#i am so excited for this thread dhdshdsh

[benblvckwood]

for a moment, ben wasn't entirely sure what he had stumbled into when he walked out into the yard. it was a strange sight - a gathering of riverlanders, his own men mingled with that of other houses, forming a ring around a dornish lord kicking a ball like they wanted to chase him over the nearest border. he stopped in his tracks, taking a moment to try and figure out what was going on, why the sight of a man playing with a ball was so contentious. ben liked ball games.

and then ryon wyl spoke, and clarity hit ben at once. it wasn't the football. the man was simply a cunt.

another man, one with more sense and more patience than ben blackwood might have walked away, but not he. he had spent his life much like this, since he was a boy something scratching at him from inside his chest, demanding he find something to fight, because to him, that was the only thing that made sense. it was only quiet when it had acquired a target, but even if it was not there, ryon's words were an insult he could not let lie in front of a crowd. he would not slink away with his tail between his legs for any man.

instead, he stepped closer, his movements almost casual if not for the fact he was clearly coiled tightly under his skin, a man about three seconds away from the reaction ryon wyl clearly wanted. still, when he spoke, his voice did not waver, nor ring with anger, somehow managing to maintain a cool evenness despite his rising temper.

"tell me, wyl," he called out at last, when he was close enough that the two of them stood at the centre of the circle created by the riverlanders. "do you actually think you're funny?" his gaze broke from ryon's, instead glancing around at the crowd, sliding across tense face after tense face. "anyone? anyone think he's funny? no?" he turned again, eyes locking back on ryon's. "you're the only one laughing, man. it's embarrassing for you. so do yourself a favour and pack it in, yeah?"

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."