DAMON RAVENSWOOD
They entered the same way they had done the last time they had been summoned. Lord Varyn along with the man of white, Arryn, his silver chain of the raven, which had been given to him on the day he knelt on the pulpit of Ravenswatch and was smeared with the oil of savant’s, ordaining him as one, dancing from his neck in rhythm with each step he took further into the solar.
Damon’s face scrunched with no intent to hide the disrelish he had for the white-robed, balding stick of a eunuch, whose hands were dipped into the endless depths of the bell sleeves his robe had, as he wandered closer towards the table he sat before. He was the one that summoned him, he knew, but as he lay his eyes on the little-fleshed face the savant had, his left cheek itched ever more than it did on that night when his mother’s palm kissed it fiercely. He blamed the savant for the little beration he had been given, and he seemed to hate him for that.
Man of wisdom…? Damon spat. If all that wisdom gave them at the expense of their manhood were less flesh and bodies of sticks, then they were rather stupid to have sought it. Power was greater than wisdom, it’ll give you men to speak the words you lack the knowledge of and more, Damon relished bitterly in his thoughts. That was what he sought, power, and he would chase it until he clutched it, no one would stop him, no one can, not especially a savant who had become less of a man than he was. He would have his mother take back her words, that he would make sure of.
Rather than a wine cup and a ewer, it was his legs sprawled out, one above the other, on the king’s table he sat before. It spelled nothing short of uncanny to Lord Varyn who had been the one to take hold of the task of summoning the savant, and no doubt top it up by accompanying him into the solar and before the presence of the prince. As he had never thought he would ever grow a boil, the same way he had not thought of seeing the prince without his beloved cup of wine, the two seemed to strike him at the same time; and another strike came no shorter later.
As they arrived nigh the table, and the door of the solar went to its silent shut, then did the unfiltered prince begin to speak. “A pimple, Lord Varyn? Your face has grown even uglier and more annoying now with that third nose you’ve begun to sprout. I should send you out of my sight, but I have something to speak of to you. If the next time I summon you it has grown any bigger, I’ll have one of the guards dig it out.” Prince Damon tsked in a fit of annoyance, at who though, they had not yet done or said anything to plunge him into such depths yet, so why the stiffening air he filled their lungs with?
“No sitting, both of you. You stand and I speak. I ask, you answer. Nod that you understand.” He folded his hands and glared at them from where he sat. He jested a lot when he was in the mood, that he always tended to be in, but it was nowhere to be seen, lost to somewhere far away; he had no smiles, no jest, his face lacked one, his tongue the other. “I take it your ears work better than anything else you have?” He put in, and Lord Varyn snapped back to answer with a quick sheepish nod as the prince had instructed; the savant, stubborn as he was, just watched in silence, until…
“My prin—” the savant wanted to start, but never had the grace to go further, on account of the hard and unkind eyes glaring pointed steel swords of loathing at him; they were unkind to him and him alone, he noticed. It made him shudder slightly at the thought of what the prince he had dubbed an usurping traitor, would do to him once he spoke his mind, but he chose to retain his calm by raising his head a tad higher with a silent sigh. He would do him nothing, he had done nothing wrong, he told himself. He had crumbled once before, he would not on this night; the half-moon visible from the solar’s narrow window, hanging from the starlit sky, would bear witness to his strength. The strength of the man who had taken the white, and the ravens will shelter him with their wings.
“I wonder what you have traded your ears for this time? You tell me, Savant Arryn. What have you traded your listening for?” The savant remained silent. “Speak! I speak to you, you answer!” Damon dropped his legs from the table and jumped to his feet, all the while barking, the walls of the solar made from limestone clustered tightly together—the same way the council room had been made by the great builders of old at the request of King Aeron the first—the only thing muffling the strength and rage of his voice from going beyond this room and waking the present king from his slumber at his quarters.
Lord Varyn always shivered when the prince threw a fit, and no doubt he was shivering now as well. The boy scared him, even more than the king, and he would scare this savant as well, if he truly had the wisdom of the ravens.
“I have not lost it, my prince,” the old-but-young savant gave way to voice at last, calm and smooth sailing as it should normally be, only it shouldn’t be at this moment. He should act frightened even though he wasn’t.
Lord Varyn watched the savant with concern and fear, fear for the man of white did not seem to know what he was doing. He could only see to one cause as to why the man had begun to act this way, and if it was because he planned to tell of the prince’s treason to the king, then he was more foolish than wise, maybe the ravens had taken the wisdom as quickly as they had given him, because he should see if he had eyes.
The king and the prince were not of the sameness, he had seen them up close, put to serve both of them; the king wears the crown and is bestowed more power, yes, but half-brother as the prince claimed or not, he would listen to further reasoning than put his own brother to the sword without heed. The Prince however, stands as an anomaly of his own, if words could come from a rolling head, then he would listen, after the head had begun to roll.
“Do you still choose to anger me greatly, Savant Arryn? I take it you have not forgotten of our last meeting and that I hold the life of someone of importance to you in my hands?” Damon was hissing now, violently like a snake irritated into a defensive position at the sign of a predator who had trampled on its tail. He was the prey now, and his mother the predator. She would hurt him again if he could not rein this stupid man in. He brought this on himself, and that angered him the most; his mother was right, she always was… maybe she was right about Dante as well. That thought allowed veins to erupt beneath the tousled mop of brown that fell over his head. Not Dante, not him, he rebuked.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Anger you, I choose not to do, my prince. And I have not forgotten that you hold the power to harm someone dare to me, how can I? That is why I have not yet gone to the king with your plans of treason. Cease it, my prince, I beg of you, now that you still can. I have thought of it long and hard, for days and nights, but regardless, I still do not see any good coming from it, nor do I see myself taking the side of someone with plans to usurp the throne. We savants are men of honour, and that honour is what has brought me to you, bearing a fitting notion and to give you one last chance to cease this madness.
“When the sun rises, I intend to meet the king and speak to him of all your talks, so I plead you once again to think things through, but if you still choose to not heed my words and carry on, then by all means do with me as you wish, stop me with my life, but in return, I ask that you leave my brother free of this, he knows nothing. Even though I do not wish to die in truth, I shall gladly offer up my life, but what I will never offer up is my honour.”
Lord Varyn flayed the savant with eyes that said he was nothing short of stupid. What part of that notion is fitting, savant? The ravens have taken your wisdom in truth… Lord Varyn rang in his thoughts, but the savant neither saw his look nor heard his mind. If only he knew, Lord Varyn thought, if only. Stupidity and honour were intertwined, like the children of sand, twins born with one body, and he was a living proof of such, of the madness that was twisted into something sweet called honour.
“You seem ready to die in stupidity for this honour of yours,” Damon voiced hazily after a strike of silence. “Leave, I shall think about your words. Leave now!” Damon shoved the savant’s face with his palm, pushing the man a few steps backward. Savant Arryn did not mind though, if the prince said he would think of it, then maybe he would think of it, but he would take no risks with a nigh-usurper, he would go to see the king when the sun rises, that he would do. He gave a weak bow, turned and found his way out of the solar. Lord Varyn shook his head unnoticeably while he watched him leave. Only if he knew.
“Varyn,” Damon fell back to his chair as the door went closed the second time to the boil-faced man, and the third to him. “Did my letter reach Lord Bertram Greenfield?” He questioned as soon as Lord Varyn returned his face from the door back to his prince.
“That it did, my prince. He replied with a pledge of his loyalty to your cause as a repayment of the favour he owes your mother and House Lockeheart, and that they are all already in his castle as guests at the moment, until your further instructions.” Lord Varyn answered with a deft bow.
I am not a Lockeheart though… I am a Raven… “Good. How many children are there?”
“Three as I said before. One a boy already of age to tend to the farms with his father, the other two, a girl and a last born boy, both still of playful age.” Lord Varyn groaned slightly after his talk, his legs were slowly beginning to ache, he would fancy a seat now, after all the savant had gone, but the prince gave little care.
Damon placed his chin on his knuckle as he rested his elbow atop the table. “Have them all killed.” Damon’s eyes glowed red with blood. He had grown mad and deranged where he sat, madder than ever. “But first, have Lord Greenfield cut the farming fingers of the first and have it sent to the savant. This should be done before his father, making sure that he understands it was his brother’s fault that these things have begun to happen to him. You should at least know how to do this well, I reckon?” Damon’s eyes turned from its watch of the table to look up at Lord Varyn.
Lord Varyn tensed up. Only if he knew that his life would not be the only one taken. “Do not worry, my prince. I will take your message and put it into utmost perfection.” It was his fault, the savant’s fault, Lord Varyn plunged into sullen thoughts. It was all his. He should have left his honour at the edge of his cloak, or in those big sleeves of his, and went straight to the king, even though that would have done little to nothing to save his brother and his family from death, as Lord Greenfield had already been ordered to have them killed at even the whiff of the word of treason, but at least his own life would’ve been spared. Now, he was not so sure anymore. “And the savant?” He asked to confirm if his thoughts were what he feared.
“What do you think, Varyn? Make sure it seems as natural as possible.” Damon’s eyes squinted. “If you’ll fly in place of the messenger ravens then do, but by all means make sure the fingers reaches him by the ‘morrow before he dies, then burn them, I do not want the…” he grit his teeth, it always ticked him off to call someone other than himself the king, it ticked him off beyond sense… he shook his head and skipped that line… “Make sure of that. You understand, don’t you?”
Lord Varyn shuddered at Damon’s tone and the thought of sending the savant to the ravens, but little choice he had that it came down to that. If reported for treason, the king might pardon his brother but not him, his own head would roll, and he was too young for that, he was too young to die now, and if possible, he did not want to die ever. “I understand, and I will do such that, my prince. I will make sure it gets here before dawn, and I will make sure to erase every evidence of your involvement. If you will excuse me to get on with it.” He bowed and turned around, and as he was about to leave Damon called again.
“One more thing,” Damon announced.
“What more, my prince.”
“Put the eyes of your hawk over someone for me, have them watch what he does night and day, and make sure to report all back to me at all costs. I want no mishaps.”
“Understood. And who are they to watch, my prince?”
“My brother, Dante.”