---

Tiras found himself waking up hungry. This is most likely due to Atlas eating his breakfast the previous day..well days.. the bird is crafty. He sits up and looks at the bird with a glare. "You are not stealing my breakfast this morning" The falcon simply stuffs its feathers and gives a soft chirp like noise. He gives a light chuckle as he runs a hand through his hair and gets up. As he dresses, moon stretches. The canine was more acceptable in the quarters then the much larger yet friendly black bear.

Still groggy from sleep, Tiras makes his way outside to greet his large bear. He gave a small smile as he produced some fruit for Onyx, whom immediately sat on his rump and begins eating them. Tiras then makes his way to breakfast donned in his usual all black attire. He still was unsure if he would join in on the tourney or if he would opt out. After all, if he were to be harmed then Onyx might rush in to deal major wounds. Being a skin changer lead to complications for competitive sword fighting.

Once he sits down, he greets the stark present. "Good morrow" He still felt fairly neutral to the wards here...isolated amongst many. Somehow, he was okay with this. He still had plenty of time to get to know the others more should he choose to.

---

Talea was already up and in the courtyard, having woken early. She had eaten a quick breakfast, checking their was a decent set of guards protecting William, before heading down to train a little. She'd been excited all week, looking forward to the tournament. Assuming William allowed it, she definitely planned on taking part in the combat section. Sure, getting hit by a sword would hurt a lot more in the armour she wore. But the way she saw it, it just meant she was more likely to dodge. She was sparring with one of the castle guards at the moment, a man called Mark. He was dressed in heavy armour, his training sword held slackly as he panted, tired from chasing around the grinning water dancer.
"I've no idea how you find this fun," He said, taking another swing at Talea.
She stepped to the side before rapping him on the back of his helmet with her own training sword, a simple blunted rapier.
"Mostly because I get to see you get all worked up trying to land a hit on me," She laughed, backstepping as he jabbed his sword at her, seeming almost lazy in her movements, "Do you plan on taking part in the tournament?"
The man groaned as he missed again, "Not if I'm going to be up against people like you."
"Oh Mark, nobody is like me," She said, parrying his thrust and whacking her sword against his wrist, causing him to drop his sword, "And you lose."

The man let out a sigh before pulling off his helmet, watching as Talea walked over, chucking a waterskin at him.
"Not bad. But you still give away what you're going to do with your movements. Either make them faster or less obvious," She said, taking a drink as well once he was finished, "Maybe next time you might actually hit me."
She grinned as he walked off, presumably returning to guard duty. Teasing the guards was fun. They just had no idea how to react to it honestly. She wondered how they would react after the tournament. She wasn't vain enough to think that she could win. But she did think that she could get quite far away. Though she was sure the fights would be harder than her sparring with Mark. Or she hoped they would be. Otherwise this was going to a very dull tourney.

---

The day for the Royal Tourney had finally arrived, with Knights from across the Seven Kingdoms filling the city, prepared to prove their mettle before the eyes of the crowd and most importantly, the King himself. It wouldn't be an even that Leofric would skip, neither himself or the rest of his brothers in the Kingsguard. The Whitecloaks were revered amongst the smallfolk as the greatest Knights across the Realm and would be a great disappointment if the crowds coudnt see their heroes ride in the lists.

Still, routine was what it was and the morning drill had to be followed. Down in the courtyard, Ser Leofric was overwatching the spar between two young squires that practiced for the Squire Meelee in hopes hat one of the could win and receive a Knighthood. "Try a different approach Mikken, he has more range, meanning you will have to try a different approach..." Leofric instructed his companion as his sword exchanged blows with a boy from Hellholt that favored a wooden staff as weapon. But suddendly the Dornish boy halted his attacks, letting his opponent to strike him at the side of his head. "Quentin, I didn't meant put you guard down. You were supposed to challenge him before he..." he paused himself when he realized what distracted his students. A woman he recognized as the bodyguard of the Lannister ward was making short work of a fully armed guard using the elegant ways of Water Dancing. He himself was familiar with the style, meeting various Braavosi mercenaries during his days as a young Knight travelling the Free Cities. Still, the style seemed too foreign for his taste.

"Alright, that was quite the show, but it is rude to stare..." Leofric said as he pulled the squires back to reality "Now, resume the spar and Quentin...let your defense down like this again and I will ring your head like a bell." he said, hoping that the Braavosi sellsword didn't notice the boys staring at the Braavosi sellsword as if she had grown six legs and three heads.

---

---

---

---

It was not rare for Iris to stay sleeping until late, sometimes even after the sun had reached its highest point, but today she had been aroused from her slumber by the faint sound of movement in the room. Her eyes opened, wincing slightly at the bright morning light before adjusting to locate the source of the disruption. Of course, it had been Elden. Part of the girl wanted to offer a greeting, perhaps a 'good morning', yet she remained silent as she watched him get ready. Also her crystalline eyes followed her beloved around the room, her mind was elsewhere.

She recalled the breakfast William Lannister had invited her to, their discussion of a possible alliance. There was no doubt that their union would spark a strong alliance, a force to be reckoned with. The Tyrells and the Lannisters had been bound together before...what would be different this time? Well, Elden, for one, would be a complication. Iris had known that whatever they were would have to be discussed sooner or later, about what will happen when Iris is wed and expected to be a faithful wife. Yet, she realised, she did not want for this to end; at least not yet.

It was only when Elden closed the door behind him upon leaving that the bastard slid out of bed. She was not one to sleep completely without clothes, yet her nightgown was somewhat lacking in concealment. She proceeded to get ready alone after dismissing the offer of handmaidens, as it was a common occurance for her to get frustrated with the poor girls as they would never do anything quite to her liking. As she was brushing her mahogany locks, her mind began to wander yet again to the Lannister boy. Yes, he was very handsome indeed and she considered herself to be quite liking the Lord, but she didn't know him. It was this that sent her heart fluttering wildly at the thought, the unfamiliarity unsettled her and she was certainly not used to being so out of control.

Today, of course, was the day of the tourney. She held no such interest of jousting and games alike, yet she was expected to be there so she would be. Iris had the perfect dress for the occasion, one that would catch even the most devoted husband's eye. She already knew that a few would already be down in the common room, more at ease than they had been upon first meeting. She had gotten to know a few of the other Lords and Ladies, the Lannisters especially, yet had kept her distance for the time being. This would be the day that true characters would be revealed, she predicted. And she would most certainly be there to watch.

---

Talea grinned when she saw the squires staring at her. She glanced at the man who was instructing them, recognising him as a member of the Kingsguard. He was definitely quite attractive, and she wouldn't mind him sparring with him, either in the courtyard or in a bed. She started to make her way over to him, not noticing that she was still glistening with sweat from her previous fight. Well, she noticed. She just didn't particularly care. In fact, some would say it made her look more attractive. She stood next to him, crossing her arms.
"Tell me, why do your boys stare at me? Is it because they find me beautiful, or because they find me terrifying? Do they find me style of fighting alluring, or does it make them quake?" She asked, before glancing at him, appreciating his muscular arms.
She couldn't help but admire him. He was a great fighter, and he was hot as well.
"Or maybe they find your instruction boring?" She said in a teasing tone, before turning to look at the boys.
She studied their style for a second, noting the difficulty that Mikken was having. She hadn't fought someone who used a staff in a while. Well, not that kind of staff anyway. Still, there was an easy counter to having shorter range than your opponent.
"Move closer," She shouted at the boy, "It makes it more awkward for him to attack."
She turned her gaze back to Leofric, not even trying to hide her stares.
I wonder if his skill with his sword is matched with his skill with his dagger? She mused to herself.
"My name is Talea Derlys, guard to William Lannister," She said, "And what may I call you, Kingsguard?"

---

And as he predicted, the Bravo approached them soon after. It was a false hope to believe that they would go unnoticed, after all, the greatest of Braavosi Swordsmen were famous for their observatory skills and the ability to fight both the seen and unseen.

"They might be young, but their not children. I would rather prefer if this question was answered by them... Leofric said as he turned to the two trainees that somehow threw themselves back to their training with even more fervor, Mikken actually taking the advice and closing through the distance Quentin used with his staff for advantage, although the vermillion hue on his cheeks could be interpreted as an answer in itself.

"Ser Leofric of Tarth my Lady. A pleasure to make acquaintance." he replied as he studied the Bravo carefully. He could justify the effect she had on the squires, a wild and exotic beauty if nothing else and possibly a better company than the Brute of Goldengrove when it came to fellow bodyguards "Are you hoping to train more, Lady Derlys? The tourney will not initiate until much later and I can sense that Mark only received a modicum of your martial skill."

Brandon woke slowly, enjoying the feel of sunlight on his form as the morning light bathed him in warmth. It was a good feeling, almost like a warm bath. After a time, the large man finally rose. He dressed himself quickly, strapping his blade to his back. Though he expected no enemies it was still a comfort to has greatsword with him.

Today was the day of the tourney, the day to prove the storm has come to King's Landing. He could already feel it brewing in his bones, swirling through his being. It felt good, as it always had. The thought of letting it go unrestrained filled him with excitement. With the timely interruption of his stomach, like a roaring dragon bellowing, he knew that before any fighting he would need food.

So Brandon descended the stairs into the common room where there was a very fine assortment of foods, as well as Reed Stark, Tiras Rivers, Iris Flowers, and her bodyguard. An interesting assortment. He recalled their breakfast with the Starks a few days prior. It was nice to catch up with them, to feel the old flame of friendship burn bright once more. That would be something he'd make an effort to keep.

Brandon sat himself at the head of the table, looking around to notice no one had started eating anything. "What are we waiting for? The food to spoil? Come, let us enjoy our share while it is still warm."

---

---

Willam was in a narrow hallway, the darkness clinging to him with every step. He was running, running from what, he did not know. All he knew was the fear screaming in his mind of what would happen if he was caught. The sight of Talea's broken form flashed through his mind as he could hear it come closer behind him. He always was the fastest runner he knew, but would that be enough? He could already feels himself grow tired, his short raspy breaths, the pounding in his ears, and his iron limbs dragging him down. No, he wouldn't keep this up for long. Finally he rounded a corner and into one of many side rooms. He stilled his breath to listen for it, but could hear nothing. Slouched against the wall he rested for a time. Finally he mustered his courage and gingerly walked toward the door.

"You're mine."

He heard the rasping voice behind him, it's sound brought dread and fear. A freezing ache to the bone that he could not shake. At that sound he froze, for he knew it was over. He felt a flash of searing pain as a shiny blade emerged from his chest. The pain was brief thankfully, as a deep cold took over, starting from his limbs it crept inward toward his heart. He heard a sharp gasp as the ground rushed towards him.
"Fear me..."

---

Willam woke with a start, gasping for breath. His hand darted to his chest, feeling where the blade had been. His hair stuck to his face, damp with sweat. His eyes wildly took in the room before finally settling to look on a wooden charm on the end of a leather cord, sitting on his nightstand. The charm was in the shape of a shield with a lion on it. Willam took it in hand, feeling the rough wood beneath his fingers. He knew there two of them, in fact he was the one who carved them. It's twin was with his baby sister, he'd given it to her and told her that as long as they had the charms they'd never truly be apart.

Funny, he told that to her to give her comfort. Yet here he was on the other end of the continent taking solace in it. He slipped it on and rose, dismissing his dream. Was it prophetic? Perhaps, perhaps not. More likely it was his mind warning him of the dangers of the capitol.

Willam dressed slowly, picking his attire with much care. A red and gold doublet, red breeches with fine knee-high leather boots. He wore a pin that bore the golden lion of his house. His decorative sword belt bore a different sword from the other day. This day he wanted function, not decoration. If that nightmare served any useful purpose, it was that Willam was now very cautious.

On his hip he bore a valyrian steel longsword forged from the great blade Ice. It had originally been named Widow's Wail, but that name, along with the overly gaudy hilt, were both destroyed. The new hilt was simple, engraved brown leather with a worn gold lion head adorning the pommel. Stamped on the blade are the words 'Courage and honor above all.' Willam took the words as a personal reminder, and these words served as a testament to the blade's new name, Lionheart. It's brown leather scabbard was decorated with a few engravings and the Lannister Lion towards the bottom. He drew the blade a bit, admiring the wave pattern of the steel. Finally he let it slide home, steeling himself for the day ahead.

Willam descended the stairs, hand resting on his sword. In the common room he found Reed Stark, Tiras Rivers, Brandon Baratheon, Iris Flowers, and her bodyguard. It pleased him to see his fellow wards seemingly getting on well. Maybe the dream of peace wasn't so far off after all? He seated himself on the arm of a chair. "Good morning lords, lady. I trust you all slept well?"

---

Talea laughed at the expression on the squires face, throwing her head back with the motion. Young boys always amused her. They were far to easy to tease.
"I am no Lady, Ser. I own no lands and command no one," She said with a shake of her head, "Though I am flattered that you think I am one. But no, my ways are too... foreign from your own to hold up in court. The most I will ever be is a good bodyguard, and that is enough for me. Why do I need a silly title when I have a sword in my hand, a drink at my table and a partner in my bed?"
Her eyes lit up at the idea of a spar. The one with Mark had not tired her out at all, and it was definitely not a good warm up for the tournament.
"Mark is well meaning, but he is no great warrior or knight. Another spar would do me well," She said excitedly, "It has always been a dream of mine to fight a member of the Kingsguard, whether as training or on the battlefield. It would be my pleasure to spar against you."

She made her way over to an empty spot, pulling out her training sword and swinging it around a little, making sure her muscles were loose and ready for a fight. She took up a side stance, her sword pointing towards Leofric. She had a grin on her face, excited for what was to come.
"Are you ready Ser, or are you scared like your squires?" She said in a teasing tone, "I will try not to embarrass you too badly."

---

Are you saying that you consider me to be great a warrior? Now, you are the one that is flattering me..." Leofric said when Talea spoke about Mark and how honored she would be to face off against a member of the Kingsguard in a spar. He then allowed his two squires to take a break for some rest, before moving towards the rack of training weapons to pick his own.

" I can only promise to you that I shall give my very best. No true Knight would ever a Lady disappointed with his performance. he said as he approached the center of the courtyard to take his position opposite to the eager bravo while giving his blunted longsword a few trying spins. His sapphire blue eyes went over Taleas figure, although it was clear by the onlooker that he was mostly studying her rather than giving her looks of admiration. Soon after, he took on the usual Westerosi duel stance, with both hands on the pommel besides his head and the sword point aimed at the opposition "Whenever you are ready Talea..."

---

Tiras watched as others entered. He couldn't help but feel that he should try harder to get to know them. At least, that is what is expected to help make peace. He lightly looks down at moon, the canine whom not only made friends with everyone he meets, but also excels at looking a whole lot more dumb then he actually is. Tiras almost envied him.

When the Baratheon mentioned why no one is eating, Tiras gave a light shrug before reaching for some meat. He lowers his hand and let's moon eat before him. The canine laid down after recovering a bone and silently began chewing on it.

Tiras then got his own plate and began eating after nodding to each greeting tossed to him. Maybe today he would develop a friendship.

---

---

The past few nights in the Red Keep had been comfortable enough, but Gabriel was quickly becoming homesick. The sun in King's Landing was warm, but it was nothing compared to it in Dorne; and the sound of Blackwater bay's capped waves rolling onto the shore was different as well. At Sunspear, the beaches were among Gabriel's favorite places to visit in order to clear his crowded thoughts. Here, the shoreline was too cramped against the jagged cliffs of Aegon's Hill, and the water smelled and felt too foreign to him. And then there was the airflow, or lack thereof. Sunspear was far more open, with plenty of airways that welcomed cool breezes, venting the rooms with fresh atmosphere all year. The architecture and security of the Red Keep, however, strangled the airflow and he would often catch a strong whiff of the city's repugnant odor creeping its way through the choked currents.

Alas, he had little to really complain about. At least the other wards were getting along fine enough. He had heard stories about past rivalries and gruesome bloodshed among their ancestors. Recorded history was enough to make him worry about his own safety around them, but their first days together had been... remarkably pedestrian. A little more than one hundred years ago, the sons and daughters of the great houses would have drove daggers through each others' hearts had they all been forced into the same room together, regardless of guest right. Now, though, they were like long-lost relatives with odd quirks and ticks that merely rubbed each other the wrong way sometimes. Still, Gabriel remained distant from the lot of them. He had no connection or familial ties with any of them save for the Targaryens, and even the royal family was too far separated from him to be openly shadowing all the time. It would be unbecoming of him as a Martell.

In the same courtyard as the others that were focused on honing their skills before the start of the tourney, he had decided to practice his own gift. Whether archery would be an event of the tourney or not was not really of much concern, but he figured a bit of sport to start the day would be relatively appropriate to mark the day. With his black glazed weirwood recurve bow, Gabriel fired several volleys of arrows at a thatch target on the far end of the courtyard, safely away in a lane of his own, so as to not endanger the others that were training. Five arrows hit the center mark with a perfect thwack.

The tall Dornishman behind his right shoulder was carefully watching with keen eyes as Gabriel focused on his form, breathing, and draw. "No need to split the target in two, young prince," the man said. "Easy on the pull. Let her fly softly, and she'll still hit the mark."

The man's name was Mordyn, a master archer in his own right, and a faithful servant of House Caron that had accompanied Gabriel and Toran to King's Landing--along with the rest of the Martell entourage. When the bow had been gifted to Gabriel on his thirteenth nameday by the house's lord, Mordyn was appointed as Gabriel's mentor. Even though the young man was eager to show off his ever-strengthening skill, he still heeded the seasoned warrior's coaching.

After slowly exhaling and relaxing his muscles, Gabriel nocked another arrow and drew the string to a half-draw towards his usual anchor at the cheek. Aiming slightly higher, but barely enough to notice the difference by his eye, he compensated for the lesser power and then released. The arrow flew at a more pronounced arch, but landed exactly where Gabriel wanted it to go, forcing its way through the other bunched arrows already embedded in the target.

"Bravo, sir," Mordyn praised.

Gabriel sighed. "It doesn't quite feel the same," the boy remarked.

"Arrows were never meant to fly fast and straight, young prince. They were designed to provide a more indirect approach to combat from a ranged vantage point. With almost any distance, the wise archer has the ability to strike his foe in any number of ways." Mordyn stepped around to stand before Gabriel and placed a finger on the young man's chest with a pressured push. "Whether that's through the heart...," he then pointed to Gabriel's throat, "through his airway...," at his forehead, "or through his skull. And an even craftier archer can miss the man, but kill him with the same arrow anyway."

Gabriel looked at him with a raised brow and demanded, "How is that possible?"

With a smirk, the old man stepped back around and said with a chuckle, "That's enough for today, young prince. I think it best to rest your bow arm now should you find a place for yourself in the tourney."

---

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Collaborative Post Between @Musoka and @ViolentViolet

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Aeryn smirked, rubbing his fingers together as he watched the reptile Illysia had introduced to him as Vrash when he had first come to the Keep. "Oh no, the pleasure is always mine." The soft brown eyes of the Sellsword immediately flicked to the amethyst orbs that Illysia claimed as her eyes. "Indeed I do, but all of the princesses are under my eye at the current moment," Aeryn smiled and gestured for one of the servants, issuing an order to take the mound of fur that apparently had a name and the bear towards the gardens.

Illysia was no about to allow him to get away with his attitude, though with her own father in sight it was best to reign in her terrible temper. Her gaze caught his, hearing his fingers rubbing together in the presence of the dragon. Was the man afraid of the beast? "Vrash," her voice calmed the dragon, the large reptile turning to launch itself into the air again, climbing up to the rafters with her twin. "Still not comfortable with the Dragons I see." She raised one delicately arched eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling up in a taunting smirk. "Fear is not always a bad thing though Ryn, you need not be ashamed. The Palace is full of Dragons after all." Amused, she watched the Tully bastard and his animal companions walk away from them, knowing that the royal family would be drifting off now that the Wards were all gone and settled. She stepped forward, footfalls silent on the stone floor, coming to stop just barely six inches away from the mercenary.

The bastard princess knew that Arton was watching, not showing a hint of his desire for her, though when she looked in Aeryn's eyes she knew that he had seen them together that morning. He had seen them before, though she had never mentioned it before. A small gasp of mocking realization, a delicate hand to her lips, slightly covering her devious smirk. "Could it be, the Dog of Dorne is jealous of a Whitecloak?" She mock asked him, daring him to try something. It would be his word against hers if he chose to tell.

Aeryn watched the winged lizard fly up and turned back to the demurely smiling bastard princess in front of him. "Less uncomfortable, more weary." He rubbed his fingers together, his thumb working up and down the length of his middle finger. It was a trait he had inherited from his father, a tick to concentrate and calm the mind. The Dog watched the smirk curl on her lips, his thoughts running to other permutations of what those lips could do. "Indeed..." He sighed, the pale lips of the Dornishman pursed as he began to bite the inside of his cheek "The Palace is full of dangerous, fire breathing, meat eating reptiles," he smirked "and most of them are under your control." He shrugged and laughed "What's not to be weary of?"

Then Arton came up. Aeryn stifled a small growl at that immediately. Her taunting laugh and mocking question made the anger rise slowly. He had two compulsions at that moment; one was to go up to the line of Whitecloaks and start a fight he would surely regret, the other was to give a display of attraction he knew would make the Knight squirm. "Jealousy is reserved for those that do not have the power to take what they covet, I am not prone to such a feeling I assure you." He chewed gently at his cheek and offered a hand to the Princess. "At this current time though, the stuffiness of the Knights is getting to me." He gave Illysia a lopsided grin, "Shall we continue throwing barbs at each other elsewhere?"

The Princess was rather surprised by his nervousness, his oddly gentle behavior and possibly even affectionate display of chivalry. It was out of character for the Sand, though she wasn't going to question it right now, with her guard still keeping an eye on her. Reaching out a hand she took the mercenaries arm, long fingers softly curling over the leather bracer on his forearm. She stepped closer to him, allowing her chest to push up against his upper arm, violet orbs looking up at him from beneath long, surprisingly dark, lashes. "Perhaps the Dragon Pit would work. I have not yet seen the newest hatchlings."

Aeryn smiled and nodded, moving with the princess. His eyes flicked from her back towards the line of Whitecloaks. His smile was not the lazy carefree grin he usually had. It held a very venomous meaning for a very particular Knight.

---

---

Manasa glanced out the window of her room, looking out toward the great sea to where the sun was just beginning to give the water it's warmth. Shiva stirred on the bed, looking at her Mistress with tired eyes, though she jumped from the high surface to pad over to the Stark girl and rub against her leg. The young woman knew that the tournament was today, though she had wanted to participate in something, even if there was nothing she could do. She was useless with a sword, well, better than her brother but still not much for combat. With a sigh, she turned to the chest at the end of her bed, where her leather and cotton gear was place, her sword gently wrapped in cloth. Her practice blade was thrown in with less delicacy, tossed on top of her secret stash of training gear. Her previous instructor had spoken of her flexibility and agility being her greatest strength against a larger opponent, and she had taken up dancing to keep that well tuned, though there would be no dancing in the Capitol, not now that this 'nest of vipers' had eyes everywhere.

A little while later, Manasa had found herself in the hidden place by the water, where the wall was not as high and the stone less worn away. She had not seen a single soul here in the days since she had arrived, coming out in the dawn for her solitary morning practice between when she woke and when the other Wards would make their way to breakfast. Usually she would pretend that she had slept in, or had been in the Godswood early, since no one cared enough to say anything to her about it. Reed was the only one who knew that she was doing, and that was because Winter had brought him to her and Echo once. Of course, she had made him promise not to tell anyone. She was just a young lady and his twin sister to them, and she wanted to keep it that way.

Now, the black haired young woman turned pale green eyes to the shadow opponent before her, swiftly flicking her sword to the side to smack his imaginary blade from hand. It was one of the few things she felt she knew how to do, with the human wrist so fragile, it was just about aim and timing. Something she wasn't absolutely horrible at. She continued like that for a little bit, until there was a bead of sweat dripping down her neck that she wanted to be rid of, though she hadn't finished yet. She could bathe when she was done.
Switching to a more complicated maneuver, she tried to once, and tripped over her own foot.

The Dornish swordsman had had a long night, abstaining from alcohol and women for a night was something he had never liked. It was a sort of ritual, an act of self inflicted pain so to speak to bring his mind to the immense acuity that the Dog of Dorne's tales were built on. It was a necessity for him, for his blade and mind had to be as sharp as each other. Aeryn yawned, stretching out all the kinks from the nights sleep. His fingers went to the slight purple black raised mark on his neck, a sign of a job well done a small while ago. A smirk played on his lips at the memory. Mongrel, his spear and his usual leather armor under yellow and black robes donned; Aeryn set out on his usual paths of survey.

A smile played on his lips as he watched the raven haired Stark woman practice with her sword. Manasa, if his memory served, seemed rapt upon becoming the antithesis of what a noble lady should be. He stepped away from his usual path and began towards the woman. The Dog padded up to her slowly as she began what seemed to be a complicated form. Her footing was wrong. She was going to trip. Aeryn sighed and moved faster, quickly grabbing the blade of her sword and stooping to wrap one arm around her. "You must be very careful attempting that one." Aeryn set her back upright and held the hilt of the sword back towards her. "Perhaps I could instruct you?"

She spun on her heel, just barely avoiding tripping again when the man let her go, stepping away from him in surprise and then suspicion. She had not personally met him before, though the Dog of Dorne was well known within the RedKeep. He had slept with her own assigned handmaid not long before she had arrived at the castle, and, unfortunately for Manasa, she knew quite a few details she preferred she did not. She looked at him, her pale green eyes showing signs of distrust and fear, though the embarrassed flush across her pale white cheeks could account for the reason behind her anger. "A lady should be able to protect herself, her children and her husbands House while he is away." Turning away from him she prepared to leave, not wanting to deal with someone so brash and wild. He was too much like a feral dog for her to be comfortable in her ability to calm him if he grew riled. "Instruct me?" Her voice dropped to a lower volume, her gaze going back over her shoulder to look at him from where her shoulders had stiffened. "What do you get out of it?"

Aeryn raised an eyebrow at the blush that crept over the Stark's cheeks. He could not help but grin at her response. The wild Beasttamer, as he knew her from the rumors of her supernatural abilities with beasts and animals. "I feel as though a woman such as yourself with friends such as yours would have no issue keeping a person safe," he stepped away from her and placed his hand on Mongrel "What I get out of it? The knowledge that such a newcomer is safe in a pit such as this." He gestured around to the keep walls and smiled at the lady before him. The sharp song of a sword leaving its scabbard sounded through the silence. Aeryn held Mongrel in two hands, holding the blade towards Manasa. "Come, try to strike me."

Manasa saw him grin, watched his eyes flicker to her mammalian companions. He had been able to tell, heard the rumors already, of the things she was capable of. "I can't always rely on my companions. Just as a Targaryen cannot always rely on their Dragons." The Stark girl watched him take his stance, holding the bastard sword in both hands. His was a real sword, whereas her's was an older blade she cared nothing for. It was dull from wear of her practice against shadows and dummies. Holding her own blade slightly lower in a single hand she watched him. He stood on the flat of his feet, confident in his ability; whereas she bounced slightly on the balls of her feet, ready for a strike. Her eyes narrowed, the pale green darkening to an aqua beneath her lashes. She watched him from multiple angles, though the animals made no moved to attack or threaten him. Her sight was her one advantage against the Dog of Dorne; she'd be damned if she wouldn't use it.

The Dog's soft brown eyes hardened, they became the twitching eyes of someone who had seen combat before. He watched the bounce in her step, the single handed grip and always flicking to the eyes. The eyes that had since changed hue. Aeryn raised an eyebrow and smiled. He'd only fought a skinchanger once, it was an interesting affair that had led to the rippled spots of a wolf bite scar on his arm. He stepped forward slowly, his style with his blade was frowned upon in the flash and style that was so prevalent in Dorne. Aeryn instead resembled a hound, stalking its prey. He strode purposefully in to range and grinned "COME ON!" A growling command came out "I said hit me."

The taunt was lost of her as she watched him, studying how he moved. One of her instructors before had taught her about some men taunting. If you fell for such a thing then you were as good as dead. She took two steps back, balancing on the balls of her feet, her gaze flickering to the left for a moment to catch the uncomfortable movement of Shiva along the wall. Echo was less soft about her irritation at not being allowed to attack the man who posed a threat, though if he really hurt her there would be no way to stop them. "You do not command me, Dog." Manasa's voice was firm, cold, and low. Her movements were swift, unpredictable, and sudden, as she dropped beneath his arms - still held forward with the blade - , and ducked beneath them. Her left hand struck upward to offset his right arm, throwing off the counter attack she knew would be coming soon enough, just as her right struck forward. The tip of her blade was aimed at one of the cracks in his armor, on his inner thigh where, at a break between the plates.

The Dog grinned, the cold fury of a Stark glimmered in his foes eyes as she rebuffed his challenge. Oh but how he would enjoy commanding her. An idle thought popped in to his head and the smirk played on his lips as he he watched her begin to move. She struck quickly, unbalanced and furious. She dropped beneath his arms and pushed up against right arm, a smart decision. Her blade was aimed at the gap in his armor. Of course, she had not anticipated a warrior to drop his weapon and catch the blade in his hand. The blade bit into the leather glove, he could feel the force she struck with and the intent behind it. He twisted the sword sharply, enough to wrench it out of her hand but not cause much harm. Aeryn brought his hands up and raised an eyebrow "Very good, you strike like an aggressive wolf," he rubbed his hands together. "Again."

Annoyance in her gaze she slipped back and righted herself, passively brushing the dust off of her tunic, adjusting it slightly so it was back in its proper place. "Clearly." She took her sword back from his hand, re-familiarizing herself with it's weight though this time she held it delicately in her left hand. Was the girl not right handed? She threw a glance back at Echo, the massive wolf just barely holding back. She could feel Manasa's pain, knowing that she had injured herself the previous day shadow boxing, though she refused to show it. There was a stranger here, and she would never show such childish weakness in front of anyone but her brother. She lifted pale orbs to focus on him, sharp of a razors edge, watching him. She was wide awake, even though she had clearly been here since before the sun came up. It was as she took a step to the side, her foot landing softly on the stone that her eyes clouded over. Recently fluid and relaxed, her muscles seized, joints locking in place, eyes wide and unfocused. The pale yellow-green shone, descending into a deep and seemingly bottomless pit of forest green, swallowing everything in sight. The animal companions moved to go to her, knowing exactly what was happening when the Dog of Dorne would not clue in at first. Her body slumped, falling to her knees as her sword fell to the ground, the clang of steel on stone echoing in the sudden silence. Even the birds had stopped singing.

In her mind, all Manasa could see was fire; burning and devouring everything around her. She felt the heat on her skin, the flames licking her much like that of a cat. Dragon flame. It had to be dragon flames, because no other thing could create so much fire. She turned, skirts whirling to see a great red eye staring at her maliciously. There was nothing else for her to see. The flames had vanished. Stuck in what seemed to be an endless expanse of darkness. A flash of silver caught her attention, when she looked back there was no eye. A blade. Blood. Howling. Snow. Moon. FIRE.

Aeryn smirked at the younger Stark's response. She was interesting. Her grip shifted, her left hand curling around the blade she used. Aeryn raised an eyebrow, not many were ambidextrous and he highly doubted she was. She stepped forward and Aeryn readied his blade. His eyes flicked around to the animals that Manasa commanded before fixating back on his sparring partner. She stepped forward once more, but those wolven sharp eyes of Manasa clouded over. Aeryn's eyebrows furrowed together. "Shit." He spat and dropped his sword as the woman began to sway and her animals came to her aid. He rushed forward and slid in behind her on his knees. He was not sure what was happening, but the pale yellow in the usual clear eyes was sign enough something was happening. He looked to the animals and placed a hand out, palm out "I mean no harm" he whispered softly.

Manasa lilted to the side, slowly coming too. Sweat drenched her skin, her body shaking as she wrapped her arms around her torso. Folding in on herself she smothered the tears in her eyes. Her heart pounded, beating so fast she thought it would burst in her chest. She would have collapsed against him if not for Echo holding her up, though as the male looked at the two animal companions they allowed him to touch her. They knew they would need to trust him for now, since neither of them could bring her inside to safety. "T-take m-me to m-my room." Her voice was barely above a whisper, her eyes closing as she leaned against him, shivering. She would still feel the heat of the fire in her vision, see the eye watching her. It sent chills down her spine.

The Sellsword wrapped an arm around the girl. He felt her coming to "What just happened..." He nodded slowly and placed an arm underneath her legs. Forcing her to wrap her arms around his neck, he held her close. She shivered against his chest. He stood up quickly, her slight frame a trivial weight in his arms. The Sellsword began off back in to the Red Keep.

---

"I am sure your performance with your sword is very strong," She said, studying him as well, "But I have sparred with many men, who have wielded many different types of swords. You will have to do well to impress me."
She didn't even try to hide the innuendo in her voice, instead choosing to dart forward quickly and take a few swift stabs at the Knight, her footing light and ready to back off. She didn't expect the thrusts to hit, wanting to just see the reaction of the Knight.

It also helped her to get another close up look of the man, her eyes tracing over every feature. She was trying her hardest not to be distracted by his raw physicality, but she seemed to be failing on that front. Still, she knew she could put up a good fight, even when there was such good eye candy on display. She wondered how he would fight? Would he be an aggressive fighter, going for large swings with lots of power behind them. Or would he be quick with sharp thrusts, a little like her.

---

Leofric easily blocked her opening thrusts, and although in a normal combat scenario he would answer with the aiming of her uncovered spots and opening before mounting a full counterattack of his own, the knight that earned the moniker the 'Loyal' displayed a profound lack of bold comeback by reverting to his previous stance. Although to the onlookers seemed underwhelming, his opponent could certainly trace his look as he in turn studied her from head to toe once again with his soft blue orbs being inquisitive as they crossed with her own.

And it was quite peculiar for the Kingsguard to see that the bravo was no quite reading him but rather...fawning over him. In his many years of battling knghts both in this very courtyard as well as the open battlefield, he never fathomed that he could find something else that stares of hatred, envy or eyes red from bloodlust. It honestly caught him somehow off guard, but that didn't mean he couldn't use it to his advantage.

"Maybe I need to take my words back. Impress you? The kings secondborn son can present a better attack that what I just witnessed. Perhaps it is you that has to impress me... he said as he tried to probe the pride of the Water Dancer.

---

---

---

The dragon circled above them, barely larger than a falcon, though it's gold scales shone in the early morning light. It turned, angling downward until it came to rest on the stone pathway of the private gardens. It's tail swung back and forth like a dogs, it's maw parted as if it was tired though a small cloud of smoke erupted from it's throat as it burped. The dragon reminded the young woman of a child, much like her daughter who sat in the grass right then, watching the young dragon with fascination in her eyes. Illysia's lips curled up in a rare smile, nothing false in her expression of fondness as she watched Tatyanna play with Mordrid, lips parted slightly. Full lips red as ever, she wore an open backed dress, a soft silver that matched her hair, following her bust and waist closely before flaring at her hips and descending to the ground in a soft curtain of stars. Violet eyes reflected the dragon as it paced around the small girl, allowing her to touch his scales and pull on his tail. Tatyanna had already met her dragon surprisingly, whereas Illysia had yet to ride a dragon, or be chosen by a single one. Both Vrash and Exoldan had both expressed an interest in her being their rider, though neither was large enough for her to ride now. Both nearly the size of a pony, larger than the Tully boys bear, but not strong enough to carry themselves and her.

Ser Arton Velaryon made his way into the private garden of the keep, enjoying the minuscule free time that the early morning hours allowed him to his fullest ability. The first hearings from the King would only start in two hours time and the grandest venue of the day was without question the Royal Tourney, in which the greatest knights in the Seven Kingdoms would test their strength in arms and seek glory before the cheering audience of Kings Landing, or shame themselves as they fell upon the sands of the list.

Dressed in a simple, pale gambeson, his sword present on his hip, he made his way towards Illysia, who was watching proudly over her daughter while surrounded by the majestic creatures that were pictured in every Targaryen Heraldry. It was a rare occasion for the Whitecloak to lay eyes upon the girl that many of the more gossiping servants called the Princess in the Tower, despite being the Blackfyres Shield for the better part of the year. Word had it that Lady Commander and her Right Hand Man, Leofric the Loyal, constantly negotiated with Illysia for a Kingsguard post by the Nursery, although she turned them down every time, opting for a more discreet route of using spies that answered only to her and the Master of Whispers as guardians.

But now could clearly see the resemblance with her mother. Arton noticed that during the past week she opted for a more Valyrian style in fashion, as if to differentiate herself from the main branch of the family that followed the Dornish Influence when it came to clothing. "Good day, my ladies. I hope I am not disturbing your morning leisure..." he said politely, smoothing out his gambeson.

Illysia had heard the approach of the young man from the other side of the garden, no longer wearing his plate mail since today was a day not of duty but of fun and sport. He along with several others, would be participating in the King's Tourney in celebration of the Wards arrival in the capitol. Naturally, he would seek her out on that morning, for what she already knew. Vrash landed not far from the man, regarding him with intelligent eyes. The beast did not attack him, strangely enough, as she would have any other person who got this close to the young Tatyanna. The dragons were protective of the child they had seen birthed, had bathed with in water and fire. They loved Illysia as she did them; they protected her better than any Knight had ever before.

"Arton, of course," The Blackfyre lady turned to look at the knight, her gaze over her shoulder from where she sat on the carved wood bench beneath a tree. She was shadowed while the sunlight danced on her fair haired daughter. Silver hair swept over her right shoulder, one could see the outline of scales between her shoulder blades, something that most Targaryen often grew out of. This lady was proud of the mark of the dragon on her body, often going to great lengths to show it off, though she rarely would tie her hair up like a Dornish woman. Much of her wardrobe was exclusively Valyrian, some items made of Dornish Silk in the reds and blacks of the Targaryen and Blackfyre Houses. Her favourite was a cloak made of deep red silk, black flames embroidered on the hems, the Blackfyre sigil on the back. She rarely wore it here, with no need to since everyone inside the castle knew who she was. When she had cause to leave the Red Keep, she would wear the cloak, proclaiming that she is the beginning of House Blackfyre once again.

"You have never disturbed my peace Sir Arton Velaryon. Your presences is another to watch over my daughter." Illysia didn't remember much of her own childhood before her parents were gone, not one memory of her mother watching her play in the gardens. Perhaps it was because she was young, or maybe she had never played as Tatyanna was now. The girl didn't get out enough, since Illysia forbid anyone from touching her apart from Freya when she was not there, and none could get near the child without her mother there. It would not be a free childhood, but hopefully a happy one for her. "How many of the Wards intend to participate this afternoon?"

"Surprisingly enough, the Tourney and the following celebrations haven't been the center of discussion between the Wards..." Arton proclaimed as he stepped carefully around the Dragons. It wasn't just legends after all, that Dragons are intelligent creatures that meant no harm towards a friend, but were ferocious against an enemy. The Whitecloak could only guess by their demeanor that they at least didn't consider him a threat.

"While none of them seems interest for the Joust, I am sure that Elden Rowan and the Baratheon heir will attempt to make a name of themselves in the Melee," he said as he took a seat besides the truly ethereal Blackfyre. Arton couldn't imagine how priveleged he ended up being shortly after his induction to the Kingsguard. While he heard of the rumors about Illysias many lovers, a small part of himself believed that every time he shared her bed he was somewhat...special. You could call it nativity, but whenever the Velaryon held her soft body within his embrace, most of his senses and rationality seemed to shut off. "But I am not her to speak about the Wards. If I may be so bold, I need to ask you something..." and after taking a page from Leofrics book, Arton left the flowery words for later and took a small rosebud from the nearby bush, before leaving his seated position to sink onto one knee before Illysia "Lady Blackfyre, would you grant the honor to this knight before you, to carry your Favour?"

"How odd, I had assumed the young lords would be boasting of their combat prowess and the ladies to be fawning over the particularily handsome knights." Illysia nearly smirked, her natural smile seeming to fade in his presence. She was thinking of how she could exploit the boys, or even use the girls to her own advantage. When the man circled around her, leaving his seat on the bench she raised an eyebrow in intrigue. It wasn't often that the young man would do anything she didn't easily predict or already know before he knew what he would do.

Her favour? This perhaps was the first time a knight who knew who she was asked for her favour, possibly even the last, though she had planned to silently cheer for him in the competition regardless of this. Her smirk was replaced by an astonished expression, her alabaster cheeks taking on a light pink hue in her own embarrassment. For the first time in a long while the Blackfyre did not know how to respond to something so lavishly asked of her. Even Leofric had never been able to embarrass her or render her speechless. Even the dragons and Tatyanna were silent, staring with wide, confused eyes at their mother, not understanding what it was that had put such an expression on her face.

A delicate hand fluttered in the air beside her for a moment, debating the pros and cons silently, the light breeze pushing loose petals through the air around her, fallen from the cherry blossom tree she sat beneath. As if making her final decision, not allowing herself to go back on it, her hand darted to her hair where there was a ribbon tied there, it matched the colour of her eyes. As she pulled it out, one of the braids in her hair came loose, falling beside her fragile face while he hand held the ribbon out to her Knight.

"You better not lose."