Renly Arryn's Story

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It had been months since Ulfric's death and yet one question still fluttered around Renly's mind like a phantom mayfly, causing bouts of extreme uneasiness...where was the boar? A boar had killed Ulfric, but surely it would not have escaped Ronan...it can't have scurried off into the forest with a dead king now amidst his credentials...Surely Ronan would have.... Renly shook off those hasty thoughts with determination. It was not his place to question the story, to do so would be treason and as it stood, he was still a guest in the king's castle...the new king's. He tried to let his mind wander to pleasanter thoughts, like those of his dalliance with the handsome stranger at the masquerade. Coronations were a tedious affair, all stiff backs and solemn brows, and he found he'd of preferred to be back in his chambers pouring of the royal family history or studying all the texts the maester had left with him but alas, that was not an option, so he stood on ceremony and daydreamed about romance.

It was a genuine miracle that Renly was still permitted to remain as a ward there. For whatever reason, he could tangibly feel Ronan's intense dislike for him almost immediately upon being brought to the castle by Ulfric. It wasn't as if he could've blamed the prince now king though, who wants a set of strange prying eyes set lose upon one's home? But as much as Renly didn't want to admit, being forced to leave this place now that Ulfric was dead would be tantamount to heartbreak. It too had become his home, the blocks of stone growing sentient to him with time, replacing all that he had lost in it's security...a family. "My darling," This citadel would say if it could speak. "you’ve been looking so pale of late. I’ve seen you sweetening your mead with laudanum and waltzing with the ghost of your mother through all my empty rooms. How many nights has the moon drunk it’s fill of your beauty and left the sun to mourn?

Oh Renly, my son, your eyes have been attending more to books than bed rest as of late. I can hear your haunted footsteps wearing furrows in my floors, and your nervous arpeggios are keeping the servants awake. How many sleepless nights have we seen since your king was slain in the forest, I wonder?

My child, come cast your candlelight on the portraits of your ruler's forebears, come admire my string of black pearls. I have no arms to hold you with, but all homes are made to be mothers, and all mothers know a bedtime story or two. Look, the history of my occupants is a rich one. Here is a once great king, thrown from his mare during the autumn hunt, and his lecherous cousin, stabbed through the eye by a scullery maid, and his poor little nephew, swallowed and drowned by the tarn on an Easter Sunday. Here is another grand monarch, a queen, mouth sharp as a guillotine and braids white as a captor’s rope. Let me tell you of that terrible day when she found her daughter and son undone and gasping on the stable floors. I hid them in a oratory, away from her catechisms and screaming. I poured my dark into her heart for love of my children. I whispered damnation and despair to her from the eaves, and when her trembling hands closed around the hilt of her husbands dagger, my runners supped on her blood.

You see, your treasonous thoughts are not alone in between my blocks of stone, I have mothered quite a harrowing brood. Paper my walls with all your secret sins and see how well I keep them, until my columns crumble and moss has grown over the name on your grave. After all, what is family for?"

The idea of the castle comforting him was calming, like he wasn't alone or judged for his thoughts toward his new potentate. They, he and this stronghold, would both know the history of the family and how many secrets it harbored.

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Ｔｏ ｗｉｔｈｅｒ ｉｎ ｄｅｎｉａｌ, ｔｈｅ ｂｉｔｔｅｒｎｅｓｓ ｏｆ ｏｎｅ ｗｈｏ'ｓ ｌｅｆｔ ａｌｏｎｅ.cxc

Judging by the mood in the room, coronations were rare events in Ostwall, if they actually happened at all. Nicholas wasn't entirely sure what to expect; the last coronation he had been at was his own. Being a guest at a coronation was entirely different. He was not the focus of everyone's attention. That was something he was grateful for. What he was not grateful for was being sandwiched between Priscilla and Christoph, once again. He constantly wanted to look around the room to look for Renly. He hadn't seen Renly since the day Ulfric had died, and even then it had only been for a few seconds. He still wasn't sure if Renly had seen him. Nicholas had made his excuses and left as soon as he saw the boy coming. As much as he had wanted to stay, he didn't want Renly to know who he was. And there was the risk of giving themselves away. Christoph was the sort that always noticed more than he let on. Since then, opportunities to see Renly had been few and far between. His own stupidity astounded him sometimes.

"Do you suppose our wedding shall be an affair as grand as this?"

Nicholas looked to Priscilla, slightly at a loss for words. He knew they would be married. Short of one of them dying or some horrendous scandal being discovered, it was inevitable. Still, Priscilla's sudden question left him on the back foot. Acutely aware of Christoph sat beside him, Nicholas smiled, "It can be as grand as you like. Well, within reason." There was no point bankrupting the entire kingdom for a wedding he wasn't even sure he wanted.

"I remember when Ulfric took the throne of Ostwall. Only two years his senior, and now he's dead. So soon these monarchs die..." Nicholas turned his attention to Christoph "He's eight years your senior, this king, yet I must admit he has far more to learn than you ever did when your father died." Christoph looked across the room to Ronan, as did Nicholas. "What is your opinion of the new King of Ostwall?"

Nicholas thought for a moment, studying Ronan. He'd had few dealings with him, the two only seeing each other in passing. He seemed to be a capable warrior, whether that made him a capable king remained to be seen. And he didn't seem particularly broken up over his father's death. "He seems to be a decent sort, a capable warrior. Whether he's a good king remains to be seen. But I do think there's more to him than meets the eye." When he could, Nicholas would keep an eye on Ronan until he could be certain the new king could be trusted.

Priscilla seemed to be getting more agitated than usual. Nicholas gritted his teeth as he leaned over to Priscilla, determined to give the impression to all concerned that they were two young people who were very much in love with one another, "Would you like to dance, my lady?" he asked quiet enough that only Priscilla would be able to hear him.