( RUSSELL TOVEY, BISEXUAL, CIS MALE & HE/HIM ) — by the grace of the gods, old and new, i present to you LORD HUGH WAYNWOOD of CASTLE ASHBY within the lands of CASTHER. the gods have blessed us with their presence for 37 years. many know them to be CHARMING, PERCEPTIVE, AMBITIOUS, and while it is not always shown, it is said they can also be INSECURE, QUICK TEMPERED, UNPOLISHED. what will their tale in the story of metia be? only they can write it, so let’s see how their legend unfolds.
Hugh Viridian was born in times of war, where men chased comfort wherever they may find it... even moreso than usual. His mother was no shy maiden, no foolish peasant however, and being sure the lord of Ashby was the father quickly arranged for their bastard son to be accepted as a squire once he was old enough.
Being a bastard in Casther, even from a respected lord assured Hugh's lot in life before he ever could. He grew resentful of that, of his father, of his brothers. Even if he circled amongst their peers he was never once acknowledged as he perhaps should be; a mistake swept aside the best they could while they fought their war comfortably.
Hugh, for all the little privilege he got from serving a noble house had no such comforts. Once his skill with an axe for more than chopping wood was proved he was sent to battle, to bleed and die for the same lords who sneered at him as he passed.
He even fought alongside his brothers, a startling realization for them perhaps, that they all bled the same. The war waged on, his lord father grew old, and when fate struck the heirs of House Waynwood perished in fire, leaving but one option.
It was hardly his idea, yet he could not say he rejected it once it was presented. Of course there was a price to pay, but he'd slept in the cold hard ground, he'd felt the pang of hunger, he felt the sting of rejection following him his whole life. With no one but him to take the spot that, deep down he had always believed should be his by right... Hugh did not think twice.
Legalized as the heir of Ashby as the war came to an end, Hugh watched as his father lamented, and mourned, and raged and closed into himself until all looked to him for order and guidance. Old Lord Waynwood faded, and a new one rose out of wood and ashes where he'd been left to be forgotten; tall and strong as any waynwood tree.
At court he might still be called the Viridian Lord behind his back, but he was one of them now, and they'd learn to respect him. One way or the other.
Rohan could have cared less about the fact that Hugh was a bastard or some questioned his own legitimacy as the other Waynwood heirs had all perished in the midst of war. The man had Waynwood blood flowing through his veins and he was a damn good fighter, not to mention he'd never cared that much about those sorts of things. If he did, he may as well have been a Valtolian who cared more about bloodline legitimacy than values like valor, duty, and honor.
"Oh fuck off with that shit," he rolled his eyes, Rohan had never card about those kinds of formalities. Perhaps he cared more about titles like General, but because he earned those rather than just be born into the right family.
It was true, Rohan didn't trust the Argonians but this could have been the only opportunity to really see what their neighbors were like. Perhaps study their battle technique in the arena, there was so much they didn't know about the kingdom to the east that left Rohan on edge. "You want to protect me?" he cocked a brow, looking at the other. "I suppose there's more than enough room in here for the two of us." he ushered to the large bed fit for a king.
"You know, there are simpler ways to crawl into my bed, Hugh."
hugh laughed, the brash tone on the prince's mouth made him almost not look so out of place in court. almost. some things were allowed to rohan, things that would not ever stop carrying the weight they did for hugh. he didn't resent that, not when that tone made him feel at ease, and almost... well, rohan knew how he left him.
"who else? there is no better man to protect your princely behind than me, and we both know it." his father had once told him he refused to give him anything, or he would take it all. rohan gave him liberty, and hugh used it how he saw fit. he cocked an eyebrow, looking at the room, then the bed, large enough for two yes. even three, not something he expected, truth be told.
"i hadn't meant your bed, your majesty," he said with honesty, "and neither would i crawl anywhere. but if you're offering..." he pulled the prince to bed, climbing atop of him with practiced ease of a warrior. a bed could also be a battlefield, and hugh had always been at his best in those. "i've slept in far worse places, my prince."
"your reputation though, might suffer for it." he felt the press of his crotch against rohan's, the warmth of his body under him. and then the brush of his beard on his face as he took his lips in a kiss that was not sweet nor gentle. he wanted to hate the prince on principle, but most of what he aroused was simply want in the bastard lord.
Seraphim definitely noticed the slip up. And if he was better at schooling his features, maybe then his own disapproving frown wouldn't settle on his face. Still, Seraphim decided to let it pass. Knowing that it's best to sometimes not to do anything brash. Although it was interesting to him that the other still viewed the others as enemies. Something that Seraphim would file into his mind for later.
“Abjuration. I can craft up quite the strong shield and am a skillful healer." Seraphim admitted with a shrug of his broad shoulder. “I used those skills to help travelers and warriors alike before being asked to serve at the court.” Seraphim explained with a wistful smile, for a moment allowing himself to be lost in the fond memories of the road. The battles. The companionship.
“I don't know if I would call anyone here ‘lowly’.” Seraphim says with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “Everyone here has either earned their spot, or their family has.” Seraphim said with a smile. “There's nothing lowly about that to me.” Seraphim says with a shrug of his shoulders. “As for being held high? Yeah, my experience with magic and battles have helped me. Although at times I get restless.” Seraphim admitted.
He snorts at the disapproval in the other's face. He had seen enough of his men die under steel and fire, cut down like dry wood in their prime for a war they did not start, that they stood to gain nothing from. He would not pretend to be friends with those responsible for it, and it was foolish of the king's court to assume there were no more daggers pointed at their back. That was not his place however, so he said nothing.
"Abjuration..." Fancy words, fancy tricks, at least that was useful. He could've used a magic shield helping him more than a few times. "That's not a bad thing to have at your side, I'll give you that. Man like you should be helping warriors." For once the look on his eyes carried appreciation, even a small amount of respect.
"Then perhaps you are not yet poisoned by court..." He muttered, not enjoying the mention of family. Was his spot earned? Yes, he showed great bravery, yes he served the king dutifully, but he was but a piece in a long game. "Restless eh?" He nodded at that, a fond smirk crossing his lips. That he could understand very well. "And what does a mage get restless for, I wonder?"
For: Open
Where: Outside the colosseum
Callum was the furthest one could get from a fighter. He in his youth spent most of his days inside sketching away and now that he was older actually making the clothing he sketched. So to some it was shocking when he jumped on the invitation to go to an event based on physical power. To those close to him this was the chance he never got at the dove concord to announce his business.
It had been a bit of a fight working out how to get a business permit for this but now he was in the open air market. Not the front can center but off to the side where most of nobles made their way to watch the fights. His stall adorned with as much as he could bring the focus of this one was scales and strong hides. "If you don't see something you like please ask about customer orders i have a book of designs right here"
Hugh did not trust this, did not enjoy being around so many people with unknown intentions and he did not think it was a smart move to showcase one's abilities in front of those with such unclear allegiances. That said, other people's dumb moves were not on him and he would take careful note of what they did.
He didn't expect the vendors, or the fabrics, the loud rumble made him want a drink. He stopped in front of a stall, eyeing the man behind it with a curious glance. He doubted he had ever seen a real fight, but at least he wasn't volunteering for one. He tried to place the accent but failed.
He ran a hand through one of the scaled pieces left in the open, trying to feel for craftsmanship. He was used to rags, during the war, to what he could get his hands on and then what his father could spare once his sons started dropping like flies. Now he wore finery, and though it was not so familiar he knew this was the kind of piece he'd never have worn before he became a lord. "You sound far too highborn to be selling this in stalls..." He commented, brash as always "Is there a story there?"
Then unaffected, he picked up the piece, examining it under the light. "Would you have this in green, or white?" It never hurt to present his house colors, let them whisper about the lord of Waynwood, as long as they knew who he was.
It wasn't every day you were invited to a kingdom you weren't necessarily sure was still standing until recently, the Argonians had been so secluded that their reintroduction to the world had been a shocking revelation to everyone within Metia. Now they were all invited to the city of Themys to attend a colosseum tourney. What better way to see if someone was your enemy than enter the belly of the beast yourself?
It was late one evening and Rohan was in his chambers alone, an open robe as he stepped out onto his balcony with a glass of wine to look over the city of Themys. It couldn't look anymore different from the cities back home, and the colosseum that was within eyesight. Hearing a knock on his door, he sighed. "Come in." His solitude interrupted.
Hugh barely waited after his knock to walk in, prince or not he had no time to waste. New old kingdoms did not smell well to him and he had no interest in being a pawn in whatever games they had.
"Did I interrupt you, your highness?" His voice drips in sarcasm as he lets himself in, eyeing the finery of the room. Not like home, but still, more luxurious than his own quarters, of course. "The invitation was yours... but we all need our alone time I understand."
He took a seat by the bed, eyes on the prince. He wondered what he made of the brash bastard, did he despite appearance look down on him? Did it annoy him he rose above his station and claimed a house that was such a strong ally to his own?
And then he looked at his ass, and that was distraction enough. "You should be wary, as I was telling you." Perhaps at the wrong place and time but still, "Not risk yourself yes, but I think it's been proven whatever security was at place at the dove concord is insufficient." He leaned back on the bed, eyeing the prince brazenly, though not necessarily with lust.
"I should be the one to protect you." He said, as if that was the obvious solution and he was simply letting him know, "In here, at least. I trust few else and I've no wish to see your blood shed when so much already was in the last..." however knows how fucking long.
"Unless that is you don't want to keep my company." He said it in jest, but there was too much truth in it. He was a lord now, and that was a big difference to a king even when wasn't a bastard.
If he was being honest? Seraphim was surprised it took someone this long to approach him about this. Seraphim took a deep breath to collect himself as he looked in the other man's direction. Having been leaning against a wall in solitude while maintaining a watchful eye on things to make sure nothing to dramatic happened. "Perhaps. But divination is my weakest school of magic. And can be quite hard to read and understand if you don't know what you're looking for."
Seraphim pushes himself off against the wall. His brawn on full display even through the fine robes he wore as he looked at the other. "Should I have known that I needed to be reading the future with my magics for possible assailants?" Seraphim asked with a raised eyebrow. "There also lies the problem of was this something planned, or a spur of the moment when the opportunity revealed itself?"
The future was not set in stone. It changed along with people's whims. One last minute split decision could alter major outcomes.
Hugh hums in a way that could be read as disapprovingly, but doesn't say anything. He doesn't really understand magic like that, and he isn't sure he wants to, it creeps him out if he's to be completely honest but he is not going to tell the mage that.
"I think it's always good to be ready for an attack when one's surrounded by en--former enemies." He corrects himself, a dismissive shrug of his shoulder. "What are you good in then? Since foreseeing attacks is not the case."
He knows he ought to be kinder, polite in his questions but he is far too used to the honesty of a battlefield. You survive by skill or you die by your failures. He has yet to see the mage's real skill even if he has heard whispers of it.
"You seem to be held high in court, so I presume it's something good," He adds, with a swig of his drink, "though I'm just a lowly lord who knows not of magic, and could scarcely have prevented it myself."
"don't think that you can trick me, witcher," the bastard lord said, his mug of ale slapped over the counter of some inn he could not remember the name of, "i can still drink you under this table, any day." probably beat him in a fight, too, but that part was unwise to say aloud, especially with company. that much he had learned.
some people eyed them with interest, after all he was not simply a bastard son with battles written across his skin. he was not the lord of ashby, and expected to behave as such. he drew eyes whenever he went, even from people he shared barracks, drinks or even a bed with.
"are you man enough to try or do you have to run back to the castle yet?"
hugh did not trust easily, he learned men lied and cheated and clawed their way through life more often than not. he had seen men live and die by their sword, and he had seen the feats of magic some of them could do. he could respect a swordsman, who beat him fairly or cleverly but he had little respect to offer for those who could twist his mind and conjure up flames from thin air. it was even lesser than the begrudging respect he had for witchers and dragonriders; it was more akin to fear.
he would not have sought out the company of a mage, yet here he was. eyeing seraphim, the absurdly large man for a bookish type with a frown in his brown. "shouldn't you have predicted what was going to happen?" he asked, motioning around, meaning the dove concord falling apart around them. "with your magics and all that?"
the ale did not make him any more apt for this sort of conversation, it had to be said.
◞ ❛ ⚔️ — “ gold suits you , lord hugh . " his gaze flickered past hugh for a moment , catching sight of a few highborn men murmuring behind their goblets , eyes darting between the two of them like crows waiting for scraps . picking apart every glance , every word no doubt to recount to their feeble friends later in the night . he met their stares head-on , and stepped closer to lord waynwood . daring them to say something .
“ below you , am i ? ” his voice dipped , playful , dark eyes flickering up beneath long lashes. “ seems to me , last time i was beneath you , you were singin ’ a very different tune . ”
“ still, ‘ tis a shame . i rather liked you in steel . ” he adds casually when the gilded whelps had finally turned away . a beat . a flash of something almost akin to nostalgia . he batted hugh ’ s hand away from his chin , before stepping back . though the smirk on his lips lingered . “ and i liked you even better when you weren’t whisperin’ in my ear like a bloody court lady . ”
“ oh , aye , i ’ m livin ’ the dream . swappin ’ swords for silk , battlefields for ballrooms . ain ' t it just the life ? ” he scoffed , shaking his head . “ i ’ d rather be gut - deep in the mire again than stand here listenin ’ to a bunch of lords toastin ’ to victories they never fought for . ”
“ our dear king , ” voice tight , gaze darkening . king he might be , but he had never been much of a father . " he talks of peace , but he doesn ' t talk of the cost — blood . ours . our brothers . spilled so these lordlings could drink their wine a little easier . ” his smile faded , mood turning somber as he raked a hand through his head . “ aye . i should thank him — for all his kindness . maybe even drop to my knees and sing his praises while i ' m at it . ”
hugh snorted, not one to be won by such commentary though it was better received than most coming from darian. "there is gold everywhere when you get to where we are. more than most in those barracks we shared will ever see." he frowned as he approached further, but did not shy away, the glances around them ignored. he was used to paying chattering nobles no mind.
"there were no so many around, that time, and you..." he chuckled, loud and dirty. meeting him face on, there was something far too open about the way he looked at the younger man, a hunger for simpler times that was not hidden, "are you looking to repeat that, little prince?"
"there is still steel here, i can assure you," it was not a pleasant reminder, that things had changed, the position was good, but he did not enjoy being compared to a soft lady who waited at court. "perhaps you would like me to boast about all the ways in which i bested you in full voice? to make ourselves more of outsiders." he shook his head, refusing to give him any space when he challenged him so. "or perhaps you miss the way we'd talk openly in the tents, the japes, being surrounded by soft lords has reminded you how much better it feels to have a real man's hand on you?"
he scoffed, all too tired of hearing the same tales of battles one had never seen. the recognition of his name and his feats from men who'd scarcely bled in the war they started. "i don't think you'll have much trouble if you keep daring me to forget where we are. i think we'll scare them all away." he looked around, just in time to catch some nobles ducking away from his gaze, his laugh was loud and derisive.
he understood the bitterness in the words, the set of his jaw as he hummed in agreement. bastard understood bastard, that much was clear. and while hugh would draw steel if he was called such in a place like this he, and those lords, knew what he was, there would always be a world of difference between them and those who smiled at them before whispering behind their backs.
"there are far better things for you to do with that mouth," he responded harshly, even in joke there were things that hit too close to home, "and far better men for you to get on your knees for."
"there, did you not miss the way of soldiers? think they heard that part?" he shook his head, he ought to leave him alone before they started talking about treason, instead he pulled him away with a hand around his arm. "let's get a real drink, i tire of this cidery shit."
when : the dove concord .
where : the royal palace of veneca .
who : ser darian & lord hugh ( @viridianlord )
" well , well . . . " his voice was low and amused , no malice in it — just the easy mockery of a friend . he could hardly recognize hugh . draped in fine silks and velvets . a far cry from the man who had fought by his side . covered in mud , and blood . " won ' t you look at you now . a lord , eh ? fancy ring and everythin ' . . . never thought i ' d see the day when a bastard like you ' d be rubbin ' elbows with all these highborn pricks . "
darian stepped forth , unsteady but sure as he moved towards hugh . the valtolian red in him made the room spin a bit — but it didn ' t dull the sharp edge of his amusement . it all seemed so absurd , this highborn life . but here they were — surrounded by courtesies and finery . one a lord , and one a knight , but both punished for the crime of their birth . both still standing at the edge of the gathering , two men who had fought for the very peace they celebrated , now cast aside by the nobility they bled for .
" should ya ' even be talkin ' to me , my lord ? " a mock bow , lip curling into a grin . " surely you shouldn ' t be seen keepin ' such lowly company now . "
he was used to white, gold was a new thing, mostly. in dinner tables, feasts, events like this one. draped over his clothes and all over the palace his father had. over the chambers that were once his brothers. it was an adjustment, of a sort but not one that he ever considered rejecting. yes, the finery was annoying, the fabric was restrictive were he was used to freedom of movement and the weight of chain mail. they weren't supposed to wear that at the dove concord though, they said, they came in peace, to celebrate it they said, while his brother's (for all the little love there was between them) bodies were not even done rotting in the ground yet.
a bunch of stuck up, silver spoon foolish nobles and royals. if hugh could speak his mind... it would get him nowhere, so he smiled, and made nice, and ignored the way their drinks twist his stomach into knots. this would not last.
"why..." he retorted, the familiar voice ringing in his ears, taking him back to barracks and mud, and blood sopping up his face. "did you think that was reserved for pretty bastard boys like you, pup?"
"i am sure they will whisper if they see me loitering around with the royal misstep," he said, jesting was a common weapon to shield them from the harsher attacks made on them, he could already see the lingering eyes, the snickers. it was through sheer will he controlled the sneer coming across his face, "but do not worry, i pay no mind to such small minds." he leaned in to whisper on his ear, "even if you are yet again below me, ser darian the pretty." he chuckled, caressing his chin for effect before he leaned away.
"i take it you're not having the time of your life celebrating the peace your father, our dear king," that last part was said louder than necessary, "secured?"
there was a goblet in his hand, and liquor running across his lips. "i knew it." he hissed at his companion, somewhere along the gardens where being seen with one of the lowborn men that served with him would be of little consequence. or at least he hoped so. "all this talk of peace... you don't sit around and make merry with people who had a knife in your throat not too--"
he turns just in time, movements dulled some by the drinking but not nearly enough for him not to stand on his toes and reach for a sword that was not there. (thankfully, it would not do well to offend nobles now).
"do you make it a habit of sneaking in, listening to people's conversations?" he asked bitterly, "and they call me uncouth."
"what business have you here?" he asked, sparing a look at his fellow soldier, who bowed and quickly took his cue. stumbling away in his drunken state. not quite the image hugh came to project.
