#c: ben

[princeaidantully]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Little Ben Blackwood!"

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

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

[jaehaerysiitargaryen]

who: @benblvckwood what: an unexpected reunion when: flashback to the gathering in the westerlands. the king of new valyria spots a familiar face. where: gardens outside of a feast

The gardens of Casterly Rock were quieter than Jaehaerys Targaryen had expected. Within the walls of the great keep, the feast roared on, full of laughter, boasts, and the clash of goblets raised in Tyland Lannister’s honor. Yet out here, amidst the cold stone pathways and the fragrant bloom of late-summer roses, the night seemed softer, distant from the clamor of revelry. Jaehaerys had stepped away, a rare moment to himself, his mind turning over matters of war, treaties, and alliances.

Clad in the style of Old Valyria, his crimson and black garments gleamed beneath the moonlight, the embroidery of dragons twisting like fire along his sleeves. The mantle of his station hung heavy on his shoulders, and for a moment, he longed for the simpler days of boyhood when he was not a king but a boy riding a dragon through endless skies.

And then, as he turned a corner near a quiet fountain, he saw him.

The face was older, of course, but unmistakable. Lord Ben Blackwood struck Jaehaerys like a memory made flesh. For a moment, he froze, recalling that Yule night so many years ago. They had been boys then, crossing paths on the battlefield when the world had demanded them to fight. Yet neither had raised a sword. Instead, they had shared a rare understanding, born not of politics but of the innocence both were clinging to amidst a war they did not start.

Now, as the lord of Raventree Hall stood before him, the weight of time pressed heavily between them. Jaehaerys’s lips curled into a faint smile.

“Lord Blackwood,” he said, his voice unusually warm, “it's good to see you survived."

[ronanbrackens]

who: @benblvckwood where: riverrun, following the return of the riverlands court from kings landing and jaehaerys targaryen's coronation, the riverlands court find themselves in close proximity once again. there comes news for both the ruling lords of stone hedge and raventree hall, which results in them crossing paths in the urgency in the the hallways outside of the great hall of riverrun

the thundering of soles and the sudden rush of cloaked figures within the hallways of riverrun was an increasing common sight to see: and so, the group of men adorning cloaks and shields emblazoned the bracken stallion swarmed through the hallway, parting through the courtiers with the sole intent of finding their ruling lord.

the men of the riverlands were as reckless and wild as the rushing trident of the river, and it was not uncommon to see of roaming parties finding themselves engaged in some form of sparring; but this was different. "tell the fool to collect his pups."

some leagues away from riverrun, a group of mix young men, borderline boys, had found themselves face to face: adorned in colours of bracken, and colours of blackwood. a feud that was bound and promised in blood did not end with the shedding of young blood, if anything, it only fed it. there was no backing down from demands of a dual, and this was only another event in the constant turmoil that was the ancient rivalry between two houses, alike in nobility...but not dignity.

his page had informed him of the lethal duals that had taken place, uprooting a settlements tavern, the marketplace, all the riverland smallfolk seeing a chapter in their history that would not come to an end; whatever happened, in the end, there was none left living to tell the story. young boys had stripped life of the others, all for the sake of the colours they wore and their allegiance. those who came after had only wounded one another, another round of young boys who only tried to get ahold of their brothers stiffening corpses.

it was expected the men would die for such a cause; their men were representations of their own. ronan's hand itched as he walked to the main courtyard before riverrun, where the bodies were transported in; there came the beginnings of a crowd, crowds that ronan ordered to be cleared with a sense of aggression. he knew not from his household who had been slain, but he crossed forward to the wagon and lifted the sheet.

what he saw, were three faces he recognised: not faces he knew entirely well, but loyal men nonetheless. he kept a grip upon the sheet, his dark gaze moving over to the sight of the blackwood dead on the opposite end of the wagon, and he stepped forward to see them too, incase there was any he would recognise. none. younger than them nonetheless, born into the hate just as they had been. he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, only to look in the face of bloody ben himself.

ronan's hand rested upon the hilt of his own heavy blade, ready to withdraw it if needed - gods knew a dual between them could bring the end of their houses. "here." ronan uttered, pulling away the sheet from the bodies of the blackwood men, his movement inherently rough, lacking care or respect. "yer bastards won't be restin' in this wagon beside me boys." ronan would throw one to the floor if he were angrier.

[citylighten]

BEGINNING // PREVIOUS // NEXT

[ofescapisms]

@thirtecnth

Ainsley loved stopping by her friends’ homes when she could, and after delivering new produce she always wanted to since she was already in town. She stopped by Ben’s and knocked at the door. “Hey! Up for some company? I want to hear what’s been going on.”

[ryonwyl]

who: @benblvckwood what: while taking advantage of the hospitality laws in westeros and a connection to jalabhar mooton, ryon wyl spends some time in riverrun on his journey to the north. he decides to make friends the wyl way which is not at all.

The leather ball rolled lazily beneath Ryon Wyl’s boot as he stood in the shadow of Riverrun’s towering walls, the faint scuff of his heel against the dirt making the only sound. Dressed down for once, Ryon’s usual layers of Dornish finery were replaced by simple traveling leathers, though his belt bore a small, gleaming dagger that suggested he wasn’t entirely unarmed. His dark hair were damp with sweat, and the flush of his cheeks hinted at exertion, though his sly smirk betrayed no hint of exhaustion.

He nudged the ball forward with a casual flick of his foot, letting it roll before kicking it back to himself with an effortless precision that spoke to his ease. Around him, men looked on with barely concealed irritation, their hands gripping the hilts of their swords as if the Dornishman’s very presence warranted drawing steel. Yes, there was a small dust up on the road but he wouldn't be questioned by anyone.

"You know," Ryon drawled, his accent thick, with a cadence that made even insults sound pleasant, "I was expecting more from the men of Raventree Hall. Dead God sigil right?" His smile was almost pleasant, "On the road, I thought I was being harried by wolves, but when I turned to look, it was just you lot. Pity, really."

He grinned as the leather ball thudded against the ground, then darted forward to give it a hard kick, sending it sailing in a lazy arc through the air before it bounced back near his feet.

He glanced toward the gathering crowd of Blackwood men, his grin widening as he lazily passed the ball between his feet. "What's it like to be men with moon's blood I wonder."

[naelysvelaryon]

who: @benblvckwood when and where: semi flashback, a bustling side street in lannisport, lined with elegant stone townhouses and vibrant market stalls. she finds herself in a lesser-used storeroom filled with dusty tapestries and supposedly cursed items and, without realising it, manages to lock herself inside the lower level of the storeroom.

naelys had never felt more out of place in her life. a woman of noble blood, standing in the dust-filled basement of a forgotten shop in lannisport, of all places, in a room brimming with relics that had seen better centuries. this wasn’t her world—this musty little storeroom, the forgotten tapestries, the strange trinkets that gave off an unsettling air of antiquity. she had thought it would be quaint, just a quick stop for some idle amusement while she wandered the busy streets of the city, waiting for marcella to be finished with whatever it was she was doing.

but now, she was locked in. she had been poking around, mindlessly trailing her fingers over dusty, ancient fabrics, when the door had somehow shut behind her with a soft click. one small, harmless push. she hadn’t realised the latch had caught until it was too late. her heart had leapt into her throat the moment she tried to leave. there was no response despite how much she banged on the basement door, how much she insisted that something was wrong with the door. and now she was here, standing on a rickety stool, her fingers pressed against the iron bars of a small window, peering out into the world she couldn’t reach.

what if no one could hear her? was the shopkeeper was gone? asleep, or worse, dead? had he died somehow? how long would it be until someone found her? the panic swelled in her chest, twisting like an iron band, no doubt because of the dark stuffiness of the basement room and the dust she continued to breathe in. the strange objects looking at her only inflamed her sense of panic. she tried to swallow it down, but it only made her throat dry, her palms slick against the bars. she was faced with the boots of passers by, the hooves of animals, and the dirt on the streets of lannisport. it made her push back a gag.

she let out a shaky breath, the sound of bustling market life outside the storeroom doors strangely distant. voices, the clink of metal, the murmur of pedestrians all seemed muffled, as though she were sinking deeper into something she couldn’t escape. “hello?” she called out, but the words seemed so small, so desperate, even to her own ears. she hated the way her voice quivered, the way it trembled with rising dread. “can anyone hear me? i—i’m locked in here!” there was little use in trying to shake the iron bars, though over the sound of the wagons and the loud chattering and the sound of the flutes, she could audibly hear her voice drowning.

her breath hitched as her eyes flicked to the dim room, half-expecting one of the objects to come to life and mock her for her predicament. she caught her reflection in a dusty mirror, her wild hair and pale face, and wondered how she'd let herself be trapped in such a ridiculous situation. “hello-hello? i need help!” she tried again, her voice slightly more firm this time, though she could feel the panic bubbling beneath. she stood taller, the wooden stool creaking dangerously beneath her, and tried to peer through the small window at the world she had thought she could easily walk back into.

and then—through the bars—she saw him. a man, with dark, unruly hair, standing just outside the shop, a casual air to his stance as though he didn’t quite belong to the city either. he was probably just passing through, perhaps a traveller or a nobleman on his way to somewhere important.she was sure she had never seen him before, but she found herself banging on the iron rails and increasing the loudness of her voice. “you there!” she called, waving her hand frantically, her voice much louder now, a sharp contrast to her previous hesitance. “can you hear me? i—i need help!” her words felt thick and clumsy in her mouth, the embarrassment heavy in her chest. she wasn’t used to pleading. to asking for help. it felt so… vulnerable. but there was no other choice. the helplessness made her stomach twist painfully.

“please,” she added, almost breathlessly as he finally met her gaze, a look of confusion crossing over his features. “i’m locked in here.the shop keeper knew i was down here, i don't know where he's gone...the door, the door is broken and he won't respond.”

[jessicagailwrites]

artist: @monoidea

I'm sorry, but this is the prettiest thing I've ever seen. OMG. I mentioned in a reblog the other day that I had commissioned someone to do the cover for my story and ever since then, I've had the hardest time keeping it to myself.

I'm so incredibly happy with how this turned out. It's like the characters were plucked right out of my head. I feel so much more confident about the first impression my story is going to make now.

The whole experience working with the artist was such a treat. I cannot believe people trade that for keystrokes in an AI design engine.

[roxdelrosario]

closed starter: @benj-hyun

where: four leaf pub

Roxy knew it was only October first but she'd begged Santi to let her put pumpkins out front of the pub as well as hang up some decorations inside. She had set out a few pumpkins and was trying to decide if she liked how they looked by the door, staring at them so intently that she almost didn't notice when Ben walked up.

"Hey, welcome to the-- Ben! Hi! I'm so glad you're here." Roxy rushed over and grabbed him by the arm to pull him where she once stood and pointed at the pumpkins. "Do those look good there?"

[wintervsuns]

who: @benblvckwood when and where: lann's day

he was not intending on finding something to laugh about what it came to the matter of benjicot blackwood, or benny as he was more commonly called amongst those who loved and knew him the most: and yet, the sight of him somehow ending up paired with a golden-haired princess of the west who appeared taller than him in some lights was enough to cause a slight bark of laughter to be engulfed by the countless amounts of ale that seemed to fill his goblet.

“fuckin’ hell man, next time you choose to dance ‘least give me  a warnin’ to look away.” 

what a sight of sore eyes indeed, considering the ruling lord of raventree hall appeared displeased with the match: gods knew why, it were hardly like the lannister princess was an ugly woman. brandon karstark’s arms remained rested across his torso, borderline lazily, as though he tried to focus on avoiding the seemingly growing amount of tensions within the northern court. the true north, they whispered of it; and as much as he detested the catalyst being his detangling with his closest friend, a part of him knew it would be a long time coming. “come ‘ere, it’s about time i caught up the benny blackwood himself.”

a part of him knew of the reasoning, and would it resulted in. still, he had little idea of how to process all the thoughts that seemed to weigh upon him: how does a man deal with the ending of a life-long friendship he never thought he would be without? It were foolish, and something he would never voice into the open – there were other matters he could do to keep himself busy, to work toward rerouting himself to the north values of the north. “i’d say we’re neighbours now, but considering the situation….aleks ain’t too keen on those penny pinchin’ freys you call your peers.” he snorted slightly, leaning forward.

[hugovance]

who: @benblackwood summary: Shared Memories: Hugo and Ben recall their shared history and adventures, from their youth to the events of the Dance of the Dragons. They discuss how those experiences shaped them into the men they are today, bonding over their love of knowledge and history. context: set after ben is made master of war.

"And then, it was perhaps before the dance, when we were in the junior list and my father insisted I take part." Hugo could barely get the words out as he found a lightness and joy in the memories. The times before the dance made them the men of their great houses. "And when the lance landed on the others shoulders, I stabbed with such force I flew off my horse and landed flat on my back."

They were sat in the quarters of Hugo Vance on the balcony looking over the stretch of rolling green hills and flowing rivers. It was something of a tradition. Meeting with the other lord and sitting down away from the courts of games and politics. A hand ran over his hair, the other hand reaching out to take the cup and take a long drink. In the aftermath of changes at court he thought it wise for close friends to meet.

"The region can expect to be much safe with you as our Master of War. Perhaps you will even be High Commander one day." He raised the goblet to the other. Some would whisper it was a demotion for his failings but it was a correction in the eyes of Hugo Vance. Ben Blackwood cut his teeth in the Dance of Dragons and it was wise to have him in a place where the Gods thought him most belonging."

[jalabharmooton]

| @benblackwood | | setting :: carriage to dorne | | summary :: on the journey to dorne qorban and ben travel to sunspear |

The lord of Maidenpool didn't speak for this journey. He didn't speak on their stops along the way, he rarely spoke when camps were set up and he spoke even less when it was time to travel once more. His father used to tell him that a man's voice was something one earned the right to hear, that conversation with a Mooton was a courtesy and not an expectation. He had no courtesy for the boy in front of him. Someone he once thought of as a man, someone he once thought of as worthy of respect and grace. Someone who deserved a chance. But he didn't.

What made him special was being young once upon a time. Nothing special. One of many boys to fight and survive the dance, a green boy becoming a man of crimson. The difference? This one was a lord. Was he the only to walk into battle with the death of his father and family on his shoulders? No. Death followed them. The stranger sat at their tables, sat at every table. Qorban went into his feast hall surrounded by empty chairs and servants. Empty plates and too much food for one man. HIs sisters were not going to walk through his door and sit down. His daughters no longer laughed.

And the man before him, he found humor in his fuckery. Bloody Ben Blackwood, the boy knight who survived the dance only to let fire rain down on them once more. Flame, decay, destruction, and death all punctuated by his stupid smile. His stupid laughter. And now, now the King sent him with an offer of nothing for the Princess of Dorne with this fool.

His King was a fool as well. Qorban never wanted to admit it. Qorban never wanted to listen to those who doubted the man he supported over CIan Tully and now he wondered if he made the right choice. Would the bastard Tully have made a child his hand? Would he have kept him as hand after his actions resulted in the deaths of his spy masters family? Casimir Tully who sent him with the man who is the reason his children were dead. They didn't respect him. They respected no one.

"When we arrive," the lord of house Mooton finally spoke, staring through the man sat across from him, "don't make a fool of yourself. Do not try to charm the Princess or any woman of her court especially if you are having a meeting. If someone wants to fuck you they will make it clear without lifting up the corner of your mouth in some futile attempt at wit. Are we clear? You have blood of Lys use it to your advantage. They do not care about the dance nor do they care of your moniker. We betrayed these people for nothing. And the King offers them nothing. Let us leave with something more than humiliation, can you do that Lord Blackwood? Can you carry yourself like Hand of the King or shall I conduct meetings while you giggle in the gardens?"

[omerflorent]

| a banter length starter for ben blackwood @ephemerallightx​ |

Omer trusted no one more than he trusted his wife. Through the many things they went through and survived there was a level of trust there no one could breakdown. Even in moments of insecurity from both of them they found themselves in a place where at the end of the day they laid their heads on the same pillow and told each other everything. And in their laughing, she told him about the little lordling with a voice of confusion and words strung together through soft giggles before she finished her sentence. While Omer laughed that night, the next morning he woke and informed her he would continue this ship business with the lord. The lord from a house his Bracken cousin called an enemy. 

He waited until Ben arrived, he wanted to get the measure of the boy who wept over his dead. The bloody lad who earned the respect of so many somehow didn’t see it fit to learn proper behaviors. Omer decided he agreed with his Bracken cousin and thought this man worth little. Perhaps Omer’s reputation didn’t reach the ears of children. It surely would today.

“My lord.” Omer entered the solar, greeting the boy with some akin to amusement though he felt known. Omer Florent was not easily amused. He was, however, easily angered. “I hope you weren’t expecting anyone else.”

“I hear you want to purchase ships, savage.” Omer tucked his hands in his pocket. “Why should I sell you ships?” 

[silvcrignis]

Discussions That Have Definitely Happened

Carlos: The W in Isle of The Lost stands for clean water.

Ben: … There… There’s no “W” in Isle of The Lost….

Carlos: *deadpan* Exactly.

Ben: 👁️_👁️

[apollo-finch]

“I’ve come to rescue you from the monotony of other people’s feelings.” Apollo was obviously joking but he got a kick out of Ben’s reaction when he saw him standing in the pharmacy. “If I remember correctly you’re supposed to be done with work already and yet your brows are still creased like you’re either having a really important thought or you’re constipated. My money is on the latter.” He greeted the rest of the staff who he had known for quite some time, especially in the years when Eilonwy was younger and he was always making sure she made her physical appointments and got her new glasses. Apollo was not a shy guy despite how much he kept close to his chest and he prided himself on being a man of the community. It was how he had kept the diner open for as long as he did before the mall came. “I know y’all agree with me. The man works too much and that’s coming from me.” He waited until Ben had his things together before making way for them to both leave. “You know, with my dramatics, I should have majored in acting,” he teased until they were out the door. “You smell that? It’s called fresh air. You remember to eat today?” @bennypark​

[ofescapisms]

@thirtecnth

Vic wasn’t exactly using sound judgement lately, but as she tapped her foot on the bar stool while finishing her drink, she noticed a familiar face she’d seen in passing. Only because doctors and firefighters just tended to work together sometimes, depending on the situation. A little braver than usual considering the drink she’d just had, she walked over to him as an upbeat song started to play in the bar. “So how much convincing will it take for you to dance with me?” she said in her most flirtatious tone, a smirk on her face.