[Lore] Long Live the Lord

[This post is going to be a tad bit rushed, as I have a bunch of Kuhn to read, my apologies in advance.*]

The Lord of the Nest

Arlorn Morrigen had died in the night (m: death-lore incoming).

Matthos briskly walked down the hall of the Maester's Tower, his dapple emerald cloak gliding listlessly over the stony floor behind him. A sword was buckled to his waist, though he'd hardly ever swung one in his life. His uncle Edwyn matched his pace.

"Maester Anders sent word for your vassals to be called. Bount, Cole, and Roymire - all will need to swear fealty to you." The Stone Crow barked, his armor and chain-mail noisily accompanying every bootfall.

"The Crow's Court?" Matthos asked, pulling a glove tighter onto his left hand.

"Aye, them as well. Jon Falstaff, Patrek Bosworth, Ser Simon Androws, and Agravaine." The last name came as a growl, it was no secret that the bastard had a certain distaste for the smuggler-lord.

The Great Hall opened up to reveal it packed to the brim with the minor nobility and tradesmen of Crow's Nest. A smattering of half-hearted applause greeted Matthos as he stepped out onto the dais. Maester Anders awaited him, a solemn smile at his face. Beside him, the now Lady-Dowager Helena Morrigen was dressed in a black dress of mourning, her vision downcast and sorrowful. Matthos' gaze briefly met his mothers', who offered a knowing smile.

An aged and wizened old man stepped forward, and offered up the fabled Whitebark; the centuries old relic of the old Crow Kings that seemed as though it'd been cut from its Weirwood brethren only yesterday. It was odd to not see the heirloom at his grandfather's side - like a piece of the old man that had not been buried with him.

"Matthos of the House Morrigen." Anders announced, his voice booming. "The firstborn son of Ser Richard Morrigen, the firstborn son of Lord Arlorn Morrigen, the thirdborn son of Lord Artos Morrigen."

Matthos' eyes swept across the dais, only briefly meeting the glance of his wife. Deria was two months pregnant, as Anders estimated, and he felt a brief knot in his gut at the sight of the babe in her arms. My firstborn son. The heir of the Nest. Damon Morrigen cooed and played with a strand of his mother's red locks, oblivious to the ceremony around him.

The crowd was mostly unknown to him, though he expected he would grow to learn of them in the coming years. His vassals were the most recognizable faces; the Bounts, Ser Lyonel and his son Ron, the brooding Ser Roran Roymire and his brother Boros. The most enigmatic, though, was the elderly Ser Alliser Cole who's son - Ser Oswell - had died North of the Wall.

"Long have the Morrigens ruled over the Nest and the White Hill. Long have the Lords and Kings of Crows agreed to stand vigil where once was Holy Ground." Anders continued, well rehearsed. "Do you agree to uphold these vows, to vassals and liege?"

"I do." Matthos echoed back.

The Maester handed over the staff, and Matthos took it with a sense of reverence. Generations of Morrigen hands had weathered the grip, and he felt his fingers naturally fall into those spots. Thousands of thumbs, worriedly rubbing over this dead weirwood. It was light in his hands - it fit.

He stamped the butt of it into the ground twice, and it echoed through the Hall like thunder of the Gods.

"Long live the Lord!" Maester Anders declared.

"LONG LIVE THE LORD!" The Hall echoed back. The retinue of men-at-arms garbed in red, blue, yellow, and green. The nobles and the tradesmen. The Nobles high and low. The soldiers of his vassals's houses drew their swords in ceremonious fashion, preparing to bend the knee.

And then there were screams.

The Hall grew into a fury of chaos and blood as the steel turned on their fellow countrymen, like a pack of rabid dogs. Before Matthos could truly comprehend - before could even breath, he was pulled away. What's happening!?

His Uncle, the monster of a bastard, carried Matthos away in one arm and held his blade in his other. "COLE!" He bellowed, blocking a blow from a soldier garbed in red.

No. He realized. No, they can't. "MOTHER!" He screamed, struggling against his Uncle's grip. "Uncle, we have to get mother!"

"Protect the Lord!" Someone shouted as the few men-at-arms in Morrigen colors struggled to hold back the tide. Somewhere he heard a babe wail, and a woman scream.

While two men of House Roymire descended upon his Uncle, Matthos slipped away - desperately searching the crowd for his family. Lyanna, Roslin, Mace-

"Ser Godfrey!" He shouted through the bloodshed as he spotted the Master-at-Arms carving his way through. "My wife and son!"

The fiery man gave a simple, stern nod before turning and parrying a second strike.

[M] Rolls to come in the comments...