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Snippet #2576150

located in Tibera, a part of The Price of Blood, one of the many universes on RPG.




Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson
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A silence had fallen between father and son as they rode through the trees at a brisk trot. Both knew why they were there, alone, but neither wanted to be the first to say something. It was Ronan who finally broke the silence with a cough followed by a few words. "Why are we out here? Alone?" Ulfric turned his upper body so that he faced Ronan for a moment. His lips parted, but they shut again as he faced forward.

"I thought we ought to spend time together," Ulfric lied. It rolled off his tongue with uncharacteristic ease. Ronan simply nodded, unsure whether he ought to believe the statement or not. Ten years ago, the first time he had been allowed to hunt with the adults, Ufric had taken the boy along with the others. Was he worried about their commotion scaring the game away, or was their something else he had in mind?

Ulfric's knees had been aching relentlessly for the past few hours, and now the mixture of low air pressure and riding made the ache nearly unbearable. He cleared his throat once. "I think we ought to dismount. The horses will spook anything around here."

"Agreed," Ronan replied, uncharacteristically soft spoken. His jaw tightened slightly as he adjusted his quiver and bow which were strung across his back. Both men dismounted in tandem, but Ulfric carried no weapons with him. In that moment, Ronan knew they were not simply out there to hunt. They walked a few paces before Ronan voiced his concerns. "Why are we really here, Father?"

He knew he could no longer hide from it, no longer pretend it was not happening. Ulfric turned to face his son, a expression of mixed disgust and disbelief plastered across his countenance. "How long have you loved her?"

His gut churned violently, but Ronan knew he couldn't reveal anything now. Not when he was this close. "Who, Father?" he replied, head tilting to the side to give him a boyish look despite his intimidating stature. He hardly had time to react before his father's hand connected with his cheek, causing Ronan's head to turn with the impact.

"You damn well know who I mean, boy," he snarled. "Do you think me blind? Daft?!" His face contorted with anger as he reached forward and gripped Ronan by the front of his doublet. "No son of mine would think this to be acceptable behavior. You are to rule a kingdom one day, and a king simply can not be as stupid as you are, boy." With a quick movement, Ulfric jerked him to the side and stormed past.

Ronan stood there for a moment, his hand to his reddening cheek, but as rage built within him, he reached into his quiver and pulled out not an arrow, but the tusk of a boar. He gripped it tightly by the base as he had when he pulled it from the trophy that hung over his room's fireplace last night. He would show him. He would show him who was weak, who was unfit to rule. He inhaled and then exhaled slowly before running up behind his father.

The King looked back to face the crunching of leaves and turned into the tip of the tusk. His breath caught as the boar's tusk cut through his flesh. Ronan gave it a sharp twist, tearing through tissue, and then he pulled it free. The pain that consumed his body was unlike any he had felt in battle. His gut seemed to burn as blood soaked through his doublet. The two stood for a moment in shock, Ulfric because he simply couldn't believe what had happened and Ronan because he couldn't believe he had done it. The dying King flung himself at Ronan, knocking the unprepared Prince to the forest floor as he grappled for the tusk.

For just a moment, Ulfric had the tusk in hand, and he brought it across Ronan's cheek, cutting the left side of his face. He was no match for his son, however, and the boy soon had the King on his back and the tusk through his chest. Red bubbled on Ulfric's lips, and he sputtered for air as his lungs filled with blood. "Do you wish to know the truth, old man?" he taunted, knowing the blood had filled his throat. "She carries my child, not yours." He smirked wickedly as he pulled the tusk again from his father's neck. "Are you proud of me, Father? I took the throne as you did, killed the King as you did."

Ulfric struggled feebly beneath his son, shaking his head slightly. He swallowed the blood that had gathered in his mouth, fighting to choke out final words. " son of mine.." he managed to rasp, but then the blood had filled his respiratory system again, literally drowning him in his own fluid as he continued to fight against Ronan. He knew it was futile, there was no winning this battle. In a last moment of strength, perhaps the last moment of strength he had felt in years, he spat upwards at Ronan, plastering blood to his face beside his already bleeding wound. And then he was still.


Ronan, perched above his father and panting from the effort of holding down the man, simply knelt there for a moment. Ulfric Bjornson was no more. He was King. Genevieve was his Queen. He felt his cheek then, and his hand came away red from the blood. Good. It would look odd if he came away from this unscathed. He gathered his breath in his chest and, slowly, let lose a mournful cry.

They would come now, and so he mounted his horse, hoping to find them and lead them back to the body. The smirk fell from his face and was replaced by a look of panic and concern. As he rode, he noticed a shape moving towards him, and he pulled up on the reins once he recognized Renly. "Renly!" he cried, his entire body heaving now. "T-the King...h-he's...he's dead."