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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 17, 2008 17:41:21 GMT -5
"Robb, I hold no enmity towards you for taking part. I hold enmity towards the factors that lead to the war. So many people killed, for what? The disobedience of one woman? Thousands and thousands and thousands of men. Your brother. My wife. Gaining what exactly? Dorne was never going to give us trouble of any magnitude, certainly not to the extent which we wrought upon ourselves by dragging ourselves through her bloody deserts. A generation has been decimated. Can you honestly look me in the eye Lord Tarly and tell me it was really worth it?"
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Post by mark on Apr 17, 2008 17:44:17 GMT -5
Robb did look him in the eye, though he did not say what Oliver told him he could not. Instead, his voice weary, he said, "My friend, what else was there to do? The King cannot just let anyone who wants to secede from his lands get away with it. There would be kings and queens and royal bloody bastards popping up left and right."
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 18, 2008 10:41:07 GMT -5
Oliver sighed. "This is true. But some battles are won with ravens and words - an option not even explored here. I concede something needed doing, but quite to the extent of what was done? No Robb, I can never accept that it was the correct course. Never. Marianne lies out on that hill," he says, pointing out through the window, "because of it."
He rubs his forehead roughly with his palm. "Anyway, enough of the whys and wherefores, tell me of my son. Did he suit your needs as a squire? What course of action lead to his knighthood?" his face lightened a little.
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Post by mark on Apr 18, 2008 10:59:52 GMT -5
Robb was glad of the subject change. While he disagreed with Oliver, he could not argue with him. He was right; the war had killed his wife, and nothing could be done to change it. Robb felt depressed, but a little happier at the new question. Answering, he said, "He suited my needs perfectly, milord. He fought bravely with me at Wyl; at Sunspear; Godsgrace; and at Hellholt. At Hellholt, you should have seen him, milord, you would have been so proud." Robb smiled as he remembered being beaten backwards, when suddenly Tomas had stepped up from the side and slain two of the foes, saving his life. "He not only held his own against hardened warriors, experienced men, but he excelled. He saved my life on a few occasions. He is no longer a boy, but a man, Oliver. For better or for worse, your son has grown into a man, I believe."
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 18, 2008 11:27:34 GMT -5
Oliver smiled meekly. "Good, good. I feel like some chunk of my life has gone missing these past few months. Everything has just changed so rapidly." He sat silent for a minute in contemplation. "I guess I'm just going to have to get on with things," he said resignedly. "I'm Lord of Blackcrown now, father to a knight of some prowess," he shook his head in disbelief, smiling awkwardly. "I must tend to my legacy now too - it is past time Tomas was betrothed. He is a handsome enough lad, with bravery by the bucketload if your stories of his heroics are to be believed. A suitable marriage should be easy enough to come by. Any thoughts?" He chuckled, "Haha, I guess I shouldn't be asking you though eh, how old are you now without having had a wife?" he grinned.
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Post by mark on Apr 18, 2008 11:33:07 GMT -5
Robb smiled. "Ironically, I had just written Lord Irwyn about Lord Vaith's daughter, Lysette. Her beauty is rumored to be something great. I suppose I will go there immediately from here if I do not return to Horn Hill, to ask for her hand. Perhaps I should speak for your young knight while I'm at Godsgrace? There should be plenty of young dornish maids, just itching for a reach knight like Tomas."
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 18, 2008 11:38:35 GMT -5
"A Dornish beauty eh Robb? Clearly you've been holding out for something like that. I'd trust your judgement when it comes to Tomas. Indeed, you probably know him as well as I do now, having spent so much time with the lad. Obviously I'd want the final say on any deals struck up, but your help in arranging something for him would be greatly appreciated I can assure you." He winked.
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Post by mark on Apr 18, 2008 11:42:47 GMT -5
Robb laughed. He could tell that talking of his son made Oliver as happy as he used to be; it cheered Robb to be able to lighten Oliver's worries, if only for a few minutes.
"Consider it done, milord. I will bring Tomas back a woman as beautiful as any in Westeros, mark my words." He laughed. "You know I jest, milord. I will write to you of any match possible; you are his father, after all, and have complete control of the decision. I will merely be a messenger."
He leaned back in his chair. "But indeed, I do know Tomas well. When Bret... passed, I knighted Tomas. He deserved it. We made an agreement, milord. Tomas is not just a friend to me... he is my brother."
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 18, 2008 11:53:52 GMT -5
Oliver looked at the man seriously, and seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes, nodded in acceptance.
"Tell me Robb, I'm no expert on the Tarly family tree, but do you have any potential matches for Tomas there? If you consider Tomas a brother, why not take him on as one through family, and bring ours and yours closer together?"
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Post by mark on Apr 18, 2008 12:07:56 GMT -5
Robb sighed in disappointed. "I am sorry, milord, but my family was nearly extinguished in the past wars, and I am the only male left. I have three sisters, but all have been married; two to the Redwyne's, and one to a Cuy. It would please me nothing more to present Tomas with a Tarly wife, but alas, I guess it is not meant to be."
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 19, 2008 9:40:54 GMT -5
"Ah. A shame. In that case, I wish you luck in your Dornish Match-making mission." He grinned.
The two men spoke further of the war and the future in general late into the night.
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Post by mark on Apr 19, 2008 9:43:27 GMT -5
During the late night conversation, which had grown a bit slurred on Robb's side from his consinsent wine drinking for several hours, Robb said, "And what about you, Oliver? Will you remarry?" He suddenly grew very silent afterwards, sobering up. "I'm sorry, I did not mean to speak of that. Please forgive me, friend."
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 19, 2008 9:53:19 GMT -5
Oliver was also slurring his words, even more so than Robb. At his words, tears began to fill his eyes. "You are forgiven Robb," he said quietly. "I suppose... one day I must. But... but, Marianne..." He began to sob. "Oh why? Why her? Why me?" He sniffed. Taking a few deep breaths he calmed himself down. After a few moments, he spoke again, with a little more composure. "I think I just need time. How much time, I really do not know." He attempted a smile but failed miserably.
"If you'll forgive me now Robb, I feel ready to hit the hay. I'll bid you goodnight and see you on the morrow," he said, rising gradually from his chair for the first time in hours. He staggered towards the door.
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Post by mark on Apr 19, 2008 9:56:49 GMT -5
Robb said, "Okay." He slumped in the chair and debated on whether to get up himself or stay seated. The debate ended prematurely, however, when he fell asleep where he sat. "See you tomorrow," he managed to mumble at the fading figure of Oliver, before he began snoring.
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Post by Quenton Baratheon on Apr 22, 2008 17:24:43 GMT -5
//////////////////////////////////////////// January 523
Having received news of a tourney to be held soon at Duskendale, Ser Antony, on indefinate leave from his duty in Dorne, brings the news to his brother Lord Bulwer. After some cajoleing, he convinces the elder sibling into participating. Oliver is a sorry sight to behold, having barely left his quarters at Blackcrown over the several months since his double bereavement. The two men ride with the aim of both participating, along with Oliver's friend and long-time servant of the family, Roger Bush. They are accompanied by six other Blackcrown household men. A day's ride out from Blackcrown, Ser Antony is discussing the potential field of competitors at the tourney.
"It is a shame so many of the Far Reach's finer men will not be displaying their skills at Duskendale," the youngest brother laments, "Such a fine performance from our team at the last Melee, and Lord Irwyn's valiant attempt in the horserace. The tourney will be much the poorer for the absence of many Far Reachers."
"Look at the team that went into that melee though Antony, Ser Gilbert, Ser Torn... both lost to us now," Oliver says glumly.
Antony sighs. "Such is the price of war," he says simply, saying no more to avoid being dragged into another argument on the price of war. Roger, as usual, listens and nods but remains silent.
"I guess with such a reduced number of Far Reachers, it is our duty to put in a valiant performance!" Antony continues. He grins at the other two but receives only stony faces in reply. "Of course, I shall take the jousting crown, you Oliver shall greatly help in the winning of the melee, along with Roger here..." Saying the man's name makes him rein up his horse. "Roger..." he repeats thoughtfully. "In all your years of service to us, how come you have never been made a knight?"
The big man just shrugs. "Oliver? Any ideas? This man has served us loyally for so very long, yet still goes by the simple moniker of one much below him. How has he never been knighted?"
Oliver tilts his head to one side, "He's never asked for a Knighthood brother, so I assumed he didn't want one. Of course that can all change..."
"Of course it can," Antony agreed. "For the honour of the Far Reach, it would suit us better to have Ser Roger representing us. Whaddya say Rog?"
The big man grunted. "Means nothing to me," he rumbled, "But do as you will."
Antony looked to his brother, who shrugged. He rolled his eyes. "Looks like I shall have to take matters into mine own hands then! Dismount Rog, and kneel."
He did as he was told, kneeling down at the side of the road as Antony swung down off his horse and unsheathed his sword. Oliver watched on, somewhat amused by the big man's reluctance. Antony approached the man. He placed his sword on Roger's right shoulder. "Roger Bush, in the name of the Warrior I charge you to be brave..." He went through the motions, shifting shoulders with his sword as he went through each charge, until he reached the end. "Rise, Ser Roger of Blackcrown," he said with a grin. "You can stand your vigil when we reach Duskendale. Welcome to our merry little brotherhood." He patted the man on the back.
Ser Roger snorted and returned to his horse. The men rode on.
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