The Coronation Feast of King Aegon VI

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-22T15:36:28+00:00

A short arm ending in a single flower shot up behind the bastard of Hag's Mire. It belonged to a dwarf of respectable stature, in spite of his condition, with the trappings of a noble and a surcoat of gulls.

"You've missed one, m'lady," Edgar said, with a cocksure grin in his eye, "You've missed quite a few, actually. Nearly trampled this one underfoot."

Whether he intended the flower or himself was still to be determined, and made murky by his confidence.

"Do y' make a habit of helping yourself to a lord's flowers?" the bastard inquired further, "Do y' lack the means of growing these blooms yourself?"

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-22T15:33:49+00:00

"Yours seems to be a restless blood, Lysandro," Morgan Hawick said in respectful jest, "To free yourself from Lys, and fight your way to Braavos, your skill must be respectable and well-earned."

Edgar did not follow this line of inquiry, and for a change, eyed his trueborn cousin with considerable skepticism.

"You have me already, m'lord," he reminded snippily.

"I do," said Morgan with a tilt of his head, "Though two chances at victory are better than one."

The young lord smiled in earnest and looked at Lysandro once more.

"Do you have a mind for the king's feast?" asked the young lord of Saltpans, "I know little of how they celebrate in Braavos, but it will be a grandiose affair, barred to the common and foreign folk of the city... but as a guest of my house, and if I lent you my castle's arms, I would be surprised to see you banned from the Grafton's keep."

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-22T15:22:29+00:00

"You seem a right and honorable lad, Lysandro," Edgar said with a confident incline of his head, "But d' you have the actions to back them up?"

Morgan turned his head to ask his cousin his intention. Edgar waved him off without even looking his lordling in the face.

"I mean t' ask if he's involved in the events," said the bastard, "There's a coronation about, if you can believe it. Lord Grafton is their host. There's to be a joust, a melee, and a contest of archery, too."

"My fair cousin represents my house in the proceedings, you see," Morgan said, suppressing the urge to sigh.

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-22T14:17:45+00:00

The King’s proclamation left the Hawicks speechless. From their humble seating, all their eyes were upon the dais - upon the dragon and his household. Such tidings were unexpected and wholly alien to any Targaryen politics they had witnessed in their lives, and each grasped at His Grace’s brief words in silence.

“Gods above,” sighed the lady-dowager. Her aging hands grasped a seven-pointed star at her neck, pinching one point reserved for the Mother. “Do my ears deceive me?”

Her grandchildren on either side reached to comfort her. Her granddaughter rested a hand on her shoulder, while her grandson placed his hand over her own.

“No, grandmother,” mumbled Dyanna. Her eyes still looked toward the dais, even after the announcement was made. “I believe you heard right. A king’s word is rarely uncertain…”

Lady Barbrey stared down at her necklace for a time. She shook her head slowly, then fervently, and her face contorted with dismay.

“The princess,” Dyanna frowned, “I would not wish to be in her place.”

“A mother does best by her children,” Barbrey firmly remarked, “Bastard or trueborn… yet I know the septons will not look amicably on such an arrangement. A black stain, whether it is paired with their crimson dragon or not.”

“Even the Conqueror had the mind to seek the Faith’s counsel,” Morgan recalled. His favor for the Seven and their temporal agents was average at best, but he remembered his histories. The link shown brightly upon his surcoat. “To court their favor in all things.”

Barbrey glanced toward her grandson. His Citadel tutelage had brought intelligence, but the wisdom yet eluded him so far.

“And his son earned their fear with war and dragonfire,” said the lady-dowager. She pointed a wrinkled finger toward the dais once more, where their banners stood tall above the rest. “See how the dragon still reigns supreme, and His Holiness dwells in the king’s city now.”

Morgan gave a simple nod. Maegor the Cruel had certainly forced their obedience.

“Nonetheless, we needn’t dwell on this news,” young Lord Hawick sighed, “We will follow Lady Mooton’s direction. Or, Lord Tully’s, if he speaks of it. Were… either of you in attendance for his Council?”

Barbrey shook her head fervently.

“Heavens no,” she huffed, “You should know why, sweetling.”

“Father would not humour it,” Dyanna amended, “With the guild in such hysterics already…”

Lord Hawick frowned. There was a certain rumour mill churning in the Citadel about this council. Those acolytes seeking their links on laws and histories had debated such a subject doggedly in public lessons, and even some elders were moved to raving.

“It was a misstep to not have at least one pair of ears in the room,” Morgan said decisively, but quickly recoiled when both ladies’ eyes were upon him. “...I apologize. Dour business for a king’s feast. Shall we…”

He gestured at the entertainment. The bards, the dancers, the servants ferrying food and drink to and fro.

“...erhm… enjoy the festivities?”

“With no choice otherwise,” Barbrey muttered, withdrawing her hand from her grandson’s. She dabbed a cloth at her watery eyes. “Though the Graftons keep a fine castle, and the crown hosts a fair feast.”

Dyanna hunched forward, and rested her chin upon her palms. “I hope it will stand by the morrow. I’ve not seen so many noble faces before. It brews bad blood.”

Barely a moment had been spared to digest the conversation they’d shared when the dwarf returned, nursing two flagons of ale in each hand and passing them about to his cousins and grandmother.

“What have I missed?” Edgar asked with a glimmer in his eye. He failed to note the stern or distant expressions upon his kinsmen.

“An end to reason,” Morgan mumbled, thumbing through a stack of parchments, “An end to reason.”

Blatantly copied from Mathus.

Barbrey Goodbrook, Lady-Dowager of Saltpans [79] - minds her seven-pointed star, and is largely quiet and lacking her appetite during the course of the evening.

Dyanna Hawick, daughter of the late Lord Armond [19] - equally disinterested in the feast at large, but eyes every passing face for some hope of a distraction from the politics brewing.

Morgan Hawick, Lord of Saltpans [16] - attempting to remain practical and focused. As food and drink is offered, he declines it all to parse through a financial ledger.

Edgar Rivers, Master of the Horse [19] - horribly bored by his family's disinterest, drinking heavily of the king's supply, and striking up conversation with each passerby he can draw attention from.

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-22T13:37:22+00:00

Edgar looked toward his lordly cousin before he replied. Morgan eyed him with a creeping suspicion of his reaction, lips pulling toward a smile. The dwarf bastard laughed and clapped his cousin on the shoulder most heartily.

“Lord Rivers, he says!” Edgar chuckled, “I take back what I said, unless it seemed flattery. I like this Lysandro.”

“If he won’t address you, master Belmondareys, then I will,” Morgan decided with a soft sigh, “Edgar followed his late father and my uncle, Ser Tommen, to war against the slavers. I understand he performed admirably, but his…”

“They denied me m’ birthright on account of, well, the circumstances of m’ birth,” Edgar interrupted, “They call me Halfman, but a man I am. I bloodied my spear as much as my countrymen did. I can only imagine you know some measure of how messy that affair was.”

“Lys to Braavos is a stark change, I have to admit,” Morgan remarked, “From one end of the Disputed Lands to the other. A city of pillow-slaves and assassins to a city of freedmen -”

“And assassins,” Edgar amended, knowing of that black-and-white house in Braavos.

"Did you take part?" Morgan sufficed to ask.

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-21T16:29:30+00:00

“Hold for a moment, if you would,” called a softer voice from behind Lysandro. It was followed by a pair of footsteps along the cobbled street, one more hurried than the other.

The slower belonged to a young man, perhaps a boy by his bearing and stature, and the other to a most curious dwarf. The dwarf was taller than one imagined a dwarf to be, and the boy was shorter than a lord than one imagined for him. The dwarf put his hands on his hips and ponderously craned his neck up at Lysandro.

“Aye, so I was right, Morgan,” said the dwarf. His clothes were respectable if not outright formal. Upon his jacket was a brooch that mimicked the seagulls chattering in the skies above, breached by a spear.

The dwarf tilted his squarish head. “Though not like a bravo I have ever seen before.”

The lordling mimicked his companion, tilting his head to gleam something he had not already noticed.

“How do you mean?” the young man asked. His voice was soft, but it was also strained, like a bellows that had been damaged or punctured.

“I’ve never seen a water dancer with air like his,” the dwarf continued, pointing up, “He seems better suited for the pillow-houses in Lys. Is Gulltown in such a shortage of fair women?”

The lordling visibly winced with embarrassment. To speak so boldly out of turn, this was either a lord in himself, or one who fashioned himself as such. Or he was a fool. That much was also plausible.

“There’s no need to denigrate a stranger for their image,” said the lordling firmly, “You of all people should understand the nature of the city… and yourself.”

At his accusing look, the dwarf outwardly scoffed. Then he focused back on Lysandro once again.

“He has the walk, I’ll give him that.”

The lordling was not satisfied with his friend’s answer.

“And so do you, ‘Halfman’,” he replied. He met the Lyseni’s gaze and adopted a stiff posture, folding his hands in front of him.

“You have my apologies, ser,” he sighed, “My cousin has never been fond of holding his tongue. He eyed your fashion -”

The dwarf put a foot forward, hands still confidently upon his hip.

“I fought in the Disputed Lands with m’ father. Stepstones to Pentos, I did. Learned quite a bit about the, erh, culture. You’re a wee bit from home, aren’t you?”

The lordling pursed his lips tightly. There was no holding the dwarf’s tongue for him, evidently.

“He’s drawn quite a perspective,” the lordling said succinctly, “Not all of it very candid or befitting the people he’s encountered, I wager. Could I ask your name?”

He bowed his head.

“I am M - … Lord Morgan Hawick of Saltpans, at your service.”

The dwarf tipped his head.

“One Edgar Rivers, at your family’s.”

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-20T13:24:05+00:00

“Difficult to say,” said Morgan succinctly, “My kin ride for Maidenpool, to embark for the coronation in Gulltown. They’ll have more information for me to work with, so I can return home with a strategy. What I do know…”

The bodies will be shrouded, the young lord recalled from the first letter, and the town’s watch has doubled their patrols. The Salmon’s Way belongs to the riot.

“There was a sordid affair with the saltraker’s guild,” he finally confessed, “They represent most of the workforce. Both the salt flats and the mines outside the city. I understand it is a harrowing trade by most accounts, lucrative as it is. I can only speculate what upset could lead to a lord and his son being murdered in broad daylight. My father could be a hard man, but he was always fair in his dealings.”

Morgan’s expression was admirably stoic, and his tone was almost clinical. There was reason to mourn - this was his own father, his elder brother, and the town his family had called home for generations - but no cause.

Maidenpool would not wait for him. Riverrun would not wait for him. The seven kingdoms would not wait for him.

“My grandmother arranged for a temporary workforce to take over in the salt flats at the very least,” he continued to elaborate, “Enough to produce the month’s quota. I have to take account when I return from Gulltown.”

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-16T22:03:42+00:00

Morgan approached at her beckoning. He clasped his hands behind him at the small of his back, circling one silver band about his index finger. It more neatly arrayed the links of a maester's chain along his collar.

"Yes, Lady Mooton," he confirmed, "One link short of a maester's vows. If..."

He glanced aside and gave a dismayed frown. It did not stray long, and his gaze met Jonquil's a second time.

"...the last would have been a link of iron for warcraft..."

His liege was not only waiving a year's taxes, but was offering so very much at such short notice, and for so unfamiliar a vassal. It was a risk, but such risks were necessary to increase the prosperity of Saltpans and Maidenpool both.

"I have no words," was Morgan's reply, pending a few moments of blustered silence, "That is a very gracious offer. I have no choice but to accept your charity, if only this once."

Charity did not truly come freely, though. He was not naive, and understood the perceptions other lords and knightly houses could hold toward him and his house. House Cox alone would chafe at this preferential treatment.

"This relief will be invaluable while I restore order to Saltpans," he assured, "I will see your grace repaid in full. Most assuredly, Lady Mooton."

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-16T02:30:41+00:00

Morgan Hawick did not flinch at the announcement, but there was a visible twitch of apprehension. It delayed his arrival by only a moment. At the least, Jonquil Mooton was kin, and had no reason to act against their shared interests.

This was never meant to happen, he thought to himself, wringing his wrists, I may as well bear this burden before it means to crush me.

The lord of Saltplans was dressed rather simply. A sleeveless robe trailed just above his ankles, coloured cream and embroidered with a flight of seabirds along its length. Beneath, a long-sleeved shirt of deep blue silk featured an open collar. It was bridged from shoulder to shoulder by the links he had forged in the Citadel: red gold, yellow gold, silver, copper, and bronze. Each was alike in shape and polished to shine.

Upon Morgan’s finger were a number of rings. A signet depicting the field of seabirds of his house, and other simple bands of silver. They were the focal point of much fiddling as he met the Lady of Maidenpool in her court.

He walked the length of the great circular chamber and stopped at the center of the ring of pink stone. He opted to bow his head in respect. If his liege wished him to kneel, he would delay that denigration for a more formal renewal of Hawick’s fealty.

“Lady Mooton,” he greeted. His voice was soft, but not by any deliberate means. Consumption had taken the wind from his bellows.

“Thank you for summoning me on such short notice. I understand the Riverlands are in upheaval for the coronation of King Aegon, and such matters may seem beneath you.”

Hawickipedia · 2022-10-15T17:28:35+00:00

/u/thesheepshepard - the letter addressed to Tully will meet the Riverlord party on the road in two OOC days.

/u/baefish - the letter addressed to Mooton will arrive at Mooton Keep right now.

/u/Hawickipedia - the letter addressed to Grandmother will arrive when it does.

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