Post by The Stranger on Apr 12, 2008 19:32:41 GMT -5
The Lady of Purity pulled into the docks south of Blackcrown. Lord Irwyn had consented to Ser Oliver Bulwer taking leave from the Far Reach army to return home in order to spend time with his father, now in the later stages of terminal illness. ‘A grim task ahead of me,’ thought Oliver, ‘But none so grim as that I have left behind.’ The merest thought of the atrocities Oliver himself had been a part of in Dorne made his stomach weak. He considered it a strong contributory factor to the seasickness that had plagued him for most of the voyage. A gangplank was put in place down to the docks. There was no welcoming party here to greet him, for his return was unexpected. ‘Many will see me as a deserter,’ he reflected. Oliver had brought back with him a small crew of seven Bulwer household men who had been sent south with the future Lord of Blackcrown, amongst them his old friend Roger Bush. Ser Antony Bulwer remained with Lord Irywn’s main force, despite Oliver’s attempts to bring him home. ‘I will not run, brother,’ had been his words, before giving his oldest sibling a sad look and walking away.
Oliver gave orders for five of the men he had brought as passengers to aid the ship’s crew in unloading cargo, whilst he and Roger made for the keep. They made the journey in silence. Roger was not the most talkative of men at the best of times, and now did not seem the time to be whiling away the hours with idle chit-chat.
On approaching the gate, the couple of old men stood guarding stood aside for Oliver and his right-hand man, looking at him with sad eyes, without saying a word. Riding into the yard, there was silence. All eyes were on Oliver. He reined up his horse. His head drooped. ‘It’s happened hasn’t it. My father…’ he whispered to himself.
He and Roger approached the stables. The stable-boy looked somewhat disconcerted to see Oliver. “Tell me Walt, has my father passed on?” he asked, almost conversationally, handing the boy the reins to his horse. The boy cowered away, which Oliver took as an affirmative. With heavy heart, he made for the steps leading into the keep itself. He was met by Maester Jaehaerys, a look of despair written large across his face. “Oh my good ser,” he said, going to one knee before Oliver. “Fate most terrible, my sincerest condolences…”
“Rise Maester, we must remain strong in our time of grief,” Oliver said to the maester-in-mourning, who sniffed, before gathering himself up somewhat.
“Ser, do you wish to make visit to your dearly departed?” he asked.
‘Presumably referring to me as ‘Lord Bulwer’ will take some adjustment’ Oliver thought sadly before replying, “Yes Maester. Although it appears I am tragically late, I would see my father for the final time.”
Jaehaerys looked puzzled, and then a look of horror crept over his face. “You… you… do not know?” he whispered.
Oliver’s heart sank at the Maester’s face. He felt his face blanch. “Know what Maester? My father has been ill for several years now, this has been inevitable for so long…”
A single tear rolled down Jaehaerys’ cheek. “Oh, my sweet ser, your father still lives, but… your wife… your sweet lady wife…. Marianne….”
Oliver’s seasickness returned. Violently.
Oliver gave orders for five of the men he had brought as passengers to aid the ship’s crew in unloading cargo, whilst he and Roger made for the keep. They made the journey in silence. Roger was not the most talkative of men at the best of times, and now did not seem the time to be whiling away the hours with idle chit-chat.
On approaching the gate, the couple of old men stood guarding stood aside for Oliver and his right-hand man, looking at him with sad eyes, without saying a word. Riding into the yard, there was silence. All eyes were on Oliver. He reined up his horse. His head drooped. ‘It’s happened hasn’t it. My father…’ he whispered to himself.
He and Roger approached the stables. The stable-boy looked somewhat disconcerted to see Oliver. “Tell me Walt, has my father passed on?” he asked, almost conversationally, handing the boy the reins to his horse. The boy cowered away, which Oliver took as an affirmative. With heavy heart, he made for the steps leading into the keep itself. He was met by Maester Jaehaerys, a look of despair written large across his face. “Oh my good ser,” he said, going to one knee before Oliver. “Fate most terrible, my sincerest condolences…”
“Rise Maester, we must remain strong in our time of grief,” Oliver said to the maester-in-mourning, who sniffed, before gathering himself up somewhat.
“Ser, do you wish to make visit to your dearly departed?” he asked.
‘Presumably referring to me as ‘Lord Bulwer’ will take some adjustment’ Oliver thought sadly before replying, “Yes Maester. Although it appears I am tragically late, I would see my father for the final time.”
Jaehaerys looked puzzled, and then a look of horror crept over his face. “You… you… do not know?” he whispered.
Oliver’s heart sank at the Maester’s face. He felt his face blanch. “Know what Maester? My father has been ill for several years now, this has been inevitable for so long…”
A single tear rolled down Jaehaerys’ cheek. “Oh, my sweet ser, your father still lives, but… your wife… your sweet lady wife…. Marianne….”
Oliver’s seasickness returned. Violently.