcia's skirts to hurry her towards the sept. The older girl lagged behind, still in front of the flower-decorated doors of the Sept.

Her mother was not one of the gods, either; she was an ironborn. Her god was the God of the Drowned, as much as her former husband would resent it.

Luther Redwyne was a man of the Seven, who condemned the ways of the mother of his daughters.

Vala, shorn of her faith, found ways to rebel against her husband's impositions. Small acts of rebellion, which had been engraved in her daughter's mind. Such as, spitting at the gates of the Sept, then stepping on his saliva on the ground.

"Lucrezcia, child, come in at once".

She scowled at the Septa, and when the old woman was out of sight, the girl spat on the stone floor and stepped on it. Then she entered the room, where the smell of smoke and incense burned her nostrils.

She was not fond of the gods, and some part of her gut told her it was mutual.

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Luther Redwyne was a tall man, who in years gone by had been a gallant man. His hair was already grey when her first daughter, Livia, was born. Now, the lord of the Arbor sported whitish hair, revealing traces of what had once been dark hair.

His clean face, now covered with light wrinkles, appeared at the dinner table in the chamber surrounded by his three other daughters.

Olga, the second eldest of the sisters, devoted to the Faith of the Seven, led the prayer and blessing of the food on the table, while the servants brought more. Lucrezcia watched the family inquisitively from her seat at the table.

Her older sister, Olga, the second sister, wore Septa's clothes. She had been studying the ways of faith for several years now, and had always been the neatest and quietest of them all.

Lucrezcia liked her sister, as broken as their relationship was, but that didn't take away from the fact that she thought she was stupid.

To Lucreczia, Olga was a coward, hiding under Septa's robes out of fear. Of her father and his business. Of marriage and of being sent to a strange place. She feared the unknown.

Somewhat, she through of herself the same.

There was a reason they were sisters

But Lucrezcia wouldn't hide in ugly garments, she was smarter than that. She would fight her father, she had been doing so since she came out of her mother's womb.

"...and may the Gods bless this supper and this family"

The four of them proceed to eat, well the other three did, Lucrezcia had been chewing a piece of cheese, under the menacing gaze of Septa Rowan, who was waiting at the door.

"The Maiden's day has been prolific, I hope"

Her father's voice broke the silence.

Lucrezcia tried to hold in her laughter, as little Patricia gulped down a handful of grapes to avoid her father's inquisitive gaze.

The little girl had tried to light several candles at the same time, inadvertently setting on fire one of the offerings on the statue of the Maiden.

"It has been... interesting" said Lucrezcia.

"I hope you enjoyed it, my dear. Considering it's your last day of the Maiden.... You'll be married by the next"

Lucrezcia abruptly dropped her fork and gritted her teeth.

She and her father had a duel of glances for a few moments. He wanted to provoke her, he knew her intentions.

Third child of one of the heirless men, with the two older sisters out of sight. Lucrezcia knew that if she waited, just a few years, and her father did not remarry, she could inherit the lands and fleets.

Luther was an intimidating man, one of the richest in the Seven Kingdoms, and therefore intelligent. An intelligence that his third daughter had inherited. Her father's head and her mother's rebellious spirit.

He had been trying to engage Lucrezcia with any man who offered a good deal. But it didn't matter. Lucrezcia knew how to chase them away.

"The last suitor you introduced me to had a better chance of making it to his funeral than to the wedding. If you offer me to another one, I might help him get to the funeral".

The Lord of the Arbor sipped from his wine glass.

"Watch your words"

"Will you force me?"

"Lucrezcia!" warned his sister.

"Sister Olga" replied graciously.

"Will you ever be demure?"

"Will you ever take that stick out of your ass?"

"Enough!" exclaimed the father.

Lord Redwyne rose from the table. He looked at his daughter menacingly. Only to be answered with the same impetus. How she reminded him of Vala, the iron maiden he had been promised who was more of a headstrong and a mother than without bringing sons into the world.

"Septa Olga, took little Patricia to her bedchambers, it's late" Luther waited for his two daughters to leave the room, and gave an order to the guards "Leave us".

Lucrezcia held her breath once the dining room door closed. It was not the first sermon her father had given her since she had blossomed.

It was after her mother's disappearance.

It was she who helped Livia affirm her marriage to a small lord of the Dornish marches, despite Luther's complaints.

Vala could be brusque and stubborn, she was not affectionate or kind. She loved her daughters, all four of them, in her own way. Lucrezcia liked to think that wherever she was, she was happier than she ever was on her island.

"You and your mischief, you have overstepped my bounds" his father began, "You have cost me nine septas in four years, you almost carried them with the stranger, Gods be damned". He ran a hand over his face. "I have given you opportunities, men from nearby lands, who will give you comfort and gold"

"Maybe I don't want their gold..."

I want my own.

She wanted to scream.

"And ten suitors later..." laughed the Lord "You've tried my patience, just as your mother did".

The mere mention of her mother stirred an anger she had been holding in. So much so that she grabbed the bronze goblet containing her wine and hurled it with all her might at her lord father.

The room fell silent. Lord Luther looked down at his wine-stained doublet with a cynical smile.

"But you are not alone, I too must succumb to the politics of marriage" he confessed.

Lucrezcia gave him a wary glance.

"Are you not too old?"

Lord Redwyne massaged his temple with his fingers.

"I am not getting any younger, my child. Your mother left without giving me an heir, so I must remarry and pray to the gods for a son" He said.

"We will sail to Oldtown in three days, where we will be met by Lord Hightower and my future wife. There too, waits," he let out a giggle like a naughty child, "Several lords of the Reach who have sons and castles that I can offer you for a well-negotiated dowry".

"You'll sell me for pennies"

"I am considering it" he said approaching her "But unfortunately you are too much, no man would accept you for free".

"And if your beloved son is born without a cock?" she spat.

"Then I will have the guarantee that you would be far away".

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Lucrezcia had not travelled much in her life, her mother always regretted. Vala loved sailing and discovery, something that had been taken away from her since her marriage.

Now, she had to collect all her belongings in suitcases and chests. To leave for an unknown place, as a present to an unknown man. She angrily pulled clothes out of their wardrobes, while her little sister watched from her dressing table chair.

Her two sisters went to see her off at the dock, where she was to sail to Oldtown. Olga held little Patricia in her arms to prevent her from running towards the ship.

The little one questioned his sister about everything, as she had never left the island. Patricia wished all the best for her older sister and it was clear that she would mourn her absence.

For unlike her father, she would not be returning to the Arbor, at least not for a long time.

Olga's necklace with the seven-pointed star hanging from her neck and ash-blond curls covered by the habit.

"But father will let us visit you, won't you father?" asked little Patricia. "Once you are married, we will go to see you, Lulu"

The girl had never considered herself sensitive, let alone affectionate. It was a trait inherited from her mother. Love was not something she could train or learn, but the love she felt for her sister made her heart shrink. If it weren't for the presence of the Arbor's entire retinue, she would have chained herself to the dock with her little girl.

"Of course you will, and Olga will help you to write letters. It'll be fine"

The little redhead looked up to her holy sister, waiting for affirmation. Olga seemed a little reluctant but offered the girl an attempt at a smile. The eldest of the sisters present had not uttered a word during the entire farewell, the ship would be leaving shortly. Lucrezcia thought she could see the words trying to escape her sister's thin, closed lips.

"Take care of her" said Lucrezcia.

"Don't I do it already?" she responded.

"Just... be present" said the younger one.

Be better than what you did with me.

Olga seemed to understand. She knew she had not been responsible for her younger sisters, not since her mother left and Livia married. It was not her duty, as far as it went, so she shut herself away in her books and her studies of the faith.

Lucrezcia was aware that it was not all her fault, not entirely. She herself knew that she was a difficult person. And if she could change it, she would.

"But you can't change who you are, so that's a problem for whoever crosses your path." Her mother said to her one day when they went hunting in the island's forests.

One last hug from the little girl, and a look of understanding between the older girls, and Lucrezcia and her father left on the ship for Oldtown.

The journey was short for the girl, who spent the entire crossing on deck, enjoying the sea breeze. They arrived in Oldtown harbour at sunset, where they were greeted by Ormund Hightower's retinue.

The city was built in stone, with all its streets cobbled, which can make them wet and slippery on a damp day.Most bridges are made of stone, although some wooden bridges can be found as well.The city itself is surrounded by massive, thick, high stone walls.Oldtown is a labyrinth of wynds, crisscrossing alleys, narrow crookback streets, and markets. These include the Thieves Market and Ragpicker's Wynd.

Luther and Lucrezcia settled in the High Tower, labyrinthine square fortress of unadorned black stone at the castle's foundation contains gloomy halls, vaults, and chambers.

The girl was grateful that she was not the one who had to carry her belongings up to her temporary quarters.

From the heights of her room, she could see practically all of the Reach. Her maid, a young bravoosi named Nyssa, who would be no older than she was, helped her prepare for the day ahead.

According to what her father and Ormund Hightower had discussed at dinner in the great hall, in the morning they would have lunch with her father's prospective new wife, Lord Tarly's daughter.

Later they would take a carriage to Honeyholt, the seat of House Beesbury in the Reach. It was situated along the eastern bank of the Honeywine river between Brightwater Keep and Oldtown. There, they would meet the long list of suitors that traveled from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms to try to marry her off.

As if.

"He expects me to believe that a bunch of men have travelled all the way to the ass end of the continent to marry a third daughter" she complained.

"Your father is one of the richest men in all of Westeros, my lady" Nyssa said in her clear accent. "I would travel as far as it took".

The dowry must have been very good then.

She wished Nyssa good night, but did not sleep until after the hour of the wolf. She felt like a fool; she had never been interested in romance, let alone expected a love match.

But in the loneliest hour, Lucrezcia hoped that her future husband (whom she would most likely meet tomorrow) would be a man who would respect and love her as she had only read about in books.

[viperixsworld]

VIPER ASOIAF UNIVERSE

MASTERLIST...

Tales of a Baratheon in a Lions den

Margellyn Baratheon ➜ Jaime Lannister

Born to die

Lucrezcia Redwyne ➜ Benjicot Blackwood

➜ prologue

➜Chapther one : the riverwoman

➜Chapther two: proposal

➜Chapther three: friends

Drafts

Magda of Hearth ➜ Jon Snow

Cerella Lannister ➜ Aegon Targaryen ii