Post by Father on Apr 13, 2019 19:45:21 GMT 1
Ashara
The evening had turned out much better than she had feared, she had to endure the blabbering of men, but not the forced courtesies of Ser Portrait, he was not present, neither were his hag of a mother. The adorable mistreated lord puppy wasn't here to pay the proper rehearsed courtesies that she had expected, why do all these people do these hollow proper courtesies? Annoying. But eventually, there were dancing, and oh how she loved dancing. And nobody caring to tell her to stop, she had outlasted just about everyone, Davos was gone, Laena as well, did she see her uncle leaving with some wench on his arm? Maybe, she didn't quite see if that was him or not. Just her and Ysilla, the Great Bastard wanted to know everything there ever was to know about Sunspear. It was just them now, just them and the guard detail her father insisted on.
Ysilla was like a sister separated from birth, her two guards were yawning, half-asleep, if they were not, they might have lived. If the two girls had not turned their backs towards them, they might have been warned. They were not. There were five of them for good measure, holding long knives. Old Pate was the one to shout the warning, and for that his throat was slit, Brandon jumped at one of his assailants, they both went down in a tangle. I need a weapon, Ashara thought. But she had none, Ysilla did, quicker than the eye could catch she had produced a knife and flung it at Pate's murderer, shock upon his eyes as it buried deep in his neck, and then there were four assailants, the Great Bastard, now with another blade in hand stormed another man, dodging a clumsy swing of the knife and plunging her dagger deep into his belly, slicing it open in one smooth motion, and then there were three assailants as she is bearing down on her next foe as if this is just another dance to her.
Ashara has no weapon, and now she faces a man with cold dark eyes and a long glistening blade in his hand, the remaining two had realized the threat faced by Ysilla and these she probably cannot overtake fast enough to help Ashara any more than to only have her deal with the one man. Cursing whoever insisted that a lady's skirts should prevent proper movement, Ashara rues giving in to wearing this stifling gown, she had not wanted it, her anger gave her focus, presenting her side as a smaller target, waiting for the man to make his lunge, her eyes fixed upon his wrist. And there it came, her body twisting, her hands shooting forward to neutralize the trust. And she fell, tangled in her own damned skirts. The man falls with her, and she has his wrist, and his thumb for her to twist, hard. Somehow she dodged his fall, she would be dead caught under his weight. He does not let go, unthinking, she kicks his private parts with such force as to rip open her skirts, good riddance. And now she has his knife.
She looks into his eyes as they widen with shock and surprise at her stabbing, stabbings, two, three, four, five. She feels alive, almost forgetting that there is more. Now there are two assailants and they are not dead yet, working together to protect their flanks against a foe of deadlier skill. Ysilla circles them, draws another dagger, and throws it. The man on the left is prepared for it, and manages to ward it off with his knife, deflecting it harmlessly, but exposing himself to a lunge at his side that cuts deep, he furiously hacks at where she previously stood, but now utterly exposed, the Great Bastard rams her dagger into his eye and now there is one assailant. The last man turns tail and runs, only to receive a flying dagger in his back, tumbling over. Ashara means to shout that they ought to leave one alive, but no words come or Ysilla does not hear as she pulls the man's head back by his hair and slits his throat. Now there are no assailants.
Ashara had heard of it, the rush of combat, the pumping of her heart, she thought she had a decent idea of what it was like, but she had never expected it to be so intense, she vaguely hears the shouts of the royal guards rushing to the scene. "You are bleeding!", the concern on Ysilla's face is the first sign that something is wrong, Ashara's eyes follows the Great Bastard's gaze to her side, only when she sees the wound does she feel the pain, her hand shoots forth to staunch the wetness welling out of her side, her arms and legs grows numb. She would have fallen to the ground if not for Ysilla propping her up, her vision is blurred, she senses more than sees the man in white, her uncle, the sword of the morning, there is no mistaking his voice, commanding that the maester is roused, strong arms carry her, she feels so light, so light. She fought, she killed, her dancing master would be proud. Not today, we tell our god, not today. She knows she should not fall asleep, but she cannot help it, she must not fall asleep, but her eyelids close, just a little bit of rest.
Ilyn
"I am sorry, but this is how it must be". Lord Ilyn Cordwayner rarely felt strong or decisive, and never before in her presence. First time for everything, he supposes. "Husband dearest, I beg you, do not let the near loss of Ser Roland cloud your mind, do not forget who you are, you are Lord Cordwayner, with a duty to your House." Her words had no longer any power of him. Is this what freedom is, whatever it is, it feels right, it feels just, it feels good. "No" he stands up and straightens his back. Never again will she cow him into submission. Roland had always been the better of them, the true Cordwayner, and if he did not act now, he would be the last. "No, House Cordwayner will no longer be a house of lies and dishonor. The truth must come to light."
His voice grave and determined. Never had he felt such power. "You will take the vows to The Seven to atone for all your sins" He bids, no commands her, the shock is clear upon her face, this she had never before experienced. "And you will leave Hammerhaal never to return again, you are no longer welcome in my halls." so he commands his brother. "Your children may stay, for they have no guilt in this, but you will also be free to take them with you, to provide for them as you deem prudent, but I will accept this responsibility if they stay." There he had said it, it was done, and he who had dreaded this moment. He was finally free. Almost, Maegelle would protest to the last. "You cannot make me say those words, if you do this, I will remain your wife, you will have no trueborn heir of your own body, Quentyn will succeed you, and all you ever accomplished was to shower your legacy and house with shame and grief, for nothing."
"Ser Roland will succeed me!" Ilyn declares with a determination that only The Father might have granted him to see to it that justice is done. "And you will join the silent sisters or I will have every creature of yours questioned, every letter of yours read. I imagine I will uncover much and more that would greatly interest House Starkwood" That takes her aback, serves her right. He had always wanted to take back command. In his exhilaration he makes a flourish with his cloak, one of his guilty pleasures alone in front of his mirror, for years he had practiced it, fantasized about how he would appear in this moment, lordly and commanding as he seized back control over his own house, he had failed to muster the courage when he told her of the betrothal he arranged with the Starkwoods, her fury had the opposite effect of what he had hoped, but this time, this time he found the strength to make this dream a reality, and his posture was perfect, even Lord Durwell could not have managed a better impression with his cloak.
But he had not anticipated that Ser Normyn might lunge forward like a cat, he does not even realize that he has done so before his own cloak is wrapped around his neck, his hands desperately claws at it for a respite, as he is brought to his knees by his own brother's boot, pushed down towards the floor while the cloak mercilessly shuts off the air from his lungs. his head feels close to bursting and his vision clouds and turns to black. For one moment, Lord Ilyn had been brave, he had been honorable, he had been noble and he had done right by The Seven. And for that, he died, slain by his own brother, but as his true brother would undoubtedly agree, it is better to die with bravery, honor and freedom than to live without.