Renly Arryn's Story

Ren decidedly didn't like the Western Palace.

He had been born in the heart of Ostwall, and Ostwall was the only home he'd ever known. Sure this place was bright and airy, where beautiful young redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers...But he preferred the stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Back home their thick black trunks crowded close together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead, and misshapen roots wrestled beneath the soil. It was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the spirits who lived there had no names. Ren rather liked that idea, that feeling of being infinitely small and impossibly insignificant amongst ancient giants...though the concept became somewhat less grand when a human element was added. There were giants among the people here too, and they dwarfed him into near nonexistence with their status alone...but they were kings and queens, princes and princesses; not trees.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of exciting colors and polished steel; gangs of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders, people of noble and poor birth alike. The tents were hazy with smoke and heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. Every available surface was draped with proud banners. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad, but his voice could scarcely be heard above the roar of the cheering crowd, the clangor of pewter plates and cups, and the low mutter of a hundred drunken conversations. The jousting had already begun, and Ronan Ulfricson road next. They hooted and cried out for their handsome champion but he was soon dehorsed with what looked like a sincerely painful shoulder strike. Renly's lips pursed.

There were times—not many, but a few—when Renly Arryn was glad he was a bastard. As he filled his wine cup once more from a passing flagon, it struck him that this might be one of them. He settled back in his place on the bench among the younger squires and drank. The sweet, fruity taste of summerwine filled his mouth and brought a reticent smile to his face. They were fine company, and Ren relished the stories they were telling, tales of battle and bedding and the hunt. He was certain that his companions were more entertaining than the royal party. Here his anonymity was a cherished gift. He didn't have to joust, he didn't have to entertain. He could just be himself, albeit a version of himself that was very far from his home.

The air was alive with chatter and laughter, and casual conversations and introductions were forgotten on the spot between enthusiastic maidens who never really knew each other's names. Laughter was easier minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups changed more swiftly, swelled with new arrivals, dissolving and forming in the same breath. The fruits they nibbled on were so ripe they exploded in your mouth—melons, peaches, fireplums, most had never tasted such sweetness. Tables lining the stone walls were laden down, practically bursting with food and summerwines so expensive and so good that one could get drunk just breathing the air. Everyone was fat and drunk and rich, well everyone that was someone. People that lived worlds apart from Renly Arryn.

A nobody like Ren had to learn to notice things, to read the truth that people hid behind their eyes, and he didn't miss a beat now. His King was observing all the courtesies, but there was tightness in him that Renly had seldom seen before. Ulfirc said little, looking out over the hall with hooded eyes, seeing nothing. Perhaps balls, galas, and masquerades were not enjoyable affairs to him; they certainly weren't for Renly. Ren hovered around the desert table awkwardly now, a wine goblet in hand, trying his best to look occupied, swaying in time to the music. He wasn't sure why he bothered, it wasn't as if anyone was going to approach him...unless they mistook him for someone important. With that thought, he lowered his mask, which was plain and black--lacking any ornament, so everyone could ascertain for themselves, that there were other people more worth their time. Not that he was antisocial...he was just not in his element, more rather ill at ease among swirls and eddies of people he didn't know.

The royals in attendance were great disappointments to him. The castle servants back in Ostwall spoke of this group often: the peerless nobility, the fiercest warriors of the realm, giants among princes. Ren saw only fat men, red-faced under their beards, sweating through their silks. They waltzed like they were half in their cups; old men pushing young girls backward in eternal graceless circles; holding each other tortuously, fashionably, and keeping in the corners. Their partners weren't much better. The women had their hair so tightly pinned, and dresses so far cinched, that he wondered at how they could move at all, let alone dance. He didn't find it attractive, but judging by the hungry look on the gentlemen's faces, everyone else must have.

Renly chuckled openly as one couple just barely avoided collision with another, drunken apologies murmured as they spun away to a less cluttered part of the dance floor. In truth, He had two left feet, so he couldn't judge. Ren had never been a dancer, his limbs were too long and spindly and tripped him up at every available opportunity.

Just because Renly didn't say much didn't mean people wouldn't occasionally take notice of him. It was oft actually the quiet ones who drew the most attention, so out of place at these festive affairs. There was a constant whirlwind of motion and sound all around, and then there was the silent observer, the eye of the storm.

Ren tried in vain not to jump when the voice startled him out of his idle state, for men were not supposed to be caught unawares-or if the were, they were supposed to at least put on an intrepid face about it. He gave the handsome stranger a sheepish smile and a shrug of the shoulders in response, vehemently trying not to gawk. "I uh, I don't really know anyone here...Well, save for my king and his children, but we aren't really social with one another, yah know?" His newfound compartiot for the evening was not too much shorter than Ren himself, and undoubtedly the best of what royalty had to offer. Soft, sweeping, dark hair, chiselled cheekbones, and long, eyelashes framing molten brown eyes that had to have drawn in more than a few freewheeling madiens over the years...but then again, he was still young-or seemed to be at any rate-so perhaps not. "I'm Renly, uh Renly Arryn, but you can just call me Ren. I'm not really of any import so you don't have to be formal or anything." He rubbed the short hairs on the back of his neck self consciously and rocked back and forth on his heels, having a bit of difficulty remaining still now. "So what brings you this way? Do you not know anyone either? I guess the dessert table is the natural place for us stag gentlemen to congregate." He chuckled, swirling the wine in his glass around leisurely, not meeting Nicolas' gaze. He had never been introduced to the adolescent king, so poor Renly hadn't a clue to whom he was really speaking. He wasn't one to assume that the noblest of all sovereignty would just wander over and strike up a conversation, so he was left with the impression of a low status, not unlike his own. He welcomed the chance to converse with someone like himself who felt a little more than out of place here amongst giants of the realm, even if the boy was a bit intimidating being quite handsome and all.

Renly blushed minutely, it was a secret talent of his to find the best boltholes. There was no kid in the city who had a more natural affinity for scouting out places to be alone with one's thoughts or to hide away from the world. He soon located a dry patch of grass under a relatively young beech and settled down, sighing contentedly at the sights around him. "You'd think with all their capital, they'd spend it helping out the less fortunate and not on big, fancy dinner parties and lavish gardens..." Ren commented idly. "That's what I'd do if I were rich, you know. Drop every coin I had on cleaning up the slums...and then maybe I'd construct an elaborate garden of my own, but I'd place right in the town square for everyone to stroll through and enjoy on their days off." He explained wistfully. The idea of a public garden brought a faint smile to his lips, why was it the rich were always so greedy? Renly could do so much with so little...He glanced around the copse of trees, eyes chasing after the spattering of moonlight dancing through the branches. He wanted to commit this place to memory before he was made to go back 'home.' "What do you think? What would you do if you were suddenly given more money than you knew what to do with? What would you spend it on?" Ren met Nicholas' gaze, the kings eyes showing the years of his life; rings of aged brown like what hid in the trunks of the trees around them.

Nicholas swallowed, suddenly nervous that Renly knew his identity. He took a deep breath, letting out a small chuckle when he realized that Renly's question was purely innocent, "I honestly have no idea," He answered, his mind beginning to whir. He was king, he had the power to do everything Renly had suggested, and yet he hadn't. In truth, the thought had never crossed his mind. He didn't think himself to be selfish, but perhaps he was being so. Still, if he was to put Renly's ideas into action, there would be the small matter of convincing Christoph that it was a good idea. Somehow, Nicholas doubted that the elder man would be enamored with the idea. "I suppose that the people who rule should be as much a servant of the people, as the people are of the rulers. Not that everyone seems to see it that way." Nicholas rather gracelessly sat down by Renly, "Perhaps the world would be a better place if more of those in power thought like you Renly."

Nicholas had phrased it so elegantly that Renly was left stumbling over his words when he was suddenly paid yet another compliment. He cleared his throat in an awkward manner and nodded in response. "Thank you, and well spoken." He was trying to learn how to take a compliment now instead of just vehemently denying it, that was just good manners. He still could not fathom how he could be so deserving of praise though, he was just the little rat from the poorest district of the city. The bastard child, not this what Nicholas made him out to be.

Despite the nervous tension hanging about the pair, there was an effortless cadence growing there, their conversation falling more easily by the passing hour. Renly fervently wished the other boy wouldn't be so guarded with his opinions and would share more of himself, but for the time being, he was content to just enjoy their banter and their wishful thinking...that was, until the hour became late and the cold began to seep into their bones. By the time Renly bothered to glance up at the sky again and break their colloquy, the moon was already halfway across the black, making it's inexorable march away from the gathering dawn that would soon thread it's way outward overhead. He leapt up from the languid position his body had reached, sprawled on the grass, shock over taking him. "Is it that late already?!"" he softly cried, running a hand though his hair, mussing it up so that it stuck up at all sorts of odd angles. He hadn't anyone to answer to, no chamber maids or footmen that would be up waiting on his return, that would report back to a disapproving parent or maester, but still...He needed to be getting back.

Nicholas untied the strings of his mask, figuring there was no harm in Renly seeing his face. He dropped the mask into his lap as they spoke. Nicholas chose his words carefully, not wanting to let slip that he was a king. He was starting to realize that Renly was smart; smart and compassionate. It wouldn't take much for Renly to figure him out. He didn't want that just yet. He would tell Renly in good time, but for now, Nicholas was quite content to just talk to the boy as his equal, not as a social superior.

As their conversation continued, the air cooled until Nicholas could see his breath floating in the air. His nose was cold, no doubt beginning to turn red as well. Still, a little cold and dark was bearable. Nicholas was rather slower getting to his feet than Renly, reluctant to leave just yet, but it seemed that Renly was adamant. No doubt he would face some awkward questions about where he was from Christoph. He could deal with that in the morning."I suppose it is," he answered, looking up at the moon, rather surprised to see it so far across the sky. Nicholas looked back to Renly. The light of the moon shone just so that Renly's face was illuminated, a soft shadow falling across his eyes. He was...well Nicholas wasn't quite sure what the word was. "I suppose I'll see you around, then?" He asked shyly, worried that Renly might say 'no'.

Renly halted in his panic about the time only to panic further. His heart was a flutter with excitement and perhaps not for completely savory reasons. With a bit more than friendship weighing on his mind he nodded, doing his best to conceal the resulting gulp of air he took. "I'd like that." He felt a little light headed, like he was drowning but it wasn't altogether unpleasant. He wasn't sure if they should leave off with hand shake or just bid each other farewell, but before he really was aware of himself, he had leaned in and pecked the boy king on the cheek, softly and sweetly. As he pulled back, his eyes broadened as his mouth fell open. Had he really just done that? What if Nicholas was disgusted, repelled by his action? Would he take it up with the courts? Renly's king? Have him put out of the castle or worse stoned or flogged? He stood there locked in place, not sure what to do next, cursing his body for uncharacteristically having not been connected with his mind.

Nicholas could feel his cheeks warm as Renly placed a small kiss on his cheek. He felt a warmth grow in his chest, spreading through his veins. He knew enough to know that he wasn't supposed to feel like this if another boy kissed him, but this felt more right than kissing Priscilla. He looked up to Renly. Seeing the terror in his eyes, Nicholas felt he knew what had to happen, or at the very least what he wanted to happen. He raised a hand to Renly's cheek, gently lowering Renly's face towards his own, brushing their lips together in the softest of kisses. Hopefully Renly would be calmer now. Nicholas knew he certainly felt more comfortable, as if all the tension between them had vanished in the simple act, "Then I shall see you tomorrow, yes?" Nicholas asked, feeling a little bolder.

Renly just beamed, feeling Nicholas' breath hot against his face. He was dumbfounded, awestruck. He rested his forehead against the kings and replied with a faint, hushed "Yes." There was no word to describe the taste of moments when people began waltzing right into your heart, into your bloodstream. But whatever that word was, he could taste it now, in that kiss. This was romance budding; brand new and it was all very exhilarating. But poor Renly Arryn had no clue the surprise he had in store and that this little tryst was more than likely doomed from the start. He went to bed that night with the thought of meeting up with Nicholas the next day tracing the outlines of his dreams.

No sooner had Renly heard the wail, he bolted in the king and prince's direction, slapping the reign's hard and driving his heels deep into his destrier's side. The second he made it into the trees, he dismounted with a skill and ease he didn't even know he possessed, and was on the ground and running before his horse even had a moment to catch it's breath. It was then, as he rounded the bend of an oak, the sight spilled out before him like some horrible farce of a stage play with Ulfric's name freshly written on the playbill in a spattering of blood instead of ink. Renly didn't know how to react, he felt as if he were falling over himself to read the act descriptions—but there was nothing there, nothing there but a facsimile of a son's face in pain and mourning hovering over the king. Ren's knees trembled and his body shook, wracked with shock. This was the man who offered him a home and a future, a man he didn't know too well, but one that had be unfailingly kind in his own stoic and quiet sort of way.

"Renly! T-the King...h-he's...he's dead." Ronan voiced, the sound of it hollowed and empty. The young ward stumbled over to the body instinctively, his legs catching on one another and tripping him up so that he just fell short of the corpse, face biting into a hard forest floor not softened by it's blanket of dampened leaves. He scrambled forward after that and pressed a trembling set of hands to the wound, hope still alight in his big blue eyes that had a sleepless night scrawled in bruises under them and were beginning to well up with tears.

Other shouts came in rolling waves, voices crying out like bands of seagulls squawking senselessly. He recognized Simon's somewhere a midst the white noise, Ulfric's nephew. He was asking the wrong questions, How? He should of been offering to help. Ren's clothes were now black and slick with blood as he still tried to keep pressure on the injury, and he began to wonder why it was him on his knees and not the king's son, Ronan. Did no one care about saving him? Renly was in denial, trying to save that which was already gone. A lost gust of wind offended the taciturn trees like the trembling premonition of the horrible future that prowled at their heels. Everything had changed. Renly should have followed after them, this was all his fault.