Blackwoods were loyal - a defining trait when they’d even refused to give up the Old Gods - and now that loyalty was at war with itself. Ever since he’d been given the unexpected and unwelcome news that he was not only to be wed but that his bride was to be from the family that his hated the most, Lucas had been in nothing short of turmoil. Perhaps it was a little dramatic but he’d always been one who felt his emotions deeply, even if he was just as quick to make a joke and laugh them off so he wouldn’t have to share them. But there was no denying that he felt torn over the news - a part of him felt as though he was betraying all the Blackwoods before him now that he was to marry a Bracken but he knew that if he did not, it would be a betrayal to both his father and his King. Then there was the fact that he just did not want to. He had possessed no intentions to marry before the war was over when he knew that there would always be a chance that he would not make it back to whatever wife he left behind. The last person he wanted to be wed to was a Bracken. With all the years of animosity between their families, he’d struggled to believe that the Brackens could be anything but the very worst that the Seven Kingdoms had to offer.
It was a belief that had been held tightly, woven into his worldview since birth and constantly reinforced by his family, the thought that the Brackens were the very worst that the Seven Kingdoms had to offer unchallenged for years. But then there had never been a need to consider whether or not the Brackens might have had some legitimacy in their dislike of his family. Even though they were now at war with each other rather than against there’d been nothing but sour words and bad blood between the factions. Never a pause in their vitriol to get to know one long enough to have evidence that they were anything other than what he had been told. He supposed he would have to find out soon enough.
As he’d thought on his upcoming nuptials, he’d been able unable to stop his mind from running away from him and envisioning how exactly she would look and just how their nuptials would go. As far-fetched as it might have seemed, Lucas had assumed that the bitterness between their families would somehow manifest itself in her looks. That she would walk down the aisle and he’d be faced with a woman with some kind of horse-like features to match her sigil, twisted in disdain as she looked at him. But that hadn’t been the case ( well, he’d only been right about the displeasure, that much was certain ) but when it came to her looks he had been far from the mark. If she hadn’t been a Bracken he was almost certain that he would have been instantly taken with his wife, and glad to be able to call her that.
As it was, her pretty face did very little to distract him from the uncomfortable reality that they found themselves in. He wasn’t about to forget about generations of lasting hate in one evening.
So it was inevitable that he’d suspect that his assigned bride would be nothing that he wanted and a part of him could recognise that he would likely be nothing that she wanted. It was with that in mind that he found himself biting his tongue, not just for the sake of his House but for his new wife too. From what he knew from his sisters some ladies dreamt of their wedding day, he could not know if she had been one of them but surely even if she were the practical type it was all bound to be a disappointment. Even with the feast around them, tension still permeated the air, thick and cloying, threatening to spark alight at the slightest spark of violence.
A sharp look from his father showed him he was the one who was supposed to keep things running smooth, the direction the elder Blackwood's gaze moved in showing him that some Bracken men were beginning to mutter in discontent. He supposed he had ignored his bride long enough, their courses passing with silence heavy between them, looking every inch the reluctant pair. “They keep looking over here like they expect something of us.” It was a weak first attempt and a poor offering in the face of the history their two families shared. Throat cleared slightly, plucking some words from his mind before he had chance to think about them twice, looking around for some kind of saviour. "Some music, perhaps." The murmuring grew more appreciative, a few cheers echoing the room as he rose to his feet, hand extended in offering to the woman he was now supposed to share his life with. "Would you care to dance, my lady?" Eyes were almost beseeching, knowing he had put them both on show and hoping she would not further resent him for it.











