| Ser Fulk the Subtle, Knight at Arms, Lists and Parchments |
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| Lambert Wilson as Fulk |
| Name: | Fulk |
| Aliases: | Ser Fulk the Subtle, the Knight of the Knifed Star, Ser Septon |
| Faction: | The Reach |
| Organization: | None |
| Occupation: | Tourney contender and wandering scribbler |
| Rank: | Hedge Knight |
| Age: | 51 |
Description
A lean, grisaille-bearded fellow about whom the word 'aging' might be unduly courteous, Ser Fulk has the bow-legged gait of one more often in the saddle than on his own feet, but lacks the height or bulk of higher-blooded, better-fed cavalrymen. He wears his mail hauberk fairly consistently, perhaps because whatever less martial garments he possesses are unlikely to be as fit for polite society - a leather jerkin and britches at best. His dark eyes are canny but kindly, and the most unexpected thing about him, perhaps, is the frequency with which parchment, rather than steel, and quill rather than blade, is seen in his gnarled or gauntletted hands. His shield shows a device that curiously mixes the pious with the ominous - a Seven Pointed Star with a bloodied dagger sticking into it.
Background
In the eighty-second year after Aegon’s crowning, Jaehaerys the Conciliator reigned in King’s Landing. The realm was prosperous and at peace. But it was a peace that meant but little, all the same, in many corners of the wide Targaryen dominions: including the insignificant little village of Candlewick, under the protection of Ser Haltwald Norcross.
It was a dubious protection, for the knight of Norcross waxed eldern and palsied, and powerful, cunning foes had leagued against him. Lord Gracewood – a pious man, but greedy with it, notorious for the exactions he demanded and then showered upon the Faith – employed House Durwell, horse-thieves and bandits to a man, to prey upon the village, citing as his pretext what he claimed were the irregular religious practices of the local septon there. Candlewick blazed indeed until the survivors submitted; and the septon was hanged from the justice tree, by the word of Ser Jermund Durwell. Bedridden, old Norcross was powerless to intervene.
Nonetheless, the Seven were to have their vengeance upon those who had abused their cause and slain their servant. The old septon had not lived alone, but reared a young nephew, whose parents had been carried off in some plague. He was a kindly man, and scholarly, too, in a small way, and taught the boy his letters, the Faith he practiced, and the occasional trick of herbcraft. But the boy, called Falcon for his quick sight and quicker movemnts, himself showed most interest in horses, and at thirteen, was running errands as a prentice rounceyman, or mounted pedlar. So it happened that he was away when they hanged his uncle. He had a quick head behind his quick eyes, and knew to lie low. But when Ser Jermund and his men were deep in stolen mead and sack, Falcon slit the robber knight’s throat, stole his horse – a fitting insult to a Durwell – and fled.
It was a hard and irregular life, but he was a survivor. First his name went, shortened and gentled to Fulk, then the rest of his past. He found himself a place squiring for a hedge knight, then became one himself, somewhere along the way. Soon he was making up for a slight build and patchy early training with cunning, skill, and canniness about ransoms. He never reached the heights, nor sunk back into the dregs. Ser Fulk the Subtle – his arms the seven-pointed star and dagger, for his uncle and his vengeance – was born in those years.
Now, indeed, Ser Fulk is long past his prime, and might be easy to overcome for any vigorous foe if he were caught on foot, but in the saddle he is still a hardy challenge, often underestimated. He has never kept onto much ransom money – spending it too quickly during feats of honour to impress noblewomen, often surprisingly successful. But he has forgotten none of his uncle’s lessons, while accruing plenty of his own. He has picked up the high Valyrian of nobles and scholars from well-disposed maesters met on the road, and the low tongue of Braavosi traders, too. He knows just a little about more or less anything, and can impress an Archmaester in discourse – for a glass’s turn, or so! And his lance is not, quite, to be ruled out of the running yet either.
Quirks
Compassionate - A humane and happy upbringing, followed by a hard life standing from the bottom, sours some men, but not Ser Fulk. He remains an instinctively generous, polite and sympathetic man, willing to go far beyond the call of practicality to help the weaker, as his knight's vow demands.
Lifetime of Tricks - Scrawnily built, perpetually out of pocket, Fulk has perforce learnt how to live by his wits as well as his swordarm. It is his mind as much as, or more than, his lance and battered blade that makes him a foe worth treating with care.
Magpie Learning - Fulk is full of surprises, rarely more so than when he talks and writes - hells, that he can write at all is arguably among them. It's impossible for a mere acquaintance to guess in advance what he might know - and, indeed, of what he remains rankly ignorant. Such is the product of education on the road.
Old Fool for Love - For all his age and ordinariness of appearance, Fulk remains hopelessly susceptible - and surprisingly successful - with damsels high and low throughout the Reach. This is probably one reason why his tourney successes have never translated into riches…! He will act with rashness quite foreign to his canny temperament, if urged to do so by a lady friend with a pretty face.
Reared by Septon - Fulk loved and respected his old uncle, and absorbed everything the septon was willing to teach him, taking his lessons and preaching deeply to heart.
Secret Heretic - The good septon of Candlewick was murdered vilely, without trial - but not, in truth, altogether unjustly. He had spoken rashly against the corruption of the High Septon and the Most Devout. When his uncle was hanged, his beliefs hardened within Fulk. He may love the gods, but he has small time for their oppressive earthly instruments.
Wealth: Poor - Ser Fulk has never lost his whole harness, though there are times whn he finds himself with a lamed or killed mount and has to manage afoot for a week or so; but he has almost no other possessions, and, though his earnings are fair, he is quick to squander them with lavish munificence.
IC Events
| Fulk Logs | Related Logs |
| Logs featuring Fulk. | Logs that refer to Fulk. |
Relationships
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Visenya She has my sword…such as it is… - The Princess was proven right beyond the expectations of any, least o' all m'self. I shall serve her as long as 'm of any use with lance, blade, or counsel, n' I hope the last, 'tany rate, shall see me out. |
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Saskia Knighted by my hand - An old frien's foster-child…a better fighter than Sol Stormbrew ever was…n' an excellent joke upon the assembled nobility of Oldtown. |
Gallery
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