The Blackwood’s Might (My Version)

RAVENTREE HALL

Late 1,390

It had been several days since they returned. His mother had been frantic when she learned what had happened, and it had taken a long time to calm her down. Drained of energy, Daveth hadn't argued with her; instead, he now lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

But enough was enough.

With a sigh, he got up and left his room. His footsteps echoed through the stone hallways, the sound hollow in the stillness. After some time, he arrived at his destination—the king's solar, his grandfather's private chamber. He nodded to the guards standing at attention outside.

One of them caught the silent cue and announced, "Prince Daveth, Your Grace."

A firm voice responded from within. "Let him in."

The guards pushed open the heavy doors, and Daveth stepped inside. His grandfather, King Willem, sat behind a large desk, his attention fixed on the documents before him. The soft glow of candlelight flickered across the room, casting long shadows on the stone walls.

Willem glanced up, his sharp eyes meeting Daveth's. "Take a seat, Daveth," he said, his tone measured.

Daveth nodded and settled into one of the chairs opposite the desk, bracing himself for the conversation. 

They sat in silence for a few moments before Willem finally spoke. "Who was it?"

Daveth frowned. "Who was what?"

"Your first kill," Willem clarified, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Daveth exhaled, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the memory. "One of the bandits. He came at me with his sword raised, screaming like a madman. I... I just froze. Didn't think, didn't plan—my body just moved on its own." A bitter chuckle escaped him. "Next thing I knew, he was on the ground, bleeding out."

Willem studied him for a moment before nodding. "Mine was a raider from the Iron Islands. A big, hairy brute from some minor house I never bothered to learn the name of." His voice carried a weight that hadn't been there before. "He'd been wounded fighting one of our knights. I found him trying to flee the battlefield."

Daveth tilted his head. "And?"

Willem's jaw tightened. "I thought I could take him alone. I was wrong." He let the words hang in the air before continuing. "He was half-dead, but still fast—faster than I expected. Before I knew it, he had me on my back, blade at my throat. And then..." Willem paused, his gaze locking onto Daveth's. "A friend of mine stepped in. Saved me. Took the blow meant for me."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the crackling of the fire.

"I got my kill," Willem murmured, "but I learned the cost that day". 

The silence stretched between them for a moment before Willem suddenly let out a hearty chuckle. "Hah! Enough of this talk. I doubt you came all this way to listen to an old man brood over the past."

His sharp eyes settled on Daveth, amusement lingering in his tone. "So, tell me, boy—why are you here?"

Daveth met his gaze and nodded before answering, "I want you to teach me how to rule."

Willem raised an eyebrow. "You? Learning from me? Why?" He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Doesn't Maester Cyrwin handle your lessons? Or is he not good enough for you?"

Daveth quickly shook his head, eager to clear the misunderstanding. "No, maester Cyrwin is a fine teacher—but that's just it. He's a teacher, not a lord, not a king." He hesitated before continuing. "He can teach me history, economy, and etiquette, but he has never ruled. He doesn't know what it means to make the hard choices, hold power, and bear the weight of a realm. I need more than books and lectures. I need wisdom that comes from experience."

Willem studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a slow nod, he said, "A fair point." He drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, deep in thought. After a moment, he exhaled through his nose and leaned forward.

"Very well. From this day forward, I will teach you"

Daveth smiled, ready to voice his thanks, but Willem raised a hand to silence him.

"First things first," he said, his tone sharpening. "Tell me what you know of the political situation in the Riverlands and the rest of Westeros."

Recognizing this as a test of how much he knew of politics and what he learned from his lessons with Cyrwin, Daveth took a moment to organize his thoughts before speaking. "It has been around a century since the fall of House Justman by hands of King Qhored Hoare".

At the mere mention of House Hoare, Willem's expression darkened, his fingers twitching against the armrest. He said nothing, only giving a short nod for Daveth to continue.

"Their downfall plunged the Riverlands into chaos. Old feuds, long kept at bay under Justman's rule, erupted into open war. Some houses sought power, others gold and grain. Many refused to kneel to any ruler, proclaiming themselves King of the Trident or King of the Rivers and Hills. 

Daveth took a deep breath before continuing."The land fractured in a matter of months. What had been one kingdom splintered into many, marking the start of a new age for the region. The Age of a Hundred Kingdoms, the maesters call it."

"In that chaos, five houses rose as the dominant forces in the region, keeping both each other and other houses in line. These five houses were the Charltons, Blackwoods, Brackens, Mootons and Mallisters. Their strength represents them in the order I said". 

Daveth paused for a moment, thinking to himself. This was one of the few things that confused Daveth when he first learned about the history of the Riverlands. 

One of the things was House Charlton, an andal house. He knew that House Frey was founded around 300 years before Aegon's conquest, which would make them 600 at the start of Game of Thrones. This made him wonder which house ruled their lands before them, and it turned out to be the Charltons. One of the vassals of House Frey.

This led Daveth to wonder—how had the Freys managed to rise from nothing to eventually usurp the power of their overlords?

But the more he thought about it, the clearer the answer became.

They had likely been founded the same way many minor houses were—just as the Cleganes would be in the future. A knight or soldier, perhaps a loyal retainer, must have performed some great service for House Charlton, earning them a grant of land near the Green Fork as a reward.

And from there, the Freys had played the long game.

With control over a key crossing, they built their bridge and turned it into a source of power, exacting tolls and fees from all who passed. Wealth poured into their coffers, strengthening them not just economically but militarily as well. Meanwhile, House Charlton grew weaker—by either war, internal strife, or the lack of competent rulers.

Over time, the balance shifted. The Freys grew strong as the Charltons withered. And when the moment was right, the vassal became the master.

Snapping out of his thoughts, Daveth refocused and continued.

"As for the current state of the Riverlands, the last major conflict between the great houses occurred about sixteen years ago—between House Mallister and House Charlton—over something as seemingly trivial as the movement of boundary stones."

At that, Willem finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the air. "And what happened there? Why did it escalate into such a bloody war?"

The sudden interruption caught Daveth off guard, and for a brief moment, he hesitated. But he quickly recovered, straightening his posture before answering.

"It began when men-at-arms from one of Charlton's vassals moved boundary stones deeper into Mallister land, claiming more territory for themselves, which caused the Mallisters and their vassals to retaliate. Tension soared between the two houses. Neither house truly wanted war, so both kings agreed to send their sons to negotiate peace."

He took a breath before continuing. "But peace was not to be had—not that day. They were close, so close, but during the negotiations, something happened. One of the princes attacked the other."

Daveth's gaze met Willem's. "No one truly knows who struck first. Some say the Charlton prince, angered over some slight, drew his blade. Others claim it was the Mallister prince, acting out of fear or mistrust. What matters is the outcome: the Charlton prince lay dead, and the Mallister prince survived with only a minor wound."

He paused, letting the weight of the words settle.

"Both houses cried treachery, each accusing the other of violating the sacred tradition of peace talks. And so, the war began."

"Even though the Charltons were the strongest house in the Riverlands, they couldn't simply march into Mallister land," Daveth continued. "The Mallisters, despite being the weakest of the five great houses, held strength to deter direct invasion."

He paused, his throat dry. Glancing around the room, he swallowed hard. Willem, noticing, silently picked up a goblet of watered-down fruit wine and poured him a glass. Daveth accepted it with a nod, took a long drink, and then placed the cup down before continuing.

"Another factor was their fleet. The Mallisters could use their ships to row along the smaller rivers, slipping behind enemy lines, and ambushing supply routes. Time and again, they could strike at the Charltons' rear, cutting off food, weapons, and reinforcements—causing devastating losses."

Willem leaned forward slightly. "So what did the Charltons do?"

Daveth thought for a moment, piecing the events together before speaking. "They turned to their relatives—the Brackens. The Charlton king's sister had married the Bracken king, and through that bond, they sought an alliance. Promising land and gold, the Charltons eventually convinced the Brackens to march with them.

He picked up pace, speaking with conviction now. "Now outnumbered, the Mallister king had no choice but to seek allies of his own. He needed someone strong enough to strike at the Brackens, someone who hated them enough to fight without hesitation."

Daveth met Willem's gaze, his voice firm. "And that ally… was us."

Daveth spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on his grandfather. Willem, in turn, smiled at the intensity in his grandson's eyes.

"That situation was more dangerous than you might think, it wasn't just some small skirmish between rival houses," Willem said.

Daveth frowned in confusion, prompting Willem to continue.

"Though that war had nothing to do with us, its consequences would have been immense had we not intervened." He leaned forward slightly. "Tell me, Daveth—what would have happened if we had stayed out of it?"

Daveth thought for a moment before answering. "The Mallisters would undoubtedly have lost. They would have been forced to forfeit land, gold, and hostages."

Willem smirked. "Good. But that's not all." He tapped a finger against the armrest of his chair. "Their loss would have made both the Charltons and the Brackens even stronger. The Mallisters, in turn, would have grown weaker—and they would have resented us for standing by and doing nothing."

Willem's tone sharpened as he pressed on. "But what truly mattered… was the hostages."

Daveth hesitated, confused. "The hostages? Would they have been mistreated?"

"No," Willem said with a shake of his head. "Quite the opposite. They would have been treated well—like people of their station." He fixed Daveth with a steady gaze. "Now, tell me… who would the Mallisters have sent as hostages to the Charltons and Brackens?"

Daveth thought back to his lessons with maester Cyrwin and the stories his mother used to tell him about her family. Slowly, he began to piece it together.

"If I remember correctly, House Mallister at the time consisted of my mother, my uncle Jason and his wife, their one-year-old daughter Cassana, my grandfather Edric, and my granduncle Denys. So the hostages would have been—"

He stopped mid-sentence as realization struck him like a thunderclap. His eyes widened.

Willem saw the understanding dawn on his grandson's face and gave a slow, knowing nod.

"That's right," he said. "The hostages would have been your mother… and your cousin". 

Willem continued, his voice steady but firm. "Your mother would have been wed to the second Charlton prince—now heir—while your cousin, Cassana, would have been sent to foster with the Brackens, serving their queen as a lady-in-waiting. In time, a betrothal might have been arranged between the Mallisters and the Brackens, strengthening their ties even further."

He leaned forward slightly, watching his grandson's reaction. "Now, tell me, Daveth—what happens when the Charltons and Brackens have fully absorbed their gains from their war with the Mallisters?"

Daveth's expression darkened as the pieces fell into place. He met his grandfather's gaze, his voice was lower now, almost cautious.

"They would turn their sights on us," he said. "The Brackens, emboldened by their victory and backed by the Charltons, would come for our lands. With promises of gold and grain, the Charltons would support them. The Mallisters, weakened and bitter over our inaction, would also turn against us—both for standing by while they suffered and because they, too, would see an opportunity to take land and wealth to increase their power."

His breath caught slightly as he forced himself to say the next words. "We would be surrounded on three fronts. We wouldn't stand a chance and get destroyed". 

A flicker of something—pride, perhaps—passed over Willem's face, but it was quickly replaced by grim certainty. He exhaled sharply, then spoke in a voice as unyielding as iron.

"Not just destroyed, Daveth. Eradicated." He let the weight of the word settle before continuing. "At that time, our house had only three living males—myself, your father, and your uncle. The Brackens would not spare us. They would make certain that our line ended, that our name was wiped from history."

He leaned back in his chair, studying his grandson. "This is the burden of the crown," Willem said. "Every decision you make today may haunt you for the rest of your life. You must learn to see not just the battle in front of you, but the war that follows. This is the weight of kingship, Daveth."

A long pause settled between them. Then Willem straightened, his voice turning resolute.

"And I now must prepare you for it."

Daveth gulped, his expression momentarily troubled before he steadied himself. Willem, noticing his grandson's unease, offered a knowing smile before speaking. "Good. Now you understand the weight of kingship. Continue—tell me more."

Daveth nodded, taking a deep breath to focus. "House Mallister and House Blackwood forged an official alliance by marrying your son, my father, to their daughter, my mother. With that, four of the five great houses of the Riverlands were drawn into a brutal war, which would later be known as, The War of the Twin Rivers."

Willem nodded slightly, signaling for him to continue. "Go on."

"The war lasted for three months before reaching its bloody conclusion in a decisive battle on the plains between the Green Fork and the Blue Fork. There, the combined forces of the Charltons and the Brackens were caught in an ambush by Blackwood forces, who had seized the opportunity while the enemy focused their attention on the Mallisters."

Daveth continued speaking, "The war ended when father struck down both the eldest Bracken prince and the Bracken king in single combat and the capture of the Charlton king by Uncle Jason. It was after that victory that he earned the title of, Benjen the Fierce. The War wasn't without cost either. The Mallister king, my grandfather Denys fell and caused Uncle Jason to be crowned king". 

With the war's end, we gained not just land and gold, but far more influence in the Riverlands."

Willem smiled approvingly before speaking up, "Excellent, Daveth. And what of the rest of the Riverlands? What's the state of the other houses?"

Daveth took a slow sip of his wine before continuing. "The Riverlands have been relatively calm since the war, with only small skirmishes here and there. The Mootons continue their feuds with the houses near the Blackwater Rush, but nothing too serious for now."

Willem nodded thoughtfully. "And the rest of Westeros?"

"The North remains unchanged, as always," Daveth said with a slight shake of his head. "King Torrhen does nothing but keep to himself and avoid meddling in others' affairs. His focus is solely on his land, leaving the rest of Westeros untouched by his rule."

"And in the Vale?" Willem asked, his tone shifting slightly. "What's happening there?"

"There's rising tension in the east," Daveth continued. "King Hugh Arryn acts more like a septon and less of a king and is restricting the worship of the Old Gods, which is causing trouble with houses that still hold to the Old Ways, like the Royces. His attempts to centralize power by enforcing his faith are putting him at odds with many of his vassals."

Willem raised an eyebrow. "And the rest of the realm? What's happening in the west?"

"Times are turbulent there," Daveth answered, his tone grim. "Torrence Teague's raids have only gotten worse. His raids are becoming bigger and bolder, and it seems that King Tyland Lannister is losing control of his bannermen. The Westerlands are in chaos, with Teague's raids causing havoc in the region, and the Lannisters unable to stop him."

"And in the south?" Willem asked, keen to hear more.

"In the south," Daveth replied, "King Harold Gardener, King Alaric Durrandon, and raiders from the Dornish marches are all locked in a delicate balance. Each one fights and raids the other, and while none of them has the upper hand for long, the constant conflict keeps them preoccupied with one another, preventing any one side from dominating."

"And finally, what's happening in the Iron Islands?" Willem asked.

Daveth paused before answering, his voice steady. "They keep to themselves, raiding as they always do, but nothing too bold."

Willem let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "It seems you've got a good view of the happenings in both the Riverlands and Westeros, Daveth. Well done."

Daveth smiled, a wave of relief washing over him as he realized his knowledge had been tested and found sufficient. "Good," his grandfather said, a hint of approval in his voice. "Now, Daveth, what do you know about...?"

The conversation continued, with Willem pressing further about the events unfolding in Westeros. As the old man inquired, Daveth answered thoughtfully, carefully considering each event's consequences, offering his insights as best he could.

It wasn't until late at night that they finally finished. Daveth now lay in his chambers, staring at the ceiling as exhaustion settled over him. Learning from his grandfather wasn't enough—he knew that now. No, he would prepare his House as much as possible before the storm came. With that final thought, sleep took him.