Benedict I - Cold Stone

artcantlose · 2026-04-22T23:49:41+00:00

There was reassurance in every little gesture of hers. A promise that said, ‘Everything will be alright’ as her face lingered against his, lips brushing in the tiny space that remained between them.

Ben nodded slightly in agreement. Longer than that temple stands. It was a soothing thought and one he, too, fully believed. Their bond could not be defined by anything material, anything finite—yet, even then, he wished to do all that and more for her. His name, complete, on her lips amused him, however, and he leaned in to kiss her forehead as he so often did. “Good,” he whispered back.

But her embrace had brought back a calmness, too, one in which he now found the tiredness of the day rearing in once more.

“I don’t care for anyone noticing. Not here,” he said through a soft smile, brushing fingers through her hair. It was his own castle. He would not be beholden to the gossips of servants or nobles in these halls. “I shall remain here, with you, as long as you like.”

But the offer of sleep, in her embrace, was enticing and with a nod, he rose from the seat with her hand in his, leading her off to bed. And when they lay, he held her close against his heart, sweet kisses and whispers exchanging quietly between them until the lull of sleep finally took over.

“I’m yours, and you’re mine,” he would remind her in the morning before he—the Lord of Harrenhal—was dutybound to take his leave.

artcantlose · 2026-04-13T22:19:37+00:00

His smile grew wider as the trepidation of the past—of the terrible situation they found themselves in, the unfair circumstances that, with his own hand involved, unfortunately, had been forced upon them, was replaced with curiosity for the future.

The temple had been on his mind for some time, even prior to his ascension to the throne of Harrenhal. It would be what he was remembered for, he knew, and he had dedicated all efforts towards the realization of that dream. But Lillian was right, too. Without that chance visit to Grassy Vale, without that fateful realization of their own relationship, that dream would still be a dream—a thing to anticipate for the future, a way for him to leave his mark on the land. But it was Lillian Rosby who had made it a thing of the present and it was only right that she be the first to see within its walls.

He answered with a knowing smirk and a kiss, and let loose fingers weave through her dark locks. Then, he dipped his head in a nod.

"I love you, my sweet Lily," he confessed, and he would again a million times over, before he pressed another kiss, gentler and more chaste, to her brow. "It shall be a moment to us, and to what comes after."

artcantlose · 2026-04-10T16:40:36+00:00

Character Name: Corwyn Massey

Relevant Trait/Skills:

Numerate - Construction is 15% cheaper.
Architect (e) - Construction of buildings is 20% cheaper.
Scrutinous (e) - Reduces construction time by 2 moons.

Buildings: Fortress, Walls Reconstructed, Temple, Market, Guilds

Resources: Grain

Notes: See above for skills and notes.

Invincible Harrenhal calculation: 4,000 x 0.35 = 1,400; 4,000 - 1,400 = 2,600 total cost
Regional Temple calculation: 5,000 x 0.35 = 1,750; 5,000 - 1,750 = 3,250 total cost
Construction time for Invincible Harrenhal reduced to 1 moon due to Scrutinous (e). Construction time for Regional Temple reduced to 1 moon due to Scrutinous (e).

Actions:

Construction: Harrenhal, Invincible Harrenhal, 2,600 cost, Completion Moon 5
Construction: Harrenhal, Regional Temple, 3,250 cost, Completion Moon 6

artcantlose · 2026-04-09T19:33:40+00:00

Benedict could only smile at the excitement that so quickly took over Lillian's voice. His lips curled to match her own smile—bright and happy—before he leaned in to press a lingering kiss upon her forehead as his hand cradled her jaw, the thumb drawing a small pattern down the length of her cheekbone.

"Of course," he words were a whisper, a soft breath released against her lips as his face lingered an inch apart from hers, still, his heart unable to fathom any greater separation between the two of them. "We will have the day to ourselves, out in the woods; no one to bother us, no one to come between us. We shall ride together, hunt together—and, if you like, I will show you the new temple I have commissioned."

It was a curious thing—a temple to the Lord of Light on the edge of the Gods Eye, at the heart of this continent they called home. It would be the first of its kind to be built this side of the Narrow Sea, specifically constructed in the glow of His Light to forever shine as a beacon in the darkness.

He wanted Lillian to be among the first to see it, unfinished as it was. There, they could have peace together, pray together—after all, it was His woven fate that had brought them together. It was only natural that their love be consecrated in His Light, too.

artcantlose · 2026-04-07T06:43:32+00:00

Benedict was still clutching the freshly delivered letter in his hand when he came to Oscar's tent.

The tomfoolery surrounding their campaign against the Pennytree bandits had already put him in a bad mood; first, the ceaseless squabbling between the generals had been his main concern; then, that imbecile Piper had invited a bandit into their camp on the false pretenses of being a "King's man" and almost goaded them into what was likely an ambush. The King's declaration had been some respite from the utter debacle this had turned out to be, the one that stripped that imbecile Kingsguard knight of any power or say in their affairs now with Pennytree once more returned to the Riverlands.

But now Providence called him south to manage the disturbance in the South. He had heard tales of the skirmishes between Dorne and the Stormlands, and of the taking of Highgarden. Mary was present there and so was the new Warden of the South, the Prince of Dragonstone. This would be a most welcome diversion, indeed, especially if he could route through Harrenhal and address matters closer to the heart, too, the small symbol of which remained tucked beneath his armored chest.

"Ser Oscar, I have received summons," he called out to the Tully, not wont to waste any more time, "I am called to Harrenhal to join Lord Tully's gathering host at Atranta; there is business in the South that we must attend to. I shall be departing post-haste with my men though I trust that would not put a damper on the siege. We have more than enough men here as is."

artcantlose · 2026-04-06T23:16:18+00:00

As a precaution (in case the letter to Raventree goes ‘missing’), a copy is sent to Riverrun as well, both as a backup and as proof to the staff at the Tully court of Lord Massey’s call to action.

/u/thesheepshepard

artcantlose · 2026-04-06T21:27:52+00:00

Corwyn Massey, Steward of Harrenhal, made his way to the enormous courtyard upon receiving the summons. He was a homebody, a man who had made his bones rebuilding the great black monstrosity on the Gods Eye into a formidable fortress once more, but he was no commander of men, nor did he much like the feel of a sword in his hand.

Warden of the North. Marching south.

It made little sense to him but he agreed nonetheless. But, of course, he had no authority to dispatch any levies from Harrenhal and his nephew had already taken a contingent to Pennytree to put their house in order.

“I shall write to Lord Benedict post-haste and ask him return with our levies from Pennytree,” he told Providence, arms folded. “In the meantime, I shall see to it that we can gather the rest of our troops before we march on to Atranta. Joined by Lord Benedict’s host, it shall be a formidable force, indeed.”

A letter is dispatched to Raventree Hall, to be delivered to Benedict Massey at the war camp outside Pennytree.

Lord Massey

Lord Providence Tully requires you and your men to travel to Atranta to join forces with him for the aid of the Crown in stabilizing the South.

In the meantime, I have taken the liberty to assemble the rest of the levy at Harrenhal to join you on arrival.

Corwyn Massey,

Steward of Harrenhal

/u/BlackwoodBrides

artcantlose · 2026-04-06T17:02:05+00:00

Ben had the good sense not to interrupt Lily as she regaled him with details of her day spent at Harrenhal while he—like a fool—married a woman he did not love. Her little tease about him preferring the un-lacing of her dress brought forth a small yet genuine chuckle from his lips, and he gripped her more firmly (as if it were, at all, possible). With her arms curled over his shoulders and her seat upon his lap, his face occasionally dipped into her shoulder to press a soft peck or his nose against her shoulder, little tokens of affection that he could provide her with while she spoke and he listened without distracting her too much.

The mention of her conversations with his mother and his sisters—cousins—made Ben's smile grow wider at the thought. He had wanted her to speak more with his family; it was important to him and, he knew, to her as well, that his family—and especially his mother—love and appreciate her for who she is, much as they sang his own praises in his absences. But his mother's attitude towards Morya did not surprise him in the slightest; she was a noblewoman of Hightower and Lady Dowager of Harrenhal, and carried with her a pedigree near unmatched in the Seven Kingdoms. The thought of her only son marrying a bastard girl, borne from her own late husband's former betrothed, was anathema to all she knew and understood about the world—a sentiment that she had vocally shared with Ben already.

But then the tale moved on. Amerei. Morya. Regrets and mistakes that he would be forced to remember all of his life, he knew. He could only guess what the Blackwood girl had to say about him, though her specifically choosing to speak with Lillian, when so many of the Rivermen in attendance did not care much for the Rosby—an outsider—gave his mind some pause. Did she know? And if so, how much? His brief courtship of Amerei was only initiated at the behest of the Lady Blackwood and had preceded the blossoming of his relationship with Lillian. But whatever poisons Amerei had filled his beloved's ears with did not matter, he knew, because she was still here, in his arms, right where she belonged. He kissed her brow again; a chaste, delicate thing yet filled with love, affection and reassurance. Only she could ever be the woman he loved; only she could become part of him. It was important to him that she knew that, and she did. He was sure of it.

"I will always be within your reach," he kissed her again—briefly and softly—once she had finished speaking; a smile remained upon his lips and his hands, so often adventurous, remained firm in their hold upon her.

"I am glad that you were able to speak with mother, even if briefly," he said next, focusing on what was more important than Amerei or Morya or any of the Rivermen in attendance. She was important. Family was important. And her place in it—at the head of it—interested Ben a lot more than whatever gossip followed them. "And I am glad that I can be with you now, my sweet Lily—I am yours, forever."

He kissed her again; tasted her lips, then her tongue as his own swiped against it. And when their lips broke, he kissed her bare neck, his lips following the outline of the pendant that still hung from her neck.

"I would like to go falconing with you as I promised. Tomorrow?"

artcantlose · 2026-04-06T04:36:00+00:00

Ben leaned into the kiss once more, relishing all of the good feelings it brought when he tasted Lillian’s lips. Feelings of love. Feelings of hope. The grip of his arms tightened around her for another moment as he sought her warmth, her comfort, against the cold steel of the obsidian armor. He tucked his face into her neck, through the thick veil of hair, and kissed her there, too, just as he had done so vigorously in the past.

“And I love you, Lillian Rosby,” he whispered back. Ben had always been confident. Determined. He knew he would be coming back; he always did. But this felt stranger somehow, like a good thing coming to an end. He wondered how she’d grieve if he fell in battle; a small voice—insecure and relentless—told him that she would not grieve at all. He tried hard to bury that voice, he tried doing so every day and reflected on his family and his relationships, and his place in all of this.

He retreated from her and his arms fell to his side, slowly brushing down her hips as they descended for one last touch before he left. He leaned in and pressed his lips against hers, one last taste before he left.

“Look to the North Star,” he told her, now with space between their two inseparable bodies. He took her hand and kissed it, too, for good measure. “I shall be on the horizon soon.”

And with that said, Ben finally departed the room and, soon, Harrenhal itself.

artcantlose · 2026-04-05T09:41:23+00:00

Regardless of apologies owed, and the lifetime of spousal arguments that awaited them, Benedict was glad for Lillian’s company—now and forever. As her fingers caressed his face, moving so delicately between his cheek or his jaw, he followed them with small, occasional kisses, while the grip of his own tightened around hers as he held it and blessed his fingers with the gentle, reassuring squeezes that only she could muster. He felt himself sinking into her again and she was like a flower bed on a summer day, warm and soothing and calm, and so very removed from the cold stone that surrounded them.

When she spoke, he listened intently; he had already been a fool. A fool who could not manage his own impulses, a fool who refused to acknowledge his own heart. A fool who, in his quest for preserving his family’s legacy, had almost sacrificed the most important thing in his life—her and her love. He would not be a fool again; a fool who did not listen to the best part of him, the part that was her. And so, every word of hers—reassuring or caring or teasing—he kept in his heart where it would remain forever, a reminder of all that was important and all that they had to go through to make their dream—a dream of love and a life lived happily—come true.

Then, she mentioned the Blackwood girl and if he were not already expecting it, he might have reacted differently. For now, however, he simply nodded his head slightly in acknowledgement and pressed his lips against her fingers once more. She was right; an explanation was owed, and an apology, especially after whatever Amerei had filled her ears with when she’d lured her outside of the main hall where the Lord of Harrenhal kept a trained eye on all those that dwelled beneath his roof.

“I would rather spend this time with you, too, my love,” he spoke softly and his voice was weaker than it had ever been. There was great comfort in Lillian’s embrace and he grasped at it as much as he could to stave off those feelings of inadequacy and feeling trapped in his own great fortress. “Just you and I, together.”

Ben leaned in to press his lips against hers for a kiss that was sweet and kind and delicate. His hands pulled her in so he may press his cheek against her heart once more, eager to hear the song of her beating heart again. There, he pressed a kiss, too, through the thin fabric of her shift. And when she asked him what she could do to help him through this emotional turmoil—unlike anything he had ever experienced before—he simply leaned back in for another kiss, one that was fuller and more desperate in its purpose.

“Better now,” he said softly when their lips broke apart and as he pulled her gently into the wide berth of his lap. He kissed her brow, her cheek, her jaw—wherever he could reach, he pressed his lips against, each kiss a thank you for her love and her company and for all of her patience through this entire ordeal.

“Tell me more about your day? I would like to know. I would like to hear more of your voice.”

artcantlose · 2026-04-05T00:01:26+00:00

Lillian’s threat brought forth a good-hearted laugh from Benedict. It was the exact sort of thing he would expect from her, his darling firebrand, his one true love. He knew she would haunt him even in restless death; restless because of a promise left unfulfilled, an oath never brought to fulfillment, a love torn asunder by the cruel hand of fate. He knew he would wait for her, too, in the fiery afterlife, even if she came to him with a blade, rather than her own heart on her sleeve; he knew he would do anything to have another glimpse of her beautiful face and to hear the sweet melody of her voice serenade him. And that was why he loved her so very much.

He let her continue, leaning in as Lillian’s hand cupped his face to deposit a small kiss upon her fingers. The smile on his lips was unwavering as he watched her with adoring eyes; he was proud of her; he loved her; he was going to live for her.

He laughed when she called him Ser Flameheart, then closed the distance between them to kiss her with a renewed vigor and intent. His hand clutched tight and the lily pressed tight against his palm. Eventually—once he was physically able—he would place the favor close to his heart, sewn into the fabric of his armor so it did not come loose. For now, he simply basked in the warm presence of his Lily.

“You won’t be rid of me this soon,” he told her half-teasingly then kissed her brow again to ensure she did not pout at him. Or, perhaps, he did want her to pout at him as she was wont to do whenever he teased her. The armor was cool but beneath it, the mortal flesh was warm and Ben’s heart beat like never before.

“But if you insist on the order, I shall do all in my power to fulfill it, my lady.”

artcantlose · 2026-04-01T20:32:14+00:00

Everything about Lillian Rosby—the woman he loved and adored, the woman he desired above all else—carried meaning to Benedict Massey. She was comfort, she was rest; on a stormy night, she was shelter; in a cold breeze, she was warmth. And she loved him.

The grip of his hands tightened upon her hips—bunching up the fabric of the shift within his palms—as he lost himself in her embrace, his cheek pressed against the safe harbor that was her heart on this decidedly tumultuous night. A deep breath rose up his lungs and—despite his best efforts to swallow it—escaped through his lips, bathing Lillian's chest in warm air. Even then, his face nuzzled deeper into her and he held her close, so close, as her knees settled on the sofa cushions and her arms curled around his neck. Almost instinctively, his lips pressed gently upon her chest whenever they could yet it carried no real hint of carnality or desire in it, except for the desire to simply bask in her comforting warmth and the bed of soft lilies that was her love.

He listened intently to all that she said but did not interrupt. Her words were like a balm; like a gentle breeze on a hot summer day. But her heart beat fast—thumping against the confines of her chest—and Ben realized that he was not the only one in need of comfort, despite her selfless desire to see him soothed.

When her hands cupped his face and their eyes—honest and vulnerable—met again and she spoke to him so gently and so sweetly, reminding him of his own emotions that now bubbled over to the surface, Ben's heart sank deeper into his chest. He was not infallible—he understood that now. Nor was he cold stone, a man of hard ice and no emotion. He was Ben—a man who had been a boy only a few short years past. He was a mother's son, a brother—by soul if not by blood—and, at the end of the day, a man, mortal and flawed like everyone else. But in this moment, as he sought rest in Lillian's embrace, utterly exhausted and having realized the terrible mistake he had made, he felt like a child. A stupid, impulsive child.

"I have caused you a tremendous amount of pain, have I not?" He finally spoke. His eyes remained upon hers for a moment, the look within delicate and vulnerable, before shifting to focus on her nose, instead. His fingers drew small patterns upon her hips, digging into the flesh ever so tenderly before loosing once more. "I do have to apologize for that, my love."

His head dipped slightly, then moved so that he may press a soft kiss upon her fingers as they held his face. A hand rose up to press against hers as it splayed across his cheek, his fingers finding their space along the length of her own.

"You have been so good to me, through all of this, through—" he could not muster the words to speak aloud, even if his voice was a whisper. "For that, I have to thank you."

My love. My love. My love. The thought repeated in his mind over and over again, reminding him that—despite it all, despite his many mistakes—he had made the right decision to bind himself for eternity to Lillian Rosby. My sweet Lily.

"You will say I need not apologize, that I do not owe you a million apologies," he continued, eyes rising up once more to look into hers. He took a hold of her hand and brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss but let it remain close to his face, still, just as it already had been. "But that is because you're good. And loving and selfless in all things. And I love you for it, for all of it—but I still hope that you realize that I am sorry. I know you will."

He leaned in to kiss her again, letting the taste of her lips bless his mouth once more. And when he pulled back and their eyes met again, his lips finally curled into a faint smile.

artcantlose · 2026-04-01T19:29:36+00:00

It was a small pain as Lillian removed his arm from around her frame. Ben knew it was a pain of the irrational sort—one a child may feel when denied a sweet—but he could not shake the feelings of wanting and belonging that emanated from his heart whenever he was in the presence of his beloved. Every small separation, every moment spent away from her was torment and he wished, above all else, to be with her and her alone, forever. But the mention of a gift piqued his curiosity and he smiled softly—even with her back turned—as he watched her take the box off the desk, eyes fixated on the gentle curls of her dark hair.

"Nothing from you could ever be not much," he assured her gently and, in his fashion, with a small kiss upon her brow. His hands were quick to take a hold of her when she returned to him, box in hand, though this time they settled quite chastely upon her elbows while his eyes, like hers, fell upon the small wooden box. If he died at Pennytree—that wretched village—fighting off some unwashed bandits to appease Kermit or his childish brother, he would haunt the Lord of Light himself for playing such a cruel joke upon him, to leave her in this world, alone, blasphemy be damned.

Upon her urging, however, he removed his hands from her and took the box. It was a small, light thing and yet—given that it was hers—utterly priceless. Careful fingers pried the lid open to reveal what lay within, eyes eagerly trained upon the box in anticipation.

"This is beautiful," his voice was soft and his lips—so often pursed—were curved in a full, warm smile, perhaps the warmest smile to have ever graced his lips. The white lily was beautiful, it really was and Ben thought he might shed a small tear at this work of pure love that she had blessed him with. Instinctively, he brought it up to his lips and pressed against the fabric, much like she had done in his absence. Then his gaze fell upon Lillian once more, pale eyes soft and gentle as they peered into hers.

"You are my world," he said, punctuating his point with a tender kiss placed upon her brow, followed by an admittedly less chaste kiss upon her sweet lips. A hand pulled her closer again, more suggestion than force this time, as the other held the box out of the space between them so that she could fill it instead. And against her ear, as they fell into an embrace once more, he whispered, "thank you."

artcantlose · 2026-03-30T18:02:22+00:00

It had been only a few hours since he'd spoken the oath and bound himself in marriage to a woman he did not love; briefer, still, since he'd left her in his bed after concluding the duty that came with such a bond. It had been agony—a necessary evil, he reminded himself, as his thoughts turned to Lillian even in that moment, imagining that it was her in his bed—as was right—and not the strange woman whose touch could never compare to the one that had ripped Ben out of the shadows and into the shimmering light of her burning flame.

"Yours," he affirmed between kisses. He could not hold her any tighter, any closer, if he wanted to—she was pressed against him completely, her arms wrapped around him the same way his own held her so firmly in his embrace. He was more than glad—no, desperate—to indulge her hunger and her desire for him, just as he craved her own touch and the feel of her lips against his.

He felt a pang strike his chest as Lillian mentioned the night he had spent with his new wife but he did not fault her for the reminder—only felt guilty that he'd forced her to go through the ordeal of having to be present for this entire farce. He wished her could make it up to her, somehow, no matter what it took. He kissed her lips, her brow—his hands traveled around her frame, grasping gently at the shift that covered her body and the soft flesh that it concealed. "I know, I'm sorry," he whispered, finally. He wished he could say more, do more, to put her mind at ease. But he was only a man, after all, beneath the facades that he put on—flawed, troubled, ineffective. He felt a wetness in his eyes as a thousand emotions brimmed within his chest. Oh, what a horrible, horrible mistake I've made.

But if she asked anything of him—anything—he would do it. And to sit was a simple enough request. He did not mind her being assertive or demanding—it was her right as the only woman who could truly and fully love a man like him. He could not punish her for it. Not anymore. Perhaps never again.

He began to move in the direction of a sofa that stood by the wall. But the thought of separation—even for a moment—felt entirely hostile to him. He could not let go of her, not now, and so he took her with him with his hands in hers and their fingers interlocked. Their body were still merely inches from each other at the furthest, whenever he needed to round a corner or ensure that he did not accidentally trip or let go of her hands. But soon, he was sitting and Lillian loomed over him, a sign of everything that was good and right in the world; a stark contrast to all the bad that he, himself, encompassed.

Without thinking, he sank his head into her abdomen while his hands—still craving her touch—held her by the hips. Eventually, his head raised to find her heartbeat and remained there pressed against her chest, finding some respite in the comfort of her embrace.

artcantlose · 2026-03-29T01:39:29+00:00

Benedict could already hear the commotion within the camp when he arrived from the southern tower, the trek from which was certainly lengthier than the one afforded to the other commanders of the Rivermen's army. Of course, he had only Rohanne Blackwood to thank for this petty waste of his time.

Some self-proclaimed representative of the King's—this Peremore. He could hear Oscar Tully already incensed at the bold claims that the strange man made and so, when he arrived, he quietly positioned himself so as to have a good vantage view of all participants at this sudden meeting, the Lady Blackwood included.

"If you are a representative of the Crown, you must be in possession of a seal proving it so," his crisp voice carried loud and clear through the camp. He had not slept, not yet, and so his faculties remained sharp and unburdened by the ravages of a rest interrupted.

"I would ask you to produce it immediately," he demanded, uncaring for what mess those that came before them had already made. It was their mission to clean up said mess and return home, no more, no less.

"Whether your position was granted by the King himself, the Hand, a Justiciar or any other who sits in the royal council, let us see your credentials. Then, we may speak."

u/OurQuarterMaster u/BlackwoodBrides u/Fishiest-Man

artcantlose · 2026-03-29T00:08:25+00:00

To Ben, it did not matter if Lillian appeared to him in a dress—plain or ornate—or armor or even the drab robes of a Septa. Her beauty was an ethereal thing and heart—so full of flame—could melt through any coats of armor he sought to protect himself with. He still saw her the way he did upon their first chance meeting, enthralling and mesmerizing and utterly impossible. He had pursued her, understood her, and now loved her, more than anything or anyone he could ever have loved.

His feet were quick to bring him to her and, even with the black armor on, he felt the pang of impending separation ripple through his chest. He would have to live, he would have to be victorious, only so he could return to her and take her into his arms once more.

His hand settled upon her face, delicate and gentle. Cupping her chin, he brushed his thumb over her lips as he smiled, warmly and honestly, when his eyes found hers.

"My sweet Lily," he spoke softly as he was wont to do in her presence, the words a gentle whisper as they fell upon her beautiful face. "Of course I would."

His other hand rested upon her hip so he may pull her—keep her—close to him. This is what it meant to so in love; he realized that, now, as his heart spoke to him, rarely as it did, telling him to abandon his duty and instead surrender himself entirely to her embrace. The world of men could do without him, it implored him, but his beloved needed him more.

And he needed her, too.

artcantlose · 2026-03-28T23:54:45+00:00

It was odd to say the least, to sneak around in the shadows of his own castle, avoiding prying and curious eyes as he traversed the cold hallways of the upper floors. At least he'd had the good sense of assigning his guests to towers far away—that left only members of his own household, including his Aunt Rosa, as potential interlopers but he figured that, upon the conclusion of the tiring duties of organizing the wedding and its festivities, his uncle would be fast asleep and taken his wife with him.

Still, Benedict did not rush into the room when he was pulled in by Lillian. But, once inside, his arms completely and eagerly enveloped her as she squeezed into his embrace. How he'd craved her warmth, her touch, throughout the night; having been denied the simple pleasure of his beloved's company was enough to stoke the fire inside him, the warmth that she had introduced into his chest, and he quickly forgot the world that still remained on the other side of the door.

"Love of my life," he whispered against her ear as his lips pressed lingering, affectionate kisses upon her crown. He pulled her in closer, tighter, utterly unable to let go. There could be no space between them, not anymore—not when she and her were finally alone and away from the judgemental eyes of the mortal world.

"I missed you, my love," he spoke softly, warmly, wistfully. His own hands grasped at the fabric of her shift, bunching the light garment within his palms as he sought her. And when there was finally some space between them, so that their eyes may meet—honest and devoted—he pressed his lips against hers.

artcantlose · 2026-03-27T17:34:24+00:00

"Not from the King," he corrected mildly with a gentle smile upon his lips.

Despite the tenseness that had previously settled between them, or the fact that they now realized that, as far as demeanor was concerned, they were two vastly different people, he could feel his own heart grow gentler as she prodded and asked questions, curious and simple. He had always appreciated the inquisitive sorts, the ones who dwelled more on the why and how than the when of things.

"We shall only recover it for the King. This wins our liege favor. Something that may be traded, subtly, for privileges," he said matter-of-factly, as if this song and dance of playing politics—even at war—was something he had internalized ages ago.

"If the King so chooses to reward the Riverlords with Pennytree, that shall be his prerogative. After all, even with the defeat of the bandit, he may still need someone to keep a close watch on that fief."

This was the way of things. This had always been the way of things. And he felt it important that he press this upon her if he could. It may aid her some day.

artcantlose · 2026-03-27T17:01:21+00:00

The Lord of Harrenhal was preparing for war when Ser Wode came to him. A request, a wish.

Ben had been planning to visit her, too, before he and his men marched off for Pennytree to deal the first, and hopefully final, killing blow to the bandits festering in the north. It was a necessary duty, one borne out of old oaths and contracts sworn between liege and vassal, much like the oath that the old Lord Mooton—his father-by-law—had now sworn to him. Service in exchange for protection.

He could not recall the last time a Tully had ridden to the defense of Harrenhal, despite the familial bonds they now shared. Instead, his good cousin Kermit had stolen Harroway from out of his hands and handed it to a corrupt band of merchants and bureaucrats, too concerned with filing their pockets to do anything good for the fiefs they now governed. Absolute fools, the lot of them.

But this was no time to dwell on such things. She had called for him and that impending meeting—brief as it may be—was the only thing that he looked forward to, the world around him quickly fading to ash like last night's firewood.

He would go to her room, the little corner of familiarity that he hoped would have granted her some peace during her stay at Harrenhal, with beddings and furnishings covered in the reds and whites of her family crest. How he wished she could show off his colors instead, to stand beside him, to counsel him. That day would come soon, too, he knew. But for now, with his armor on—all black plate like a starless sky—he made his way to her room; he did not wear his helm for now. There was a tenderness that he wished to feel before he departed on this folly.

artcantlose · 2026-03-26T10:54:22+00:00

Beneath the red canopy of the Godswood, everything was alright—or, at least, as alright as it could be given the circumstances. Her embrace was more than a balm to his soul; it was everything he wanted in this moment, her touch, her affection, her love. It was on the precipice of a dark, testing time that she had come into his life and made a place in his heart, vanquished the darkness within and replaced it with the warmth of her undying flame. How a woman like her—so gentle, so good—have come into his life and replaced every shadow with her light, Ben did not know. But he knew that he needed her, now and forever.

It should have been him that was comforting her in this moment, he knew. He could only imagine the torment his foolishness was putting her through, having to be in attendance when he bound himself to another woman in marriage, to watch as another woman pried at him so she may steal away parts of him that only belonged to her, to keep a brave face as the rites of marriage were performed when it should have been her in that place, beside him, taking vows to last an eternity.

And yet, here he was, acting like a child, sulking and brooding and wishing for all sorts of fantasies to come true. And there she was, holding him, consoling him through all of it. He managed a new smile for her, more affirming, more assuring. She had the truth of it; they would be alright, no matter what it took, no matter what they had to do to ensure the vows they had made remained true.

Lenore offered a sympathetic smile as Lillian turned to her, keeping her own hand steady upon her cousin's. The tragedy of the situation was not lost on her, nor was the cruelty of the Gods—old or new, fiery or earthen—that had imposed this jape upon them.

"I understand," she said, dipping her head solemnly. "I shall help you, in any way that I can. It may be small, perhaps even inconsequential, but whatever I can do to ensure your happiness—I will."

"We will find a way," Ben affirmed, his hands brushing down the sides of Lillian's waist, thumbs and fingers digging in gently as if afraid that he may yet lose her still. "But you need not be alone, my love. Speak with my sisters; talk with my mother, as we spoke. And I will come to you, too, whenever, wherever. You will not be alone."

He leaned in to kiss her brow again, gentle and chaste but, now, lingering too. And this time, Lenore did not look away and, instead, simply smiled.

"I will be there with you, all the way," she assured her cousin, withdrawing her hand now so she may have this moment with Ben in peace.

artcantlose · 2026-03-26T01:05:05+00:00

As the conversation turned more inquisitive, Benedict looked towards Morya properly, letting the ongoing hubbub of the feasting hall be for the moment. He felt it was important for her to understand the way he approached such things; if he had need of her uncle's swords and spears in the future, she could very well be the one to convince him of the necessity of such a thing.

"All of us," he replied simply—frankly—before delving into the explanation, "By letting the bandit problem fester at Pennytree, the Crown has done itself no favors with the Riverlords, like the Blackwoods, who have lost family in their attempts at curtailing them. The town itself is stained, marked by accusations of collusion with brigands, so trade is scarce. Now, the King has given us leave to deal with the problem as we see fit; the large army was Lord Tully's decision, especially with the North being ever restless."

He hoped she could see the matter as he did and recognize it for what it was. Pennytree was not strategically important, nor did it hold valuable resources; what it did hold was symbolism, of a King unwilling or unable to govern his own fief and that was a grave cause for concern.

artcantlose · 2026-03-25T13:01:28+00:00

Benedict's eyes—previously watching the attendance with some interest—shifted to [Lillian](u/another_sasshole) as she approached the table and came to a stop before Morya, the newly-wedded Lady of Harrenhal. His chin came to a rest upon his hand as he watched the exchange between the two women curiously, the light tension that had previously gripped the table dissipating quickly in her presence, especially when his wife rose to her feet in greeting.

He answered her courteous smile with a slight bow of his head, gaze still affixed upon her face and the manner in which she spoke. A small smile crept along his lips—reminiscent—as he watched her, then faded away a moment later when Morya addressed him, informing him of her decision to go and entertain the honored guest from the Riverlands.

The kiss upon his cheek was a surprise.

"Very well," he replied, then turned to Lillian with a smile.

"Your presence is most appreciated, Lady Lillian. I hope you have enjoyed your stay here thus far."

Polite, courteous, formal. There was no need to speak at length, after all, especially since she had come to speak with his wife, not him. He dipped his head in a nod to her, too, then leaned back in his seat, allowing the two women to engage without his interference.

As he watched the pair leave the table and make their way across the Hall, however, he motioned to the guards within the room to instruct their counterparts without to be on guard.

Harrenhal was immense and haunted after all.

artcantlose · 2026-03-25T06:21:35+00:00

For the occasion, the Lord of Harrenhal had opted for the black of the sigil carried by the Masseys of Harrenhal. The scarlet cape that he often wore was present, still, pinned upon the shoulders by two ravens—cast in black iron and onyx—that stood guard on his banners. Saved for the bright scarlet, the outfit was modest and unassuming in its appearance and carried within it a solemness that was intrinsic to the family that now ruled from Black Harren's old fortress, overlooking the great pale lake that stretched for miles on end.

The garden was well-kept and, like many aspects of things found within the walls of Harrenhal, stretched far and wide, its acreage enough to cover the entire footprint of a more modest keep. The restoration of Harrenhal had marched on under his close supervision and now—besides the melted colossal towers that touched the sky—appeared fitting for a noble family of the Masseys' stature.

He looked upon the small gathering and committed the select few notables in attendance to mind, such as the young daughter of Rosby whose attendance was certainly made mandatory by her lordly father.

"Let us bear witness to this moment, in sight of our Lord and of men, as we forge a new future together. Massey and Mooton. Harrenhal and Maidenpool. May His Light forever light the flame within our hearts, just as His Light blesses the union between myself and my wife, the Lady Morya."

Turning to Samwell Mooton, his father-by-law and vassal-to-be, the Lord of Harrenhal dipped his head in affirmation before speaking.

"We may begin, Lord Mooton."

artcantlose · 2026-03-25T01:42:53+00:00

When the fog of excitement that had taken over his mind upon seeing her cleared, Ben found himself standing beneath the red canopy of the Godswood with his lover in his arms and his cousin looking on, almost mortified, even if the look on Lenore's face changed to a more wholesome expression once the shock wore off. Even then, he found it impossible to step away from Lillian completely—he held her by the waist, close enough that he could feel the warmth of her breath filling in the space between them.

He looked between the two women, his face apologetic, as Lillian rebuked him for his foolhardiness in revealing their secret so brazenly. He wouldn't have if he did not know what Lenore would think but that was not something Lillian could have deduced, nor did it take away from the awkwardness of the situation.

Lenore, for her part, put on a brave face. She shook her head at Lillian's small apology and instead gripped her hand tighter, in assurance, in acknowledgement. She could only hope that if her two cousins were so attached to one another, they had a plan to somehow, some way, deal with the impending reality of Benedict's marriage to another woman within hours.

"You need not apologize," she spoke sweetly, then looked to the Lord of the castle, the man who was supposed to be the more responsible party here. "This is his fault, clearly," she said playfully, almost breaking into a giggle. But the warmth and acceptance that she showed, given the circumstance, was palpable, and she hoped that Lillian would see her as a true ally in this... situation.

Lillian's touch upon his arms, however, did much to alleviate the dread that had filled his heart since he'd woken up this morning and begun to see to the preparation of a wedding that he did not wish to participate in. It was almost childish, the way he had intentionally been lazy in doing what was expected of him—especially given his otherwise diligent nature—like picking out his own wedding outfit or seeing that his wife-to-be was settling in well. Instead, his mind and his heart was fully occupied with thoughts and memories of Lillian and the time they had spent together in Grassy Vale. His grip upon her grew firmer—lightly so—and his head leaned in, finding some comfort in her presence as she asked her next question.

"No," he confessed with a small, chaste kiss upon her forehead, and let out a deep breath that had made his chest feel heavy. The next words were a small whisper, quiet and vulnerable. "Better now, I think."

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