Bound by Blood and Fire | Benjicot Blackwood [HOTD]

pt iii

There was no taming the crowd after Samwell's announcement.

Samwell Blackwood had always been known as a fierce leader who could bring order to any room — stern and formidable in nature, he embodied the traditional values of House Blackwood and its members; a man of thin, slender stature with a quiet voice, he could have been mistaken for being a mild, non-threatening man. If not for his reputation that preceded him his entire life, he might not have appeared as much more than a middle-aged man with tired, sunken eyes that were dark in contrast to his fair complexion, raven-haired with a slight limp that had been acquired from his years of training and small battles that left him permanently scarred — however, quiet as he was, he had a fierce stare that often shifted, like he was constantly analysing his surroundings and a stoic expression most often than not. It was no secret that he was a gifted warrior who was skilled with a sword. At most, the few smiles that he offered were small, ghost-like and never quite reaching his eyes, though reserved for only special occasions.

Serra had witnessed it for the first time in years on the night of her arrival. That little bit of warmth he had in his marrow still, pouring out in small gestures; a squeeze to her hand and reassuring her that her comfort was his utmost priority.

He had been silent the rest of the feast — or whatever it had spiralled into, with his fist pressed to his mouth and expression pinched into one of concentration as the shouting continued; several questions arising amidst the news, "Prince Jaehaerys has been murdered." It was unsettling to say the least, how calm and collected he was as the words had rolled off his tongue with such nonchalance as though he was only announcing something small such as a shift in the weather; his silence that followed spoke volumes however. His gaze watched the table, the chaos unfolding as men and their own children, and their wives were suddenly in uproar, panic ensuing. Serra vaguely made out the questions, the cries, the slamming of fists on the table that would cause the wood to shudder under her hands; her plate and utensils shaking with the sheer force and clattering against one another. Her gaze had kept down, pinned to the table and unmoving as she eyed the roast goose that had long-since gone cold on her plate, her hands folding in her lap and picking at her nails as she attempted to drown out the noise by the task of ripping at skin until she was near bloody.

"I told you this union would bring nothing but death," A voice called out, elderly and male, gruff as a clatter of a cup followed. Her head briefly lifted to turn in the direction it came from, finding as an elderly Lord Perryn stood from his seat, "An ill-omen, forged in haste and shadowed by distrust— and what now, Lord Blackwood? You would have my sons die for your own need for more power? Have we not sacrificed enough for your cause, are you not yet satisfied?"

Serra's head turned to look towards Lord Blackwood, who remained silent and otherwise unbothered by the older Lord's words, aside from a twitch of his eye as his gaze shifted to her father. She admired the restraint he possessed, unlike his son, and the ability that even when he did not speak, he still oozed self-assured confidence that wasn't arrogant or reckless but that of maturity and years of experience. She made note for the first time since arrival, that while his son was immature and had yet to grow into himself and his role, she could still see a glimmer of similarity between the two men — both physically and in personality.

She was, however, suddenly startled by the slam of her father's hand against the table, watching as he stood to his feet with his glare cast down the table. "You would do best to mind your tongue, Lord Perryn," He loudly warned, a finger jabbing in his direction. "Do not dare curse my daughter's marriage for the bloodshed." He continued, his voice shaking with anger. 

Serra had never known her father to be a cruel, or angry man. Hell, she had only even heard him shout on a small handful of occasions, thus his reaction left her stunned; staring up at him with wide eyes, watching as he seemed to flip a switch and become a different man right in front of her. Though his outburst did not silence the table entirely, met once again by another voice that shouted from down the table, "Does it not seem strange that coincidentally while you announce your daughter's betrothal and we are here feasting, children are being murdered in their beds like cattle? Don't be foolish, Elmo, surely that is some sort of sign—!"