PETYR THE DROWNED

[louislxix 3198]

 

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PETYR THE DROWNED

 

 

 

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The day was dim and young, a summer morning's mist cascaded around the lands surrounding Mathandún, the family seat of House Baruch. Petyr Baruch woke from his sleep to the sound of his sister’s voice, “Petyr yer never goin’ tae get better if ye sleep all day and night.” He spoke in an ailing protest, but managed to shift to one side of his bed, sitting upright. “Come now, ye have nae seen Karl, or any of yer other peers in months now. I have got ye a horse ready to leave. Hurry!” Petyr nodded wearily, washed his face, and dressed before meeting Maira at the Keep's gates. The mist clung to his pallid face, as he mounted his horse, while Maira did the same. “Let’s be off,” he remarked with a gesture towards the road.

 

In a canter, they headed towards the Haeseni capital, in silence at first, until Petyr finally spoke, his voice grainy. “I have let the Brotherhood down- I did nay fight hard enough to be well, nay doubt Ser Caspian is displeased.” Maira clicked her tongue and reassured him, attempting to lighten his mood with a jest, “I’m a handful enough fer th’ Marshal, never mind ye.” Bearing a delicate smile, he nodded- the mood brightening as they continued. Along the way, they reminisced on their growing up, from Maira playing tricks on their father, and Petyr giving in to help her. They reminisced about their childhood- Maira playing tricks on their father, with Petyr giving in to her pleas, and helping her. They recalled the pride she and Karl felt when Petyr won his first joust and tournament, the time she had to carry him home on horseback after he drank himself sick at the tavern, and how she sat with him most nights when he was horribly sick with the pox.

 

As they neared the city, Maira rambled about an arranged marriage. Suddenly, just as she spoke the final word, a wild boar shot past them and startled her horse, its front legs rearing up. A damp crunch sounded as she thudded off to the side and tumbled down the river bank. Then a splash as she fell into the rushing waters. Petyr quickly dismounted and dove into the river after her, grabbing onto her hand. The current was strong, and they were pulled under. Everything happened so fast as they struggled to reach the bank. Bubbles escaped Petyr’s mouth as he gasped for air. His hand found a rock embedded in the riverbed, allowing Maira to scramble across him onto a patch of muddied earth.

 

Maira spluttered, gasping and coughing up water, her hand shooting out to pull Petyr ashore. But his strength was gone. His fingers slipped away as he sank beneath the surface, face-down, floating lifelessly down the river…

[trinn 5128]

“You do not lie to family, Maira. Never.” 

 

-✠-

Maira Baruch had not spoken to her father since the cleansing of Sermi’s curse upon her. Her mother was absent, pursuing a path beyond her own reaches. In the loom of Mathandún, it was Petyr’s company that remained a constant. 

 

It was a constant.

 

Now, with the sound of the water shrieking in her ears, she could not find him. His hand had slipped hers. Did it slip? Or had he relinquished it, in fear of pulling her back in? 

-✠-

 

Perhaps Sermi’s curse had not been lifted. Perhaps a taint had lingered, and it leeched itself unto Petyr to beckon his untimely death. Maira felt it in that moment. A cold, chilling thrum from the branding of Sermi’s curse upon her palm, the last thing Petyr had held before she lost him.

[ferdaboy 3472]

Garen had known he had failed his son. He had missed his son's eighteenth name day, had failed to teach him how to hunt, anything a father would have done, Garen had not.

 

Garen had no time to mourn, he knew his time was short, and he best prepare the next child in line to inherit.

[Sandman_Plays 659]

Caspian heard the sorry news a singular tear rolling down his face as he read the parchment, the man mourned his friend, his ally and his brother, he carefully wraps the scroll up once more placing it upon his desk, he looks out the windows the cold Haeseni air bathing his face, his breath misting as it expelled from his lungs he watched the courtyard, more and more brothers joining in training and learning together.

"Look at what have we have built brother... its glorious and would never have been achievable without you"

The man murmors to himself, the tear still lingering upon his face, he bows his head signing the lorraine over himself

"A true Brother until the very end, you have earned your place in the seven skies, rest well Petyr your oath is fufilled and I could not be prouder of a man in all my days"

Edited June 14, 2024 by Sandman_Plays

[Karina 1882]

Dread. Disbelief. Denial.

Malcolm had gone into the field of medicine to try to save those he cared about. While his relationship to Petyr was distant, he was family. Blood. It felt like a failure. Worse still, the close sting of grief that buried into his chest. Old enough now, to understand what it meant. How easily life could all fall away in the phantom of an instant. 

A deep silence would come to grow over the near-teen.

[nunlover 579]

Maiteas Vander would hear the news of his FAVORITE cousin dying.

 

"Oh.. Nay."

The youth, would simply murmur as a single tear would drop from his eye. A dark day, for the boy losing a close friend and family member.

[Frostdrop1 1843]

Marus Weiss heard the news with some shock. Albeit, he then remembered he wasn't so sure of the man at all. Regardless, it didn't mean he deserved to die. 

He didn't deserve to die.

"Bless vyr soul." He muttered, signing across his chest as the news. "...Even if vy were a jerk."

[CheekyNolan 5420]

With the lad dead Yuri cried over the surplus of Esterian Whiskey, the world's finest and oldest brand of whiskey sold at the Tipsy Tarchar Tavern & Inn, he was now left with.

[CasChaos 96]

Karl Weiss kneeled in the garden by his Keep. His garden. A flourishing thing that grew only more in the returned sunlight. Sunlight he dared not ponder whether Petyr had drowned too soon to see again. His gauntlets were exchanged for gardening gloves, dirtied by the soil that he worked in. 

 

And as he planted flowers into the soil, he was caught in thought. Memories of promotions, spars, and pinky promises to keep away spiders made under a table. Dragging his drunk friend to the riverside and shoving each other into the ice, to sober up or to seek revenge for being sobered. 
The thought of the riverside made him ill, now.

 

He stood, eventually. He couldn't manage to scrounge up any more work to put into the memorial, every detail imaginable complete as to honor one of his greatest friends- if not also to lengthen the process of creating it. 
And there around the pine tree, shrouded in part-shade, were scattered flowers. Few in number, but more sure to grow as time carried on.

 

The petals grew a gentle light blue, almost green.

Forget-Me-Nots.

 

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