Title Quote:
"A bloody sword is a beautiful thing."
Brandon Stark, A Dance with Dragons
Brandon opened his mouth to talk, so Elbert almost unconsciously sent another slap his way. It had become a reflex of sorts within the few hours since Lord Stark had left with the princess. But Seven, did it still feel satisfying. Brandon rubbed his jaw with the left hand while he mimed drinking with his right. Rising with a sigh beside him, Ethan rose to grab a pitcher of water from the table and filled a cup for Brandon.
On strict orders of Lord Stark only water was allowed in the vicinity of Brandon, as according to Rickard Stark, he hoped his son was drunk when he committed his folly in storming the throne room. Because otherwise the Warden of the North would be confronted with the fact that his son was a bigger fool than he could stomach while dealing with all this stinking shit in the capital.
Elbert was never sure whether the stern lord was dead serious or whether Rickard Stark had the driest sarcasm Elbert had ever seen. Acting on these orders, neither wine, ale nor brandy were to be left in reach of Brandon. As Rickard nicely put it, having a son with an alcohol problem was a salvageable problem. Having an idiot for a son was not.
It was deep into the afternoon when Lord Stark returned to their chambers. Elbert had changed babysitting duty with the other four guys a few times in his absence. The moment the door closed behind Lord Stark and his eyes landed on his son, Elbert for the first time saw an emotion in his eyes that truly gave him pause.
Elbert had seen so much in that court session today, and this particular feeling could have been expected of Rickard Stark the whole time. Elbert had seen rage and fury, deference and calm. Smugness and a whole range of faked smiles. The entire time Rickard had stood before the whole court in defense of his son had been a lesson in courtly mummery for the whole realm. But never, during this whole long day, had Elbert seen the utter, desolate disappointment that shone in Rickard Stark's eyes at this moment.
Lord Stark waved Elbert and Jeffory off with a hand, the two off them stepping away from Brandon to the edge of the room. Elbert did not dare breath too loudly, the titan in front of him giving off a defeated air, and it scared him. Rickard Stark slowly pulled a high-backed chair to face Brandon, not even lifting it from the ground, its legs grating over the keep's rough sandstone floor. Rickard slumped into the chair and took in the sight of his former heir before speaking, his voice a low whisper that spread into all corners of the room, raw and tinged with accusation.
"Brandon. Son. How could you?"
Even Brandon, brash and cocky as he still was despite today, sat in stunned silence, his eyes bulging. This sight of his father like this was apparently as new to Brandon as it was for Elbert. And while Elbert had only met Lord Stark a few times, seeing him like this had been unfathomable for him.
It saddened Elbert, seeing this, for he knew Rickard Stark was a great man. Seeing the man that saved his life today, empty as a soulless husk, shattered something inside Elbert. He could not imagine how it was for Brandon, who finally seemed to find his voice.
"I, how could, what. Rhaegar took her. He took my sister; I could not do nothing. You know me, the blood took over. How could it not, she's my pack?!"
If looks could kill, Brandon would have been disintegrated in that second. When Rickard spoke again, he was just as quiet as before, but the pure disdain dripping from his words seemed as if it could cut through the whole keep until it struck the bedrock like acid.
"I did not speak of Lya, but let's address that particular clusterfuck you caused first. You will be quiet, as it is still obvious you do not realize what it means when I say that the walls. Have. Ears. Lord Jeffory, please stand beside my son and remind him to be silent when he tries to defend himself. I do not trust him to understand the gravity of the situation we are in right now even if I was almost burnt by wildfire today, he was about to choke himself to death and all of you, his former friends, were about to be summarily executed for his idiocy.
"Now Brandon. Your intent to save Lya was the only thing about this whole fiasco that is to your credit. Let's start with your tendency to let your wolf's blood run its course. An abundance of emotion can be to your boon, but a 20-year-old is expected to temper it. It is not a convenient excuse for you to run roughshod through common expectations of courtesy and convention because they bore you.
"You are allowed a certain manner of irascibility above other people because of your station. Your frank abuse of this boon without regards for its limits is the singular reason all the Seven Kingdoms were on the brink of open war earlier today. As you have proved lacking in discipline to reign in your temper, you will now be punished every instance you indulge in it.
"Jeffory, to make my point, please slap my son."
There was no inflection throughout the whole speech, so Jeffory looked a little surprised at the order directed at him. It passed after a second and he absent-mindedly slapped Brandon like they had throughout the day when he made to speak. This was apparently not satisfactory to Rickard.
"Harder. As I said, the slap is to make a point. I don't want to simply shut him up this time. There has to be a difference."
As Jeffory complied again with Lord Stark's request, slapping Brandon with a snap that sent the younger Stark's head reeling, Jeffory himself seemed rather terrified of the calm way the old wolf was ordering his son to be savaged.
Nodding at the louder sound ringing in the air, Rickard Stark continued with his quiet education on the many failings of Brandon.
"Thank you, Jeffory. Now, Jeffory, please tell me, I know that my son made the way through your uncle's holdings at Seagard. Where were you when news reached you all that Rhaegar had abducted my daughter?"
"At Fairmarket, Lord Stark."
It could have almost been funny had Rickard been patronizing to the young Mallister and been met with deference, but the total lack of regard the Warden of the North displayed for the Riverman whom he used like a prop in a play made Elbert's skin tingle in faceless fright.
Elbert knew he would not have acted differently to his friend from Seagard if he stood beside Brandon, doling out slaps as Lord Stark dropped a word. There was a presence to Lord Stark right now that forced the three men in the room to obey him and listen. And listen they did as Lord Stark continued to speak.
"Fairmarket. Jeffory, you are most helpful. Now, even riding your horses hard, it must have taken you a few days to reach the capital which means your blood should have cooled off by the time you arrived here. I'm not going to ask how long it took you five to get here , because one, a temper tantrum that lasts an hour is already a disgrace for a drunk in his cups, nothing to say of a men expected to lead millions of people. And two, because I have come to the conclusion that the reason you screamed for Rhaegar to come out and die is rooted in a cause more base then your anger problems.
"I believe you craved the spectacle and the attention this little stint would bring you, and you welcomed the reprieve from having to marry Lady Catelyn for a few more days. A lord with a temper can be excused. A lord that is not the brightest can be excused, even if it's likely he'll be taken advantage of by his vassals. A lord that is callous cannot be excused, under any circumstances.
You demonstrated all three failures in plenty and I have come here from the office of the Hand where I had Lord Merryweather - a better man than you, gods how that admission hurts – draft and sign the document naming you attainted and removing you and all that come from your line from the succession of Winterfell until the last winter."
Elbert could see it, the moment it all sunk in. The moment that Brandon realized this was truly real. First came the blank shock. It was followed by a little indignation accompanied by a mocking snarl of his left upper lip. Brandon always started like this when his temper came upon him, and when he leaned into it.
Gods, Rickard was right. Brandon was a child with temper tantrums that never grew up to become a man. Brandon started shaking, his eyes both impossibly wide in its pupils while being have closed from squinting his lids. Brandon swallowed and tried to stand, about to rage and scream.
Elbert had seen it once before, in a bar when some Reachmen had insulted Brandon's delegation as savage barbarians. This time, he did not have the chance to see it unfold. Fast as a loosened arrow did the old Stark slide from his chair, taking a single silent step before arriving in front of his son, punching him.
Not a slap this time, a close-fisted, brutal jab straight to Brandon's nose. The younger Stark's head rocked back as he fell upon his chair, the ugly crack in the air denoting the broken nose that had just been given.
Lord Stark stayed standing and walked towards the table, cleaning the blood from his fist with a piece of cloth. He pulled back his sleeve and took out a small flask from a drawer under the table, along with three tiny cups, filling them. He fitted his belt with the knife that had lain there since he left with the princess and tucked a pair of smooth leather gloves into his pocket. Lord Stark came back towards Elbert with the cups in hand as Brandon let a painful groan escape.
"Jeffory, my son made a sound after he just gave in to his tantrums. Educate him please. Firmly."
Lord Stark did not even stop in his stride as he talked and Jeffory complied to the letter. Elbert received the small cup, knocking it back quickly and feeling the hot burn of Northern grain brandy going down his throat. Jeffory received the second cup and drank just as quickly while Rickard remained standing, towering above Brandon.
"Son. Look at me. I am angry at you for the way you chased after Lyanna. That is not why I am disappointed in you."
Brandon did not comply, he seemed to ignore his father out of spite. Why, for the love of the Seven, did he believe this was a good idea? Rickard Stark proved himself utterly without patience, and in that moment a little cruel as well.
The old lord grabbed his son by the short hair in the neck with a tired sigh and forced Brandon to face his father. Then Rickard Stark poured the strong Northern spirit in his cup onto Brandon's freshly broken nose. The scream that followed was simply left to ring out, there was no handing out a slap this time. Rickard simply moved back to the table to pick up the flask to fill up his own cup again and drink himself. After he swiftly moved to take his seat again Rickard once more addressed his son.
"Brandon. I used to believe in you as my heir, but I now see that confidence was grossly misplaced. I do not know how you managed to rein yourself in enough around me. But that is irrelevant. Your failures as a noble are irrelevant to me, to a degree. You said you chased after Lyanna because she is pack. The sad truth is, right now, I do not believe you.
"Because Ned is your brother, isn't he? Is he not pack? How could you, Brandon? Did you ever truly love Barbrey? Princess Elia told me of what you did. Is this some sick attempt to make others feel pain, because you have to marry one of the most beautiful maidens in the whole realm? Are you truly that pathetic? To do this to your own brother?"
Brandon, for just an instant, truly looked ashamed. All the worthless rage, all the righteousless fury escaped him and he averted his eyes, not daring to look at his father. Elbert was confused for a second, who was Barbrey and what was this about Ned? Was Ned not deep in over his head, writing letters to Lady Ashara Dayne?
The man had been insufferable the last few months, waxing fucking poetics for his raven-haired beauty. Elbert could still remember the day a few months ago when he had visited his uncle Jon. Jon's foster son Robert had been moping because Ned was not paying him the attention he craved anymore.
The fool stole one of the letters Ned was writing and read it out in front of all the ladies of the court, trying to embarrass his foster brother. Elbert could have gagged at the contents, but all women in attendance seemed to collectively wet their small clothes at the words. Now older men were regarding Ned as a threat and all the fair maidens at the Eyrie approached Robert to be introduced to the Quiet Wolf, instead of the other way round.
Ned had to physically run from all the tail that was chasing him suddenly, and Robert suddenly found himself without purchase with the finer ladies at court. It had been a hilarious spectacle from outside, Ned being intensely uncomfortable with the attention and Robert in stupor at the realization that he cock-blocked himself.
Maybe this Barbrey had been the old flame of Ned and Brandon had been, as Rickard had put it, callous with her. The thought was sickening. Whatever the answer was, Rickard had apparently seen enough of Brandon to verify what the princess told him. And he had found his son wanting. Calmly, steadily, Rickard reached into his pocket and pulled out his leather gloves and gave Brandon a soft slap with them.
That slap would not hurt. That slap would burn, long after still. Even after Brandon's nose had healed. Where before Rickard had looked disappointed, now there was complete disillusionment written across his face. Elbert hoped never to be the cause of such a sight on people he cared about. Rickard rose and walked to the door, and Elbert thought he would leave without another word. He did not, instead he invited Ethan and Kyle to join them from the antechamber before he made to address the lot of them.
"Things have changed today. First with the trial and later caused by discussions I've had. You all deserve to know what awaits us now, while we are still here in King's Landing and probably in the months to come. We will talk on most things after we have left the city walls tomorrow, but there are some things that I can tell you that bring us no danger yet.
"I had meant to name Brandon the lord of an important keep after I had to disinherit him, but now I will instead name him a castellan until my son Benjen comes of age. I hope I have time to educate my youngest at least on how to be decent."
Brandon came into the room then, clutching his face to stem the blood. Rickard turned to his son and continued talking without mercy.
"Brandon. Maybe someday Eddard will be merciful and grant you a keep of your own. I will neither be able to, nor will I want to grant you a seat for yourself while I live.
"Ethan. It would be to my honor if you let me take you on as my squire instead of my son. He has proven himself unworthy of your trust."
The young Northman looked stunned for a second before speedily shaking his head, agreeing fervently. The young man had worshipped Brandon's cocky bravado before. It seemed his admiration had transferred to another Stark. Rickard's face was graced by a wry smile for a second before he continued.
"I apologize, Elbert, Jeffory, I will need you to accompany me to the banquet with the king and the wider court today. I know you two will not want to attend, but you must bring back word of what you see to your uncles. There are certain matters that need to be set into motion tonight that will serve to benefit all of us. I will instruct you on how to conduct yourself with the relevant factions at court on the way. Kyle and Ethan will take over the duty of guarding my son tonight."
Jeffory and Elbert shared a short look before agreeing in unison. As much as they did not want to go see the Mad King again, witnessing another one of Rickard Stark's stellar court performances would be more than worth it. Elbert could already see that they would learn a lot toady still.
Rickard rose and mimed for Elbert and Jeffory to follow along, to share details on a need to know basis with them. As Rickard opened the door, before he stepped through to leave the room, Rickard Stark once more turned to face his son, a lone tear shimmering in his eye, before leaving his eldest devastated with only two sentences.
"Brandon. Today, for the first time I feel like I completely failed your mother in raising you, failing her last wish from her deathbed.
"I am ashamed of you."