open starter: set in the aftermath of king rowanâs second passing (0/3)
where: sunspear, dorne
The sound of his blade clashing against that of his sparring partner was enough to drown out the noise of the true clashing blades that seemed to haunt the very back of his mind, no matter whether he woke, whether he slept; the sight of those who were so high above it all seemingly ready to throw themselves to the wind, to whatever darkness had awoken with the Falcon King.Â
And his blade continued to clash, hammer down as he thought of the pouring rain within the Valley of Bronze, how he would have prayed to feel the rain hammer upon him now and wash away the sins it felt like he was drowning in. For his screams into the abyss to be drowned out by what felt like the very veil of time and death itself.
And his blade continued to clash, each movement contained and yet none would know the emotional turmoil that seemed to spur each strike of steel; only the warm face of the King that had wanted a better world, and died for it.
The brother he had failed, in his desperation to save him; he who was never the same once the Stranger had welcomed him with open arms. And how it had been him that had made that choice, that choice not to disarm, not to injure as a Knight of the Vale with his years of training and experience could have done; but the choice to end it all.Â
End it all, was such a gentle way to speak on what the Kingslayer had done, was it not? His house and his reputation, the legacy of his family, would be tarnished - and they remember. His opponantâs blade was disarmed, sent clattering to the floor and the Hand of the KingâŚwhich fucking King?Â
Graham kneeled down to pick up the blade he had clattering to the ground, hand extending for the other to take it, all without saying a word; he was unaware of a set of orbs upon him until suddenly, all at once, he was. The man turned, his breathing heavy as he fixed orbs with the likes before him.
dorne had been an interesting visit, though she had been more intrigued by the events of the north thus far. all the issues in dorne could be explained by the hubris of men, but the north was something beyond the comprehension of the average mortal. the darkness and the unexplainable were always points of interest for her. she liked being a student, enjoyed paying attention to the things around her.
lady stokeworth had initially seen the vale hand while in the north, only briefly. a fleeting moment of dark eyes locking against hers that left enough of an impression to ask her companions from the crownlands for at least his name. lord graham royce. admittedly, she had not thought about him since; that is, until whispers found her ears and piqued her attention while strolling on the dornish sands. the darkness and the unexplainable. it had the makings of a tale for the histories. the hand, a kingslayer. it was such an alluring puzzle that jeyne had to at least look at such a paradox.
what made such a dutiful hand suddenly a merciless kingslayer?
perhaps the same thing that made lords change loyalty, she wondered.
the clanking of steel served as some sort of music against their movements, that seemed to mirror a dance. she was careful to not just watch lord royce, also taking note on his partnerâs movements. eyebrows did crack through her default pleasant facade, revealing expression, as their eyes met once more. she bowed her head in acknowledgment. the blues of her eyes found themselves stuck for a moment on his before she took in the rest of his features. jeyne tried to gauge how much had changed since their brief, silent encounter so many months prior.
âapologies for intruding, lord royce, i heard the commotion and my curiosity got the better of me as to the outcome.â
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