Chapter Text
After the scuffle by the river that had almost led to a disproportionate fight with potentially disastrous consequences, Aeron and his cousin Helmond had been appointed to patrol the border along the Red Fork and make sure that no one tried to move again the boundary stones. They had secured their horses not distant from the mill, continuing their nighttime round on foot.
As they walked, Helmond was recounting the skills and virtues of a particularly proficient prostitute working in a brothel near Riverrun. Aeron was only partially aware of his cousin’s incessant chatter, not really paying attention, his mind still dwelling on his previous encounter with the infamous Blackwood earlier that same day.
You wouldn't dare.
In the end, it had turned out exactly as Davos Blackwood had predicted, but Aeron couldn't say he felt particularly disappointed by having avoided the massacre that would have certainly followed, had he indeed stuck his sword in the man standing in front of him, rather than back into its scabbard. The rush of adrenaline had truly blinded him for a moment there. He shook his head and focused his attention back to his companion.
"...should go there sometime. She has the prettiest eyes in the whole realm, believe you me. And the things she does with that mouth... Gods! I'm getting hard just thinking about it." Helmond adjusted the crotch of his trousers under his livery. "Let's stop here for a minute. I need to freshen up."
They had reached a small assemble of shacks, housing some Bracken farmers and shepherds. It was late enough for everyone to be already asleep in their home; only a few leashed dogs remained outside, guarding the cattle and fields.
While Helmond walked over to the stream, Aeron let his eyes travel across the land surrounding them. Luck was on their side, as the full moon was shining brightly over their heads and illuminated the fields all around them. There wasn’t much need for torches, as long as the sky remained clear.
A distant movement in the periphery of his vision had Aeron focus all his attention on the border of the nearby forest. He squinted his eyes in that direction, scrutinizing the irregular outline of trees and bushes several yards ahead. He saw a dark figure slip into the woods, accompanied for a second by a glimmer of light that flickered a couple of times before disappearing among the trees; possibly a metallic surface reflecting the silver moonlight. Aeron called his cousin without removing his eyes from the point where the figure had vanished.
“Helmond! Come here.” He was careful not to raise his voice and risk being heard by whoever was hiding in the forest.
“What?” Helmond rejoined him, wiping his mouth with the back of his gloved hand.
“There’s someone over there. In the woods.”
“Perhaps an animal?”
“No. It was definitely a person. I’m sure of it.”
Helmond shrugged. “Probably just a crofter, then.”
“A crofter carrying a weapon here, at this hour?”
At that, Helmond’s expression darkened. “Lead the way.”
They approached the border of the forest, Aeron’s senses on high alert, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready for action. Carefully, they entered the woods, the sound of their steps covered by the loud noise made by the cicadas and the muffled flowing of water in the distance. Aeron saw again some movement about twenty yards to their right. He signalled to Helmond and they both crouched down behind a bush to better observe the mysterious figure without risking being seen.
“Fuck me. That’s a Blackwood right there,” murmured Helmond, recognizing the darker livery and the cape hanging from the intruder’s shoulders.
He was not just any Blackwood. Aeron immediately identified him by the stern profile and dark hair. It was Davos Blackwood.
“He’s quite far from home, isn’t he,” continued his cousin. “Stealing cattle or trying to move the boundary stones, no doubt.”
Aeron nodded as he silently observed the dark-haired young man moving, unaware of their watchful eyes. He soon noticed Davos’ gait lacked the usual cockiness he so often displayed whenever they met. Not only that, but he seemed outright unstable on his feet, nearly tripping a couple of times, almost as if wounded or intoxicated. And that was not the only thing out of the ordinary. “Strange that his little gang is not with him,” commented Aeron in a whisper, his features set in a perplex frown.
“You know him?”
“He’s Davos Blackwood. The bastard I nearly fought today by the mill.”
Helmond scoffed. “Well then, I say it is time to teach him a lesson, don’t you agree?” He was already standing up.
Aeron shot an alarmed look at his cousin, his hand quickly reaching for Helmond’s forearm to keep him from rising. “What do you intend to do?”
“We capture him and deliver him to our uncle. He’s a trespasser, after all.”
Aeron considered Helmond’s proposal, his hold loosening after a few seconds. “What do you have in mind?” he asked.
“We approach him from opposite sides. A hit on the head and it’s done.”
It was simple enough, although Aeron didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of attacking a man sneaking behind his back.
“You go that way,” instructed Helmond, wasting no time and heading in the opposite direction.
Aeron had no choice but to circle around the bushes, mindful of his steps. As he moved closer and closer to Davos, he got confirmation that something was clearly wrong with the Blackwood. With an abrupt motion, Davos bent forward and threw up, leaning on a nearby tree for support. In his other hand, he was holding a glass bottle, almost completely empty now. Distracted, Aeron stepped forward without looking. A twig snapped under his boot.
Davos swiftly turned to face the source of the noise, immediately straightening up. The bottle fell from his hand, rolling on the soft moss and spilling the remaining dark liquid on the ground; probably wine, by the looks of it. He stared at Aeron, the shock evidently dispersing the alcohol-induced fog in his brain.
“Bracken?”
Aeron simply stood there, frozen. By the confused expression on Davos’ face, not to mention his obvious intoxicated state, it was now becoming clear to Aeron that the other’s trespassing may have been unintentional after all.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” spat Davos slurring the words just a bit.
“I should ask you the same thing. This is Bracken land. Remember?”
Davos chuckled mockingly. “Bracken land, you say?” He took a couple of steps forward, wiping his mouth and passing his tongue over his teeth. “You thieving cunt.” The last word was pronounced with such vehemence that Aeron felt entitled to draw his sword, pointing it towards the other.
“Stay back.”
“Or what? Are you going to sheathe your sword again and flee like the craven bastard you are?” Davos hadn’t even put his hand on the hilt of his dagger, clearly unbothered by Aeron’s blade. “You and your false king are two of a kind.”
Aeron gritted his teeth, holding his sword with both hands.
You wouldn’t dare.
A few more seconds passed, and Davos laughed at him, but it was a short-lived sound, for Helmond had stealthily come up behind him and struck him on the head with the pommel of his sword, hard. Davos collapsed to the ground, his already impaired state only facilitating the violent incapacitation. Aeron had to be quick to withdraw his sword to avoid accidentally impaling the other as he fell.
“Good job distracting him, Aeron.” Helmond laid down his own sword and threw a rope at Aeron. “Here. Bind him and make sure he doesn’t run away while I fetch our horses.” That said, he disappeared among the trees heading back to the mill.
Aeron knelt by Davos’ side and bound his hands and feet, tightening the ropes as much as he could. He took the dagger and then patted Davos down to make sure he hadn’t stolen anything during his clandestine excursion. It appeared not, he ascertained with no little surprise.
Aeron then sat back on a protruding root and waited for his cousin to return, absentmindedly turning Davos’ dagger in his hands as he surveilled him. The glass bottle lying discarded a few paces away reflected the pale light seeping through the leafy branches, catching Aeron’s eye. He stared at the familiar glimmer, then his gaze shifted to Davos’ dagger in his hands, still secured in its sheath. He recognized the emblem of House Blackwood carved into the hilt: three ravens flying over a dead weirwood. He passed a thumb over it, then looked away.
When Helmond finally showed up with their mounts, Davos was still unconscious, but likely more due to the alcohol in his system than the actual blow to the head. The Bracken cousins hoisted him onto the back of Aeron’s horse, a beautiful white and brown barb named Ravenna.
“Uncle Amos will be very pleased with us,” stated Helmond with a grin. “He may even reword us with a quick trip to Riverrun, who knows…”
Aeron nodded, his lips pulling in a half smirk. He put away Davos’ dagger in his saddlebag, then mounted on his steed. With a quick jerk of heels, they started galloping back to Stone Hedge.
***
Aeron was summoned by his uncle in the evening of the following day.
"You and Helmond did a great service to our House by capturing one of the vermin infesting these lands." Lord Amos proudly clapped his nephew on the back, complimenting him for the second time.
"I just did as my duty commanded and followed Ser Helmond's lead, my Lord. I don't deserve such praise."
"Nonsense. Your cousin told me it was you who spotted the intruder. You acted with shrewdness and bravery. Now come, I have a surprise for you."
Lord Amos led Aeron deep into the dungeons of the fort. Aeron was aware that the lower level was used as a prison to keep criminals or specific enemies that still retained a certain value and couldn't be immediately disposed of in the usual way, such as with a quick death by the sword; nonetheless, the event of taking prisoners was such a rare occasion in their household that in all the years spent living and training there, the young Bracken had never had the opportunity to properly explore that particular area of the castle.
The air was incredibly damp, stiflingly so; the light was scarce, with only a few torches lit along the dim corridor; their steps on the paved floor resonated in the hollow space. They walked past several empty cells, the smell emanating from their surroundings making Aeron's stomach twist unpleasantly, to the point he struggled to suppress a gag. His uncle, apparently unbothered by the state of the place, turned left at the T junction at the end of the corridor and came to a halt in front of a better illuminated cell, which appeared to be also the only one occupied at the moment. He gestured towards Aeron, signalling to follow him, and stepped inside the dirty space.
Aeron's eyes immediately zeroed in on the pale figure chained to the wall on the opposite side of the cell. Judging by the darkening spots scattered all over his bare torso, the young Blackwood must have endured a prolonged and meticulous beating during his short time as captive there. And possibly even before that, considering the different shades of his bruises, some paler than others and almost completely faded. His nose was bloody, although it didn’t seem broken, while his left cheek was reddened and already veering to purple from a recent blow. The man responsible for all those bruises stepped back a couple of paces and bowed to Lord Amos and Aeron who had just entered.
Davos was glaring at the newcomers with pure hatred in his eyes.
"I was under the impression the stench in here just got a lot worse. I now see why," the defiance in his tone was not in the least mitigated by the hoarseness of his voice, "I'm surrounded by Bracken shits." He spat, the sparse straw on the floor now tinged with crimson.
Aeron pursed his lips but didn't reply, waiting for his uncle to intervene. It was not a long wait.
"This is my present to you, nephew," said Lord Amos ignoring completely the insult just thrown their way, outstretching instead his hand in the direction of a small table Aeron hadn't even noticed upon first entering the cell.
Displayed on the wooden surface, there were several tools, their common function instantly clear to Aeron despite the unfamiliar appearance of some of them. They were instruments of torture.
He turned to his uncle with a puzzled frown. Lord Amos grinned and guided him in front of the table. "It's time to put this Blackwood filth back in his rightful place. The choice is all yours."
Aeron blinked several times. This was not at all the surprise he had envisaged.
He faltered, the self-assurance from before disappearing and making room to doubt and uneasiness. "But...I'm a knight...Isn't torture—"
"Come now, boy. Don't crystalize on abstract definitions. This is exactly what scum like him deserves. What all of them deserve. They are no better than wild animals, Aeron. With their blasphemous religion and barbaric ways. Now choose."
Aeron had spent enough time training to become a knight to recognize an order when he received one, and the hardcore discipline instilled in every fibre of his being had rooted too deeply for him to be so easily able to undermine a direct order. Seeing no way out of this, he considered one more time the appalling set of tools displayed in front of him and opted for the simplest one, a coiled whip.
"A classic," complimented him his uncle, giving orders to the other man with a nod. Davos was positioned with his back towards them, arms splayed open and chained to a couple of iron loops protruding from the wall, with little to no room left for movement.
"Fucking craven cunts!" His struggle was rendered useless by the tight restraints, the metallic shackles only digging deeper into his wrists as he tried in vain to break free.
“Watch your tongue, if you intend to keep it,” growled the gaoler as he tossed the key of the shackles on the table.
Lord Amos took a position on Aeron's left. "Now begin," he instructed.
Aeron's grip on the whip tightened, but he hesitated to strike. He had never flogged a man before; if he thought about it, he had never even whipped his horse once. However, the difficulty he was currently facing had nothing to do with the practical aspect deriving from his inexperience, rather it stemmed from a primary revulsion for the act itself. He supposed the rudiments would be easy to master, yet he felt suddenly lost, his limbs uncooperative. He was also aware of the ludicrousness of it, given barely a day before he had been bragging with his friends about killing Blackwoods; but killing in battle and torturing were two completely different things.
"Mayhap you need Theobald here to show you how it is done?" suggested his uncle, noticing Aeron’s hesitation.
Aeron glanced to the side and took in the massive build of the man standing a few feet away. Theobald’s size alone was enough to convince him that just one strike from him would be backed by sufficient force to split any human being in half, not to mention someone with Davos' physique, which was far from imponent, despite being evidently toned by hours and hours of combat training.
Aeron clenched his jaw and shifted his gaze once again on the bruised planes of Davos' back, making his decision. "That won't be necessary."
A moment later, he flung his arm in the air. The end of the whip impacted against the smooth skin with a loud crack. Davos' muscles flinched visibly at the violent contact, but not a single lament escaped his lips. A long red stripe was already forming across his back, the red drops mingling with the pearly beads of sweat on his pale skin.
Aeron turned towards Lord Amos, who looked at him with an eerie glint in his eyes and a content smile across his lips. "Continue," he said in a suave voice.
Aeron took a deep breath and stroke again. Then again. He kept going until he heard his uncle dismiss the other man with a self-satisfied tone. Aeron felt as if a menace he had not been aware of till that moment had just been removed. The subsequent crack of the whip covered the sound of his relieved exhale as he administered yet another lash.
Almost at the same time, and considerably later than one would have expected, despite all the endurance and stubbornness so typical of Blackwoods, Davos’ body betrayed him and he let out the first pained groan, barely muffled by his gritted teeth.
Hearing it, Aeron felt his stomach twist, his grip on the whip loosening a bit as he paused in his motion and glanced momentarily to the side.
"Keep going.” Lord Amos was observing the scene with an unsettling smile, his features set in a satisfied and disturbingly joyful expression. "This, Aeron,” he said pointing at the prisoner, “is what these beasts deserve."
"Fuck you!" shouted Davos turning his head as much as his aching back and the restraints allowed him to do. The salty droplets falling from the sweat-damp hair only made his wounded back burn even more, but his iron spirit refused to bend to a Bracken, even at the cost of his own life.
"Continue!"
"My Lord, I don't think—"
"Ah! Give it here!" Lord Amos snatched the whip from Aeron's hands and pushed him to the side. He started striking with frantic rhythm and strenuous force, way greater than Aeron’s, who had certainly not exerted himself to deliver the blows.
Davos held on for a few more lashes, thanks to the remnants of his impossibly stubborn character, but even that resolution faded after being met with such feral treatment, and he eventually broke down, his agonized screams erupting in sequence after each crack of the whip.
Aeron was staring petrified at the scene, his back flat against the cold stones of the opposite wall. For the second time that evening, he found himself backed into a corner. This was certainly not what he had been taught as a squire. He knew for a fact that House Blackwood was the enemy, but no feudal hatred could justify such misconduct even towards a war prisoner. There was no honour in torturing a helpless man.
The sudden sagging of Davos' shoulders as well as the abrupt discontinuance of his screams snapped Aeron out of his stupor. With surprising determination, he grabbed his uncle's forearm mid-air and prevented him from striking again.
"Stop! He’s going to die at this rate!"
"Let go, you fool!"
"We need him alive, my Lord!" pleaded Aeron, standing between Davos and his uncle for good measure. "He can still be of use to us,” he stated determinately, “alive."
Aeron saw the burning ire gradually quiet down in Lord Amos's eyes and be replaced by a more calculating gaze. Reluctantly, the older man lowered his arm and tossed the whip to the side. He cast one last disdainful look towards the prisoner, then strode out of the cell. Aeron vaguely heard him instruct one of the guards to go fetch a healer. The guard's steps echoed in the distance along with Lord Amos's, then everything went silent again.
Aeron slowly approached the young Blackwood, holding in one hand the keys to the shackles. Davos' back was marred by an intricate crisscross of bleeding wounds; his shoulders were trembling, his breathing laboured, only further hindered by his own limp body pulling him down against the restraints.
Aeron was quite confident that in such state the battered prisoner could no longer pose a threat, so he moved to open the first lock.
"Fuck...Brackens..."
Hearing those mumbled words, Aeron paused and turned to the side to meet Davos' gaze. The latter was struggling to keep his eyes open, his forehead resting against the cold stones, while his hands were clutching the restraints fixed to the wall to help himself maintain a slightly straighter position and ease the pressure at his tender wrists. His lower lip was bleeding where he had bitten it too hard to prevent any laments from escaping, altough he hadn’t quite managed it in the end. Behind a considerable layer of exhaustion and excruciating pain, his eyes flared with hate and resentment through his half-lidded glare.
Aeron felt suddenly incredibly small, facing the consequences of his own actions. He knew he couldn’t expect the other to understand the reasoning behind his decision. After all, trading a greater evil for a lesser one did not change the intrinsic nature of the latter. And Davos’ fiery gaze only further proved that.
Aeron swallowed and looked away. He himself was having a hard time understanding why he had suddenly felt compelled to defend his enemy, so he decided not to dwell too much upon it and resumed his work.
As soon as both locks came open, Davos' legs gave out and he slumped to the floor, the fall only partly prevented by Aeron's firm grip around his front. Kneeling on the ground without a word, the young knight held the Blackwood in a sitting position, so that he wouldn't lie with his back on the dirty floor. Davos' chest rose and fell with shallow breaths, his whole body made sheen by sweat. Looking down, Aeron noticed how the skin at his wrists had also been chafed by the metal shackles, while the straw on the floor was stained by more than a mere red splotch this time. Aeron did his best to keep the other upright without touching his back.
“The healer will be here soon,” he murmured after clearing his throat.
Davos’ eyelids flickered in confusion a few times, then shut completely, his head lolling to the side as his consciousness slipped away while in the arms of his sworn enemy.
Aeron heard distant steps coming from the entrance of the dungeon, the clatter approaching at even pace. Shortly after, a maester and an assistant entered the cell holding a series of medicinal salves and bandages. Aeron left Davos in their practical hands, observing as they proceeded with their ministrations, medicating the wounds and eventually positioning the young man lying on his belly on a pallet made of dirty straw swept under a linen cloth. Given the state of the prisoner, they didn't bother restraining him again, deeming it evidently superfluous.
Aeron watched them retrieve their supplies and leave. He removed the torture instruments form the cell and locked the barred door. With a sigh, he stood outside the cell, silently regarding the unconscious figure lying just a few feet away from him in what had become an exceedingly common fashion during the past twenty-four hours.
When Davos stirred, Aeron finally turned around and left the dungeons.
***
Aeron kept intentionally away from the prison for the entire following week. He spent the days training and attending to his duties, while at night he took turns with other soldiers and patrolled the border along the Red Fork. The thought of the prisoner confined in the dungeons right under his feet slowly receded from his mind, making room for other more pressing concerns.
After the official declaration in favour of King Aegon II, in fact, Lord Amos had started gathering a contingent of men that would later join the royal forces in the fight against Rhaenyra the Kingslayer. For such reason, Stone Hedge was bustling with people seeing to the necessary preparations for the company’s departure. Ser Helmond had been appointed captain by Lord Amos and was to guide the troop to the front, while Aeron would remain at Stone Hedge to protect their lands, along with his uncle and an equivalent retinue of men.
In such frantic circumstances, the thought of Davos accidentally found its way back to Aeron through the uttered gossip of a couple of servants attending to some business in the training area where the young knight was currently practicing.
“…I’m not going anywhere near that savage,” was saying the younger one in an agitated voice.
“Keep it down,” hushed him the other, quickly glancing around, but failing to notice Aeron standing behind a nearby column, his training temporarily put on stall. “Just suck it up and do as you’re told.”
“I’m telling you, I heard he almost bit off Cosmo’s fingers when the poor lad brought him food last time! I don’t want to lose any limbs!”
“Then toss the food through the bars.”
“What about water? How am I supposed to throw that?!”
“Well…I don’t know. It’s your turn this time, not mine.”
“I really don’t understand why they’re keeping him alive,” continued the younger one, lowering his voice even more. “Cosmo told me that Theobald has yet to be dismissed.”
“Ugh, I hate that thug. Makes my skin crawl every time I see him.”
“Yeah. That child-fucker… Anyway. I heard the boy’s a close relative of…”
Aeron stepped forward and let himself be seen by the two servants, who immediately went quiet and bowed once in greeting.
“Are you talking about the Blackwood prisoner?” he asked without preamble.
The servants exchanged a quick glance, then the older one took it upon himself to answer in a low voice. “Yes, Ser Aeron.”
“Is he giving you much trouble?” Having eavesdropped their conversation, he already knew he was, but Aeron was interested in more details than that. “What’s his condition?”
“Feral, Ser Aeron,” responded the young servant, immediately elbowed in the ribs by the older.
Looking at the servant’s face, Aeron got the gist of the situation. He glanced at the setting sun through the windows of the training area. After a few seconds of contemplation, he put his sword back in its sheath and told the younger man, "I'll handle this."
"Ser?"
"You don't have to bring him food tonight," clarified Aeron, "I'll personally take care of it."
The younger servant immediately protested, not even needing any prompts from the older one to do so, but Aeron was immovable in his decision. He reassured once more both servants that it would be no hindrance at all for him and subsequently left the training area.
During his short trip to the kitchen, his mind inevitably presented him with the memory of his last meeting with Davos, specifically the hateful yet confused gaze the other had reserved him right before passing out. Aeron didn't consider himself someone with overly charitable instincts; however, since he became a squire and later a knight, he had fervently tried to live and act according to his vows, whilst in the past he had always been the kind of person that would often show off without truly taking action when needed. But things had changed now. He had changed. That day by the river, he hadn't stood up to Davos just because his friends were watching; he had truly meant what he had said; he had been eager to perform his duty, knowing he was fulfilling his purpose by defending House Bracken’s position against the Blackwood’s. The fact that he was now heading to the dungeons to bring their prisoner a meal should not be considered a sign of weakness -or lack of spine, as his uncle would say- rather an act of decency and mercy towards their own servants. Some would argue that it was beneath his status to worry about such trivial matters, but he hadn’t become a knight just for the glory of the title. He wanted to help his people.
Ignoring the puzzled look of the guards standing at the entrance, Aeron slowly descended the steps of the dungeons, carrying the tray of food in his hands; it was really nothing special, just some stale bread, a piece of cheese and a cup of water. He had no idea what Davos had been fed until then, but knowing all too well his uncle’s animosity towards House Blackwood, Aeron would be surprised if it were anything more than the bare minimum to keep him alive, with an overestimated ratio of one meal per day.
He turned left into the dim corridor and came to a halt in front of the cell.
Davos was lying in the opposite corner with his back towards the door, seemingly asleep, judging by the evenly paced excursions of his shoulders. His condition had evidently improved since the last time Aeron had seen him, given there was now a shackle around his left ankle that secured him to the floor through a few feet long chain. The wounds on his back had turned into extensive scabs, the purple marks on his torso now yellowish, although accompanied by other darker, more recent ones.
Aeron turned the key inside the lock, pushing the barred door open and stepping inside the cell. Davos didn’t stir, so Aeron moved closer to leave the tray on the floor within the other’s reach. He barely had time to set it down, for Davos suddenly turned and threw himself at him. They both collapsed to the side, Davos on top, his hands reaching for Aeron’s neck. When his gaze locked with the Bracken’s, though, Davos’ eyes widened in recognition and his grip faltered for a moment. It was a mere fraction of a second, but it was enough for Aeron to regain control of the situation and push the other away, flipping their positions. Davos gritted his teeth, groaning in pain as his back impacted and rubbed against the cold stones of the floor. Aeron took advantage of his opponent’s discomfort to restrain his arms, further curtailing his movements by pressing down on Davos with his own body. He was panting a little. They both were.
“Seven hells!” exclaimed Aeron. "What in the Gods' name do you think you're doing?"
In all response, Davos spat in his face. Aeron flinched, his lips forming a thin line as his hands tightened around Davos' wrists. He, too, then spat in Davos' face, who quickly closed his eyes and turned his head to the side.
After checking the chain's length at Davos' ankle, Aeron thrust himself off and out of reach, his eyes never leaving the battered figured splayed on the floor as he fastidiously wiped away the spit from his face.
Having already missed his window of opportunity, Davos didn't bother hurrying back to his feet. Instead he prioritized cleaning his face with the back of his now free hand, which he subsequently wiped in his trousers, cursing under his breath.
Aeron glanced at the overturn tray by the cot. The water had spilled all over the floor, while the bread and cheese lay a little further away in no better condition.
"I'm not bringing you another one. That's on you, for being such an idiot."
"Fuck you, Bracken," retorted Davos, finally sitting up with a grimace. "And fuck your pity. I don't need it, let alone want it."
"It's not for you," Aeron was quick to correct. "Stop giving the servants a hard time."
"I don't take orders from you."
"It doesn't work in your favour either," continued Aeron undeterred. "Soon they'll be too scared to bring you any food at all, if you keep attacking them like this."
"Good. I'd rather starve to death than bend to your filthy family and those who serve you," replied Davos coldly.
Aeron wiped the dirt from his clothes, eyeing the scattered food. "Your wish will soon come true, at this rate."
Davos remained silent for a while, studying Aeron with a calculating gaze. "Why are you even here?" he eventually spat, scooting back to take a seat on the pallet, one arm resting on his bent knee. "Have you already been demoted? Gods... You didn't even manage to last a fortnight as knight," he mocked him, baring his teeth in a derisive grin. He pointed at the overturned tray. "Is this your way of practicing for the position of cupbearer for your usurper king? From what I heard, he'll doubtlessly need more than just one."
Aeron huffed, leaning with his shoulder against the wall. "You're one to talk. Who was it again that got drunk and trespassed the border, uh?" his tone sharply deprecating. "Did you truly believe your actions would bear no consequences?"
Davos' laugh was dry and devoid of any actual joy. When he rolled his shoulders, he unintentionally pulled at the skin and muscles in his back, turning momentarily ashen, his features twitching in discomfort. Aeron noticed it and the memory of the flogging caused a rosy hue to spread on his cheeks as he tried to push the image away, not in the least proud of what he had done.
Davos didn't miss Aeron's wordless reaction and, hoping to compensate for the flash of weakness he had unwillingly let transpire, he stated in a venomous voice, "The real punishment is having to stand in your fucking presence. You see, I fear your cowardice might rub off. "
Aeron gritted his teeth. "I am not a coward."
"If that were true, you wouldn’t have fled that day by the river. And you would have killed me when you found me later in the forest. Yet here I am, alive and breathing."
"You know perfectly well what would have happened, had we actually fought that day." A massacre, though he didn't say it out loud. There was no need to. "Is that what you would have wanted?"
"Yes," said Davos narrowing his eyes.
Aeron arched an eyebrow. "To die in the mud over a bunch of stones that had never even been moved in the first place?"
"At least I'd have taken some Bracken cunts with me. You before anyone else."
Aeron clicked his tongue, almost amused. "If a quick death is what you seek, you should consider giving my uncle the information he requires. Mayhap then he'll be merciful enough to grant you your wish."
Davos laughed again, the sound coming out bitter and raw. "Your uncle is not interested in any information."
Aeron stared at the other, confused. "Then why would he keep torturing you?" He had not in fact missed the bloody fingertips in Davos' left hand, where his fingernails had been forcefully pulled away, as well as the new bruises on his abdomen. "I don't understand."
"Of course you don't understand, you spoilt pup," snapped Davos, refusing to further elaborate.
Aeron pushed away from the wall, crossing his arms. He knew his uncle could be ruthless at times, but it was always for a just cause. For which reason, in the end, Aeron had always considered him an honourable man. Torture detached from the pursuit of information and just for the sake of it wasn't something he would associate with the mental image he had of his own uncle. Although said image had indeed been recently shaken by Lord Amos’s behaviour when visiting the prison with Aeron, the previous week.
Aeron shook his head imperceptibly. “I don’t believe you.”
At that, Davos would have normally shrugged, but he was not going to repeat the same mistake twice, so he simply replied, "I don't give a fuck what you believe or not." He then grabbed the piece of cheese from the floor and threw it at Aeron, who managed to dodge it at the very last second. It landed on the floor outside the cell. "Now leave me alone."
Aeron waited, feeling conflicted. He regarded the young Blackwood without batting an eyelid, his features set in a deep frown. Apart from the manifest dislike and annoyance, he couldn't detect any other emotion on the other's face that might suggest he had been lying to his advantage, which only unsettled Aeron even more. After all, Blackwoods were known for their ruthlessness, not deception. Aeron could feel a headache already blurring the periphery of his vision. Letting out a resigned sigh, he simply turned on his heels and left.
***
Davos' words buzzed annoyingly in Aeron's head for the entire two following days. He tried shifting his focus on his duties to forget about the whole matter, but the elliptical insinuation kept echoing in his ears.
Of course you don't understand.
It hadn't been just the words, but Davos' tone as well.
Spoilt pup.
On the third day, having reached his limit, Aeron rose earlier than usual, tired of lying awake in bed. He got dressed and decided to vent his pent-up energy in the training ring before heading outside to patrol the border, as usual. When he reached the ground floor, though, instead of heading towards the corridor leading to the training area, he continued his descent down the flight of stairs, his feet moving almost of their own volition. He needed to dispel the doubt gnawing at his mind before he could go back to his routine.
When he arrived at the prison entrance, he noticed with slight surprise that the men usually standing guard by the door had been dismissed. His eyebrows met in a muddled frown. He proceeded along the corridor, his boots barely making any noise as he approached his destination.
A sudden cry coming from further inside the prison almost made his blood freeze in his veins. He sped up along the corridor, finally reaching the door to Davos' cell. It was empty. Aeron had barely enough time to look around once, before another lament resonated in the empty dungeon, closer this time. He headed in the direction the sound was coming from, halting in front of a door at the very end of the corridor. Unlike the other cell door, entirely made of iron bars so than one could check inside with no difficulty by just throwing a glance, this one consisted instead of a sturdy wooden panel, presenting only a tiny opening provided with a metal grid, more or less at eye level.
Aeron slowly moved closer to peek inside the room. The ambience was scarcely illuminated, which didn't come as a surprise, but there was still enough light to make out Theobald's prominent figure standing with his back to the door. He was holding a red-hot poker in one hand, while the other was busy grasping something else in front of him. Not something, Aeron realized when the other man shifted on his feet; rather someone.
It was Davos, chained to the wall in a similar fashion as when he had been flayed, only this time he was facing in the opposite direction, with his back against the rough surface of the wall. Theobald was holding Davos' face in a tight grip, his fingers digging into the bruised cheeks.
"I didn't hear you well. I'm sure you can do better than that," he was saying. With a deliberately slow motion, he pressed the tip of the scorching poker against Davos' side. The young Blackwood couldn't even grit his teeth to keep the scream from escaping his lips, as Theobald's hand was forcing his mouth open with his iron grip, digging into his cheeks.
Aeron's stomach dropped.
"That's better," commented the huge man, his grin concealed to Aeron but blatantly seeping through his tone. He let go of Davos' head, which lolled down for a moment, his face hidden at that angle by a crown of sweat-damp dark hair.
"Already tired? It's barely the breaking of the day, you know. We've still got lots of time to play."
Davos tilted his head up a couple of inches, his gaze just as fiery as the poker in the other man's hand. "When I get out of here," he ground out, "I'll fucking chop your head off."
Theobald laughed. "Lord Amos is never letting you out of here. You're my personal gift, he said, to treat as I better see fit."
"Did he tell you that while you had his cock in your mouth?"
Theobald punched him, making his head snap to the side. When Davos faced forward again, his grin was crimson with blood. "Right, I forgot. You only fuck children. It's only fair, actually, since you clearly strike like one."
"You little bastard—!"
Theobald lifted up the hand with the poker, but a loud voice coming from behind made him halt with his arm raised mid-air.
"Stop!"
Aeron had pushed the door open and was standing there with his fists clenched.
"Step back," he ordered, his hardened gaze glued on the taller man.
"Ser Aeron?"
"Given you know who I am, you’d better not ignore my order."
Theobald glanced one more time at Davos, then stepped back, lowering his arm.
"Now leave. You're relieved of your duties for the time being."
"But Lord Amos—"
"I said, leave."
The abrupt command clearly did not sit well with Theobald, but the man eventually did as he was told and strode outside, throwing the poker unceremoniously to the floor; the clattering sound reverberated in the dark room, just as loud as the man’s disappointment.
Aeron's attention drifted on the young man chained to the wall in front of him. Davos' eyes were studying him intently, his lips slightly parted as he breathed in and out the sweltering air of the room. His face had already been wiped clean of the shocked expression he had worn when Aeron had first made his apparition, the only remaining sign of his surprise being the prolonged silence on his part.
"I'll send the guards to escort you back to your cell. And a maester to check your burns." Aeron's voice had lost much of the confidence he had displayed in front of the colossal gaoler. He made to leave as well, but Davos' voice stopped him short in his tracks when he was already at the doorstep.
"I wouldn't have done this." He spoke quickly, the words rushing from his mouth in rapid succession, "had I been in your place," he continued more firmly, "I wouldn't have done the same for you."
"I know."
It obviously wasn't what Davos had been expecting to hear, his eyes widening just a fraction as they stared at each other.
With nothing more left to say, Aeron went to fetch the guards and maesters, leaving Davos alone with his thoughts.
***
"It's out of the question. No."
Lord Amos was watching his nephew from the opposite side of the room where he had been discussing war strategies with his counsellors up until a few minutes before. It was only Aeron and him now, a huge table with maps and pieces scattered all over it between them.
“My Lord, I believe it would be beneficial to our cause,” insisted Aeron, “if we send him to Riverrun as proof of House Blackwood’s infraction, Lord Tully won’t be able to ignore the matter any longer and he’ll surely be better disposed to declare for King Aegon’s side.”
“Lord Grover Tully is a fat, old derelict. He won’t take action unless he’s met with an army at his doorstep,” objected Lord Amos. “We sent dozens of ravens in the past, asking him to settle this secular dispute with the Blackwoods, and he never lifted a single finger.”
“That’s why I’m suggesting sending the prisoner there. Lord Tully needs to be faced with a concrete proof of the Blackwoods’ misdemeanour, one he cannot set aside, for once. The Assize clearly stated that matters regarding border regulation need to be superintended by the Lord Paramount of the Trident, did it not?”
“Yes,” his uncle reluctantly concurred, “that is how things are supposed to be settled. But with that old boar in charge and his wet behind the ears grandson by his side, I seriously doubt anything useful will come of it. It never did.”
Areon stepped forward. “Send me, uncle,” formalities forgotten in the excitement of the moment.
“You?” repeated the other man, arching an eyebrow.
“Yes. I shall escort the prisoner to Riverrun and advocate for our cause. I believe one of Lord Bracken’s nephews will be certainly more convincing than a raven.”
Lord Amos hummed, contemplating Aeron’s initiative. “What about the prisoner, then?” he inquired after a while.
“Let the Lord Paramount be the judge of his fate. Once Lord Tully settles the matter, he will be no longer our concern.”
Lord Amos did not speak, his fingers tapping against the smooth surface of the table.
“We have nothing to lose, as it is,” added Aeron quietly. “We could at least make use of him to our own advantage.” Contrary to what they were currently doing, thought Aeron, without though voicing such consideration.
After a considerable stretch of silence, Lord Amos nodded, slowly. “Alright,” he agreed, “but I won’t send you alone with that bastard. Theobald will accompany you.”
The satisfaction Aeron had felt upon hearing his uncle accepting his proposition died down in the moment Theobald’s name was mentioned. It was not what he had intended.
“Is that truly necessary? I’m perfectly capable of—”
“Nonsense. With Helmond gone to the front, I won’t risk your life as well by sending you alone across the Riverlands with a devious Blackwood. Not to mention I’ve recently received news that Prince Daemon is currently stationed in Harrenhal. Ser Simon Strong must have welcomed him with open arms, him and his dragon. That old bastard. The Riverlands are far from secure right now.” If his intention was to reassure Aeron, he certainly chose the wrong phrasing to do that.
“Isn’t Ser Albrand back to Stone Hedge? He could escort us, instead of—”
“Ser Albrand has proven himself to be a turncloak snake. And you know if there is one thing I cannot tolerate, it’s traitors. When a wound is festering, the limb must be cut off, lest it corrupts the whole body. No matter how close to the heart, the rotten must always be excised.” He stepped closer to his nephew. “Theobald is a strong, capable man, Aeron. I know he’s no knight, but I trust him and he’ll make sure nothing bad happens to you, don’t worry.”
His uncle’s words rang with a finality to which Aeron could not even hope to oppose. “As you wish, my Lord.” He thus bowed his head and took his leave.
***
Davos was brought to the courtyard a little after noon. He had been returned his clothes to further make a blatant spectacle of House Blackwood's fault, its colours immediately standing out and easily recognizable. The clothes served also the secondary purpose of concealing the young man's injuries, so that he would gather no sympathy among Lord Tully's people. His hands were bound behind his back with a thick rope, while his ankles were free of restraints, for a change.
Aeron had already saddled and mounted his horse, waiting for Davos to do the same. A servant stepped forward to assist him, given the latter's restricted condition, but Davos pierced him with a menacing glare and the poor man instantly froze on the spot, suddenly oblivious or not enough reassured by the fact Davos was still partially restrained. With a swift motion, Davos hooked his left foot in the stirrup and swung up on the back of the horse, leaning slightly forward to maintain his balance. The excess of rope binding his wrists was then secured to the saddle horn, while the long bridles -of no use to him- were fastened to the strings at the back of Aeron's saddle. Theobald, who would be closing the line behind them, had yet to arrive.
"How's your burn?" inquired Aeron while they waited.
Davos cast him a side-eye look, his tightly sealed lips forming a thin line across his face.
Aeron rolled his eyes and spurred his barb forward, so that he was now standing at one arm's distance from Davos.
"You'll be escorted to Riverrun to be judged for your transgression."
"So I've been told." Davos' tone was dry and devoid of any emotion.
"Don't try anything funny during the journey. It wouldn't be in your interest."
"How lucky I am to have my own enemy constantly reminding me what would or would not be beneficial to me," replied Davos sarcastically. "I suppose you're to blame for this idiotic idea."
"In Riverrun you'll be granted a fair treatment," retorted Aeron, "which is no doubt more than you actually deserve," he added lowering his voice.
"Oh." Davos tilted his head to the side, his interest piqued, but not in a reassuring way. "So, it was indeed pity."
At that, Aeron turned to face him. "I'm acting in the interest of my people." He suddenly felt as if he had to justify his own actions, or rather his intentions. He didn't want the other to get the wrong idea, which was unusual per se, given he had never cared about what Davos thought of him in the first place.
As the other spoke, Davos' gaze dropped to Aeron's side, where the ochre cloak had shifted enough to show the hilt of a familiar dagger hanging from his belt. Davos narrowed his eyes and Aeron looked away, realizing what the other had seen. They didn't speak for a while, though Davos' eyes kept trailing up and down Aeron's profile. The young knight felt incredibly exposed, to the point it came almost as a physical relief when Davos finally averted his gaze and asked, "What are we waiting for?"
Aeron sighed. "There's one more person coming with us."
As if conjured by Aeron's words, Theobald appeared on the steps of the courtyard. He was wearing the Bracken livery like Aeron, lacking though the equipment distinctive of a knight, his clothing limited to a simple riding leather. Flinging his hand to the side, Theobald grabbed the reins a nearby servant was offering him and mounted on his horse, a huge black Friesian.
"This is going to be interesting," muttered Davos with an ill-concealed smirk.
"I told you. Don't attempt anything stupid."
Davos scoffed and watched as Theobald caught up with them, his horse stopping just a few paces away from Davos'. Theobald nodded in greeting towards Aeron, who gave instructions regarding the journey. The young Bracken then pressed his heels to the flanks of his horse, heading towards the exit, soon followed by Davos and Theobald a little further behind.
The trip from Stone Hedge to Riverrun was about half a day's ride, accounting also for a short pause to grant the horses a bit of respite. The first part of the journey went incredibly smoothly, to Aeron's delight. But his peace of mind came to an abrupt end when Davos' horse sprained its leg shortly after they passed the Kneeling Man's Inn. Davos barely managed to avoid going on a flying expedition over the head of his mount due to the sudden stop, his thighs instinctively squeezing at the poor beast's flanks.
"Gods be good..." muttered Aeron, sliding off his own mount to inspect the horse's leg. The injured animal neighed, limping a couple of steps back when Aeron touched its limb.
“Careful where you touch,” spat Davos, who was still propped on the upset horse.
"Is it broken?" asked Theobald.
"No. Probably just a sprained ligament. But it won't be able to sustain the weight of a rider," responded Aeron, standing up again. "I don't think she'll be able to gallop, even without the additional weight on her back." Aeron looked at the position of the sun in the sky, his mind making a quick estimate of the hours left before sunset. They could still make it to Riverrun before nighttime, but they'd have to slow down their pace and take a longer break to let the horses rest, if they continued riding with double the weight on one of them and the other limping.
After comparing his own proportions and Theobald’s, Aeron unbound the end of the rope securing Davos to the saddle horn. "Get off. You're riding with me."
Davos hesitated a moment, then he swung his leg over the back of the horse and slid down from its side. He walked past Aeron, asking without looking at him, "Front or pillion?"
"There's no way I'm letting you out of my sight."
"Figured."
Aeron let Davos mount first. He secured the rope again to his own saddle and took his position right behind him, his arms circling the other to reach for the reins. He was overly conscious of Davos' still bound hands trapped between their bodies. After a quick nod in Theobald's direction, Aeron spurred Ravenna forward and they resumed their journey.
They proceeded in silence, until Davos decided to break such blissful state. "I suppose I won't be sent back to Raventree Hall after we're done with this farce," he said turning his head a fraction to the side.
Aeron leaned back a couple of inches, only then realizing how close their faces were. "This is no farce," he replied sternly. "It's about time your family answers for the crimes they have committed."
"Whereas House Bracken has never been at fault, of course." Davos' tone was overflowing with sarcasm. "You're even more gullible than I thought, if you truly believe that." He shook his head minutely with a scornful expression.
"I don't need to believe it. I know it," stated Aeron with conviction, unable to see Davos’ face, but easily imagining his expression. "The Blackwoods are constantly stealing our cattle and starting fights with our tenants, often killing them in hope to annex more lands. We are barely defending ourselves."
"It's no theft, if you send your cows grazing in our fields,” said Davos, conveniently overlooking the second part of Aeron’s statement. “We are perfectly entitled to their milk and meat since they derive from the grass they fill their stomach with when in Blackwood land.”
"It's Bracken land, I told you."
"Who's unjustly annexing land now, uh? You think just because you move the boundary stones, it will automatically make it yours, is that it?"
Aeron huffed and looked away to the side. "You're insufferable."
“You can deny it all you want,” continued Davos, “but it won’t change the fact that your family is a bunch of craven usurpers. Just like your king.”
“And yours is a den of heathens eager to support the false claim of a babe-killer kingslayer just to secure a profit.”
“At least we are not some turncloak dogs.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
A malicious smirk spread across Davos’ lips. “Your uncle Jerrel was among Queen Rhaenyra’s suitors during King Viserys’s reign. Tell me, did the Brackens’ fealty towards her resile because too scorned by her unsurprising rejection, or was your pledge of allegiance false from the very beginning?”
“That was a long time ago. Also, there’s no point in discussing the matter with a Blackwood. You wouldn’t understand, nor listen to reason.”
“And you think Lord Tully will?”
Aeron pursed his lips and remained silent.
“That old oaf will never risk a direct clash with either side,” insisted Davos. “He won’t declare for anyone unless held at knifepoint.”
It irked Aeron to hear how similar Davos’ words were to his uncle’s. He tightened his grip on the reins.
“You’re a fool to believe you’ll be able to convince him just by parading me at Riverrun.”
“Not necessarily him.”
“Who then? His babe-grandson, Oscar Tully?”
Aeron’s silence served again as answer enough.
“That child holds no more power nor influence than a decrepit whore.”
“I’m sure he’ll be very pleased to hear that. And even more inclined to set you free.”
Davos waited a moment before answering, the anger from before somehow partially deflating. "We both know that's never going to happen anyway. I won't bend the knee to those rotten curs. Might as well die with the truth on my lips and a dagger in my hand."
Aeron glanced at the weapon hanging from his belt. It was a beautiful dagger indeed, in its simple and functional shape, two qualities Aeron appreciated above anything else. Although he didn't despise the more bedight designs of his family weapons, there was something in the minimalism of this specific one that captivated his eye. Or perhaps it was just the fact it was Davos'.
Aeron turned his focus again on the road. "You shouldn't waste like that the second chance you've been granted," he spoke calmly, with a tinge of disapproval in his voice, but overall devoid of any bite.
"Why?"
"Because it would be utterly stupid."
"No, I meant—” Davos stopped himself, then lowered his head just a fraction, his shoulders visibly tensing. “Why are you doing this?" he finally asked, matching Aeron's tone and volume. "You said in Riverrun I would be granted a fair treatment. Why did you suggest sending me there? I don't believe it was a mere plot to gain Lord Tully's favour."
Aeron sighed. "I'm a knight." He said it as if it were an exhaustive enough explanation to dispel Davos' doubts.
"So what?"
"I took an oath," stated Aeron sitting up straighter on his barb, "and I have no intention of breaking it anytime soon. You wouldn't understand because your people don't follow the Faith of the Seven, thus you know nothing of honour and chivalry." It might sound as an insult, but for once it was not meant as such; purely a factual observation.
“We are no barbarians,” protested Davos. “Only because we believe in different gods it doesn’t mean we don’t have moral values of our own."
“Yet you said it yourself. You wouldn't have done this, had you been in my place."
Aeron's answer had the unexpected consequence of rendering Davos completely speechless. The young Blackwood kept his eyes on the road ahead, a thin crease forming between his eyebrows.
After that, none of them spoke until it was time to stop and let their mounts rest for a bit. Aeron sat on a rock opposite Davos, while Theobald watered the horses at the nearby river.
It was dusk and they still had several miles to go. Their hearing with Lord Tully would probably have to wait until the following morning. After Theobald came back with the horses and secured them to a sapling, Aeron fetched a water flask and some food from his saddlebag. He doubted they'd be offered dinner, arriving so late at night. He ate part of his loaf of bread, accompanying it with a piece of cheese and dry meat. He then set his gaze on Davos. "Thirsty?" he asked.
"I could drink."
Aeron stood up and walked over to the other man. Under Theobald's disapproving glare, he put the leather flask to Davos' lips, and tilted it upwards. A few drops escaped from the corners of his mouth and trailed down his chin and neck. When Davos was done drinking, Aeron put the flask away and took again his position on the rock. After a while, Davos expressed the need to pass water. Since Aeron was not really looking forward to assisting Davos with that particular procedure, he bound one of his ankles to the sapling and temporarily freed his hands. Once he was done, Davos did not struggle when Aeron tied his hands together again, Theobald’s sword at his throat being a sufficient incentive not to move. Both Aeron and Theobald took turns guarding the prisoner to relieve themselves as well, then the trio resumed their journey.
It was already the hour of the ghost when they finally arrived at Riverrun. The castle was enlivened by the lingering activity of servants attending to nighttime chores. Davos was brought to the prisons, while Aeron and Theobald were shown their respective chambers, the former’s being a spacious room reserved to high rank guests, while the latter’s was a smaller one in the servants wing.
Despite being tired from the ride, Aeron spent almost the entire remaining part of the night preparing his speech for the following day. When the nightingale hour passed and morning came, it could not have been soon enough. He readied himself and headed downstairs to the main hall, where the nobles of the castle were supposedly reunited.
Theobald was nowhere to be seen; Aeron imagined that having attended to his escort duty, the gaoler had plausibly gone soothing his material needs somewhere around the castle. Aeron did not perceive his absence as a regretful loss. He entered the main hall with resolute steps, one hand on the pommel of his sword.
Davos had already been brought in by two guards. His hands had been bound in front of him this time, and he was now standing a little to the side opposite the Lord’s throne, which was… empty.
Aeron faltered. He looked at the highest-ranking members of House Tully sitting next to the empty chair. He didn’t recognize any of them; most likely distant or acquired relatives of Lord Tully.
“Where is Lord Grover Tully?” he asked trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. “I was promised an audience with him. I am aware we arrived later than expected, and for that you have my apologies, but I was guaranteed I could still state my business here today.”
One of the presumed members of House Tully stood up. He was a middle-aged man with auburn hair and blue eyes. “Ser Aeron Bracken, am I correct?”
“Yes, Ser…?”
“Grimald,” introduced himself the other man. “As you can see, Lord Grover won’t be able to attend today. He’s condition has suddenly deteriorated. He requires rest above anything else at the moment.” The men behind him nodded in approval.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” After a short pause, “What about his grandson, Ser Oscar?”
Ser Grimald cast a look towards his companions. Aeron could have sworn the other man hid a tiny smirk under the voluminous moustache and beard. “Ahem, Ser Oscar departed the morrow before last for Harrenhal.”
Aeron felt a shiver run down his spine, remembering what his uncle had told him the previous day.
Prince Daemon is currently stationed in Harrenhal.
This could mean only one thing.
“Is House Tully considering an alliance with Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen?”
The men gathered in the hall exchanged pointed looks among themselves. Someone cleared their throat.
“We are certainly pondering our options,” replied Ser Grimald. “But let’s circle back to your present affair. You came here bringing a prisoner with you, a member of House Blackwood, nonetheless. You can state your business now and we’ll make sure to convey your message to Ser Oscar as soon as he returns.”
Aeron looked around, uneasy. His eyes briefly rested on Davos, whose mouth was quirked up in a lopsided smirk. The young Bracken set his jaw and centred his attention back on his interlocutor. “I’m afraid it’s a matter of considerable sensitivity, regarding the feudal dispute between House Bracken and Blackwood.”
“What’s new…”
Aeron ignored the muttered comment of someone of the presents. “I’d rather speak with the Lord Paramount myself. And if that is not possible, then I’ll patiently wait for Ser Oscar’s return.” He needed to give it a chance; Ser Oscar was a green youngster, more easily persuaded than his stubborn grandsire. And Aeron couldn’t go back to Stone Hedge empty handed, not after reassuring his uncle of the success of his mission.
“There is certainly no need for that,” insisted the other man. “We can easily solve the matter right now, if it’s about a simple border squabble—”
“I’m afraid it’s more than just that,” Aeron interrupted him, stepping forward. “House Blackwood has intentionally trespassed our borders on several occasions during the past few years, stealing our land and cattle and killing our people. The man I present to you today is just one of the many who tarnished themselves with such crimes. The Lord Paramount of the Trident must assess—”
“We will send an admonishment to Lord Samwell Blackwood and have him better supervise his men,” Ser Grimald liquidated the matter with a wave of his hand, already turning away.
“Ser,” insisted Aeron, “with all due respect, that is not enough.”
Ser Grimald turned around, his friendly disposition decreasing by the second as he glared at Aeron, who continued, “We need more men to safeguard our borders. And House Blackwood must pay the price for the offence caused—”
“Young man,” cut him off the other, “you do realize the Kingdom is preparing for a war, don’t you? We have no time to waste on a feudal skirmish as it is.”
“That is exactly my point, Ser. I’m here to ask you to…” he tested the word in his head, “reconsider,” he said, adjusting his speech to the most recent news, “your stand on the matter of aiding Princess Rhaenyra. Believe me when I say I’m perfectly aware of the gravity of the situation. We cannot allow a kingslayer to sit on the Iron Throne. Especially since that,” he pointed at Davos, “is the kind of people who serve her.”
Ser Grimald chuckled lightly. “Our stand is no stand at all, for the time being. But fret not, we will make all the necessary considerations before claiming for either side.”
“Ser Grimald,” Aeron took another step forward, alerting the guards standing at the end of the hall, "You must let me speak to Ser Oscar, please—"
"No," Ser Grimald held up one hand, "I believe we have offered you enough room to vent. You should be thankful you've been let in at all, considering the state this wretched kingdom has fallen into."
"But—"
"Now leave. You have my word a monitus will be sent to Lord Blackwood, but that's the end of it. We can't afford to do anything more than that for now."
"What about me?"
It was Davos who had spoken. Ser Grimald spun around to face him, regarding him like one would do with an annoying fly landed on their plate.
"We have no use for an additional mouth to feed in our prison," he spoke curtly, the sentence conveyed through his eyes, "You'll be executed at the first light of morrow."
Davos showed no reaction at those words, except for an involuntary change in colour, turning visibly paler. Apart from that, though, his face remained unreadable.
On the contrary, Aeron's guts tied into a knot as his face let transpire all his uneasiness. Ser Grimald didn't however notice, as he had already moved back to take his seat among the other noblemen.
"Ser!" Aeron's voice resonated in the vaulted hall, louder than intended. Even if he had known this could be a potential outcome, however unlikely in his prediction, it didn't feel right to let things unfold in such way now, even after everything. He realized everyone was staring at him, expectantly. "I..." He really didn't know how to formulate his request. "I would like to take the prisoner back with me, to Stone Hedge. Ser."
The other man huffed, the aborted incredulous laughter dancing on his lips. "You brought him all the way here to be judged by the Lord Paramount of the Trident, had us listen to your request, and now that a sentence has been passed, you want him back?"
"Since Lord Tully won't be sending a contingent to fend the Blackwoods' incursions, I think we are owed to administer justice in the way we retain most appropriate. At least with that one, if nothing else." He nodded towards Davos, whose blank expression had been replaced by an utterly shocked one. It was almost exhilarating that a death sentence could do nothing to alter his countenance, while such simple request on Aeron's part had him stare at the latter with such a wild expression and huge eyes.
Ser Grimald evaluated the proposition for a minute, then shrugged. "Very well. You can take him away," he agreed, "You are all dismissed."
With that, the provisional assembly disbanded.
Aeron exited the hall. Davos was escorted by his side not even a minute later. Aeron refused to look at him, the burden of failure weighting on his heart. How could he return to his uncle now, having concluded nothing from his diplomatic mission? Not to mention what would happen to Davos once they got back. What was he thinking? Why had he insisted for the young Blackwood to be spared and returned to him? Maybe the sleepless night had compromised his mental faculties.
Aeron shook his head. He recognized the servant who had welcomed them the night before as he passed them by, so he called, "You. Go fetch Theobald, the man I arrived with last night. Tell him to get ready to leave. We're departing for Stone Hedge as soon as the horses are ready.”
The servant bowed and left.
“Let’s head to the stables,” said Aeron in a sombre voice.
When they arrived there, Davos finally managed to shake off the stupor that had overcome him. “Have you completely lost your mind?” he whispered while standing by their horses, his voice presenting an angered inflection that was barely contained, his eyes drifting for a moment towards the two men standing guard at the entrance of the stables. He was evidently doing his best not to attract any attention.
“I just saved your life,” pointed out Aeron, “you should be thankful.”
“Thankful to be thrown again in a damp hole and left there to rot until that pederast eventually grows tired of torturing me? Is this your idea of fairness?”
“I…” Aeron didn’t know how to respond to that, because he hadn’t honestly thought about Davos’ fate once back in Stone Hedge, only worried about his most imminent future. His decision had been impulsive, one he himself had a hard time reconciling with his own character. “I won’t let that happen.” He was aware of the emptiness of his promise, but there wasn’t much he could do about it.
Davos punctually laughed, the sound low and bitter. “Fuck you, Bracken. I don’t trust a single word coming out of that vicious mouth.”
"Why? Have I ever given you reason to doubt it until now?"
"Empty promises. That's all you can offer."
Aeron looked away, because, sadly, he knew how slim the chances were that his uncle granted Davos a fair treatment. Now that Aeron could calmly consider the matter, dying at Riverrun may have not been such a fall back compared to what probably waited for Davos at Stone Hedge. Death was the only easy way out for Davos at this point and for some strange reason, even that did not sit well with Aeron.
"Let me go."
Aeron almost dislodged his neck by the speed at which he turned his head towards the Blackwood.
"You either kill me or let me go," continued Davos in a whisper. "But you obviously won't do the first, so let me go."
Aeron barely held back a hysterical laugh. "And become a traitor to my family?" He shook his head. "Have you any idea of what would happen to me then? You must be out of your mind to even suggest that." With that he turned to his horse with the excuse of checking the saddle, putting a full stop to the conversation.
After a few seconds of obstinate silence, Davos scoffed. "That giant cunt may be the one holding the poker, but you're responsible just the same." He pushed the young knight, sending him a few staggering paces back, caution thrown out of the window.
Aeron clenched his jaw, closing the distance between them and fisting the front of Davos’ clothes. Their faces were less than an inch apart, their foreheads almost pressed together.
“Get on the fucking horse,” said Aeron through gritted teeth.
Davos’ scarred lip twitched as he tried to contain his fury; his eyes were staring into Aeron’s green ones so fiercely that it was a surprise they hadn’t yet burrowed a hole through them. With a scornful hiss, he jerked back, and Aeron let him go. They glared at each other for a few more seconds, then Davos grabbed the horn of the saddle and mounted on Aeron’s horse, his own horse still incapacitated.
Aeron inhaled and exhaled once, deeply, to even out his breathing. He forced himself to unclench his fists resting at his sides, relaxing his shoulders.
Going to Riverrun had been a mistake.
He brushed a few strands of hair away from his face and swung up his horse behind Davos.
He needed to think about what to say to his uncle. Especially regarding their prisoner…
Aeron dug his heels in the flanks of his mount and left the stables.
***
On their way back home, the trio encountered Aeron’s uncle, Ser Raylon Rivers, returning from a night’s worth of dissolute activities in a brothel not far from Riverrun castle, possibly the same Helmond sometimes visited. He was late Lord Humfrey’s bastard son and Lord Amos’s half-brother. Although he was not officially recognized as a member of the Bracken family, his stealth and proficiency with the blade had quickly made him Lord Humfrey’s best swordsman and one of his most trusted subordinates when he was still just sixteen. When the late Lord had died, his legitimate son, Amos, had kept Raylon close, recognizing his great value as soldier and occasionally also as spy. He had the mind of a fox and the stealth of a panther. His only weakness resided in his carnal desires, which often had him steer from the foreordained path to pursue his own pleasure.
Despite that, Raylon remained an incredibly valuable asset to House Bracken and an inspiring fighter for young men such as Aeron, who had himself often turned a blind eye to his uncle’s questionable conduct. Regardless of the considerable age gap, since Ser Raylon was nearly double Aeron’s age, the young Bracken had come to view him as an older brother, with whom it was much easier to interact than his other uncle, or even his cousin Helmond, at times, despite the latter being much closer to him in age.
They were now proceeding side by side on the River Road, Theobald a few yards behind them with the injured horse by his side.
“I’m sorry to hear your attempt at convincing Lord Tully was unsuccessful,” said Ser Raylon looking at the grey clouds above them, threatening rain. "If it's any consolation at all, I wouldn’t have succeeded either. Not without at least a sword pointed at Lord Tully's fat belly."
Hearing that, Davos huffed, still sat in front of Aeron. The young Bracken was glad he had gagged him for the journey home. Aeron was seriously getting tired of hearing the same thing over and over again.
"That old bastard... " went on Ser Raylon, "He'll be dead soon enough. Don't worry."
Aeron appreciated the effort his uncle was putting into cheering him up, or at least attempting to. "What shall become of us if the Tullys join Princess Rhaenyra's forces?" he asked him, "She already has the Blackwoods supporting her claim. And it appears the North will soon send her a contingent of men as well..."
"In that case, I guess we'll have to sharpen our blades and put in double the effort." Ser Raylon shrugged. He didn't seem overly preoccupied by the matter. "Anyway." He looked again at the thundering sky. "It's going to rain soon. I know a place nearby where we could take shelter and let the horses rest for a while."
Aeron cast him a pointed look.
"Oh, stand down. It's not that kind of place," reassured him Ser Raylon with a smirk. "It's just a mile south of the main road. What d'you say?"
A strong wind had begun blowing from the north, the chill air stinging Aeron's flushed cheeks. "Alright."
They left the main road and headed south, following Ser Raylon’s lead. The place in question turned out to be a small farmstead, with a barn right next to it. Aeron and his uncle left Theobald to keep an eye on Davos in the barn with the horses, while they instead entered the main building to greet the owner, who introduced himself as an old acquaintance of Raylon’s.
"It's been quite some time, Ser Raylon. Come, come. I'll prepare you something to eat right away." The man was already heading to the adjacent room, but the older knight stopped him and took a seat at the table, "There's no need, Oratio. We're just passing by. But I do feel a little bit parched." He winked at Aeron, who rolled his eyes and looked away.
"Of course!" The old man disappeared around the corner.
"So,” Ser Raylon casually leaned back against the chair, "tell me more about your unusual fellow traveller." He nodded in the direction of the barn.
Aeron’s shoulders sagged a little as he rested his elbows on the table. "Davos Blackwood."
"I heard some time ago that one of the Blackwoods had been captured, but I didn't imagine it was him. Isn’t he the son of one of Lord Samwell’s cousins? I’m surprised he got himself captured. How did that happen, exactly?"
"Helmond and I found him at the limit of the forest behind the northern mill. He was alone, intoxicated with wine."
“Strange.”
“Indeed. To be honest, I’m not completely sure it was intentional. But he had already trespassed the border, and after what had happened that day, his act could not go unpunished.”
“Of course,” concurred Ser Raylon. “Still, I wonder what might have occurred to have him make such a careless mistake…”
Aeron shrugged.
Right then, Oratio returned with two large cups filled with the forementioned liquor. "It doesn't compare to that served at the castle, but it does its job just fine."
"Thank you."
Oratio left them alone to go put his tools away before it started raining. Ser Raylon picked up one of the cups and downed its content in a few gulps. He eyed Aeron's untouched one. "Aren't you going to drink that?"
Aeron looked skeptically at the wine, then simply shook his head.
"Oh, well." His uncle grabbed the cup and started drinking that, too, this time taking a moment to savour the rustic wine. "We were saying? Oh, right. Davos Blackwood…" He made circular movements with his cup, stirring the liquid within. "You two have always been at each other's throat since as long as I can remember. It must have felt good finally getting the upper hand."
“It did,” confirmed Aeron, “for a while.”
Ser Raylon tilted his head to the side. “Then?”
Aeron sighed. “He has been constantly tortured while kept prisoner at the fort.” He lowered his gaze, absentmindedly passing a thumb over his callous palm, his gloves lying discarded on the stained surface of the table. “I…I also took part in it. Initially.”
Ser Raylon didn’t speak and waited for the other to continue.
“Uncle Amos had me flog him. Then he let Theobald do whatever he wanted with him.” He exhaled loudly. “I’m not impressible and I know perfectly well that he’s the enemy, but I just— I can’t stomach the idea of letting anyone be treated that unjustly. Not even him. Death is one thing. Torture…”
Ser Raylon chuckled lightly and took another sip from his drink. “That knighthood doctrine has certainly rooted deeply inside your brain.” He said it fondly. “But now that I think about it, you’ve always been like that, even as a child. Please, don’t ever change.”
“Are you calling me green?”
“I don’t mean it in a bad way,” specified his uncle. “And I wouldn’t say green, rather upright.” He put down his cup at the centre of the table. “Sometimes a little bending is what you need to keep going.”
Aeron pondered Raylon’s words in his head. Slowly, he outstretched his hand and picked up the cup from the table, taking a small sip from it.
His uncle smiled, then his expression turned more serious. “What are you going tell Lord Amos once we get back?”
Aeron put down the drink and swiped his tongue over his lips. The liquor was foul in a way that made you somehow crave more. “I don’t know. But I’ll have to find a way to break the bad news to him before we get there. About Ser Oscar, I mean.”
Raylon hummed. “And what about your prisoner?”
Another sigh. "I'll do what I can to prevent what happened from repeating."
"Are you going to intercede for a quick death?"
Why was it that torture or death seemed the only possible solutions, wondered Aeron defeatedly.
"You don't look very convinced," noted his uncle.
“I—”
Before Aeron could continue, a loud bang echoed in the room, coming from the barn. Aeron and his uncle immediately jumped to their feet and hurried outside. While entering the barn, Aeron distinctly heard Theobald’s voice coming from inside, his tone furious.
“…I’ll show you a child-fucker, your little shit!”
Aeron’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the dim-lit ambience. When they did, he spotted several overturned crates on the ground, one of them broken; Theobald was kneeling on the scattered straw, straddling Davos, who was lying on his stomach, almost crushed by the other’s massive weight, his face turned in the opposite direction from the door; his bound hands were trapped at a disadvantageous angle between his body and the floor, offering him no leverage to push the other away. The gag had slipped off from his mouth, so that Davos was able to shout back at the other.
“I’m no fucking child, you cunt!”
“You’ll do anyway,” said Theobald with a sickening grin.
“Just you dare, and I’ll fucking cut your dick off!”
“Didn’t know Blackwoods came with blades up their asses.” Theobald’s angered laugh was even more sickening than his grin.
With acute horror, Aeron realized what Theobald was about to do, and instantly stepped in, unsheathing his sword.
“Stop! Get away from him!”
Both Davos and Theobald snapped their heads to the side; Davos’ lip was bloody, while Theobald sported a red bruise on his cheek. Although he had stopped in his movement, the huge man was currently glaring at Aeron with an extremely dissatisfied expression, his fury from before still intact.
“I’m teaching this brat a lesson,” he spat with venom.
“I said, get away from him,” repeated Aeron raising his sword.
Theobald bared his rotten teeth and thrust himself off Davos, who quickly stood up and stepped further back, increasing the distance between them. Contrary to what Aeron might have expected, Theobald didn’t pay the Blackwood any attention, his focus instead centred on Aeron alone. “You could've ended this little shit at the mill. Instead, you’re always taking his side. At the fort and now here, too.” He drew his own sword from its sheath and pointed it at Aeron. “You’re a bloody traitor. I knew you couldn’t be trusted.”
“You must really have a death wish, you dimwit,” said Raylon unsheathing his weapon as well and standing by Aeron’s side. “You’d better take back what you’ve just said and put that sword away, if you intend to keep your arm. Right this instant.” Despite the firmness of his tone, Raylon’s grip on his sword was not equally steady, his body still accusing the hangover from the previous night’s revelry and the effects of the most recent drinking. Both Aeron and Theobald noticed it.
“No. You both are two of a kind. Bending for the enemy.” Without wasting a second more, Theobald launched himself forward, going for a downward blow to Aeron’s unprotected side.
The young knight was quick to parry, but he almost lost his balance due to the impressive strength of the blow. Aeron staggered to the side and his uncle counterattacked in his stead. Even though slowed by the alcohol, his moves were accurate and precisely planned. In a matter of minutes, Theobald was disarmed and Raylon run him through his sword, right under his left shoulder. The man crouched down; his knees hit the ground with a thud. He was grasping at his wound with his other hand.
“Your services are no longer required,” dismissed him the older knight, panting a little and picking up Theobald’s sword. “I’ll give you the chance you don’t deserve to get up and leave. And if I ever see your face again, it'll be the last time you have one.”
“You traitorous cunt!” shouted Theobald, still clutching his shoulder.
Raylon chuckled, but the sound was soon drowned out by a louder clangour coming from the fields outside.
Aeron hurried to the door to check the source of the noise.
“It’s a Blackwood raid!” he blurted out. “At least thirty men!”
“Fuck me…” Raylon bolted towards the horses. "Quick, Aeron! We need to leave! We don't stand a chance against that many."
"What about him?" the young Bracken nodded towards Davos, who was regarding the scene with a subtle grin on his lips.
"Just leave him. We can't afford to bring him along. Let's go!"
In the heat of the moment, Raylon accidentally dropped Theobald's sword.
"Shit!"
He wasted no time picking it up and swiftly mounted on his horse while Aeron did the same. They rushed outside the barn; the men were coming from the River Road, so Aeron and his uncle spurred their horses east, directly towards Stone Hedge, with the intent of cutting across the countryside. Several arrows landed on their path, scaring the horses and slowing them down; a few whistled beside them, a bare inch away from their heads. Aeron squinted his eyes against the droplets of rain, trying to guide Ravenna on the safest terrain. After barely fifty yards of galloping, an arrow suddenly hit the horse in the rear and another one pierced through Aeron’s light armour, in the juncture between his arm and torso. Aeron groaned as his grip on the reins loosened and he lost his balance, falling from his mount.
Though partially alleviated by the soft grass, the impact with the ground was still violent enough to knock the wind out of him, the inertia sending him rolling for several feet. The shaft of the arrow snapped. He hit his head against something hard, probably a rock. When the world finally stopped spinning, he brought a hand to his temple. His fingers were stained with blood. Aeron's vision became blurry, its periphery already engulfed by darkness. He vaguely heard Raylon call his name from afar, then everything went dark.
***
Davos was walking across the field disseminated with protruding arrows, his sole companion the large, black horse which had once been Theobald's.
Theobald's corpse lay on the barn floor in a pool of blood, his own blade protruding from his neck. Davos had taken advantage of the temporary commotion to pick up the sword fallen from Ser Raylon's hand and had used it to deliver the fatal blow while the other had made for a desperate escape. Davos had ultimately kept his word; the other man's blood staining his clothes and face counting as striking proof of it.
After cutting the ropes binding his hands, when Davos had ventured outside, he had seen Aeron being struck by the arrow, falling then from his steed and lying completely still on the ground. Ser Raylon had made to turn back as he shouted his nephew's name, but upon seeing the number of men bolting in his direction, he had been forced to retreat and had fled across the fields. A few Blackwood men had followed him, but Davos knew it was a pointless pursuit, when the bastard had a much faster horse and knew the terrain far better than them.
As soon as the Blackwood troop had spotted him, they had immediately greeted him, clapping him cheerfully on his back, which he had tolerated without making a sound and gritting instead his teeth while smiling. After reassuring them he was fine and could ride back to Raventree Hall on his own, the contingent of men had moved on, heading east towards other Bracken fields.
Davos had stayed back, alone.
He was now approaching the body lying unconscious on the ground.
Aeron's face was smeared with mud and blood only partially washed away by the pouring rain. There was a gash on his right temple and a broken arrow sticking out from the back of his left shoulder.
Davos knelt by his side and pushed away the ochre cloak. His dagger was still hanging from Aeron’s belt. With swift hands, he snatched it away and secured it to his own belt. He then stood to leave, but something stopped him. He stared for a good minute at the young man splayed of the wet grass.
A wolf howled not far away. Then another one joined in, even closer.
Making his decision, Davos made the black horse kneel and hoisted the limp body on its back. The horse then straightened up and Davos mounted on it a moment later. Aeron’s horse had remained close, her huge brown eyes set on her master. She timidly approached them, and Davos deduced despite the arrow protruding from her rear, she would follow. Without further delay, he clicked his tongue and started galloping back to Raventree Hall.
***