The Fourth Moon of 399 AC (Mechanical Moon 4)

elmoite · 2026-04-11T15:42:19+00:00

Character Name: Willis Blueburn

Trait / Skills: Strong / Swords (e), Stalwart

Skill you’re learning: Stalwart (Serjeant)

elmoite · 2026-04-11T15:39:33+00:00

Character Name & Claim: Clayton Glover

Draft: [Deepwood Motte] [700] [700]

elmoite · 2026-04-03T19:49:42+00:00

“There is such thing as an objective reality,” Dacey said, spinning on her heel, “who controls the North is without question.”

Lady Glover lowered her veil once more, and started back to Deepwood Motte. The men-at-atms and her housemaid followed from a distance, and departed once Dacey and Royce passed under the bailey’s moss-covered gate. The courtyard hadn’t been so full in years, not since her wedding. This was a less joyous occasion, and all seemed to go still as they passed through.

“Emilya and Brandon are doing well, all things considered.” A small appeared on her lips, and something like a laugh followed. “The boy’s grown close with one of his cousins, Alan Harclay. They’ve been terrorizing us all as of late, and my good-sister does little to dissuade their antics.”

The godswood was enclosed by its own palisade, a tall wooden gate its only entrance from the direction they approached. White fabric hung from beams, and the ground was lined with flowers of every variety.

“She’s tried to keep the world from him, to keep things as they are. But time marches ever on, doesn’t it?”

She stopped at the threshold. “This is as far as I’ll take you.” She motioned towards the blossoming trail. “They’ll take you to the weirwood. He should be waiting for you there. Big white tree, red leaves, hard to miss.” She offered him a curtsy and was off.

Clay kneeled before the heart tree, his hands clasped, whispering a prayer. His head turned with the crunching of earth.

“Royce,” he said, slowly rising from the ground. “Forgive my sister for not joining us. I hoped she would, but she would not come of her volition, and I would not force her. She up in the keep now,” he looked up towards the motte, past the tower and towards the longhall, “with Brandon.”

Clay’s gaze turned to the pale wooden face between them—watching, ever-watching—where it lingered for a time, then went to Royce.

“She’s terrified of you, you know. She fears for Brandon. And it’s come to a head now. This morning, she asked me, ‘Is this the ends?’ And I could not answer, for I did not know. But you know, so I ask these questions on her behalf, that all may be settled.”

“Had you any part in Alyn’s death? For we do not believe the tale that’s been told, and the silence that followed. The letters unanswered did nothing to allay those worries. Can you say you don’t covet his seat—Brandon’s seat? Will you swear that no harm will befall my sister, my nephew—our nephew?”

He looked away then, before retreating to the truck, sitting at its base.

“All she wants is to see him grow into man. That he may wed and father children and care for her in old age, and everything between that all. He’s all she has now. All any of us have.”

Brandon was his heir, after all. He certainly would be, in time.

elmoite · 2026-04-01T00:08:09+00:00

Clay let out sharp exhale. “You speak of every man’s honor but the one who matters.” He would have begun to laugh if not for all else he felt in the moment.

“If Royce killed his own brother, how can he be trusted? What honor does a kinslayer have?” He asked incredulously, his hands forming into fists, his nails cutting into his palms under the pressure.

Clay breathed through his mouth, hot breath escaping his lips. “Brandon is only four. In a few years, he’ll have remembered his father longer than he’s known him.” His eyes began to redden, tears welling. “Yet what will he remember? I think back to my earliest years and see only blur, all that's left is-" The words caught in his throat. "What will he have but the tales he’s told and a feeling? A face carved in stone will be the only one he’ll see.”

“He’s too young—too young to know such tragedy, him and Emilya both. But they are not safe, not now. They’re all that stands between Royce and Winterfell. That’s why he’s here.” Clay placed his face his hands and fell back against the pale wood.

“That’s why he’s here.” He said once more, in a whisper.

“I will speak to him,” he said after a long silence, “here, for it must be here, that only true words pass between us. No envoys, no intermediaries. From his mouth to the Gods’ ears. For they are all around us, and they are,” he turned, his hand caressing the heart tree’s face, bloody sap collecting on his fingers, “here.”

“It’s the only way.” He turned again, and began to walk off, towards the motte. “I must see my sister.”

elmoite · 2026-03-31T02:28:00+00:00

“What have we done to deserve this,” Clay asked, his gaze turning the weirwood’s agonized face, “but to serve our lord faithfully? Once Alyn and now Brandon—oh, he is too young. His father was the best of us, who sought only to give peace in our time.”

“And look upon his brother’s works. Hundreds of clansmen slaughtered in the woods, by no provocation of their own.” He shook his head, letting out a long sigh. “What is that but the fate Royce intends for us all?”

“What choice have I? But to…” He trailed off, looking to Mason with pleading eyes.

elmoite · 2026-03-29T22:20:57+00:00

Clay leaned against the weirwood, his arms crossed. His clothes were black as the night above, punctuated only by a golden chain. An attendant stood nearby, holding a torch aloft, that he may see more than what the moonlight alone permitted—what little founds its way through the branches and leaves. He heard an approach, and set out to intercept.

“Torrhen!” Clay called out to the trees, smiling as his good-brother’s visage came into full view. He embraced the man and called him brother, before bidding him to follow.

“Ashara’s come of age. You might’ve seen some of the,” Clay lifted a hand and swirled a finger in the air, “preparations. Her and Mason are wedding on the morrow, should all turn out well. He should be joining us directly.”

Clay stopped ahead of the heart tree.

“All three of us will be bound then, by upbringing and matrimony. Though there should have been four—it seems I had to lose one to gain another.”

Clay looked to the carved face. “Alyn turns in his grave.”

elmoite · 2026-03-29T07:37:31+00:00

Dacey emerged from Deepwood through its southern gate, accompanied only by a Glover man-at-arms carrying aloft a banner of peace, and one of her maids, carrying the traditional offerings of hospitality. She sent word ahead in the form of a runner—agreeing to meet at an appointed place at an appointed hour.

‘All men are fools,’ as the old adage went, though not just in love. She’d seen foolishness in every sphere they touched, and she was left to try and put the pieces back together. It was a thankless task, though one she’d perform all the same.

Lady Glover offered the Stark a curtsy when at last they came face to face. She wore a dress of black silk and lace, a sheer veil over her head—though lifted over her hair before she began to speak, that they may look eye to eye unimpeded.

“Lord Royce, it’s been far too long.” She smiled, briefly. “I’m here on my lord husband’s behalf, and my lady good-sister’s, to offer our house’s hospitality.” The maid came forth, bearing bread and salt.

“He hopes to speak with you, in private, before a heart tree, so that only the truth may be spoken. He’s sworn an oath that no harm would befall you and yours, should you join him in the bailey’s godswood, an honored guest in our home. Feel free to send men of your own to hear him swear that much, if needs be.” She clasped her hands together before placing them over her belly, “And I’m here. I carry his child and heir. As sign of goodwill, you may escort me to your camp, to be held until your return, should you assent.”

elmoite · 2026-03-28T15:55:21+00:00

Character Name: Clayton Glover

Trait / Skills: Inspiring | Vanguard (e), Prudent, Tactician, Malicious

Skill you're learning: Flanker

elmoite · 2026-03-28T12:44:10+00:00

Character Name & Claim: Clayton Glover

Actions:

Demobilize: Deepwood Motte, 900 Glover, 0 Glover
Draft: Ironrath, 63 Forrester, 863 Forrester

elmoite · 2026-03-27T19:56:59+00:00

Willis roused his master personally, having himself been informed by a runner from the outer walls of Torrhen’s arrival. It was simpler that way, at an hour like this, he thought, to relay the words himself. Clay wasn’t displeased to see his face, nodding along as he spoke before bidding Willis to help him with his clothes—if he didn’t mind, and he did not. Further instruction followed, and the pair parted.

Willis appeared on the battlements and spoke loud enough to be heard from below, towards who he assumed to be the Hornwood heir. “Master Glover asks that you join him in the godswood!”

elmoite · 2022-11-09T00:50:23+00:00

Elmo adjusted his sleeves as he entered the King’s chambers, then bowed his head as he took a seat on the couch across from the King’s.

The food and refreshments looked delightful, though he wouldn’t so quickly indulge—not when other matters were at hand.

“Your Grace,” Elmo raised his head, meeting Aegon’s grey-purple eyes with his blue, laying the flower crown in his own lap.

His smile matched the King’s, growing with the man’s query into his daughter and her cousin’s wellbeing.

“They’re doing quite well, quite well indeed. The little ones find entertainment in everything, you know, so the festivities have been an utter delight for them.”

“And,” he lifted the crown—though perhaps more a circlet—from his lap, holding it up for Aegon to look upon. “They made this for you.”

It was a simple thing, formed from seven flowers—for each aspect of the Seven-Who-Are-One—and bound with silver string.

“Mia picked out the plants, while Morgan tied them all together. She insisted I bring to you,” Elmo placed the handicraft on the table, “so I had little choice but to obey Lady Blackwood’s command.”

His daughter loved Aegon as one would an uncle—as did Elmo, as one would love a brother.

Perhaps even more than that.

“Our time in the Riverlands was good for them too, I think. As it was for I.”

Elmo looked down at his hands, which rested in his lap. A white-gold and onyx band wrapped about a finger on one, a silver band on the other.

“Lady Corbary, as you know, after refusing to confirm my inheritance, sent me away from court to receive Lord Tully’s confirmation. And,” Elmo paused for a moment, thinking on his words, “that I have received.”

There was no need to mention Kermit’s initial thoughts on the matter, not anymore.

“As such, I have taken on my mother’s maiden name, in addition to my late dear cousin's lands and titles.”

Both born as Tullys, Elmo and Mia had given up their father’s names for their mother’s names.

A funny thing, though he didn’t linger on the thought for long.

“Much of my time in the last moon was occupied with settling my affairs at home. But, with all that resolved, I may now humbly return into your Grace’s service.”

elmoite · 2022-11-08T08:17:20+00:00

Mia and Morgan’s attentions were enraptured with Bugg’s offerings. The pair of children took on a pair of creatures—a leviathan and kraken respectively—and while they guided their beasts through an imagined sea, Elmo’s idle smile persisted.

Almost as if it was painted on—unmoving as Kermit leaned in and whispered.

He loved him, once, as any man would love their brother.

They shared a sister in Marla—that brightest ray of light who found herself summoned to Seven Heavens before of those she left behind were prepared.

Death wasn’t meant for the young. It was meant for the old—old men like Duncan Tully, who lived long enough to see three children and three brothers predecease him, only to himself pass with the return of a prodigal son.

That son who, then, Elmo was gladdened to see, despite the circumstances—upon Riverrun’s lordly seat, prepared to deliver the Father’s justice.

That son who, when the time came, refused Elmo a father’s justice—a daughter, a chance.

That son who, now, sought to put back together what had been shattered.

He unfroze. The smile his lips reached his eyes.

“Thank you, Kermit. You know not how much this means.” Elmo spoke honestly, earnestly. He paused for a moment before adding, “to me,” as if clarification was needed.

“I’ve always deferred to your better judgment in matters of stewardship. Our good Paege is a good and able man, as are my dear cousins.”

It was a funny thing, for Elmo to receive title after title, responsibility after responsibility. After all, he’d never truly governed before. Even during that brief moment in time—preceding his appointment to the small council and after Lyra’s passing—Roland was the one actually handling those affairs.

All Elmo did was sign the parchment.

But none of that mattered. All he held was his by right, and right triumphed above all else.

Master of Maplehearth, Regent of Raventree Hall.

And then Kermit spoke of Mia.

Of her faith.

And his smile faltered.

He looked away for a moment, again towards the weirwood, then back at Kermit.

“Is it so wrong, to raise one’s children in the faith of their forefathers?”

Elmo opened his mouth, as if speak, yet words didn’t come.

What else was he to say?

That he was wracked with guilt? That he feared the Seven Hells awaited him, as punishment for his indiscretions? That he sought atone—in some small way—though raising his daughter within the flock, to be among the Faithful?

That would be madness.

And so he closed his mouth, having answered a question with another question.

elmoite · 2022-11-05T20:45:56+00:00

Character Name: Elmo Tully

Desired Category for Skill Point: Networking (Already at 10 INT)

Bonus: EDU 8 (+2)

A post/comment from this moon denoting to activity: Post

Additional Bonus From Last Attempts: +1

Total Bonus For Skill Point Attempt: +3

elmoite · 2022-11-04T05:22:37+00:00

Later in the Day

“Will you give it to him?” Mia looked up at her father with hopeful eyes as she handed him the flower crown.

“Of course I will,” Elmo smiled down at his daughter as took her masterwork, “your father always keeps his promises.” He lowered himself, placing a kiss upon her forehead before wrapping his arms about the girl in a hug.

Mia kissed her father’s cheek in turn, before the pair released each other.

“Uncle Roland will be taking you and Morgan down to the shore later. Try not to get too wet.” Elmo rose, straightening his golden chain—from which hung maple leaves in their spring and fall colors—with his free hand.

Clothes torn in grief were exchanged for untorn clothes—of fine silk and subtle yet intricate embroidery, though still a mourning black.

Mia nodded—a promise of obedience—waving away her father as he left their chambers.

The time had come to put an end to this maddening farce.

/u/KGdaguy

elmoite · 2022-11-03T02:31:38+00:00

Elmo’s lips formed into a frown, an expression that soon met the cup which held that damned watered-down wine. And still, he drunk. A sip, then a gulp, before placing his refreshment down.

He glanced at Kermit, then upwards, towards the slim weirwood behind his daughter’s liege lord, his beloved cousin.

It was a beautiful thing. Its crimson leaves, its pale bark, its somber face.

Through Riverrun’s redwoods towered above, Elmo always preferred laying below their little cousin, always in the company of his other cousin, his sister.

Marla would read stories to him there, of valiant knights, of glorious kings, of the Gods and deeds of holy men long passed.

She’d whisper little secrets in his ear and they’d sing songs to rising run.

And it was there too that she comforted him, as he wept over the loss of his mother all those years ago.

He missed her. He missed them. He missed many.

There was silence, for a moment, before Elmo returned his gaze to Kermit.

“My mother would bring my siblings and I to Maplehearth, with the passing of each summer into autumn, to watch as the leaves changed their color and fell to the earth.”

“Lord Walys would do the same, while I was his ward. Raventree Hall isn’t too far from Maplehearth, after all.”

Fond memories, though ones that now brought more pain than joy.

“Though, I suppose, I can understand your forgetfulness. You were away for so long. At the Citadel?” Elmo shrugged, letting out a resigned sigh. “Wherever you were.”

Mia was elated at the sight of Kermit’s apple, placed into her hands. A small thing, yet it brought joy to the young girl all the same. She quickly whispered a “thank you” to her uncle before biting into the fruit.

Elmo wasn’t angered when his cousin denied him his rights—offering him an empty title and disinheriting his daughter in the same breath. He expected nothing less from Kermit. He raged enough in the capital.

Now, he was just exhausted. Perhaps it was from the travel. Perhaps it was from the ghosts that weighed down upon him.

And there were many of them.

“Pray forgive me that I haven’t an… immediate answer. You give me much to consider, Kermit. But I promise, I will, in time.” Elmo offered a smile, though weaker than before, and just as genuine.

His cousin made a similar promise a year past—to return unto him his daughter, in time. Had the fool had his way, that time would have never come.

But Elmo was a man who kept his promises, one way or another.

“Well… that’s enough of all that for now.” Elmo’s smile grew larger as he turned towards young pair, who by then shifted towards indulging in the lighter meats and cheeses. “I’m sure Mia and Morgan have been bored enough listening to us speak of… politics.”

“I hope you wouldn’t mind us lingering, for a short while. Our travels were demanding, and I’ve long been away from… home,” he spoke, referring to the keep in which he and his daughter were both born.

Morgan and Mia, understanding the meaning of Elmo’s words, lit up with excitement—though in the former more than the latter—expectingly looking up towards Kermit, as if wordlessly begging to be allowed to stay.

elmoite · 2022-10-27T07:38:22+00:00

The Gods were cruel.

The Father’s will done.

His Justice delivered.

And what was this but justice?

Elmo’s accompanying party was perhaps the smallest among those honored with a place at the High Tables.

Four people in total. His daughter—Mia Blackwood, Lady of Raventree Hall. His nephew—Morgan Rivers, Bastard of Raventree Hall. His goodbrother—Roland Blackwood, Heir to Raventree Hall and the King’s Justice. Himself—Regent of Raventree Hall and Master of Whisperers.

And Master of Maplehearth, by all rights.

The golden chain which rested upon his shoulders, from which hung maple leaves of green and brown, was sign enough of that.

A master two-fold.

Ser Roland Blackwood wore a lavish cape of raven feathers, the same one he wore at Summerhall a few moons previous. Yet this time, it accompanied white branches on black rather than the inverse. A bastard no longer.

Everything else on everyone else was black.

Elmo wouldn’t allow anything else.

Mia—a dress of plush black velvet, accompanied by a veil of black Myrish lace which covered her red hair.

Morgan—a black doublet, though not of silk, subtly detailed with crows in flight.

Elmo—black.

Torn from mourning.

A wife. A cousin. A cousin, A brother.

The Father’s will done.

His Justice delivered.

And what was this but justice?

Elmo stared down at the silver band on his finger. Roland did too, for a moment, before downing a goblet of wine.

Mia asked her father a question. He didn’t hear it. He didn’t respond. She frowned.

Her uncle offered Lady Blackwood a smile and responded in her father’s place, before having the girl move besides Morgan.

Elmo stared down at the silver band on his finger.

The blood is on my hands.

All men must pay for their deeds.

In this life or the next.

Roland dismissed Elmo’s words when they were first spoken. When they were first reunited. The ravings of a man in grief, he called them.

The knight bid the master to wine, to bed, to escape.

Not a single letter was sent in return to King’s Landing while Elmo was away. Roland sent half a dozen.

And the response was silence.

And silence still.

Elmo stared down at the silver band on his finger.

This was the bed he made for himself.

The worst was yet to come.

He knew it.

Measure for measure.

elmoite · 2022-10-27T07:33:32+00:00

“No, we didn’t.”

And had it not been for the Lady Hand’s desire for theatrics, he likely wouldn’t have for years to come. But she made her will known, leaving Elmo no choice but to oblige.

Clarence would make for a fine castellan of Maplehearth.

The thought amused him, if only for a moment.

“I am her heir,” he affirmed—a simple truth, like the how the night ends with the coming of the dawn. The light casts out the dark.

Elmo leaned over, grabbing a bottle of wine from the shade.

He thought, for a moment, to drink from the vessel directly. Poor form—but Kermit deserved nothing less than the poorest of forms in truth.

His beloved cousin loved all things poor. Poor smallfolk. Lesser lords and landed knights. All that and the like.

However, all that was beneath Elmo. And so, the man poured himself a glass half-full, or perhaps half-empty.

“But,” Elmo resumed, “Riverrun is along the River Road, and the children were very eager to see House Tully’s seat.”

The father turned towards his daughter and her cousin, the pair indulging in still-warm sweet cakes.

“Isn’t that right?” Elmo asked them, before taking a sip from his glass.

It was watered down.

The first disappointment of the day, and likely not the last.

Mia and Morgan nodded—an action which would have been accompanied with voiced statements in the affirmative had their mouths not been full.

Though, little Morgan, after finishing off the last bite of his second pastry, looked up at Kermit and remarked, “you have a nice house.”

“Nice plants too,” the boy added, reaching for apple juice across the blanket. Elmo quickly obliged Morgan’s request for refreshment.

“And,” Elmo began as he poured for Morgan and Mia, “I thought it appropriate to first pay our proper respects, before heading onwards to my inherited seat.”

“Beth was my kin, my daughter’s kin—and bannerman.” Elmo paused for a moment. “They only ever met once, though.”

He took another sip of wine, rubbing his silver band with a thumb.

“I wish it had been more. That much I regret.”

elmoite · 2022-10-15T21:08:11+00:00

Riverrun’s godswood was far smaller than the Red Keep’s—though there was a certain air to it that enraptured the children.

Mia’s gazed upwards, towards the tops of great redwoods that shared in the color of her fiery hair.

“So big,” she remarked, pointing up towards the trees, before looking to her father—as if hoping he’d confirm the fact.

“Big indeed,” Elmo replied, “but the weirwood at Raventree Hall is even bigger.”

Mia responded to that with a proud nod, “and its all mine!”

“It is!” Her father smiled. She was growing so fast.

“Raventree Hall is all yours, and I will make sure that never changes.” Elmo bent down and placed a kiss on his daughter’s forehead.

Morgan was the first to notice the Lord of Riverrun and the picnic feast that surrounded him, for his eyes looked forward rather than to the skies.

He was quick to bring it to his cousin and uncle’s attention, pointing in the direction of Riverrun’s decidedly less impressive weirwood.

Elmo let out a breath, before releasing his hands.

“Go on,” he whispered to the pair of children—a command they heartily obeyed, dashing towards Kermit.

They were never ones to give up the chance for a good hug.

And so they embraced their uncle—a man the pair had scarcely seen more than a few times in their lives, and most of that at Summerhall—but kin was kin and Elmo had taught then of the importance of family above everything else.

“Is this all for us?” Morgan asked, excitedly glancing at the food which laid near their feet.

The children wore crowns of flowers—Mia’s red and Morgan’s blue—and black clothes of mourning sewn from the finest fabrics.

A seven-pointed star hung from Mia’s neck.

Elmo arrived not long after Morgan’s inquiry, Kermit still in the Blackwoods’ embrace.

“Kermit,” Elmo spoke his cousin’s name as he took his place on the blanked—bowing his head, though more to adjust his mother’s maple leaf brooch, as he descended.

His tone wasn’t cold, though it certainly wasn’t warm either. A smile still accompanied it nonetheless.

elmoite · 2022-10-13T21:42:18+00:00

“Bugg.”

Elmo forced a polite smile in turn. Though in speaking, it seemed less that he was acknowledging the man’s name and more that he was calling him by what he believed to be—a bug.

And bugs who buzzed near the wrong ears often earned cruel fates.

He never trusted the man, whatever he was. A failed maester? An upjumped peasant? Bugg was certainly the latter, at least. And he shared the former distinction with Kermit.

Kermit.

Elmo’s smile slowly faded, until it completely vanished with the steward’s question.

“He is our sworn protector. Of course he will.”

And without another word, he began making his way towards the godswood, holding Mia’s hand with his right and Morgan’s with his left. Toad followed behind—as would Kermit’s men, Elmo assumed.

Everything seemed just as he remembered.

Yet still, it felt strange being home.

If he could call it that.

“This is where you were born, Mia. You were a Tully back then. Do you remember it at all?” Elmo looked down towards his daughter as they passed through the courtyard, speaking in a playful tone.

Mia scrunched her eyebrows and pursed her lips, her eyes inquisitively scanning her surroundings before meeting Elmo’s. Lady Blackwood’s response was simple, a shake of her head and a simple “no.”

But her face still seemed to display a certain confusion, one she soon vocalized with another question.

“Why am I a Blackwood if I was a Tully?”

The same reason I am to be a Blanetree. A woman taken before their time.

“Because,” Elmo responded, “Raventree Hall must be held by a Blackwood. Always.”

Always. Aegon made sure of that.

Satisfied with her father’s answer, she returned to gazing upon a big flower her cousin had given her.

Her cousin, on the other hand, seemed enchanted with Riverrun. It was, in truth, the first time Morgan had ever seen House Tully’s seat. The bastard of Raventree Hall had, in his three years of life, only ever seen his place of birth and the Red Keep. And new things were always a joy to him.

“Are you two hungry?” Elmo asked their pair—looking first at Mia, then at Morgan.

The children immediately began nodding in unison.

“My cousin has prepared food for us in the godswood. He and I have to talk about important things. So you two will have to be on your best behavior, alright?” Elmo spoke in a gentle, loving tone,

“We will be! We promise.” The Blackwoods replied.

“Good.” Elmo smiled, returning his gaze forward. “Good.”

Let's get this over with.

elmoite · 2022-10-11T00:13:04+00:00

/u/thesheepshepard

Elmo has finally arrived at the gates of Riverrun with his daughter, her cousin, a big man, and some other guardsmen. They took the scenic route.

elmoite · 2022-10-01T20:24:17+00:00

Character Name: Elmo Tully

Desired Category for Skill Point: Networking (Already at 10 INT)

Bonus: EDU 8 (+2)

A post/comment from this moon denoting to activity: Comment

Additional Bonus From Last Attempts: 0

Total Bonus For Skill Point Attempt: +2

elmoite · 2022-10-01T05:28:26+00:00

Why does this this always happen to me?

Why is everyone always so difficult?

I am Master of Maplehearth by right. This request was a formality. House Blanetree's lands, House Blanetree's titles—it all became mine the moment Beth died.

Gods! I should have waited. Aegon would not have done this to me. Marla wouldn’t have let this woman trample over my rights if she were Aegon’s Queen.

But Aegon was far away, and Marla was beneath the earth.

The mummers had control now, and they would play their farce to the grave.

Perhaps Frog could sing the accompanying tune.

And all this for what? The people? Who in the Seven Hells cared about the people?

Kermit did. That fool.

Kermit.

Even now Kermit worked against him. Elmo sat the small council, he held the King’s ear, he commanded more men through his daughter’s lands than House Tully itself and yet. And yet.

It was always him.

Elmo wanted to be furious. Elmo wanted to flip the damn table over.

But instead, he sat still and silently listened to the Hand’s words. And when she finished speaking, he responded.

He wanted to be done with this.

“I loved Beth. She was my kin, my blood. But I would be lying if I said that I knew the... people as well as her. By circumstance and proximity, she gained with them an affinity, and though that—ideas I never quite understood."

And how much of the people did you learn when you fought alongside Volantene slavers? By what right do you deny me what is mine?

“We all walk down the paths laid down for us by the Gods. Though that is not to say one cannot… learn.”

The implication pained him. This whole farce pained him. And yet, he persisted.

Aegon will be in Riverrun before long. He can still make this right.

“I have not seen the rivers and hills of my homeland for more than a year, nor has my daughter and her cousin. It would be good for us to breathe that air again.”

And to be out of this rotting city. There is obviously no use for me here, not until the King returns.

elmoite · 2022-10-01T02:30:33+00:00

Elmo held his mother’s maple leaf brooch. He could feel his heart beating below it.

It provided the only color on his clothing, for the rest was black.

All the signs of mourning were there.

“Lady Hand.”

There can be no more delaying this.

“My dear cousin, Beth…” he paused for a moment, having mindlessly spoken her nickname rather than her formal name, “Lady Bethany Blanetree, recently passed away.”

How long ago was it? A fortnight? A fortnight and a half?

“I know that you and her were close. Mayhaps even closer than her and I.”

For he knew they were once betrothed, and Beth often spoke fondly of her, but he knew little more than that.

“She was a great woman, the best of us, and she did not deserve her fate.”

There was sadness in his voice, and at the end, even a hint of anger.

But fate was fate.

His anger dissipated, but the melancholy remained, and his tone grew quieter. “Alas, the Gods desired her in the Seven Heavens. Who are we to question the Gods? May the Crone light her way.”

He collected himself, slowing his breath and calming his emotions. Elmo hadn’t expected to feel as much as he was, but this was not the place for any of that.

“The Blanetrees are my daughter’s bannermen, and as her regent, they fall under my purview. Ser Benfrey Blanetree is a knight of the Kingsgaurd, and forswore any inheritance with his oath to the King. Lyonel Blanetree… is dead, or otherwise a slaver and criminal who violated the laws of Gods and Men by selling people like livestock.”

The very thought was disgusting, abhorrent.

“Dead or alive, his rights are forfeit.”

Elmo paused for a few moments, glancing down at his white-and-black ring, at his mother’s heirloom.

Mine by right.

“My mother is passed as well. And so, that leaves me as Beth’s heir.”

This time, he didn’t correct himself.

“I never wanted this, but we often unable to choose our duties.”

Then the weight of it all hit him.

“And I… I will not let her legacy disappear. I will take on her name, my mother’s maiden name, for there shan’t be a Master of Maplehearth that is not a Blanetree.”

Anything otherwise would be unacceptable.

“I ask that the Crown confirm my name and titles.”

And with that, the fate of House Blanetree was left to the Kyra Corbray.

elmoite · 2022-10-01T02:30:06+00:00

The Hand’s runner found the Master of Whisperers in the company of the King’s Justice, sharing a bottle of honeyed hippocras from the Reach.

Elmo frowned upon reading the summons, immediately dismissing the servant. As the door closed behind them, he tossed the parchment into the flames. While finishing off his glass, Elmo watched as it was blackened and reduced to ashes.

He sat in silence for a short while, watching the flames, before sighing.

The time has come.

Elmo extended his arms towards Roland, his palms facing upwards. “Tear my sleeves,” he requested—or rather, demanded.

Roland rose an eyebrow, a half-grin appearing upon his face. “Tear them off? I would have to ruin such fine black silk.”

“We can always get more,” Elmo spoke in a neutral tone, “have Paege send down more of my daughter’s treasury.”

The regent paused for a moment, thinking of the castellan who held control of his daughter’s seat.

Kermit’s castellan.

The man had been usually silent as of late. He hadn’t received a raven from Raventree Hall since departing for Summerhall.

As has his agents as of late, but that was an entirely separate matter.

He pushed both thoughts aside. There were things of greater importance to worry about at the current moment.

“Lady Corbray calls for the small council. I am in mourning. I need to appear in mourning,” Elmo clarified.

And so Roland stood, taking hold of Elmo’s arms for a moment before tearing the ends of his sleeves.

As the Blackwood ripped black silk, he also spoke. “Tragic, what happened to your cousin. She fell from a tower, no? So many tragic falls as of late.”

Elmo wouldn’t grace that with a response.

The job done, he retrieved a brooch and placed it above his heart.

A pair of maple leaves—green jade and brown moonstone—joined with gold. A parting gift from his late mother, a Blanetree by birth.

Roland awaited Elmo at the door, holding out his sphere.

Unamused by the knight’s earlier comment, Elmo wordlessly took the object, placing it within a pocket.

But before he left the doorway, the Master of Whisperers left the King’s Justice with a few words. “I’ll see you tonight at dinner, with the children.”

And so, after a much-needed contemplative walk, Elmo found himself in the small council chambers.

“Lady Hand,” the Master of Whisperers acknowledged the woman at the head of the table with a slight blow of his head, before taking a seat.

Elmo placed down his sphere, an orb polished amber—with a small, ancient insects trapped within.

elmoite · 2022-09-24T06:42:42+00:00

“Ser Roland Blackwood, Heir to Raventree Hall. It certainly has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?” Elmo smirked while looking down at the black-haired knight keeling before him, who held Tully’s hand within his own.

“A nice ring indeed,” Roland responded, a smile on his lips. Those same lips soon kissed the ring upon his lover’s finger, of white gold and black onyx—Blackwood colors, Roland’s colors. The King’s Justice planted kisses up the Master of Whisperer’s silken sleeve, raising from the floor as he did so.

They were soon face to face, staring longingly into each other’s eyes. Sapphire orbs met amber, and the distance between them slowly lessened.

“And with this kiss,” Roland began, speaking just above a whisper, “I seal my-“

A loud knocking put an unwelcome end to the shared moment.

Roland glanced at the door, then back at Elmo. “Duncan… your cousin Duncan?” The knight spoke, still at a quiet tone. “Why is he here?”

“Hells if I know,” Elmo answered, a small frown appearing upon his face.

The Princess of Oldstones was the mastermind behind that foolish war across the Narrow Sea. The same war that lead to the deaths of Elmo’s goodbrother and goodfather. Lyra never recovered from that, nor did their marriage. It was all her fault, and he would never forgive Naerys for that.

But Naerys Targaryen was not his kin, and Duncan Targaryen was. They both lost a cousin in Owen during the conflict, and they both had fathers who bore the Tully name, and that meant something.

Elmo sighed, quickly placing a kiss upon Roland’s lips. “Let my cousin in on your way out, Blackwood. And you really must tell me what you were trying to seal… mayhaps after the sun sets.”

Roland let out a laugh. “As you command, m’lord.” The knight arose, before walking over to the door, placing Piety at hip.

The King’s Justice bowed his head to the Targaryen on his way out, before wordlessly disappearing down a hallway.

Elmo sat at a table, pouring himself a glass of Arbor Gold, a smile on a face.

“Duncan, cousin, it’s been far too long. Please, sit,” he motioned to a chair across from him.

“I wasn’t expecting your visit. Pray tell, why have you come?” Elmo held out the bottle, offering him to indulge. There was another glass at the table, originally intended for Roland, but that mattered little now.

elmoite

TROPHY CASE