Gavin looked out at the approaching men as Joakim spoke to them. He found it a bit curious, seeing as he didn't recognize them, there garb, there faces. This is something Gavin felt more troubling then anything, He knew of very noble family and anybody of any importance. Once more none of his own people saw him coming, which meant he came from the only direction that he never watched, north. Taking a step back it seemed that this wasn't information that he would have to convey at the moment. With a smile though his hands reached behind his back as he held them there. "M'lord" He left out the Young part when they weren't alone, mostly leaving his little quips and jabs for when it's just the two of them "Shall I prepare a room, and perhaps tell the kitchens to make more. I'm sure he and his men must be hungry, a sign of good will such as food might help with most foreign relations." He spoke in a very particular way, hoping that Jakim would pick up on his more subtle Nature. He hopped the young lord would pick up on what he meant: These mean were of none of the known kingdoms, including Borhilon, and that he wanted to send his own people out to investigate.

Amber stayed silent. The only thing on her mind right now was the kingdom she'd just lost, and where her brother was. She'd find lodgings in the Winterlands, of course, but this betrayal was unnerving. Tomas had warned her of her advisors, but she had only ever thought them greedy, never capable of treason. She'd see them hang. If only she'd stayed and fought, maybe she could have avoided this. Were they already celebrating their victory and control of the Forklands, or had someone struck them down? She'd seen Lord Battlemaster Horvik cut down several men in a few seconds. Not an easy foe to bring down.

She noticed from where the Sun was that it was about midday. The sky was a deep blue, with no clouds overhead. A cool breeze swept her hair around, and she basked in the relaxing feeling of being free. Exempt from politics, warfare. One with nature.

Her thoughts were cut by a voice. It seemed to call out Gregar. She turned her horse around and faced him.
"Shall we keep going? It could be another trap."

Gregar turned his head when he heard his name, or rather a shorter version of it, being called out from somewhere in the pine forest. The snow was picking up, and Amber urged him to continue. He complied, but kept his head turned to the direction of the sound while riding his horse onwards slowly. Then, suddenly as if the gods had loaned their divine favor to him, a figure came from the forest, riding at a near-battle speed. Thinking the worst, he reached for his swords before seeing a distinctly familiar face, brown flailing hair trailing behind it with specks of white snow stuck in it. “Kitty!” he yelled, slightly uneasy in his saddle as it was quite hard to react with his body while riding a horse. An embrace was out of the question, after all not even the most skilled riders could pull such antics off while on a horse.

“What takes you so far north? And where is earl Kevin?” Gregar had known earl Kevin to have sided with the crown, a loyalist if anything. But he didn't know of his death as of yet, and to see Brier without a guard or the earl nearby was quite strange. “Amber! It's Brier! Surely you remember her, my sister, right?” Gregar was unsure of the relation between the two - he had never been there to see them together, so he was unsure if they got along. Atleast they had common grounds in their.. less feminine skills. “Have you come to mourn father, Brier?” Regardless of what turn that conversation would've took, they rode on for the Wintershouse, since Amber was right, and they didn't know who was on their trail, or who was sent after them. While riding however, Gregar would tell Brier about the situation in the Forklands and the war in the Ironhills as he experienced it.

---

Joakim turned to Gavin, and nodded slightly. “That's a good idea Gavin, make ready a room of suitable..” His eyes glanced at the man, and although Kaz was dressed like a warrior, nothing denoted a particular status. “.. stature.” Not that it mattered much, the Wintershouse had plenty of rooms but they all looked a like - stone, with a single window covered with a simple linen cloth, a chest and armoire, a desk and chair and a bed. Maybe Gavin could throw in a few extra furs, for warmth in the bed. Joakim turned to the warrior man and smiled in a friendly way.

Rather than invite the man in for just friendly chatter, there was a certain interest present for an alliance, given the fact that the Wintershouse would soon be set upon by the Harrighfields of the Ironhills, although not many men knew of this as of yet. The man looked capable, and his men, while looking a bit primitive, had characteristics of proper warriors, although they couldn't exactly be called 'soldiers'.. and any man on the walls, was a body that prevented the Harrighfields from winning. Who knew how many more men this warrior had behind him.

As soon as Joakim would've received an answer, he'd leave the scene and leave the guards to make sure the lot stayed organized. Besides, the soldiers standing behind him would no doubt take care of any problems this group could give them. As he walked back, he made sure Gavin was with him. Removing the sword from his belt, he'd hand it back to him, as well as the shield. In a hushed voice he'd talk to him, “Feed his men proper, and make sure they have plenty of wine. Drunk men talk, so make sure you find out why they are here, or where they are from. And keep them outside the palisades, I'm sure there will be trouble if they mess with the soldiers who are already drunk and pissed.” Atleast Joakim had picked up some knowledge from his brother, and the drunken soldiers had also given him plenty of clues as to the availability of info from drunks. Heading back into the keep, he went to his room to get prepared for meeting this warrior. And since he was a warrior, Joakim figured he'd best wear some proper attire - a ceremonial dagger, a longsword on his side and a lightweight leather jerkin. Atleast then he could win some martial respect, if everything went according to plan. When leaving the room he'd whistle softly, calling to him his dog, named Bravery, a young white haired husky that he'd bought off of the smith for a small sum. The other dogs were all in the kennels, but Bravery was special to Joakim. His footsteps echoed down the hallways approaching the main hall, where a fire had been lit in order to meet proper with this warrior - who should, by now, be ready to talk with Joakim.

---

Gidja eyed the man up and down again, but without the proper time to assess the 'black knight' as they had come to be called, she decided that getting out of the blizzard was the main priority now. “Aye, fine. Just make sure you stay close to me, I need to see you if something happens.” The black armor was usually a pretty good indication that someone was either a poor knight, or just some lowlife who had robbed a fancy nobleman or something - it was commonly known that the paint served against rust, but only the poor used this method, as normal knights could afford the upkeep of their armor and weaponry.

Turning the horse round and leading the way, she turned her face towards his. “I've not heard of this 'Lily.' I can guess her occupation from her name, however. How did a man with such come up end up in a black suit of armor?” It was an innocent question, as she had no preconceived notions about black knights - truth be told she had never met any either. Although asking such questions in the south would probably raise an eyebrow, or two, and maybe sever the head of whoever asked it. “Well, regardless you'll find yourself sticking out. The last black knight that travelled here took a wrong turn in the Forklands, and he hurried away as soon as he saw snow.” Bunch of cowards, she thought, but she'd hold her tongue in fear of the man not appreciating the insult. Riding on slowly, the snow getting thicker by the second, they caught up with the caravan eventually. “Well, I can tell you, if you're hunting bounties, you must be strapped for coin. If that's the case, there's a reason all the bannermen are here - I'm not sure what, but I think it involves fighting. You look like you can fight. Speak to young lord regent Joakim Weade, although I estimate he will want to speak to you when he hears theres' a black knight in the Wintershouse.” The last words fell as the caravan pulled into the castle, into the courtyard. The caravan master thanked Eirik and Gidja, who rode off to put the horses in the stable. However before dissapearing from sight, she turned her head again. A smile curled onto her face as she spoke to him, “.. actually, I'm not telling you you should speak to the lord regent. That's an order from the guard - so you better do it, or I'll find you and forcibly summon you in front of the lord.” A joke, but a serious one at that.

---

After all the commotion surrounding the caravan, the black knight and the foreign warrior would be done, the group of three would slowly trot into the castle, and not a sound would be heard as they did so. It seemed they went mostly unnoticed after the earlier happenings. “Eh, that's.. dissapointing. I had hoped more people were here to see the Oakheart, Kitty and the duchess of the Forklands. Such a shame.” He grinned at his companions as he dismounted and led his horse into the stables close to the keep, detaching his sword and shield from the saddle and attaching them to his belt. He unhooked the saddle and tossed it into a heap of hay on the side, before moving to help Brier with her saddle. “It's a pretty horse. Where did you get it? It's well fit for a pretty girl like yourself.” Truth be told, Gregar was a bit too old to playfully compliment his sister like that, but he didn't really care. To him she was just as much his little sister if she were 20 than if she were 10. Although over the yeards, he did have a more joking attitude when surrounded with friends. “It's awfully slow, though.” he grinned at her and Amber. Noticing that Amber wasn't exactly getting the saddle off either, he would walk over to her too and place his hand on her shoulder. “Allow me, my lady.” He smiled at her, and did his best to surpress the grin he felt coming up as it always felt a bid strange to refer to Amber as my lady. However he pushed through and got her saddle off as well, putting it over a piece of wood that seperated the stable compartments.

“Shall we head inside?” He didn't wait for an answer and lead the way to the great hall, where he'd hope to find Joakim, but would run into others undoubtedly if they decided to go to the greathall as well. Whether Amber and Brier would follow was mostly up to them.

As usual, Gregar's straightforwardness was a welcome balm for Kitty's wounds, as hard as those questiosn rang in her ears. Words didn't come from her mouth at first, all while Gregar was making presentations with lady Rossric."No, Gregar. I come not to mourn father." She finally managed to piece together, fist clenched."They took all from me. Because Kevin perished with Father. Harrighfield miscreats riled up a mob, and drove me out. They killed my little boy, Gregar. Brian. I couldn't do a thing." Brier struggled to find words, as tears welled into her face, and she barely struggled to coherently talk. "I would've died, but a brave knight saved me with his life. And I could only flee north. I don't want to lose more people..." The noblewoman finally broke in tears, and all her further words were wails for quite a section of the road. After what seemed an eternity, Brier reached the castle she was born in. She felt lost, weak, much like a five year old child again.

Kitty could barely smile at Gregar's clumsy attempts of lighting the mood, which unfortunately, was still striking on too many raw emotions. "I borrowed it from his owner, and I am afraid he will never need it back." She curtly said. She took notice of the grin of her brother when looking at Lady Rossric.

Why don't you sort your heart out, your clumsy oaf, and seek another woman? Elisandre would've understood. She thought to herself while trying to arrange her mess of a dress and hair into something... less haggard. "Home, how much I longed for it." She weakly said before heading after Gregar.

---

Ash huffed. It was a good thing this particular guard couldn't see his eyes rolling inside his helmet. "It's a long story, m'lady. My kind mother, bless her soul, handed me to a troupe of entertainers. And one day I decided to try and live my own stories. Before I knew, I already was knee-deep in this awful world of violence and swords." He paused his rant for a slight moment. "Mark my words, m'lady, never take what stories say for fully true."

The Knight paused slightly before dismounting, once the gates were reached, and did a small nod to Gidja. Intrusive or not, she had been reasonable and had let a couple of pieces of information. "I appreciate the honest advice m'lady." Ash said. The trickier part came now. Probably Joakim Weade, the current lord had not heard of his exploits on the south...as mercenary of duke Perris. Had it been the Oakheart, Gregar, things would bode much worse. He then took a sip of his flask, and gave another to his horse, which greedily drank, before tying the beastie somewhere safe, and pulling the severed heads from the horse's back. He then headed towards where the lord held the audiences, muttering under his breath as random servants hushed at his back and gave him wide berth.

Well, he was still half-frozen, with blood on his armor and a couple of severed heads. So that couldn't be helped.

Tomas walked up to the on-duty guard.

"Hello good sir, would you let me through?"

"No one gets in without special authorization. King's orders," the guard grunted. Tomas saw in his cold expression that it was no use insisting, and walked off. He needed to get in, since this would have been the logical stop for his sister after the events of last night. He looked down at his leg. He'd been putting maggots in it every few hours, and it wouldn't infect now. It would leave a nasty reminder, though. The material of his trousers hung around the wound, still soiled with blood.

He'd have to find another way to get in. In the meantime, he needed to eat and drink. He went down to a small river that surrounded the city and drank some water, taking the opportunity to wash his face. Seeing nothing to eat, he sat down and watched the gates. It must be a boring job, being a guard, he thought. Just standing there doing nothing.

He saw the guards change shifts. Now that it was midday, the one who'd refused him left and was replaced by a young girl. Strange to see one as a guard, thought Tomas. Maybe she'll be more willing to let me in.

He made his way back. Hopefully I've still got it, he thought, as he closed in on her.

"Hello, fair lady. How about letting me in through that door? I'm sure one man getting through here is no trouble."

--------------------

Amber rode on. She'd not met this girl before, or at least had no recollection of it. "We all long for our homes. One only realises how much one misses something when it's taken from them..." Too true, too soon.

She followed the others at a trot behind. Doubtless they'd have much to say to each other. She had to avenge her kingdom. She wouldn't become a failed Duchess, another page in a history book. She'd take back what was hers, no matter how long it would take. But now, her main focus was finding her family. Where were her brother and mother? Had they escaped? Were they still there? Or... no. No use thinking like that.

She did her best to hide her sorrow. You're a duchess now, emotions can't be shown, especially around people you don't know so well.

Turning to walk beside Joakim, only slightly back as a sign of respect, he nodded as his smile was back on his face "I'll see to it m'lord, some men have yet to show so there rooms are vacant. He said as he grabbed the sword and shield, walking with him though the halls of the keep he nodded to servants they passed "Oh yes, some of are finest ales and wines, served by only are loveliest maidens" He laughed a bit as it was more then food and wine that made men talk. He already had a few in mind that he knew he could trust, as for the rest...well gossip seems to be the favorite pastime of servants.

Soon they reached the door of Joakim's room as he handed that sword back to his lord. "These are not knights or soldiers, these are warriors. I would think they are more akin to me then you."Everything about Gavin changed in that instant, his words lacked any of that peasant accent as his voice sounded more flat and devoid of emotion. his eyes were sharp looking more like deadly steel, his stance even looked like he could strike in a moments notice. In that moment he looked more like the killer he really was. "If I am right about that, they will respect practicality and see pretty things as useless. Real weapons would be best" He handed the sword back and turned before smiling, looking much more relaxed as he smiled and his eyes kept went back to that wide eyed happy go lucky man as another servant was approaching "Ah Lidia, you saved me the trouble of having to find you" The girl looked up seeing Gavin then bowing to Joakim "My lord" she said as Gavin walked off Come with me Lidia, busy busy day for us all it would seem.

After walking he told Lidia to prepare a room for there new guest and to inform him when it was ready. After they part ways he made his way to the kitchens, informing the cooks of the new comers, they grumbled and complained like they always did. Cooks always seemed to be the angriest people in a castle. Soon moving he found one of the woman he needed, Gwen was her name. She had made her self very useful to Telth as though she didn't know it. It was simple favor, talk to the foreigners and learn what she could and report back. There were a couple others that he would given the same orders and any other spare hands would simply go out to assist. Though there were still more things to oversea and do, Some days it seemed that being a simple assassin was easier. Officially Gavin had no subordinates, but because of his position he pretty much has to run the every day operations of this place, from a servant stand point at least.

Soon though another walked up to him, one of his 'favored' sorts. Some news from the gates, seemed Gregor has returned with others, the lady Rossric and another woman were returning with him. "Inform Lord Joakim, and tell lidia to make a room for Lady Rossric" he told the servant as he ran off. Smiling he made his way over to the gate they would most likely be returning. He had only been working for Joakim for the last few years so it wasn't sure if they would recognize him, still however didn't mean he wouldn't make sure they were taken care of as soon as they arrived.

Joakim sat down in the simple wooden throne, taking his sword and leaning it against the throne. He leaned back and enjoyed the warmth of the fire before another servant approached him - again. Gavin had really ought to handle these things alone, rather than send a message every time he did something. He had barely gotten a nights rest with all the troubles and such going on, and by now many lords were freshly awoken from their nights rest so there was no chance to get some shut eye. Some sat in the hall conversing with others, sitting on the simple wooden benches. Wealth wasn't a thing prominent in the North. Others might already be preparing to leave, mostly the men from the North that had a long ride ahead of them. They would be returning as soon as they could, and hopefully with an army of bannermen.

Joakim wanted to wave the servant away, wishing some time to himself to reconsider the position they were in, and to look after his mother for a moment. She seemed to be caving in more and more, and hadn't stayed for the ceremonies yesterday. Her servants, Arryn Thorne and Rosemary Yewstring, had been taking care of her so far but Joakim had the idea it would only take time before his mother caved completely and he would be forced to keep her locked in her room with an embroidery set. It was a fate many widows had seen before, and he felt sorry that it had to be his mother too.

Before he could wave the servant away he was already closeby and speaking to Joakim. He notified him of approaching people, who appeared to be lord Gregar Weade, as well as an unknown woman and lady Amber Rossric of the Forklands. Although Joakim knew her only by seeing her at the tourneys that he took part in, he knew she was duchess and commanded a decent amount of respect. More so, she was a good friend of Gregar. Joakim nodded and attempted to hide his satisfaction, but failed at that miserably when he walked towards the door to greet them. Closing the distance, the door opened and Gregar stepped through with that characteristical grin of his. Joakims walk turned into a run as he clashed with Gregar in a firm hug. “Brother!” he let out, nearly ramming Gregar to the ground as they connected. All Gregar did was put his hand on Joakims head and smile. He looked around the room, to see all the noblemen that had now stood up. Some smiled at him, others bowed their heads and a single lord even dropped on one knee. It was certain that Gregar had a far better standing amongst the nobles than Joakim.

After a long hug, Joakim released him and then noticed Brier behind him too. He was far too happy to see her to even think of why she was here. It was uncommon for Brier to make the long journey to the Whitelands, especially because she had a busy live in the Ironhills. Her skills went largely unknown to Joakim, who knew merely that she had some idea what plants were edible and which were not, but besides that he knew little of her. They never got to spend time together before, because by the time he was mature enough to realise what was what in the world of politics and traits, she was already married off. All the memories he had of her were childhood ones, where she would watch him and teach him. He smiled at her and approached her after, leaving Gregar to tend to the noblemen. As he approached her too, he would give her a hug. “Good to see you Brier, are you staying for long?” His dog, Bravery, would sit next to them and pant heavily. He'd twist his head slightly at Brier in a comedic way. Granted, the dog was brave.. but not very smart.

---

Gregar turned to the nobles and gave them all his attention. “Good of you to be here still.” His eyes gazed over the visages of the nobles, as he walked to his throne and touched it's cold wood. He'd then turn around and face the lord who was on one knee. “Rise, please, ser Redarde, there are more pressing matters than formalities.” The lord rose slowly, still bowing his head. Other nobles lined up with him, to make ready for what Gregar was about to say. The lords that had already left would have to give their oaths by contract, these men could do it in person. “Do you all swear allegiance to me, Gregar Weade, the Oakheart of the North, true heir to the title of duke of the Whitelands, and rightful owner of the Wintershouse? Do you swear to uphold my name, my honor and my faith in front of those who would oppose us? Do you swear your banners to me, to aid me when I call on you?” The lords drew their swords and set the tips down into the stone, before kneeling and bowing their heads. In unison they replied, 'I do'.

Gregar looked around with a satisfied look. “Good. Because we have a war to fight. It will be weeks before Harrighfields army gets to the Whitelands, but our northern armies must travel even longer. We will be outnumbered for the first weeks, months even. But we have a good position, namely that we are free to bargain with others, where as lord Perris Harrighfield has suffered a diplomatic blow when he struck against the king! We still have allies in the realm of the King, although it may seem like it is not so.” The lords nodded, some said a quick word such as 'He's right' or 'I can send a letter to my niece in the Falkhalls'. It seemed Gregars arrival was timely, and he had lifted the spirits and given them hope, or atleast commanded such respect that none of them would speak against him. “And after the war is over, we have another matter to attend to. Lady Amber Rossric has been de-throned by pretenders and men of the cloak and dagger. Our families are tied together ever since the birth of Borhilon, and they hopefully will continue to be tied after all of us lie in the ground, feasting with Gods' children. As such we have a duty to help her gain back what is hers. There may be yet nobles in the Forklands that support her cause. We must search them out and ask them to aid us, so we may aid them in return by returning their duchess.” The lords nodded, some looked as though they weren't prepared to fight another womans' war, but if the duke commanded it so it was to be done.

“Now that we've done all that.. servants! BRING US WINE!” The crowd cheered and even the servants looked happy, because when there was a feast, they were usually invited to join. Some men left to go fetch their friends and comrades, who would by now be awake after a long night of drinking, and visiting women of satin covers. As the servants would go to fetch wine and food, no doubt upsetting the cooks even more than they already were, Joakim approached the throne again and leaned towards his ear, where he would tell them of the foreign warlord that had taken up residence on invitations of Joakim. Gregar would nod and make sure to invite him later on. Joakim retreated to sit with Brier and Amber at a table of.. higher nobility, where people would swap seats every now and then to sit close to these influential people, for small talk and hopefully for them to get favors from them. As Gregar sat there, he noticed a peculiar person roaming the backside of the hall, a knight dressed in a suit of black. An uncommon sight in the Whitelands, but a sight more common in the South. Whenever there was a war, it seemed the knights of Black crawled from under their rocks to participate. He stood up and pointed at the knight. “Knight of the Black! Come closer and undo your helmet!” An eerie quiet would overcome the hall as many would turn to face the black knight. “.. Tell us of your name and your birthplace, knight. Black knights are a sight uncommon here, so we must take our chances to talk to them.. you lot are interesting.”

---

Gidja was just switched out with the castle guard who guarded the gate, another more relaxed position were it not for the blizzard that was picking up pace. Many peasants and soldiers had retreated inside, but she had no such chance to do so. She was about to lean against the wall when a man approached, coming from the snow and approaching her, almost in a straight line. “Hail stranger.” she said as he approached and started talking to her. He even called her fair lady. She rolled her eyes at him and replied with a quick tongue. “Flattering me won't get you inside. I see you have a weapon, and while that is not forbidden, I should warn you that if you try anything funny - we have men inside from all the lords of the realm, and they are veterans of many wars. You look like you've never seen a trickle of blood run from your blade, so be careful who you offend..” She would nod towards the gate urging him to hurry inside. “And don't bother the ladies of pleasure lest you have coin. Many of them are close friends of mine, and I'd hate to skewer you on my spear. Now go, you might be able to get some food at Gregar Weades' hall.”

---

Arryn rushed to the windowsill to grab a pillow for lady Catryn, and noticed the wind and snow was picking up. She leaned over and grabbed the wooden boards that could cover the window, before pulling them in and closing off the window. The room suddenly turned very dark, and she let her eyes adjust to that for a second before rushing back to lady Catryn, who was laying in bed in silence. Catryns quiet, soft but singing voice broke the silence. “Lady Catryn.. can you raise your head so I can place down the pillow, my lady?” Lady Catryn complied, either out of sheer sadness, or because she couldn't be bothered with this.. child. Arryn promptly placed the pillow down before rushing to the other side of the room again, where she would take a candle and take it outside. Starting a fire was always a hassle, so she generally just used the burning torch on the outside of the room, hanging from a wall.

As she headed back inside she noticed that the other handmaiden, Rosemary, was coming back from an errant. As such she left the door open for her and went inside. She placed the candle near lady Catryn on a table, and sat down close to the table waiting for lady Catryn to ask for something. As Rosemary entered she seemed.. happy. It was strange in such a turbulent time to be happy, so she continued looking at Rosemary waiting for her to tell what was so good. 'Lady Catryn, your son and daughter have returned. Gregar and Brier are both here, as is Amber Rossric.' This was news that would normally make a mother happy, but she didn't reply, only stare at the wall in silence. She had cried all her tears yet, and so she couldn't cry anymore. The two handmaidens stayed in silence for a while before lady Catryn ushered her first words in days. 'Leave me.' she said, softly and quiet, whispering almost. Her voice had changed, and while it was beautiful before, her voice now sounded old and devoid of any emotions.

The two left the room and slowly walked together to the halls. Before Arryn could say anything, Rosemary was already talking like a madman. 'Oh, Arryn, Gregar is so handsome.. He got scarred in battle, but he's still pretty. It just makes him look more like a man than before! Maybe he'll ask me to dance..' Arryn shook her head. She liked Gregar, but more like a friend. Besides, Arryn was much too young to even be thinking of stuff like this. Rosemary on the other hand was already 18, and would be sent away for marriage soon. Being lowborn, she'd probably be married off to some 3rd born son, someone like Joakim. That was not neccesarily bad, it was definetely a step up from being a handmaiden, but.. it wasn't like she'd be married to a king, or a lord. It was stupid to think of Gregar, she'd never get him. Arryn couldn't help but wonder who she'd be married to.. she'd much rather stay in the Wintershouse. But she didn't tell Rosemary that, preferring to keep quiet. She just smiled and went along with Rosemary's rambling.

Ash's mood just seemed to worsen by moments. Earlier the day, he had hoped to somehow get by and remain unnoticed. After some talks, a bounty, a blizzard, and a perhaps too observant guard, he had all the stares of every single lesser Lord and Bannermen the Weades had. And to top it off, the one person he was not supposed to meet to avoid trouble was actually calling him. Gregar godsbedamned Weade, the Oakheart. What a fine mess. Last time I saw him, he bounded me in chains and didn't take too kindly of his men falling to my weapons. And there were the stares. It was like...if they were awaiting a performance.

He paused, and raised his hands to his helmet. Well, what the hell, let's give them the show of their lives, then. He added, while dropping it, revealing his face in full. He intensified his stare, eyes directly glaring at Gregar Oakheart.

"You know me well, Oakheart. I am after all, the Knightslayer and the bane of your troops." Ash said with his deep voice. "Yet, I come here not as lackey of Duke Perris, for my relationship with him has ended.I have no desire to fight you over nothing." He added, his hand slowly reaching for his sword. "However my life is all I have, and I will not part with it easily. Pardon my rudeness if I fight back." He added, to back up his defensive stance."You asked for my name, m'lord, and that much I'll give. Know that I am Ash, son of Lily the prostitute, and my place of birth is the Whitelands." He smirked slightly. "However, if your lordship would be so kind of staying his hand, he will know that money cannot buy blood. I'll gladly lend you my sword to protect the resting place of my mother." He finished, awaiting a response.

---

Brier clutched the folds of her ruined dress tightly. She wasn't in the mood of tasting food nor wine. The emotion she had when she met Mir, her little Mir, all grown up and regal, had all but faded out. She really wanted to tell how proud she was, and make up for lost time, but more empowering emotions were threatening to burst outside. Specially after Gregar's talk about war, and asserting Amber's rule. Really, these two should marry, I mean, he's chosen to tell about Amber to his troops, and forgotten about me. Not sure if on purpose... I hate war politics. Brier bit her lip, and then gestured for Joakim to lend her an ear.

"Blackwood is lost, Mir. I'm sorry for telling you this way and putting the burden of you, but I can't keep myself in check for much longer. Kevin is dead, and so was my little Brian, killed by a mob who drove me out. I'll excuse myself now, lest i break before all of your brother's lords and bannermen. Tell them I went to see mother." Brier whispered, before gathering all her remaining grace, bowed out and headed towards the tower, where her mother was, struggling to not let her tears out.

Amber sized up the former Lord Regent of the Whitelands. He seemed young, not even a man yet. She knew he looked up to Gregar though, and she'd hopefully see his swordsmanship later on.

On the other hand, she didn't trust Brier. She seemed needy, and... She couldn't quite put a finger on it. Distrustful?

She wondered whether to kneel or not in front of Gregar. She decided to draw her sword. It wasn't her sword Honour, which she'd left along with her axe Valour at the Forklands, but it was a good blade. She'd keep it. As Gregar spoke of her situation, the lords turned to her. She knew some of them would be surprised a woman was fighting and not a whore or at home with her children, but some still offered themselves to her as they did to Gregar.

“Now that we've done all that.. servants! BRING US WINE!”

She stuck close to the Weades but didn't say much. She still wondered about Tomas. Where was he now? Where was mother? The waiting was infuriating, and even her chalice of wine could not calm her.

-----

Tomas nodded, "Many thanks." It was not often that someone had refused his advances, and he was slightly taken aback. He started to walk in. Then the temptation grew too sweet.

"Good, I'm expected there."

It would probably have been best not to mention who he was, but it mattered little at this point. Most people wouldn't know who he was, and in any case they'd pay more respect to a beggar than a bastard this far North. He actually would probably miss the semi-acceptance he'd managed to acquire in the Forklands.

He followed the girl's instructions and found the main hall. He saw Amber. Thank the gods, she's alive. Amber saw him and he saw her try and conceal her emotions. It worked quite well, and she managed to excuse herself from the others to come to him.

"Gods, your leg..." she said as she approached him.

"It'll heal. In the meantime, I wouldn't want to enter the hall like this, I need clean clothes and a shower."

"Of course," she embraced him and he put his hand on her shoulder.

"Do you know where mother is?" he asked her.

Amber looked down at the ground.

"You don't know either, do you?" she asked.
Damn. So there are only two possibilites. And the better one would be that the damned advisors are keeping her prisoner.

"We'll get the bastards," he said, trying to confort her.

Amber nodded. "I know, Gregar is planning to help us. His lords seem more or less inclined to help us as well," she said. "As to your room, I think they've arranged yours next to mine." She briefly gave him the instructions on how to get there.

Amber returned to her hosts. Tomas went up and quickly washed himself, putting on the leather tunic and fur cloak that had been laid out for him. He also took some of the mead on the table and poured it over his wound, biting his lip. The maggots had probably done their job, but he couldnt' be sure. As he walked out of his room to join the Main Hall again, he spotted a pretty maid in the hallway. Not today, he thought, and walked down the steps to the hall.

As he entered, not many people paid him much notice. One lord recognized him and greeted him, and pointed him to his sister. Tomas thanked him and joined Amber and the others. She seemed to be talking to several noblemen. He recognised Gregar, of course, but he also had a boy and man in black armour next to him. Were they his siblings? He'd never met them.

"I don't believe we've had a proper introduction. Ser Tomas Rossric, Bastard of the late Lord Rossric.

-----

Horvik walked across the Great Hall, which had become a battlefield. Crows rested on corpses, feeding off of them, and the Battlemaster was covered in blood. They'd killed nearly every supporter of the foolish girl. How easy it is to crush a kingdom. He thought. Dig away at the surface and all you have is the respect of lords. Lose that, and you have nothing, and can be eliminated easily.

He walked up to the throne. The two other Advisors, the High Priest Jenner and Spymaster Clovis. Both of them were waiting for him.

Jenner spoke up. "My... position as head of the church forbids me of assuming the position of Duke."

Clovis gave a wry smile that made Horvik feel uneasy. "We would not want to anger the Gods."

"Er... Quite. And Clovis cannot become a Duke, as it would impede on his little spy ring. So we believe that in our best interests, you should be duke."

Music to Horvik's ears, he nearly laughed. Too easy. He walked up to Amber's crown, which she had dropped, and seized it. It would have to be remade, of course, but it was her power. All her authority.

"Have this melted and remade. Her weapons, as well," he instructed a servant.

"Y-y-yes sir."

He watched the servant speed off.

"See that the prisoners are rounded up and thrown in the dungeons. Who survived?"

"Not many, Horvik," replied Jenner. "The Duchess' mother. A few distant cousins and other noblemen who threw their swords to the ground during the revolt."

Horvik, "Good. Interrogate the older men, and make sure none of the women are raped. We aren't savages, and I'll see discipline in this army."

"Of course." The two advisors walked off.

Duke Horvik, ruler of the Forklands. It's all mine.

Joakim nodded at Brier and let her excuse herself - she answered his question indirectly. If Blackwood was lost then that meant she'd be staying here for an indefinite time. Atleast she was safe. As Brier was leaving someone entered the hall and sat near Joakim. He introduced himself as Tomas, a bastard of the lord of Rossric. The duchess' half brother? “Joakim Mirke Weade, brother of Gregar Weade. Pleased to.. make your acquaintance.” Joakim wasn't sure of the man, and his way of speech made him seem a bit like those trying to gain favor with Joakim. “I'm sorry to hear of your sisters loss of title. I'm sure Gregar will see to it that she's restored in honor. For now.. feel free to sta-” His brothers voice interrupted him and Joakim turned to the black knight, who was now reaching for his sword.

Not missing a beat, Joakim shoved the bench away as he got up, getting in between Gregar and the black knight, who identified himself as Ash, son of Lily the whore. Not a noble birth, possibly lower than even a bastard of a nobleman. It mattered little to Joakim, as even a peasant with a knife can slay a king, given the chance. Blood changed nothing. “One step, Whoreson, and I'll cut you down before you can set another step.” His words were powerful, but he drew his sword shortly after to add power to the words, wielding it with two hands and getting ready to fight the man. The fact that the man was armored, and Joakim only wore a light leather jerkin, mattered not to him. Some of the lords got up too, placing hands on their blades. It seemed the knights' offer to fight for Gregar withheld them from slaying him right that instant.

Gregar looked at Joakim and the knight, a stone expression on his face, a sharp contrast between what he normally looked like. “Please, Ash, son of Lily the whore, forgive my brother. He hasn't seen you on the battlefield as I have..” What the man said was true, and now that he undid his helmet Gregar could see clearly. This was the man who had slain plenty of knights, targetting them as if they were the king himself. He had destabilized entire formations by taking down commanders, but they had lost that battle regardless. Gregar had even witnessed the man cut down Kevin Morrigh, lord of Blackwood and husband to Brier, his sister. But, to not run the risk of an uproar, or even worse, a tantrum and frantic murder of a knight by Brier herself, he kept this to himself. “You did kill many knights, some of those men of my realm. Honorable men who laid down their lives for their duke and king. I even crossed blades with you, and defeated you. Took you captive, bound you to my horse. Somehow you escaped, and I am yet not sure how.”

At the very least the man was skillful, more so in giving a show than in battle, but that didn't mean he was a bad fighter. Quite the contrary, the man was an able fighter if he took down men like Kevin Morrigh, a skilled fighter if anything, and men of similar caliber. “Joakim, stand down please. If anyone is to cross blades with him, it would be me.” Joakim looked over his shoulder to see if Gregar was serious, then complied. He would stare the black knight in the eye for a moment longer, an aggressive flicker in his eyes as he sheathed his weapon and stood aside. Gregar stood up from the throne and walked closer, to stand at the center of the hall. “But you were a mercenary, doing a job. I'm sure none of my men held a grudge against you. War is war. I can't speak for weeping widows and parents, but I cut down many men myself in that war, and I am sure their families are crying as well at this moment.”

Gregars hand went up to his chin, holding it as though he were thinking. Then he spoke out against the black knight. “I'm afraid I cannot harm you, if I wished. I'll allow you to fight for your homeland, if you wish. 'tis not my bussiness what you do, whoreson. But I cannot speak for the widows and parents. Sad people do things they might regret.. revenge is one of them.” Gregar found this a good enough explanation and he returned to his throne. Before the feast could continue, he'd ask a question more however. “I just wonder, why would a smart man like yourself travel to the lands where his opponents house? You could've gone to the Falkhalls, the Ironhills or the Forklands. Yet you went here.. the Whitelands, a rough country where the lord is someone you crossed blades with.” The question didn't demand a direct answer, as Gregar was thinking more out loud than anything.

---

Joakim returned to his table where Tomas would still be seated, most likely. He'd sit down with some adrenaline still left in him, or battle spirit as it was called in the North. He'd have liked to cross blades with this man, to cut him down like the whoreson he was. “Tomas, it was right? Have you ever had the misfortune of meeting a black knight?” He'd grab some pork from a plate, his entire demeanor changed from a nice boy to a vengeful lad. “I've fought one of them at a tournament in the Big City. The king hosted a tournament, and this black knight competed against me. He was good, really good. He lanced down his opponents without trouble, and controlled his horse skillfully. So I made up my mind - I would fight him, no matter what happened. I pushed myself through the ranks, until I met him in a round not far from the final round. He was a good age, thirty or so if I remember correctly, and at the time I was barely 15. He looked me in the eyes before battle and said I would die.”

Slowly Joakim would eat the pork, looking Tomas in the eyes. He'd make sure Tomas and Amber were paying proper attention. “I believed him, I knew he would kill me. I still rode that day, for my fathers' honor. But a 15 year old boy, fighting a 30 year old knight, clad in black? No chance.” Slowly a grin crept onto the face of the young lord. It was pretty clear that Joakim didn't die, else he wouldn't sit here. “Our lances crossed and I shielded myself from his. He had chosen to ride with no shield, underestimating my capabilities severely. I knocked him off his horse, but he lived yet. So I dismounted and drew my blade, as he drew his mace. He struck first, quickly and strong, but I blocked his strike and cut his throat clean through the slit between armor and helm.” He looked at the black knight again, reminiscing about that moment the other knight had died. “They're good fighters, black knights. There's a reason they are feared. And being feared makes you arrogant, cocky. It ultimately kills them all.. especially in the North. There's a reason we don't see many black knights here.”

After greeting Gregar, the lady Rossric and the other woman he walked with them to the keep. Soon he lead them to there rooms, Lady Rossric was in a good enough position that Gavin would to see to her himself. Nodding to her when she asked for a room for her brother. After they were settled he moved back returning to his young lord as he found him in the hall. Keeping back he smiled "seems you are no longer lord regent. Guess you won't be bothered by pestering servants any longer." Gavin knew how much Joakim hated the servants always informing him of things, but as lord regent he needed to be informed of things. He smiled "A win for us both, now I don't have to listen to your constant complaining about it." He smiled weather or not Joakim complained he often found it fun to poke a stick at the young lord, though he spoke softly enough so nobody could hear.

Soon enough though they had come to joining in the great hall. He wasn't all that surprised to learn that the strange woman was the Lady Brier. He heard of her death, but at the same time he had reports on the contrary. Nothing concrete but it was enough to make him question. After there little introduction soon they were all moving up to the tables, Gregar addressing his bannermen, going on with this little ceremony, Telth found these things pointless. Bannermen meant that they wouldn't betray you as long as they didn't have the diplomatic and political standing to do so. It was fickle thing the "oaths" of these noblemen. Many of them looked down on Telth and others like him as they saw him as nothing more then a necessary evil. At the same time at least you knew where you stood with him, he cared little for political manners and social standings, it all came down to one thing: Coin.

Hearing of Lady Rossric's situation was old news to Telth, though now the lady was here he would have to take extra precautions. The world of Assassins and spys was a small one. Everybody knew of everybody, but few knew each others faces. Clovis was a good spymaster, and officially Winterhouse had no spymaster, un-officially though Telth filled that position, which worked to their advantage. He would be sure to make it difficult, spread rumors that Rossric was here, or there. Though at this time he wouldn't do anything until he had a chance to speak to Jakim in private. For now though Gavin had matters to attend to.

As they all sat and drank Gavin was directing most of the servants, Soon he found Lidia, he had a Job for her. She was a sweet girl and a gentle one. Soft spoken, he smiled as he sent her off, she was to assist Lady Brier anyway she could and act as her handmaiden. For Rossric he had some one else in mind, Jessica. She used to work in the brothels, but she had made her self some one Gavin could use. More over she was some one who helped keep him informed. Soon the woman walked up to Amber pouring her wine "Good Evening m'lady, I am Jessica. I'm to be your handmaiden for your stay here in the whitelands" She wouldn't so much spy on her as he wanted some one close to her how knew how to spot other things. Gavin had to act fast positioning his own people however, with the return of Gregar, that also meant some of the senior servants have also returned, for now he was still in charge. But in the morning he would 'turn-over' informing them of changes, new people, and current matters, and after that the running of servants would no longer be his job. Joakim was the only reason it was, him being lord regent, but now Greagar was officially the Duke. Gavin was relived, this was the last night he would be directing the servants, he didn't hate the positions, he was even good at it. But after the night he would simply be Joakim's personal assistant once more, well in the eyes of the public at least.

However soon the black knight who had been lurking in the back was called forward, meating with a bit of hostility, by Joakim most of all. It was that moment that Gavin was reminded that as grown up as Joakim seemed at times, he was still a young man, and was such was prone to such out burst. He wondered if he was that way at his age for a moment, but it seemed Gregar was able to ease his younger brother. The hall seemed to be paused, many of the servants standing in there spots, maybe urging Joakim to keep his real sword wasn't the wisest of ideas, but at the same time...this was entertaining to Telth.

"Never had the pleasure," said Tomas. It's the kind of challenge he loves, thought Amber. Just as long as he doesn't attack this one.

She could tell Tomas and Joakim would get along, both seemed hot headed. And arrogant.

"Hopefully we'll see what this one's made of," he continued. Damn it.

Amber looked at the wine the girl Jessica had poured. She glanced at Tomas, who had clinked his wine glass with Joakim. Wise move, to mix any poison that could be in the glass. She did the same with the man next to her, and, satisfied, started drinking. Can't be too careful anymore.

She looked at Gregar dissuading the Black Knight. Not only was he handsome, but also smart, clearly. Her respect for him soared even further as he avoided conflict with words. The two next to her would have killed him by now. Or gotten killed. Despite being a fighter, she knew the knight could probably beat her in a duel. But it's true it had been some time since she'd fought, and an urge to cross blades with someone would probably soon come. She needed to train later.

Ash's grip on the pommel remained at first, his gaze becoming unfocused as the young lord drew his sword, and called him a whoreson. Ash wasn't even staring at him. Nor at Gregar. He was staring through them, as if he was trying to ascertain some kind of intrinsic reality in the horizon. He knew how tense the situation was. He knew a single bad step could get him killed. Or the fact he had to cut all those men. But... his heart had stopped showing feelings already on the countless battlefields, and this was just one more. At times like this, Ash was more a soulless wight than man.

Finally, he did release the grip of the weapon, as his gaze focused once more. "No need for apologies, m'lord. He was just defending your lordship, as any good kin of you would." And then Gregar kept elaborating, remarking his reluctancy to bring violence in the mess hall. Just what Ash was betting on with his own life. As any man weary of the battle and aspiring lord would, Gregar seemed to read the situation perfectly. Ash's careful posturing was going to make him like as if he had the power of making dangerous men stop in their tracks with his voice alone. "There is wisdom in your words, m'lord. Wisdom bitterly earned with the bloodshed of war."

He then paused, staring at the musings of his lord. I don't need anyone to tell me how absolutely much I am regretting having headed north now. He conceded. "It wasn't a decision made by the head, but by the heart." He paused. "I wasn't always the Knightslayer. Before being skilled at arms, I was skilled in other things." He then carefully picked three apples from a nearby table, and in front of everyone, started to skillfully juggle them. His speech wasn't hampered in the slightlest."I was raised by a wandering troupe, whom my mother gave me away when I was young. They all were good, honest people. They knew I had some wits, so they taught me things. Like storytelling, some minor tricks, and healing arts. But, I was still young, and impetuous. I did want to be like the heroes of the stories i told. But I squandered my gift, by becoming a mercenary." He paused, catching the apples and leaving them on the table.

"I scoured battlefields for more than a decade, feeling each time more emptier and lost than before. I once thought battle was glorious, now I know otherwise. No gloriae suae in bello. There's no glory in War. Hopelessly lost, I decided to go back to the source, where I was born. Perhaps here, even if I have many opponents, I'll find my way." He finished. "And that is the reason. That and some rather pushy guards, a blizzard and a bounty I've come claim on two highwaymen."

---

Brier wasn't feeling so well. Kneeling in the latrine, she was arched considerably. Had she had eaten any food, no doubt the gagging and stomach churning would've expelled it with haste. Tears rolled down her cheeks, as she could only sob as quietly as possible, hoping the servants and bannermen who were downstairs in the hall didn't take notice of her.

"How could they. My little Brian. He wasn't even 3..." She managed to piece together, between tears and sniffles. And then a voice asked her from behind the door. A woman, trying to be gentle and sweet.

Damn Servants, can't leave one woman alone to have a moment of solitude and mourning. Wiping her tears and snot with the underside of a sleeve, she straightened herself, and opened the door.

"YOU." She said, her teeth clenched with latent hostility."...start preparing a hot bath. I could use one." She finally calmed, getting a grip in the situation. "And say me your name."

"Lidia M'lady." The other woman replied.

So, this was the servant they had assigned to her. "Well then, Lidia, go fetch the water and prepare the bath. I'll be visiting my mother." She clenched a fist as she began hurriedly to walk along the corridor. "I do not have to idle. She needs me. All of them need me." The middle girl of the Weades said, and prepared to enter her own mother's room.

Don't crumble, Kitty. No matter what wrong you see in mother, Do.Not.Crumble.

Gregar listened to the black knight, evaluating his words with a skeptic look as the man was a black knight after all - a warrior for hire, or outlaw if he desired to be one. But he spoke with a remarkable tone, and even knew a motto in the language of Kings. “Well, it seems we have common grounds then. Your source is here, if I am correct. I never knew your mother, you'll have to forgive me for that. But if this is where you were born then it looks like you might have problems.” Gregar spun the wine in his cup around and then took a sip, looking at the black knight and judging him at the same time.

The man was not truly a master at arms, more so just a very dirty fighter. That was no insult, it was just a style. Gregar had seen him in combat and could conclude that this man, while skilled, had no godly boon that others did not have. He was mortal, as anyone, and certainly seemed to be more unlucky than lucky. Never the less.. the man was interesting. “I have little to offer to you, there is no land I can give you for the Whitelands are not so fertile. I have little wealth as I am a simple duke in the North, not a Southerner. But I can assure you our loyalty and values are stronger than that of anyone else, and that is what I can offer you.” It would be unclear what Gregar meant exactly with this, but he was getting to a point.

“You have no doubt heard of the army that marches here? Undoubtedly, you were part of the very same army after all. They are coming here, 'your source' as you worded it, and they're not coming to liberate it. They will burn it if we give them the chance. So I need every man and woman that can wield a weapon to be here, on the walls, in the keep, defending it.” The hall remained rather quiet, everyone maintaining their conversations at a hushed tone while Gregar spoke to the knight. Many of them did so out of respect, others out of interest for what was being said. “So I can offer you just that. Loyalty and values. If you accept, then you will no longer need to toil in that armor of yours, blackened not by paint but by other people's views of you. Instead you will be one of the men you sung about in your troupe - a knight in service, fighting for the honor of his lord.”

Gregar smiled at the man, as an offer of knighthood was extended rarely, and even more rarely to a black knight. Never the less it was not a free offer, as the man would have to agree to it first, and then swear an oath. Finally, he would be expected to fight for Gregar. “Perhaps God has not forsaken you. Maybe your heart didn't choose the North for you, maybe God did. God and his children work subtly, knight of the black. There is certainly glory in war, you just need to find it.”

---

Joakim grumbled as Gregar offered the black knight a place amongst his knights - a group filled mostly with noblemen and noble sons, all of which Joakim had known for years and, in some cases, even trained with for years. And then this man walks in, and gets offered a place almost instantly. Just because he can juggle apples about. He stuffed more pork into his mouth, chewing and looking at Tomas as he spoke. “He's made of tales, card tricks and lies, it seems. Brought up by a troupe.. pah.” Joakim normally didn't have anything against his sort, but it was obvious the man annoyed him.

“Excuse me. I want to take a look on the walls. It seems everyone is getting more and more drunk, and nobody is paying attention anymore.” He shot Amber a quick look, as he realized she would probably attract much more attention than they could use right now. Gavin must already be turning the wheels of the spy networks he had, but Joakim understood little of that. He just assumed that he'd try and run interference between all the tidbits of information that got sent out. No doubt would he persuade some people that Amber was, in fact, not here. But it didn't take a genius to understand that Gregar would've taken Amber with him to the north, as they escaped together. “I wouldn't want anyone to assassinate the pretender duchess.” He stood up from the bench, nodded to Tomas and them clapped his hands against his pants, urging Bravery to follow him. He stepped away but changed his mind it seemed, turning around and stepping back to the table. “My apologies, Amber. But you are a pretender from this moment. People will be after you, if not the duke himself then it will be bounty hunters.” He smiled, but it wasn't a genuine smile. For a small moment in time he felt like Gregar made a wrong choice to bring her here - she would be more trouble than good. Tomas, on the other hand, seemed to be more capable than Amber.

He left the hall, walking past the black knight without even granting him a look. As he passed the man he even grabbed the hilt of his blade, making sure that the man got no ideas. It was all a show, ofcourse, to let everyone, and especially the black knight himself, know that the man would not be tolerated by Joakim. Those looking to gain favor with Joakim would no doubt shun the man too, although now that Joakim had lost his position as lord regent, these people were small in number.

Agile as always, Joakim walked up the stone stairs that led to the wall. His dog followed him quickly, walking up the stairs with remarkable ease for a dog. A man was posted here, as the guard was still on triple duty. Not far from him, barely 10 meters, the next guard stood watching over the forests ahead of him. The white snow was a blessing and a curse, a blessing because anyone would easily be seen in the white, giving a nice contrast to the grey armor most people wore - but it got awfully cold and cold soldiers fight worse than those near a warm fire. Joakim greeted the guard, who returned the favor with a quick nod. Leaning on the battlements, he looked out over the horizon. The sun had risen since the feast had started and the blizzard had calmed down, though it was still snowing. Below him he heard the sounds of encampment, no doubt the warlords' men, who had been forced to stay outside as a safety measure. In the distance, wolves howled as they left their holes. Joakim merely watched for any disturbances, petting his dog as he did.

---

Arryn and Rosemary walked past Brier, who hurried down the corridor with clenched fists. And although the lady seemed.. broken, she remained beautiful. Arryn turned her head to watch the lady as she continued down the hall, moving towards the feast. Slowly the sounds of the feast started echoing into the hallway and before she knew it she was there - watching as a black knight was having words with Gregar. Paying no mind, as it wasn't her place to do so, she continued walking along the sides of the hall until she found a table. Seated there were a man and a woman, whom she didn't know. Had she known that this was the (former) duchess of the Forklands and her brother, she would've seen to another table. But she didn't know, so she sat down along with Rosemary. “Good morning, Arryn Thorne, handmaiden of lady Catryn, pleased to make your acquaintance.” Arryn spoke to Tomas and Amber, with a hushed and soft voice.

Lady Catryn turned around as her door opened, still in bed. She faced her visitor, her face weary and tired. “I thought I told you to leave!” she said thinking that it was Arryn and Rosemary that had returned. But it wasn't, and she noticed too late. “Oh, it's.. you, Brier. I'm.. sorry. How are you? How is Kevin and your young one?” she asked, though it was more for social requirements that she asked than that she asked out of interest. It seemed as if she stopped caring, about anything and anyone. For that reason she hadn't even heard of Kevins death, nor Brian's.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance. Duchess Amber Rossric," she said, rising from her seat. Tomas did the same, but he excused himself to leave the room. The young girl in front of her had a fair face, framed by long black curls falling past her shoulders. She was much shorter than Amber.

Immediately she struck Amber as a girly girl, in a dress and probably bearing no fighting skills. She'd rarely met any other woman like herself, so it wasn't really surprising. From the girl's reaction, she gauged her to not be highborn. "Tell me, what do you do around here?" she asked, taking another sip of wine, and, gesturing to the empty chair Tomas had left: "Please, have a seat."

------

Tomas walked along the battlements of the hall. In the distance he saw the female guard again, talking to what seemed to be a group of whores. He turned his gaze upon the rest of the city. It was beautiful, the thatched buildings topped by thick snow. A few specks landed on his face, which he brushed off. He shivered. At this moment the forklands would be pleasant and sunny, but strewn with dead corpses. He could still feel the sting of his wound each time he walked, and the image of half of the general's face being ripped off. I should have recued mother... where is she now? He was sure he'd seen two guards take her away from the bloodbath, but were they loyal or traitors?

It was no use to think of this now. They had a different war to fight.

To his side, much further on, he saw Joakim overlooking the city with his dog. He walked towards the lad.

"Joakim... Would you know where one could buy some weapons or armour? I'll need some for battles to come."

Kaz eyed his sword dubiously- he was still doubting if it was quite shiny enough. Appearances were important, he knew, and he had to keep his up infinitely. No one could see him unguarded, weak. Friends were weakness- a bridge inside that could be manipulated. His armor and his weapons, they defined him- and they needed to look their best, so that if he should draw blood, one may see that not only does it look good, it also does its job. It might even get someone to underestimate him- and fighting a foe that underestimates him is a pleasing activity, if aggravating.

He wiped the sword down several more times with the oily rag, using the special recipe by clansmen of Gray Marsh to erase all rust or debris. Then he pulled out his whetstone and went at it again, sharpening and sharpening and sharpening. A servant appeared several dozen schrrrrrrrkings! in, opening her mouth to address him in some way. Instead, he cut her off with another application of the whetstone, eliciting a cringe from the maid, before following up again and again, watching her reaction. There were few servants such as this in Gray Marsh- most everyone knew how to kill. "An armed society is a polite society," indeed, when anyone you disrespect may end up putting a knife in one's back.

Finally, he stopped, put down his whetstone on the chest he was sitting on, and picking up his rag again. He busied himself with wiping it down all over again, getting metal shavings out and making the newly sharpened edge gleam. The maid, finally sure that she wasn't about to be interrupted, again opened her mouth to address him, sucking in a breath for something or the other. Instead, Kaz, again, rudely interrupted. "What is it that you want, youngling?" He stood, sheathing the sword at his waist, the sword sliding into the rune-covered steel-reinforced leather scabbard without a sound. His armor clinked against different plates lightly, surprisingly quiet for such heavy, thick armor. Mainly, that was thanks to the chainmail-and-leather combination. He was, technically, wearing the same leather armor as the rest of his troops, just modified and custom tailored to accommodate the semi-decorative plates of steel armor, with chainmail helping to protect his legs, squished between leather to make it appear deceptively weaker than the rest of his armor.

The maid flinched as he rose above her, but admiringly stood her ground, again trying to speak. "Sir- Lord- ah, that is... Warrior Kaziden of Hesh, your presence is requested within the great feast held below in the Great Hall." The maid scurried out immediately after, not even bothering with curtsey of any kind. He snorted; it did not matter to him.

Instead, he collected his knives, gave them another, shorter run with his whetstone and rag, before sheathing each back into their small pockets. He tightened the loosened straps of his armor, rolling his shoulders and shaking himself down, making sure he was limber and not at all stiff. Even a week's riding wouldn't stop him from being alert and prepared, for sure, otherwise he had no right being the greatest Warleader Gray Marsh- or all of Hesh- has ever seen. He allowed himself a moment's glow of pride at his achievements- he was the first and only Warleader in the entire sketchy history Hesh that has ever united the entire continent- and now there was the chance at more.

A cold, slightly predatory grin graced his worn face, and he stepped out into the hallway, weaponry and armor tinkling slightly. A passing maid cast him a glance, before looking back down. He caught her, however- an arm stopped her as surely as a wall would. "Take me to the Great Hall," was all the prompting he needed to send the maybe-terrified maid to guide the man of unknown origins and unknown armor and symbolism to where all the people are.

It was with great pleasure that he shoved the doors open in what may be a purposely dramatic way, striding into the room, dominating it for a moment, as people turned towards him. Weaker men wilted slightly; stronger men grew slightly more wary and alert. Gregor was the first person he noticed, the person he had already associated to be the head of the castle. Either way, as he strode nearer to the center of the room, ignoring any maids or servants, he cast his eyes throughout, taking in everything as if he already owned it. He met each man's eyes, each servant's, long enough to make the connection, short enough to take almost no time at all. He took in the entire room, turning slowly, before finally acknowledging Gregar, in which he leaned his upper body slightly forward, bowed his head, and crossed fists across his chest- the gestures of a Heshan warrior to someone worth respect, regardless if they are weaker, stronger, or equal. It was, for him, demoting Gregor, demoting him from the assured position of authority to someone of questionable authority and power- and the more politically inclined might be more likely to notice.

He was the kind of person to build up power as quickly as possible, and in any of the courts in Hesh, he would've already established himself as a major party, even without backers. Utter confidence in himself, combined with the warrior's strength and a conquerer's tendency to regard things not yet their own as future possessions meant that he would be very difficult to fight against, whether politically or militarily. Oh, he wasn't having any illusions now- there were plenty of lords here. The man in charge should fear; Kaz would be doing his best to undermine and usurp his position. If Kaz succeeded in taking it, he may go on to conquer the rest of the continent by politics or military, or should he be stumped, the leading family would earn his respect and a possible alliance offer.

And the smile he gave Gregor was a private, secret smile- one that anyone in charge would fear. A chilling smile, cold, calculated, yet simulating warmth and kindness. The smile of a manipulative killer.

Joakim turned to Tomas. It seems that Tomas hadn't understood that he wanted some peace and quiet, away from the feasts that he loathed. The only good feasts were the ones after a tourney. Now, it was just noblemen licking eachothers boots clean. “You'll find the armory in the keep suits your needs - the blades are not exactly masterworks, but they cut like any other blade. They're free of charge, as long as you'll be around to protect the Wintershouse.” After that he continued looking into the distance, not paying Tomas much more mind.

Then, with sudden movements, he turned to Tomas with his full body. “Why abandon your home? You're a bastard, so I guess you don't like your home as much. But even a bastard must have some feelings of homeliness. You should've stayed to defend it.” His words were fast and were intended to cut like a blade, testing what Tomas was made of, and to reflect how Joakim felt about it. It was clear he thought lowly of the 'betrayal'. “Amber shouldn't of fled either. It was her throne, lost now. There must've been Forkish men and women willing to fight for her. Any respect they had for her, it must be gone now.” He looked Tomas straight in the eyes, ensuring every word he spoke was heard by him. He spat on the ground and made way for the stairs again, stopping briefly to say something else. “I know I wouldn't fight for her if she fled the Wintershouse when we needed her.” And with those words spoken he headed down the snow white stairs to fulfil some duties as the marshal of the Wintershouse.

Tough, heavy steps approached the armory, where a quartermaster was at work along with several servants, organizing weaponry and armor. Joakim entered through the doorway, which was made of thick dark wood, and nodded at the quartermaster. “Morning. I need an account of the weapons we have available for our own troops, though I assume we have plenty. You know how it works, if you think we need more of anything, let the smith make it. I'm sure he doesn't mind the extra work.” He picked up a blade and balanced it in his hands, testing how it felt. After that he laid it down again and smiled at the quartermaster. “Or the extra pay. Good day.” He turned around and headed back for the great hall, in an attempt to find Gavin. The man was never there when Joakim needed him.

Entering the hall once again, he quickly found Gavin and struck up a conversation with him. “Gavin, please follow me to my quarters. I need to attend to some bussiness while my brother,” he said while looking at Gregar, who was entertaining the black knight still. “.. is busy doing lordly stuff.” He gave Gavin a short trademark nod, with a dedicated look in his eyes. If Gregar wouldn't attend to the matters that needed attention the most right now, Joakim would. He headed back to his quarters once more, no doubt with Gavin on his tail as the man was his servant after all. Well, he was more than a servant, but not many people knew of that. As they arrived at Joakims room, he unlocked the door and headed inside. He took up a seat in a chair and offered Gavin a chair as well, though he knew that Gavin wouldn't stay for long. He wasn't here to talk about Gavins' life, and even if he wanted to, Gavin didn't seem to appreciate those talks that much. A secretive fellow, him.

“Gavin, I need a count of heads. I need to know how many men we have ready after the war. Surely we lost many, too many. I also want to know how many troops the lords can supply, and how many are already here.” It was clear Joakim was doing calculations for the battles to come, and for supplies to be arranged in time to defend against possible sieges, although Joakim would prefer to meet the enemy on the fields. “Also, I know that you have contacts in Harrighfields demesne. See to it that you get your hands on information detailing their troop numbers. I know that they'll be inaccurate, but it's better than nothing.. have you learnt anything of the foreigners?” It was clear that after the orders and the information of the foreigners, Gavin could go.

---

Gregar paid close attention to the foreign warlord. The man was armed to the teeth, even during a feast. As bad a sign as any. The man drew attention away from the black knight, as was to be expected. The black knights' answer would have to wait in favor of this foreigner. Gregar looked at him with skepticism, holding his cup of wine and toiling it around. As the man made his gesture of.. whatever it was that he did, Gregar noticed a smile on the mans face. It wasn't the smile of an amused person. Gregar returned the favor with a smile that said 'good show.' Gregar feared little, not even this man with his imposing posture and many weapons. For every blade the man had, Gregar had four men in the room willing to draw blades, and if need be, blood, to protect the lord. That was a positive thing about being regarded a good, honorable lord. Many men were willing to die for you, simply because you were nice to them. That, and Gregars fame in the world, drew many men to him. Men that didn't seek coin but honorable servitude.

“Rosemary- please seat the man next to lord Berengar,” he said to Rosemary, whom he had noticed coming in with Arryn and sitting down with the duchess. Lord Berengar was a young lord, ugly too, who had no skills with a blade, with coin, or with his tongue. The man was dimwitted and incapable of ruling. If it weren't for the influence his father had had, the boy would've been lynched by his own people. Most of all, he enjoyed drinking. That's why the lord was already drunk off his face early in the morning. Sitting next to him wouldn't be pleasureable for the warlord, but then again, the warlord held no real title in Borhilon, and as such had no entitlement to any seating at all. He should hold himself lucky that he was even offered entrance to the castle, being a foreigner. Gregar looked back at the man, smiling more sincerely now. “.. unless you had wished to sit elsewhere?” Truth be told, the man would be a valuable ally, but it seemed the man wasn't here for anything of the sorts - he was here for a show of power without even telling his name. He was still largely unknown to Gregar, so putting on a show like that for him was only terribly arrogant of him.

---

Arryn smiled at lady Amber, who told her name and rank. She had no idea, but was glad she got invited to take a seat next to her. She could atleast see the party with better vision than before from that seat. “Yes, lady duchess. It would be my pleasure.” she said, softly as always. She got up and walked around the table, taking the free seat next to lady Amber, keeping her eyes on the men in front of her. There were some men standing, talking with eachother. They were of different levels and ranks. Some were knights, others were sons of noblemen. These groups shared a similar standing. Some of the peasants were standing at the back of the hall, conversing as well, but mostly drinking and enjoying the food that they rarely saw. And then, in the center, there were a black knight and a man in strange armor, though beautifully made. Rosemary got told to seat the man next to lord Berengar, a terrible young boy, who was barely two years older than Arryn. He was already drunk, and was attempting to coerce a young peasant lady into his bedchamber. To anyone versed in the political nature of feasts, it was quite an insult to be seated next to someone so unimportant and, even more so, someone so rude and annoying.

Then Arryn looked at Amber, a lovely lady, although not very feminine. She had a certain charm about her, something that said 'it doesn't matter that I'm not feminine, I'm still attractive.' Though Arryn wouldn't say that. “I am a handmaiden to lady Catryn, as I said. I mostly take care of her, now that her husband is dead. Such a pity, lord Rikard was truly one of a kind. May God and his children rest his soul.” She would smile at Amber, waiting for a counter remark before continueing. “It's very friendly of you to let me sit here. Other duchesses would've sent me away. And I'd hate to sit next to someone like lord Berengar.”

The Black Knight did little to Draw Gavin's attention. He despite his armor he still was a simple sell-sword, many looked down on them, mistrusted them and for good reason. Sell-swords have been known to betray the people who paid them for more gold. That was something Telth couldn't stand for, assassins were a small group. Your word meant everything, the contract meant everything. If you couldn't be trusted to keep your contracts, you wouldn't get any. Mind you as soon as the job was done, so were all loyalties with the person. If you had a contract on him after the fact...bad day for him. The black night kept his word, fought against the north and now at the end of his contract with the south he was here. To many that was distasteful, to Telth that showed character.

Soon the foreigner came up though, talking with the bravado you would expect for a Warrior. Telth watched him, he was in the back cornor of the room remaining unnoticed as he liked it. The way he moved and dressed, you could tell politics meant little to him. Though from his armor this Hesh was more Civilized then the barbarians that seemed to separate the two nations. He kept his armor polished with pride, though unlike the knights, he assumed the man did it all him self. Telth did the same, bringing weapons wouldn't be un-usual, but his personal weapons were more, unique. Plus he didn't really trust others to maintain his gear. He kept an eye on that man watching him. That smile though, cold, calculated,....and murderous. Telth smiled back, he doubted the man could see it. His own expression was less, but at the same time it was more. That cold emotionless gaze, like death. It was a half smile and looked of man not stranger to killing with out hesitation. Knights learned to fight most of there lives, but unlike them he and this man learned to kill with out mercy, with out remorse. Telth liked this man, He wanted to kill this man. He was the only person in this castle that would give him a challenge.

That moment was over very quickly, only lasting a second, and Gavin smiled his hearty warming smile once more remembering where he was, luckily everyone was focused on the events in the center of the room and even then nobody paid any mind to the servant who was off to the side simply directing other servants. Soon though he was speaking to another servant as she had returned from outside the castle. She wasn't one of his, his own people were still there 'entertaining' the men, but she had useful information none the less. He didn't even have to ask either, she started gossiping like the servants did as soon as she was back.

Joakim came up to him though as he smiled and laughed "Oh and what would that stable boy who has been trying to woe you think of that" he said as she blushed bright red and Gavin laughed. Looking to Joakim "Work to be done Ansie, back to it" he said as she bowed to Joakim and wondered off. Telth was always taught to learn from every position. There were simply some things that couldn't be taught, since working here Gavin has learned how to maneuver through gossip, a skill he would of never had otherwise. "Of course m'lord" He said as he clasped his hands behind his back and fallowed him leaving the hall and fallowing him to his bedroom. Once inside Gavin turned and locked the door, best to not have anybody coming in un-announced. Taking a seat he droped the guise of Gavin. His face was fell flat, his smile gone. Nothing like the killer he showed earlier, those cold death like eyes of his were something he always had once Gavin was gone.

"Not enough, we had roughly seven thousand when we started this war, we are down to just below five now. The individual lords had less, but combined to roughly ten thousand, of those there is roughly eight thousand left. Though the ranks should be filled some, maybe three thousand were in reserves to defend the holds and train more. Also, you could always send out a call to war. They will be lightly trained, but they will make bodies to fill out the rank, that will make them more expendable. He paused for a moment, Telth held little value to human life, everyone had a price tag on them. "Most are still marching back, heading to their own holds. The lords only brought a small amount with them here, mostly personal guard"

"As for the Harrighfields, there position is strong. There coup was fast and strong, they knew where to strike and how to finish it quickly" No doubt Clovis's doing. "Any supporters to the late duke are dead or hiding for there lives." That deadly smile returned to his face "As for the warriors" he leaned forward "my own people are still with them, but what I learned from the others that have returned. They came from Hesh, a kingdom beyond the tundra of the north past the barbarian tribes. I don't have exact numbers yet, but they are conquerors, a tide of an ever expanding kingdom. he took a moment to collect his thoughts "They however do not seem very forth coming about about there lands however. He looked out the window "Their long march makes them weary, as they were a bit...withdrawn. My own people have ways of getting information so when they return in the morning I should have real information. He stood up as he smiled "you would be wise to keep your blade close." He clasped his hands behind his back as he normally did. Bringing his arms back around he held two daggers in them as he twirled those blades of his "You should probably keep more then that as well, I have offered it before, but I can have armor and clothes with places to hide weapons made" Soon enough he put his arms back behind his back and smiled returning to Gavin "Unless you have further need of me my young lord, I must be off to my last night of my honorable duties." He said with a bit of sarcasm as he walked to leave the room and return to his duties.

Ash stood still for a long pause, his eyes directly staring at Gregar. Somehow, his mind was not really believing what the Duke said. If it was becoming of him, he'd have hung his mouth agape. WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU SAYING OAKHEART? He screamed in his mind. Becoming a knight just like that, a knight of the very man who had crossed blades not long before, of the same man whose bannermen reviled him as Knightslayer. He briefly pondered if he was setting trap in the deal. But he had the feeling he wasn't. The Oakheart truly believed in honor, at least for what he had seen in the battlefield. And yet here he was, offering to raise Ash status beyond the common folk. For just defending a homeland that he had said he would defend anyway. Are you a genius, or a fool, Gregar? Perhaps a bit of both. He thought again, thinking on all the strings he would be attached to. And to think he had given up on becoming a knight and leading a simple life...

Fortunately, the strange newcomer, with his posture and his venomous stare and regalia, made Gregar momentarily distract himself from Ash. He thanked the timely intervention, although not to what seemed a tribal warleader. He was clearly stating the intention to stir trouble, and unlike Ash posturing from before, this went beyond a mere show of strength. It was a hidden servile insult.

What the hell, It'll make a good story, anyway. Ash finally conceded, and waited for an opportunity to give his answer to Gregar. He knew the virtue of patience and didn't press the situation much, content with standing idle for the time being. Patience was a virtue after all.

---

"Mother" Brier advanced slowly but surely, fighting an epic struggle to maintain her sense of self and integrity."Kevin is with the child now. Unfortunately, wounds he sustained in the war prevent him from coming here. Both are well." Brier let out a half-truth, omitting important facts like their deaths. Or at least I hope so, they deserve a good afterlife. Both of them. If she had outright lied, her mother could've tried guessing the truth out of her. Mothers always did, in the end. "Don't mind my looks. I just fell."In disgrace. She mentally added to her other half truth. Her arms reached for her mother's body, embracing her in a tight hug. "I'm sorry to have heard about father." She said back, not hesitating. Her sorrow for her father, was drowned aswell. She'd felt sad otherwise, but the death of her little child had made her numb to the death of Rikard.

Letting her go after a while, she gently rubbed her shoulder. "It must've been hell to you, mother. You look...haggard. You mustn't have eaten nor slept in days." Brier didn't even need to ask to know. Her mother's mind had been rattled so much she was almost dead in life, her mind shut in from most worldly matters, but still not allowing her body to rest. Definitely not good.

"I'll give you a tonic." Brier smiled faintly. "So you can rest for now." She noticed her left hand shaking. She was also at her wits' end. She decided that for the sanity of both, it was best she ended the encounter, so she leaned forward and kissed her mother in the cheek. "i have to get a bath. I still stink." She added, excusing herself out and closing the door intently or slowly.

Biting her lip and clenching her fists, he saw Lidia prancing around with a bucket. "Sorry, m'lady, everyone's else is busy, so the bath might take a while.". If Brier's gaze could turn people to stone, she'd done with the servant now. She eyed her up and down. "Forget that."

"m'lady?" The servant asked, obviously intimidating by Brier's stare.

Brier grinded her teeth. How she wished to have poppy sap now, to make her own mother rest without pain. "You will tell the handmaidens of lady Catryn to prepare a tonic. Said tonic will include the most powerful brandy you have in the cellars, and three spoonfuls of honey per cup. Make lady Catryn take two cups. No more, nor less. If she protests, tell them I, lady Brier, sent them with the tonic." Brier then took her skirt in her hands once again, and began in a hurried pace, to search for Joakim. There were things to be done. Many things.

Amber nodded to the girl. "I believe I've met Lady Catryn before. An... honourable woman." She tried to recall her face. She thought she could see who it was, but then again she had always left social matters to her fathers. Her area was strategizing. Even Clovis had been surprised at her skill, and the man had perfectly coordinated her removal.

"Tell me, girl, could you do me a favour?" she asked. After hearing the response, she clarified. "If you have eyes around here, would you mind tailing that man there?" she whispered, carefully pointing to the man Gavin. "Do a poor duchess a favour," she added. One thing she'd learned from the spymaster was that the best spies are the ones you least expect.

----

Tomas walked back from the armoury. On his belt a sword hung, sheathed in a leather scabbard decorated with ivy leaves and lace. He carried a naked longsword and axe in his other hand, for Amber. He'd ordered armour to be delivered to the both of them, and had slipped into a leather tabard. It fit him well, surprisingly, and he almost looked respectable in it. Almost.

He recalled the conversation he'd had with Joakim before heading off to the armoury. "You should've stayed to defend it," he'd said. "Aye, perhaps I should. But in times of peace, one slips out of guard. We weren't expecting it... Fuck it, I wasn't even dressed for battle. My calf's been lacerated." He'd replied, tapping his foot, and then wincing. "Nor any weapons. I saw a man, Amber's advisor, cut down men who had grown to respect him and Amber as if they were animals being put down. He ripped half of his "friend"'s face off when he tried to stop him. I won't rest easy or stop regretting that day until his blood runs down my sword and her arse replaces his on the throne. You can be sure of that," Joakim had then left.

On getting back in the hall he had a chance to withold all of it from a vantage point. The bricks contrasted to the wood of the rest of the city, and it was mostly torchlit. There weren't any silver candelabras, ostentatious paintings or other frivolities like in the Water Palace in his hometown, but it had a certain allure. A northern one, he thought. He spotted a young servant and took the cup she offered him. "If only this Forkish red were half as sweet as you," he said. This got a smile out of her. Finally.

He observed the newcomer Kaz. He was huge, far taller than Tomas (who was already fairly tall), and with a massive beard. He had a tribal look, with some tattoo on his face. Massive fur lined armour enveloped his titanic body and a longsword on his back. Tomas grinned. This could be a fearsome opponent. In his own halls he would have called the man, but as he was a guest he let Gregar handle the situation. A drip of red wine trickled down his chin.

-----

Clovis grinned. He'd just learnt a very valuable piece of information. Many lords in the north were willing to take back the Forklands. Excellent, he thought. All goes according to plan.

He looked down at the ruined hall. He looked down at his hand, which was slathered in blood. He clenched his fist. Now, all he needed to do was get to Joakim. He'd see how much brotherly love he had for Gregar, and how quickly it would take to bend him to betray his brother...