"I am Honed and Ready!"

Canon divergent RP blog for Cley Cerwyn from GOT, TTGOT, and ASoIaF. OC-Friendly, semi selective, mostly based on headcanons with canon elements involved. Please read the rules before interaction. Icon art belongs to peggyoung.

[the-cerwyn]

"He was a victim, more than I. In the moment, he was an animal, being true to his nature. Whereas men and women alike betray their nature every day... You are entitled to your opinions and your right to exercise them, as should any lord. But you partially hate a corpse, and thus I invite you to look inward, and as a man of vast intelligence, to try to find the logic in doing so." Cley, although being firm in his retort, was not being unreasonable, just imploring the other to utilize his renowned sense of knowledge to acknowledge it was entirely unnecessary to hold any sort of ill will to the deceased Robin Flint, partial or otherwise.

"There is no known cure, other than death." Cley admitted, answering Hallis' theory, before continuing: "It's the reason why he never married. He didn't have solid evidence, but from what little he could learn about Skagos, it is very likely that this curse is hereditary." A notable pause before he continued: "With how rampant it is on infection alone, I imagine it just takes a singular werewolf parent to ensure all of the children of a coupling would all be natural-born werewolf cubs... As if my marital status wasn't already profoundly unsettled." A dry chuckle.

[the-cerwyn]

"All we're missing are the unicorns. If they're to be found, I have no doubt both Elayne and Jilleen will be overjoyed and pester me to obtain a pair for them." Cley cracked a small smile at the thought, knowing the girls would love nothing more than to obtain the unobtainable. He had cannibalism down to the letter, and witchery sounded exactly like what the red woman and the Others were doing during the Long Night.

"From his journal entries, at least a decade at the time. He... He fought the urge to consume. When... I spoke of his kindness to you; it wasn't just that he was a fine lord and amicable brother, it was that he refused to inflict that transgression upon his fellow man as well." There was a notable pause, then he admitted further: "The longest I've gone without is three months. I can't even fathom ten years. From his journal entries and our last conversation, he battled that hunger as best he could, failing at times and feeling guilty when he did. If I had to presume... during Robb's campaign and before such, he was resisting. And then the Red Wedding was the perfect storm, forcing him to become the beast to survive. He said he lost himself. And I imagine whoever didn't die in his jaws began following him after being bitten. There's... a certain pull the alpha has over the pack, whether intentional or not." Another pause, before finishing his theory: "Even in his state, he managed to find his way home. And found prey in native and invader alike."

Cley placed his tankard off to the side, no longer thirsty, if he ever was during this conversation. He quietly replied to Hallis' final inquiry: "He could have killed me when the captain left the blade in my belly. The first bite was a taste test, but when he reared back his teeth, we exchanged eye contact. I swear by the Seven, I could see something there. Like he recognized me... then he forced himself to dart off." Cley coughed, clearing his throat, not exorcising the lump there. Then he added: "I was not granted the same mercy the next time we met, as I believe the previous neglect of his condition had deteriorated his control into nonexistence... He was aware the entire time, but unable to control himself. He was aware of what he'd done and what I did to him."

[the-cerwyn]

"I've heard similar tales of Skagos, but I have not been. Perhaps there exist packs there, and perhaps one leaving was the cause of the Flint land's crisis event." Cley nodded slowly back to Hallis, citing that he had heard similarly. He remembered when the Lannisters, during the war, spread rumors that the Starks could change their skin and become wolves; little did they know that some Northerners were able to do so. But he was more wolf than the Starks.

"Ah." The word was simple, but there was the weight of the world there. He continued, slowly: "We put the pack to the sword, Hal, because we had to. I never got to meet them properly, learn their names, learn their stories. But I recognized the pack leader after I embedded a silvered mirror shard into his chest. His form shifted back to his true state as he had begun to die there." A long, harrowing pause. Then he spoke: "My uncle. Robin Flint. Who we all thought perished at the Red Wedding."

[the-cerwyn]

Even if it was Hallis, he was half expecting fear-laden disappointment, richly deserved in the eyes of a great many if they knew. But his brain had tricked him like before, and the epitome of understanding and curiosity that was Hallis looked upon him no differently than how the conversation had begun. Cley Flint was not always an easy man to call a friend, but Hallis managed to do so consistently despite this. Cley managed after the squeeze and words: "You mean everything to me, Hal. I'm glad to have met you; you've enriched my life for the better."

He earnestly didn't believe he deserved Hallis, and in a way, as Hal had just alluded to, he could never have him in a different way. Their culture, their way of life, and their responsibilities refused it. And he had no wish of dishonoring Hallis, nor his cousin Demelza, for he loved them too much. He loved him so much that he had to keep quiet about part of that love that should never be spoken. A different life? For them? Wrong realm, wrong era, wrong people, wrong everything, unfortunately.

Cley nodded in understanding, subtly and silently letting Hallis know he understood completely and accepted the fair acknowledgment. As the other looked away in shyness, he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, knowing quite a bit was getting aired out in this conversation. Thankfully, Hallis asked another question, to which he responded: "Hm, surprisingly not. I doubt the temporary alliance I mustered culled all of them from the North, but pack-wise, I don't know if any dwell in the North. Might there be the odd lone wolf, but they don't let themselves be known. Likely living the lives of vagabonds or hermits, alone."

[the-cerwyn]

"Like I said, I only got to use the hybrid form before slaying the alpha. I could have very well taken the form of a regular wolf before then, but now we'll never know." Cley offered a small smile at that, agreeing with his friend, but ultimately knowing the theory could never be proven otherwise, for none of their own fault. Left a mystery to both of them.

"Very well." There was a grave, but fair tone to his voice. He started: "Firstly, the simple one: Silver. How steel goes to your flesh does silver go to mine; it does not heal. At least it heals much more slowly. But most of the world's silver is in the form of trinkets or utensils. We had to melt down a great matter of Flint's Finger's silvered cutlery back then to fashion quickened silver weapons for our expedition. We have such stored in our armory, in case another outbreak occurs." He glanced long and hard at Hallis before exhaling from his nose, continuing onward: "Secondly, the complex one: the dietary need for meat. Not. Just. Animal. If it were, I would not mention it. Think of it like... the drink you desperately need when you awaken, to quench your mouth and throat. Before you... frighten, which is your right. Know this: I've never eaten an innocent person, nor women or children. Just brigands and the enemy soldiers. Boltons. Karstarks and Umbers, who were aligned with them. I take great and utter pain to make sure no one pure reaches my teeth."

[the-cerwyn]

"I heard about that. Fat lot it did the poor Forresters in the end, did it? You were as cordial and accommodating as you could be in a situation like that. It says a lot that, among the 'wise' elders there, you were the sole voice of reason. This 'Wolfswood Brotherhood' should reevaluate itself." Cley seemed more agitated by how the meeting had treated Hallis overall than by the conflict's outcome. And if you had asked Cley, he had his priorities underlined by a wide margin. He took on a softer tone to highlight that he understood where Hallis was coming from: "One cannot compare suffering. Do not fret, Hal, I know what you've endured, you've been tested by the crucible, same as me."

"It's one of the reasons I stand before you, Hal. A great boon during the several battles you've heard me partake in." Cley answered in a very accommodating manner, before admitting: "I imagine it's magical in nature, due to the fact that magic negates it for a time, if we presume that is what the Others were. The ice weapon of the one I fought during the Long Night created a wound that didn't heal until after the battle."

"A slower version of what you may have heard during the battle. Your muscles twist. Your bones snap into places they should not be. Your skin bursts, and your very blood is forced out. I've done it many times now, where the process is quicker, but no less painful. You feel every second of it. As for when I had to hold it in... Like having daggers embedded into your chest mentally, having to walk around with that feeling. " He paused, letting that sink in, before sharing some more for his newer questions: "Empowered scent, hearing, sight. Better perception, one might say. In this form, and the others." Cley let that sit in for a couple of moments before addressing further: "I can take the form you saw that night, and the form of an adult dire wolf. But why I believe both forms are so impressive is that I killed the alpha in single combat. The... 'hybrid' form wasn't so imposing when I first turned."

There was a notable pause when Hallis asked about drawbacks. He asked, quietly, but unwaveringly: "One is simple, the other is complex. I know you normally would not, but I beg you not to look differently upon me as I explain the more complex one, as it is why I call it a curse."

[the-cerwyn]

"Ah, well, I'm afraid the two available Red Priests died during the Long Night. Well, actually, I'm not sure if Lord Dondarrion, his Lord of Light rest his soul, was a Red Priest or just a convert. He swung that fiery blade with conviction as one." Cley mused, knowing it was borderline impossible to question one at this given time. He halted his tangent and went back to the matter at hand, speaking of their beloved Branches: "You know those two. As smart as a whip. Perhaps they know, perhaps they do not. But I err on giving them credence and just keeping quiet."

"Well, a bit of both, honestly. Harlaws on my west, Boltons, refusing to lift a finger, on my east. This was only an addition." He chuckled dryly at that; a lesser man would have died. He was no longer just a man. Cley then answered his question slowly. "Bitten." He paused. "The Ironborn raider I mentioned stabbed me through the belly, purposely through a non-vital area. As I patched myself, the alpha-- yes, wolfpack termology, attacked me and bit my right shoulder." With his free hand, he peeled away the cloth on said shoulder, showing a faded bite mark. "I did not transform immediately, but the benefits arrived soon after. My stomach wound and the bite healed in minutes. I managed to stave off my first transformation by pure will until my final confrontation with the pack alpha. By that point, it was a full week since I had been bitten."

[the-cerwyn]

"I certainly hope so, Hal... I owe the man quite a bit. I'd say even my life, but that's a difficult one given what I am." He offered a tired, almost pained smile with that. Without taking certain steps, he was a difficult person to remove. And he closely guarded them for the benefit of the North. He would rather be the only cursed creature with this profane knowledge, or else it would spread rampant as it did previously.

"I think we'd need the expertise of a septon or a red priest like that woman in red during our last battle on the matter of my soul," Cley answered with a spot of dry humor, knowing the Old Gods had no priests to speak of, and the closest adjacent would be the Faith of the Seven. He answered the first question with relative ease: "Kyle knew. Demelza and Garath... might have an idea I'm not normal. Some of my men know, my honor guard. An ironborn captain who's a rival of sorts to me... I think he knows, too." Cley's face when mentioning the last one befret to Hallis that reasoning was a long story. He looked thoughtful at the next question, before answering with a chuckle: "Goodness... 301AC? Four years ago. It was when I defended Cape Kraken from the Ironborn, around the time the Ironborn were raiding all of us nonstop."

[the-cerwyn]

"Even if Galbart Glover were still alive, the term of solid evidence would still need to be discovered. We cannot take the example of what the Starks did to the late Lord Petyr Baelish. Happenstance and gut feeling have no place in courtly judgment, even if the rumors of Bran being capable of the ancient art of Greensight or something similar are true, reliance upon it allows for a manner of foreign and local magic to be allowed in the justice system." He was not denouncing his friend's suggestion or his assessment, but pointing out that even with the late lord present, factual evidence would still be hard to come by. He also found the usage of false or fabricated information to be in poor taste, as the trial of Littlefinger seemed to be when he was present for it. Sure, the Vale man was snide, but did he deserve to die for being smug and satisfied? He continued to the topic of the current Glover lord, citing in a firm (never toward Hallis, instead the topic) but affable tone: "If disagreeing with Jon was a pastime, I think many of the lords would be partaking in such. But even if you disagree with his actions or ideas, the man did right by recruiting the Dragon Queen and her draconic children to the cause. Dragonfire gave us the edge that night; none of the lords who stayed home did in the slightest." Yes... Yes, he was bitter.

"I will not deny such. I did not know your uncle properly, but he fought for what he believed in. Stood by it till the very end, many cannot say the same." He was... aware of Willem's actions, but knew that he fought for and died by Hallis' side until the bitter end. So he could excuse them or, at the very least, forgive them as a stranger can. He met his eyes truly when he mentioned being one of his saviors. There was a pause before he genuinely admitted: "...I didn't want you to die. Harbinger of death, I might be; I have a preference for saving lives instead of ending them. My sole regret is that I could not have saved more people there." His voice reached a quiet, unearthly tone in response to Hallis' question of equity, as if storing an idea for later: "Not fair one bit... not fair at all."

"There's nothing to forgive, Hal. We all lost that night; it would be imprudent of me to demand focus from you." His voice was a quieter tone as he responded to his friend on the matter, trying to meet his gaze as the other bowed his head. "Many men could live countless lifetimes and never reach the standard he held himself to. I always looked up to him... even now, I still do." He wanted to tell him. Wanted to let him know the truth, to let someone in, and let them know what sort of pain was going on. But to do so would spit in the memory and the sacrifices both his mother and father had to make in his name. He was a bit surprised by the gesture, but used his other hand to gently pat the hand of Hallis that squeezed him, replying: "I feel it in my soul, Hal... I don't even know if I have a soul anymore due to what I am. But even if I don't, then I feel it in my person, in the very bowels of my being."

[the-cerwyn]

"Oh, I think there's nothing wrong with compassion and empathy, I think them to be the finest traits a person can ever hope to have... It's when those aspects become borderline suicidal that I find them irksome. There's a term that Maester Rhodry uses: suicidal empathy. It's a form of compassion that's so self-destructive... as the name implies, it leads to your death." He tapped his fingers along the cup, before admitting: "My uncle was not that, and I make great strides to not fall down that gaping pit. Empathy is amazing... in the right doses."

"I'm afraid I didn't know my grandparents on my mother's side. Perhaps they have a hand in how she came to be; perhaps they did not. They did so well with Robin and my mother; I find it hard to believe they caused her to be as she is now. Especially in a culture in which we dote and focus on the youngest, at least in the current generations available." Cley could only shrug before admitting, "The only ones with those answers are dead or Jocelyn herself, and if she's barely willing to humor either of us as is, it would be more so if questioned about the matter of how she came to be." He was thoughtful of Hallis, making reference to records kept, before addressing: "My uncle kept several journals, of which I have read. But the topic of family rarely arises. Its primary subjects are those that I believe you intend to ask me later in this conversation, so no use to you for the current topic." A cheeky smile.

He refilled his own cup before answering further: "When we Flint's set our minds to something... we often get it done, no matter the cost. Whether it be personal or moral. I was averse to killing before I had to repel the Ironborn from Cape Kraken, but when I saw my people suffer, I got used to it quicker than someone should have." On the fact of killing an innocent woman, Cley wanted to give his aunt, as horrible as she was, the benefit of the doubt. He took a sip and tried to process what his friend said next, sipping slowly as he mulled it over. Kyle? Jocelyn was damned near lucky that Kyle Condon was a man of virtue and a knight of the seven kingdoms, else he would have backhanded her so hard her head would have flown over the Wall—Oh, he meant Medger. After blinking for a moment and swallowing, Cley answered his friend as best as he could: "Could be for locational reasons. Castle Cerwyn is closer to Winterfell. With how she acts, do you think the Starks would turn a blind eye to unruliness? Do you think the Boltons would have put up with her mischief? She would have simply taken my mother's place on the flaying cross months earlier." He looked a bit haunted by his mentioning of what his mother's fate was, before steeling himself and continuing: "The Wolfswood... was the ample place for her to try her hand. I appreciate the woods clansmen, but much like the mountain clansmen, they are more secluded than the average Northern house. In which 'drama', such as poisoning, remains as 'supposed' rumors. Could she have aimed higher and succeeded? Yes, perhaps. Would doing so put many more eyes on her misdeeds? Yes, absolutely it would."

[the-cerwyn]

"Then the realm is lesser for his loss... Frankly, I'm not as spiritual as a Northman should be, but I am of the belief that hopefully down the line, he gets another chance as another person." Cley nodded very slowly, knowing that family will always be a sore point to speak of, even when positively. He continued: "I don't know what to refer to it as, but it's my unproven belief that some people get to come back and try again. Maybe they remember pieces of who they were, but they're mostly an entirely new person. Get to live the full life they never got to." He sipped his cider after that, feeling comfortable sharing such an unorthodox belief with one of his best friends. Cley added, "Not much to say about my siblings, nothing good to say. If anything... You and Garath are more my brothers than my actual brother was to me."

"I thank you two for understanding. I would if I could have..." Cley had admitted to Hallis, feeling some guilt about not having attended, as he did appreciate Myriame for never relenting in her beliefs and for being the best sister she could be to her siblings. He cracked a tired smile, then citing: "Sounds like Garath, man's as stubborn as Myri when he sets his mind to it. I'm glad he got to be there; he needed the closure." Upon hearing the music rendition, he commented, "That's one of the nicer songs that could have been sung. I think you're right, it would have shattered even the most stony of hearts with its usage."

Cley listened carefully, taking note of every physical and mental reaction that Hallis gave when he regaled him with what had happened exactly during that day. It was almost indiscernible what he was perhaps thinking about as he stared onward, studying every spoken word and every unspoken word of the matter. The only thing he said before being questioned of his aunt was in response about Garath's disposition at the meal: "If Garath were here, I'd think he'd agree that a dinner knife would be too kind for the likes of Lord Harlow Branch."

"...Frankly, my mother always warned me to not humor her like my uncle Robin would. I think when I became Lord of Flint's Finger, and she saw that she didn't have the same sway over me as she did with her older brother, I was another bridge to ignore." There was no sadness in his voice over the matter. Cley had grown coldly accustomed to people attempting to use him; he was numb to such attempts anymore. He took a long swig of his drink, draining it after listening to Hallis speak, finishing to continue: "My mother seldom spoke of her sister, but what little she did was in a tone of caution, even when speaking of what childhood memories she did share in simpler times. My aunt was one of mischief, perhaps innocently back in the day, but not these days." He stared at his empty tankard before admitting, "My uncle Robin spoke more of her than my mother did. He saw her as a wayward sister who occasionally needed help; he felt it was right as a good older brother to lend a hand when needed... I look up to him, my uncle, and I adopted his generosity and cooperative nature at a young age. So while I love my uncle, I fear his accommodating nature toward her allowed Jocelyn to nurture her darker nature, since she had a powerful lord brother to fall back on. When I took the reins, I proved she did not have a powerful lord nephew she could rely on, because my mother warned me."

[the-cerwyn]

"I'd rather not see Rickard off to war; your family's seen enough of it, I don't want it to be a burden he has to inherit." Cley solemnly noted to Hallis, wanting the best for the younger Brownbarrow. And for the rest of the family, obviously. He just had a notable soft spot for children was all. He laughed, jesting: "Or perhaps it'll fuel his dreams! Making him more than certain of his path... I joke, obviously, I'll try not to fill his head with ideas that are not already present."

Unfortunately, Hallis' words seemed to reinforce Cley's thoughts on the matter, not by Hallis' fault, but by hearing another felt the same. Still, he reined himself in, stating, "I'm just glad I'm not the only one who feels this way! It's good to hear it from someone else's mouth." Alright, he was trying to rein himself in. He continued, "I think that's also what was holding me back. Meghan is a dear and grand friend; it was by her grace that I put up with the man. It is by her grace that I don't utter a word of this anywhere near her because she is very much grieving." He tacked on, commenting: "I did not know your brother, but he seemed to have that nugget of wisdom to him, at sniffing out a sickness."

"Thank you kindly." Cley thanked both the temporary castellan and his lordly friend, taking a flagon for himself. He sipped upon it, nursing on it as he was hearing Hallis speak of Meghan, of Demelza, slowly realizing the topic he was referring to. He should have been upset that he wasn't invited to Myriame's farewell; they didn't have the best introduction, but that only reinforced their friendship with him and Garath's. But when it happened... he was tending to Ser Kyle, he wasn't at the right headspace for another funeral. But when he heard that final tidbit, he stopped in the middle of his sip, eyes crawling over like a creature of the night, but not at Hallis, rather what he had said. Cley responded stonily, finding this completely unacceptable: "They did what now?"

[the-cerwyn]

"In both instances, for a good portion of people. The Battle of the Bastards was a metaphorical and literal slap in the face for many." Two battles had taken place at Winterfell, the aforementioned one and the Last Night. Both were a wakeup call that the North shouldn't have to continue on like... this. He knew at the very least, the Brownbarrows would not waste the opportunity of survival they managed to glean.

"I'm hoping he doesn't have to use it, but I know fully well he's intending to utilize those skills," Cley said with a lighthearted chuckle. Rickard was a good lad; he was earnestly rooting for him. Cley was forced into combat, while Rickard was actively seeking it. While he wished the boy nothing but good, he also hoped one day he would learn the value of peace. He replied further, meaning every word that he said: "The North is in desperate need of a new breed of knights who value hearth and home, and are willing to defend it. There exists no doubt in my mind that Rickard will honor not only your family but also himself. The lad is a legend in the making."

"Poor Meghan. She was dealt a difficult hand, yet she plays it all the same. Many women in her place would crumble, but not Meghan. She is silk hiding Valyrian steel, that one." Cley would always have room in his heart to compliment and uplift Meghan Brownbarrow, a consistent friend when he was allowed to see her. He paused, eyes closing, eyebrows knitting together, deciding if he wanted to go down this path. What were they known for other than their honesty, after all? He exhaled, opening his eyes and admitting to Lord Brownbarrow: "Forgive me, Hallis... I sympathize with Meghan and her children alone. I find Namond not to be worth any tears or kind parting words. You don't get to be abrasive and callous with your lordly peers and expect any sort of pity from those you subjected to such treatment. I will not revel in his death. But neither will I lie and say that his death was a travesty."

[the-cerwyn]

"Well, a month goes by quick, if you know how to spend it. And you are one of those blessed few." Cley tried to make the most of the news, knowing this could be so much worse. Out of all that had happened, this was minimal compared to the many he's witnessed in his life. Hallis survived with his life and a war injury. Not many could say the same. He continued: "Well, 'may be' leaves an entire realm of opportunity, maybe you won't. Or maybe we just hope they focus on your winning smile instead." He was hoping for the best for his old friend.

Hallis was correct; he didn't mind at all, but he couldn't help but crack a smile at his friend prematurely sitting down before his answer. He lightly jested: "Yes, you have my overdue blessing, Lord Brownbarrow." Although he did address his concern: "There's nothing to forgive, Hallis, you've given body and spirit to this kingdom, the least anyone can do is pardon you for getting due rest." Cley sat down across from him, all too knowing, while he was a boundless bundle of energy due to his curse, Hallis was very much still a man healing. When it came to requests, Cley humbly asked of Janos: "Just some cider for me, please, ser."

"Times sure are changing. Not even counting what's happening at Wintefell, but many old guards are swapping hands in a great many other steadfasts... I hope Brynden finds what he's looking for." Cley was sincere about it, loyal, honest, and reliable men were a commodity in the North. He continued in some curiosity, trying to distract Hallis from the discomfort of just... being, he supposed. Being in pain and waiting to recover was something of a slow, cold time, depending on the company. Or lack of. He was trying to help him along. Yet, he was very much aware that eventually, Hallis was going to let his curious nature get the better of him. Cley asked: "Hm. And how is Rickard doing? And Meghan, for that matter? It feels... like months since I've gotten the opportunity to see either of them due to these damned conflicts."

[meghanxbrownbarrow-blog]

@the-cerwyn

The Long Night is over. The creatures from beyond the wall, the Wights, are dead and gone, never to return to them again.

Like many in the north, Hallis is gladdened by the news that the threat posed by the Wights is gone and that the long winter they had been suffering through was finally showing signs of abating. However, no matter what joy he can find in the defeat of the Wights and his own survival, his thoughts were always tinged with a bittersweet aura. In the process of defeating their shared enemy, many Northerners - as well as a handful of southern soldiers - had lost their lives. House Brownbarrow had still been recovering its losses following the War of the Five Kings, so there was never much of an army to lose, but Hallis felt the loss of each of his men keenly. He felt the losses of his kin and more personal friends even more.

After being severely injured at Winterfell in the final battle, Hallis has been sent home to The Oldbarrow to recover, fussed over by his younger brother and the maester. Demelza likely would have done the same, but had spent a few weeks at Two Towers, mourning the loss of her elder sister, Myriame, with her remaining siblings. She had returned now, of course, fussing over him in equal measure to the maester. He had been bedridden for the first week upon his return, though had been slowly moving more and more each day. He had fractured his left leg and it was imperative that he rested it. Along with this he had broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a fractured eye socket.

His injuries had kept him confined to The Oldbarrow but he had remained abreast of the political happenings in the North. Now that those had passed had been buried or cremated, there were rumours of a march to the south to assist the dragon queen in reclaiming her throne from the Lannisters. Naturally, given the alliance between Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, there was talk of some of the northerners joining her. Hallis would have been lying if he said he wouldn't have liked to fight the Lannisters one last time, to have a hand in ending the war started years ago by their execution of Ned Stark. However, he knew his limits, and those of his men, and would not pledge his soldiers to another fight in quick succession.

That morning had begun peacefully enough. After breaking his fast in his chambers with his wife and daughter, Hallis had eventually made it to his private study next to the library. Luckily, all the rooms Hallis frequented were on the same floor, so there was little need for him to strain himself by climbing any stairs. The Brownbarrow lord was seated at his oak desk, flicking through the last letter written by his sister, when a knock at the door caught his attention. He lifted his head to meet eyes with Janos Slate, his new castellan, following Ser Brynden's choice to step down following the battle at Winterfell. Janis informed him that a visitor had arrived to see him - his dear friend, Cley Flint.

Intrigued by the sudden arrival, Hallis instructed Janos to see him in. During the short time the man left him, Hallis deposited his quill back into his inkwell, and awaited the arrival of his friend. When the two men reappeared, Hallis gave Cley a nod in acknowledgement. "Cley," He spoke the man's name warmly, smiling in agreement. Reaching for the cane by his desk, Hallis slowly pulled himself to his feet, and then carefully walked towards him, pulling Cley into a hug, something which was made awkward due to him having to hold onto his cane to steady himself. "It is good to see you."

[the-cerwyn]

The weeks that had sailed past the dreaded Long Night were cumbersome, to say the least. He wanted to say it was a flurry that had gone by so quick he hadn't noticed, but that would be lying to himself. In fact, he felt every day that had passed, down to the last minute. The waiting, the insurmountable waiting. Other than their survival, nothing good came of that night; too many good people were taken from them.

The march south only appealed to a handful of Northern lords; the idea of revenge for the transgressions at the Red Wedding outweighed their tiredness. But Cley wasn't looking for revenge for the Red Wedding; he was looking for revenge for their falsely pledged support for the Long Night. If Jaime Lannister hadn't been the only person from the southern queen's forces to have shown up on his violation, so many would have lived. Myriame would have lived. Allister would have lived. You know who else would have lived, his own gods damn fa-- No. He wasn't here for that. He was here to see a friend, check in on him. Cley then cleared his mind, waited for Hallis's castellan to return.

He was cordial with the man, this Janos Slate; he was more familiar with Ser Brynden, but knew enough of Janos from previously. Once Hallis had given the okay, he accepted the man's escort. When he was face-to-face, Cley couldn't help but give one of his best friends a tired smile at the sight of him. Damaged, still healing, he remembered having to do so such a long time ago. Gods, it felt like years.

"Hallis." Cley returned the greeting in kind, at the side, quietly thanking Janos for leading him here. It hurt to see Hallis hobble on that cane, but it'd hurt much worse to see him in a casket. He accepted the hug, doing his best to not embrace him too tightly out of fear of reopening any sort of wounds or unsettling any bones. He responded further, citing: "I can only say the same, old friend... You're healing quickly, I'm glad to see that."

[badgersighted]

getting back into ttgot/got is reminding me of how much of a POS I was at the time and probably had a net negative affect on pretty much everyone I met at the time.

I can't blame anyone who is no longer in contact with me. I don't know how to make them feel better, or how to forgive myself.

[the-cerwyn]

“Long is the way and hard, that out of Hell leads up to light.” A decade's long to realize one's mistakes, but there have been folks who never realized they did anything bad at all. Better you learn now than later.

You can't make anyone feel better in a way they don't want to; the same goes for forcing yourself to forgive yourself. I'd like to tell you it gets better, but it's a long, gruelling process. And at best, it's not gone, just compartmentalized and processed. Chin up, Jake, you'll get there eventually. Not today. Not next week. Not next month. But maybe a year from now. Maybe more. La mente es un torbellino.

[the-cerwyn]

A man possessed, a beast unbound, that was what he was in the moment. One could find oneself getting lost in this moment of excess violence for an exceptionally long time, especially if it were for a cause so righteous as saving a beloved friend such as him. Still, there was overzealousness, especially as he savaged those who remained.

Ensuring those last few that fell last wouldn't dare care come back, dare rise again, dare even consider striking at the Brownbarrow lord. They did not bask in the radiance of his kindness and understanding, and for that, there had to be reassurance that they would never again return to haunt him. He only stopped the brutality when Hallis' words breached his bloodlust, retracting the blackened and bloodied claws from the embedded state within the overtly mauled corpse of a wight.

There was a sense of shame within the confines of the beast, but while others stared in rightful fear, Hallis, in his everloving glory, looked upon him with yearning insight and desired understanding. He did not deserve him. In response to the question, and because there was a lapse in the onslaught on their current slice of the battlements, his bones cracked back into place. Claws retracted painfully, teeth resettled, and more blood gushed. It was akin to being forcibly dragged through a small crevice, with your arms and legs being snapped. But reverted to normal to alleviate Hallis and to verbally answer him.

"I am cursed," Cley responded directly, simply, and truthfully. He wanted to say more, but this was hardly the place or time. He'd love nothing more than to have a spot of tea or wine or ale with Hallis and tell him everything he wanted to know, answer questions that were no doubt lingering in his mind just looking at him. Cley gave a quick and discerning look back where he came from, grimacing slightly, before meeting Hallis' eye contact again, citing: "Listen. After this battle, I'll answer any questions you have, but I need to get back to Ser Kyle and the men stationed where I left them. Are you going to be okay? I can take you and your bewildered men with me back to them if needed."