✖ king beyond the keep

❝Men will never be free until the last king is strangled with the entrails of the last priest.❞

[neilsonrivers-blog]

holdenvitello:

“They did not orchestrate the slaughter of your people — that sin was my brother’s, and perhaps, mine for not stopping him. Antony was no more than a common soldier, a fool, a…” The words trailed off. Was it worse to be angry or to understand why the wildlings had killed his nephew? If he was their king, he would have done the same — but he was not their king, and the weight of grief pressed heavily against his chest. ( Perhaps if Zion had remained alive, he could have stopped them. Was this Holden’s fault then? Who did he blame: the one who pushed the war into motion, those who responded in kind, or the one who pulled strings from the shadows? ) “Could we not have had peace? I opened my doors; I tried to mend the pain my family has caused. Surely, there was another way… And, if not, why could you not have killed me too?” Condemned to a half-life. The brother who wanted too much. The King who failed. The coward. Mina had tried to explain why, but still, he could understand. Why? Why? Why? 

      “What would you have me do? Allow the injustice against my people to go unanswered? To grant the families of the men and women we lost nothing to ease their suffering?” Neilson replied. “Antony and Alycia may not have ordered the slaughter but the sin was theirs to pay for.” PEACE. Neilson sneered at the word. “Peace was no longer an option from the moment your people stepped foot on our lands and claimed them yours, christening it with the blood of the free folk. No. We would not offer peace to those who invaded ours.” Faced with the man now, Neilson couldn’t understand why the families bartered for his life. Holden was . . . small. Tender. Pained. ( this was a king? a ruler of men? ) “The ones who wear crowns would answer your question better than I.” His lips drew tight. “All I know is a deal was made; and it was a deal we will honor.”

[andy-clutterbuck]

2014 SDCC Portrait Outtake by MJ Kim

[neilsonrivers-blog]

portia-vitello:

“One moment, love… I’ll be right with you in a moment!”  she called over her shoulder.   Portia had barely managed to get herself a job at the local tavern and that was only because the owner had been fond of her prior to her short time on the throne.   After the rebellion, Holden had gone into a depression –––– forcing her to take on the role of providing for their family.  Two children to feed.  Her shoulders were heavy with the weight of responsibility, but at least she was good at serving.   It was like the old days when she used to be a handmaiden for Lady Alycia.   And now she was a barmaid.  When Portia finally turned to face the customer, she paused ––– surprised to see the other.

“Oh… hello.  What will you be having? An ale?”

      Neilson glanced at the girl, a wee little thing that didn’t seem exactly comfortable to be standing there. Neilson couldn’t help a frown, realizing the last time he’d seen this face, the crown was being torn from her head. “Aye,” he said with a nod, and two coins scraped across the scratched wood as he pushed them her way. “An ale would do just fine.” Straightening, he braced his hands against the counter. ( would she throw the coins back in his face? ) “Maybe a moment or two of your time, if you’ll offer it.” 

[neilsonrivers-blog]

illiasrivers:

@neilsonrivers

It was quiet — quiet in a way Illias had not experienced since he was in the wilds themselves. He took a seat beside the older man and a small smile found its way to him, slow but sure. Hopefully, this would be the start of a long span of quiet moments. ( Although, with the disappearances of a few in the woods, who could say? ) “If you wanted to be alone, there are better places to go, Da.” 

      He’d taken to settling near the quieter parts of camp, a place where he could get a good look at camp and watch the border carefully. After one of theirs hadn’t returned from a hunting trip, Neilson knew something wasn’t right here. Neilson turned his head up to Illias but didn’t pause his work. Just kept sliding the wetstone along the axe-edge. “Learned a long time ago I can’t ever be alone when you or your sisters are around.” He nodded to a fallen log at his side. “Want to help your old ‘Da out for a bit?”

[neilsonrivers-blog]

holdenvitello:

There had been many Holden knew he would never wish to speak to again, but at the top of that list was the man speaking to him now. It was not out of hatred that Holden held his tongue for a moment; it was out of a certain fear — and what if they were right to chose you? “Truth be told, I had hoped to evade this conversation altogether. There is little to say.” Little to say… How much of a lie it was! There was a world to say, so much he still did not understand, yet the way to say it froze in his mouth. “…Did you believe Antony and Alycia to be evil creatures? I can only see their youth; I am blind to all else.” 

“Was I to think them good?” He knew the stories, what little could be heard over the months. The man before him always seemed to be left behind the boy. “You speak of their youth, but I only know the years they stole. Years they paid for.” He turned his head to the side, regarded the other calm as could be. Little to say? Nothing but a wish. “Is it their youth that makes them more important than my kin? If you think that, there’s a lot more you’re blind to."

[neilsonrivers-blog]

@holdenvitello

Neilson recognized the man --- that old king who wore the crown they’d ripped from his head. He remembered seeing him in that throne room all those weeks ago, how small he seemed behind the bars in the cell with his queen at his side, a young girl they’d said came from the streets and not an ounce of noble blood in her veins. He wasn’t the King Neilson expected. ( he is good, they told him. but if he was good, why were his people here, away from their homes? )  Tilting his head from where he sat on the edge of the forest they’d settled, Neilson regarded the man quietly, wondering if he could sense some change since they’d last seen each other. Wondered if the man’s heart was filled with hate for what they did. “I reckoned you and I would wind up talking before I went back up North,” he said. “Gotta admit . . . s’a lot easier without you being in those damned cages.”

[neilsonrivers-blog]

iapetxs:

      Waiting to return home; a man after his own heart. Iapetus shared the King Beyond the Keep’s smile, perhaps less sharp than anything the wildling had seen from him before. There was little reason to remain sharp, after all. Now his only plans were to return to the Ironmoor and stay there until the end of his mortal days, and if he lived a long and uneventful life, all the better. Revenge had been exacted, justice had been ( mostly ) dealt, and he could rest.

      “As soon as possible. Hell, I would have left a long, long time ago if I didn’t have work to finish. Ends to wrap up.” Iapetus grimaced, shaking his head. “I imagine your people don’t like it here much, and neither do mine. It’s time to head East and salvage our kingdom from the ruin the Vitellos left it in.” He clicked his tongue, gazing out towards where the lush forests loomed on the edge of the horizon. “I imagine you’ll do much the same?”

Neil nodded, turning his face up to look at the sky. Any day now and he’d see mountains. His beloved snow-capped peaks. How long had it been since he spent his days in their shadows? ( too long. ) “Yes, you imagine right. We’ve been itching to get out of here since we came. Only gotten’ a bit worse since the Keep fell. The excitement over the victory is . . . fading.” Was that the right way to say it? He’d noticed the restlessness running through his camp, the strange air settling in the forest they called camp. And all Neilson wanted was home.

“And where do you call home?” Neilson asked, curious. He’d heard the Balors came from out west, terrible lands if he’d heard right, but he found himself ignorant of the south’s landscape. Then again, Neil reckoned everywhere but the North wasn’t enough of a place to spend days. Cold and harsh it might be; but living was all about proving you were worth surviving, wasn’t it? 

[neilsonrivers-blog]

iapetxs:

      “Fine day, aye?” Iapetus remarked, the words coming soft and easy in his Eastern accent. It may or may not have been a coincidence that he said as much while looking out towards the ruins of the Lion’s Keep. 

      The Ironmoor’s men had set up a number of comfortable tents all around the castle’s sprawling gardens, heavily guarded day and night where they mingled with those of other noble royal families. Now they were all just waiting for all their business to be done so that they could head to their respective homes, hopefully never to have to lay eyes on the remains of Westedell ever again. Its inhabitants were slowly preparing to leave, to hole up in the towns of lesser nobles or to head towards a new kingdom altogether; now they had options. 

     The former Titan took a long breath of the crisp approaching-autumn air, a glint in his eyes. His smile when he turned to face his company was cordial. “Wouldn’t you say?”

Neilson glanced up from his spot on the ground, flint striking against his knifepoint. “Fine day it is,” he agreed with a nod, turning his face into the sun and the wind. The air was cooling, which he much appreciated after the stifling summer days, something he would not miss when they returned to the winterlands. ( snow-capped mountains and endless white plains . . . it’d been far too long since he’d breathed fresh air. ) Days: he promised himself. 

Hands on his knees, he pushed himself up from the rock to stand at the man’s side. “Will be finer when we return home. Shouldn’t be long now.” The thought made him smile, and he imagined how good it would feel to truly rest with Janelle at his side. He knew the southerners planned to separate, and while the idea of seven kings and queens inspired a frown, he understood this wasn’t a fight to be had. Not when peace finally settled his people. “What of you and yours? How much longer do you expect to stay?”

[genshimada]

[neilsonrivers-blog]

nathaandrake:

Completely necessary gifs of Rick Grimes looking hot [ 28 / ? ]

[ameliasmaze]

Out of Place || Amelia & Open.

[neilsonrivers-blog]

ameliasmaze:

Amelia had hoped the man would know where it was and she could not help the little feeling of disappointment washing over her. It appeared she would have to wander alone around the Keep after all and it was a thought that brought a slightly concerned look on her face. She offered him another small, kind smile before he asked her a question and she shook her head.

“No, I live in Esterhaven, under the house Odell. I am their ward after a beast destroyed my village when I was nothing more than a little girl. I have little memory of my previous home, except that it was destroyed in fire when the Minotaur attacked,” The little ward gently replied. “Are you not from here as well, noble sir?” She inquired.

Gods --- he would never grasp how many lands and families there were. ( clans? tribes? how, exactly, did these kingdoms find themselves serving one king when they stretched so far and wide? ) “You’ve had quite a life then, young one,” he said, gentle as his brows rose high on his head. Beasts and death. That, his people knew of. 

For a moment, he stiffened. But this was a GIRL, what would she know different, raised in a place such as this? Chest rumbling with a great laugh, Neilson found himself enjoying the girl’s tease. HIM -- noble sir! ( or was she trying to cause offense? ) “No, no, can’t say I am. I’m from the North, girl; the land of the free folk.” Then, he shook his head, knowing he’d at least have to tell her. “Might watch your jests around others. Can’t imagine my people would take kindly to being called noble sirs. We have no titles, those belong to you and yours.”

[ameliasmaze]

Out of Place || Amelia & Open.

[neilsonrivers-blog]

ameliasmaze:

It was not the first that that Amelia Fulton was at the Keep, but it all seemed so different than the last time she was there with the Odells. She has heard what has happened with the town – the resurrection of the dead, the destruction of the city and, now, the fall of the Vitello house. It was all a bit too much for her to digest and, looking around herself, she has noticed how much everything has changed. How – twisted it all looked. Like it was another dimension, another town in place of the old one.

It was a little unsettling, but the little ward kept her gentle smile on her face as she walked around, searching for something to distract her before she gathers her courage to visit her betrothed in the cell he was kept in. Reading seemed like a good idea and, noticing the first person who did not look like they would murder her on sight, she made her way towards them and gently tapped them on the shoulder to catch their attention.

“Excuse me! Would you be so kind to appoint me in the direction of the library, please? The Keep has changed so much since I was last here and I would not like to get lost in search for it.”

The North called, more inviting and tempting than ever before now that their war was over, yet he stayed, watchful eyes trailed on the noble’s Alliance every step. He knew nothing of these Balors, Larivieres, Thorntons or Pemberleys --- knew nothing except their betrayal and easy agreement with his people. Perhaps it was unwise of him, to place such trust in those he couldn’t bring himself to look away from. But he could place trust in what his people had shown them; how they’d brought war to their doorstep and stopped only of their own free will. While the fight was over, their was not; and Neilson comforted himself by remembering the looks on every face in the throne room that day. 

Staying close to the Keep, he kept to himself as he walked the outside of the Keep, a bit wary of the smells that came from their halls. It wasn’t much better by the gardens where he remained, but it was something better than what was locked inside. Eyeing a sturdy tree off in the distance ( what could be seen from the top? he stepped closer --- ) but stopped short at a tap on his shoulder, coming face to face with a rather small girl. 

Her sweet face immediately inspired a gentle smile. “I would, but I’m afraid I don’t know where it is, either,” he said rather apologetically, as if he had anything to be particularly ashamed of to begin with. He was clearly a stranger to this place, even though he'd left his furs at their camp for the heat. ( library . . . library . . . library.. . . ) “Isn’t this your home? Wouldn’t you know where it was?” 

[neilsonrivers-blog]

ALLIES OF THE WILD:

Before participating, please ensure you have read the event.

The hour for the free folk to retake their freedom has arrived. Warriors are donned in their war paint and traditional braids, and each has made their peace with the world. ( If they are to die, they believe they will join the stars as vibrant heroes. ) While some were left behind in the encampment outside the walls, the majority haven taken up arms. They know the plan: to serve as a distraction as the Rivers family and company — Neilson, Illias, Orell, Olena, and Helena — are let inside the city by Pierce Sommers and Arthur Belfast and then let into the Keep itself by Galen Vance. 

In their determination to find the Vitellos, they may come across a few knights who remain loyal to the royals. How will they react in this direct confrontation with war? As they find other lords and ladies in their hunt, they bring them forward as well, shepherding them all into the throne room to await judgement, although some do not come easily. For all the speeches and words the free folk cling to, it is now that the rest of the world learns who they really are. 

“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”

PARA RESPONSE: you talk about a revolution ( there it is. )

The moment his lips touched his flute, the hesitance from yesterday was gone. He’d forgotten how ALIVE he could feel by taking another’s—how red-slick silk felt running down his hands with his knife buried to the hilt in a stomach, the terror wide and white and hot in an enemy’s eyes before the void of death swept to claim its’ place, the weight before he shoved the body aside, quick to swing his spear and strike the chest of another that strayed to close to one of his. 

HE’D FORGOTTEN. But he would not forget this. Too long had they waited; too long had they suffered to allow this to thunder forward without ceremony, without the thrill of ripping their revenge and freedom free from perfumed palms. It was sweet, sweet as the blood on his hands was warm, sweet as a breath of mountain air and all he could think of was home. This place was UNFAMILIAR, but the warriors at his side were not, and the way he gripped his spear wasn’t, either. 

An old man—a good-natured tease from his children and brother, but he certainly didn’t move as one. Wild and fierce, teeth bared to a man that swept immediately from their path, Neilson stormed forward with El at his side. A moment of weakness, attention diverted as a child screamed in HORROR, but before he could jolt his spear forward in ill-timed defense, his brother was there—a vivid butcher of the guilty—and the knight fell limply to the side, ill-aimed scowl nothing when matched with the vision of vengeance. 

They moved forward again, deeper and deeper and deeper into the Keep with Neil leading their charge, boots trembling the stones in time to the beat of their wardrums, marching them towards the large door marking its’ entrance—-stopping cold when it opened without so much a touch, and Neil instantly rose his spear. ( he’d be READY. ) but it was just the boy, Illias’s boy, and then he was gone. Neil stomped, beat his spear against the ground like a WAR CRY and stormed. 

        He was met with silence. Terror catching tongues that called him SAVAGE.

Neilson met every single eye, nostrils flaring in anger. THESE were the people who reaped from the brutality against his? These … pampered, soft hands and painted cheeks? Fools who stuffed their faces with more food than his people could even dream? A riot raised his shoulders and he raised his head, jaw clenched. Knuckles popped as he clutched his spear, letting go just for a moment, to take one hand to the leather band at his neck, and he lifted the flute once more to his lips; blowing once, twice, a short, high song and his people silenced at his back. 

                                           Long live the King.

         The flute fell back to his chest, and Neilson took long, slower steps down          the length of the room, letting the sight of these men and women enjoying          their gluttony while a war waged outside their door — while people STARVED          in those streets, while they STOLE from land that was THEIRS.          ( pride, disgust, sheer BARBARITY in his ice-blue stare; a warning against          any who would dare move. ) “Who’s the one your kind calls KING?” 

[neilsonrivers-blog]

olenarivers:

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, the smile evident in her voice as she held the strands taunt in one hand as she gathered some more hair from the side of his head to twist and braid into the main. “I know if I mess up you’ll just have Ma fix it. Everyone knows the only clevers in my fingers is with a bow.”  

Aw hells, she’d forgotten to sharpen her own knife and as she watched her da search for what she was pretty sure was a rock, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would be just as forgetful later on. For a moment, she wasn’t too certain she could match up to him. She had a head for battle, to survive and help others survive, but… there were other things she suddenly realized she might not have the abilities for.

She realized she’d stopped preparing his hair in her thoughts and hurried to continue on. “How’d you balance it all?” She asked him. “Bein’ leader and father?”

It was a strange question, but Neilson’s hands didn’t stutter as he sharpened his spear, falling into the rhythm as she plaited his hair. “We all do what we need to do, Ol. Move with the world, I guess. I was lucky---to have your Ma and El. Many nights we would’ve starved if not for your uncle, and your Ma knows just what to say if things aren’t right.” He smiled at that, continuing, “Then you and Il shot up and helped with Theo and the others. It was easier then, when we were all together back at home, workin’ and helpin’ each other make it through the day. Guess what I’m tryin to say is as long as you have family with you, balancin’ it all isn’t so hard. Can’t do anything more than trust in those close to you, and keep pushin’ forward even when you don’t want to. It gets tough---not going to say that it’s not---but . . . we’re lucky to have each other, and it’d be a damned shame to let that go to waste.”

Of course, there were days that were hard. Harder than any day had any right to be. But they made it, they were here; and as Neil looked across to all the people preparing for war, he felt pride in knowing it all came to be because of how the Rivers simply were. Then, he remembered how she’d paused before asking, something tentative in her movements. “Somethin’ on your mind, Ol?”

[neilsonrivers-blog]

olenarivers:

“Well if you’d stop movin’.” She retorted, crossing a strand of hair over another. Again.

This was the time to tell him. She probably wouldn’t get another moment alone with him afterwards, not until after all this, but she was hesitating - how could she even begin to bring this up?

At his request though, she felt for her knife at her side, handing it to him hilt first. “Here.” 

Neilson made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, looking up to spot the rest of the camp some odd distance away before returning his attention to the sharpened blade resting in his lap. Peering behind at her offering, he grasped the hilt and carefully took it from her to glance at the blade. Dull. “Make it tight, now. Won’t be stoppin’ in the heat of battle for you to braid it pretty again,” he teased, digging a flint rock from his pockets.

[neilsonrivers-blog]

fortisvenxtor:

“I think that’s fair,” El answered honestly, studying Neilson for a moment before his mouth twisted into a frown. He shook his head, returning his eyes to the arrows he was notching. “But people aren’t going to care what’s fair and what’s not. Everyone’s looking out for their own; everyone’s going to want as much as they can grab. They’re going to bitch about it,” he cautioned, turning his gaze back to his brother as he laid the arrow down. “But we’ll be ready to deal with it.” 

El was right, and Neil knew it more than anything. Lot of the clans would still be looking for a fight, and blood ran hot after a battle. There was something about El’s cool confidence that made him know they’d survive it, they’d handle it somehow. “That we will,” he nodded. “And we’ll keep on livin’ like we did before. Except this time without having to watch for armies” Picking up the arrow, he admired the sharp edge up against the light, thoughts easing into something far less upsetting than tomorrow’s troubles. “This doesn’t mean you’ll stop huntin’ for Janelle and me, does it? She doesn’t complain when you give the meat.” A half-true jest. El’s arrows were preferable to Neil’s spears and knives when it came to hunting.

[neilsonrivers-blog]

olenarivers:

“Wait, don’t move.”

“Let me fix the braid.”

"Again?” Sharp, but of course he didn’t move. Neil may come back from battle looking like a storm, but that didn’t mean he had to go into it looking like one. Eyeing a knife in his hand, he glanced back to Ol. “Hand me that knife by your side, will ‘ya?”

[neilsonrivers-blog]

illiasrivers:

“That’s all I want.” It was that very knowledge that pushed him through – that made the years away from home, the blurriness of his memories, the diaspora of their people worth it all. “I’ve been talking about it so long, it almost seems unreal that it’s finally come to it. Moment of calm before the battle, I suppose. What do you think will happen to the rest of the free folk when we’re through? Some of them want what we do; some of them are thirsty for bigger battles than what we have planned.”

". . . There’s not an answer I can give for you there, son,” Neilson said with a shake of his head. It upset him, thinking about all of those who thirsted for a WAR he wasn’t so sure they could survive. Hearty they were, but he wouldn’t lead his people to a slaughter. “We’ll fight as long as we need to. Fight until we can’t anymore. And then we’ll go home---you, me, your sister, Theo, your mom, and El. We’ll go home, and we’ll keep fighting there, too. Those that want a bigger battle will find it somehow. We can’t make them return any more than we made them march down here.” He shrugged, forcing the slack to span in strength again. “’Guess what I’m saying is . . . we’ll have to see, but I hope this’ll be enough for us all. We Rivers will stay a family, though. We can’t be separated again.” He clasped a hand on Il’s shoulder, eyes soft and lips quirking in a smile. “An old man’s heart won’t take it again.”