Bethany
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, m… moreaking the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blus… [view original content]
Bethany And feels Ah, I loved this part, it gave me a really wide range of feels. First of all, that creepy guy that peeped on her concerns me. I don't know who that was, but judging from his attitude, I remember that Jaycen has met a similar man before, that Ben Tarth guy that was there when he arrived at Blackhaven. Maybe that was him, justifying my bad first impression I got on him. Just peeping on her, that's harmless, more or less, but the fact that he got so cocky and that she had to outright beat him out of the room concerns me. Maybe Blackhaven is not the safe haven Jaycen hopes it to be for his family. I mean, there is Edric, but he's old and won't be able to protect anyone if things go south. But ah, he is sweet and I loved the talk between him and Bethany, no matter how quickly his mental health seems to leave him. I am glad to see that there is at least someone in the family that genuinely loves all of them, especially seeing how helplessly estranged Jaycen is to Gareth at the very least. Maybe even to Meghan. As much as I hate to say it, but it seems he pushed it a bit too far in this part.
[Seek out Meghan]
Alright, so I think this will be for the best here. Jaycen's an ass, so I won't seek him out. He can sit alone and think of what he did. Edric probably doesn't need the company that much right now, even though I like him. He'd surely appreciate it, but there are others who need it more. And Gareth... well, I don't want to ruin anything for him, so it might be better to leave him alone for now. Or semi-alone. Cousins are fair game in Westeros after all. What concerns me a bit more is Maddelyn's age. Has it been stated how old she is? Because I got the impression she's barely out of her teens. But well, even then, Gareth's a grown man and he can make his own mistakes. Meghan's the one I'm concerned about. Her outburst came really quickly and without much warning. While I have no doubt that she was hurt by Jaycen's words, that was still way too much of a reaction for this, especially as she should be used to it. So I think there is more bothering her, a lot more. Clearly, having returned to her childhood home and seeing her father in such a state has hit her and maybe that triggered her reaction, but there's always the possibility that there's even more bothering her. I think at this point Meghan could benefit the most from having some company, so I'll choose her.
Bethany
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, m… moreaking the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blus… [view original content]
Bethany
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, m… moreaking the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blus… [view original content]
Bethany
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, m… moreaking the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blus… [view original content]
And another fantastic drawing at that! You certainly have been improving over the months, and you never cease to impress with each drawing that comes Very inspiring, I'm looking forward to showing more of Theon very soon! Eager to see more soon
I love that one! Theon looks a lot like I imagined him to look. In fact, that's an uncanny resemblance to the way I always pictured him when reading about him. I don't know how you always manage to do that with all of your art for the stories here, but it does indeed blow me away. Awesome, keep up the great work
Alara
She bit her lip, turning her attention away from the scene she had witnessed in the tents. Likely a fallen soldier from the battle,… more or an Andal spy, she tried to convince herself, yet she was as terrible as they came with self-deception. Instead, she tried to take her mind off the matter, turning her attention back to the sparking up group.
“Bugger that, Kas. You’re a beautiful girl, fantastic on the battlefield, but fuck me you’re so blinded with your views. More so than this foreign girl’s blind god.” Chet blurted bitterly, receiving a chuckle from the drunken Simon Holt. Lillith shot Chet a worrying glare.
“Watch one’s tongue, ginger.” She spat, rising to her feet. Chet rolled his eyes, pulling out a rag from his pouch and wiping the dull edge of his blade. Kasia crossed her arms, frowning.
“Maybe if you were less uptight about your faith, you might learn a thing or two.” Kasia muttered, making Chet rise his gaze to hers.… [view original content]
Bethany
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, m… moreaking the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blus… [view original content]
That's why some names were familiar ,i knew i heard Lyra beofre ... and himself mentionning edrick tought at first he was to talking about the lord .Great part
also mors orgrin , i tought isnt that someone i know ? hahaha
The Dead Man
Darkness corrupted the lands, blinding those who were cursed, and consuming those who dared wander too far. A cruel fate, to… more that which was cursed onto the unfaithful, condemned to Death’s realm. Here there was nothing, which was a blessing welcomed with open arms, for when there was something it would sure result in more pain.
Memories. Regrets. Mistakes. These were the Dead Man’s curse, to watch over and over for an eternity. A punishment for the unfaithful, a warning to those who were too naive while a part of the living. Memories which would tease with happiness, then torture with pain and agony until a Dead Man would beg Death for oblivion.
The Dead Man felt Death’s curse approaching, his other senses heightened with the loss of his vision in this land of never-ending darkness. The power of sight was a fear for all those in this realm, there was no chance to forget, no chance to rest. The Dead Man felt his bones chi… [view original content]
Alright, so I'll close this vote. Bethany will seek out Meghan.
Now normally I'd roughly say how this might impact the next scene, but considering I need to show that scene before I can show Jaycen's next part, you're all in luck with another Bethany part! With no recap needed, I present to you the new super short part I'll be releasing the Jaycen part within the next few days, once the voting has closed for this new one
Bethany
“Mmm.” Bethany expressed with pleasure, resting her arms against the walls of the wooden tub. Steam had flooded the stone room, m… moreaking the temperature humid and comforting for Bethany’s preference. She rested her head against the edge of the tub, as Maddelyn softly brushed her fingers through the knots that had formed since her last brushing.
“Relaxed?” Maddelyn asked, gently working her way through Bethany’s tangled mess of hair. Bethany smiled and nodded, feeling herself tug Maddelyn’s fingers as she did so. “Immensely so. Thank you, Maddy.”
“You know, I was curious.” Maddelyn started, before halting herself. Bethany turned her eyes to Maddelyn, who seemed to have gone still. “Curious of what?” Bethany prompted, seemingly pulling her cousin out of her trance.
“Gareth.” She hesitantly said, and Bethany raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have a crush on your cousin, do you?” Maddelyn’s eyes widened, her cheeks beginning to blus… [view original content]
She rose from her seat, embarrassed by the commotion that had stirred by the hands of her family. Her head lowered, she shifted her gaze to Lord Edric, who seemed to stare into the oblivion. Bethany sighed, rubbing her wrists awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about this, Grandfather.” She apologised, however Edric simply shrugged his shoulders. “No need to apologise, sweet Bethy.” He said, a smile appearing on his aged lips. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as a sense of relief blew over her.
“I should go check on mother, would you excuse me?” Edric chuckled, slowly rising from his chair. “Go, I will see you in the morrow.” He said, before slowly gathering his strength and retreating from the hall. Bethany did the same, feeling unsure on what to expect with her mother.
Passing through the halls, Bethany climbed the steps that would lead her to the floor her mother’s quarters were. Reaching the floor, Bethany walked with haste until she was upon her mother’s room, her door left a crack open. Hesitant, and oddly worried, Bethany peeked through the crack. She saw nothing.
Pushing the door open, Bethany first noticed a mess of clothes and jewellery, of which she suspected had been thrown around in a tantrum. Recently. Then where is she? The question worried her, as her eyes frantically darted around the room searching for clues. With no luck, Bethany let out a frustrated sigh. She walked over to her mother’s bed, sitting with a huff, feeling something other than stone beneath her feet.
She looked down, noticing she had trotted over her mother’s evening dress, which happened to be the same dress she had been wearing at the meal. Bethany frowned, bending down and picking up the dress, or at the very least trying to. It did not take her long until she figured out it was linked to another dress, which was tied to a blouse, and so on. Bethany followed the trail, buried in junk that had been thrown around, until it led her to the window. A long trail of clothes stretched down the wall like a rope, but the line pulled slack.
A sudden ignition of a torch in the distance caught Bethany’s attention. It was her mother, it had to be. Thinking of the quickest way to reach her, she knew that by the time she reached the stairs and exited the castle, the likelihood of the light still being there would be low. Feeling limited with choices, Bethany bit her lip and lifted her dress, pulling a leg over the window sill.
A warm breeze drifted through her hair as she awkwardly pulled herself out of the window, clutching onto the makeshift rope her mother had quickly secured together. Here we go, she thought, taking a deep breath. Bethany cautiously eased herself off the edge and instantly felt gravity take control of her. She tightly clutched onto the soft fabric, not daring to look beneath her.
She broomed her hands down the makeshift rope with a harsh grip, hearing the ripping in the fabric as she slowly descended. She had almost made it to the ground when she felt the line suddenly go slack between her fingers, and felt herself start to fall. Resisting the urge to scream, Bethany landed with a thud against the hard gravel ground, her shoulder being the first to suffer.
Gritting her teeth, she forbid herself to scream. Instead she groaned with frustration backing her, as she started to grow irritated with pursuing her mother on a goose chase. Pulling herself up, Bethany slowly walked to the small building which was dimly lit. She recognised it to be the stables.
Pushing the front doors open, she finally saw her. Donned in riding leathers and saddling her horse, her wet eyes panicked when they spotted Bethany. “Mum.” Bethany announced to herself, coming off harsher than she expected. She could see where tears had ruined her makeup, and where they still continued to flow.
“Sweet bird…” She started, shaking her head as she wiped away the tears. Bethany felt little sympathy, instead she felt angered. “You’re leaving?!” She yelled, shocking her mother and herself. Meghan’s lips trembled as she tried to hold back the tears. “I can’t do this anymore, Beth…” Bethany shook her head.
“Stop it mum! You’re stronger than him, he’s an arse for what he did, but you’re overreacting. Think about your father, about your children, you’re just going to walk out on us?” Bethany growled, and was surprised by the sudden change of emotion on her mother’s face.
“I am thinking about my children! I’m thinking about Alara, and I can’t live any longer knowing she could die at any moment. I won’t lose any more of my children…” Bethany immediately felt bad for snapping at her, but she was still so confused.
“I miss Alara too, but there’s nothing we can do for her.” Bethany claimed, and Meghan shook her head, now walking over to Bethany. “There is, and I promise you I will bring her back home, but you must promise me something. Promise me you will not tell your father, or anyone else, that I’ve left.” Bethany shook her head, tears beginning to well up in her eyes from the pain in her shoulder, as well as the surrealness of the situation.
“Mother please…” She begged, overwhelmed. She shook her head. “Promise me Beth!” She demanded, scaring her. The tables had turned all too suddenly, and left her in a vulnerable position, and she hated it. She wanted to run. Though she knew if she did this could possibly be that last time she saw her mother, but could she really keep such a secret from her father?
Meghan! Wow, that got me by surprise, even though I probably shouldn't have. After all, she is Alara's mother and as it turns out, they are more alike than I thought. Climbing out of her window to go after her daughter all by herself, I love it! That's the same spirit Alara has and I got no doubt that Bethany can sympathize with that as well. I'm just having a really bad feeling for this and feel like there will be some major heartbreak on the way, like either Meghan or Alara won't make it back home. Oh god, why must I think these thoughts I also feel bad for Bethy now, because if I'm not mistaken, we sent Gareth home to Nightsong in Jaycen's part, meaning she's going to be all alone after her father leaves for Qarlton's war. And considering that there have been hints that Blackhaven is far from the safe place Jaycen hopes it to me, makes me really concerned for her future. But well, on a completely different vibe, I just have to mention real quick what an adorable nickname "sweet bird" is. I remember Jaycen had a similar one for her, in what was his softest moment in the story so far. But man, I loved their interaction here, gave me warm fuzzy family feels
[Promise her]
All things considered though, this sounds like the right choice. Meghan won't be stopped and I fully believe that her cause is a good one here. It made me realize that Alara in her current position doesn't really have a reason to go back home. Maybe a reason to leave Theon's army, but none to return to her family. Meghan's arrival could give her such a reason. Considering that this is my main wish for Alara's future, as well as the one I consider to be the best for her, I won't do anything that could compromise Meghan's mission. On top of that, I think Bethany should bid her mother a proper goodbye. Regardless of wether or not she makes it back, this is a dangerous journey and I believe both deserve to properly say their goodbyes. Hopefully it won't be their final meeting, but if it is, then the one that survives will feel horrible if Bethany just leaves quickly.
Bethany
She rose from her seat, embarrassed by the commotion that had stirred by the hands of her family. Her head lowered, she shifted h… moreer gaze to Lord Edric, who seemed to stare into the oblivion. Bethany sighed, rubbing her wrists awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about this, Grandfather.” She apologised, however Edric simply shrugged his shoulders. “No need to apologise, sweet Bethy.” He said, a smile appearing on his aged lips. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as a sense of relief blew over her.
“I should go check on mother, would you excuse me?” Edric chuckled, slowly rising from his chair. “Go, I will see you in the morrow.” He said, before slowly gathering his strength and retreating from the hall. Bethany did the same, feeling unsure on what to expect with her mother.
Passing through the halls, Bethany climbed the steps that would lead her to the floor her mother’s quarters were. Reaching the floor, Bethany walked with… [view original content]
Well, that's surprising. I'm inclined to agree with Liquid, just turning away without a word would be a horrible goodbye, knowing that Meghan might never come back... Actually I have a pretty strong feeling that she will never come back.
Bethany
She rose from her seat, embarrassed by the commotion that had stirred by the hands of her family. Her head lowered, she shifted h… moreer gaze to Lord Edric, who seemed to stare into the oblivion. Bethany sighed, rubbing her wrists awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about this, Grandfather.” She apologised, however Edric simply shrugged his shoulders. “No need to apologise, sweet Bethy.” He said, a smile appearing on his aged lips. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as a sense of relief blew over her.
“I should go check on mother, would you excuse me?” Edric chuckled, slowly rising from his chair. “Go, I will see you in the morrow.” He said, before slowly gathering his strength and retreating from the hall. Bethany did the same, feeling unsure on what to expect with her mother.
Passing through the halls, Bethany climbed the steps that would lead her to the floor her mother’s quarters were. Reaching the floor, Bethany walked with… [view original content]
Bethany
She rose from her seat, embarrassed by the commotion that had stirred by the hands of her family. Her head lowered, she shifted h… moreer gaze to Lord Edric, who seemed to stare into the oblivion. Bethany sighed, rubbing her wrists awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about this, Grandfather.” She apologised, however Edric simply shrugged his shoulders. “No need to apologise, sweet Bethy.” He said, a smile appearing on his aged lips. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as a sense of relief blew over her.
“I should go check on mother, would you excuse me?” Edric chuckled, slowly rising from his chair. “Go, I will see you in the morrow.” He said, before slowly gathering his strength and retreating from the hall. Bethany did the same, feeling unsure on what to expect with her mother.
Passing through the halls, Bethany climbed the steps that would lead her to the floor her mother’s quarters were. Reaching the floor, Bethany walked with… [view original content]
Bethany
She rose from her seat, embarrassed by the commotion that had stirred by the hands of her family. Her head lowered, she shifted h… moreer gaze to Lord Edric, who seemed to stare into the oblivion. Bethany sighed, rubbing her wrists awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about this, Grandfather.” She apologised, however Edric simply shrugged his shoulders. “No need to apologise, sweet Bethy.” He said, a smile appearing on his aged lips. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as a sense of relief blew over her.
“I should go check on mother, would you excuse me?” Edric chuckled, slowly rising from his chair. “Go, I will see you in the morrow.” He said, before slowly gathering his strength and retreating from the hall. Bethany did the same, feeling unsure on what to expect with her mother.
Passing through the halls, Bethany climbed the steps that would lead her to the floor her mother’s quarters were. Reaching the floor, Bethany walked with… [view original content]
Alright, this vote looks to have come to a close. Bethany will promise to keep Meghan's departure a secret from her father, which is certainly a difficult decision for her. I have the next part ready, which is the final continuation to the Caron's for now, and that goes to Jaycen.
The last we saw of Jaycen, he was arriving at Blackhaven, at which we got further detail shown through Bethany's parts. However before entering the castle, he had a discussion with the young and surprising intelligent Keat Musgood, who suggested that sending Gareth back to Nightsong would be more beneficial than not for not only the Marches, but the entire kingdom. Jaycen was left to consider this when entering Blackhaven, in which he was met by his brother-in-law, Gendel, and Ben Tarth. They soon brought him to Lord Edric, to which Jaycen came to realise the recent decrepit state of his father-in-law. After long discussion, Edric asked whether Jaycen would like to keep Gareth at Blackhaven, or have him return to Nightsong. You lot chose to have him go back to Nightsong, and with Bethany's most recent part, we pick up from Jaycen's story after that evening.
Bethany
She rose from her seat, embarrassed by the commotion that had stirred by the hands of her family. Her head lowered, she shifted h… moreer gaze to Lord Edric, who seemed to stare into the oblivion. Bethany sighed, rubbing her wrists awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about this, Grandfather.” She apologised, however Edric simply shrugged his shoulders. “No need to apologise, sweet Bethy.” He said, a smile appearing on his aged lips. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as a sense of relief blew over her.
“I should go check on mother, would you excuse me?” Edric chuckled, slowly rising from his chair. “Go, I will see you in the morrow.” He said, before slowly gathering his strength and retreating from the hall. Bethany did the same, feeling unsure on what to expect with her mother.
Passing through the halls, Bethany climbed the steps that would lead her to the floor her mother’s quarters were. Reaching the floor, Bethany walked with… [view original content]
The howling gust roared through his window, blowing over the small items in his dark quarters. Jaycen pulled himself from his bed, though not with ease. A striking pain shot up his back as he rose, causing him to cringe to the sudden pain. His son had got him good, bowling him over in his chair and doing his back a disservice.
Groaning it off, he walked over to the window to close the shutters. A lot had been placed on his mind this evening, and none of it pleased him. Any progress in the repairing of his marriage has surely been broken, and he wouldn’t have a chance to explain himself to Meghan until he returned from Qarlton’s war. If I do. It was a chilling thought, war. It was the last thing he wanted to be a part of, and he had already witnessed enough fighting for his lifetime.
Pulling the shutters to a close, Jaycen let out a heavy sigh. For a moment he just stared at the dark wall, thinking. Perhaps things could have been different if he had made the effort for everyone that mattered to him. Perhaps things could have been better. Ryman, Gareth, Bethany, Briala… and Alara. She wasn’t his daughter, but out of all his children she resembled the most of him. Ironic.
The thought of Alara unsettled him, but not for the obvious reasons of her being the daughter of another man that he trusted dearly, no. It unsettled him because he was unable to forgive himself for what he put the poor girl through, and he rightfully punished himself for it with fucking up the rest of his family. Jaycen clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. I have to make amends.
The discussion he had with Keat Musgood was one which constantly floated around his mind, and while he did not agree with it entirely, he knew it was the right thing to do. He turned his gaze away from the wall, walking towards the door, feeling his way through the darkness. Securing a hand on the knob, he twisted it and cracked the door open ajar. He needed to talk to Gareth, and he knew exactly where to find him.
-
The courtyard was mostly silent, apart from the chatter of few guards that patrolled the walls or jested at the armoury. Jaycen walked past them to where his son stood, a bow in hand, his other belligerently freeing a half dozen arrows from the straw dummy. Jaycen brought himself to a halt, a few metres away from his son.
“Gareth.” He said coldly, and the young man turned his attention to his father with a menacing gaze. “Piss off.” He muttered. “We need to talk.” Jaycen persisted, to which his son shook his head and took his arrows.
“There is nothing to talk about.” He murmured in response. “I bet you wish it was me who had died in that skirmish, rather than Ryman.” Jaycen’s eye widened, shocked that his son would think up such a thing, but he did not respond any further than that. Gareth rolled his eyes, nocking an arrow beside the shaft, pulling back the string and letting the arrow loose. It pierced the dummy between the eyes, just like the others had. Jaycen sighed.
“You’re right. Ryman was the man that should have ascended when I come on to pass. I trained him for it, moulded him into the man that would achieve more than I ever could…” Jaycen felt a lump build up in his throat. “But I couldn’t save him.” Gareth lowered his bow, a frown replacing the anger he had just displayed.
“Then I had to return home. Return to an unfaithful wife, who would be shattered by the news I would deliver. Return to a daughter that had already been suffering the loss of her betrothed, and to a son that had no care for ruling at all.” Jaycen said grimly, and he could see Gareth’s hand clenching around the shaft of the bow.
“Yet on that day, something miraculous happened.” Jaycen admitted, thinking back to only a year ago. “You stood up to the challenge, to the new responsibilities that you were burdened with. You began to teach yourself, you started training. You surprised many, and won the heart of those who had lost hope.”
“You were never meant to have Nightsong, nor the responsibilities that came with it. Yet you have proved to me that you have grown worthy of it, and made me regret that I did not bother to mentor you.” Jaycen sighed. “That is why I’ve decided to send you back to Nightsong, where you will be the acting Lord Caron while I’m gone.” Gareth’s eyes lifted, shocked and in disbelief. He shook his head unbelievably, but Jaycen remained in his stern stature, his expression strict and rigid.
“You’re serious?” He asked, and Jaycen nodded accordingly. Gareth chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say.” He admitted awkwardly. “I’m sorry for jumping you tonight.” He apologised, and Jaycen shook his head. “You’re hardly the one needing to apologise.” Jaycen responded, and Gareth broke into a bright laughter.
Jaycen wondered if this would be the last time he’d ever have a good moment with his son, or any of his family. The thought worried him, as there really was no clear answer, all he could do was pray and hope that he might return.
-
The flying banners of lightning and nightingale flapped in the wind, the makeshift camp nearly disassembled from the days spent at Blackhaven. Jaycen overlooked the process from black stone walls of the castle, Lord Edric stood beside him, accompanied by a few household guards.
Jaycen stared at the men and women working in the fields, a grim look held in his expression. Many of them would fall in Qarlton’s mad conquest for power, of this Jaycen had no doubt. The sight of the Red Mountains was something that Jaycen could only admire now that he was so close to leaving it, and it was best left to admire from a distance. However with the circumstances, their march would lead them through the dry valleys, until they met with the Stoneway. Then they were in the watch of the Yronwood’s, which was an unsettling image to place in his mind.
Jaycen let out a sigh, backing away from the battlements and turning his gaze to the old deformed Lord Edric. His old amber eyes staring aimlessly at the hills ahead of them. He rested his hand against the battlements, a slight tremor to them.
“There was a time where I was marched off to war, and brought great chaos to the kingdom through my actions.” The old man lamented, lowering a sorrowful gaze to his shaking hand. He frowned, staring at his old features. “Now this is my curse.” He acknowledged, lifting his hand and tapping on his temple.
“Do you think I will commit the same actions, Edric?” Jaycen provoked, and the old man gently shook his head. “Not you, but your friend.” Edric continued, to which Jaycen scowled. “Qarlton is no friend of mine.” Edric sighed.
“Perhaps you should rethink your relations with him.” Jaycen raised an eyebrow, staring at Edric with a mixture of disbelief and vexation. “That man broke my family apart!” Jaycen growled, clenching his hands into fists. The very thought of Qarlton angered Jaycen immensely. The trust that was betrayed, the vows that were broken, it infuriated him beyond measure.
“It broke your marriage.” Edric corrected, now turning his gaze to Jaycen. “I have come to terms with my fate, and I know I’m losing my mind. Though I have yet to lose my wisdom, and while I may not possess the memories of what once was, I know that the strain in your family was not the doing of Qarlton, but of your own.” Jaycen chuckled and rolled his eye.
“Your wisdom fails you then, old man. Qarlton was the cause of my family’s downfall. Had it not been for him we would have been fine.” Jaycen stated confidently, almost too self-assured to see otherwise. Edric shook his head. “Perhaps, but it was not Qarlton that became distant to his wife, or abused his daughter.”
“She was no daughter of mine.” Jaycen muttered for a final time. Edric smiled, shaking his head. “No, but you were her father, she had no other. The way I see it, Meghan had a choice, and she chose you over him. All you have done with that is seal a regret into her mind, and set a grudge in your family.” Edric concluded, and for a first time, Jaycen found himself speechless. While he had thought he had come to terms with himself, Edric had pointed out many flaws in himself, many of which Jaycen had abhorred and avoided. Now they had been disclosed, and Jaycen was oddly fretting as a consequence.
“Want my advice? Go say your farewells while you still have the chance. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” The suggestion was one Jaycen now took very seriously, and was one he was determined to follow through. He extended his open hand out to Edric in gesture, in which he weakly grasped in response.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing for my family. House Caron is in your debt.” Jaycen stated, and Edric simply shook his head and smiled. “There is no debt, Lord Jaycen. This is a family matter, and family will act accordingly. I’ll take care of them.” He assured, and Jaycen nodded in thanks.
-
The courtyard was crowded with young nobles and smallfolk from the town around Blackhaven, all watching the events which clearly seldom occurred. Jaycen stood before Bethany, Gareth and Gendel. Gladys had already mounted her steed, and sat beside Keat Musgood. The only one missing was his wife, Meghan.
Jaycen took a step closer to Bethany, her eyes wet with tears. She had a small, adoring smile on her lips. Jaycen took a hold of her hands, cupping them in his own. “Your mother?” He asked, his eyes wandering around the court searching for her. She shook her head. “She is too grieved to show herself.” Bethany mumbled, her voice croaky from what Jaycen could tell was some long weeping. He nodded.
“This isn’t goodbye, little bird. I have no doubt in my mind that I will see you all again soon.” He whispered, but his words were incongruent. “For now, take care of yourself and your mother. Perhaps that old man too.” He jested, and a warm smile spread across her teary face. “I will.” She promised, before the two embraced for a moment which was snatched away far too soon.
Jaycen turned his eye to Gareth, his charming smile had been wiped and replaced with a grim frown. Jaycen sighed, extending a hand to him. “I know you’ll make me proud.” Jaycen stated, also turning his gaze to Bethany. “The both of you.” He added. Gareth grasped Jaycen’s hand, also pulling him into a meaningful hug which Jaycen did not expect.
“Come home, father.” Gareth mumbled into his coat, and Jaycen stared out at the gravel beneath them, entranced in thought. I will, he wanted to say, but he wasn’t ready to make such a promise. “I’ll try.” He promised, before pulling away from his son. He turned his attention to Gendel.
“I appreciate what you’re doing for me, Gendel. I won’t let it go unnoticed.” Jaycen assured, and Gendel chuckled, waving his hand. “Not a worry there, brother. Besides, some bonding with my nephew should be good, it’s been too long.” Gendel stated, and Jaycen noticed Bethany’s eyes widen in shock, yet she remained silent.
Jaycen nodded to them all, turning and mounting his steed. Gladys and Keat stared at him with intent eyes. “Are you ready to depart, Lord Jaycen?” Gladys asked, to which Jaycen nodded. She replicated the gesture in return. “I will prepare the march then. See you at the vanguard.” With these final words, she took her leave.
Keat turned his steed and accompanied her, giving Jaycen a final moment to look at his children. There were mixed expressions on their faces, and these would be the faces he would remember for however long he would be gone. He moved his gaze to Lord Edric, who stood by the main doors of Blackhaven’s keep, accompanied by the young Ben Tarth. Jaycen gave the man a final nod, before turning his mount and heading for the gates. His thoughts drifting to Meghan.
Oh man, this was such a great part! While I obviously have quite the antipathy against him for the way he treated Alara (even though that has kinda been my fault for making it such a prominent part of their backstories), I must admit that Jaycen is a very complex character and I think you showed his softer side very well here in his talk with Gareth and Bethany. Edric is the Feels-MVP in this part though, that man is perhaps the most tragic character in the entire story at this point. Jaycen is somewhat of a tragic character as well, but a lot of his family grief is solely his fault, Edric was right for calling him out on this. And now it seems like the Carons are indeed broken in more than one way, with every single one of them soon being at a different location. I mean, the family was basically shattered the moment Alara left Nightsong and Ryman's death only made it worse. But now I doubt that they'll all get together like this ever again. Maybe something happens to Meghan or Alara, which I am always quite paranoid about, but Jaycen's opinion on the danger he is heading to is one I see as quite realistic as well. And of course, there's no saying what trouble Gareth and Bethany have to face. Especially Bethany concerns me, because she is alone and without allies at a castle that might not be as safe as they all think. But Gareth concerns me as well, being the defender of Nightsong against potential dornish raids now. Argh, I can only see many grim moments for my dear Caron's in the future.
I just have to wonder what would have happened if Bethany would have told Jaycen about Meghan's plans. Would he have stopped her? How? I mean, they can't just lock her away to keep her from saving her daughter, I doubt even Jaycen would be capable of such cruelty. Really makes me wonder what could have happened there.
Jaycen
The howling gust roared through his window, blowing over the small items in his dark quarters. Jaycen pulled himself from his bed,… more though not with ease. A striking pain shot up his back as he rose, causing him to cringe to the sudden pain. His son had got him good, bowling him over in his chair and doing his back a disservice.
Groaning it off, he walked over to the window to close the shutters. A lot had been placed on his mind this evening, and none of it pleased him. Any progress in the repairing of his marriage has surely been broken, and he wouldn’t have a chance to explain himself to Meghan until he returned from Qarlton’s war. If I do. It was a chilling thought, war. It was the last thing he wanted to be a part of, and he had already witnessed enough fighting for his lifetime.
Pulling the shutters to a close, Jaycen let out a heavy sigh. For a moment he just stared at the dark wall, thinking. Perhaps things could have be… [view original content]
Alright, well there's no vote to close, but I will announce that I have the next part ready. It goes back to Dormund, which we learnt has been revived for unknown reasons. The last we saw Dormund Bolton was at the end of the first chapter, so there is little to catch up to on his story. Of course, if you do not recall his passing, Dormund and his close friend, Ryden Frost, were murdered at the hands of King Rogar during his tantrum over his eldest sons death. This new part picks up where we last left off with Dormund.
The cool breeze awoke him from his haunted, restless slumber, a night of terror. Had it all been a dream? Dormund let out a groan, pulling himself up in a bed which he recognised. He was in his quarters, yet it was nothing like he remembered.
The grey stone walls were oozing with moisture, as if the ice had just began to melt. All possessions that had once been were no longer apparent, and his quarters were quite bland, ignoring his bed. Yet what was especially strange was that the doors to his balcony were wide open, lightly frosting over the battlements and stone floor.
Dormund tried to suck in a deep breath, yet the attempt pained him, like his throat was constricted. He immediately raised his hand to his neck, to address the agonising stinging. The brushed over a wound which brought him more pain that imaginable. Pulling himself out of his light sheets and fur blankets, he made haste to the mirror hanging on the wall. The man he saw left him shocked.
The pale being was in many ways similar as he was different to Dormund. He stood a same height, and was identifiable by the two fingers he had lost as punishment by his father, yet every other detail screamed a stranger. His hair has been shaved clean, and his body left with deep cuts which would take a while to heal. The most noticeable was the faint but deep cut down his face, running down his right brow, then resuming faintly on his cheek, and finishing at the lower of his lip.
However it was the deep wound on his neck which was the most visible, a stab wound, and one which flashed the memory into his mind. When his father had turned his best friend against him, then stabbed him in the back. When he had then thrusted his dagger through Dormund’s throat… It had not been a dream.
Dormund’s knees fell weak, and in result he crumbled to the floor. The stone tiles were cold beneath him, yet he did not shiver, his flesh had lost all nerve to shiver. So he lay, corrupted in his thoughts, seething over the events that had set a deep and unforgivable hatred inside him. He wanted to scream, to unleash, yet his injuries restricted that to a mere agitated gasp.
Minutes passed, and the sound a key unlocking his chamber door pulled him from his infuriated trance. Before long, the door to the corridor swung open, and three intruders entered. Two of them he noticed to be household guards, according to their uniform at least. The other, a woman covered in gowns, which Dormund did not know from where he recognised her.
“Help him up, get him dressed.” The woman ordered, and hesitantly the two guards obeyed her commands. One of the men made his way to a locked cupboard, to which he proceeded to unlock, while the other made his way to him.
Dormund’s fists clenched with little warning, and his teeth began to grit. The guard bent down on one knee, attempting to lift Dormund’s arm over his shoulder, however the sudden retaliation caught the man off guard. Dormund’s hand struck the man’s throat, grasping with a tight enough grip to bring the man to the ground with him. There, Dormund mustered the strength to bring his other fist hammering down to his temple. A concussing hit.
The man’s counterpart was slow to react, and by the time he had come to his companion’s aid, Dormund had already made it to his feet. Unsheathing his cudgel, forged from iron, he swung widely at him. Dormund dodged the swing with a simple step back, taking him out onto his balcony, frozen over with ice. The man pursued him with a menacing persistence, swinging again and again. Dormund caught his final swing, disarming him in a matter of seconds. The weapon fell to the ground, and still astonished by the sudden change of events, Dormund took advantage of his foe’s confusion.
Taking grip of him by the scruff of his shirt, Dormund hoisted him above his shoulders, thrusting him over the battlement walls without hesitation. The shocked and fearful screams slowly sounded out until they came to a sudden silence, when the body had made contact with the courtyard below.
Dormund turned his gaze to the final member of the group, her physique was tall and rather slim. She possessed beautiful blonde hair, and eyes as vibrant and blue as ice. Her white gowns were gilded, and over that she wore a hooded blue cloak. She was smirking as he approached her.
“I’m impressed.” She admitted, her eyes flickering over to the unconscious guard, and then the balcony. “You’ve come back stronger than I imagined.” She admired, eyeing his muscular physique. Dormund felt himself come to a stop, yet his anger would still very much present. “Who are you?” He demanded, his anger seething from each word. The young woman giggled, beginning to circle him. Dormund tried to watch, yet it felt as if his feet were cemented in place.
“To many, I’m naught but a mistress to your father. To your father, I’m his most trusted ally, and to you… To you I’m your resurrector, and a friend.” She smiled, coming to a stop in front of him. She gently caressed his cheek, running her finger over the cut that would soon become a scar. Dormund winced at her touch, not because it pained him, but because he felt something stronger. He found himself speechless, confused.
“Why?” He managed, almost pleading. He witnessed her manic grin widen across her lips. “Now where would the fun be in that? Besides, I think you have more pressing matters to deal with, like what you’re going to do with your father.” Dormund raised an eyebrow.
“My father?” He asked, and the girl chuckled. “Yes, the one that murdered you, then begged me to bring your brother back, but I chose you. What will you do with your second chance, I wonder?” She pondered, and Dormund tensed at the thought of him. “I’ll kill him.” He vowed, and in response she smiled and shook her head.
“So naive. You lived a life being second to your brother, and now being given a chance to overcome your past, you would simply ravage it. How disappointing.” She sighed, making her way to the door. Dormund shook his head, still so confused.
“What do you want with me? Why did you bring me back?!” Dormund yelled at her as she walked away from him. “At least give me your name.” He growled, trying to break free from his invisible restraints. The girl came to a halt outside the door.
“My name is Elena Rivers, and if you wish to have your questions answered, come find me.” With that, she exited the room, and Dormund felt his bonds loosen until he could move again. He ran to the door, peering out the chase after her, but the corridors were empty. Gone without a trace.
-
The Tomb of Secrets reeked of death. Spoilt meat and rotting flesh hung from the walls, decaying skin peeled from the victims of the flayers rested on the bloody stone floors. Dormund watched as the men put their blades to work, now fashioned with iron and steel knives and daggers, rather than bronze.
Their cuts were unclean, and most were clearly novices. A mess had been made by most, and the fact that they were working on corpses rather than the living only made it more shameful. Nonetheless, Dormund knew that flaying was an art that took years of practice if one ever wished to master it.
However one of them made Dormund cringe with his pathetic inability to steadily slice through flesh. Body after body, one mistake led to another, and a new body would come to replace the last. Dormund found himself paying little attention to the corpses, until one caught his eye. Taking a step forward, Dormund immediately recognised the man, and hurried to intervene before the poor flayer could ruin another canvas.
Catching his arm, the man’s eyes widened in a mixture of anger and shock when he recognised Dormund. He tried to free his arm, yet Dormund held a strong grip, and refused to release him.
“You’ve ruined enough corpses today. Pass the blade.” He ordered, yet the man grinned and turned his eyes to the corpse. “Last one, then it’s all yours.” He assured, once again attempting to free his arm. Dormund tightened his grip, crushing the man’s wrist.
“Pass the blade.” Dormund repeated, his voice croaky from his injury, he watched the man wince in pain. He would crack every bone in his arm before he would allow him to deform another corpse, especially this one. The flayer released the blade in a hurry, allowing Dormund to take it from his hands.
“You’ll fucking regret that.” He threatened, rubbing his wrist. Dormund rolled his eyes, twirling the blades between his fingers. A final service to you, old friend. Dormund thought, looking at the man he considered a brother for a final time.
“Rechar!” A familiar voice sounded, and Dormund turned around to catch the flayer with a dagger flying towards Dormund’s chest. “This fucker is stealing my prize!” He spat, staring daggers at Dormund. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” He asked, and the familiar face unveiled himself from the darkness.
“That’s Dormund Bolton, your prince. I’d suggest you leave, Rechar.” Tobas stated, grinning at Dormund. Rechar maintained an infuriated gaze, but eventually stood down, passing Tobas with a shoulder bump. Dormund sighed, turning his gaze back to the corpse.
“Is that Ryden?” Tobas asked, further inspecting the corpse. Dormund nodded, taking a steady grip on the blade. “I couldn’t let him defile another, especially not him.” Dormund nodded to Ryden’s corpse, to which Tobas gave an understanding nod in return. “He was like family to you, it’s only right that you should direct the blade.” He acknowledged as Dormund pierced into the soft flesh with the point of the blade.
“What is all this?” Dormund asked, motioning to the iron blade he carved with, as well as all the other iron replacements he had noticed. “After the battle, father had all the invaders looted of their iron and steel. We’ve stocked our armouries with it.” Dormund nodded, separating Ryden’s skin from muscle.
“What has happened here? Since…” Dormund’s words ran short, his trail of thought drifting off as he worked away at Ryden. Tobas sighed. “The Stark’s have repaired raised a mighty fleet to sail to Andalos for Theon’s hunger. The Ironborn have started landing in the west, and the Frost’s have renounced their fealty to our kingdom.” Dormund found himself louring in response to the grim news, he halted a moment on his work.
“Will you be joining the Stark’s?” He asked, and for a moment there was a lingering silence. Tobas frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m a ward, and as far as Theon knows, am the only living heir to Rogar. Father refuses to talk with him, claiming it will affect his ‘master plan.’ I don’t know what other choice I have.” Tobas said with defeat, while Dormund furrowed his eyebrows.
“What ‘master plan’ is this?” He enquired, but Tobas shook his head. “I don’t know much, I’ve been sent here because father urgently wants to meet with you. Perhaps after that we should speak.” Tobas suggested, and Dormund felt the rage build up inside him, but the thought of Elena’s words arose in his mind. Naive, disappointing.
“What does he want?” Dormund asked, to which Tobas shrugged. “I don’t know, but he wasn’t too thrilled.” Dormund let out a small laugh, steadying his blade momentarily. “Of course he isn’t.” Dormund finally responded, freeing the blade. He passed it to Tobas. “Would you?” Tobas gave a small smile and nodded, taking the coated blade from Dormund’s bloody hands. Dormund nodded in thanks, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. The two gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, until Dormund finally separated, making way for the stairs that would climb to the ground floor of the Dreadfort.
-
The throne room possessed a foul stench, and stains in the stone which would take months to buff out. Dormund stared at the blood momentarily, before lifting his eyes to the throne. His father sat there, staring at him with an aloof expression, accompanied by his two guards. Both wore the armour of a kingsguard, a sight which instantly reminded Dormund of Ryden. This room was a spawn for many horrid memories, of which Dormund felt his neck wound start to tingle.
“Leave us.” Rogar finally ordered, leaning on his fist as the two guards descended the black stone steps that led to the throne. They passed Dormund with sceptical and disgusted gazes, to which Dormund paid no mind to. He recognised none of them, which he thought was for the best.
“New guards?” Dormund asked, crossing his arms. Rogar grunted, straightening his posture. “The last could not protect my sons.” Rogar muttered, and Dormund smirked. “Perhaps that is because you ordered them to put your son to death.” Dormund wryly mocked, and refused a scowling glare in return.
“Perhaps.” Rogar growled, before rising from his seat. “Though I never wanted to kill you.” He confessed, and Dormund replied with a pathetic laugh. “Some poor words to cover the dagger you pushed through my throat.” Dormund challenged, but received no argument.
“And now you’re here.” Rogar declared, rising his hands. “Do you think I’d have brought you back had I wanted you dead?” Dormund shrugged, lowering his arms. “You’re being very restricted for a man that acclaims he brought back his favoured son. Where’s my embracement and apology?” Dormund taunted with a grin, and received a menacing glare in turn.
“Do not dare to mock me, boy. You’re being given a second chance, and if you want to squander that then I promise you that this time you will stay dead.” Rogar assured, and Dormund narrowed his eyebrows. “Why bring me back?” Dormund finally asked, losing his will to pointlessly fight.
“I want to give you a chance to redeem yourself. I want you to give me the North.” Rogar finally revealed, and Dormund choked in disbelief, doing his neck wound a disservice. “What?” He managed, recovering from the pain he put himself through. Rogar began to descend from his throne.
“Theon has taken Tobas as a ward, and being under the false belief that he is the heir to my kingdom, he thinks he has a leash on me. I want the North, Dormund. I want it all. Winterfell, Barrowton, the Wall, all of it.” Rogar demanded, and Dormund simply raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.
“You’re talking about Tobas’ life here, and we have nowhere near the numbers to conquer the North.” Dormund argued, but Rogar had none of it. “You will bring allies into the fold, starting with the traitorous Frost’s.” Rogar announced, and Dormund furrowed his eyebrows.
“What is it you want me to do?” Dormund asked hesitantly, and Rogar smirked. “I want you to lead an army to the Frost Keep’s gates. I want you to present Ryden’s flayed body on a spike, and I want you to lay siege on that shithole of a castle. Then, make them swear fealty to me, or eradicate them if they refuse. Let the North see that we will spare none who defy us. This is there only redemption, as it is yours.” Rogar stated, and Dormund felt a cold chill run over him. Elena’s words repeat over in his mind. Dormund nodded, against his own will, making Rogar grin.
“Good. You will leave with Carver and his forces tomorrow at dusk, once Theon has set sail. Until then, you are permitted only to the reaches out the castle. You’re dismissed.” Rogar ordered, returning back to his throne. Dormund felt an urge build up inside him, an urge filled with hatred and a taste for vengeance, though he could not find the will or strength to act upon it. Instead, he turned and left his father, exiting the throne room.
He was confined to a cell, be it a large cell, the very thought of being restricted angered him. Though what frustrated him the most was his confusion, he was still left very much in the dark, and he believed Elena held those answers. What can I expect from a witch? He wondered, though really he felt he had nothing to lose in trying. Of course, then there was his brother, Tobas. He would be forced to leave tomorrow, and perhaps never to return. Being forced to leave in the morrow, Dormund knew he had to speak to at least one of them, but who?
Dormund
The cool breeze awoke him from his haunted, restless slumber, a night of terror. Had it all been a dream? Dormund let out a groan… more, pulling himself up in a bed which he recognised. He was in his quarters, yet it was nothing like he remembered.
The grey stone walls were oozing with moisture, as if the ice had just began to melt. All possessions that had once been were no longer apparent, and his quarters were quite bland, ignoring his bed. Yet what was especially strange was that the doors to his balcony were wide open, lightly frosting over the battlements and stone floor.
Dormund tried to suck in a deep breath, yet the attempt pained him, like his throat was constricted. He immediately raised his hand to his neck, to address the agonising stinging. The brushed over a wound which brought him more pain that imaginable. Pulling himself out of his light sheets and fur blankets, he made haste to the mirror hanging on the wall. The… [view original content]
Oh, things get more and more intriguing with Dormund and I loved this part! In fact, this storyline is not only a great surprise for me, but also one that has a pretty good chance to be included among my absolute favourites. As expected, the crazy nympho witch Elena had her hand in his resurrection, though I don't know why. And it makes me wonder even more just why she wanted to sleep with Steffon earlier and gives me even more dark thoughts on the reasons behind her actions.
[Seek Elena]
Do I like her? No! Do I trust her? Hell no! Do I want her around Dormund? Hell damn no! You know, if these creepy witches could just stay the hell away from my favourite characters, I'd be happy. At the same time, there are so many questions left unanswered and right now, I see it as important to get a better overview of the greater picture. Why has she chosen Dormund? Why is he even alive again? And why did Rogar agree to this, having his least favourite son aliv again instead of his favourite? What is the source of her powers? Are there any drawbacks to his second life? Tobas would basically just be some good family talk, I guess, but by talking to Elena, we might just get some answers.
Dormund
The cool breeze awoke him from his haunted, restless slumber, a night of terror. Had it all been a dream? Dormund let out a groan… more, pulling himself up in a bed which he recognised. He was in his quarters, yet it was nothing like he remembered.
The grey stone walls were oozing with moisture, as if the ice had just began to melt. All possessions that had once been were no longer apparent, and his quarters were quite bland, ignoring his bed. Yet what was especially strange was that the doors to his balcony were wide open, lightly frosting over the battlements and stone floor.
Dormund tried to suck in a deep breath, yet the attempt pained him, like his throat was constricted. He immediately raised his hand to his neck, to address the agonising stinging. The brushed over a wound which brought him more pain that imaginable. Pulling himself out of his light sheets and fur blankets, he made haste to the mirror hanging on the wall. The… [view original content]
Dormund
The cool breeze awoke him from his haunted, restless slumber, a night of terror. Had it all been a dream? Dormund let out a groan… more, pulling himself up in a bed which he recognised. He was in his quarters, yet it was nothing like he remembered.
The grey stone walls were oozing with moisture, as if the ice had just began to melt. All possessions that had once been were no longer apparent, and his quarters were quite bland, ignoring his bed. Yet what was especially strange was that the doors to his balcony were wide open, lightly frosting over the battlements and stone floor.
Dormund tried to suck in a deep breath, yet the attempt pained him, like his throat was constricted. He immediately raised his hand to his neck, to address the agonising stinging. The brushed over a wound which brought him more pain that imaginable. Pulling himself out of his light sheets and fur blankets, he made haste to the mirror hanging on the wall. The… [view original content]
This was no doubt a very interesting part! I was not following the story when Dormund was alive the first time around so I am a bit out of the loop but even still, this storyline has all the potential to be one of my favorites.
[Seek Elena]
I will agree with the others on this one. While getting to talk to his brother would be a good moment I imagine, the chance to learn more about why he was brought back from the dead is too good to pass up.
Dormund
The cool breeze awoke him from his haunted, restless slumber, a night of terror. Had it all been a dream? Dormund let out a groan… more, pulling himself up in a bed which he recognised. He was in his quarters, yet it was nothing like he remembered.
The grey stone walls were oozing with moisture, as if the ice had just began to melt. All possessions that had once been were no longer apparent, and his quarters were quite bland, ignoring his bed. Yet what was especially strange was that the doors to his balcony were wide open, lightly frosting over the battlements and stone floor.
Dormund tried to suck in a deep breath, yet the attempt pained him, like his throat was constricted. He immediately raised his hand to his neck, to address the agonising stinging. The brushed over a wound which brought him more pain that imaginable. Pulling himself out of his light sheets and fur blankets, he made haste to the mirror hanging on the wall. The… [view original content]
Alright, well this vote looks to have come to a close. Dormund will seek out Elena for some answers, likely the best choice under the circumstances, but conversing with a loved one should never be overlooked either.
Anyway, I have written the next part, and it goes to Davios. The last time we saw him, he was seeking out the Valyrian warrior, Vysela. He would find her in her given room at the back of a makeshift hospital, however not before he encountered a mess when finding Piggy, Harlan and Jorio in the kitchens. Harlan demanding more gold, Davios put a quick close to his demands however, and sent him on his way with a bitter ending. Davios then talked with Piggy, who revealed he would not be joining Davios on his return back to Westeros. Davios later seeked out Vysela, catching her in the midst of a sad session, of which Davios later learnt that she and Hughie would be leaving Andalos entirely. When confronted with the decision to accept their choice or interrogate them further on the matter, you chose the latter. The new part takes off where it left off.
Dormund
The cool breeze awoke him from his haunted, restless slumber, a night of terror. Had it all been a dream? Dormund let out a groan… more, pulling himself up in a bed which he recognised. He was in his quarters, yet it was nothing like he remembered.
The grey stone walls were oozing with moisture, as if the ice had just began to melt. All possessions that had once been were no longer apparent, and his quarters were quite bland, ignoring his bed. Yet what was especially strange was that the doors to his balcony were wide open, lightly frosting over the battlements and stone floor.
Dormund tried to suck in a deep breath, yet the attempt pained him, like his throat was constricted. He immediately raised his hand to his neck, to address the agonising stinging. The brushed over a wound which brought him more pain that imaginable. Pulling himself out of his light sheets and fur blankets, he made haste to the mirror hanging on the wall. The… [view original content]
Hughie looked to Davios with pleading eyes, while Vysela avoided eye contact entirely. Davios studied her expression carefully, there was something picking at him, something hidden which he could not simply avoid. Their sudden wishes to leave had come all too sudden, and Davios could not let himself lose yet another set of friends.
“There’s something you’re not telling me Vysela.” Davios accused after some thought, bringing on a fiery gaze from Hughie. “I told you, we know nothing!” Hughie shouted in her defense, but Davios shook his head. “You know nothing.” He corrected, before shifting his eyes back to the Valyrian. “And you won’t leave until I have answers.” Davios stated clearly, enraging Hughie further.
“You’re a real shit, Davios. I thought you were better than this!” Hughie spat, clenching his fists. Davios felt himself readjusting his posture, preparing himself for a fight. His light green eyes met Hughie’s deep blue eye, an infuriated glare staring him down.
“Enough.” Vysela demanded, her tone uncharacteristically strong for her position. Davios watched Hughie’s attitude shrink to a mere frown. “Vys…” He started, but she shook her head. “Go to the horses, I won’t be long.” She promised, and Hughie hesitantly nodded. He turned his gaze back to Davios, a frown heavy on his expression, before turning and exiting the room.
Davios let out a long sigh, releasing his fists. He lowered his head, staring at his hands, or hand. The hand which had been used to kill in name of faith, in name of vengeance and survival. Davios shut his eyes, thinking of the faces he had cut the life from, the countless faces. Yet the thought of the savage First Men butchering his father filled that grief with a burning anger. Davios tightened his hand into a fist once again, until feeling the soft silky hands of Vysela stroke over them. He rose his head.
“The Cobra.” She started, lowering her eyes. “He was part of a Ghiscari militia group, known as the Serpent’s Venom.” Vysela revealed, and Davios furrowed his eyebrows.
“The Ghiscari?” Davios asked, and Vysela nodded grimly. “My people’s sworn nemesis. Yet this militia group is different, they are highly trained and lethal killers, and they captured me.” Vysela muttered bitterly, pulling her hands back. She sat herself on the floor, and Davios found himself joining her.
“They would have killed me, were it not for the Cobra. He was different, and he promised me a life in safety, a life in Westeros. Though there is no safety, not from the Serpent’s Venom.” Vysela said with a dooming conclusion, and Davios frowned.
“I promised him I would keep you safe.” Davios remarked, thinking back to the Valyrian’s last words. He shook his head. “I won’t go against my word.” Davios vowed, and Vysela placed her soft hand on his cheek.
“You have a kind heart, Andal, but there is no safety from the Serpent’s here. My only chance is with my family, in the Freehold.” She said with a certain tone of sadness. “If you truly care for my safety, Andal, you will let me go.” Davios frowned, looking into her bright lavender blue eyes.
“It’s Davios.” He corrected, and she smiled, running her soft hands over his coarse stubble. “And if it’s what you want then I-” Davios found himself interrupted as her soft luscious lips made contact with his, yet he felt no urge to pull away.
The kiss drew out, and letting her lead, Davios was pushed onto his back. She crawled on top of him, sitting on his lap and kissing him again, while working on his shirt with one hand. Davios reached a hand around her waist, coursing up her blouse, while hooking his arm secured around the back of her neck. With a quick and graceless movement, Davios pinned himself atop of her, and found her grinning in response. He smirked, approving of her behaviour, before attending to the rest of her dressing.
-
The sound of the old clanging metal, along with constant squawking from seagulls, filled Davios’ ears as he joined Vysela and Hughie at the harbour. Their horses were saddled and prepped for journeying, with Hughie already straddled into his steed. Vysela quickly joined him, climbing onto her saddle and taking a seat. Davios approached Hughie with an awkward lump in his throat.
“Travel safely.” He gestured, clearing his throat. “I know you’ll take care of her, so I need not remind you of that.” Davios warmly stated, and Hughie nodded in reply. Davios stared at him for a moment, until he finally witnessed him break. Wet tears streamed down his eye, and the young man immediately climbed down from his horse and pulled Davios into an embracement.
“Stay safe, Davios.” Hughie begged, and Davios nodded. “I will.” He assured, but Hughie shook his head, pulling away from him. “Don’t make this the last time I see you.” He enjoined, and Davios gave a weak smile. “I promise.” Hughie seemed less than convinced, but he nodded all the same.
Hughie turned and climbed onto his horse, following after Vysela who had already taken her leave. Davios frowned, watching as they slowly disappeared behind the mass crowds of fishers, merchants and logistic workers. He wondered if he would ever see them again, but the pain of thought was too great to cherish for too long. He sighed, turning his eyes to the sea. The sea he would be back on in not so long a time.
“Lord Davios?” He heard asked, and Davios spun around to the name-caller. Davios’ eyes landed on not one, but three men, with a clear leader in the mid of their group. The two soldiers beside him wore armour identical to that of Davios when he had embarked on the invasion.
The middle man too wore the armour of an Andal warrior. Consisting of iron mail and a white tabard with a red seven-pointed star. However he also wore a white and red cape which fell down to his thighs, held on by leather straps. Leather which also sheathed a steel dirk and set of daggers, yet his main weapon appeared to swing by his waist. A steel longsword, with a leather banded hilt and a circular ruby pommel.
Davios quickly studied the man’s face. Short greasy brown hair, a light grey beard and hazel eyes with red specks. A gruesome scar ran down his left cheek, and his brow was lightly wrinkled. Davios noted the extended hand, yet refused the gesture momentarily, being somewhat sceptical.
“Who are you?” Davios asked curiously, and the man gave a small apologetic smile. “My name is Dickon Finch, I’m a warlord in service of King Noriphos. I’ll be adding my men to your efforts.” He announced, and Davios gave him a smile in return, shaking his hand.
“Highly appreciated.” Davios thanked, and Dickon nodded in return. “Is there something I can do for you, Lord Dickon?” Davios finally asked, curious as for why he had been sought out. Dickon sighed, rubbing his hands. “I’m sure you will understand I’m a little eager to know the situation that I am sending my men into. Perhaps we could sit down and discuss the circumstances of this grand voyage we shall soon embark on?” Dickon offered, and as Davios was about to nod, the sounding of horns grasped their attention.
Davios, and likely the entire population of the harbour, turned to see a small fleet approaching the docks. Davios eyed the banners flying from the flagship’s mast. While hard to spot, Davios spotted a yellow burning tower, with a black and red backing. The Grafton’s? He thought, his thoughts drifting to the Fingers, and then his father. Dickon sighed, shaking his head.
“Another king with issues in the west, hardly a rare sight.” Dickon stated, but Davios felt intrigued to meet the vessels as they docked. Davios turned his attention back to Lord Finch. “Shall we return to my quarters and talk?” He asked, and Davios felt himself at a stumble, turning his gaze back to the ships again.
[Coverse with Dickon] I'm sure Davios needs Dickon's troops, and it would be a bit rude to ignore him, and give a bad first impression. Who knows, perhaps we could make a friend in Dickon
Btw, there was something that caught my attention in this part: In couple scenes there was an emphasis on Davios hands/fists - both of them. However, I believe he lost his left hand, right? It didn't really take anything away from the part, but I just thought I should point this out
Davios
Hughie looked to Davios with pleading eyes, while Vysela avoided eye contact entirely. Davios studied her expression carefully, th… moreere was something picking at him, something hidden which he could not simply avoid. Their sudden wishes to leave had come all too sudden, and Davios could not let himself lose yet another set of friends.
“There’s something you’re not telling me Vysela.” Davios accused after some thought, bringing on a fiery gaze from Hughie. “I told you, we know nothing!” Hughie shouted in her defense, but Davios shook his head. “You know nothing.” He corrected, before shifting his eyes back to the Valyrian. “And you won’t leave until I have answers.” Davios stated clearly, enraging Hughie further.
“You’re a real shit, Davios. I thought you were better than this!” Hughie spat, clenching his fists. Davios felt himself readjusting his posture, preparing himself for a fight. His light green eyes met Hughie’s deep blue … [view original content]
[Coverse with Dickon] I'm sure Davios needs Dickon's troops, and it would be a bit rude to ignore him, and give a bad first impression. Who … moreknows, perhaps we could make a friend in Dickon
Btw, there was something that caught my attention in this part: In couple scenes there was an emphasis on Davios hands/fists - both of them. However, I believe he lost his left hand, right? It didn't really take anything away from the part, but I just thought I should point this out
Davios
Hughie looked to Davios with pleading eyes, while Vysela avoided eye contact entirely. Davios studied her expression carefully, th… moreere was something picking at him, something hidden which he could not simply avoid. Their sudden wishes to leave had come all too sudden, and Davios could not let himself lose yet another set of friends.
“There’s something you’re not telling me Vysela.” Davios accused after some thought, bringing on a fiery gaze from Hughie. “I told you, we know nothing!” Hughie shouted in her defense, but Davios shook his head. “You know nothing.” He corrected, before shifting his eyes back to the Valyrian. “And you won’t leave until I have answers.” Davios stated clearly, enraging Hughie further.
“You’re a real shit, Davios. I thought you were better than this!” Hughie spat, clenching his fists. Davios felt himself readjusting his posture, preparing himself for a fight. His light green eyes met Hughie’s deep blue … [view original content]
That was a great part, I have the feeling it'll set up some pretty important stuff for Davios' storyline in the future. I doubt he's going to see Vysela or Hughie again. After all, they travel into completely different directions and even if they both reach their destinations, Davios doesn't even know her family name, so finding her again could be quite the task. But that Dickon guy intrigues me. I got the feeling he could be an important character in Davios' storyline.
[Converse with Dickon]
I agree with what Wildling said here. Dickon wishes to speak to him and I guess he'd prefer right now. It might come across as rude to prefer speaking to someone completly unrelated right now. On top of that, we can't know if the Grafton's even want to speak to him. On top of that, while I have the feeling Dickon could be important, I don't know if he can be trusted or not. A talk with him could reveal more about the kind of person he is.
Davios
Hughie looked to Davios with pleading eyes, while Vysela avoided eye contact entirely. Davios studied her expression carefully, th… moreere was something picking at him, something hidden which he could not simply avoid. Their sudden wishes to leave had come all too sudden, and Davios could not let himself lose yet another set of friends.
“There’s something you’re not telling me Vysela.” Davios accused after some thought, bringing on a fiery gaze from Hughie. “I told you, we know nothing!” Hughie shouted in her defense, but Davios shook his head. “You know nothing.” He corrected, before shifting his eyes back to the Valyrian. “And you won’t leave until I have answers.” Davios stated clearly, enraging Hughie further.
“You’re a real shit, Davios. I thought you were better than this!” Hughie spat, clenching his fists. Davios felt himself readjusting his posture, preparing himself for a fight. His light green eyes met Hughie’s deep blue … [view original content]
Davios
Hughie looked to Davios with pleading eyes, while Vysela avoided eye contact entirely. Davios studied her expression carefully, th… moreere was something picking at him, something hidden which he could not simply avoid. Their sudden wishes to leave had come all too sudden, and Davios could not let himself lose yet another set of friends.
“There’s something you’re not telling me Vysela.” Davios accused after some thought, bringing on a fiery gaze from Hughie. “I told you, we know nothing!” Hughie shouted in her defense, but Davios shook his head. “You know nothing.” He corrected, before shifting his eyes back to the Valyrian. “And you won’t leave until I have answers.” Davios stated clearly, enraging Hughie further.
“You’re a real shit, Davios. I thought you were better than this!” Hughie spat, clenching his fists. Davios felt himself readjusting his posture, preparing himself for a fight. His light green eyes met Hughie’s deep blue … [view original content]
As always, these are fantastic, and I can only praise your work with pure admiration. You continue to improve from each previous drawing and portrait, and I think that is truly special, all of these are truly special. While I'm sure Liquid and Mathea will have their own high praises, I cannot exaggerate just how much Dromon looks as I pictured him when I first thought him up. You've truly managed to capture my imagination and put it onto paper for everyone to see, and I love it! Keep up the great work!
Thanks I must say Dromon is my own favorite of these as well, especially since I was a bit unsure if I could make it work when I received the description - especially the helmet was a challenge. It does look pretty epic though, just imagine that coming towards you on a battlefield
As always, these are fantastic, and I can only praise your work with pure admiration. You continue to improve from each previous drawing and… more portrait, and I think that is truly special, all of these are truly special. While I'm sure Liquid and Mathea will have their own high praises, I cannot exaggerate just how much Dromon looks as I pictured him when I first thought him up. You've truly managed to capture my imagination and put it onto paper for everyone to see, and I love it! Keep up the great work!
Wow, these are incredible! I simply love this style of the drawings, that is gorgeous! First of all, Darren looks just as imagined. It's just like Alara, he is spot-on and I feel very happy to see his drawing. I remember it being mentioned a while ago, so I was really looking forward for it and you certainly did not disappoint Samira is one where I hadn't the clearest picture of, as I somehow thought she had light brown hair, but I was proven wrong there Her drawing is just as amazing, I absolutely love that cloak! It's also been a while since her latest part, so it was a good reminder of how she does look for the next part, which I look forward for. I must say, she also has the best background of the three, I love this smooth blueish-grey fog effect, I think it really suits the character. And Dromon, given his connection to Alara, is one I am quite interested in, especially as I haven't gotten the clearest picture of him either, so I would have loved to see him without the helmet. Nonetheless, this armour has to be among the coolest things you ever drew here. It gives me something of a Skyrim vibe, which is a good thing. Daedric armour, anyone? Anyways, wonderful work on all three of them! Thank you for drawing them
Alright, so I'll close the vote down here. Davios will choose to converse with Dickon, which is likely the better choice of the two. At the very least, Davios will get to know Dickon, and will be able to get a good start with the man, rather than pursuing his own agendas.
Anyway, my apologies for the wait but the next part is finally ready, and it goes to Torv. The last time we saw Torv he had just awoken from his concussion in the fight with Lord Samwick Tallhart. Torrhen's Square had just withstood an attack from the Stark's pursuing them, and naturally Samwick wasn't happy with it. However after learning that Torv was on a mission to deliver the Weeping Stone to Barrowton, he saw it as an opportunity to quickly get word to the Barrow's and request aid. Torv was soon on a raft, accompanied by Rose 'the Black Thief' and Jesse the Exile. They ended up beached near another raft, which they were quick to discover was rained down with arrows of obsidian. With night falling, Torv had to decide whether to set up camp or take their chances on the river at night. You chose for Torv and co. to set up camp, and this part resumes where the last finished off.
Comments
[Seek out Gareth]
Bethany
And feels 
Ah, I loved this part, it gave me a really wide range of feels. First of all, that creepy guy that peeped on her concerns me. I don't know who that was, but judging from his attitude, I remember that Jaycen has met a similar man before, that Ben Tarth guy that was there when he arrived at Blackhaven. Maybe that was him, justifying my bad first impression I got on him. Just peeping on her, that's harmless, more or less, but the fact that he got so cocky and that she had to outright beat him out of the room concerns me. Maybe Blackhaven is not the safe haven Jaycen hopes it to be for his family. I mean, there is Edric, but he's old and won't be able to protect anyone if things go south. But ah, he is sweet and I loved the talk between him and Bethany, no matter how quickly his mental health seems to leave him. I am glad to see that there is at least someone in the family that genuinely loves all of them, especially seeing how helplessly estranged Jaycen is to Gareth at the very least. Maybe even to Meghan. As much as I hate to say it, but it seems he pushed it a bit too far in this part.
[Seek out Meghan]
Alright, so I think this will be for the best here. Jaycen's an ass, so I won't seek him out. He can sit alone and think of what he did. Edric probably doesn't need the company that much right now, even though I like him. He'd surely appreciate it, but there are others who need it more. And Gareth... well, I don't want to ruin anything for him, so it might be better to leave him alone for now. Or semi-alone. Cousins are fair game in Westeros after all. What concerns me a bit more is Maddelyn's age. Has it been stated how old she is? Because I got the impression she's barely out of her teens. But well, even then, Gareth's a grown man and he can make his own mistakes. Meghan's the one I'm concerned about. Her outburst came really quickly and without much warning. While I have no doubt that she was hurt by Jaycen's words, that was still way too much of a reaction for this, especially as she should be used to it. So I think there is more bothering her, a lot more. Clearly, having returned to her childhood home and seeing her father in such a state has hit her and maybe that triggered her reaction, but there's always the possibility that there's even more bothering her. I think at this point Meghan could benefit the most from having some company, so I'll choose her.
[Seek out Meghan]
[Seek out Meghan]
Hello everyone! I have a little surprise for you all. A new illustration, yay!
And it is the Hungry Wolf himself, King Theon Stark:
And another fantastic drawing at that! You certainly have been improving over the months, and you never cease to impress with each drawing that comes
Very inspiring, I'm looking forward to showing more of Theon very soon! Eager to see more soon 
I love that one! Theon looks a lot like I imagined him to look. In fact, that's an uncanny resemblance to the way I always pictured him when reading about him. I don't know how you always manage to do that with all of your art for the stories here, but it does indeed blow me away. Awesome, keep up the great work
[Accept Theon’s offer – Break your promise]
I think in contrary it'll be benefic for her to get with theon ,
althoug it might make the character look like a bad person ,
but i dont know he said implying that he dont love his wife
perhaps that he has something for her
[Seek out Meghan]
That's why some names were familiar ,i knew i heard Lyra beofre ... and himself mentionning edrick tought at first he was to talking about the lord .Great part
also mors orgrin , i tought isnt that someone i know ? hahaha
Very nice drawing !
Alright, so I'll close this vote. Bethany will seek out Meghan.
Now normally I'd roughly say how this might impact the next scene, but considering I need to show that scene before I can show Jaycen's next part, you're all in luck with another Bethany part!
With no recap needed, I present to you the new super short part 
I'll be releasing the Jaycen part within the next few days, once the voting has closed for this new one 
Bethany
She rose from her seat, embarrassed by the commotion that had stirred by the hands of her family. Her head lowered, she shifted her gaze to Lord Edric, who seemed to stare into the oblivion. Bethany sighed, rubbing her wrists awkwardly.
“I’m really sorry about this, Grandfather.” She apologised, however Edric simply shrugged his shoulders. “No need to apologise, sweet Bethy.” He said, a smile appearing on his aged lips. She felt a weight lift off her shoulders as a sense of relief blew over her.
“I should go check on mother, would you excuse me?” Edric chuckled, slowly rising from his chair. “Go, I will see you in the morrow.” He said, before slowly gathering his strength and retreating from the hall. Bethany did the same, feeling unsure on what to expect with her mother.
Passing through the halls, Bethany climbed the steps that would lead her to the floor her mother’s quarters were. Reaching the floor, Bethany walked with haste until she was upon her mother’s room, her door left a crack open. Hesitant, and oddly worried, Bethany peeked through the crack. She saw nothing.
Pushing the door open, Bethany first noticed a mess of clothes and jewellery, of which she suspected had been thrown around in a tantrum. Recently. Then where is she? The question worried her, as her eyes frantically darted around the room searching for clues. With no luck, Bethany let out a frustrated sigh. She walked over to her mother’s bed, sitting with a huff, feeling something other than stone beneath her feet.
She looked down, noticing she had trotted over her mother’s evening dress, which happened to be the same dress she had been wearing at the meal. Bethany frowned, bending down and picking up the dress, or at the very least trying to. It did not take her long until she figured out it was linked to another dress, which was tied to a blouse, and so on. Bethany followed the trail, buried in junk that had been thrown around, until it led her to the window. A long trail of clothes stretched down the wall like a rope, but the line pulled slack.
A sudden ignition of a torch in the distance caught Bethany’s attention. It was her mother, it had to be. Thinking of the quickest way to reach her, she knew that by the time she reached the stairs and exited the castle, the likelihood of the light still being there would be low. Feeling limited with choices, Bethany bit her lip and lifted her dress, pulling a leg over the window sill.
A warm breeze drifted through her hair as she awkwardly pulled herself out of the window, clutching onto the makeshift rope her mother had quickly secured together. Here we go, she thought, taking a deep breath. Bethany cautiously eased herself off the edge and instantly felt gravity take control of her. She tightly clutched onto the soft fabric, not daring to look beneath her.
She broomed her hands down the makeshift rope with a harsh grip, hearing the ripping in the fabric as she slowly descended. She had almost made it to the ground when she felt the line suddenly go slack between her fingers, and felt herself start to fall. Resisting the urge to scream, Bethany landed with a thud against the hard gravel ground, her shoulder being the first to suffer.
Gritting her teeth, she forbid herself to scream. Instead she groaned with frustration backing her, as she started to grow irritated with pursuing her mother on a goose chase. Pulling herself up, Bethany slowly walked to the small building which was dimly lit. She recognised it to be the stables.
Pushing the front doors open, she finally saw her. Donned in riding leathers and saddling her horse, her wet eyes panicked when they spotted Bethany. “Mum.” Bethany announced to herself, coming off harsher than she expected. She could see where tears had ruined her makeup, and where they still continued to flow.
“Sweet bird…” She started, shaking her head as she wiped away the tears. Bethany felt little sympathy, instead she felt angered. “You’re leaving?!” She yelled, shocking her mother and herself. Meghan’s lips trembled as she tried to hold back the tears. “I can’t do this anymore, Beth…” Bethany shook her head.
“Stop it mum! You’re stronger than him, he’s an arse for what he did, but you’re overreacting. Think about your father, about your children, you’re just going to walk out on us?” Bethany growled, and was surprised by the sudden change of emotion on her mother’s face.
“I am thinking about my children! I’m thinking about Alara, and I can’t live any longer knowing she could die at any moment. I won’t lose any more of my children…” Bethany immediately felt bad for snapping at her, but she was still so confused.
“I miss Alara too, but there’s nothing we can do for her.” Bethany claimed, and Meghan shook her head, now walking over to Bethany. “There is, and I promise you I will bring her back home, but you must promise me something. Promise me you will not tell your father, or anyone else, that I’ve left.” Bethany shook her head, tears beginning to well up in her eyes from the pain in her shoulder, as well as the surrealness of the situation.
“Mother please…” She begged, overwhelmed. She shook her head. “Promise me Beth!” She demanded, scaring her. The tables had turned all too suddenly, and left her in a vulnerable position, and she hated it. She wanted to run. Though she knew if she did this could possibly be that last time she saw her mother, but could she really keep such a secret from her father?
[Promise her] [Quickly leave]
Meghan! Wow, that got me by surprise, even though I probably shouldn't have. After all, she is Alara's mother and as it turns out, they are more alike than I thought. Climbing out of her window to go after her daughter all by herself, I love it! That's the same spirit Alara has and I got no doubt that Bethany can sympathize with that as well. I'm just having a really bad feeling for this and feel like there will be some major heartbreak on the way, like either Meghan or Alara won't make it back home. Oh god, why must I think these thoughts
I also feel bad for Bethy now, because if I'm not mistaken, we sent Gareth home to Nightsong in Jaycen's part, meaning she's going to be all alone after her father leaves for Qarlton's war. And considering that there have been hints that Blackhaven is far from the safe place Jaycen hopes it to me, makes me really concerned for her future. But well, on a completely different vibe, I just have to mention real quick what an adorable nickname "sweet bird" is. I remember Jaycen had a similar one for her, in what was his softest moment in the story so far. But man, I loved their interaction here, gave me warm fuzzy family feels 
[Promise her]
All things considered though, this sounds like the right choice. Meghan won't be stopped and I fully believe that her cause is a good one here. It made me realize that Alara in her current position doesn't really have a reason to go back home. Maybe a reason to leave Theon's army, but none to return to her family. Meghan's arrival could give her such a reason. Considering that this is my main wish for Alara's future, as well as the one I consider to be the best for her, I won't do anything that could compromise Meghan's mission. On top of that, I think Bethany should bid her mother a proper goodbye. Regardless of wether or not she makes it back, this is a dangerous journey and I believe both deserve to properly say their goodbyes. Hopefully it won't be their final meeting, but if it is, then the one that survives will feel horrible if Bethany just leaves quickly.
[Promise her]
Well, that's surprising. I'm inclined to agree with Liquid, just turning away without a word would be a horrible goodbye, knowing that Meghan might never come back... Actually I have a pretty strong feeling that she will never come back.
[Promise her]
[Promise her]
Alright, this vote looks to have come to a close. Bethany will promise to keep Meghan's departure a secret from her father, which is certainly a difficult decision for her. I have the next part ready, which is the final continuation to the Caron's for now, and that goes to Jaycen.
The last we saw of Jaycen, he was arriving at Blackhaven, at which we got further detail shown through Bethany's parts. However before entering the castle, he had a discussion with the young and surprising intelligent Keat Musgood, who suggested that sending Gareth back to Nightsong would be more beneficial than not for not only the Marches, but the entire kingdom. Jaycen was left to consider this when entering Blackhaven, in which he was met by his brother-in-law, Gendel, and Ben Tarth. They soon brought him to Lord Edric, to which Jaycen came to realise the recent decrepit state of his father-in-law. After long discussion, Edric asked whether Jaycen would like to keep Gareth at Blackhaven, or have him return to Nightsong. You lot chose to have him go back to Nightsong, and with Bethany's most recent part, we pick up from Jaycen's story after that evening.
Jaycen
The howling gust roared through his window, blowing over the small items in his dark quarters. Jaycen pulled himself from his bed, though not with ease. A striking pain shot up his back as he rose, causing him to cringe to the sudden pain. His son had got him good, bowling him over in his chair and doing his back a disservice.
Groaning it off, he walked over to the window to close the shutters. A lot had been placed on his mind this evening, and none of it pleased him. Any progress in the repairing of his marriage has surely been broken, and he wouldn’t have a chance to explain himself to Meghan until he returned from Qarlton’s war. If I do. It was a chilling thought, war. It was the last thing he wanted to be a part of, and he had already witnessed enough fighting for his lifetime.
Pulling the shutters to a close, Jaycen let out a heavy sigh. For a moment he just stared at the dark wall, thinking. Perhaps things could have been different if he had made the effort for everyone that mattered to him. Perhaps things could have been better. Ryman, Gareth, Bethany, Briala… and Alara. She wasn’t his daughter, but out of all his children she resembled the most of him. Ironic.
The thought of Alara unsettled him, but not for the obvious reasons of her being the daughter of another man that he trusted dearly, no. It unsettled him because he was unable to forgive himself for what he put the poor girl through, and he rightfully punished himself for it with fucking up the rest of his family. Jaycen clenched his fists, gritting his teeth. I have to make amends.
The discussion he had with Keat Musgood was one which constantly floated around his mind, and while he did not agree with it entirely, he knew it was the right thing to do. He turned his gaze away from the wall, walking towards the door, feeling his way through the darkness. Securing a hand on the knob, he twisted it and cracked the door open ajar. He needed to talk to Gareth, and he knew exactly where to find him.
-
The courtyard was mostly silent, apart from the chatter of few guards that patrolled the walls or jested at the armoury. Jaycen walked past them to where his son stood, a bow in hand, his other belligerently freeing a half dozen arrows from the straw dummy. Jaycen brought himself to a halt, a few metres away from his son.
“Gareth.” He said coldly, and the young man turned his attention to his father with a menacing gaze. “Piss off.” He muttered. “We need to talk.” Jaycen persisted, to which his son shook his head and took his arrows.
“There is nothing to talk about.” He murmured in response. “I bet you wish it was me who had died in that skirmish, rather than Ryman.” Jaycen’s eye widened, shocked that his son would think up such a thing, but he did not respond any further than that. Gareth rolled his eyes, nocking an arrow beside the shaft, pulling back the string and letting the arrow loose. It pierced the dummy between the eyes, just like the others had. Jaycen sighed.
“You’re right. Ryman was the man that should have ascended when I come on to pass. I trained him for it, moulded him into the man that would achieve more than I ever could…” Jaycen felt a lump build up in his throat. “But I couldn’t save him.” Gareth lowered his bow, a frown replacing the anger he had just displayed.
“Then I had to return home. Return to an unfaithful wife, who would be shattered by the news I would deliver. Return to a daughter that had already been suffering the loss of her betrothed, and to a son that had no care for ruling at all.” Jaycen said grimly, and he could see Gareth’s hand clenching around the shaft of the bow.
“Yet on that day, something miraculous happened.” Jaycen admitted, thinking back to only a year ago. “You stood up to the challenge, to the new responsibilities that you were burdened with. You began to teach yourself, you started training. You surprised many, and won the heart of those who had lost hope.”
“You were never meant to have Nightsong, nor the responsibilities that came with it. Yet you have proved to me that you have grown worthy of it, and made me regret that I did not bother to mentor you.” Jaycen sighed. “That is why I’ve decided to send you back to Nightsong, where you will be the acting Lord Caron while I’m gone.” Gareth’s eyes lifted, shocked and in disbelief. He shook his head unbelievably, but Jaycen remained in his stern stature, his expression strict and rigid.
“You’re serious?” He asked, and Jaycen nodded accordingly. Gareth chuckled, shaking his head. “I don’t know what to say.” He admitted awkwardly. “I’m sorry for jumping you tonight.” He apologised, and Jaycen shook his head. “You’re hardly the one needing to apologise.” Jaycen responded, and Gareth broke into a bright laughter.
Jaycen wondered if this would be the last time he’d ever have a good moment with his son, or any of his family. The thought worried him, as there really was no clear answer, all he could do was pray and hope that he might return.
-
The flying banners of lightning and nightingale flapped in the wind, the makeshift camp nearly disassembled from the days spent at Blackhaven. Jaycen overlooked the process from black stone walls of the castle, Lord Edric stood beside him, accompanied by a few household guards.
Jaycen stared at the men and women working in the fields, a grim look held in his expression. Many of them would fall in Qarlton’s mad conquest for power, of this Jaycen had no doubt. The sight of the Red Mountains was something that Jaycen could only admire now that he was so close to leaving it, and it was best left to admire from a distance. However with the circumstances, their march would lead them through the dry valleys, until they met with the Stoneway. Then they were in the watch of the Yronwood’s, which was an unsettling image to place in his mind.
Jaycen let out a sigh, backing away from the battlements and turning his gaze to the old deformed Lord Edric. His old amber eyes staring aimlessly at the hills ahead of them. He rested his hand against the battlements, a slight tremor to them.
“There was a time where I was marched off to war, and brought great chaos to the kingdom through my actions.” The old man lamented, lowering a sorrowful gaze to his shaking hand. He frowned, staring at his old features. “Now this is my curse.” He acknowledged, lifting his hand and tapping on his temple.
“Do you think I will commit the same actions, Edric?” Jaycen provoked, and the old man gently shook his head. “Not you, but your friend.” Edric continued, to which Jaycen scowled. “Qarlton is no friend of mine.” Edric sighed.
“Perhaps you should rethink your relations with him.” Jaycen raised an eyebrow, staring at Edric with a mixture of disbelief and vexation. “That man broke my family apart!” Jaycen growled, clenching his hands into fists. The very thought of Qarlton angered Jaycen immensely. The trust that was betrayed, the vows that were broken, it infuriated him beyond measure.
“It broke your marriage.” Edric corrected, now turning his gaze to Jaycen. “I have come to terms with my fate, and I know I’m losing my mind. Though I have yet to lose my wisdom, and while I may not possess the memories of what once was, I know that the strain in your family was not the doing of Qarlton, but of your own.” Jaycen chuckled and rolled his eye.
“Your wisdom fails you then, old man. Qarlton was the cause of my family’s downfall. Had it not been for him we would have been fine.” Jaycen stated confidently, almost too self-assured to see otherwise. Edric shook his head. “Perhaps, but it was not Qarlton that became distant to his wife, or abused his daughter.”
“She was no daughter of mine.” Jaycen muttered for a final time. Edric smiled, shaking his head. “No, but you were her father, she had no other. The way I see it, Meghan had a choice, and she chose you over him. All you have done with that is seal a regret into her mind, and set a grudge in your family.” Edric concluded, and for a first time, Jaycen found himself speechless. While he had thought he had come to terms with himself, Edric had pointed out many flaws in himself, many of which Jaycen had abhorred and avoided. Now they had been disclosed, and Jaycen was oddly fretting as a consequence.
“Want my advice? Go say your farewells while you still have the chance. You’ll regret it if you don’t.” The suggestion was one Jaycen now took very seriously, and was one he was determined to follow through. He extended his open hand out to Edric in gesture, in which he weakly grasped in response.
“I appreciate everything you’re doing for my family. House Caron is in your debt.” Jaycen stated, and Edric simply shook his head and smiled. “There is no debt, Lord Jaycen. This is a family matter, and family will act accordingly. I’ll take care of them.” He assured, and Jaycen nodded in thanks.
-
The courtyard was crowded with young nobles and smallfolk from the town around Blackhaven, all watching the events which clearly seldom occurred. Jaycen stood before Bethany, Gareth and Gendel. Gladys had already mounted her steed, and sat beside Keat Musgood. The only one missing was his wife, Meghan.
Jaycen took a step closer to Bethany, her eyes wet with tears. She had a small, adoring smile on her lips. Jaycen took a hold of her hands, cupping them in his own. “Your mother?” He asked, his eyes wandering around the court searching for her. She shook her head. “She is too grieved to show herself.” Bethany mumbled, her voice croaky from what Jaycen could tell was some long weeping. He nodded.
“This isn’t goodbye, little bird. I have no doubt in my mind that I will see you all again soon.” He whispered, but his words were incongruent. “For now, take care of yourself and your mother. Perhaps that old man too.” He jested, and a warm smile spread across her teary face. “I will.” She promised, before the two embraced for a moment which was snatched away far too soon.
Jaycen turned his eye to Gareth, his charming smile had been wiped and replaced with a grim frown. Jaycen sighed, extending a hand to him. “I know you’ll make me proud.” Jaycen stated, also turning his gaze to Bethany. “The both of you.” He added. Gareth grasped Jaycen’s hand, also pulling him into a meaningful hug which Jaycen did not expect.
“Come home, father.” Gareth mumbled into his coat, and Jaycen stared out at the gravel beneath them, entranced in thought. I will, he wanted to say, but he wasn’t ready to make such a promise. “I’ll try.” He promised, before pulling away from his son. He turned his attention to Gendel.
“I appreciate what you’re doing for me, Gendel. I won’t let it go unnoticed.” Jaycen assured, and Gendel chuckled, waving his hand. “Not a worry there, brother. Besides, some bonding with my nephew should be good, it’s been too long.” Gendel stated, and Jaycen noticed Bethany’s eyes widen in shock, yet she remained silent.
Jaycen nodded to them all, turning and mounting his steed. Gladys and Keat stared at him with intent eyes. “Are you ready to depart, Lord Jaycen?” Gladys asked, to which Jaycen nodded. She replicated the gesture in return. “I will prepare the march then. See you at the vanguard.” With these final words, she took her leave.
Keat turned his steed and accompanied her, giving Jaycen a final moment to look at his children. There were mixed expressions on their faces, and these would be the faces he would remember for however long he would be gone. He moved his gaze to Lord Edric, who stood by the main doors of Blackhaven’s keep, accompanied by the young Ben Tarth. Jaycen gave the man a final nod, before turning his mount and heading for the gates. His thoughts drifting to Meghan.
No decision this time.
Oh man, this was such a great part! While I obviously have quite the antipathy against him for the way he treated Alara (even though that has kinda been my fault for making it such a prominent part of their backstories), I must admit that Jaycen is a very complex character and I think you showed his softer side very well here in his talk with Gareth and Bethany. Edric is the Feels-MVP in this part though, that man is perhaps the most tragic character in the entire story at this point. Jaycen is somewhat of a tragic character as well, but a lot of his family grief is solely his fault, Edric was right for calling him out on this. And now it seems like the Carons are indeed broken in more than one way, with every single one of them soon being at a different location. I mean, the family was basically shattered the moment Alara left Nightsong and Ryman's death only made it worse. But now I doubt that they'll all get together like this ever again. Maybe something happens to Meghan or Alara, which I am always quite paranoid about, but Jaycen's opinion on the danger he is heading to is one I see as quite realistic as well. And of course, there's no saying what trouble Gareth and Bethany have to face. Especially Bethany concerns me, because she is alone and without allies at a castle that might not be as safe as they all think. But Gareth concerns me as well, being the defender of Nightsong against potential dornish raids now. Argh, I can only see many grim moments for my dear Caron's in the future.
I just have to wonder what would have happened if Bethany would have told Jaycen about Meghan's plans. Would he have stopped her? How? I mean, they can't just lock her away to keep her from saving her daughter, I doubt even Jaycen would be capable of such cruelty. Really makes me wonder what could have happened there.
Alright, well there's no vote to close, but I will announce that I have the next part ready. It goes back to Dormund, which we learnt has been revived for unknown reasons. The last we saw Dormund Bolton was at the end of the first chapter, so there is little to catch up to on his story. Of course, if you do not recall his passing, Dormund and his close friend, Ryden Frost, were murdered at the hands of King Rogar during his tantrum over his eldest sons death. This new part picks up where we last left off with Dormund.
Dormund
The cool breeze awoke him from his haunted, restless slumber, a night of terror. Had it all been a dream? Dormund let out a groan, pulling himself up in a bed which he recognised. He was in his quarters, yet it was nothing like he remembered.
The grey stone walls were oozing with moisture, as if the ice had just began to melt. All possessions that had once been were no longer apparent, and his quarters were quite bland, ignoring his bed. Yet what was especially strange was that the doors to his balcony were wide open, lightly frosting over the battlements and stone floor.
Dormund tried to suck in a deep breath, yet the attempt pained him, like his throat was constricted. He immediately raised his hand to his neck, to address the agonising stinging. The brushed over a wound which brought him more pain that imaginable. Pulling himself out of his light sheets and fur blankets, he made haste to the mirror hanging on the wall. The man he saw left him shocked.
The pale being was in many ways similar as he was different to Dormund. He stood a same height, and was identifiable by the two fingers he had lost as punishment by his father, yet every other detail screamed a stranger. His hair has been shaved clean, and his body left with deep cuts which would take a while to heal. The most noticeable was the faint but deep cut down his face, running down his right brow, then resuming faintly on his cheek, and finishing at the lower of his lip.
However it was the deep wound on his neck which was the most visible, a stab wound, and one which flashed the memory into his mind. When his father had turned his best friend against him, then stabbed him in the back. When he had then thrusted his dagger through Dormund’s throat… It had not been a dream.
Dormund’s knees fell weak, and in result he crumbled to the floor. The stone tiles were cold beneath him, yet he did not shiver, his flesh had lost all nerve to shiver. So he lay, corrupted in his thoughts, seething over the events that had set a deep and unforgivable hatred inside him. He wanted to scream, to unleash, yet his injuries restricted that to a mere agitated gasp.
Minutes passed, and the sound a key unlocking his chamber door pulled him from his infuriated trance. Before long, the door to the corridor swung open, and three intruders entered. Two of them he noticed to be household guards, according to their uniform at least. The other, a woman covered in gowns, which Dormund did not know from where he recognised her.
“Help him up, get him dressed.” The woman ordered, and hesitantly the two guards obeyed her commands. One of the men made his way to a locked cupboard, to which he proceeded to unlock, while the other made his way to him.
Dormund’s fists clenched with little warning, and his teeth began to grit. The guard bent down on one knee, attempting to lift Dormund’s arm over his shoulder, however the sudden retaliation caught the man off guard. Dormund’s hand struck the man’s throat, grasping with a tight enough grip to bring the man to the ground with him. There, Dormund mustered the strength to bring his other fist hammering down to his temple. A concussing hit.
The man’s counterpart was slow to react, and by the time he had come to his companion’s aid, Dormund had already made it to his feet. Unsheathing his cudgel, forged from iron, he swung widely at him. Dormund dodged the swing with a simple step back, taking him out onto his balcony, frozen over with ice. The man pursued him with a menacing persistence, swinging again and again. Dormund caught his final swing, disarming him in a matter of seconds. The weapon fell to the ground, and still astonished by the sudden change of events, Dormund took advantage of his foe’s confusion.
Taking grip of him by the scruff of his shirt, Dormund hoisted him above his shoulders, thrusting him over the battlement walls without hesitation. The shocked and fearful screams slowly sounded out until they came to a sudden silence, when the body had made contact with the courtyard below.
Dormund turned his gaze to the final member of the group, her physique was tall and rather slim. She possessed beautiful blonde hair, and eyes as vibrant and blue as ice. Her white gowns were gilded, and over that she wore a hooded blue cloak. She was smirking as he approached her.
“I’m impressed.” She admitted, her eyes flickering over to the unconscious guard, and then the balcony. “You’ve come back stronger than I imagined.” She admired, eyeing his muscular physique. Dormund felt himself come to a stop, yet his anger would still very much present. “Who are you?” He demanded, his anger seething from each word. The young woman giggled, beginning to circle him. Dormund tried to watch, yet it felt as if his feet were cemented in place.
“To many, I’m naught but a mistress to your father. To your father, I’m his most trusted ally, and to you… To you I’m your resurrector, and a friend.” She smiled, coming to a stop in front of him. She gently caressed his cheek, running her finger over the cut that would soon become a scar. Dormund winced at her touch, not because it pained him, but because he felt something stronger. He found himself speechless, confused.
“Why?” He managed, almost pleading. He witnessed her manic grin widen across her lips. “Now where would the fun be in that? Besides, I think you have more pressing matters to deal with, like what you’re going to do with your father.” Dormund raised an eyebrow.
“My father?” He asked, and the girl chuckled. “Yes, the one that murdered you, then begged me to bring your brother back, but I chose you. What will you do with your second chance, I wonder?” She pondered, and Dormund tensed at the thought of him. “I’ll kill him.” He vowed, and in response she smiled and shook her head.
“So naive. You lived a life being second to your brother, and now being given a chance to overcome your past, you would simply ravage it. How disappointing.” She sighed, making her way to the door. Dormund shook his head, still so confused.
“What do you want with me? Why did you bring me back?!” Dormund yelled at her as she walked away from him. “At least give me your name.” He growled, trying to break free from his invisible restraints. The girl came to a halt outside the door.
“My name is Elena Rivers, and if you wish to have your questions answered, come find me.” With that, she exited the room, and Dormund felt his bonds loosen until he could move again. He ran to the door, peering out the chase after her, but the corridors were empty. Gone without a trace.
-
The Tomb of Secrets reeked of death. Spoilt meat and rotting flesh hung from the walls, decaying skin peeled from the victims of the flayers rested on the bloody stone floors. Dormund watched as the men put their blades to work, now fashioned with iron and steel knives and daggers, rather than bronze.
Their cuts were unclean, and most were clearly novices. A mess had been made by most, and the fact that they were working on corpses rather than the living only made it more shameful. Nonetheless, Dormund knew that flaying was an art that took years of practice if one ever wished to master it.
However one of them made Dormund cringe with his pathetic inability to steadily slice through flesh. Body after body, one mistake led to another, and a new body would come to replace the last. Dormund found himself paying little attention to the corpses, until one caught his eye. Taking a step forward, Dormund immediately recognised the man, and hurried to intervene before the poor flayer could ruin another canvas.
Catching his arm, the man’s eyes widened in a mixture of anger and shock when he recognised Dormund. He tried to free his arm, yet Dormund held a strong grip, and refused to release him.
“You’ve ruined enough corpses today. Pass the blade.” He ordered, yet the man grinned and turned his eyes to the corpse. “Last one, then it’s all yours.” He assured, once again attempting to free his arm. Dormund tightened his grip, crushing the man’s wrist.
“Pass the blade.” Dormund repeated, his voice croaky from his injury, he watched the man wince in pain. He would crack every bone in his arm before he would allow him to deform another corpse, especially this one. The flayer released the blade in a hurry, allowing Dormund to take it from his hands.
“You’ll fucking regret that.” He threatened, rubbing his wrist. Dormund rolled his eyes, twirling the blades between his fingers. A final service to you, old friend. Dormund thought, looking at the man he considered a brother for a final time.
“Rechar!” A familiar voice sounded, and Dormund turned around to catch the flayer with a dagger flying towards Dormund’s chest. “This fucker is stealing my prize!” He spat, staring daggers at Dormund. “Who the fuck does he think he is?” He asked, and the familiar face unveiled himself from the darkness.
“That’s Dormund Bolton, your prince. I’d suggest you leave, Rechar.” Tobas stated, grinning at Dormund. Rechar maintained an infuriated gaze, but eventually stood down, passing Tobas with a shoulder bump. Dormund sighed, turning his gaze back to the corpse.
“Is that Ryden?” Tobas asked, further inspecting the corpse. Dormund nodded, taking a steady grip on the blade. “I couldn’t let him defile another, especially not him.” Dormund nodded to Ryden’s corpse, to which Tobas gave an understanding nod in return. “He was like family to you, it’s only right that you should direct the blade.” He acknowledged as Dormund pierced into the soft flesh with the point of the blade.
“What is all this?” Dormund asked, motioning to the iron blade he carved with, as well as all the other iron replacements he had noticed. “After the battle, father had all the invaders looted of their iron and steel. We’ve stocked our armouries with it.” Dormund nodded, separating Ryden’s skin from muscle.
“What has happened here? Since…” Dormund’s words ran short, his trail of thought drifting off as he worked away at Ryden. Tobas sighed. “The Stark’s have repaired raised a mighty fleet to sail to Andalos for Theon’s hunger. The Ironborn have started landing in the west, and the Frost’s have renounced their fealty to our kingdom.” Dormund found himself louring in response to the grim news, he halted a moment on his work.
“Will you be joining the Stark’s?” He asked, and for a moment there was a lingering silence. Tobas frowned, crossing his arms. “I’m a ward, and as far as Theon knows, am the only living heir to Rogar. Father refuses to talk with him, claiming it will affect his ‘master plan.’ I don’t know what other choice I have.” Tobas said with defeat, while Dormund furrowed his eyebrows.
“What ‘master plan’ is this?” He enquired, but Tobas shook his head. “I don’t know much, I’ve been sent here because father urgently wants to meet with you. Perhaps after that we should speak.” Tobas suggested, and Dormund felt the rage build up inside him, but the thought of Elena’s words arose in his mind. Naive, disappointing.
“What does he want?” Dormund asked, to which Tobas shrugged. “I don’t know, but he wasn’t too thrilled.” Dormund let out a small laugh, steadying his blade momentarily. “Of course he isn’t.” Dormund finally responded, freeing the blade. He passed it to Tobas. “Would you?” Tobas gave a small smile and nodded, taking the coated blade from Dormund’s bloody hands. Dormund nodded in thanks, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder. The two gazed into each other’s eyes for a moment, until Dormund finally separated, making way for the stairs that would climb to the ground floor of the Dreadfort.
-
The throne room possessed a foul stench, and stains in the stone which would take months to buff out. Dormund stared at the blood momentarily, before lifting his eyes to the throne. His father sat there, staring at him with an aloof expression, accompanied by his two guards. Both wore the armour of a kingsguard, a sight which instantly reminded Dormund of Ryden. This room was a spawn for many horrid memories, of which Dormund felt his neck wound start to tingle.
“Leave us.” Rogar finally ordered, leaning on his fist as the two guards descended the black stone steps that led to the throne. They passed Dormund with sceptical and disgusted gazes, to which Dormund paid no mind to. He recognised none of them, which he thought was for the best.
“New guards?” Dormund asked, crossing his arms. Rogar grunted, straightening his posture. “The last could not protect my sons.” Rogar muttered, and Dormund smirked. “Perhaps that is because you ordered them to put your son to death.” Dormund wryly mocked, and refused a scowling glare in return.
“Perhaps.” Rogar growled, before rising from his seat. “Though I never wanted to kill you.” He confessed, and Dormund replied with a pathetic laugh. “Some poor words to cover the dagger you pushed through my throat.” Dormund challenged, but received no argument.
“And now you’re here.” Rogar declared, rising his hands. “Do you think I’d have brought you back had I wanted you dead?” Dormund shrugged, lowering his arms. “You’re being very restricted for a man that acclaims he brought back his favoured son. Where’s my embracement and apology?” Dormund taunted with a grin, and received a menacing glare in turn.
“Do not dare to mock me, boy. You’re being given a second chance, and if you want to squander that then I promise you that this time you will stay dead.” Rogar assured, and Dormund narrowed his eyebrows. “Why bring me back?” Dormund finally asked, losing his will to pointlessly fight.
“I want to give you a chance to redeem yourself. I want you to give me the North.” Rogar finally revealed, and Dormund choked in disbelief, doing his neck wound a disservice. “What?” He managed, recovering from the pain he put himself through. Rogar began to descend from his throne.
“Theon has taken Tobas as a ward, and being under the false belief that he is the heir to my kingdom, he thinks he has a leash on me. I want the North, Dormund. I want it all. Winterfell, Barrowton, the Wall, all of it.” Rogar demanded, and Dormund simply raised his eyebrows, shaking his head.
“You’re talking about Tobas’ life here, and we have nowhere near the numbers to conquer the North.” Dormund argued, but Rogar had none of it. “You will bring allies into the fold, starting with the traitorous Frost’s.” Rogar announced, and Dormund furrowed his eyebrows.
“What is it you want me to do?” Dormund asked hesitantly, and Rogar smirked. “I want you to lead an army to the Frost Keep’s gates. I want you to present Ryden’s flayed body on a spike, and I want you to lay siege on that shithole of a castle. Then, make them swear fealty to me, or eradicate them if they refuse. Let the North see that we will spare none who defy us. This is there only redemption, as it is yours.” Rogar stated, and Dormund felt a cold chill run over him. Elena’s words repeat over in his mind. Dormund nodded, against his own will, making Rogar grin.
“Good. You will leave with Carver and his forces tomorrow at dusk, once Theon has set sail. Until then, you are permitted only to the reaches out the castle. You’re dismissed.” Rogar ordered, returning back to his throne. Dormund felt an urge build up inside him, an urge filled with hatred and a taste for vengeance, though he could not find the will or strength to act upon it. Instead, he turned and left his father, exiting the throne room.
He was confined to a cell, be it a large cell, the very thought of being restricted angered him. Though what frustrated him the most was his confusion, he was still left very much in the dark, and he believed Elena held those answers. What can I expect from a witch? He wondered, though really he felt he had nothing to lose in trying. Of course, then there was his brother, Tobas. He would be forced to leave tomorrow, and perhaps never to return. Being forced to leave in the morrow, Dormund knew he had to speak to at least one of them, but who?
[Seek Elena] [Seek Tobas]
[Seek Elena]
Oh, things get more and more intriguing with Dormund and I loved this part! In fact, this storyline is not only a great surprise for me, but also one that has a pretty good chance to be included among my absolute favourites. As expected, the crazy nympho witch Elena had her hand in his resurrection, though I don't know why. And it makes me wonder even more just why she wanted to sleep with Steffon earlier and gives me even more dark thoughts on the reasons behind her actions.
[Seek Elena]
Do I like her? No! Do I trust her? Hell no! Do I want her around Dormund? Hell damn no! You know, if these creepy witches could just stay the hell away from my favourite characters, I'd be happy. At the same time, there are so many questions left unanswered and right now, I see it as important to get a better overview of the greater picture. Why has she chosen Dormund? Why is he even alive again? And why did Rogar agree to this, having his least favourite son aliv again instead of his favourite? What is the source of her powers? Are there any drawbacks to his second life? Tobas would basically just be some good family talk, I guess, but by talking to Elena, we might just get some answers.
[Seek Elena] Well, just like Liquid said, if we want answers we must seek Elena, even if she is very shady.
This seems like a very promising storyline, looking forward to more of it
This was no doubt a very interesting part! I was not following the story when Dormund was alive the first time around so I am a bit out of the loop but even still, this storyline has all the potential to be one of my favorites.
[Seek Elena]
I will agree with the others on this one. While getting to talk to his brother would be a good moment I imagine, the chance to learn more about why he was brought back from the dead is too good to pass up.
Alright, well this vote looks to have come to a close. Dormund will seek out Elena for some answers, likely the best choice under the circumstances, but conversing with a loved one should never be overlooked either.
Anyway, I have written the next part, and it goes to Davios. The last time we saw him, he was seeking out the Valyrian warrior, Vysela. He would find her in her given room at the back of a makeshift hospital, however not before he encountered a mess when finding Piggy, Harlan and Jorio in the kitchens. Harlan demanding more gold, Davios put a quick close to his demands however, and sent him on his way with a bitter ending. Davios then talked with Piggy, who revealed he would not be joining Davios on his return back to Westeros. Davios later seeked out Vysela, catching her in the midst of a sad session, of which Davios later learnt that she and Hughie would be leaving Andalos entirely. When confronted with the decision to accept their choice or interrogate them further on the matter, you chose the latter. The new part takes off where it left off.
Davios
Hughie looked to Davios with pleading eyes, while Vysela avoided eye contact entirely. Davios studied her expression carefully, there was something picking at him, something hidden which he could not simply avoid. Their sudden wishes to leave had come all too sudden, and Davios could not let himself lose yet another set of friends.
“There’s something you’re not telling me Vysela.” Davios accused after some thought, bringing on a fiery gaze from Hughie. “I told you, we know nothing!” Hughie shouted in her defense, but Davios shook his head. “You know nothing.” He corrected, before shifting his eyes back to the Valyrian. “And you won’t leave until I have answers.” Davios stated clearly, enraging Hughie further.
“You’re a real shit, Davios. I thought you were better than this!” Hughie spat, clenching his fists. Davios felt himself readjusting his posture, preparing himself for a fight. His light green eyes met Hughie’s deep blue eye, an infuriated glare staring him down.
“Enough.” Vysela demanded, her tone uncharacteristically strong for her position. Davios watched Hughie’s attitude shrink to a mere frown. “Vys…” He started, but she shook her head. “Go to the horses, I won’t be long.” She promised, and Hughie hesitantly nodded. He turned his gaze back to Davios, a frown heavy on his expression, before turning and exiting the room.
Davios let out a long sigh, releasing his fists. He lowered his head, staring at his hands, or hand. The hand which had been used to kill in name of faith, in name of vengeance and survival. Davios shut his eyes, thinking of the faces he had cut the life from, the countless faces. Yet the thought of the savage First Men butchering his father filled that grief with a burning anger. Davios tightened his hand into a fist once again, until feeling the soft silky hands of Vysela stroke over them. He rose his head.
“The Cobra.” She started, lowering her eyes. “He was part of a Ghiscari militia group, known as the Serpent’s Venom.” Vysela revealed, and Davios furrowed his eyebrows.
“The Ghiscari?” Davios asked, and Vysela nodded grimly. “My people’s sworn nemesis. Yet this militia group is different, they are highly trained and lethal killers, and they captured me.” Vysela muttered bitterly, pulling her hands back. She sat herself on the floor, and Davios found himself joining her.
“They would have killed me, were it not for the Cobra. He was different, and he promised me a life in safety, a life in Westeros. Though there is no safety, not from the Serpent’s Venom.” Vysela said with a dooming conclusion, and Davios frowned.
“I promised him I would keep you safe.” Davios remarked, thinking back to the Valyrian’s last words. He shook his head. “I won’t go against my word.” Davios vowed, and Vysela placed her soft hand on his cheek.
“You have a kind heart, Andal, but there is no safety from the Serpent’s here. My only chance is with my family, in the Freehold.” She said with a certain tone of sadness. “If you truly care for my safety, Andal, you will let me go.” Davios frowned, looking into her bright lavender blue eyes.
“It’s Davios.” He corrected, and she smiled, running her soft hands over his coarse stubble. “And if it’s what you want then I-” Davios found himself interrupted as her soft luscious lips made contact with his, yet he felt no urge to pull away.
The kiss drew out, and letting her lead, Davios was pushed onto his back. She crawled on top of him, sitting on his lap and kissing him again, while working on his shirt with one hand. Davios reached a hand around her waist, coursing up her blouse, while hooking his arm secured around the back of her neck. With a quick and graceless movement, Davios pinned himself atop of her, and found her grinning in response. He smirked, approving of her behaviour, before attending to the rest of her dressing.
-
The sound of the old clanging metal, along with constant squawking from seagulls, filled Davios’ ears as he joined Vysela and Hughie at the harbour. Their horses were saddled and prepped for journeying, with Hughie already straddled into his steed. Vysela quickly joined him, climbing onto her saddle and taking a seat. Davios approached Hughie with an awkward lump in his throat.
“Travel safely.” He gestured, clearing his throat. “I know you’ll take care of her, so I need not remind you of that.” Davios warmly stated, and Hughie nodded in reply. Davios stared at him for a moment, until he finally witnessed him break. Wet tears streamed down his eye, and the young man immediately climbed down from his horse and pulled Davios into an embracement.
“Stay safe, Davios.” Hughie begged, and Davios nodded. “I will.” He assured, but Hughie shook his head, pulling away from him. “Don’t make this the last time I see you.” He enjoined, and Davios gave a weak smile. “I promise.” Hughie seemed less than convinced, but he nodded all the same.
Hughie turned and climbed onto his horse, following after Vysela who had already taken her leave. Davios frowned, watching as they slowly disappeared behind the mass crowds of fishers, merchants and logistic workers. He wondered if he would ever see them again, but the pain of thought was too great to cherish for too long. He sighed, turning his eyes to the sea. The sea he would be back on in not so long a time.
“Lord Davios?” He heard asked, and Davios spun around to the name-caller. Davios’ eyes landed on not one, but three men, with a clear leader in the mid of their group. The two soldiers beside him wore armour identical to that of Davios when he had embarked on the invasion.
The middle man too wore the armour of an Andal warrior. Consisting of iron mail and a white tabard with a red seven-pointed star. However he also wore a white and red cape which fell down to his thighs, held on by leather straps. Leather which also sheathed a steel dirk and set of daggers, yet his main weapon appeared to swing by his waist. A steel longsword, with a leather banded hilt and a circular ruby pommel.
Davios quickly studied the man’s face. Short greasy brown hair, a light grey beard and hazel eyes with red specks. A gruesome scar ran down his left cheek, and his brow was lightly wrinkled. Davios noted the extended hand, yet refused the gesture momentarily, being somewhat sceptical.
“Who are you?” Davios asked curiously, and the man gave a small apologetic smile. “My name is Dickon Finch, I’m a warlord in service of King Noriphos. I’ll be adding my men to your efforts.” He announced, and Davios gave him a smile in return, shaking his hand.
“Highly appreciated.” Davios thanked, and Dickon nodded in return. “Is there something I can do for you, Lord Dickon?” Davios finally asked, curious as for why he had been sought out. Dickon sighed, rubbing his hands. “I’m sure you will understand I’m a little eager to know the situation that I am sending my men into. Perhaps we could sit down and discuss the circumstances of this grand voyage we shall soon embark on?” Dickon offered, and as Davios was about to nod, the sounding of horns grasped their attention.
Davios, and likely the entire population of the harbour, turned to see a small fleet approaching the docks. Davios eyed the banners flying from the flagship’s mast. While hard to spot, Davios spotted a yellow burning tower, with a black and red backing. The Grafton’s? He thought, his thoughts drifting to the Fingers, and then his father. Dickon sighed, shaking his head.
“Another king with issues in the west, hardly a rare sight.” Dickon stated, but Davios felt intrigued to meet the vessels as they docked. Davios turned his attention back to Lord Finch. “Shall we return to my quarters and talk?” He asked, and Davios felt himself at a stumble, turning his gaze back to the ships again.
[Converse with Dickon] [Meet the Grafton’s]
[Coverse with Dickon] I'm sure Davios needs Dickon's troops, and it would be a bit rude to ignore him, and give a bad first impression. Who knows, perhaps we could make a friend in Dickon
Btw, there was something that caught my attention in this part: In couple scenes there was an emphasis on Davios hands/fists - both of them. However, I believe he lost his left hand, right? It didn't really take anything away from the part, but I just thought I should point this out
Wow yeah, a total oversight
Gets hard to keep focus on missing eyes and hands at times, I'll quickly fix that one up 
Thanks a bunch!
[Converse with Dickon]
That was a great part, I have the feeling it'll set up some pretty important stuff for Davios' storyline in the future. I doubt he's going to see Vysela or Hughie again. After all, they travel into completely different directions and even if they both reach their destinations, Davios doesn't even know her family name, so finding her again could be quite the task. But that Dickon guy intrigues me. I got the feeling he could be an important character in Davios' storyline.
[Converse with Dickon]
I agree with what Wildling said here. Dickon wishes to speak to him and I guess he'd prefer right now. It might come across as rude to prefer speaking to someone completly unrelated right now. On top of that, we can't know if the Grafton's even want to speak to him. On top of that, while I have the feeling Dickon could be important, I don't know if he can be trusted or not. A talk with him could reveal more about the kind of person he is.
[Converse with Dickon]
I have a couple more Invasion character illustrations for you! To be precise, Darren Tyrner, Samira and Dromon "The First Dragon" Tarth
As always, these are fantastic, and I can only praise your work with pure admiration. You continue to improve from each previous drawing and portrait, and I think that is truly special, all of these are truly special. While I'm sure Liquid and Mathea will have their own high praises, I cannot exaggerate just how much Dromon looks as I pictured him when I first thought him up. You've truly managed to capture my imagination and put it onto paper for everyone to see, and I love it! Keep up the great work!
Thanks
I must say Dromon is my own favorite of these as well, especially since I was a bit unsure if I could make it work when I received the description - especially the helmet was a challenge. It does look pretty epic though, just imagine that coming towards you on a battlefield 
Huh, totally did not expect that coming, especially including my character. Great job with all 3 of them!
Wow, these are incredible! I simply love this style of the drawings, that is gorgeous! First of all, Darren looks just as imagined. It's just like Alara, he is spot-on and I feel very happy to see his drawing. I remember it being mentioned a while ago, so I was really looking forward for it and you certainly did not disappoint
Samira is one where I hadn't the clearest picture of, as I somehow thought she had light brown hair, but I was proven wrong there 
Her drawing is just as amazing, I absolutely love that cloak! It's also been a while since her latest part, so it was a good reminder of how she does look for the next part, which I look forward for. I must say, she also has the best background of the three, I love this smooth blueish-grey fog effect, I think it really suits the character. And Dromon, given his connection to Alara, is one I am quite interested in, especially as I haven't gotten the clearest picture of him either, so I would have loved to see him without the helmet. Nonetheless, this armour has to be among the coolest things you ever drew here. It gives me something of a Skyrim vibe, which is a good thing. Daedric armour, anyone? Anyways, wonderful work on all three of them! Thank you for drawing them 
[Converse with Dickon]
Alright, so I'll close the vote down here. Davios will choose to converse with Dickon, which is likely the better choice of the two. At the very least, Davios will get to know Dickon, and will be able to get a good start with the man, rather than pursuing his own agendas.
Anyway, my apologies for the wait but the next part is finally ready, and it goes to Torv. The last time we saw Torv he had just awoken from his concussion in the fight with Lord Samwick Tallhart. Torrhen's Square had just withstood an attack from the Stark's pursuing them, and naturally Samwick wasn't happy with it. However after learning that Torv was on a mission to deliver the Weeping Stone to Barrowton, he saw it as an opportunity to quickly get word to the Barrow's and request aid. Torv was soon on a raft, accompanied by Rose 'the Black Thief' and Jesse the Exile. They ended up beached near another raft, which they were quick to discover was rained down with arrows of obsidian. With night falling, Torv had to decide whether to set up camp or take their chances on the river at night. You chose for Torv and co. to set up camp, and this part resumes where the last finished off.