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mountainvroyce · 9 days

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axell was not a man of many words. at least not around those who he did not know. he didnt see the need to converse and chatter with the little lordlings running around playing knights at tournaments like this.there was little value in any of it. he had found his place in the world. he was lord commander of the vale. something he had dreamt about since he was a boy. he had a wife he liked by his side now, he had the other women in his life if he wanted. that was all he needed for now, there was no desire to engage in meaningless conversations with people he didn't care for. charming political words never suited him well anyways.

but there was the rare occasion when words were needed. seemed at least he needed to try to speak to this man beforehe went right for his sword. he was not here to cause a scene. at least not yet. not when he knew there were eyes watching him after what bullshit the dragon king pulled when he was in his kingdom. no, he needed to be on his best behavior. but he wanted some answers first. there could be an explanation to this all and maybe the man was just innocent in all of this.

seemed unlikely though.

“lord renshu” he greeted him. yes he remembered him. he also remember very well seeing his wife speaking with him. remembered that she smiled when talking with him. he had a good memory for those sorts of things. “will we be seeing you compete in any of these tournaments?i know the north has just emerged from another war, but surely you still have some fight left in you" axell inquired, a smooth smile gracing his face. speaking casually with him as if they had spoken before. if he could speak so casually to his wife surely then it would be no problem speaking with him.

Closed starter for @mountainvroyce Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands.

He surprised himself with how little excitement he felt about leaving Sea Dragon Point to journey to the realm of the West. Before, he'd never had trouble leaving anywhere, he'd welcomed travel. This time, however, he felt some unease. He sensed his position in the North was precarious, and leaving his home behind manifested in a sense of fear about losing what he'd worked so hard to gain. Any semblance of restored honor was gone, any sense of respect or leadership when others looked at him had vanished. And worst of all, at the back of his mind, resided the fear of a second coming of so much darkness... It was a fear he could no longer voice out.

Had he acted the same way his brother did? That was another terrifying thought. He'd experienced firsthand what it was to let the strongest of beliefs lead his actions. Maybe Shan felt regret too, maybe he felt guilt and conflict in writing fate with a sword.

The man sat in silence, not even paying attention to the jousting and the games unfolding. He barely heard when someone addressed him. Ren turned to see who'd called until the second time his name was spoken —his false name. He was not too familiar with Lord Axell Royce, but he had seen him guarding his queen when Arryns and Starks gathered to mourn the loss of Queen Rosalyn. “Lord Royce,” the soldier greeted him politely, though still somewhat detached. He bowed his head in a respectful manner, a motion that was more YiTish than it was Northern.

#;;ren

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mountainvroyce · 27 days

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“a steward of rogare? the fucking lys are after graham?” axell had wondered who would be stupid enough to try to kill a king in the middle of a festival. it was bold, sure but ultimately stupid. the man responsible would be apprehended quickly and then the man behind the plan would be revealed. perhaps this grand magister was a stupid man. regardless of his intelligence, his name was now on his list. he’d find a way to get back at him.

part of him was thankful that he did not beat the man to death the first time. that at least he could to feel his bones breaking under his fists. over and over. he wanted to keep going until there was nothing left at all. no trace of the man who had sough to take his brother from him. it would be a fitting punishment. but if the man was gone then they’d have no idea who sent it. ultimately he was thankful he was pulled off before he could do anything else to him. if he had time he would use the skills that domeric taught him. to slowly piece by piece pull away at him until he had all the answers he wanted. “i would go down to the black cells but it seemed the king has already bared me. but perhaps the message has not been received down there yet. he can still speak with a few more broken bones. i was disappointed i only got a few my last visit with him.”

axell hands clenched into fists behind his back. his gloves preventing him from digging his own nails into his palm. a king smearing his name, even a mad one at that was not ideal. and giving the knowing look ravella had given him it seemed she might have an indication of what the king was referring to. did she? would she look badly upon him if she did? who cared what he did in war. he could give two shits if the green king cared.

but her.

would she care?

how could she? how would she judge after everything they had done together. after the smears of their actions were stained against their hearts and souls. no, she would understand him as she always had. the only one who ever truly knew what it might be like inside of his head. who could see the pieces that fit together to form himself. the pieces that often were forged in the trials and choices forced upon them.

she would understand him. but graham might not.

“the man is a targaryen gods only know why suddenly he wishes me gone. i have never met the king before. i wouldnt assume it is because i fought against his side for man years. probably killed hundreds of his soldiers.” he said. there hadnt been a time where he met the man one on one where they could hash out such things. nor did the king seem fit to come speak to him about whatever it was that had gotten him in such an uproar. yes, he was soldier in the war. yes, he killed more men than he could keep count. and yes, he’d done terrible things during the war. but most men did. he had no doubt the greens were squeaky clean. did this king expect to hunt down every man who had whispers about him.

“men talk during wars. rumors fly as a way to try to discredit someone’s action. who know why the king decides he wants to listen to things now. maybe we will have a mad king afterall.” he scoffed. he hadn’t touched a lady of the courts. why did it matter what happened on the battlefield? times of war were different than anything else. men were different in that time. why was it expected that he was different? he could point out a dozen other men, even in from the precious crownlands that were the same. the king should just be happy he fucking won. let him sit on his throne with his wife who'd run off to see percival. axell would ask his cousin later if he ever fucked the queen. let that rumor spread it's way back to the green king. maybe he's realize he had bigger problems than axell doing his job.

who: @mountainvroyce when and where: shortly following her conversation with king jaehaerys targaryen, in which the dragon king bars the high commander of the vale from remaining without his court to further investigate the security threat to king graham royce, ravella arryns remains silent some moments after her encounter with merei rogare. the tent is still full with individuals, whilst the others go to inform the king; it was in this moment ravella found a moment to speak to a certain brother of runestone, who she had some questions for. what; ravella arryn asks axell royce why is it jaehaerys targaryen is so against axell remaining alone in his kingdom.

"our guest moreo is apparently a steward of syleros rogare. the grand magister of lys." ravella commented as she remained beside the towering figure of the high commander of the vale, her arms folded behind her corset as her back remained upright, watching the scenes unfold before them. "and that foreign imbecile you were drinking in is his niece." the targaryen guards sought to inform the dragon king that there had been an update as to the identity of the attacker, and yet that only dug a deeper hole for the vale of arryn to investigate: though, she focused on her own small little hole of secrets she ought to dig in.

"the dragon king will be order him to be moved to the blacks cells." she commented, her words knowing; because there was no use in denying him the right to unleash his brutish strength upon the man of lyseni origin. and when they fell upon flesh and bone, they would fall like a thunder of boulders - which he no doubt had done in this time. "we need him to be able to speak, high commander. if you are to wish to speak with him alone, ensure it is done as quickly as you can have it be so."

her words had multiple messages within it: most prominently, that being any damage he inflicted upon the man in question needed to be done during questioning - and that it could not be to the detriment of the man being conscious and responsive. it had been revealed that the free city of lys had orchestrated an attack upon the kingdom of the vale: not by merely targeting a minor lord, but the king who had always remained steadfast in the favour of braavos, the sea lord, and the iron bank. there was a sense of familiarity as the two stood beside one another, no doubt a result of the entanglement they had found themselves within: neither of them took the time to fully comprehend how it was they managed to end up in this current situation.

one moment they sought to remove a stain within their court, and the next it was the falcon king being slaughtered whilst ravella remained in her bath - refusing to associate with such peacekeeping dinners. still, as she addressed the other lords within the tent with the intention of departing the scene in question, she watched as the third piece of their plot left the tent at the same time. still, she walked beside the high commander of the vale - who had benefited greatly from the change in power, in title and authority. whose accomplice was now their queen, and equally guilt. such was the manacles that bound together the pair; all too real, not ghostly.

her voice lowered as she continued to stand beside him, though turning her body to look toward him slightly; ensuring to meet his gaze. "why is it the dragon king refuses to have you in his court to wrap up investigations alone?" ravella asked, her question sudden and brash; though it were not painted with irritation or ire. it meant percival templeton would need to remain in kings landing to wrap up the investigation with the targaryens before returning home, and that in itself was quite the turn of events. "he would have lord templeton beneath the same roof as his wife rather than have you as sole representative of the vale." she continued, referring to the gossip that spread regarding percival and the queen of the crownlands.

"we know why - what his grace said to me. do we know why?"

#;;ravella #forgive me everyone for him

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mountainvroyce · 3 months

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the ghost of runestone gave a nod over to percy. "the map is good. and the person who gave the information wont be talking anymore." he did not need to elaborate further. a missing servant wouldn't matter and it would be weeks before they found the body and by then it would be too late.

“there is a risk of taking hostages. they cannot know who we are. this needs to be played out enough that they will blame exactly who we want them to blame.” axell said looking over at the other two. “but if kill them all in the end i suppose it doesnt matter. i doubt the women will be able to identify us if we keep our faces covered and if we are smart enough most wont know we are there until it is too late. none of the borell men will see the light of day, we all are in agreement on that.”

“there are four kids in the castle. three boys, 13, 12 and 6 and then a girl who is 2.” axell said looking over at jack. “oldest two need to go at least. i could be convinced to let the 6 year live but even that is a risk. old enough that someone might want to rally behind. the girl i dont care about.”

@percival-templeton

location: on the three sister island, during a secret meeting with percy and jack banter length

@percival-templeton @jackarchibaldgrafton

axel's gaze fixated on the sketched blueprint of the borrell and torrent castle, each room meticulously marked to denote the sleeping arrangements of its inhabitants. "we were given these plans of the castle from a servant within the household." the lord commander said looking up at the small group of men gathered together here. one of his oldest friends, his cousin and two sworn knight he would entrust with his life.

"house torrent will be the more manageable target. it should be relatively straightforward to neutralize the men we need," he continued, gesturing toward the two knights who were to tackle that part of the mission. "the three of us will have to handle house borrell. expect more resistance heightened security, and assume they're on edge. we need to tread carefully."

#;;percy #;;jack

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mountainvroyce · 3 months

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location: in the crownlands, the night of the attempted murder of graham royce. after axell nearly beat to the death the man whom tried to kill him.

t h e s e r v i n g g i r l

anger smoldered within him like a banked fire, casting a shadow over his thoughts. the man who had come close to snuffing out his brother's life still haunted his mind, igniting a fierce blaze of fury within him. if only he had been granted another fleeting moment alone with the villain, they would be laying him to rest instead.

regret gnawed at him, a bitter taste that lingered on his tongue. he wished he had seized the opportunity to put an end to the threat that had nearly stolen his brother away.

instead he had to sit and wait for the initial interrogations to complete before he could continue his own interrogation. he sat amongst those celebrating the tournaments. mostly men drinking heavily and talking about how they did at the games. amidst the revelry of the tournament celebrations, he sat among his comrades, their boisterous laughter and spirited tales fading into the background as he nursed his drink in solemn silence.

across the party, he spotted her. he had no idea who she was or what her name. it didn’t matter she was just a serving girl, filling the cups of the lords. but his eyes could not leave her. she looked so similar to her. in the darkness of the party and the swirling crowd he could have sworn it was her. for a moment he wondered if she might be an arryn bastard. except this one smiled more. but it was not a cruel smile, a cat-like grin of a predator he had become familiar with. this one had more of a carefree air, seemingly not caring.

he needed her. the thought crossed his mind in an instant. he must have her.

the anger built inside of him again. and why shouldnt he have her? she was a serving girl. she should be so lucky.

his eyes followed her as she stepped outside, gathering tankards and cups that had been left outside. he stood up and followed her out into the darkness. he watched her movements, how she walked, how she looked bending over to grab the cups scattered on the ground.

he hadnt meant to startle her when he began speaking but soon enough he had her laughing. serving girls like this were so easy to sway. they found every conversation charming. every ounce of attention to mean everything. poor girls looking to rise above their station. hoping one of these valyrian bastards would take her as their fifth or sixth wife. whatever they did here.

soon enough he had pulled her towards one of the dark corners of the garden. somewhere no one could see them. her lips on his. his hands exploring every inch of her body. until he pulled away from her kiss. “on your knees.” he commanded her, his hand on her shoulder to push her down.

“wait m’lord.” she spoke. “you swear to me you arent just wanting to sleep with me and leave. you like me?” she asked him.

stupid girl. but axell smiled at her, running his hand through her hair. “i swear. i am a lord from the vale. my word is my honor.”

somehow that seemed to calm her. silly girl, but they would believe anything. the chivalrous knights of the vale were told in stories. no doubt she assumed he was one of those honorable men. but if he was such an honorable man he wouldnt be guiding her down to her knees. he wouldnt be reveling in pleasure in the hidden corners of the dark.

the ghost of runestone’s fingers tangled in this woman’s dark hair. from this angle he could almost swear it was her, that it was his queen. he could pretend it was. pretend it was her raven locks gripped in his fingers. that it was her on her knees infront of him.

in the dark corner of the garden there was only groans coming from him. and the conscious effort to hold back the use of her name. but before he drew too close to his end he pulled away from the serving girl. he pulled her up from the floor, turning her around to push her against the stone garden wall. he grabbed her skirts, bunching them and tossing them over her ass. in a moment he pushed back inside of her, not waiting a moment to let her get her bearings in this new position before he began once again. she was just a serving girl, he doubted he was the first lord who had her like this out in the gardens.

he felt his control slipping as he moved within her. his anger, his frustrations from the day coming out in his movements within her. there was a harsh rhythm he set, but given the small noises she was making with each movement from him, she didnt seem to mind.

the serving girl started to turn her head back to look towards him but axel reached out with an iron grip on her neck, holding her in place. “don’t move.” he warned her, his breathing ragged. he didnt want to see her face because then he would know who she was again. he needed to pretend for that moment he had her pressed up against that wall. it was her little noises he was pulling from her. the groans she would give him when he squeezed her neck. that it was her moaning as she reached her ending, as she tightened around him.

there was no control in axell as he roughly thrust into her chasing his own ending. his large body enveloping her as he pinned her against the wall. he bit down on her shoulder as he buried himself deep inside of her and finished. maybe biting a little too hard, he could taste a slight hint of metallic blood. a mark for a queen, he could pretend. something she would have to hide from his brother to not stir questions. would she be mad at him for it? he didnt care. he wanted to know he left a mark there, to remind her of him….but this wasnt his queen. this wasnt her. it didnt matter if he marked her.

his mind began to rest once again, his breathing still slightly ragged as he rested his forehead on her shoulder just listening to her breathe. after a moment he finally pulled away from her, fixing himself up. “i will have a room tomorrow night at the tavern with the blue bird outside of it, do you know the one?” he asked her, waiting until she nodded until he continued. “you will meet me there an hour after sunset tomorrow.” he instructed her. without another word he turned to leave her alone outside and made his way back inside, satisfied he had at least gotten what he wanted.

#self para

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mountainvroyce · 3 months

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location: in the crownlands, the night of the attempted murder of graham royce. after axell nearly beat to the death the man whom tried to kill him.

t h e s e r v i n g g i r l

regret gnawed at him, a bitter taste that lingered on his tongue. he wished he had seized the opportunity to put an end to the threat that had nearly stolen his brother away.

he needed her. the thought crossed his mind in an instant. he must have her.

the anger built inside of him again. and why shouldnt he have her? she was a serving girl. she should be so lucky.

“wait m’lord.” she spoke. “you swear to me you arent just wanting to sleep with me and leave. you like me?” she asked him.

stupid girl. but axell smiled at her, running his hand through her hair. “i swear. i am a lord from the vale. my word is my honor.”

#;;self para

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mountainvroyce · 3 months

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this encounter was far from their first.

he had observed her many times throughout this trip, as he had in the gatherings in the past. yet, he had always lingered in the shadows, a silent spectator to her interactions, unseen but always watching. it brought to mind the night they first met.

both of them younger. both of them less scarred from the war that swept over them all. less scars from life. before he was gone with the mountain men. before she was returned back home to the riverlands.

before he had happened.

but tonight, he chose not to conceal himself. instead, he lingered in the periphery, his gaze fixed upon her amidst the lively throng of partygoers. she conversed effortlessly, gracefully even. she was attended by a pretty little blonde who also bore the scars of war. seemed fitting they would find friendship. but she was gone and his red headed fox was alone once again.

yet, her composure faltered when she caught sight of him. he wished he could paint it. sketch it. it was perfect. exactly what he wanted. her reaction was a swirl of apprehension and unease. he savored the moment, relishing the subtle tremor that coursed through her frame, a silent acknowledgment of his presence. the color draining from his face.

when she fled into the night, he could not resist the allure of pursuit. for him, it was instinctual, a dance between predator and prey. maybe he wouldnt have bothered her for the rest of the night if she hadnt fled. his calm demeanor wouldn’t betray him as he casually sauntered his way outside, his long legs easily making up some distance she would have gotten from him.

outside, beneath the veil of darkness, he spotted a flash of crimson darting behind a bush, a fleeting glimpse of his elusive prey. his eyes flickered to another path he could use to cut her off. and so he was able to step out of the darkness towards her, his voice a low murmur in the night.

"little fox," he greeted, his tone laced with amusement. "you've blossomed since our last encounter. no longer the innocent maiden shaking from the riverlands, but a woman in her own right."

for: @mountainvroyce where: king's landing, in the gardens

the lavish luxuries that king's landing had to offer were more than enough to satiate the desires that merindah blackwood had; plush beds, myrrish fabrics, pretty dresses, it was all materialistic needs. selfish needs. meri was selfish -- she admitted that much, for selfishness was a preserving tactic against her own mind. in the midst of speaking with cerissa lefford, the red fox of the riverlands' eyes wandered across the intricate stained glass that reflected across the ballroom, how tedious it must have been to create such an archway leading from the gardens to the ballroom. how extravagent. her ears could hear cerissa's laughter, which brought out a smile from meri as she teased her about the lord serrett. in an instant, another voice calling for the lefford, cerissa swiftly made her way away from the blackwood, leaving her to her own devices for now. which wasn't that bad.

dark amethyst eyes took in the beauty of the glass, hues wandering upwards in a gentle ascension to take in the full of it. a depiction of dragons, targaryens, and war. things she could vividly remember as benadict was taken away from home to a war when he was only a child; bloody ben, they called him, but she saw him as none the sort. just her brother. but war hadn't been kind to benadict, it left him fragile. as it left her for other reasons.

delicate and manicured fingers traced along the reddish hues, the purple, but an uneasy feeling settled into the pit of her stomach. something, or someone, was watching her. as much as meri tried to ignore that disgusting feeling of dread, it sat heavy within her stomach; beckoning her to look for the source. for the devil itself.

it felt like time had stopped in it's entirety. the once lionhearted merindah became overwhelmed with anxiety. voices stopped, noise ceased and a cold feeling flowed quickly into her veins like the river back at home. meri's hues locked with dark ones, so empty and desolate. she could feel hands, grabbing for any spare flesh to overtake for it's own, to ruin, to possess. a furrow of her brows worriedly, the red raven felt the color drain from her body as she stared for mere moments at the man who petrified every fiber of her soul. it felt like death itself had swept merindah into it's sickeningly warm embrace, calling it's siren song to commit atrocities like she once had after their first encounter.

a small tremble of her hands against the stained glass. heartbeat in her ears, burning red and hot. the urge to flee, to escape like she hadn't before. quickly turning on her heels, merindah's feet were panicked and swift for sanctuary, towards the gardens in hope that this figure hadn't seen her. no, he couldn't have; she had avoided him at every gathering, surely this wouldn't be the fated time that he sank his claws in again.

would it?

#tw: stalking #;;meri

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mountainvroyce · 4 months

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JACOB ELORDI as BOBBY FALLS He Went That Way (2023) dir. Jeffrey Darling

#axell and his smoking habit now #;;muse

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mountainvroyce · 5 months

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location: on the three sister island, during a secret meeting with percy and jack banter length

@percival-templeton @jackarchibaldgrafton

#;;percy #;;jack

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mountainvroyce · 5 months

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axell moved through the streets with a fiery determination, a force of nature not stopping now he had his target in his mind. the bustling crowd of soldiers and citizens seemed to part in his wake as he approached the ruling grafton lord. taking the letter that was offered to him by jack, axell briefly scanned it to ensure its contents aligned with the plan.

"no, we haven't found him yet," axell asserted briskly. "follow me; i need to discuss things with you." offering little room for response, he began leading the lord toward an abandoned home. the air around him buzzed with an intensity reserved for the most crucial of moments. ducking his head to enter the cleared-out structure, axell meticulously checked each room, ensuring absolute privacy for their conversation. no one could know of this, the stakes too high for loose lips.

finally turning to face jack, axell's voice cut through the silence, filled with purpose. "i need your help on a job. you, percy, and a select few loyal men who won't talk."

the bond between the two men forged when they were young boys together and then strengthened in the heat of war, was palpable. their shared history, the days they would spend at each other’s home as their fathers brought them together as friends but also to train together had fostered a profound trust. there had been times that axell regretted not bringing jack with him to infiltrate the mountain men. but he could have never asked his friend to give up so much like he had. he was glad to have him untouched by the scars of that decision.

"borrell and torrent will be destroyed by the end of this," the ancient tongue of their people easily rolling off of him as he spoke. his voice carried a low, serious cadence. he needed jack and percy by his side to execute the job flawlessly, where one mistake could unravel the entire plan. a devious smile began to play across the giant's face as he continued, "all the men need to be gone for this to work. we leave the women behind; some wives may need to go if they share chambers with their husbands. but i want widows left behind, people filled with anger, needing somewhere to channel it."

"unofficially, we'll halt the search for the young lord sunderland until this job is finished. we need him blamed for all of this." the gravity of the task hung in the air.

| @mountainvroyce | | setting :: the sisters | | summary: joining his cousin domeric stone in the sisters where they are given orders to crackdown and clean up creating a "police state" |

“Don’ let another go! If someone else gets out, I’ll string ya up beside him I will. Don’ test me.” Jack shouted over the spitting before he kicked the handle away and floor dropped out leaving them kicking for the ground as he walked away and jerked his thumb towards the man closest to him leaving him to finish with the rest of them. They were taking over the sisters under the banner of the Queen, obviously, but they were under orders of the queen’s hell hound, the master of coin so he said. Jack Archibald thought the man served well as a hand to the Queen and King though he’d never express it, too many opinions led people to expect things from you and Jack hated to be expected of more than he offered.

The ruling lord of Gulltown had an ability to do things at sea that he couldn’t put in to words. When the ships moved he felt comfortable, never off balanced. He’d argue he was on unsteadied legs when on land. A sea dog through and through, lobster claw gauntlets and a massive axe to swing and stab, the sizable Warhammer. The prince of the seas he called himself in his youth, the son of the Gods meant to piss in the face of the Drowned god while sending him the burned bodies of those who worshiped the demon. War was where he thrived. The best sort of expectations came from a man who could charge into battle and come out the other said reborn in a stream of blood and mud.

“There you are.” The large brother of his bastard cousin. Jack didn’t share that either. Only Domeric knew he knew and it was better to stay between the ruling Lord and the little bastard. There was nothing to gain with the information, they were the wealthiest in the realm or so he believed it to be so, he felt it would be impossible for another house to match them in coin. Shameful in truth.

“I have a letter from Lord Stone.” He felt the roll out for the other man to take. “Only a few days from arrivin' to see our progress.”

They were on Littlesister, the closest of the isles. And after fighting their way through they were sitting in the keep of House Sunderland, the ruling lord was down in the cells along with the rest of his house and they were putting his armed men to the sword, any who didn’t surrender and any who tried to escape.

“Have ye found da young Lord Sunderland?”

#;;jack

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mountainvroyce · 5 months

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location: the coronation games of king jaehaerys targaryen, near the jousting tourney. mere minutes after the attempt on his brother's life

@rememberences

in the aftermath of the attempt on his brother's life, all the careful precision of gathering information fromsomeone that dom had instilled in him melted away. the measured, deliberate approach was abandoned, replaced by a torrent of raw fury. he was a tempest, a violent storm of a man who no one might know when it would strike.others rushed towards graham but the royce brother eyes were locked on this would-be-assasin. he stalked towards where they were dragging the man off to.

he knew he’d only have a few minutes alone with him before other would arrive. he’d only need a few minutes to enact his vengeance.

in a room now devoid of most witnesses, axell's voice, laced with an unusual blend of calm and barely contained rage, sliced through the air. "leave," he ordered, the word carrying a weight of anger that brooded on the edge of primal wildness. he voice on the razor’s edge of falling into pure fury. the knights standing guard didn't linger; they departed, leaving axell alone with the man who might have taken his brother from him.

"five seconds to tell me who you are or who sent you." axell declared, his eyes narrowing on the man in the corner. the countdown began.

“five”

“four”

“three” axell shed his sword belt with swift efficiency. weapons would be redundant; this was to be a more visceral form of justice.

“two”

“one”

in an instant, the ghost of runestone was upon the assailant, fists raining down with a brutality that transcended noble decorum. the sickening crunch of bones reverberated through the room. axell, in this moment, shed his mantle of nobility, the honor of a knight of the vale — he was a mountain man, primal and unbridled.

a pause in the onslaught allowed axell to draw the man's battered face closer. his voice, a guttural roar, cut through the air, "fuckin’ tried to kill my brother, huh? i will break every bone in your body until you tell me what i want." the words hung in the air, a savage promise. without pause, he stomped mercilessly on the man's arm, the anguished screams providing a perverse satisfaction, the only solace he sought in that moment of frenzied retribution. it fed him. he wanted more, he deserved more. there was no mercy. not when graham’s life had been on the line.

he could not lose him. he would not fail him again.

#;;graham #tw: violence #tw: blood #no need to match length

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mountainvroyce · 5 months

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the other lord had halted his blade all those years ago, an nterruption in the chaos of a battle where pausing could mean the end of your life. the air, thick with the acrid scent of conflict, held a precarious balance, a fleeting truce. in the shadow of that axell and the riverlands lord locked eyes. the young giant, clad in black and bronze, loomed over the smallfolk like a fearsome terror, a nightmarish silhouette that had crept into their tales of caution from the opposing side.

a tense pause stretched, the silence pregnant with unspoken decisions.only the gods might have known what axell royce was thinking in that moment. in that suspended moment, axell’s features softened into a smile yet, bore an edge. "of course," he responded, a verbal shrug, "let's wager our safety for the tears of smallfolk." his tone dripped with sarcasm as he sidestepped the man, a living monolith brushing past cowering figures he would have the last act though as he knocked over a small lantern onto the ground, watching the edge of it start to catch on some fallen fabric. without glancing back, zaxell exited the dwelling, an ominous calmness about him.

it certainly seemed like the riverlands lord did not forget him. good, he did not want to be forgotten by someone like him. he hoped he was reminder that in times of war there was no time to sit back and debate. it was us and them. and they were trying to kill us.

"i've heard whispers, lord mallister," he remarked. "master of ships, if my sources don't deceive me. a role more apt for you, i believe, than wielding a blade. a promotion, perhaps."

mountainvroyce:

location: in the reach, before axell had to leave for the fighting back in the vale

@zakariyamallisters

The memory of Zak Mallister’s face remained etched in Axell’s mind, a figure associated with honor and goodness, values that seemed almost irrelevant amidst the chaos of war. In the heat of battle, there was no room for honour, especially not towards their enemies. Survival took precedence over anything else, a lesson Axell had learned long before his time with the mountain clan—a lesson that had likely contributed to his own endurance.

However, as he gazed upon Zak in the present moment, Axell couldn’t help but be transported back to that fateful day amidst the battle. It was a small village, harbouring enemy soldiers, and his blade had become drenched in the blood of those who stood against him. One by one, they fell at his feet. He recalled the lifeless body of a man who had attempted, pathetically, to halt his advance with a small dagger. Another woman had stood in the corner, arms outstretched protectively, but her actions had aided the enemy. None of them deserved mercy in times of war. Axell had raised his weapon to strike when Zak had intervened.

And now, there Zak stood once again, facing Axell.

Axell’s lips pressed together, his attempt at a smile masking the anger that still simmered within him. Zak, now supposedly an ally, evoked the lingering fury of that past encounter. Forgiveness and forgetfulness were not qualities the Ghost of Runestone possessed in abundance. “Lord Mallister, how pleasant it is to see you in a state free from dirt, blood, and shit,” he remarked, his words dripping with a blend of sarcasm and bitterness. “Seems you made it through the latest war without losing a limb to anyone. Good for you.”

زكريا

zakariya mallister was a man that was usually entirely composed; a kind of peace in understanding his position and his purpose in his life, and using what had been granted to him by the abundance of the gods to further cement his vision. he saw it as clear as the day he took up the lordship of seagard: it had fallen upon his shoulders the day lord ibrahim mallister took his last breath flying the black flag of the dragons. and yet, it did not feel entirely real until the skies wept down upon the sight of the eldest son of house mallister remaining beside the soil which had just taken the mightiest man he believed to have ever seen in all his life.

he saw purple flags, emblazoned with the eagle, flying high above the skies of the riverlands; if there was one thing his people understood, it was that a crown was not needed to wield true power. “lord royce.” he commented, his voice remaining steady. though his mind, his mind when instantly back to that day.

there were clear lines between right and wrong in the game of life; clear lines that blurred when men became more like beasts and were servants to their whims and desires rather than working alongside them. zakariya was no naive fool - he understood it was necessary for men to have their hands tainted with blood to cement their place and the place of their family in this world, and yet, that did not mean there was not a line. he knew the line, he lived by the line, he saw the line; even when others did not.

“enough. we are done here.” he still remembered hearing the sounds of the crying of the smallfolk. the women in the room. “smallfolk are forced to aid whoever comes upon them first.”

he saw the line when axell royce did not. the black dragons flag reigned supreme in the sky above the riverlands that day: before jaehaerys targaryen took to torching the fields with fire. and yet still, he would pull others back over the line: just as his hardened nature, refusing to budge even in the face of the mountain that was axell royce himself, had presented that day. there was nothing but villagers, farmers; and yet, war seemed to twist and contort the minds of others.

“i would say the same of you.”

#;;zak

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mountainvroyce · 5 months

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the realms of the living and beyond echoed in the halls of runestone. and axell felt as if he straddled two worlds. afterall he was the "ghost of runestone," his return to court, a year after the supposed finality of his demise, only added to the mystique. although he hadn't faced his actual death, a part of him, perhaps, had been laid to rest beside his mother and father in the familial tomb when he left for the mountain clans. being home in runestone he felt in every room, every shadow, every corner there was something there. not sinister or scary but just the presence of something else. something beyond.

the royce brother grew up amidst the lingering spirits. but today, on the cusp of a momentous occasion, the halls seemed to pulse with life even for those beyond them. as axell gazed out of the window toward the ancient runestones, a hive of activity swirled below as the household orchestrated the final touches for the wedding.

the smell of lavender and lemon wafted in the room suddenly. sweet, clean. it was his mother’s perfume. something he could never forget. he knew she was there behind him in her own way.

unexpectedly, axell found his brother's presence early that morning. a rare occasion, perhaps, where axell stood decent, untouched by the remnants of a wild night. it was not uncommon for graham to discover him amidst hangovers or young ladies hastily departing his chambers. not on this morning, not on a day of such significance.

axell's playful banter danced in the air. "you have something for me? don't tell me you wrote a sappy letter for me," he teased until the true origin of the letter was revealed.his eyes did not move from the letter on the desk, feeling strange to reach out and take it. the royce brothers seldom broached the subject of their father in conversation. it felt strange to have this tangible piece of him on such a crucial day — unexpected yet not unwelcome.

"should i read it now, or should i wait?" he inquired, his eyes finally shifting to his brother. a momentary nervousness flickered in axell's gaze before he masked it with his trademark smirk. "didn't think the old man would have the foresight to write something like this for us."

who: @mountainvroyce where: the morning of axell's wedding to the lady yuna upcliff

it felt as though it had been history itself since news of celebration and festivity had come to the halls of runestone; which were as warm as they were ancient and eerie. the very same hallway that could feel as though it were warmth itself could also feel as though it would stretch on forever and ever, and truly, nobody ever felt really alone in runestone. for a land that relied so heavily upon tradition and history itself, it felt as though nothing ever truly became history within these walls: there were always glimpses of shadows, or scents that were long since dead suddenly coming to fruition once again.

he had been half asleep when he was sure he had heard the sound of malcom royce's ancient laughter coming from within his study, that was now the study for the royces: rather than a single ruling lord. it had little effect on graham at this point, only made him run a hand through his dark hair as he looked sideways toward the sight of the queen, remaining asleep upon the pillow. he rolled out of the bed, from beneath the tartan quilts, slipping his shirt on as he made his way for the study: in which, he knew what he needed to get hold of. there was a scroll, penned years ago; so many years ago.

and history itself did not die, and those who seemingly had left them behind continued to show their approval in more ways than one as the rain cleared on the morning of an ancient ceremony. the colours of the trees had begun to turn shades of red, orange and yellow, and whilst the land itself were dying, it felt as though it were putting on one final burst of colour before the seasons changed. the seasons always changed in runestone, almost as though it had a temperament of itself: the sound of bagpipes filled the crisp october air, to inform the smallfolk in the towns scattered below the mighty fortress high atop the cliff that the special day had come.

within the walls were the king consort, the ruling queen, the newborn princess whose name was an echo of the ancient name of the vale, and the falcon court.

one heard the tongue of andals and first men mixing alike through the halls as he passed his way through, speaking to those servants in his household in the same way he always had, long before the title of king consort had rested upon his shoulders. long before the title of hand of the king, or even kingslayer. his destination was the rooms of the groom, he who would be marrying the lady upcliff later on this day, and he wondered whether the man were even awake yet. he knocked, his rhythm the typical one they would do as boys to let one another it was him, though it had no true emotional sentiment behind it anymore.

"get some clothes on if you are not decent." graham called from behind the door, ensuring no servants would overhear him.

when the man entered the chambers of axell royce, who would soon become a married man with responsibilities of his own, he looked upon him. he did not think he would see this day. and now he was. "i've something for you." graham spoke, in a way that sounded different to how he spoke within the eyrie: allowing their natural accent to wrap around each word, each syllable. the scroll was put down on the desk. "father wrote it for today." for the sons of royce upon their wedding day; graham had received his upon his first marriage to the eldest estermont daughter. all knew how that had ended up.

#LOOK AT THEM BEING NICE #mostly look at axell not being a dick #;;graham

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mountainvroyce · 6 months

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JACOB ELORDI GQ Magazine (2023)

#;;self #look at him and his little turtleneck

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mountainvroyce · 6 months

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amid the short time of their marriage, new nuances unfolded to the high commander. the woman beside him, now his wife, was different. the days of clandestine exits in the morning or the hushed maneuvers required to preserve secrecy was long paused. instead, there was a strange comfort in her sleeping form beside him, a reassurance that she'd be there when he awoke, a constant presence that defied his initial expectations. it was not what he expected it be. but he enjoyed the comfort, especially on sleepless nights when the looming battles occupied his restless mind.

his thoughts were a cacophony of strategical considerations and the imminent perils that awaited him. the impending departure from their marital bed to the looming battlefront weighed heavily on him. grateful for the time he had with his wife before the storm of war.

there was a new responsibility placed on his shoulders now. protection. he had been used to protecting people. he had done it his whole life. he’d sacrificed so many pieces of himself to protect those around him. one could even say he’d sacrficed a part of his very soul for the people of the vale when he joined the clans to get an understanding of them. he was used to protecting specific people .their queen,ravella, he had protected time and time again. and would continue to do so. but this….this was different.

the gravity of this charge pressed upon him. the weight of protection intertwined with the responsibility bore down on him. the mountain men, perhaps seeking revenge or leverage, might target yuna. in his absence, he pledged to station his best men by her side to ensure her safety.

he would not disappoint someone else by letting something happen to her. he’d done that enough already.

as they both wrestled with sleeplessness, she spoke, pulling him into the realm of her disturbed dreams. “i have been awake, you didn’t wake me.” he said, watching her. something pulled her from sleep, a nightmare of some sort. but she quickly took solace curing up into him. her hand running through his hair. a simply gesture but felt so intimate in some place like this.

“that sounds truly like a fucking nightmare.” he laughed. any womans talk that way seemed fucking torture to him. “next time tell your dream self to just start swinging at the old ladies. it will shut down any embroidery talks quick.”

who: @mountainvroyce

where: the royce chambers, the eyrie

it was a sudden intake of breath that woke the lady of witch isle from her slumber. she had dreamed again. but the dreams of yuna upcliff were not particularly unpleasant or dreadful. they were vivid and more often than not, she felt as if they were not showing a fantasy, but something that might happen, in a future far removed from the now. yuna had read of a similar thing in a scroll belonging to an ancestor, the dreams that walked a thin line between reality and make-believe. but they were mostly ramblings, and despite her advanced knowledge of the ancient language, the xingese dialect was still difficult to decipher. she would need to send a letter to her father, asking for more materials to be sent to the eyrie. the lady of witch isle wanted knowledge about the hidden and the unknown, hungered for it. the distance between her home and her current location would not put a stop to her lust for it.

sitting up, the lady looked around her. the chambers of the high commander were certainly more luxurious compared to the living quarters of the ladies in waiting. she supposed they were her chambers as well, thanks to the union between the royce and the upcliff that took place in the ancient seat of runestone. but everything was still so new. the new name yuna now carried with her, the ring adorning her finger, signaling her status as a married woman. the body next to her, one that she had become acquainted with recently, but was still a surprise in a moment like this.

"did i wake you? or were you not asleep in the first place?" yuna murmured, sleep still colouring the sound of her voice. she clutched the covers around her body, the raven hair cascading around her shoulders. turning to axell, she rubbed her eyes absent-mindedly. perhaps there was an advantage to sharing one's bed, especially in situations like these. the halls of the eyrie were cold and unforgiving in these late hours and axell royce brought with him an unexpected sense of security. she looked at her husband, and she gave in to the urge to brush her slender fingers through his short hair. the lady of witch isle smiled, sleep was apparently evading both of them. she laid back down, positioning her head in the crook of his neck.

"i had a bad dream. i was forced to spend eternity trapped between two particularly tiresome old court ladies. they would not shut up about the newest embroidery technique. and you were nowhere to be found. quite traumatic, don't you agree?" she teased, covering both of the with the covers.

#;;yuna #I HOPE THIS IS OKAY

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mountainvroyce · 7 months

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there no better time but now to see his brother in action. “leave us.” he commanded of the other soldiers lingering in the room. they were some of his most trusted men and all of them had done terrible terrible things in the name of something good. all of them had blood stained onto their hands that no water would ever wash off. he did not doubt they would not flinch at the actions of his brother, but he wished to speak with domeric openly and he could not have his men around for that. right now just the two of them would do.

axell looked upon the face of the man who at one point axell had to live beside. a man whom he had tricked into believing they were friends. that they were part of the same cause. it felt good, so very good to see him on this table now. he had dreamed of seeing all of them like this many many nights.

and how nice those screams were.

stepping closer to his brother’s work he watched with a curious interest at how he worked. “i’ve seen the insides of a man spilled out in front of me hundreds of times before but never layer by layer this way.” another sip of his flask as he watched his brother at work.

he’d spilled blood alongside burton many, many times. his memory pulled him back to a time they’d fought against another mountain clan. the battle was brutal and bloody and vicious but at the end the burning men came out victorious. he watched as burton wrangled up the survivors from the clan. some men went to their death quietly, ready to see the gods. other begged and sobbed. one pleaded for his life, cried for mercy, cried out that he would join their clan. burton’s laughed echoed across a field of dead men. he laughed at the man for his tears, for his sobs. “your tears do nothing, let me show you how a real man is.” he said, before viciously hacking away at the man’s neck with his sword.

he remembered how later that night burton had shoved a burning white metal piece onto axell’s side.

his first burn, a point of no return.

burton laughed and laughed.

and now here he was, crying.

axell pulled back the gag from the man’s mouth and he screamed out. “fucking cunts!” he ragged, thrashing and pulled at the binds. anything to try to pull himself away from the man. “you’ll burn. both of you will burn under our flames. kill me, do it. i ain't tell you shit. you waste your time even doin' this.” and with that he spat in domeric’s face.

in a flash, axel grabbed the man by the neck and before he knew what he was doing punched the man once. twice. three times. “you’re going to die either way burton. tell us do you want it to be quick or drawn out? lord stone here will ensure you are ripped apart piece by piece.”

tw: descriptions of torture in domeric’s reply. not super descriptive but it’s pretty out there.

mountainvroyce:

@domericstone

amidst the war camp, a symphony of sounds emerged, each note carrying a familiarity that resonated deep within axell royce’s soul. it was a tune of his life, one more in sync with the rough canvas of a battlefield than the polished corridors of vale castles. he was forged by this rhythm, not bred for courtly niceties. the expectations that he would evolve into a docile lord, submissive to trivial chatter, were nothing more than delusions. no, his essence was hewn from the very stone and steel that surrounded them.

yet, the battles to come were not to be waged upon an open field, but within the shadows, shrouded in dirt, deception, and a merciless brutality that mirrored the mountain clans themselves. adaptation was paramount, a dance in the shadows that mirrored his enemies’ own steps. there was no room for restraint in this conflict.

mounted upon his horse, axell’s gaze sought his brother’s approach, relief tugging at his heartstrings as the familiar figure emerged. the wariness of roads trekked lent a subtle tension, a gnawing fear that the journey could have claimed his kin. a hand, large and calloused, extended to rest upon domeric’s shoulder, the unspoken gratitude shared between siblings. “dom,” his voice carried a blend of camaraderie and urgency, guiding his brother toward their destination. the letter he had dispatched had been vague, a mere plea for swift arrival at the camp.

progressing beyond the camp’s hubbub, they ventured toward an abandoned farmhouse that had been repurposed for their clandestine dealings. guards, vigilant figures standing sentry, nodded deferentially as axell approached, acknowledging the privilege his presence granted. “grant lord stone passage whenever required,” he issued the order with an authority only a seasoned leader commanded.the ghost of runestone ducked to enter into the house and descended into the basement, each step drawing them deeper into the heart of the matter.

the once-storage room had transformed into something altogether more harrowing, as if a nightmare had taken tangible form. it was a tableau that seemed extracted from tales of terror or the darkest of dreams. a mountain clan member’s lifeless form hung in one corner, a ghastly specter. another was pinned down to a table, body adorned with painful etchings and clothed in but tatters. a grim reality stared back, the fabric of a gruesome narrative.

“meet burton,” axell introduced matter-of-factly, his tone belying the horror of the scene before them. “he’s one of the right hand men of the leader of the burned men, the ones who is trying to kill me.” from his pocket he pulled a flask of some sort of strong liquor, taking a sip. the gesture, almost nonchalant, mirrored his demeanor amidst the macabre scene. “remarkably, he’s holding up better than i expected.” a splash of the alcohol was directed onto a fresh wound, pain and resolve intertwined within his gaze. “burton possesses information we need—details on their movements, their intentions. any morsel that may aid us.” his gaze, intense and unwavering, shifted to domeric. “and you, dom, are the key to extracting it. i have faith in your abilities to get what we require.”

Domeric expected more hands-on work upon returning from the Reach, a babe in tow and a queen who would not just sit there. Word was sent he was needed, and he would have ignored the request were not coming to him from his brother and he wasn’t going to ignore it. He couldn’t stay among the fighting men, he didn’t long for more war as a Northman he would argue he’s had his fill of war. But they don’t need him for his swords, they could call Jack for their swords. No. The need for him would be different and it became quite clear as he followed Axell to the prisoner before him. Domeric raised a brow, listening as his brother explained. The man had been worked over well, well enough for him to hurt but hurting passed by men who burned themselves for sport. Men who thought their marks made them brave and strange and if dragon flame wasn’t anything to drive fear, then he would just have to get as creative as he could possibly get. And Domeric was surprisingly creative.

He took a chair and pulled it over, placing it in front of the man and then he moved a box. Taking his chair, he removed his satchel and unraveled it, the implements within were knives of various lengths, shapes and uses. Domeric removed the scalpel first then he took out the small whetstone and began to move the sizable scalpel in a circular motion. Domeric looked at the man, watching him closely. He wouldn’t have questions for him. Not yet. Not now. No. Fear needed to be instilled and Domeric’s brand of fear came from the unknown. One didn’t know why the raven-haired bastard made them uncomfortable, but they knew there was something. There was something.

“I know you’re going to tell me everything I want to know.” His voice replaced the sound of the whetstone. “When I was a boy, un pequeño, I saw the stranger.” Domeric scooted forward, turning the man’s arm over so the inside showed. And slowly, he began to cut down, not very deeply. Just enough for blood to bleed, the blade dragged in the shape of a rectangle. Carefully he slipped the blade underneath the flesh, gliding across as if he were slicing bread. “The top layer, it hurts. There are less … nerves. The deeper you go, the more it hurts.”

In silence, save for the man’s muffled screams he shaved until the skin came up and then he placed it down. “Axell, come look. You see how you might think that if I go for the next layer you will tendons and muscle. No. Our friend has the pleasure of being fat.” Domeric began to cut again. It would be too soon for questions. He didn’t want to hear answers, not yet. Men lied at the beginning and it wasn’t until the wound was deep enough to hold the liquor they poured it like a bowl they spoke only truth.

“Anyway, El extraño, the Stranger.” Domeric peeled back another layer and he continued until the flesh beside him was stacked. He whistled once, then twice and his great, black hound came. Growling, Domeric smiled at him. “Come, come bien.” He watched the hound and threw another piece. “My hound only knows the Bolton tongue. Hounds from the North are far superior than any other. You see, a fool starves his hounds. A wiseman keeps them fed for there is always room for a treat. Sentarse.” The dog sat and Domeric looked back at the weeping man.

“Perhaps you wish you would have spoken sooner. I know your sort. You will cry and scream and kick and then you talk and we will send out people and waste and you will think yourself smart. Now you have time to heal or escape. This…” Domeric gestured vaguely as he sat back and crossed his legs. “This will not do. Not for me, for I abhor my time being wasted. Allow me to truly begin.”

Domeric, because of his Northman ways, didn’t remind removing the boots from the man’s feet, a man carried out the sentence he passed. Putting the scalpel away he reached for the skinner blade. “This is a Skinner, not named by me but by butchers. Wide, short, curved blade and hit, it makes it easier to skin a deer, to glide over the muscle.” Domeric gestured for the gag to be removed and he started. How far can a man run with the bottoms of his feet peeled away?

Not very far at all.

#;;domeric #tw: gore #tw: torture #tw: death #these two are very fucked up

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