Dark Dreams Arising
Twenty-Sixth Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
Dany proves more than happy to cast dark dreams into the mind of Lord Gerold Grafton, not from any ill will towards the lord, quite the opposite. "On the Wall or off it, in exile or taking vows, I'd rather see him and his sons alive than dead over the oath to the Old Gods. They may remember clearly sins from ages past, but men forget and in forgetting can forgive..."
"We can but hope," you sigh, staring into the unwavering light of the mage lantern. You have no more love of blood for its own sake then she, particularly since the Graftons of Gulltown were loyal in the Usurper's War, even onto the death of their last lord. But if this is the price you must pay for the aid of the Old Gods, for healing and the lore, for the ward against the darkness in the North, then you will pay it in full.
***
The Dream ripples around you, like water around a cast stone... Slowly, carefully, you look inwards, quieting the waves, lessening the weight of your presence until you are light as a feather in the air, than smoke of the breeze. There you bide your time and watch your sister's work with pride, unshadowed for once by worries and regrets. Just as you are a Dragon, so too she is the Dreamer who will mark this realm for an age.
A valet walks into a stone hall, marked by the flickering light or torches cast upon aging tapestries. The proud figures woven into the cloth, the Graftons of yesteryear seem to move and whisper among themselves, they glare down at Gerold Grafton, pale and weary with fear and pain.
"There is a guest for you to see, my lord," your sister proclaims, subtle enchantment in her voice. "Come..."
The sounds of battle begins to resound, muffled by the thick stone walls of the keep... the lurid light of flames begins to show through the high windows. Gulltown is burning, a shadow of days long past more than the Usurpation, though the lord is still blind to that truth. The sickening smell, like yet unlike that of burning hog's meat, hangs in the air. The lord asks question after question of his servants, but the words seem lost in echoes as soon as they are uttered. And so he follows, feverish and unwilling, like a man being dragged to his execution by an unseen chain.
First to cross their path as your sister leads the lord down the warped corridors of the keep are seven men-at-arms with the Seven-Pointed Star carved into their foreheads, drenched in drying blood. They report with grim joy that the uprising is being beaten down and that they have begun to execute the faithless in large numbers as he had ordered.
To his credit Gerold Grafton tries to stop them, to question them... to no avail. Dany drives him on by windows where he can see dreadful scenes of men cutting down women and children before tossing their bodies into the bay. "Dywen is waiting..." she says.
Yet when the facsimile of Lyn Corbray, babbling about being knighted and also bearing the star cut into his forehead seems to interject, Dany plays the good servant and does not interfere.
"You must meet the king," the knight says. "He is a merry fellow, but swift to anger."
By now the befuddled lord is stumbling along, questioning the walls, or perhaps the Gods rather than his companions.
Robert Baratheon stands on a throne you have never seen, wrought of granite shot through with rose quartz carved in the likeness of two cupped hands, the seat of House Grafton. There stands Robert Baratheon as he would have been at the war's end, hale and hearty, a bloody smile upon his lips. At his feet, the headless corpses of multiple knights in Grafton livery and around him, on spears erected around the throne, their severed heads. Among them is the head of Marq Grafton, erstwhile lord of these lands, slain by Robert in battle.
Corbray kneels first, eagerly, hands held out like a caricature of a beggar in a play. Richly is he rewarded for the showing of supplication by being given a hand full of coins bearing the Seven-Pointed Star.
The dream-wrought puppet standing in the Usurper's place then addresses Grafton, demanding he kneel in turn. As you had hoped the lord refuses, revulsion writ clear upon his pale features... not all of it directed outwards. A strangely sly smile passes over the seeming's berated face, a glimpse into some deeper pit of darkness. Coins ring out against the stone floor, the leering devil of Mammon's seal writ clear upon their face, some strike Lord Grafton in the face.
Still the lord will not kneel and so he is forced to by Corbray, seemingly filled with an impossible strength. "It is the will of the Gods," he says in cold mockery.
"Speak to Dywen!" Dany proclaims, no longer in the diffident servant's voice, but something high and clear, a command from some greater power.
The dream unravels with unnatural haste as the lord is sent back into his own unrestful slumber.
***
Twenty-Seventh Day of the Fifth Month 293 AC
The next day is heralded by a cold and distant sun peering between grey tattered clouds over Gulltown. Even the birds seem to call out mournfully as you come before the guards garbed in simple brown bearing no sword, merely a staff wrought seemingly of common oak, the guise of the traveler and messenger Dywen by name. They look at your with suspicion that quickly turns to disbelief when you announce that you would speak to the lord of the keep. Soft words and a humble demeanor carry you far for after a while one of them does go off to carry your message.
By contrast the other guard does all he can to warn you away, clearly worried for your safety: "The lord isn't one for holy men, now less than ever with his shoulder set askew. Short-tempered as a bear with a broke paw he's been. I can see to it that you get some stew and a roof over your head..."
You take note of the kindness and vow to reward it in some small way, but first the lord... Much to the surprise of the men-at arms, you are allowed to pass.
What do you say to Gerold Grafton, Lord of Gulltown?
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OOC: Now beta-ed.