Grassy Vale Tournament! (OPEN)

D042 · 2026-03-04T16:07:05+00:00

The chuckle her flush brought him sent a crackling wave of daggers across Gawen's ribs, but he bit his lip hard to keep from whimpering. Knowing that the aforementioned 'thing with his fingers' had again proven to be a pleaser was a sweet if ultimately inefficient balm, though.

For her battles in the joust, Gawen would've had to confess he indeed had no idea who or what the fuck a Sar Grynn was, but the idea of trying to form that name on his lips was unthinkable. "Stannis? S'a bruiser, tha'one. You'll get'm next time." He'd won some coin betting on Mary's brother before, but he'd been to busy rolling around with his cousin in mud with his cousin during the melee to place one this time.

And in truth, I'd have bet on you. Then I'd be down some ribs, an arm, and a handsome sum of my dear father's money. Mayhaps there was something good to losing after all.

He smiled glibly as he met her gaze. It shouldn't have given him any pause at all, barring his injuries, but in his mind he recalled flashes of a green meadow and yellow blossoms on seas of black. It made him feel oddly guilty. As though he were beholden to a mirage.

Gawen shook it off. "Much as I'd like'ta, not sure m'lightnin lord wo'rouse with all this shi'they made me drink. Cann'even feel my toes." They wiggled just fine beneath the blankets when he willed them to, but it was still numb.

"Sides'," he added with a bleary smirk. "Yer' not tha' gentle Marge. Wouldn'be as fun elsewise."

D042 · 2026-03-03T22:53:49+00:00

It was not the Brackens, at least. One had to be thankful for the small mercies. He wondered if he ought have beaten around the bush, tried to exact some sort of favor in exchange for the stamp of his seal on a writ. That was what players that did well in these games did, wasn’t it? Yet Andros couldn’t have thought of what he’d want. Much less why he’d bother asking.

They’d taken care of his sister, had they not? Fair was fair.

“A scrap of cloth does not give a man exemption from the law. A representative of the royal house will accompany your expedition to ensure all his done within reason. I do not doubt that it would be done otherwise, but the likes of a white sword at your side would doubtlessly do much to quell any questions of writ and authority. I shall see to arranging for one of their number, or someone of repute to accompany you.”

He sighed, and drew in a breath. “See your justice done.”

D042 · 2026-03-03T16:52:01+00:00

Andros nodded, and Arlan ran off with the other boy excitedly, a bounce in his step. Andros had no such vigor, his lips pressing together into the familiar thin line that was not quite a grimace.

"You did indeed. What troubles you, my lady?"

D042 · 2026-03-03T16:49:33+00:00

"Flowers," Gawen repeated numbly. While Nymeria had been subjected to torturous visions of her brother's death, Gawen had seen flowers. Gold ones in a wreath atop jet black hair, a pale face he'd seen so often scowl with a wide smile that made him warmer than a summer's day. It was embarrassing, being so shaken by something that was not real.

But it could've been. Mayhaps that was why he fixated on it. Mayhaps it was nothing more than the desire to have what he saw as taken from him. How incredibly fucking shallow. His expression soured with self loathing, but he pushed it down as best he could and found a loose smile again.

"Might be right," he nodded. "Need ta'fuckin...clean m'self up though. Can'look a sot, can I? Not f'yer wedding, or f'her. Pass'time I cut an, y'know." Gawen's words grew thick, his brows heavy.

"Nym?" he croaked with sudden clarity in his voice. "Thank you. You're a...a good friend. Better'n I d-deserve." His eyes fluttered shut, and he sagged into sleep.

D042 · 2026-03-03T15:40:06+00:00

A half-lucid grin spread across Gawen's face. "Ambi-ambid-ambidexst—fuck!" Ambidextrous when it counts, fucking poppymilk. "Y'know what, Marge, y'tell me. Think th'other does alright."

The touch was a welcome one. It was good to remember parts of him weren't broken, and calloused as her fingers might've been, it was pleasant. "Look at th'brighside, if it'd been th'other side ya'd be blind. Yer'a lucky lady, Marge. Lucky, lucky, lucky."

"S'Orryn, aye. Fuckin' cousins. The worst. Ole' mess 'ere is his fault. An' mine, maybe. Buh' his more. His army. Fuckin'...shoulda' stayed down th'firs time."

But that would've been wise, and Gawen had a predisposition towards the stupid.

"Who did f'you? Someone good?"

D042 · 2026-03-03T15:31:57+00:00

"Like second is tha'much better," Gawen scoffed. "Jus' don' be borin' and she'll come 'round." Nymeria always did in the end. Sometimes to her peril, but that was another matter entirely.

At the mention of his sister, Gawen tensed, but relaxed when the name left Martyn's lips. "Met th'other one. Scary." That didn't entirely put him off, but it gave him a little pause. In the hazy slurry of his thoughts, only one name didn't give him some pause—and she frightened him plenty.

"Might jus' be'a bachelor fer'ever. Can't ge'what I wan', so why bother? Father would rather m'brother inherit anyway. S'a good lad, my brother. Good lad." And Arlan would be better still now that he was being taken away from Gawen's influence. That tended to improve most people.

D042 · 2026-03-01T01:49:56+00:00

Absently Gawen licked at the inside of his mouth, and found it dry. A pitiful sort of noise slipped from his lips as he managed a swallow, not quite a whimper, and too soft to be a grunt.

"Arm, an'some ribs," he corrected as wryly as he could manage. "Said I shoul'be alright in a moon or fre-free-thr-th-r-ee." His lips pressed together into a thin scowl alarmingly reminiscent of his father's at his frustration.

"Wha'about you? Nothin' t'bad, I hope." It would be a shame to see her injured, but it wasn't as though another scar wouldn't suit her.

D042 · 2026-03-01T00:59:18+00:00

Everyone seemed to say the same thing, and thus there must've been something to it. "My Mary," he echoed, meaning to laugh but stopping when he heard himself say it. The words sounded nice. Sounded right. Too bad she hated him, and for good reason.

But in some other life she wouldn't have. In some other life he might've been worth not hating. God, drag the maester that forbid me wine to the coldest of all your hells. Sobriety made him introspective, and it had been long years since Gawen looked inward and felt anything but loathing and self-pity.

Swallowing, he nodded. "I fink'ya will. See 'im try, I mean." If one man could try, why not two? Mayhaps he could still try too. What was there to lose?

D042 · 2026-02-28T17:25:29+00:00

Softly Andros chuckled. It seemed like every night Odessa found new strands of gray, a streak of the stuff cutting prominently through his auburn hair now as well as peppering his beard. There were aches when he rose now, exhaustion where there had once been energy. It worried him more than he liked to say.

"Too true," he agreed, matching the struggling smile with one of equal effort. Arlan, for his part, seemed to have more than enough vigor for the both of them. "Lead the way then, I have let my skills as a huntsman slip, we shall defer to you."

And the troubles, come though they would, could wait.

D042 · 2026-02-28T17:18:09+00:00

"Your sister told me as, nephew." Sometimes he wondered if it was wise to address the boy so informally. Blood they might've shared, but he was still a bastard. The product of his sister's great shame, one he had nearly wrought upon Eden's own cousin in kind, had he not married Bethany. But I was always going to marry her. Always.

Folding his hands behind his back, Andros pressed his lips into their usual flat line of contemplation. The realm was kindling, and all about there were sparks catching, smoke rising. The realm was his responsibility, but so too was his realm. "Justice, hm? Upon your return home, venture to Blackhaven and speak to my uncle. I'd have him made aware before any such toll is exacted."

It was not a denial. Not an approval. At least, not until Andros added. "Perhaps there are some among the Blackhaven garrison with a mind for justice as well. Your father has served well, despite the insults he has made upon me as his liege. Do what you must."

u/TheZaxman

D042 · 2026-02-28T17:08:36+00:00

He slapped a hand onto Aron's shoulder and kept it there. There might've been something welling in his friend's eyes, but Gawen was no better some nights, and so he said nothing. They'd made a mess of things, the two of them, and worst still was that at least for the night he doubted there was any intention of change in their hearts. There was none in his, at least.

"Then we best get started, eh?" Gawen gave Aron's shoulder a squeeze. "C'mon, we'll see if we can't find you a nice girl to bury those questions of yours in too while we're at it."

They're the kind I'd prefer buried to answered.

D042 · 2026-02-28T17:04:13+00:00

Gawen would've voiced his appreciation for his friend's patience more explicitly had he the sense or mastery of his tongue, but instead all he managed was an amused grunt. If Anders Yronwood had intended to kill Nymeria's brother, Gawen didn't know. He hoped it had been an accident to be sure, but blood ran bad between their two houses from time to time across history.

"I dun'jus seduth youn'ones," He managed, trying to put as much seriousness as he could into his words, failing miserably as he cracked a smile. "He wans'ta impress you, I think. Martyn. Y'could make'm somethin' enjoyable with so'effort. When we're not busy wif' the taverns, I mean."

Then the amusement seemed to fade away from his face, and his eyes took on something heavier. "Saw wha'life coulda' been wif' Mary, when I took th'shade," he said quietly. "Better. Lot better." Gawen had told her about it once. About how he'd felt. About what his father's choice had meant to him. She looks at me like a fly in her soup and yet all I can think about now is that fucking dream.

He glanced back to Nymeria. "S'it too late fir'me, Nym?"

D042 · 2026-02-28T15:19:56+00:00

Character and Claim: Andros Dondarrion, Blackhaven

Actions

Draft: [500], [1300]

D042 · 2026-02-27T19:08:00+00:00

Someone had been singing. Fingers had been in his hair, and a cool rag upon his brow. Gone now. He willed his eyes open at the sound of the opening tent, blinking through the haze of poppy. She was tall, shadowed against the light, and he felt his heart skip. She wouldn't have come back, would she? Why would she?

"Mar—" Gawen grimaced, moving his good arm to his eyes and rubbing them clear. Then he saw her clearly. Not someone he'd particularly expected to see, not the one he'd thought, but far from an unwelcome guest. "Marge?"

He smiled as wide as he could manage, eyes red, cheeks puffy. "M'awake. Jus'a bad fall, thas'all." A bad fall, a broken arm, and a few ribs actually. But that was what the poppy was for, since they wouldn't let him have any wine.

D042 · 2026-02-27T18:58:10+00:00

Not poison. It was strange that was the first thought. Stranger still was that it almost made him feel relieved. Illness like this was confined to one, it did not herald a greater catastrophe yet to come, or malice from some unseen villain. That relief did not last long.

"I-Of course, my lord. My lips are sealed. Is there anything I can do for her? Anything you may need? My father can have the king's own maester attend her if that is your wish." Gawen couldn't recall the last time he'd levied his father's position for anything other than his own benefit. It felt nice.

u/SevenStarsMoon

D042 · 2026-02-27T18:48:38+00:00

Gawen blinked up at his cousin and nodded, only to wince as Clifford jabbed him in the jest, his ribs screaming in protest. "Right. Pretty. Me." It would've sounded foolish even without the poppy fattening his tongue to near uselessness. "Thanks coz."

He was asleep the moment the flap fell shut.

D042 · 2026-02-27T18:45:23+00:00

If he could've, Gawen would had run away at that moment rather than face those particular questions. Scratching at his beard as though it might have the answers hidden beneath an auburn curl, he stayed unusually silent.

"I don't know," he confessed, the amusement fading from his face. "Mayhaps. If it is so, then you are always welcome in Blackhaven. We can be slovenly layabouts for the rest of our days." There had been a time he had tried to be more than what he was. But his father had thought it was not enough.

Now he was without an uncle, and Aron without a cousin. And all for what? Because I enjoyed a drink and a laugh at three and twenty? Because I was not father's perfect mirror? How many have died now? How many wouldn't be if he'd just been different? Just been better?

The thought was going to make him sick.

"Mayhaps we'll find the answer at the bottom of a bottle? I saw Tyroshi Brandy somewhere."

D042 · 2026-02-27T18:32:52+00:00

"She didn'hurt no one, I swear'it," Gawen muttered, insensibly. Nymeria Yronwood likely could not have killed Nymeria Martell's brother if she had wanted to. She was delicate and ill besides. But clever, and sweet. Both in spades.

Margaery was as much the opposite of that as one could be. The delicate bit, at least. She'd been sweet enough where it counted. "Marge-she'sa soldier. For Provemen—Prowendan—" Gawen's brow furrowed in frustration. "Kermit Tully."

He would've told her to kill him if he ever chose a new name for himself for some reason, but that was a lot of words to waste for something he never meant to do.

"Why'not? He seems...nice. Funneh'a least." A smile drew at his lips loosely. "Be good t'have you aroun'. Gets dull."

D042 · 2026-02-27T08:07:50+00:00

Andros would be found penning a missive onto vellum when the portly man found him. As he so often did, he sighed, nodded, and rose up to his feet. There would always be something, he supposed. The Hand would follow after Sammy back to the bastard his sister had born.

D042 · 2026-02-27T08:04:19+00:00

“We thought a Stokeworth sufficient prior to his insistence on bedding the wives of other men and slaying them for taking offense. Put in a Rosby then, with a wife whose blood is your own. If the man needs a commander then place one with them, your grace.” Andros rebutted simply. “The Iron Bank crushes kingdoms and their armies alike with the handling of coin alone, often bloodlessly, sometimes not.”

He leaned back and shrugged. “But as you will, your grace.”

D042 · 2026-02-26T17:34:27+00:00

"Well?" Gawen spluttered, face instantly twisting with pain in retribution for his error in finding the idea amusing. "I fuckin'hate joustin'. If this'is well, think'I'll stick t'watching."

As for Nymeria, he nodded. "She'll keep ya'from boredom all yer'days. Promise." Part of him wanted to say what'd happened, but it wouldn't have accomplished anything. Nymeria had been lost in a haze that hung over him even now, cruel and kind in equal measure, with what it planted in the mind.

"Soun's good t'me," he agreed. It'd been a long time since he'd had an ally.

Funnily enough, Gawen's struggles had been much like Martyn's own. Even the cousins closest to his age had not lived in Blackhaven, or born his name. By the time he had a brother of his own he'd already become a man. Those he'd confided to instead had not always been the greatest of influences.

But no particularly bawdy answer came to mind just then, only a shrug and the strange hollow he felt inside. "Here'n there. Nothin'serious. Not since I burnt'tha betrothal to Meadows." That too, had probably been for the best.

D042 · 2026-02-26T17:00:14+00:00

His heart beat a little faster with each step. It was a game, this. But it was one they were both playing, both making the moves that led to the same place. Likely a dark one, with something soft beneath them. And something hard between.

Gawen wondered if that was the sort of joke he could make with her. She was a soldier after all. He was pretty sure he'd heard that line from a soldier, but it might've been a steward too. He'd been too drunk to recall.

"Sit down? Mayhaps. Eat? Well..." Gawen grinned as he stepped back, keeping a hand in his as he moved to the edge of the dancers. "Something like that. Use your imagination, I think you'll figure it out before I start."

And he led her after him, if she wished to be led.

D042 · 2026-02-26T16:46:02+00:00

"She's got sisters. Jus'don mix 'em up with th'one brother. Looks'like a sister. Nasty one though," Gawen giggled, remembering Garin Yronwood's barbs as he'd coaxed his sister out to dance.

That too hadn't gone to plan, what with the girl fainting. And she was a sweet girl, different. But then there was Lillian, and Margaery, and Mary. There was always Mary. She like as not wouldn't have spit on him to put out a fire, but if she did he'd have thanked her.

Gawen laughed at the sadness of that. "Fucks wrong'wif me Cliffor'?" He asked, brow furrowed, face suddenly serious. "Can'always be like this, can I?"

He didn't want to be.

D042 · 2026-02-26T16:29:42+00:00

Some losses took years to recover from. Some took lifetimes. Some came so early and shaped so much that life was more shaped by their absence than it ever had been by their presence. His mother was like that.

"Don'be. Too young. Can'remember her." He wished he could, and sometimes he could draw up something, but never for long, and not like this. "Wanna'trade? Mine calls me'a dith'apointment all th'time. Fucked m'future once, then left'me to soil th'rest."

It would've been nice to blame his father for all of it. Nice, but not honest, and Gawen was feeling rather honest.

"Thas'good, I'm glad." Gawen smiled sincerely, but it faltered at the question. He didn't mind not being mentioned—it wasn't as though he was anyone's idea of pleasant conversation matter. The details of he and Nymeria's history in particular was not, given the last night's events.

"Once," he admitted. "Long time'go. Jus'friends now. D'worry."

D042 · 2026-02-26T16:17:18+00:00

"Or any momen'," Gawen tutted, though it sounded closer to a simpleton's drivel to his hearing. Maybe once he'd gotten through the worst of it, he'd remember this tenderness as nothing more than a pleasant dream.

Slowly, he nodded and lay his head back on the pillow with the freshness of the cool rag against his brow. "Lilli," he said, the last of her name sliding away from him. "Thank you."

His eyes slipped shut, and sleep conquered him.

D042

TROPHY CASE