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Ronan Ulfricson

"If you think anyone is sane you just don't know enough about them."

0 · 1,722 views · located in Tibera

a character in “The Price of Blood”, originally authored by Scarlet Loup, as played by RolePlayGateway

Description

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“If you think anyone is sane you just don't know enough about them.”




The Basics




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|| Full Name ||
Ronan Bjorn Ulfricson

|| Nicknames ||
Ronan's name comes with few nicknames, but he remembers being affectionately called "Cub" by his mother in reference to the nickname his father earned in war.

|| Gender ||
Male

|| Age ||
Twenty-three

|| Rank/Title ||
Prince of Ostwall and Heir to the Throne

|| Sexual Orientation ||
Heterosexual

|| Kingdom/Alliance ||
Ostwall / Himself




What's on the Outside




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|| Hair Color ||
It is quite obvious that Ronan's black locks did not come from his brown-haired father. Instead, they bear striking resemblance to his mother's.

|| Eye Color ||
Like his father, Ronan has eyes that are a light jade in color.

|| Height ||
Six feet, two inches

|| Weight ||
Two hundred pounds

||Tattoos ||
Wanting to look like a true warrior, Ronan bears a tribal design on his left bicep.

|| Scars ||
Like Ulfric, Ronan has a variety of scars on his arms and legs. These wounds, however, all come from tournaments rather than battles. He would like to pretend, of course, that they are from a noble war, but he has never even seen a battle.

|| Description ||
Ronan is what Ulfric once was: a bear of a man. Ronan stands over his father at six feet, two inches, and he weighs about two hundred pounds due to his muscle. Therefore, he is obviously a very well-built man. He bears a strong jaw, and his cheeks appear almost sculpted. Very few wrinkles appear on Ronan's countenance, but he does show crow's feet and laugh lines when he smiles. Ronan often grows his facial hair out into a light goatee, and he lets his hair grow in thick curls just on his head. Occasionally, he will grow it out until it can just barely be pulled into a small pony tail of sorts. Unlike his father, he dresses in more-ornate doublets with a thinner coat or cloak on top.




What's on the Inside




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Personality:
{Unpredictable, Charming, Hot-Headed, Obsessive}
On the outside, Ronan appears quite perfect. He's quite intelligent and charming. In public situations, he often speaks eloquently and with deep thought to back up his ideas. In tournaments, he is ruthless and extremely skilled. However, there have always been whispers circulating about the palace concerning his true colors. Around Genevieve, he is a true gentleman. Those who have known Ronan since his childhood remember his temper and his impulsiveness. When alone, he tends to grow childish and hot-headed. In fact, no one truly understands the calming affect the Queen has on her step-son.

His behavior is, in one word, unpredictable. In just a few seconds, he can go from jovial to enraged. Ronan lacks a filter in these outbursts, but his status as Ostwall's only prince tends to give him the ability to get away with just about everything. He is obsessive to the point where he becomes overly protective of anything from a sword to a horse to a human being. If things do not follow the plan he has created in his mind, he quickly angers and often shouts and curses. He lacks the ability to carefully think his actions through, but he certainly isn't a stupid man. In fact, he is quite capable of deep thought to a certain degree. Ronan often finds it difficult to think of the long-term effects of his actions.

Still, he manages to play the role of caring brother to both of his sisters, and he conceals his true self around Genevieve. The extent to which he is capable of dragging out this illusion is unknown to anyone -- including himself.

|| Hobbies ||
  • Sparring
  • Horse Racing
  • Hawking
|| Habits ||
  • Furrows his brow when he is thinking deeply
  • Grows angry/listless when proven wrong
|| Oddities ||
  • The technology of the time (or the lack thereof) prevents Ronan from truly being diagnosed. The closest diagnosis one could make would be bipolar disorder, but even that is uncertain.
  • He is not an alcoholic, but when presented with it in a festive scenario, he tends to drink past his limit.
Likes/Loves:
  • Genevieve
  • His sisters
  • Control
  • Festivities
  • Sports
Dislikes/Hates:
  • His father
  • Losing
  • Sweltering Heat
  • Being Still
  • Being Lectured




What's Done Is Done




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Biography
|| Place Of Origin ||
Ostwall

|| History ||
Ronan's birth came in the midst of political turmoil. Freya's stress during her pregnancy, perhaps, can attest to his later behavioral problems. Still, he had a very normal childhood. His earliest memories do not stretch back to a time before life in Ostwall's Palace. Vividly, he can recall a time when he would totter about in the gardens with his mother nearby and perhaps Celia in her arms. Never did he want for something besides, perhaps, a father. For the first few years of his life, he would see very little of his father. Still, his mother played both roles very well. Unlike his father, he managed to achieve a very formal education under the most educated men of the nation and alongside his sister.

As a young boy, he grew temperamental especially when he did not get his way. Perhaps the first instance of this was when he insisted upon being allowed to follow the soldiers and his father to war at the age of nine. His mother, of course, said no. For the next week, he refused to leave his room unless someone physically carried him from it. Between tantrums, he was a very spirited young man, and he quickly found a love for sports and hunting. Through his teenage years, it was quite common to find him out on a day-long hunt with other boys of the court.

During these teenage years, he also began to question his love for Ulfric. There was a time before then that he had wanted nothing more than to be his father. Like most boys, he believed his father was a hero. Resentment toward the man, however, began to build within him. This resentment, however, was simply a result of being unable to prove himself to his father and therefore evoke his love. In the midst of his struggle to stand out, Freya died. Ronan, along with his sisters and father, were distraught, of course. She was the rock that had held them together. The remaining family members only grew more distant. It did not help, of course, that Ulfric married just about a year after Freya's death.

Ronan imagined he would hate her with every bit of his soul. He didn't. In fact, he was absolutely smitten with her. He found himself trailing after her, tending to her, and eventually subtly flirting with her. She was, in turn, affectionate. Finally, one day, he could not hold his obsession back any longer, and he confessed his love for her. His father, too ignorant for his own good, did not realize what was going on. Their affair grew more and more heated until they finally consummated it. Around this point in time, he finally decided on how he would prove himself to Ulfric. In the end, he twisted this idea until he decided that the only way he would be able to achieve this would be by doing what his father had done: rising up and stealing the throne. One, of course, does not simply take the throne from a king. Ronan knew he would need to wait and bide his time. Until the time comes, Ronan merely waits for the chance to strike when The Bear least expects it.

|| Happiest Memory ||
Falling in love with Genevieve, or winning in his first tournament

|| Saddest Memory ||
The death of his mother




Face Claim:Henry Cavill

So begins...

Ronan Ulfricson's Story

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Guy Priestas Character Portrait: Simon Priestas
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Simon had gone to bed rather late for whatever reason. Guy had stayed downstairs dancing the night away with various women and eventually taking a break before resuming his dancing. How Guy was a wonderful dancer, yet horrible sympathizer was beyond Simon. Simon had sat back and enjoyed his book up until a women had asked him to dance for whatever reason and he was forced to stand and do a dance with her, then the next lady who asked, then the next one. Simon was almost positive the ladies had just mixed him and Guy up.

ImageNow Simon stood anxiously next to his horse, carefully adjusting the saddle while waiting for his brother to show up. Simon had been told by Guy what Ulfric said, yet he wasn't even here himself yet. Soon the hunt would begin and his brother hadn't even showed up to participate in activities with those who were staying behind. Groaning, Simon mounted his horse. The squire that stood nearby with Guy's horse looking around, not anxious, just curious as to where the noble had gotten.

Simon looked up to see his uncle and his cousin converse nearby before leaving. Ulfric called something to Celia that made Simon furrow his brow, confused as to why Ulfric would say something along those lines. Simon considered joining them, but figured it wouldn't be too good of an idea. He was still sure that Guy would come forth and show himself with a rumpled look to him and a large smile on his face. Everyone else had arrived it appeared. Guy was literally the last man to show up, if you thought a seventeen year old as a man. If a fifteen year old was a king, why not consider a seventeen year old a man?

"Guy, where are you?" Simon mutters under his breath as he turns his horse in a circle, trying to spot his brother from the castle in the distance. Perhaps he had just slept in too much and was still sleeping. That's what he'd been telling himself for the past hour as he had gone through the motions of preparing for the hunt without his brother. Simon did hope that their uncle didn't get mad at Guy. It had been rather clear.

Simon saw a familiar face in the crowd and smiled slightly upon seeing the squire assisting him during their stay at the castle approach. He didn't look too happy about his news. "Sir, your brother, he told me to tell you he will meet you in the woods," The squire states, bending over to catch his breath. Simon groaned softly again. What was Guy up to? He saw a few people getting ready to begin and followed them, hoping Guy would be true to his word, Simon took off on the hunt with a few others, bow in hand.

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Guy stood from his seat he had taken to stare at the partially blank canvas. The rain had fallen causing a spider web outside on his balcony to have drops of rain running along the strands. He had resigned himself to capture the beautiful image before it dried or the spider came to tear it down. He didn't know what he'd do if the spider showed up, perhaps kill it since he didn't like spiders.

ImageGuy was currently trying to figure out how to start. Should he paint the web starting with the droplets or the web itself? And how would he capture the web itself when it took him adjusting his view of the web in order to see the delicate strands. He sighed and decided it was time for a break. He had set everything up, so his break wasn't done after entirely nothing, just mostly nothing. He looked out the window, beyond the web to see the hunt commencing.

He didn't have any plans on joining his brother. Sure he had said he'd join, and his uncle had told him to join, but that didn't mean he wanted to, or would. Perhaps someone other than his brother and cousins would try to defend him. It wasn't like he was entirely alone in the world, just mostly, like his preparation of the painting. His brother would be mad, and possibly ignore Guy for a day or two, then he would forgive Guy and the two would love each other again and resume studying and practicing together in their spare time.

Guy resumed staring at the canvas before picking up the paintbrush nearby and gently beginning the work, deciding it best to begin with the web itself, then add the water droplets on as if they were gently placed there by himself, with his own fingers, not his paintbrush. Guy watched with a smile as his web began to take shape. He was pretty sure his shirt wouldn't ever be clean again thanks to him using it for a rag rather than an actual rag.

Guy looked at what he had so far and smiled. On the canvas sat a well put together web that didn't look exactly the way he wanted it to, but close enough. Nothing he ever painted looked exactly as he wanted it to, it just wasn't possible considering he couldn't capture every single aspect. He always saw the painting as incomplete yet everyone else who had seen his work, his brother and servants, thought they looked identical to the real life model. In Guy's eyes however, they looked like trash and he wished he could just dump each and everyone of them. He would have had it not been for his not wanting to waste the precious paint and canvas.

Guy slowly set his brush down and moved to lay on his bed before remembering his shirt and instead moving to lean against the door frame yet again. If he could, he'd trap his brother in here and let him read and study to his heat's content while Guy painted. He didn't really love anyone in a romantic way, and sometimes wished he did, but shook his head, pushing the hopeful thoughts away. He couldn't, not yet, not until his brother would finally find someone worth loving and love her and then, well, not consider any other ladies at all.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham
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RENLYxARRYN
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"Little by little, the old world crumbled,
and not once did the king imagine that
some of the pieces might fall on him."

― Jennifer Donnelly

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A chamber maid shook Ren roughly from pleasant dreams and wordlessly led him out of the castle. He stumbled into the mid morning chill, groggy from sleep, to find his horse saddled and the king already mounted. There was nothing to do but rub the sleep from his eyes, dress, and mount up. They had a hunt to set out on and the king waited for no man.

The royals set the pace, and driving his black destrier hard, Ren galloped along beside them, trying his best to keep up. He called out a question as they rode, but the wind blew his words away, and Ulfric did not hear him. After that Renly rode in silence. The sun, high in the sky, sent fingers of light through the pale white mist left behind by an earlier morning rain. He looked to his prince, who rode closely with his father and frowned, an uneasy feeling settling in in the pit of his stomach. Sometimes it seemed Ronan was as cold as a Northern winter and sharp as a slap from an old, angry drunkard, as hard as Ostwall armor and wicked as the jokes young boys used to whisper to each other during mass. The murky day seemed foreboding and Renly couldn't quite pinpoint why. He quelled his anxiety by keeping his head on a swivel, eyes searching for a familiar dark swatch of hair and a set of warm brown eyes. Would his Nicholas be out on the hunt, carrying some knight or king's pack supplies and spare weaponry like Ren? Or was he back at the castle all snug and warm, still tucked in his bed or perhaps having a late breakfast or an early lunch?

No matter how tired Renly was now, dragging on with this exercise deprived of a long sleep, he could not be made to regret his late night escapade to the garden. He was a romantic, and he was consumed with hope though little more had carried on save a night of conversation and a kiss between strangers. He was soon snapped out of his reverie and his search when the King and Prince pulled away from the group to set off on their own. He hesitated in his saddle, unsure if he should follow. If they wanted to be in each other confidences then he'd be in trouble for taking off after them; were they stalking after prey, they'd be furious he wasn't there to retrieve the kill. He mulled over his options carefully and opted to trail in their general direction within earshot but out of sight. If they called for him, he'd hear them; but if their voice never reached above a conversational volume, their exchange would remain secret.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Renly Arryn
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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. "...no 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.




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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."

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Simon Priestas
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ImageSimon had followed along in the hunt, not really paying attention as he thought of his brother. Where was he? Sighing, Simon raised his bow as he saw a target and fired quickly and efficiently, taking down his target. A nearby boy ran to retrieve the prize though Simon hardly felt like celebrating. He was about to turn back and just go back to the tents when he heard a horrible sort of cry.

Simon moved towards the sound, seeing his cousin, Ronan, and his half cousin, Renly. Upon hearing Ronan's decree, Simon froze, ice taking over his veins. His uncle, dead? It wasn't possible, he was such a strong man of power, not even he could be felled, right? Simon shook his head as he stared at his cousin, finally noticing the blood on his face.

"No... You... Uncle..." Simon whispers looking towards where Ronan came from but not wanting to go see the horrible sight should Ronan be telling the truth. Why wouldn't he though? His father was dead. Simon felt something break in his chest, his second father, was gone. He had to tell Guy, no he couldn't tell Guy, it would break him.

Ronan looked as heartbroken as Simon felt. Simon let his bow drop in front of him in the saddle, not allowing himself to dismount for fear his legs wouldn't hold him. "That... How?" Simon manages through his stupor, wondering how this disaster could have come to be.

Simon breathed deeply, trying to recuperate. The breath was ragged and he felt more like he was breathing in glass rather than air. He looked to his cousin, finally realizing what this meant now. It was both good and bad he guessed. Good because it wouldn't be entirely chaotic with an heir, bad because Ulfric was dead, and Ronan didn't really like Guy.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ulfric Bjornson Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Simon Priestas
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RENLYxARRYN
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"He shed a lake of blood and murdered a king
for a cold, lonely throne."
― Jayne Castel

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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.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Simon Priestas
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Dismounted now, Ronan watched the mournful Renly. It was difficult to stop from breaking out into a gleeful smile, difficult to maintain a face full of grief and mourning. Instead, Ronan settle for an expression of nothingness as if he had been broken by Ulfric's death. He hear another voice as he and Renly approached the corpse. Simon, he noted, hearing one of his younger cousin stammer and struggle for words to explain the situation. Ronan had not intended for either of the other men to follow him, but it certainly seem to be negatively affecting him. In fact, perhaps it would simply better his situation.

He wiped crocodile tears from his eyes as he stepped towards the fallen ward of his father. Renly would be his ward now, wouldn't he? A smart boy, most certainly, but he was too clever at times, and though Ronan himself had never been a stupid man, he couldn't help but be concerned that perhaps the young ward might prove to be more of a challenge than an asset. He was king now, however. Should the boy turn out to be too much of a burden, he would be cast out.

Simon's stammered question brought him to his senses once more. Ronan wiped the blood on his face as he wiped once more at tears he was still struggling to summon. The blood wiped across his face too, giving him the appearance of one of the ancient chieftains in modern Ostwall. He took a moment to gather a shuddering breath. "He wished to carry on our hunt by foot," he began softly. "I didn't...he didn't even..." Ronan gave himself a moment, lip beginning to quiver as he began to force himself to think of truly sad moments. Celia dying. Corianna dying. Genevieve dying. Freya dying. He wept wholeheartedly.

"T-the boar...he came up from...behind," Ronan started, the sobs truly causing his lower lip to quiver like a babe. In that moment, perhaps he would look weak, but in the long run, he would prove that he was not. He would make certain of that. "He hardly had time to react...and I tried to pull the v-vile thing from him, b-but...the damage had been d-done."

He slowly turned his attention back to Renly then, feebly and hopelessly attempting to staunch the bleeding with his hands. The front of the boy was drenched in the blood that had once coursed through Ulfric's body. Renly was making him look emotionless, fake...weak. Before he knew what he was doing, Ronan rushed forward and gripped the teenager by his shoulder. The sudden move would, most likely, catch Renly off guard and send him falling on to his back. "He is dead, damn it! Your sniveling won't bring him back!" Ronan cried as an ominous wind blew through the trees. Even through the treetops, it was easy to see that the storm was returning. Unlike his new ward, however, Ronan saw little symbolism in it. "We need to...his body must move." He spoke coldly, and the facade dissolved as a few raindrops pattered against his head.

Ronan wrapped his arms around Ulfric's chest and hefted his body upwards, hoping one of the others would seize his legs. When he tried to place the corpse over his own horse, the black stallion grew restless. He turned then to look at Ulfric's dun mare, who, when he draped the body across her back, accepted the burden knowingly, as if she could tell that she was weighed down for the last time by the man who had once ridden her into battle so many years ago.

One of Ronan's gloved hands seized the reins of the mare, and the other gathered up his stallion's reins as the sad procession made their way back towards the tents of the other nobles. As they walked past, some nobles who must have heard the cry from Ronan began to emerge from the woods, and they gasped or whispered amongst themselves, unable to process what they were seeing. Those from Ostwall began to weep or gaze after their king blankly. Those from the other kingdoms simply refused to believe in the death of Ulfric Bjornson, a man that the song writers claimed to be immortal. Occasionally, they stopped for Ronan to readjust the body as needed, but otherwise, the party went uninterrupted. Not by sound, nor movement, for a somber mood had fallen over what had once been a joyous occasion.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards Character Portrait: Evelyne Spyre Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne
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Simon stared at the sight in horror, feeling something like regret and guilt even though he had not killed his uncle. He listened to Ronan's story, not believing this was how his uncle died. He believed Ronan, but was in disbelieving that his might uncle would fall in such a way. "Ronan," Simon begins upon seeing his cousin growing colder by the second. He didn't like that he was speaking to Renly that way, he didn't like it when he spoke like that to anyone.


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Simon moved forward to help his cousin lift his deceased uncle, holding back the feeling he wanted to go crawl into bed and sleep forever. Simon grabbed the reins of his horse as they passed her, helping Ronan guide Ulfric's body on Ulfric's horse. Simon walked solemnly, his face devoid of any emotion. Where was his brother? Simon breathed deeply, not making eye contact with anyone as they moved forward. He hated it, he hated everything at that moment if he was going to be honest with himself.

"Ronan, have you seen Guy this morning?" Simon mutters under his breath, wanting to know if anyone had seen Guy at all. He knew Ronan and Guy had something against each other, but he had hoped the two might at least know each other's whereabouts on such a large day as a hunt.

Simon saw his uncle's arm fall off from where it had been on his chest causing Simon to turn away for a moment. The man who had taken him and his brother in, the one who had practically raised them, their father's brother, gone.

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Guy smiled as he stepped back, looking at the web with drops of dew hanging off it as if it was hanging in his window. Guy looked out to see storm clouds brewing and frowned, pulling his painting inside but keeping the windows open. He liked the humidity storms brought. He studied his painting again, frowning now as he saw that he hadn't caught the light, he had neglected the light! He'd have to start over. He sighed and tossed the half dry painting on his bed.

Guy heard a rush at the door then saw a servant barge in. "Prince Guy," He begins, out of breath and looking horrible. Guy instantly knew something was wrong, something had happened. Was the storm worse than he had figured it would be? "Is Simon alright?" He demanded, fearful his twin might have broken himself should he have gone on the hunt. Simon had figured his brother would have just stayed in bed, not go on the hunt without him. Now he wished he had gone. "No, sir, you're uncle..." The guard hesitated, as if he wasn't quite sure what to do.


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"Well?" Guy presses, moving to grab his vest. "You're uncle... you should come see him," The guard finishes. Guy nods, pulling on his boots and grabbing his cloak as well as Simon's. He had left it in Guy's room after their ride outside yesterday. Guy followed the guard, walking quickly. What could have happened to his uncle that had caused such behavior? He probably was just sick or had pulled something, wanting to have Guy around just so that he felt a little better.

Guy followed the guard until they were outside where the guard pointed to the tents. Guy saw his brother, his shoulders hunched, looking rather unhappy. Frowning, Guy accepted his horse from a nearby squire he looked relieved to be going back into the stables. Guy felt bad for making the kid stand outside for so long, but dismissed it as he mounted and rode towards his brother. He saw something on Ulfric's horse, perhaps his cloak. As Guy rode closer, he slowed, seeing people were crying or staring at Ulfric's cloak. "Simon... What's wrong?" Guy asks as he dismounts, approaching the small procession where he spotted Renly and Ronan as well. Simon's head sprung up, staring at Guy with something Guy had rarely seen from his brother.

"Where were you?" Simon asks, staring at his brother. Guy looks at his brother with surprise. "What do you mean? Simon what's wrong with uncle?" Guy asks as he walks forward, offering Simon his cloak.

Simon takes it only to throw it on the ground, furious at his brother. He needed an out, he couldn't let it out on Ronan or Renly and there was nobody else around that could take his anger but his brother, even if it was a little hard now. Simon looks around incredulously, then walks forward to grab his brother by the vest. "Don't you get it? How can you not see it? That's him, that's him right there, Guy. He's gone," Simon declares, pushing his brother towards Ulfric's body before turning and leaving, having a hard time taking the horror.

Guy looks at what he thought was Ulfric's cloak but catches sight of his uncle's pale hand. "Oh my God," He whispers, looking around and realizing what had happened. He wanted to fall on his knees, but withheld, staring at the body, then Ronan on the other side of the horse, then back at Ulfric.

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Lucas noticed the disapproval from the count and his friends. Lucas nearly ignored Christoph altogether had it not been for Priscilla coming over. He couldn't believe the girl was sitting with her father, in his lap. He couldn't remember the last time he had sat in his father's lap, he couldn't remember the last time he had talked to his father about something like that.

His attention was caught when he spot the king of Ostwall was shown to be dead. He moved closer to his ward, standing right behind him. They had been apart too long, he was afraid now more than ever that he wouldn't be able to keep Nicholas safe, especially when one of the strongest king through the world was found dead, killed.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Celia Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Corianna Ulfricdottir Character Portrait: Loras Edwards Character Portrait: Rosalie Lannister Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards
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The King's hand brushed lightly against the scar that still graced his left cheek -- a bitter-sweet reminder of how he had come to stand here beside Genevieve. His coronation, given the lack of spiritual leaders in the widely-diverse Ostwall, was headed by one of the eldest chieftains within the kingdom's borders, a man of a staggering seventy-seven years. Ronan's hair and beard had grown out to appear more like his people, from whom he required approval. The thick fur of a bear, draped about his shoulders, only helped further that image and reflect the symbol of his father. The pelts seemed to weigh him down greatly. They most certainly were the reason beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow. Or perhaps they came from the worry that, somehow, they'd trace the murder back to him.

The death of Ostwall's monarch had brought the festivities to a screeching halt. Ulfric's burial had been a ceremonious one, and the kingdom had grieved for months, meaning the current coronation had been unable to occur until now, two months later. In the mean time, Ronan suddenly found himself in the shoes of a man he had only, until then, dreamed of becoming. He played the part well, and Genevieve had as well. It was only when they were behind closed doors that she lost her air of nearly-constant mourning. Even then, he had not permitted her to be joyful in public until far after he had announced his plans to wed her.

Ronan moved his hand to brush at his brow then, and as he looked up at the chieftain before him, he noticed Celia just a bit off, holding Volundr. His son. He could never acknowledge the boy as his own, for the kingdom believed he had been the child of Ulfric and Genevieve, but Ronan told himself that the young prince should rightfully bear the surname of Ronanson. It pained him that it should be otherwise.

The chieftain stumbled over his words, causing Ronan to look back at him. Ostwall, unlike the other two kingdoms, had never truly adopted the more traditional concept of coronation until Ronan had insisted upon modernizing the nation. The chieftain had little idea as to what he was doing, and the words on the page made little sense given the fact that he was just barely literate. His stammering ended soon, thankfully, and he moved on to the crowning of the royals. The crown that was placed upon his head was nothing more than a thick band of iron with ornate patterns carved into it. The real beauty and power laid in the heavy chain that was placed about his neck, further weighing him down.

It was a relic dating back to times before even Falor had been unified when the clans of the North would give the chain to the strongest chieftain in the land. Over time, the simple chain had been added to in terms of links and precious stones until it hung heavy enough that it was only used for ceremonies. This, of course, was one of them.

As Genevieve went through a similar ceremony, receiving a less burdensome crown and chain that he had had created, for up until this point, the consort of the king of Ostwall had no political say. Though he had most certainly received the approval of the others in his kingdom, he knew they hardly approved of this action. Nevertheless, he turned around to great his people, hand reaching for Genevieve's as he did so. The chieftain cleared his voice once more before speaking in his thickly accented voice.

"I present to you King Ronan Bjorn Ulfricson, first of his name, and his queen, Genevieve Hansdottir of Falor, first of her name."




The proceeding festivities were a welcome change for all in Ostwall, having been in a period of nearly perpetual mourning for two months. A mixture of traditional and foreign instruments played, inspiring many to leave the banquet table in order to dance. Ronan, a bit too drunk by then to gracefully find his footing, resolved to stay at the table where he held the one month old Volundr in his arms. The King brushed a finger along the boy's cheek, laughing as the young prince gripped it and inspected the calloused finger with fascination.

"It's wonderful, is it not?" he remarked, looking out on the crowd of nobles, local and foreign, who occupied the hall. "It's ours now." Ronan continued to look about, meeting the gaze of a few nobles who watched the pair closely, with judgement visible in their eyes even from at the royals' place at the table. He knew they spoke about him and Genevieve quite often. It was most certainly scandalous for anyone to marry their widowed stepmother, let alone just months after her husband's death, but there were no laws regarding marriage in Ostwall.

Propping the small child up in his lap, Ronan gripped his tankard of ale and sipped from it for a moment, positioning it afterwards so that it attempted to block out the gossiping nobles. It hardly helped, however, and he simply turned back to Genevieve with his arm once more around Volundr.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Renly Arryn
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cxcDisarm you with a smile & leave you like they left me here
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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

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Guy Priestas Character Portrait: Simon Priestas
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Guy and Simon had stood beside each other during the ceremony for Ronan. Both were even thinner than before. They stood close to Ronan but not very close because their title wasn't as high as some other people's titles. Guy and Simon had been rather surprised upon hearing that their cousin was going to wed their aunt after their uncle had just died. It was a rather strange outcome, but it had happened before.

Their child, or perhaps it was Ulfric's son, it was a ratehr confusing mess, was extremely close to Ronan. The twins liked him, but weren't sure about anything and often kept to themselves for the most part over the months of mourning.

The two stood side by side, looking up at their cousin, both with different feelings. They matched with their coronet they had been told to wear. They had both not wanted to really attend, not telling the other, but did knowing they had to.

Simon looked to Ronan, for the most part respectfully, but also somewhat unapprovingly, covering up the latter emotion extremely well. Guy, on the other hand, might as well have held a sword at Ronan's throat for all he was hiding his emotions. He knew his cousin knew he was not entirely trusting of him. He would have to talk with Ronan about his curiosity. There was just too many coincidences. Simon had been the one to teach him there was never such a thing as a coincidence.



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Upon arriving at the party, Simon looked around for his brother. Wondering where he might have gotten to. The two of them had tried avoiding the party but had yet again been told to attend by some advisers. Simon saw his brother sitting at the banquet table, sipping from a glass of wine as he watched people dance.

As he made his way over to his brother, he heard his cousin talking to his son. "It's ours now," He stated in a way that caught Simon's ear but not enough to really think about it more than that initial second. He continued his approach to Guy, leaning against his chair and picking at a lock of his brother's hair that rested inside the dreadful coronets both didn't like wearing.

Guy and Simon, though originally not talking to each other because of their anger and grief, were closer than ever now. The two had made up after Guy had gotten into a brawl in one of towns upon hearing some idiots complaining of how weak some of the royal family had been in response to the death. Simon had been looking for Guy so they could go to a meeting when he found his brother losing the fight. Simon had gone in to help his brother and the two had walked out relatively okay, but both knowing they couldn't fight like that had again.

"How're you doing?" Simon asked softly as he watched the dancing on the floor continue. Guy shrugged. He still didn't really want to do anything these days except stay in his room. Simon had found his brother wrecking his artwork the day before. They had really bad days on occasion and Guy had had one the day before. Nearly all of the artwork in his room had been destroyed. He had just about torn apart a beautiful painting of a spider web when Simon had caught him and wrestled it away.

Guy took another sip of his wine then set the glass on the counter. He ran his finger over the rim as if considering his words, then looked up at Simon. "Everything is so different. I don't like it. I feel like I can't walk down the hall without having to look over my shoulder for something to come get me. It's just really hard," Guy said simply. Between the two, Guy had more bad days and was taking everything worse than his brother.

"I know, and you know things always get better, slowly," Simon said softly, ruffling his brother's hair. They didn't like the sentimental feel, but it did make them feel better. "Why don't you find a beautiful girl to grab for a dance?" Simon asked his brother with a hint of mischief in his voice now. Guy smiled slightly, looking over the crowd. "I'm afraid no female can match my own beauty," Guy announces rather overdramatically. Simon rolls his eyes before taking up Guy's wine glass and sitting beside him, taking a sip for himself.

"Are you ready for the trip to the town tomorrow?" Simon asks, knowing Guy had been planning a trip to town for weeks to pick up supplies. Simon had feared his brother wouldn't go after his episode yesterday, but was relieved to see Guy give a strong nod, looking as if his thoughts were elsewhere even though he was listening at the same time.

"I think I'm going to retire, I'm rather drained," Guy admitted quietly, standing and looking down at his brother. Simon nodded, taking another sip of wine. "Alright then, see you in the morning after your trip to town," Simon said with a smile and a tiny wave. Guy returned the gesture, then moved to leave, hoping Ronan wouldn't ask to speak with him as he walked past the new king.

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Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir
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Relief washed over Genevieve the second the chain had been laid around her neck as all of the lies and hiding that had gone on for months washed away. Well, not everything. They couldn’t just blatantly say an affair had been going on for much larger than before Ulfric died. But she could safely show her affection towards Ronan without being terrified of the consequences. Now the only real job was keeping up the charade of mourning long enough for it to seem natural to move on.

In some way she was sad, but it wasn’t anywhere near as much as the others throughout the nation were. She resented him still, just for being forced into marriage with him, despite it leading to her meeting Ronan. It would have been much more pleasant if Ulfric had just died before she arrived and Ronan chose Genevieve when he became king, but she didn’t bother to think that she would have probably resented Ronan for it too.




As the queen sat beside her new husband and child - the thought alone making a smile grace her features - she could only stare on lovingly, almost immobilized. The thought that Volundr wasn’t Ronan’s had never once crossed her mind, staying firmly in belief that he was without a doubt the father of their son.

She got pulled from her thoughts as she heard Ronan speak, lifting her head to smile and stare into his eyes. “No more worries…” Genevieve mused gently, it was wishful thinking but she didn’t want to think about the bad side right now. The only thing she wanted to focus on was her family - her perfect new family. A sharp pain hit her heart for a moment as her mind flashed to her childhood, and the image of her brother’s corpse burned into her head. She stared blankly, her eyes watering with tears involuntarily before she was torn from her memories by Volundr grabbing a strand of her hair.

Genevieve blinked rapidly, tears streaming down her face and smiling down at the baby. Frantically, she wiped her eyes and leaned her head on Ronan’s shoulder, gripping his arm to try and bring herself back to reality. This was her life now. She didn’t need to think about her old life, so why did it keep coming back?

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Lucas Navigne
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Lucas had been watching for the girl, yet he hadn't seen her again, not since that night he had asked her to dance. He sighed softly from where he stood in a small alcove behind where Nicholas sat. He would much rather prefer standing, or sitting, next to his friend and talking to him rather than pretending his only care was keeping him safe.



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Lucas stood, watching Priscilla and Christoph with contempt that was only visible to people who knew him really well, in other words, Nicholas. His gaze floated to the recently made king. He wasn't sure how he felt about the man. It was clear to Lucas that he wasn't all he seemed to be, and that his wife probably was already in love with him before his father died, either that or he took in a widow for his father, though Lucas couldn't help but doubt that.

Lucas had his hand lazily on his sword though he was more alert than any of the surrounding guards. He could appear lazy but be taunt as a horse during a gallop. Lucas watched the crowd, growing more and more tired of his task of watching the crowd than ever before. He wondered if Nicholas would be kind enough to come save him from his duty by going to bed. How wonderful that fantasy sounded.

Lucas thought back to a happier moment to distract himself. He was standing on the packed dirt that served as a training grounds for squires though Lucas was using it as a guard by the age of fourteen, a young and bored guard, but a guard nonetheless. He was training with an older guard, perhaps his current age. The older male was not going easy on small Lucas and Lucas would walk away with many bruises and cuts, yet he was easily holding his own against him. His task for the day, appearing like he was trying his hardest while throwing the match. His most recent teacher had wanted him to practice his hiding his abilities and it wasn't all that difficult.

The older fellow seemed to smile as his saw an opening Lucas had left open on purpose. He took the shot and Lucas pretended to nearly miss deflecting it before falling down and ending with the sword at his throat. It had been a great day since he had successfully completed the task in his mind. His master later chastised him for not being good enough, but the original pleasure of the memory held within Lucas's mind.

He turned his full attention on Nicholas again, finding that he couldn't help but continue to think of that girl from those many months ago either. He had been embarrassed about staring, yet had truly been happy to see her during the ball, and work the nerve up to talk to her after being abandoned by his ward. A strange situation yes, but still, it had worked and he had gotten to talk to the beauty that had captured his attention.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Priscilla Augusta Edwards Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Renly Arryn
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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.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Guy Priestas
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His gaze wandered about the hall, for Ronan had never been one to focus on one thing for too long. Renly, a distracted look in his eyes, caught his gaze first. Oh, Renly. Poor Renly. He would not, could not say why he let the teenager stay in Ostwall's castle. Both young men had never been particularly fond of each other. Ronan had always resented his father's ward, for Ulfric had seemed to dote on the boy more than he had on Ronan.

Perhaps the King knew, deep down, that he could not dispose of Renly without having the concern of resentment from the people on his hands. Already, their loyalty was something he questioned daily. One slip up would, potentially, cost him the throne and even his life. He resolved to speak to Renly, for he wanted a mind such as his on his side rather than against his.

Genevieve's response pulled him out of his reverie. He gave a slight nod of the head, coupling it with a smile. No more worries. In his drunken state, he attempted to convince himself that there truly was nothing wrong. The paranoia within him, however, gnawed at the back of his mind, plaguing him even as he watched his wife and son attentively. His mood noticeably soured, marked by the look of disgust that befouled his expression.

Nevertheless, he managed to pull on a semi-satisfied smile as he adjusted the position of the baby in his arms. Genevieve’s grip on his arm, which he matched with his hand placed over hers, seemed to calm him a bit more. But then he let himself gaze about the room again, meeting the gazes of the King of Falor and his advisor. Both men spoke to each other with their eyes still fixated on the newly-crowned monarch. Ronan’s mind began to turn on him, creating twisted ideas of what they might be whispering to each other over their respective goblets of wine or ale. He forced himself to look back down at the child shortly before Nicholas turned his attention to his fiancée.

It was truly unfortunate that Guy chose then to walk past Ronan, who caught a glimpse of his cousin on the edge of his peripheral vision. Having been coming to a boil for the past few minutes, Ronan found that his cousin would be the best victim to receive the extent of his drunken rage.

”Leaving so soon, dearest cousin?” he called after Guy, his voice dripping with feigned civility. ”I don’t recall giving you permission to leave so early in the night.” He passed Volundr to Genevieve before gripping the arms of his chair to push him to his feet quickly. The sensation of blood rushing away from his head causing a disorienting sense of lightheadedness that caused him to lean against the table for support. After a moment, he pushed himself off of the wooden table and continued moving towards Guy. ”Did my...did my father teach you nothing of civility?” His face had reverted once more to a twist of a grimace, antipathy radiating from him.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: Ronan Ulfricson Character Portrait: Christoph Edwards Character Portrait: Nicholas Brigham Character Portrait: Genevieve Hansdottir Character Portrait: Renly Arryn Character Portrait: Guy Priestas
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Simon paused midsip upon hearing Ronan addressing Guy. It was rather clear to both twins that Ronan had had a few too many drinks and that this was anything but unintentional. This was an easy way to mess with Guy, calling him out and all. Guy froze midstride, nearly past his cousin. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his temper from reaching him. He moved his hands behind his back and clasped them, squeezing painfully hard to clear his mind from his own quickly rising temper.



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Guy faced his cousin, studying Ronan quickly. He was definitely not entirely sober, then again, neither was Guy. Two drunk cousins who didn't really like each other was not going to work very well in their favor, or Guy's favor since Ronan was the king now. "It has been a rather eventful day hasn't it, beloved cousin?"
Guy returned Ronan's fake voice with ease. Ronan may have more power, but Guy was easily... well, what was he? Sassy, he decided in his drunken state, Guy had more sass in his little finger than Ronan did in his whole body. The good kind that was, or at least, that's what Guy though considering his thoughts were slightly muddled. He wasn't drunk to the point he was stupid though, as he knew he was treading dangerous territory.

Simon watched his brother with his cousin and wanted to groan. The two of them were both hardheaded, and stupid when drunk. They did not need to be fighting, on Ronan's coronation day, in front of foreign dignitaries, at all. Simon moved forward, moving to stand by Ronan as he watched his brother, hoping he could communicate through eye contact that he needed to shut up. Right then. Immediately. "Cousin, perhaps here and now is not the ideal place or time to chastise Guy for his manners. We do have guests," Simon managed to speak under his breath, looking into Ronan's shoulder rather than at his brother.



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Guy was insulted by the way Ronan seemed to think his father was only his father. Guy managed to stay somewhat civilized in his response. "Dear cousin, 'tis all but a matter of habit. I am not quite accustomed to such procedures considering, well... this is all so new to all of us, the change in ruling that is," Guy managed, not really saying anything insulting, but making it sound bad considering his tone.

"Cousin, do not act rashly, you are both slightly drunk. Perhaps dealing with this in the morning would be a better idea," Simon practically begged to Ronan though he managed to make it sound more advising than pleading.

"Do I have your permission to leave now, cousin?" Guy asked, his voice coming out slightly mocking though he managed to cover up most of it. He didn't really want to get killed, or hurt, or tortured, but the more drunk you were, the braver you were, even if it was stupid bravery, not nearly close to the good type of sassy that had run through Guy's mind earlier.