The Royal Pavilion, the Band of Seven parting ways
Ser Aerion patiently waited for Lady Visenya to address all the others in attendance. She had a commanding aura about her. Her voice and tone, it commanded respect, all the while projecting an alluring sense of beauty, perhaps in the same way the roar of a dragon is terrifyingly beautiful. She chose to address a hedge knight first, one whose shield had five black towers within a red and black double tressure, on a white field. The man was interested in competing in the lists, and Lady Visenya enlightened him on a few recent openings within the competitor’s pool, which seemed to be good news for the hedge knight.
Aerion found the way Visenya smiled to be oddly peaceful, perhaps reminding him of the way a sun rises after a violent storm in the Stepstones. Lady Visenya spoke to Ser Towers, "Certainly, ser. There are hundreds of competitors and we can find room for another, especially one who has won the king's favor. But if you wish, you may also enter the lists again if you like. A knight was injured in a duel over a maiden's favor and his spot is currently unoccupied. Another was found dreadfully drunk and could not mount his horse. It would be a trivial matter to arrange you to fill their places. I saw you ride at these Stepstone curs, and I am certain you would do well. Either way, I shall see to it you have an honored place at tonight's feast. And you may certainly accompany us in our enjoyments." Finishing with the hedge knight, she turned to the certainly blitzed Bolton, and spoke quickly to him. To Ser Aerion, it seemed that Lady Visenya was not all too thrilled to have to speak to the man, but perhaps it was his own imagination.

Again, her voice was like a quick sharp wind breaking across the tense terrain of the Stepstones. "No offense taken my Lord. I am a Waters after all, but you are lucky our revered Mistress of Whispers was not in earshot. Regardless, I am confident I can assuage your requests of wine and wenches." Ser Aerion was sure that the mention to the Mistress of Whispers was a thinly veiled threat. He couldn’t help but respect that, and was once again, at a crossroads once Lady Visenya turned to address him.

Aerion looked at her startling Targaryen and Baratheon features, both bloodlines clashing to create a startlingly beautiful woman. He smiled sheepishly when she spoke to him, as she made a point of not standing formality, but Ser Aerion could not deny that no matter how much she would tell him not to, he would continue to do so. The amusement across Lady Visenya’s face almost caused Ser Aerion to break his composure, as she spoke. "There is no need to stand on formality ser. I am what I am, you may simply call me Visenya if you wish. But I thank you. I shall escort you to the stands. My royal cousins and many high lords and noble ladies are seated there. They will no doubt be charmed by you. Afterwards I will find your friends their amusements." As she finished speaking, Ser Aerion bowed deeply before her and retorted back in a most regal and formal manner.

“Your Highness, Princess Visenya, I will do my best to remember that you wish to be anything other than a noble woman and lady.” He smiled cheekily, and then allowed Lady Visenya to lead the way to the lists and his destination.

Medical Pavilion, Royal Wedding Tournament of Prince Aemon and Princess Julianna

Lady Cerenna laughed softly as she patched up her compatriots. And while she had no doubt done this hundreds of times before, these grown men still griped like little children when it came time to bandage up wounds and hurts. Her caramel colored hair was tied back behind her ears, whilst her gold-green eyes carefully closed the gash on Ser Uther’s right arm. Cerenna’s hands worked expertly, using the gut and needle provided by the medical staff. She thought to herself that the gear here was far inferior to her own, as she would have used silk and a steel needle, rather than an iron one, but she did what she could with the supplies on hand. Ser Uther let out a yelp, breaking Lady Cerenna from her reverie.

“Can’t you be careful… that bloody hurts Cere…” Ser Uther whined. He looked at her with his solid dark brown eyes, almost begging her to stop. For such a big man, and one who was a trained soldier and knight, he had almost no tolerance to the pain of medical care after battle. His armor lay on the table next to him, still splattered in blood and grime from the fight. His helmet had an eagle upon its crest, shined to a bright golden-red. He grimaced once again, as Cerenna moved to finish stiching him up.

“For such a fierce knight, you’re a real big softy, you know that? But… I will keep it our little secret, less the women find out, and you will be flooded with suitors who wish to be with you, Ser Uther of House Tattershall.” Smiling as she spoke, Cerenna moved away, setting down the gut and hook and moving to grab nice clean linen bandages. At least they were clean, if not freshly laundered. Though, as she moved back, she stiffened up with embarrassment when Ser Uther and Ser Oswell responded back at her with smiles on both their faces.

“You are certainly one to talk, Lady Cerenna.” Ser Oswell chided, looking at Ser Uther with a sly grin. “Yes, did you see your face when our proud Aerion almost took that blade to his chest?” Ser Uther spoke up, grimacing as Cerenna placed the linen bandages about his body. She looked up, already starting to blush, when Ser Oswell spoke again. “Or perhaps how your face was when the Lady Visenya looked at proud Ser Aerion, oh how she found him to look rather attractive. She even smiled at him…” Both men now laughing boisterously, and then trying to apologize whilst laughing at the same time as Lady Cerenna stormed out.

“Pig headed children, the both of you…” Her face flush with embarrassment, her hands clenched in tight fists as she headed outside. Cerenna promptly sat down on a bench outside, taking all the time in the world that she needed to calm down. ‘Childish asses, the both. So what if I like Ser Aerion… he is a great man, and a honorable man.’ She thought to herself. Cerenna looked down at her feet, fighting back tears at this moment. ‘He certainly has never made any advances towards me though… never shown any interest… but maybe that is because he is such a noble gentleman, a knight without equal. I… I just wish there was a way I could know if he had feelings for me, as I have for him. Damn both of those men, making me seem like some foolish little girl, startled by her crush in the hallway. If only things were so simple.’ Cerenna unconsciously was playing with her hair, twirling it about, and braiding it to boot.

She finally looked up to see Ser Uther and Ser Oswell standing before her. The two men certainly seemed apologetic, looking at her with concern. A long tense moment passed before Ser Oswell finally spoke. “Lady Cerenna, it is not right for us to speak to you in such a way. It was rude and uncouth of us, let alone very knightly. We… we just can tell you like Ser Aerion. All of us can, except perhaps Aerion himself. He is a good man, an honorable man. We care for you as a sister, your brother having saved us many a time, and you having made sure we always can get back into the fight. If you want, we can go talk to him… I am sure that…” Ser Oswell was cut off as Cerenna quickly stood up, a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance across her face.

“Don’t you dare… don’t tell Aerion… I… I couldn’t let such a thing distract him… no, please, don’t tell him, just let it be for right now. He has so much on his plate right now, having to worry about all of us, making sure we all get our homes back, our lives back. Please… Ser Oswell, Ser Uther, just keep this between us. For now, at least.” She spoke softly, in a tone that pleaded acceptance from the two men. She looked them both over with her gold-green eyes, trying to smooth her dress out.

“As you command my lady. We will keep quiet.” Both knights responded in unison. The three would head back into the tent, to continue patching up the two knights, and then see to cleaning the armor and arms, before they would even begin to make their way to another location.

The Stands of Honor, Royal Jousting Lists

Ser Aerion followed Lady Visenya to the stands… and was the sight something to behold. The numberless banners, the bright vibrant colors, the sigils, they went on for hundreds of yards, knights and lords, hedge knights and even squires, all trying to make a name for themselves. But, the greatest thing about this gathering, was the central stands, the places of honor, for the greatest of the Lords and Ladies. Those men and women who held great power and influence, and could change Aerion’s and his friend’s fortunes. He took a deep breath, composing himself for the endless formality to come.

Lady Visenya led the party to the stairs leading to the stands themselves. Aerion’s friends smiled and nodded, patiently waiting for him and Lady Visenya to complete their business, before going onwards to their own destination. He waved at them, mouthing to them, ‘Have fun.’ Before winking. Aerion turned back around, to watch Lady Visenya lead the way up the stairs. He took a few looks at her form, before composing himself, and looking onward, it’d do no go to look like some greasy lecher. As Aerion cleared the final steps, the attendees came into view. Lady Visenya was greeted by the Kingsguard, such formidable knights of renown. They inclined their heads to her and her charge, Ser Aerion.

Their white and gold armor was impressive, and these knights were far more honorable and renowned than many in the order’s recent past. Past them, and on the royal dais, sat Queen Daenerys Targaryen herself, the Stormborn. Even twenty years his senior, she was a sight to behold. Gathered about her were her loyal cadre of guards and retinues. Close by was Princess Arianne Martell and Ser Aegon, the famed rulers of Dorne. The newlyweds Prince Aemon and Princess Julianna sat happily conversing to one another, and certainly looked the lovely pair. Aerion scanned the nearby nobility around the dais, noticing the Highlords of all the realm. The Starks, Tyrells, Lannisters, Tullys, and Arryns, with the only powerful family missing being the Greyjoys… though who could blame them. They followers of the Drowned God seldom bothered themselves with these types of events. No doubt they were around, but probably with the more common folk and their type of fun.

Aerion stole a glance to the jousting fields, suppressing a laugh and a smile. He thought little of those who partook in the merriment of jousting, as skill here seldom carried to the battlefield. A big man on a big horse could easily be taken down by an untrained farmer with a pitch fork, let alone skilled men at arms or archers. The sound of a shattered shield reminded him of a particullary bloody campaign on one of the Stepstone isles. He’d seen proud knights fall off their horses and drown in the mud, armored men being pulled from their mounts, and knifed to death by angry farmers, fishermen, and pirates… he shook his head and looked back to Lady Visenya, studying her once more.

He watched as a stunningly beautiful Tyrell maiden was approached by a pair of Targaryens. He listened in to their conversation, and rolled his eyes at the male. He certainly had a decent charm to him, but it was too… contrived and overused, and certainly had an ingrating feel to it for Aerion. He’d seen his type too much during his travels, in taverns, inns, hospitals, anywhere an attractive woman was, there was a man who would use the same old song and dance in the hopes of impressing said woman. Sure, Aerion had thought about such ploys, but to him, they seemed… dishonorable and untrue of the true words that wished to be spoken and heard. But the male had a point, in that the Tyrell, Lady Alerie, was bewitchingly alluring. Ser Aerion looked away, and back to Lady Visenya, who had now led him to the Queen herself.

Lady Visenya spoke softly, indicating towards Prince Viserys. "My cousin may be a braggart, but not without good reason." Ser Aerion shrugged his shoulders, looking down at the prince and his gaudy armor. He retorted in a hushed tone to Visenya, “Perhaps… but I put stock in those truly tested by war. May he do well if the time ever comes.” Now, finally before the Queen, he bowed deeply, letting himself hold it for the truly proper time, before rising once again. He let Visenya speak her parting words, "You may sit where you like, and approach whomever you wish. Even the Queen, she is the friendly sort. Just take care to keep your hands where the guards can see them. Best of luck Ser Aerion, I have no taste for this game myself. I shall find more simple pleasures."

“Lady Visenya, your Highness, thank you for taking the time to do this. Even if you were asked to, I am still grateful for the help in this. You have been a kind host, and perhaps you would honor me with a drink or two, and share stories of our travels. Peace be with you, your Highness.” Ser Aerion bowed low, smiling as he did so. She was an honorable and honest woman, and who could blame her, the air of formality here could be stifling at times. He met her gazes, their eyes exchanging who knew what, before they broke eye contact, and each went about their own specific tasks. Aerion watched Lady Visenya leave, sighing, before turning to begin his task of seeking out a potential patron and learn what afflicted the lands of Westeros, both big and small.

The Fairgrounds, a short while later

Lady Lyvia, Ser Lorimer, and Ser Harwin followed Lady Visenya to the fairgrounds, enjoying small talk along the way. This was a place of merriment and fun, of simpler down to earth entertainment. A pity Ser Aerion and the others could not be here, but such was the cost of one’s duty. Lady Visenya spoke to Lady Lyvia specifically as she pointed to a wrestling ring, comprised solely of men. "The young lords are having their own wrestling tournament. The reigning champion so far is Jeor Mormont, one of the She-Bear's sons." Lyvia’s dark brown hair hung loosely about her head, coming down to the middle of her back. Her brown eyes brightened with amusement as she tied her hair back, and nodded to her friends and Lady Visenya.

“Reigning champion… ha, just wait till I get in the ring, I will make the pup squeal like a newborn cub. Visenya, don’t let these two half-wits get into too much trouble, I don’t want to have to carry them home again.” She bowed slightly, and then sauntered off, making her way to the ring of wrestlers. It’d been too damn long since she last tussled, and it was certainly time for a good bout of physical prowess. She waved goodbye to Black Visenya, Ser Lorimer, and Ser Harwin, watching them leave, before returning her attention to the wrestlers.

Of course, without a moments delay, already she heard a few whispers from those in attendance. No one could ever forget the three dogs on a yellow field of House Clegane. ‘It’s the she hound…’ ‘More like the she bitch…’ ‘She bitch? Nah, she’s the she mountain, likes white stuff on her…’ ‘Heard her mother liked big dog cock… no doubt she does too.’ Lyvia ignored them, they were cowards, saying it away from her, hiding behind others. Though, as usual, there were a few foolhardly bastards who thought they could say what they want. As she slowly took off her armor, setting it aside so that she could wrestle, three particularly dumb idiots made a point to approach her.

“Clegane bitch… what are you doing showing your face around here?” Said a House Haigh knight. He had a shit eating grin, as he sauntered closer. Beside him stood a House Darry knight, sneering as well. “As the Pitchfork man said, bitch, what are you doing here? You lost… a lost puppy?” He laughed, before being joined in by a third knight, a man sworn to House Mallister. “Daughter to the fuckin Mountain himself… must have had a real whore of a mother to lay with that beast… though maybe she liked big ol’ dog cock…” He laughed, looking to his friends, jeering each other on. Lady Lyvia set her sword down on top of the rest of her gear, clenching her hands, before turning around to face them.

The Haigh knight was a small vile looking man, and she smiled at them all. The Darry knight was middle aged man, and the Mallister was by the looks a newly minted knight. ‘Fools, all of them,’ she thought, as Lyvia went through a series of stretches. She’d ignore them, Lyvia told herself, it wasn’t worth it. They were but small men trying to pick a fight, to make themselves look good by attacking Lyvia’s family and heritage.

“Did you hear me bitch… you aint welcome here. No whores sired by the Clegane filth are welcome here. You don’t have that bitch Cersei to protect you anymore…” The Haigh knight said, stepping right up in Lyvia’s face. She continued to ignore him, as she leaned down to stretch. The Mallister and Darry knights laughed, getting closer, baiting off of one another. “Whore… that’s what your mother was.” “Bet she enjoyed it… a mountains worth of girth.” The Haigh knight joined in, “I bet your mother would have sex with us… wouldn’t she boys?” He laughed, running his hand through Lyvia’s hair. “A pretty thing you are… being sired by a monster and a whore… bet you’re a whore too. How about it she bitch… wanna ride me and my friends?” The Haigh knight propositioned.

She stood back up, glaring at all the men. “Don’t you have something better to do? Leave me be, I want no part of your uncouth games. Act like knights.” She returned to her stretching, doing all she could to ignore them. Lyvia was one who would not stand for insulting her mother, Layna of the Goldroad. Her mother was a young girl, a brewer’s daughter who had been brutally raped by Ser Gregor… and lead to her own birth. When her mother went to the lands of House Clegane to find her rapist… he was dead, having fallen in combat against the Red Viper, Oberyn Martell. To make matters worse, the remaining Mountains Men, ran her mother off after having their way with her. So no, her mother was not a whore.

These three were not wise men though, and they continued, much to their own doom. The Haigh spoke up again, his beady eyes practically undressing Lyvia as he spoke. “Come now whore, a daughter of a who…” Was all he could say before a closed fist connected with his face. The Haigh knight crumpled down to the ground, blood oozing from his mouth. Lyvia turned to catch a punch from the Mallister knight, before elbowing him in the throat, and then stomping with all her might on his left knee, hearing the satisfying break in it as he screamed in pain, falling to the ground. “Feckin whore… I am going to make you pay…” The Tully knight snarled, moving in to grapple with Lyvia.

He grabbed her, fighting against her rather surprising strength. She was no Brienne of Tarth, but Lyvia could certainly outmatch many a man. By now, a new ring of folks were gathering around the fight, to include a few more hungry for vengeance against House Clegane. Another two men ran in, a House Charlton knight and a House Piper knight, trying to help the Darry knight subdue Lyvia. Foolishly, they did not expect what was to come next. Lady Lyvia jumped upwards, lifting the Darry knight with her, and savagely kicked both the Piper and Charlton knights in the chest as she fell upon the Darry knight. She heard a dulled crack, and capitalized upon it. As the Darry knight gasped for air, she slammed her right elbow into his ribs, hearing the final breaking of those ribs. Fighting to get up, she took on the House Charlton and House Piper knights as they scrambled to get up.

“MY MOTHER WAS NOT A WHORE!!!!” She screamed at the top of her lungs. Her fists connected one after another as she would pummel the closest opponent to her. He cried out, his face a bloody mess, as she turned to face another three men. The Haigh, and this time, a Wylde and a Mallery. “Shut that whore’s mouth up… she is a Clegane… a whor…” the Haigh knight tried to speak as he was rising to stand. A swift kick to his face not only silence him, it broke his jaw. Just then, Lyvia was tackled to the ground by the other three men. There they fought, much to the amusement of the onlookers. They shouted and jeered, laughing as each man who tried to face Lyvia ended up knocked out cold. The last one to finally be defeated was none other than the late Beric Dondarrion’s son, Harmen Dondarrion.

Young Harmen fought like a man possessed, and not without good reason. Lady Lyvia’s father had killed Lord Beric twice during the war of the Five Kings. He said no words, not caring to insult Lyvia, he simply wanted to defeat her, before everyone to see. She was tired by now, with small cuts and scrapes across her face and hands. She spat blood out onto the ground, and fought with all her pent up furry as well. ‘Let them all see… let the whole bloody world see.’ She thought, as her and young Harmen Dondarrion battle one another. House Clegane may have had a dark past, with evil men at its head, but she was not those men, nor was she going to lay down and let these men insult her mother.

Both combatants fought with a fury perhaps unseen for many years, but when the dust had settled, Lady Lyvia was standing tall, breathing heaving and with her right eye swollen shut. She spat blood onto Harmen Dondarrion’s tabard, before falling backwards, utterly exhausted. Rather than falling to the ground, she was caught by none other than the champion himself, Jeor Mormont. He moved in and held up his right hand, putting a stop to anymore senseless violence. His friends quickly mopped up the fallen idiots, helping them to their own friends to be carried off to the medical pavilion. Lyvia looked up and smiled a bloody grin, “I showed them… a pity, since I won’t be able to fight you now.” Jeor chuckled, shaking his head, before personally escorting Lyvia to the medical pavilion, with his squire it tow carrying Lady Lyvia’s gear.

‘Serves those bastards right for calling my mother a whore. I hope they all rot in hell. Damn… Aerion is going to be pissed as hell though. Screw it, he will understand, and will no doubt personally seek redress for those idiots actions… too bad he couldn’t of seen me, he would of laughed and been so proud. Those purple eyes of his… so dreamy.’ Lyvia closed her eyes, nursing a pulsing headache. Her thoughts were muddled, and she would quickly push away her feelings for Aerion. Better to focus on walking and not falling, then to daydream about a noble man. She laughed, too quiet for anyone to hear, when she thought about the stern lecture she was going to get from Cerenna…

At another part of the Fairgrounds… the Silk-House and the Winesink

Ser Lorimer and Ser Harwin looked at one another, and then back to Visenya, as she said something that certainly made their day. After seeing the scores of beautiful scantily clad women, ranging from the far-flung corners of the realm and beyond, they were excited to choose their preferred woman. Both knights smiled giddily as Black Visenya beckoned a thin lithe man over and spoke to him, gesturing to Ser Lorimer and Ser Harwin behind her. "Bird, my friends are looking for entertainment. On me." The thin man took the coin Black Visenya offered him, before assembling quite the plethora of women to choose from. Ser Lorimer and Ser Harwin were busily figuring out who they would take with them, when Black Visenya spoke again.

"Pick whichever one, or two, whomever you like. Then I'll take you to my favorite winesink." She must have smiled when she said that, but Ser Harwin paid no mind, choosing a pair of red-headed women, while Ser Lorimer chose only one youthful looking blonde with green eyes… perhaps a spitting image of a young Cersei Lannister, if anyone dared to say so. Both knights quickly followed Visenya, stopping to let their “partners” put some suitable clothes on. Ser Harwin laughed, looking at Ser Lorimer as he helped his chosen concubine into a stunning red gown. “Ever the noble lord, eh Ser Lorimer.” Harwin laughed, and hurried his two ladies out the tent flaps.

Ser Lorimer stopped his choice, and spoke to her for a moment. “Sorry… But, I wanted to know your name before we go off and have our fun. And, well, if you will forgive me, offer you my friendship for the duration of our time together. Anyhow, the dress looks very suiting on you, it… you look beautiful.” Ser Lorimer finally finished, blushing slightly. “My name is Myrielle Hill, Ser Lorimer… and thank you. I am honored to be spending today with you. Now come, let us go enjoy the day, and I promise you will not regret later tonight.” She leaned in, kissing Lorimer softly on his cheek, before following him out of the tent. Reunited with Ser Harwin, they followed Black Visenya to her favorite Winesink.

Black Visenya would leave them to their own devices, herself moving off to greet a few friends. Ser Harwin would laugh, drink, and eat, enjoying his time with the two red-heads. Ser Lorimer chose a more private corner of the Winesink, enjoying private conversation with Myrielle Hill, the two laughing and jesting, sharing a small game hen and a bottle of wine. Nevertheless, they all cheered when Black Visenya paid for an entire round of drinks for all those within the tent. "Another round on me!" She was certainly generous, and Ser Lorimer made a mental note to thank her once he got the chance.

Ser Aerion, The Stands of Honor, making the rounds

Ser Aerion had taken the time to properly introduce himself to the Queen, wishing her a long reign and thanking her for her own generosity. He wished the newlyweds a joyous marriage, full of love and healthy children. Now having finished the important matters of protocol, he made his way to begin talking to the Highlords of the realm, to see what favor he may be able to gain, to learn how a man like him could find a place to fit in here in Westeros. He would approach Lord Arryn first, politely introducing himself, and seeing if there were any troubles in the Vale, nothing too pushy or prying, but rather if there were any contracts out that could be taken. Aerion would say his thanks, bowing before the Lord Arryn, before moving on.

Lord Stark was next, followed by Lord Tully, Lord Baratheon, Lady Martell, then Lord Lannister. Each conversation was the same. Introductions, well wishes, small talk, inquiries into any troubles, bandits, missing townsfolk, witches, the usual things that could plague a region that an ambitious knight could perhaps solve. Ser Aerion was all formality and respect, knowing that he was but a knight, and all those that he spoke to were Lords and Ladies, or their children. When he could, he would ask about the state of any unclaimed lands, usually along the lines that such areas could be havens for bandits and other criminal scum, though to be honest, because such unoccupied settlements and fortifications could one day become a home that he so longed for. A true home for House Goldfyre. Still, Aerion continued with his duties, allowing those he spoke to be left alone once they signaled that they were done with the conversation. At long last, he made his way over to Lord Tyrell, and joined him in conversation.

For herself, Taria had decided to simply follow Theon's lead and eat fish as well. "I'll have the same," she called out, though she only looked away from her father for a moment. Her father. Even in her mind, it sounded strange, yet the more she repeated it therein, the more she was starting to like it. And it made some sense, as well. While there had been the occasional twinge of bitterness toward Theon Greyjoy as she had grown up, Taria had never felt any dislike or hate toward the man. It just hadn't made sense to her then, nor did it now. Just like most men of the world, sowing seeds and producing bastards was part and parcel of living in the world. There were so many Snows, Pykes, Hills, Stones, Flowers, Sands. If there was anyone she may have felt resentment toward, it was her mother. She had been there and had chosen not to worry about her child. Taria had memories of the way her mother had been with her, and they weren't very pleasant nor oft remember. Her father, on the other hand, was a blank slate. Whatever she knew of him was simply hearsay, told by the people of Winterfell and then her aunt Asha. The latter she trusted much more than the former, but even then, she knew it was for her to make her own mind.

So far, she was enjoying this surprise meeting. Even as she ate and listened, there was a lingering smile on her lips, eyes bright as she listened to her father. At one point she did laugh and speak up. "Well, I don't want to call you arsehole since I've never actually seen you be one." That being said, the thought of calling him father was so tempting, but for now, she restrained herself. For now, it was nice enough to eat and drink with the old man, listening to his voice. The way he talked, the interest he was showing, it was all very different from what she was used to from a parent. Perhaps she was simply feeling all this because she only just met him.

However, something told her that was probably not it. Theon had kept from relating the grimmer parts of his past, which Taria was very grateful for. She had already heard of those days of his from the mouths of others. It had been bad enough as a story told by drunken men drinking ale with wenches on their laps. Those were all told in jest and a way of mockery, but even as a child, Taria had suspected they were more serious and darker than the men had made them out to be. From what Aunt Asha had told her during her years at Pyke, when he had been found, Theon Greyjoy had been less than a shadow of the man he once was due to the vile, brutal and inhumane things that had been done to him.

After all that, what sort of person would she be if she still felt resentment against him for not being there for her when she was growing up?

She finished her food before him, drinking up her second mug of ale. Drink didn't get to her too quickly; it took her at least four or five mugs to feel a little inebriated, which she was obviously not planning for the day. "I'd like to see the wall one day," she admitted, looking at the liquid in her mug, contemplating a moment before looking at her father. "The thought of it, you, that's what got me travelling in the first place." She was sure the cold wouldn't bother her anymore, and now that she was much older than her thirteen-year-old self, it wasn't like brigands or highway robbers or any other sort of louts would scare her. She knew enough to defend herself.

It was slightly annoying for her when the large group wandered in, though nothing but mild interest showed on Taria's face. She didn't mind crowds, or noisy ones either, even if she was a loner; she was quite used to them from her upbringing. The annoyance was simply because she had been enjoying conversing with her father, and now that had been interrupted. She did, however, take better notice of the newcomers when her father greeted the one in black and red. Black Visenya? She had heard the name, though like most people who's names were widespread, she had never actually met the woman before. She was a sight, that was for sure, but Taria was more than a little biased toward her aunt; in her opinion, Asha was the kind of woman she wanted to be, save the part where she led people. Taria knew she didn't have what it took to keep people in line, nor was she a follower, hence the wanderer's life.

"Ah, yes... of course," she replied in response to Black Visenya's joke about her father. It was a little interesting, seeing the interaction between the two. Were they comrades of past? She would have to learn more... eventually. She didn't wish to exhaust her father of all stories in a single afternoon. One thing she did know was that her father had been a superb archer. It would be nice to compare, she thought to herself as the two continued to talk. Perhaps a contest in archery? That is, if her father even competed in such events. Does he still use a bow? Small questions that she wished answers for, but she would be patient.

The embrace took the Snow bastard by surprise, but she reciprocated in kind, though a little awkwardly. She wasn't used to affection, at least not the platonic sort. It wasn't so bad, however, and as father and daughter pulled apart, there was a smile on her lips. She watched as he started off, and an unusual feeling came over her. Her fist clenched as she cast a glance toward the newcomers. No, she didn't find them quite as interesting...

"Fa-Father!" Taria was hot in the face after she spoke the word aloud. She left the food tent, hurrying to catch up with the older Ironborn. "If it's not much trouble, I want to come along." She wanted to meet the higher folk he mentioned, but most of her simply wanted to spend more time with a parent who actually seemed to care. Who knew when this chance would come to her again? It was too precious to let go of so quickly!

@MrDidact

Steffon- The duels continued allowing a warm up before the great melee. Steffon tried his best to avoid needing to drink much water knowing he'd need his strength for the melee. The day was long with clashes. The crowd excited from the first battle watched eagerly as Steffon walked out facing his next opponent. Lord Blackwood was smiling happily having enjoyed seeing his rival defeated and embarrassed. Lord Blackwood charged as Steffon raised his shield catching the axe hitting the man hard with his armored knee. Lord Blackwood rolled out of the way of Steffon's hammer before jumping up. "I'll give ya ten gold to quit Frey." Lord Blackwood said smirking. Steffon answered him by smashing Lord Blackwood's shield into pieces breaking his arm.

The tournament went well for Steffon. The young lord took only a few minor wounds from a Bowman and a spear user from the Riverlands. It was lucky that Lord Tully had been beaten by House Stark. The fight was one they'd have had to throw. It wasn't looked on well to beat down your liege lord. Torrhen Stark was proudly beating down the other northerners. Steffon wasn't surprised by that at all. A relative of Jon Snow would by no means be an easy fight. The young man walked out happily with a small smirk on his face when Steffon was announced to be his final fight in the tournament. The two men stood across from each other panting. There had been nearly twenty rounds and both Lords were winded. Torrhen had a small shoulder wrap. Steffon had watched a young Mormont nearly break his arm. The wound would slow him down, but Steffon wasn't in much better condition. A small sigh escaped Steffon's lips as the two men charged Torrhen slicing the shield in Steffon's hand like butter. Steffon smiled shattering Torrhen's in return as the battle quickly became more about speed and skill then strength. It was unfortunate for Steffon that while skillful speed was not his specialty. Torrhen landed several shallow stab wounds slowing Steffon before being declared the winner. Steffon nodded on his knees at the Stark's feet raising a hand to concede the fight.

A cheer went up for Torrhen even Steffon clapping respectfully as his men carried him off. The young lord knew he was in no shape for the melee both needing to pick who would take there place. Steffon sent word for Mable to take his place. When he did the messenger spat in his face. "Same cowardly Frey" The squire smirked running to tell Mable. Steffon could feel his aching wounds turning to his second in command "I'll need more then bravery to stand a chance in the melee please help me to my seat. Steffon patted the men's back as the three of them not guarding Mable and Jenn walked the Lord to his chair. It was a shame the prince wasn't closer. A chat for old times sake would have been nice. Instead Steffon locked his eyes on the jousting crowd eager to see who the last of the matches were between.

Jenn- Jenn watched the Dragon's surprised and happy at there patience through out the feast. It was rare to see so many binding themselves to Rider's. The creatures were magnificent, but not house pets as the Queen had made them seem to her people. The Targaryan's, Jenn had seen have no real control over there Dragon's if the bond is not maintained. In ancient the historians claimed the Dragon's often left of there own will to become wild dragon's. A fair few had been famously lived in the Riverlands. Jenn could only hope the current Rider's would make an effort to recapture the Dragons that escaped in the future. Jenn watched as Arya approached the queen giving a report. It was impossible for her to read lips and finalize the agreement with the Tully's at the same time. Lord Tully was willing to allow a contingent of two hundred scouts to try to track down Malkor Frey.

The deal was more then she could have asked for with one obvious condition. The Tully's would be allowed through the Twin's free of charge for all Steffon's life. Steffon had already informed them of this, but the Tully's needed a guarantee in writing. Jenn handed it over gladly as well as a guarantee to aid the Tully's in there battles against the threats troubling the Riverland's. The extra men from Frey's just twenty years ago might have meant nothing, but sixteen years of civil wars meant the soldiers were elite among the Riverlands. The Frey's had seen there first true battles against each other recombining house flags until the original ran true. Jenn smiled sealing the deal for Steffon her eyes on the young lords jousting. While the young prince Rhegar had insulted her Jenn smiled cheering him on with the others happily. The young lord was a child she'd watched grow for the last four years. Jenn understood the burning desire to prove yourself that drove the boy. The Frey's left there wine untouched. When a slice of pie was offered the Frey's eyes narrowed dangerously. The Frey Pie incident having been repeated to often that Steffon's father had banned making pies at the Twin's for fear of accidentally eating his kinsmen. It was at that moment a smiling Steffon was placed next to her "Well done Jenn I've seen you've done a great job up here. I was pleased with your progress last last report."

Jenn beamed at her young Lord explaining the deal to Steffon as the two watched the jousting discussing what they should do. It was imperative to keep as many Targaryan's alive as possible. The less wild dragons in the Riverlands the better. Steffon also was nearing marriage age so Jenn with a glum look described his prospects. It wasn't looking great, but with a surge of hope Jenn slipped in that if he didn't marry by twenty five to a noble no one would blame him marrying a commoner. Steffon smiled at this "That may be the case I intend to marry off Mable if I need to and myself second. There may still be trouble from the other houses of the Riverland's though it would also do us well to try to have better relationships with the Stark's or Targrayen's. In this mind set both slipped into deep thought as they watched the battles Jenn whispering everything she'd learned to her Lord. Jenn never stopped tracking Arya though determined to keep her away from Steffon.

Mable- Mable ate veraciously next to Jenn bits of meat occasionally hitting the diplomat. Jenn wiped her face off dismissively Mable apologizing. Mable could feel the fear feeding her excitement as the jousting started. Then when she became bored Mable made her way through the crowd to the dueling Arena in time to catch the matches between the final twenty. Mable in a happy fashion occasionally fantasized that one of these men would present her with a wedding invitation. It was clear there were no takers as many avoided her on sight. A scarred woman was looked down on, but a scarred Frey woman was near repulsive. a sigh escaped her as she watched the young Lord Stark battle his way through to the top. A quick and agile man the young lord at last took down her own cousin. It was a beautiful display of swordsmanship as he moved. Mable couldn't help, but feel a spark of jealousy as the woman swooned trying to draw his attention.

The day would have been ruined if a young messenger hadn't been on his way to Mable. "Maybe I did catch someone's eye" She mused to him as the boy glared handing her a note. Mable's hear skipped, Steffon wanted her to represent the house in the grand melee? The honor was almost to good to be true. The knight Matk who was assigned to guard her smiled helping her to the tent set up for the Frey's. Matk the knight said kindly "I'll assist you in preparing as much as I can." The man moved quickly a humorous soul dressing her in a light metal armor designed for her way of combat. Mable chose to use her traditional weapons a spear for fast combat against a single opponent with her longsword for back up. The shield she bore was adorned with the symbol of the Lannister Freys a red Twins in a white background. Matk seeing this had a new shield made that would honor her allegiance to the ruling house. Matk smiled "A good symbol that you stood with the Lannisters in the cival war, but we abandoned those symbols after the war." Mable only nodded not wanting to argue. Mable had learned the design for every Frey side in the civil war. It was easier the travel through Lannister Lands if people though she was partially Lannister. Mable stood hearing the roar of the crowd as she walked into the arena head held high.

@MrDidact@Nightwing95@bloonewb

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Food Tent

Visenya, who was busy drinking and singing with the other patrons did not hear most of William's statement. In fact she only caught the very last part of his offer. As she had been chugging a tankard of ale, her reaction was quite understandable in that Visenya made a choking sound and spit out all of her drink onto the bar. Somewhat inebriated herself coupled with surprise, Visenya's normally razor quick wit and sharp mind were now slow to answer and all Visenya could do was look wide-eyed at William and stammer, "I...I...my lord, William...I" Visenya knew William quite well, they had known each other for years and practically grew up together, as William was Sansa's ward. Despite his cynical personality and cutting tongue Visenya had to admit she felt a certain fondness for the young Lord Bolton. But did she want to marry him? Visenya had faced bandits, pirates, slavers, and all manner of rogues and outlaws. None of them had given them as much pause as William's drunken offer of marriage.

She was immeasurably relieved when the fight broke out. It started when one of the Ironborn shoved past a Wildling. The two began pushing each other in the chest, shouting, and then fists were flying. The two drunken brawlers were not particularly careful about where they struck, and several bystanders were hit accidentally. With most of the tent drunk and rowdy already, tempers flared and rivalries were revived. Instantly half of the tent began kicking and punching at each other while the other half tried to escape and avoid it. The tent became a crowded mass of flailing limbs and shouts as alcohol, spittle, blood, and food went flying in all directions. It was a remarkable excuse not to respond to marriage offers. Visenya pushed William out of the way when one northman tried to smash the Bolton with a chair. She kicked the man in the knee, driving him to the ground before smashing her tankard over his head. One of his friends threw a punch at her but Visenya grabbed his fist, twisted his arm behind his back and kicked him into a group of brawlers, sending them all into a tumble.

Visenya grabbed William by the arm and pulled him close behind her, "Stay close." William and Visenya had to fight their way through the tent, and Visenya tried to wade through the crowd to find Harwin and Lorimer, who she hoped were handling themselves alright.

The Medical Tent

As the two knights were recuperating in the tent, Jeor Mormont and his squire escorted Lyvia Clegane into the tent and laid her down on the bed. Several moments later all the knights and men she had vanquished in battle were also led into the tent. The medical tent was already full of those injured in brawls, tilts, duels, and accidents and the new influx of wounded did not help matters in the least. Lyvia was placed on a cot far away from the other new patients and near her comrades. Her attackers, those who were conscious, delivered glares, curses, and scowls in her direction as they were laid to bed. The septas, silent sisters, nurses, alchemists, and maesters attending the wounded were scrambling to accommodate all of the casualties. They had taken note of Cerenna's healing skill and left Lyvia in her care to attend the other patients. Jeor Mormont bowed to Lyvia and took his leave, "Finely fought my lady. I hope to see you at the wedding feast. We shall drink to your health. And your fists."

As the Band of Seven were patched up, a woman entered the tent, followed by several guards bearing the Velaryon seahorse on their armor. She was tall, slender, and graceful with violet eyes and silver hair. Her dress was aquamarine, shimmering in the sunlight, and tightly wrapping around a shapely figure. Her presence seemed to brighten the mood of the tent, as many who were groaning in pain suddenly quieted and others kneeled before the woman, smiles crossing their face. The woman saw the Band of Seven, approached, and inclined her head to them. She extended her hand for a kiss to those who could walk, and for the heavily wounded, she laid a soft dainty hand upon them and offered smiles of sympathy.

The woman said, "Valiant knights, noble ladies. I am Princess Daenyra and I came to offer my most sincere thanks for aiding my father in battle and coming to his protection." She extended her hand for a kiss to those who could walk, and for the heavily wounded, she laid a soft dainty hand upon them and offered smiles of sympathy.

Daenyra continued speaking, "The king is a mighty warrior, but it is most heartening to know the king has true friends in your company. I heard that the king has invited you to the wedding feast as guests of honor. This pleases me greatly and it would please me more if you were to be my guests at the festivities. My place would be at the high table with my brother and his bride, but a place of renown has been reserved for those of my husband's house. Please relay to your leader that you are all free to be seated with the men and women of Driftmark and would be in honorable company. I have much to attend to, but I would be indebted if you were to convey my offer. I wish you all a speedy recovery and hope to see you at the feast." Daenyra smiled radiantly at the Band of Seven and left the tent followed by her guards.

Somehow the world seemed a bit dimmer as Daenyra left. When Cerenna went back to work, she would find a surprise. Though white scars and marks remained, all their wounds had healed.

The Lists

As Ser Malrik was leaning against a post, he heard a voice call out, "Ser knight, may I have your attention for a moment?" Malrik would turn to see a mystery knight in dull grey plate with a grinning skull emblazoned on his breastplate. The mystery knight kept his helm on his head and his visor down, and his voice was difficult to discern. Besides his strange device, there was no distinguishable trait about the man. He was of only middling height, and his build was concealed by his standard armor. His swordbelt had no ornamentation. He led a courser horse with plain barding, an unremarkable breed. No squire attended him.

The mystery knight inclined his helm, "You may call me the Knight of Skulls. But I know who you are. The brave and gallant Ser Malrik. You displayed great chivalry in the lists ser. And admirable valor when you rode to the king's defense. It is clear you are a true knight. And favored by the king. The rumor is that King Jon himself invited you to the wedding feast. If this is true, I have a proposition for you ser."

The Knight of Skulls looked from side to side and leaned in to whisper, "My beloved is to be betrothed to another man. I have information that she will receive an offer of marriage at the wedding feast. The man is my rival, but he is much wealthier and influential than I. My father forbade me from attending the feast out of fear I'd start a duel, but I only intend to bestow a gift to her. I had hoped to win the tourney and crown her the queen of love and beauty. I see your look ser, no I shall not ask such a gallant knight to cheat. No, against all these great knights and fine riders, I know I will not win. But I still would wish to show her my love but alas I cannot set foot in the Red Keep. They would not allow a Mystery Knight into the castle. And my father is close to the king. If I revealed my identity, I would not be allowed anywhere near the feast. Hence why I need your help. You are an honored guest of the king, and none would dare search you."

The Knight of Skulls reached into his saddlebags and retrieved a small lacquer box, the most decorated item he seemed to own, covered in elegant designs of aquatic life and mermaids. The knight spoke, "Inside is a gift to my beloved, a note from myself. Her name is Sirenei Marbrand, she is one of Julianna Lannister's handmaidens. She is kissed by fire and has beautiful green eyes, a maiden of nine and ten. You need not approach her directly, simply leave it where she will find it while you are at the feast. She will recognize the box, open it, read the note, and hopefully will be motivated to refuse her suitor."

The mystery knight reached into his saddlebags and withdrew a large bag that clinked with the telltale sound of coins, "Do this and this gold is all yours. In addition, I made sure our names were drawn against each other in the lists. When the time comes I shall fall off my horse and ensure your victory. From there I will arrange for you to be matched against other worthy opponents. Do this, and you will be wealthy and attain glory. I only ask that you help me maintain my identity and speak word of this to no-one. The Mistress of Whispers has eyes and ears everywhere, and she would surely put a stop to my plan. What say you, Ser Malrik?"

The man stood before Malrik and awaited an answer.

Royal Stands

Theon turned to his daughter smiled and said, "Of course Taria. You will always be welcome at my side." Theon escorted Taria to the royal stands. He nodded greetings to the Kingsguard on duty and introduced Taria to all the lords and ladies of the court. She was introduced as his daughter to the Queen, to the Lords Paramount, and to many great knights and renowned figures such as Davos Seaworth, Brienne of Tarth, Jorah Mormont, Bronn of the Blackwater, Aegon Targaryen, and many more. Most of the dignitaries, especially the Starks, were close acquaintances of Theon and greeted him with warm smiles. Theon also introduced Taria to several officers of the Night's Watch, some who had been hardened criminals, and others who came from houses of great renown. Finally Theon made his greetings to Asha Greyjoy. The Lady Reaver of the Iron Islands was as hard and stern as ever but welcomed her brother with a firm embrace. She noted Taria and smiled, "Taria. It's been too long. I see you've met your father. Hopefully it wasn't too much of a disappointment."

Theon smiled gamefully, "Well it couldn't have been anymore disappointing then when she went to meet the Lady Reaver of the Iron Islands and met a sea hag instead." Both siblings laughed aloud at that time and then Taria was re-introduced to several of Asha's children as well as prominent Ironborn such as Qarl the Maid and Triston Botley. After several more moments of hob-knotting and chit-chat, Theon turned to Taria, "Unfortunately for now we must part my daughter. I must begin entreating this high lords to continue funding the Night's Watch with material, money, and men. The brothers on the Wall tell tales of flesh-eating ghouls, mad wolfmen, and other horrors. Stories perhaps, but then we once thought that of the White Walkers. I must go but I will rejoin you later, you can be sure. If not now then at the feast." Theon indicated several of the younger lordlings and maidens, "It's never a bad idea to make a noble friend, trust me, they come in handy."

Theon held Taria's hand, smiled, and left to sweet talk Lord Brandon, leaving Taria to her own devices. As he left, Prince Viserys walked up the stairs followed by his squire Doran Martell. Despite his defeat on the field, he walked as tall and proud as a war hero returning home. He dressed himself in a fine silken doublet with the emblem of a knight, lance raised, flying on the three-headed dragon. He passed by Taria, stopped, and intrigued; introduced himself, bowing to her, "My lady. I am Prince Viserys, though Viserys will perfectly suffice. I have the honor to make your acquaintance. What might your name be? And which one of these wrinkled old men is your father? I have difficulty discerning where such striking looks would come from."

Meanwhile Arya Stark whispered in Daenerys' ear, "After the feast, your husband wishes to convene a meeting of the small council. We have urgent matters to discuss, relating to recent security breaches and our enemies both foreign and domestic."

Daenerys whispered back, "Very well. But Aemon will not participate. It is his wedding night, he has other matters to attend. Inform the others, discreetly, then see to the rest of your business. Thank you Arya."

Arya bowed, "My pleasure." She withdrew but not before she was intercepted by Aemon and Julianna, who were holding hands.

Aemon smiling widely hugged Arya, and after a moment she returned the gesture, "Auntie, it's been too long."

"Yes it has nephew, though you look well. It seems the ocean sun has done you wonders. Your father would have burnt."

Aemon chuckled as Julianna smiled, "Aunt Arya, it is always a pleasure."

Arya returned the smile and inclined her head, "Likewise, niece. Today is a great day. I watched the two of you grow up. I watched you turn into a man worthy of the throne Aemon, and you Julianna I know you will be the right woman to sit by his side. I promise to both of you that I will serve in any and every way I can."

Aemon smiled, "Don't be so formal Auntie. Father is a stubborn man. When the Stranger comes, he will challenge him to a duel. I won't be king for decades yet."

Arya smiled minutely, "You are right of course. However I have other matters to attend Aemon, plus excuse me. I will of course rejoin you at the feast. Tell your brother I've never seen anyone lose with such style."

The Crown Prince laughed and Arya bowed to her niece and nephew before withdrawing. On the way she stopped to inform all the members of the small council about the meeting after the feast. She stood before Tyrion, Sansa, and Willas. She offered all of them a smile, "Sister. Willas. Tyrion. Pardon the interruption, but I will simply inform you that the King and Queen desire a meeting after the feast and the bedding. There are matters of incredible import to discuss and the Crown Prince will not be joining us."

Tyrion raised his cup, "And that is for all the better. I love the boy like a son, but he broods just as much as his father. I do believe they both came out of the womb with stern looks and furrowed brows. If the two of them were in the same room discussing pirate raids and rebellions, I do believe we might simply all slip into a comatose state of worry and depression."

Sansa giggled, "And how is that any different from your wine-induced comas dear husband?"

Tyrion sipped from his goblet and declined to answer.

Arya smiled and Sansa said, "You needn't run off. Try the vintage, Tyrion is good at something besides drinking and japes after all."

Arya shook her head, "I'm afraid not. I have urgent matters to attend to. Perhaps at the feast."

She turned to Willas and inclined her head, "Congratulations on your son's victory. He is a fine rider. He would make a fine Kingsguard if that were his ambition. Though he might be too fond of the maidens for that to be a reality. I have seen my nephew bested once or twice, but never in such spectacular fashion."

"My lords, Sansa." Arya bowed her head and retreated from the royal stands but not before she turned to the Freys and stared Jenn right in the eye before leaving.

Tyrion finished drinking and poured himself another, "Your sister is quite possibly the most frightening woman I've ever known."

"Including your sister?"

"Hmm, fair point."

Tyrion turned to Willas, "Such a shame. What the Fossoways may lack in heraldy they make up for in wine. But no worries, I have persuaded the Dornish to provide some of their reds for the wedding. They assure me it is quite the superior. Perhaps we shall find out together? And you may certainly take a cask of Imp's Delight home... as long as you are open to part with a fine Arbor gold."

Sansa smiled at Willas, "It is tremendous how far we have come. All of us lost fathers, siblings, friends in that terrible war. All of us doubted that we would see the sun again in the Long Night. But here we are, healing the wounds of the past, and united in friendship and peace. We thank you for your well wishes Willas, and I can speak for both myself and my husband when we wish the same for your children. May they all live happily and never know the horrors we did. To our children, and a bright future." Sansa raised her glass for a toast and they all drank.

Tyrion spoke next, "Indeed, my daughter truly is a lucky woman. Married to a gallant prince, and she took after her mother save for her hair and eyes. Thank the gods. I dare not think on what the kingdom would think if Aemon married a woman who looked like me." Tyrion chuckled and drank again.

"Though, I note that your own daughter is unwed, and so is my son. Tom is a bright lad, brave. A few years her junior yes, but I think it would be wonderful if they were to meet. Your family should share our table. It is only prudent that the young lions and young roses become friends. And if something more blooms, all for the better. Am I right?"

Sansa giggled and poked Tyrion softly in the arm, "Stop it you incorrigible man. One child going off to marriage and already you're looking for another. Why not let Tom alone. Aemon is ten years older and he is just married. It can wait. Besides, it seems my nephew and Alerie are getting rather well acquainted." Sansa gestured to the Prince Jahaerys and Princess Baella, who were amiably conversing with Willas' daughter.

Tyrion scoffed, "Jahaerys is a gallant lad, that is simply how he engages with all the women of the court. He would act so sweetly if the maiden in question had a clubfoot and a sty."

Sansa rolled her eyes at her husband with a smile and laughed.

They all turned as Ser Aerion addressed them. While he had been hob-knobbing he learned all of the troubles of the realm. He heard talk of religious and ethnic unrest in many townships, of the Freemen Brotherhood of Outlaws harrying small holdfasts and keeps, of increasingly deadly attacks on Marcher and Dornish settlements alike by the Vulture King, of the mountain clans growing bold in their raids, of the Silence harassing merchant ships, of rebellion in the Stepstones, or peasants mysterious disappearing and rabid tales of blood-sucking fiends, witches, demons, wolfmen, and corpse-eating ghouls. He learned that Hellgate Hall was currently in possession of the Vulture King, that many rebel Stepstoners had holdfasts in their islands, and that many holdfasts and small keeps destroyed in the previous wars were still ruins and there were rumors of secret smuggling and slaving bases along the Blackwater rush.

The trio of small Councillors greeted Aerion cordially. Tyrion had a page hand Aerion a drink, "We heard all about your gallant aid to my brother-in-law. Please have a drink with us ser. What brings you to our company today?"

Meanwhile Jahaerys' pale skin blushed as Alerie teased him and Baella giggled, "Dragons may set their enemies aflame, but the old legends tell us they horded gold, and so one can see that they adored things of beauty." Baella interjected, "Viserys has a reputation as I'm sure you've heard Alerie, but Jahaerys is barely any better. For he is much more eloquent. And unmarried." Jahaerys laughed, "Please sister, we've just met Alerie and you're already painting me as a rogue. We would be delighted to accompany you to the fairgrounds my lady. If we happen upon your brother, I would be glad to congratulate him. I always believed Viserys needed to be humbled a bit."

He escorted his sister and Alerie down the stairs and a pair of Kingsguard broke off to follow them. Jahaerys walked closely to Alerie and though he was composed, she may have detected a spot of nervousness. Despite this Jahaerys gamely pointed out all the wonders of the fair and identified many significant personages by name.

"Is there anything in particular you'd wish to see or do? We have curiosities and distractions of all varieties, and my father will compete in the melee soon."

Jahaerys was interrupted when Rhaenys and her gaggle of children ran down the stairs to follow. Rhaenys stopped in front of the older nobles and said, "Jahaerys, let us come with you. It'll be terribly boring in the stands now that Viserys has finished." Jahaerys smiled, "Rhaenys, we are escorting the Lady Alerie to the fair. It would be entirely up to her as she is our guest." Rhaenys turned to Alerie and smiled widely, "Hello. Let us come with you, we can go introduce you to the dragons! They're near the royal pavilion!"

As this was occurring, a page bearing the Targaryen colors and with the look of a Tully approached Steffon and Jenn. He bowed, but with a bit of smirk and said, "Prince Aemon sends his regards and would be honored if you would join him and the Princess in the royal box." Aemon and Julianna were engrossed in conversation with a large group of young lordlings and ladies, and no doubt Aemon sent the boy as a gesture to a childhood friend.

The Grand Melee

Jon sat atop his horse, anxiously, along with the whole field as all awaited the sound of the horn to start the mock battle. Though there could only be one winner, many warriors formed partnerships or assembled into teams. Some would turn on each other when the odds evened while others sought to help a promising friend attain the glory or else split the champion's purse between them. Jon for his part rode alone. He said nothing and felt his heart start to beat faster in anticipation of the starting horn. This was always the worst part, the calm before the storm. The moments before he rode into the heat of battle.

When the horn sounded however, he felt himself calm. He spurred his horse forward, drew his blade and fell into old comfortable rhythm. On the battlefield, all worries of the future passed. All doubts and concerns ceased. Only the drive to survive and fight remained. He had fought in the deadliest wars in living memory, had survived countless battles, had faced off against foes and threats straight from nightmares. This melee paled in comparison. But still it was chaos, as scores of shouting armored foes crashed into each other or rode by, with all manner of blunted tourney weapons.

Jon charged forward, sword aimed at another knight who wielded a longaxe. Jon parried the man's blow and as they passed he swiped him in the back, knocking him off balance as Jon wheeled around for another pass. The knight recovered, tried to swing again but Jon dodged. The two circled each other on their mounts, parrying and slashing rapidly until Jon swept the axe out of the man's hand and knocked the side of his helm with a mighty blow, sending toppling from the seat and into the dirt. Jon kept moving, charging at another opponent until said warrior was unhorsed by another rider's tourney lance. Jon hit the lancer in the chest with a sideways blow with enough strength to send him flying out of the saddle. Two knights came at Jon then, boxing him in on both sides and each with a longsword. Jon parried one sword and titled back to avoid the other before springing back in the seat and catching one knight in the wrist with his own weapon. The man cried out and dropped his sword as they rode past and Jon pursued. The man fumbled for a dagger until Jon rode by and punched him in the face as he turned to slash and parry with the other swordsman. Jon knocked the man's sword arm down and Jon twirled in the saddle to hit the man's gut. He doubled over and Jon hit him in the back with his pommel before forcibly pulling him from the seat. The chaos continued, shouts and screams mixed with the clash of steel as hundreds of opponents fought on horse or on foot.

One hedge knight with a tourney lance spotted Mable and decided she made an appetizing target, riding towards her and raising his lance to strike her in the armor and knock her in the dirt. Already many of the fighters had been injured and were being carried or dragged off the field but the melee was still in it's early stages.

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"Thank you, Lord Tyrion. I suppose he's confused. He'll get it out of his system, he didn't rush like I did....that's why he's like a young Leo Longthorn at this. He's a grown man, and he can make the right choice for our house when the time comes. All men make those choices....we'd all be wise to know that." Willas smirked to both of them, to both of them, as he nodded, sitting up, watching Alerie head down the stands, and listened to Tyrion's observations...on the wine first.

"I am sure we can do that. There's no shortage this summer. First batch was a bit off from the Arbor, but once those bloody Redwynes got their act together....beautiful. It is a wonderful isle, Tyrion. Hills laced with vinyards, as far as the eye can see, beyond the towers and fortifications of The Arbor itself. As it turns out, feeding an appetite for wines goes beyond you, Tyrion." He chuckled, as he patted the Hand on his back, a gleeful smile on his face, as he turned back to Alerie once again, down below.

"Alerie....well, she knows what she is doing. I'm her father, and even I know that. Reminds me of my sister really....but alas." He said, sitting up, looking over at the three depart.
"Perhaps she's playing with him then....I remember when she was little, she made two squires fight with each other after she made a promise to both of them, over something silly.... Jaehaerys has a reputation for his kindness, even I know that....and he isn't hurtful. But...she wants a fire. What Alerie wants, it's a mystery sometimes, but I know that girl is bright and won't do anything for it. That....that's the thing. I can't tell where she stops. Perhaps it is best I don't?" Willas added to Sansa, chuckling, as he finished the Arbor. The last part of the comment seemed to imply a deeper understanding of his daughter, well, something that he knew someone like Tyrion would know.

The women of the Tyrell court were the very, very sharpest thorns at play, and even when men such as Willas, and his sons proved to be brave and well-meaning, well-ruling and understanding, the women seemed to have a different play, a sort that gave the pretty rose it's pain, it's absolute reminder that you do not lay your hand along it's stalk or petals without feeling a sharp reminder of it's very nature. Willas knew just like Olenna had been for House Tyrell, that Alerie followed so much in her suit, she could do what she wanted and would accomplish that, no matter what he said, or did. Never to settle for less, but only for something that the Tyrell words gently carried in the wind. Growing Strong....and never letting go of the rightful place of House Tyrell in the Seven Kingdoms. It was not his to do...it was hers, and he was wise enough to know that so long as it didn't get her killed, it was a healthy reaction of the Tyrell women to the very nature of politics and the world.

"Ah, well How is Tom, anyway? It'd be good to see him, I haven't seen him in years. He was barely a lad when I last saw him...though I believe Lady Sansa is right in saying, we all know there's far more merriment to have tonight before we wed away more of our sons and daughters!" Willas asked, an honest question, and he didn't really seem to respond to Tyrion's comment....it was worth considering, a Rose and a Lion, but right now, not at the foremost of his political play in King's Landing. Money had to be balanced, found for this, as well as the logistics of running Seven Kingdoms, under a monarchy that was so absolute, so overwhelmingly powerful, that retaining a need and identity in the face of it all felt difficult at times.

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

Alerie giggled, hearing those words from Baela.
"Oooh, another unmarried man? At a wedding? Seven Hells, it's like you're trying to get us wed, Baela!" She smirked, absolutely unable to contain herself, as she kept holding Jaehaerys's hand, knowing how it gently trembled, how he seemed absolutely nervous. He seemed tongue-tied, well, he seemed like he hadn't actually gotten this far, and she knew what a man was like when he was like this. Good at spilling out what he needed to, completely at unrest in some sort of lust, and Alerie knew whatever she might hear, it would be rather entertaining, it'd be a good way to pass the time, while her father sat and talked politics and Arbor, her brother had been unhorsing Knights, and she'd been sitting with little to do. It wasn't all pleasure- after all, hearing sometimes the whispers of what a Targaryen knew, even a cousin of the King and Queen, was always of interest, and sometimes, words slipped, after all.

"I suppose he might. My brother is a bit of a rogue, anyway. Brave as he is, he blushes so much when you put me in front of him, he turns redder than an apple...and I'm used to it, I guess? So it wouldn't make me feel uncomfortable, not at all...you be rogueish, I'll just make you blush all the time." She remarked to the two, as they happened across the gaggle of children, Alerie...well, there was something strange. A motherly trait, even though Alerie had no children of her own, she couldn't help but smile. Especially because they were tidy, clean, and neat, and seemed to remind her of her cousin. She knelt, and looked at them, a particular beam from her golden eyes and her well-beaming smile. Today had been a good day, though Alerie knew that half her smiles were just put on, they at least made it known that Alerie Tyrell was a happy girl, and seemed gregarious and heartily-outgoing.

"Well...I suppose it wouldn't be a big deal, to go there before the fair....shall you show me then, you little rascals?" Alerie at that moment seemed to have some kind of look, she seemed to almost be on their level, and well...it was almost a bond, she seemed to be almost more like an aunt than a distant figure from a distant land, and knew that she might as well, after all. It sold the act better to Jaehaerys...and she did want to go see what a dragon in the flesh really did look like.

----------

Ellion had headed back towards the tents, and knew that his jousting had finished. He'd beaten Viserys, he'd proven himself, and whilst another Knight was clearing up the rest of the lists, it would be over soon. The top of the world was where he felt, adored, he felt like for everything he'd done, he was here. No real Queen to nominate, Ellion knew he couldn't go any further. He'd had his victory, he'd won what he wanted. A hell of a lot of pride, a hell of a lot of courage that still sat in his lungs, and by seven hells, he knew that any man worth his salt would want to know who the Tyrell Knight had been, and how he could join them to dinner. Maybe, he chuckled to himself. Probably not. But if ever there was a tourney, he knew he wouldn't be amiss to go. He had beaten Viserys Targaryen, the man they said they couldn't unhorse, the dragon himself. That was enough for him, for today....there was feasting, fucking and family to be with. As he trotted Desmedona back into the stable, Ellion had helm on his knees, sighing. He clambered off the horse, Duncan close by, a beaming smile on the young squire's face.
"That was brilliant!"

"I half knew what I was doing. You did well, mate." He said, patting Duncan on the back, as he looked around. He couldn't see Mycheal, well, not around here. The straps were tight inside the armour, it felt like it gripped his every move like a vice, as he gently nodded to Duncan to get around him and loosen the plating around his hip and shoulders a little, breathing out. Bugger, this was fucking hot, he thought to himself. But given that his formal wear was not here, he'd just have to arrive to whatever feast or event there was. He wasn't partaking in the melee, given that...well, let's put it like this. Southerners don't do melees, Targaryens, Northeners, Riverlanders, Valemen, maybe Westerlanders and some weird folk did melees, big grand fights. It had no fucking class, Ellion thought to himself. None of the heart-pacing adrenaline, it was a giant spar with a lot of lower-borns to shove past, and if he wanted that he would go to his uncle, or show Duncan. He had no care for that, not when he knew that when the push came to shove, he'd be able to hold swords with the best in Westeros. A mess of bodies was not a Reachman's place, not to die or get wounded by accident...to think the King was there. It was not his scene, to say the least, though he kept it private to himself, he knew his lack of presence wouldn't be too significant, even if it wouldn't please father.
"You knocked him off his horse, I watched it, it was amazing!" Duncan was still overexited, despite the fact that his wear was showing, he'd lifted about eight lances and ran around a heck of a lot.

Mychael wasn't around, well, not at the moment, as Duncan and Ser Ellion left the stable, the hands feeding the horses sugar and water, the sun still shining down. The Tyrell Knight had his family to go look for, and the clattering of the melee in the distance could already be heard, as sword upon sword came together.
"Viserys fought well. But I knocked him off. This will be a day to remember for you, Duncan. One day, I hope you'll be a jouster too."

@MrDidact
(In collaboration with @kingkonrad)

Ellion and Duncan had left the stables, and headed towards their tent, the large green and gold one that House Tyrell had paid for, for the benefit of the Knights of the Reach to assemble, and rest, armour and prepare, even for the Kingdom's rather poorer Knights, it offered a home inside the city walls.

It was on the way there that Ellion spotted a well-armoured female, a Lady Knight, to say the least. It was a rarity to note, given that women did not affiliate themselves with combat, and the fact that she looked like a Riverwoman made it seem all the more odd. Her dark brown ponytailed hair, and her lean yet poised physique seemed to sugest that she was up for more than just a show. A smaller Brienne of Tarth, perhaps? But she did look rather eyecatching, as Ellion passed her by, catching her shoulder as they walked past, by the side of another tent.

"My apologies, Lady...." Ellion said, noting she had no squire, or nothing. She clearly was a Knight, it seemed that her armour had scratches and notches from fighting, not something else, and that was enough for Ellion's mind to settle on. A fair and toughened maiden, who knew what lay beneath that steel skin, he thought to himself. If her face was any idea, something beautiful...and maybe a fiery personality to boot.

"Yes? How may I help you Ser?" asked the woman in reply, she carried a longsword on her hip. Which meant she was either a newblood or atleast trained by a knight in return. One would expect that a woman physique to go with a smaller blade - yet a longsword enabled a woman to use both of her hands. Since the weight of a longsword and a regular sword wasn't much yet a longsword could be used with both hands - whereas a regular sword was only able to be used with one hand. And while a woman was weaker than a man - two hands were always stronger than one.

"I was just curious, as to who you were. I'm Ellion Tyrell." He said, offering out a hand, and a cheeky grin, her bark strong, but wheather her bite would follow, he didn't know.
"There's not a lot of ladies who choose to fight, but the world is far more wonderful for it."

"I am Serah Merebelle Gray, I am a Knight from the Riverlands, in service to House Tully. Or rather, when the times are needed - mostly I just act as their guard and aid," she spoke, accepting his hand. Despite them being both knights and warriors - there was still the relationship, that men ruled and women cared. "And well...the Riverlands have a way of making one pick up the sword to defend ones family."

Ellion smiled, knowing it was an oddity indeed, but still, a Knight in service to House Tully was still a Knight indeed. And she was probably faster than any of their drunk fools, no doubt.
"Aye, I imagine it has been hard on the Riverlands. You fight for what matters in life, true chivalry comes from that, Merebelle." Ellion replied, his brown hair blowing a little bit, his golden eyes catching a little, even despite the fact that a little cloud had rolled over the bright sun that burned in the sky.
"Doesn't matter if you're the fairer sex...a sword by a Lord's side that can do good work is a good sword."

"Thank you for the compliment Ser Tyrell," she spoke, while it was true they were on equal standing - he was still from a Great House, while her family at that was still a minor one. "I was on my way to the tournament myself. Namely the one where knights test their steel against one another. Could you perhaps tell we where to find it? I am afraid, this is my first time here - and I am embarrased to admit, I am rather lost. Could you show me the way?"

Ellion smiled, knowing that well, it was probably expected that she hadn't gone to tourneys or tournaments this big, probably given her more regional standing.
"I can. I'm not fighting myself, I haven't got it in me, not after that joust. I'm barely holding myself up!" He said, chuckling, as he pointed it out, the distant melee grounds beyond the tents, as he looked back to Merebelle, his charming looks catching into her gaze again.
"It's all that way. I'll come with you, if that's alright, Merebelle?" He asked, taking her hand, his metal gauntleted fingers and palm taking hers, in a seductive manner, though he didn't want to be too ginger about it and treat her like some common girl. She was clearly more than that, he reminded himself. Someone who'd be worth sparring against, if the cuts on her armour said so.

"Thankk you, Ser Tyrell," replied Merebelle, as she was taken along by the other knight. She knew that such an act could be taken or translated in many different ways - but one didn't deny or turn-down an opportunity to discuss or interact with a member from the Great Houses. Especially in her small standing, most of her House had been engaged in simply song-writing and singing in small congregations or at best as a choir in the Tully' Castle at their best times. "Might I ask, if there is any further requirement beyond simply a wish and skill with a sword?"

Namely she was asking, if she would be fighting with somebody of her skill. Would there be need some monetary entry fee - or if there was some sort of hierarchy; where the knights with the most wins would be fared up against eachother and then the victor would claim the grand prize.

Walking along, Ellion listened to her, knowing...well, maybe she didn't entirely understand the deeper parts of a melee. And him, being not really a fan of such things, he knew he couldn't really stop her, not in that respect.
"Well....it's a big fight, a mock battle, and hopefully, nobody gets killed. A good chance to prove yourself, a hero among a few. Though there is always jousting for that...and I just unhorsed Viserys Targaryen." He said, knowing he wasn't going to hide his glee, in knowing he'd just bloody done so.

"I don't know how good a fighter you are, Merebelle, but I'm sure if you can hold a sword and make sure you can parry a swinging blade, you'll be fine. Perhaps the King will offer a purse, too." He said, as they turned the corner, her metal in his metal, as he looked back down at her.

"But alas, how does a Lady so pretty choose to take the sword? Outside of necessity, of course. You seem to relish in this, if you don't mind me saying. A brave beautiful woman with a weapon is a rare sight, one with such a charm is rarer still."

"You honor me, with your charm," she replied, chuckling a little to that. True, she was surpised upon hearing him dismount a Targaryen. Since as much as she knew about them, they were the best of the best and great at everything they did. "And trust me. It wouldn't be my first choice or rather at all."

She recalled a few moments, of why she took up this path. "I was actually training to be a minstrel when I was younger. A musician, who can play many musical instruments and make the greatest songs come to life. My House is famous for those. Yet when the Riverlands were more chaotic, my carriage was attacked by bandits - injuring my guards. Leaving me alone with my two baby sisters. As such, I had two choices. Either I submit, and be forced to do whatever depraved and horrid affair the bandits had ideas for me and my two younglings. Or I could take up and fight."

"Suffice to say the Seven blessed me at that moment. I was barely fifteen summers, before I picked up a sword and killed all of the bandits by myself. Bloodied at such an age, and with five men of questionable morals no longer corrupting our lands. After that, I felt...well sick," she spoke. "Sick of having such a thing happen, and of our lands being unable to defend themselves. So on the day I returned to my home, I decided to become a knight. To protect those who can't and to make sure, such a moment would never happen to others - whom the Seven wouldn't show mercy or aid to."

Ellion raised his eyebrows. He'd killed a couple of men before, a drunk pair of bandits,and he'd pretty much done it cleanly and efficiently. But nothing like that. It was impressive to hear, to say the least, as he listened on, knowing she spoke from the bottom of her heart.

"Seven Hells...that is quite something. A lot of courage. Proven in blood, no less...." He replied, smiling....she was chivalrous, aye, that she most definitely was, like him. He'd seen past some of it, but he knew he had to do well, and be well meaning, to help those who he needed to help.

"I suppose life has a horrible way of making us who we are, and putting us together in the right way, the Mother be praised, it's a terrible yet wonderful thing....madness yet clarity. I find it in unhorsing great men, and sparring." Ellion said, as they rounded another corner, the Tyrell looking back, then at the melee that was gearing up. She'd depart from here, he guessed.

"Would you like to meet me later, in my quarters, Merebelle? I'd love to keep your company, hear more of what you have to say."

"Hmm," she thought, knowing this choice would make, break or define her future choices in life. It wouldn't hurt to speak with the Tyrell knight further. "As you wish, Ser. I do hope you spare me a few glances at the melee. Wish me luck then."

As she said that, she soon smiled back at him and soon let go of his hand, before setting her sights on the melee tournament and heading there. Letting his face and name be memorized in her mind - it wouldn't hurt to see this Ellion Tyrell later - and if she'd admit, he was kinda cute in his own way.

The question hung in the air for a few seconds. Ale splattered across the table, dripping onto their boots. A moment passed, then another, then yet another. Visenya looked confused, as she stuttered something not entirely legible. William smiled broadly, and drank deep in his tankard. Then, all hells broke loose.

William was shaken out of his daze by Visenya, who pushed him and his chair so that both made swift acquaintance with the wooden floor. He was about to say something before a rather large object was brought down on the table, held in the hands of a rather large northman. Splinters flew out every which way as wood met wood, showering everyone in the near vicinity with at least a few shards. Blood began flowing out of William's fingers, though in his drunken state he felt almost nothing. He could only watch from his poor vantage point on the ground as Visenya fended off multiple attackers at least twice as large as she is. Damn, the fairies took up another round of wild dance behind his eyes. Groggily, over the course of perhaps minutes, he willed himself into a sort of standing position.

"Stay close!" shouted Visenya over the commotion. She grabbed his arm and nearly imbalanced him again. William's mind suddenly clicked then, and he concluded that he should at least do something to help. He reached for his belt and began scrabbling around to find a weapon. Grumbling and cursing, he was finally able to slip the thin, long Bolton dagger from its sheathe. He waved it around, hoping that it looked menacing enough, and that certainly did the trick. Most people ducked away or pushed others to escape the potential bite of sharp steel, and the crowd parted enough for Visenya to drag the both of them through to relative safety.

Outside the tent was just as loud as the inside. At least ten voices were shouting for the guard, all of which translated in his head to an unbearable ringing. This was not helped by the arrival of men in clanking armor, at least a score, rushing onto the scene and into the tent.

"Don' let th' tent hitya ass on th' way in, yeah?" William mumbled to a guard, slapping him on the shoulder. This struck him with gales of laughter, and the guard gave him a steely glare before he charged in with the rest. The tent flap, however, did hit his back. William felt his legs give way, and only by leaning heavily on Visenya's shoulder with an arm wrapped around her did he barely prevent himself from losing a tooth or more to dirt and stone. "I think thas 'nuff wine ferr t'day," he declared, using his other arm to clumsily shield his eyes from the glare of the sun. He wasn't sure if the expression on her face was of mirth or annoyance.

The Grand Melee

The horn sounded. While others felt a calming effect, Rhaegar could only describe it as a stab of panic that went through him like the tip of a Dornish spear. He couldn't flee or lay his weapons down, so instead of allowing this speckle of fear to immobilize him like a fly in amber, the youngest prince turned it into a rush with the sole purpose to move him forward. His training took over then and he spurred the warhorse with an affirmative touch, brandishing his sword and swinging his shield to cover most of the left side of his body and holding it at an angle to deflect blows away. An idiom came to the Princes mind, one that was taught to him by Pod who in his youth heard it from one of the knights he squired under, Ser Lorimer The Belly. "Oak and Iron guard me well..." he spoke the mantra as he fully entered the fray, his whispers drowning below the noise of the gallop, the hooves sounding like thunder bellowing on the field. In seconds, thunder slid into the noise of opposing waves crushing with each other as the two sides clashed. Rhaegar pressed his heels down, tightening his legs with all his strength and letting his body become part of the motion of the horse beneath, guarding with his shield until the lines broke and chaos ensued. The Grand Melee had begun in earnest.

It didn't take long for the Prince to locate his first opponent. The young Alchemist was closing on him, flourishing a sword lit with bright green flames. It was a weapon that was created to emulate Lighbringer, although it paled in comparison to his father blade, simply a candle before a burning bonfire. But Rhaegar knew vey well that if effectiveness lied within its tricks, and that was when his steed begun rearing in fright at the sight of the dancing flames. He would surely fell if not for the experience Rhaegar had from flying on the back of a creature like Theron.

"Easy! Easy, now!" and somehow, such a decisive call was enough for the steed to find its footing. With his artifice now deemed useless, the alchemist made another passing slashing against the Prince with his sword that resembled a torch. But it was for naught, for Rhaegar met every attack with little difficulty and despite his opponent being two years older than him, Rhaegar knew he was the superior swordsman. With new-found confidence, he unleashed a balanced downwards attack following the fifth parry, the longsword cutting cleanly through the tourney blade, now ruined by wildfire, as if it was made by paper and making contact with the uncovered part between the pauldron. The warrior-alchemist winced in pain, but before he could even recover, the flat of a blade struck his uncovered face, throwing him off the saddle and onto the ground and with nothing but a broken nose and defeat for his efforts

It was brilliant backhand that gave him his first victory and despite his urge to celebrate, he knew that this contest was far from over. Every other combatant was either locked in combat with one or more opponents while others were lying on the ground or dragged away by their squires. And at the center of it all was the White Wolf, fending two combatants at once with profound ease. Rhaegar then noticed it with the corner of his eye, a Falcon flying and a spiked Morningstar whirling on the end of a chain. A Winged Knight was preaparing to attack Jon from the side while he dispatched the last of his two opponents, thinking that glory was reassured with a defeat over his King. No! a voice rung within his head and the Prince instinctively spurred his stallion once again He is not supposed to fall now.

The Valeman must've only heard the sound of drumming hoofbeats as Rhaegar passed swiftly and jabbed his sword forward, slamming the blunted tip into the attackers groin. He heard coughing coming out of the winged helmet, followed by cursing but as the Prince prepared for another duel, the familiar swing of a bastard sword fell upon his opponent. Turning his steed in a tight circle, Rhaegar tried to make sense of the Kings actions, looking at him with curious purple eyes through the slit of his greathelm. But even through its confines, a sudden torrent of cheers from the crowd reached his ears. It seemed that the people were asking to see father and son ride together.

@MrDidact

Grand melee
Mable Frey

Mable beamed as her horse trotted into the arena. The steed had been offered to her by Jenn. The beautiful stallion was originally bought for Rhaegar. Mable already knew they'd be best friends the horse was raring to go as it stared out to the field. The hedge knight who approached her from that start was to arrogant. In his haste the poor man road directly into her tourney spear throwing both of them off there horses. Mable rolled easily a mercenary by trade as her shield came up expecting the man's sword as he swung it down at her. Mable clipped the man in the helm knocking him out. Mable smiled at the approaching Riverlanders. They'd formed up determined to protect there young Lord Tully and for some to punish Steffon for his victories in the duels.

Mable was delighted to see Miri Gray among the crowd entering the arena. The young woman's skill was legendary among mercenaries and for good reason. Mable hoped to cross blades with her, but knew it would be better to retreat for now. Mable swung her leg up on to her horse riding instead towards the stragglers avoiding large groups. A few minor hedge knights were all she found exchanged glancing blows the majority new to the field trying to make a name for themselves. The first carried a maul much to large for him. The fool nearly fell out of his saddle leaving his head fully exposed. Mable dispatched him in time, but always found more riders heading her way. Mable carried a Frey banner and it was likely someone had offered coin to see her embarrassed. The few not cheering on Rhaegar boo'd happily at Mable cursing the Frey's. The second man carried a mace shattering Mable's shield. The blow sent her sprawling as the man dismounted to finish her. Mable threw the scraps of shield buying her a moment to stand up duel wielding her spear and sword. Mable could feel the sweat thick on her forehead as the man charged for a two handed blow. It was close, Mable just managed to trip the man knocking him out with the end of her spear. Mable smiled gesturing for the squire to take her horse. It would do her better for now to fight on the ground. The third and fourth men did her the courtesy of dismounting there horses the stadium as Mable smiled back to the arena wall as the crowd threw drinks at her. The cool ale more refreshing then annoying as Mable charged like a madwoman swinging her weapons as fast as she could taking the men off guard. There shields held, but both appeared to be run down by a passing knight intent on his opponent. Mable panted gently worn out as the crowd laughed hoping the next opponent was either slow, drunk, or intent on losing as she charged back into the fray.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The crowd

Steffon Frey and Jenn Rivers

Steffon smiled happily at the request hurrying as much as his wounds would let him. Jenn supported his weight gently as the two climbed the stairs up to Prince Aemon. Steffon said in a gently, but matter of fact tone "My closest friend was married today and I can't embrace him because of politics." It was annoying, but Aemon would be king one day. The Frey name as it was wasn't in good enough standing that a close relationship with Steffon would go over well with the public. It was necessary therefore for both men to use proper tact while at a public event. Steffon smiled waiting patiently as Jenn watched out of the corner of her eyes. Arya having rarely come this close to Jenn in years at King's landing. Steffon and Jenn sat in chairs at the grand table choosing to sit as close as they could. Steffon even if he wanted to be near his friend was several seats away.

The good news was at least Steffon got to sit awkwardly near the Bran Stark the legendary winged wolf. Steffon couldn't help, but flinch a little from surprise. The Lord was rumored to be an extremely powerful Warlock. The Lord looked peaceful in his seat at the very least surely watching his son ready for combat. Steffon smiled warmly extending a friendly hand "A pleasure sir, I'm glad we get such great seats for the show. Is the north doing well in these warm times? It seems wherever we go in these days trouble seems to be stirring. It's nice to come down south where things are peaceful for a change."

Jenn so close to Arya kept up the impression of just being a simple diplomat. Jenn refused for a second to leave Lord Steffon unguarded in the presence of there greatest enemy. Arya Stark, butcher of the Twins stood much to close to Steffon for Jenn's comfort even when the monster was in King's landing and Steffon was in his keep. They called her the king's black hand, but Jenn recognized the feral dog Arya was in her youth. Jenn knew it was her duty to stay on high alert with Arya so close. The skin on her neck standing on end as Jenn resisted the urge to grab her hidden knives for protection. Arya and her thrice cursed mother Stoneheart had ravaged the Frey's. The acts of depravity were still local legend among the Frey's. When the war ended and the Frey's took the knee there only request was Arya's head on a spike. When the Frey's were refused it had nearly lead to a refusal to surrender. The cooler heads prevailed and Steffon was sent as a ward to King's Landing. The refusal was still a sore spot and Jenn could feel her fear and animosity rising towards Arya as it always did in her presence. Jenn finally let out a cool breath calming down. It was her duty not to cause a scene as well so she watched Arya from the corner of her eye trying to relax. The stare had spooked her, but Arya wasn't worth embarrassing her house, not yet anyway. Jenn could tell Steffon wanted to be closer to his old friend, but it was impossible until things improved in the Riverlands.

@Nightwing95@MrDidact@NecroKnight

Merebelle Gray, soon was handed a modest steed by House Tully. It was an indication of her status to House Tully, but also a hint on whom she should support, in this melee to come. The key to the Great Game of Westeros - was knowing, whom to pick as your enemies and who as your allies.

The show of getting a horse, was both part - her status of being a servant of House Tully. But also a reminder that she SERVED House Tully - both on the field of battle, and off the field. As such, like many other knights, she joined the guard around the young Lord Tully - while adjusting her hair, and pulled a helmet onto her head. While it wasn't much of a fit and was kinda uncomfortable, it was better than getting a hammer or pommel to the face. Soon enough they pulled onto the field, Merebelle slightly ahead of the group - and immediately got to work, defeating or striking back any foe - that dared march at their line.

She soon engaged in combat, matching blow for blow - a knight of an unknown House. As they crossed blades, Merebelle got her first taste of a rival knight. They were as equal in combat as any other - and what made Merebelle win this round was simply two factors colliding, one was her helmet was bashed off her head - which distracted the knight for a moment. And secondly, her longsword had a better handle and reach than her opponent - which she soon managed to dismount.For the next hour, she engaged in fighting - making sure to keep her head low and avoid getting cheap-shotted. Her count reached about four opponents down.

(Collab with @Masterkeun)

She kept protecting her young Lord Tully against the other contestants. Namely those who were eager to charge in and get cut down. While this was a simple meele against anyone - there was still some hints of loyalty between Lord and knight. Even on a mock battleground.

Miri soon took one moment and spotted a lone soldier, to which she urged her horse forward and eliminate her out. Mable saw the beautiful steed glad that Merebelle had come for her. Mable raced forward her spear and sword ready as she threw the spear with all her might aiming for the horses chest.

Merebelle leaned forward and smacked the spear away from her horse. Not willing to let some unknown knight injure a horse in service of House Tully. Mable smiled drawing her sword the mark of house Frey on the front of her armor as she waited. Mable dodged the steed at the last second moving left as she swung to unseat Merebelle.

Merebelle twisted her sword and blocked the strike. Her longsword having more reach than the sword of the Frey. Mable smiled the force from horse back enough to send her back nearly a foot. When she stood up Merebelle was already upon her. "You lose Frey...." spoke Merebelle, sword at her chest and the horse above her. In a normal engagement she would have been trampled and left to bleed out. Mable smiled bowing out honorably.

Merebelle watched the Frey soldier back away from the fight - not many Riverlanders trusted a Fray on sight. Especially what happened, after the Red Wedding they commited and their unstable rule of the Riverlands. Before she turned her horse around and rejoined her Lord' side.

@kingkonrad@MrDidact

He was young. Young and foolhardy if you asked his father. Petyr sat in his tent, finishing up the polishing of his armor before the melee. His father was with Sansa and Lord Tyrion, watching over the joust. Petyr was still uncertain about Knighthood in spite of what his father had told him up to this point. Of course he knew about his Uncle, the Mountain that rides. A monster, a brutal murderer and rapist Gregor Clegane was a mockery of a knight indeed. But there were many great ones as well. Barristan Selmy, Sir Dunkan the Tall and others who were knights in every sense of the word. As he stared into his breastplate Petyr thought about what he was doing. The Grand melee would have hundreds of knights and other warriors from all across the Seven Kingdoms and maybe even further afield, and while not as dangerous as a real battle a melee would result in deaths. Why do this? Why risk himself like this? Because he was a Clegane. Born of a warrior dynasty, the second generation of Cleganes. Already he was imposing, six feet tall and burly at the mere age of fourteen. He smiled, and began to armor himself.

As he armored himself he thought about his fathers lessons, on how to fight and survive. He looked to his choice of wepons once his armor was securely in place, it had been modeled off his fathers, much to Sandor's dissatisfaction. His father had scoffed at that, told Petyr the reason he was known as the pup was because he looked to much like his father already. Petyr didn't care, he claimed he just liked the look. He turned to the table on which his weapons were set. In the Melee you could only bring only one... his sword or his hammer. He walked to the table and examined both... in a fight with blunted weapons, perhaps a his hammer would be best. He picked up the heavy one handed weapon, tossing it in his hand he smiled, setting it back down in order to get the last piece of his armor. The Chainmail coif had been customized to cover all but his eyes. He had tied his hair in order to stop it getting caught in the mail to easily. He marched back to the table, picking up his hammer and the heater shield, the crest of house Clegane was displayed. And, for the final touch, Clegane picked up the long black cloak, clipping it to his shoulders he marched from the tent, ready to find his fame in the coming melee.

---

Sandor was more nervous than he thought he would be. He had seen wars, terrible wars and death untold. Yet now, in a simple grand melee he was restless watching. Surely it wasn't that brat Petyr... he was one of he largest contestants and he had trained the boy himself. There should be nothing to worry about... yet worry he did. It would not be hard for one who knew Clegane well to tell he was mildliy distressed, muttering under his breath about 'foolhardy children'. He watched as the many knigths and warriors set to participate in the melee made their way to the grounds. He supposed he'd finally get to see what his son was made of.

Taria gave a smile and nod to her father. Of course he had to go. The Night's Watch needed all the help it could get, that much was for sure. She had heard vague tales herself while travelling, occasionally even meeting Crows in the taverns as they passed through King's Landing, searching for recruits. The thought of joining had even passed through her mind once, but she had tossed it away like a soiled piece of cloth. They were brothers, not brothers and sisters. There were no female 'Crows' and she doubted there would be any for a long time, if ever. Leaving all that aside, even if she was a male, she didn't quite favour the celibate way of life.

"I'll be sure to make acquaintances, Father." She squeezed his hand before letting go, watching him walk off to talk to Lord Something or Other. Perhaps he was right and she ought to mingle? Meeting the Queen had been awe-inspiring, yes, there was no denying that, and the same was for the others she had been introduced to. That could be said especially of Ser Davos, where she literally had to keep herself from grinning foolishly; the Onion Knight had been on her list of people she wished to see for many years. Getting to meet Aunt Asha after so many years was yet another thrill, and here Taria had let herself grin. She had greeted her cousins as well, recalling their names and giving some a nod while shaking others' hands. She hadn't really gotten close to any of them during her time in Pyke, but that wasn't due to any sort of tension; it was easy to be friendly, yet hard to make and retain a solid friendship.

She wasn't the emotional sort, at least, she didn't feel as if she was. Unlike many others, she didn't have fond memories of a place to call home. There was no pet she had raised and named, no blade belonging to some family member, passed down from father to child. All of that was sentimental drivel, in her opinion.

A now faltering opinion, perhaps, because as she turned away, she felt that no other meeting today would trump the one she had with her own flesh and blood.

Taria looked up, thoughts interrupted by someone speaking... to her? She figured it was probably one of her cousins, though any such thought was dispelled as soon as she caught sight of the man in question. With his fancy clothes, long white hair, lilac eyes, and altogether handsome visage, it didn't take much to deduce that this person was a Targaryen, and just as much was made clear to her in less than a moment.

"Your highness," she started, hoping she remembered the correct way to address the Prince. Her bow was just as awkward as her greeting, seeing she didn't really make herself known at parties, especially with those who were very high up. "I'm afraid I'm no lady. Taria Snow's my name, and the honour is mine."

Now that she thought of it, she had heard small talks about this Prince who lived in Summerhall, the one with the Dornish wife, Princess Nymeria Martell. Taria had never travelled to the Dornish Marches, but gossip had its way of getting about. It was no secret that the Prince had sired quite a few Waters of his own, though she very much doubted they were present here in noble company.

She also doubted her looks were anything striking and simply took the compliment as a charming comment that came easily to the likes of princes and lords. "As for my father, he is Theon Greyjoy, Lord Commander of Castle Black." While she said it in a simple tone, there was a hint of pride there. "The Lady Reaver of the Iron Isles is my aunt." Normally she didn't throw around family names like this, but she figured this was as good an occasion to. Her father had told her to make acquaintances, didn't he? A prince was far from a bad start.

What else could she say? She didn't wish to seem the bumbling fool. Resisting the urge to rub her neck, she spoke once more. "Congratulations on your brother's wedding..." It seemed rather forced, even to her. "Uh..." Taria caught sight of his emblem and grabbed onto the subject. "Are you a dragon rider as well then?"

@MrDidact

Petyr looked around at the many other fighters in all along the sides of the melees arena. He growled as he noticed more than a few had brought their horses, rich nobles no doubt getting an edge on their opposition. He noticed one such man was none other than the King himself, Jon Targaryen. Former Lord of the Kights Watch, leader of the fight against the White Walkers. A Living Legend the King was. Even Petyr's father begrudgingly admitted respect of the man, and now Petyr was going to be fighting him... possibly... hopefully he would not have to. Supposedly King Jon was a fine swordsman, certainly better than Petyr who was still training. If he was lucky and wanted to win King Jon would hopefully not be an opponent of his. His muscles tensed as he shifted nervously, glancing around the arena at the hundreds of combatants, knights and mercenaries and other oddities. Former slave warriors and even a few Dothraki riders. This was not going to be an easy fight... especially as it would be his first. Of course he had sparred, quite a bit with his father who was certainly not one to go easy in a fight. But even so it had always been just him and Sandor, at most he would include a few Lannister Guards to assist in his son learning to fight more than one opponent. This was a mock battle, and unlike a real one he could rely on no one but himself.

The horn... the sound signaled the begginning of the melee. A great, thundering sound it was, and just behind came an equally thunderous roar as the warriors of the melee charged into the arena proper with a great many shouts of excitement and battle fervor. Petyr did not join in this shout, instead he simply charged, hammer in one hand and shield in the other, his cloak billowing from behind him. Dirt was flung up from the ground by the pounding of feet and hooves as the combatants as they surged forth. It was not l;ong before the field had descended into chaos.

A small group of warriors quickly ganged up on the larger, more threatening target of Petyr. The group of three surrounded the young warrior as the chaos descended, Petyr halting his charge as he observed his opponents. Two appeared to be knights, heraldry from the Vale... he tried to remember which houses from his lessons with Sansa... but found the task quite impossible now. The last appeared to be no more than a man at arms, most likely in service to one of the other two. Luckily, it was him to attack first. The man at arms charged, sword in hand he was easily blocked by Petyr, who growled and brought his hammer into the mans side hard. A sickening crunch was heard and the soldier crumpled to the side. The Knights made not the same mistake, circling the larger man as their servant tried to crawl away into the melee, groaning in pain. It was Petyr who struck first this time, feinting an attack with hios hammer and switching into a check with the edge of his shield to smash the side of the mans helmet. The Knight stumbled as the strike unbalanced him, weakly lifting his shield to try and stop further strikes. The other knight used the distraction of his ally to attack Petyr from behind, his sword slaching out in disciplined arcs.

Petyr hardly managed to turn in time to block, parrying each strike in turn. He brought his hammer in a downward arc, the knight blocking it well enough as the two dueled. Soon the other Vale knight recovered and returned to the fight, roaring as he attempted to join in the combat. His clumsy strike was parried, his weapon tossed aside. As he tried to withdraw in order to retrieve it the warhammer crashed down against his helmet, a dull crunch accompanying the now massive dent in the metal helmet. The man moaned and stumbled away. The last Vale knight took advantage of his opponents distraction, landing a hit with his blade across Cleganes side. The blade slid off, clattering against the plate as Petyr wheeled around to face him, only to watch as a rouge hourse smashed into the Knight. The man screamed as he tumbled through the dirt and was trampled beneath the hooves of the horse. Petyr turned back to the field, new opponents would show themselves soon.

The Lists

The man made no movement, no gesture, so Malrik could only guess at what ran through the man's mind. A moment later the Knight of Skulls dipped his head, "I see I underestimated you ser. Forgive me. You are a true knight indeed. Your virtue touches me deeply." The mystery knight passed Malrik the box and stowed the bag of coin in his saddlebag. Then he reached into his belt and retrieved a golden coin, "I cannot let you leave without a sign of my own gratitude however, that would be unbecoming." The Knight of Skulls flipped the coin to Malrik, who upon catching it, would see it was not a Westerosi dragon. The coin depicted the profile of a crowned skull on one side while the other showed a sea serpent eating it's own tail, "An odd coin to be sure, but the day may come when it will be of use to you. I advise you keep it close."

The knight bowed to Malrik, "I thank you for your aid Ser Malrik. And I wish you luck in the joust. We should be called fairly soon." The Knight of Skulls stepped away with his horse, leaving Malrik alone with the lacquer box and the strange gold coin. Later a page bearing the Targaryen sigil ran up to Malrik, and bowed before speaking, "Ser, I have come to inform you that one of the jousters has withdrawn from the competition due to injuries to his horse in prior tilts. The lots have been drawn and you are to face the Knight of Skulls. He seems a worthy opponent, he has already unhorsed Ser Humfrey the Strong, Red Yonnel, and Ser Lothor Bracken. Best of luck sir."

Later when the Knight of Skulls and Malrik jousted, Malrik would no doubt find it one of his most difficult tilts. The Knight of Skulls was obviously an old hand at the lists, with a strong arm and sure aim. Malrik and the mystery knight would break six lances against each other until finally the Knight of Skulls was unhorsed on the seventh tilt. The Knight of Skulls would then dust himself off, lock gazes with the knight, and nod meaningfully at Malrik before turning and taking his leave. If Malrik was keen enough he might have caught a glimpse of the man's eyes, a striking green color.

The hedge knight had distinguished himself in the lists and many cheered his name, having heard of both his chivalry on the field and his quick defense of the White Wolf. Many experienced jousters nodded and greeted him politely as he passed, and many a lady gave him a smile. Soon the same page who had approached Malrik earlier came to him, "Ser, the Queen has invited you to the stands of honor as her guest, she would be delighted to meet you." In the stands Malrik could see Queen Daenerys in the high-chair, looking over the field with her violet eyes, long silver hair flowing in the wind. It was not often a queen took notice of a hedge knight.

Food Tent

Visenya glanced at her drunken companion with a small grin, "Impressive William. I half-expected you to stab yourself back there but you managed to hold them off. They weren't too keen on being anywhere near a Bolton with a knife." They waited for their companions to emerge from the tent as the guards sorted out the situation. A small squad of Dragon's Teeth ran up to Visenya and William with swords buckled to their belts. The one in the lead, a Plumm lad said, "My lady, are you alright?"

"Just fine, a little scrap, nothing more. Take a few men and help the gold cloaks sort it out. No steel. This is my cousin's wedding, not a battle." The man nodded and two other Dragon's Teeth followed him into the tent as it filled with competing shouts from guards and brawlers while others continually exited and fled the premises. Visenya, still propping up William spoke, "Yes, that has definitely been enough drinks for you. And you came much too close to having your blood spilled like your wine. My place is escorting these other knights, but perhaps it would be best if my men took you to the Queen's box. You are Lady Sansa's guest at the feast. She would be terribly cross with me if her ward was hurt."

A few other guards stood by, waiting to help William to the royal stands with other honored guests. However he was a Lord and Visenya could not force him to go.

The Stables

As Ellion and Duncan walked out of the stables, a fully armored knight with a skull on his breast plate inclined his head before riding by on his own horse. Something about the man struck Ellion as queer. He had no squire, and no ornamentation. Despite being in full plate atop a warhorse, he made little sound.

He had little time to contemplate it however when a small group of lordlings crossed paths with them. Most of them were Westermen; Marbrands, Crakehalls, Westerlings, and Swifts aplenty, most of them no older than seven and ten. There were more than a few Florents and Hightowers in their number however and at the head were three young lads. One was fifteen and the other two were fourteen, all golden haired and green eyed. Lannisters, specifically Tyrion's sons. The eldest brother Tom smiled at Ellion while several of his Reachman companions treated the Tyrells more cooly. The heir to Casterly Rock inclined his head, "You unhorsed my cousin in the melee. My congratulations ser, it is exceedingly rare for Viserys to ever be defeated. I am Tommen Lannister and these are my brothers Tywin and Tytos. And surely you are acquainted with the Florents and Hightowers." The Lannister twins with identical green-gold eyes and wavy blonde locks inclined their heads in unison. The Florent boys meanwhile begrudgingly nodded or halfheartedly bowed. The Hightowers were much more polite and respectful in their greetings but much more insincere as well.

The War of Ten Graces had set the Florents against their liege lord and many in both families had not forgotten the Florent's support of Stannis over Joffrey or of the Tyrell's takeover of Brightwater Keep. Jon had restored the keep to the family and renewed their oaths to Willas, but there had always been tension between the two houses and recent events had only exacerbated things. For the Hightower's part, they had always been a proud house, and while bannermen to the Tyrells; often considered themselves their equals or even greater.

Sensing the strife Tom interjected, "I was just on my way to the Royal pavilion, many of my companions had deigned to see a dragon. Perhaps you would like to join us ser?"

Fairgrounds

Jahaerys visibly brightened and, more sure of himself now, took Alerie's hand more firmly and led her to the royal pavilion where several of the Targaryen dragons were resting in a wide open space. Jahaerys' mount Voshcaris, a robust she-dragon with deep maroon scales lounged next to Lyrax, Rhaenys' young and lean light blue dragon. Baella's violet Starfyre gorged itself on a freshly slaughtered calf. Voshcaris and Starfyre were large, bigger than any of the tents in the fairgrounds while Lyrax could still pick up a horse in each clawed foot. Rhaenys and several of the children gathered around Lyrax as Baella stroked Starfyre's scales.

In his element, Jahaerys led Alerie before Voshcaris and smiled, reaching out a hand to the dragon's muzzle who sniffed affectionately before Jahaerys turned to Lady Alerie, "What do you think my lady? Have you ever seen something so beautiful? You can approach her if you wish. She has been well fed and would know not to harm anyone that accompanies me."

Jahaerys kept petting Voshcaris, "Someday she'll have her own clutch of eggs, eggs I will give to my sons and daughters so I can teach them to fly. There's nothing like it Alerie, nothing can compare to riding dragonback. The whole world racing beneath you, the sun seeming close enough to touch. Magnificent."

The Royal Stands

Sansa nudged Sandor's elbow and smiled at him, "Your son is a fine warrior, he takes after his father. He will be fine, Sandor, there is naught you need to worry about. I fully expect him to gain some bruises and much experience, but that would be all for the better. Please, have a drink. It has been a long time since we've had a chance to simply chat, don't you agree." Sansa had a page pour Sandor a cup of wine and hand it to him as they watched the competition.

Meanwhile Tyrion continued to converse with Willas, "Oh Tom is off gallivanting with his brothers and all my bannermen's sons; getting up to all sorts of mischief I'm sure. They'll be at the feast. They took some of the Florent and Hightower boys with them I understand. Small love between all of your houses I heard, but then again there is small love between yours and mine. Hopefully our sons don't pick up our rivalries. It is a vicious cycle isn't it? Blood begets blood and the quest for retribution never ends until both sides finally decide to stop."

Tyrion drank more, "Oh listen to me. I fancy myself a philosopher when I have enough wine. Tell me Willas, what do you think of all these recent developments in the realm? Savages stirring in the mountains, petty conflicts among the peasants, sparrows and freemen roaming the countryside, Essos gearing for another war, pirates on our doorstep, and now demons and beasts are preying on the poor if the winesinks can be believed. Many smell war in the air. But who with? The Empire of New Valyria and the Kingdom of the Three Daughters are set to tear the continent to shreds. What do you believe our course of action should be?"

Brandon Stark nodded to Steffon politely but coldly. He had not forgotten Walder's actions, and though he could not blame Steffon for the actions of his forebear, he could not forgive him either. The Winged Wolf replied, "Minor disputes between the former wildlings and their neighbors in the Gift. Tales of wolfmen and ghouls preying on the peasantry. Witches creeping in the wolfswood. But those are only stories of course. If anything the real strife seems to be south. My brother has done an admirable job of keeping us all at peace; but I fear we are in for difficult times.It would be best to prepare."

Aemon chuckled and put a hand on Brandon's shoulder, "Uncle, you do know how to lighten the mood at a party. You make me seem cheerful by comparison." The Crown Prince nodded at Steffon, smiling at his old friend. He inclined his head to Jenn. Unlike most in the kingdom he had no hate for the Freys. He had known Steffon since they were both boys. And Jenn was a loyal companion to the royal family. But political reality demanded his distance and Aemon could do nothing more than simply greet them.

Julianna smiled at the Freys as well. The Lannisters had been allies to the Freys in the war, and had been tied by blood. While the Lords of Casterly Rock were in a much better position, they could not exactly look down on their Frey cousins. And besides that, Julianna had known Steffon since she was a babe.

All of their companions had only empty pleasantries for Steffon and most did not acknowledge Jenn at all besides a scornful glance or whisper. Steffon may have been a Frey but he was a Lord and deserved the courtesy. Jenn however was a bastard of a traitor house and at best was simply a table decoration to most of the lordlings.

Aemon stood next to Steffon and said, "How do you fare Steffon? It has been a long time since last we meet, since you went to the Twins and I went to Dragonstone. How is your family?"

Viserys took Taria's awkwardness in stride with an easy grin and a laugh. He carried himself easily, his rapier buckled to his belt, and seemed not to care about her dress or her more quaint manner. The mention of her name made him arch his brow in surprise, "You're Theon's daughter? Asha told me that our dear Lord Commander was quite comely in the day but I never really believed it. Until now. He must have been fair to produce one such as you. It is regretful you've never deigned to visit us before. Any child of the Greyjoys is welcome here. Well, save for the brigands but that goes without saying."

Hands on his hips and smile on his lips he replied, "Thank you my lady. You may not have a lady's name but you are a lady, make no mistake. And thank you. There was not nearly this much pomp when I married Nymeria but then again he is my older brother. I should be glad to introduce you."

Viserys nodded and pointed to the cloudy sky where a large golden dragon swiftly rolled and twisted through the air; occasionally belting golden fire from it's maw to the adulation of the crowds, "Brightheart, my mount. Not as large as Snowfyre, but infinitely more graceful as you can see. He takes after his master. Perhaps someday you'd like to see him up close?"

The Grand Melee

Petyr came face to face with a large knight, as tall as his father, with the Umber giant on his chest and a massive shield strapped to his arm with a large mace in the other hand. The Umber lunged forward, trying to bash Petyr with the oak shield and overwhelm him before hitting him in the side with the blunted mace. The man was of a size with Petyr but was a few years older and much more experienced. This was not an enemy Petyr could defeat with pure brawn.

As Mable left the field, Edmure's son and his retinue were set upon by a large group of the Green Hand. The Knights of the Reach were renowned for their prowess and skill, and the Knights of the Green Hand were among the best fighters in the Reach. The Trident Knights were no common rabble, but most of the Tully bannermen were soon unhorsed and defeated by the Reachmen, to be dragged or helped from the field by their squires. A Fossoway with a blunted longaxe and a shield charged at Miri, aiming a blow at her stomach before turning around to bash his shield in her back and attack again with the axe while a Redwyne attacked Lord Tully. Several of the Trident men still remained however and a few of the Green Hand had been unhorsed and defeated.

King Jon knocked the Winged Knight into the mud with his sword and the man chose to stay down. The King and Prince wheeled their horses around each other and Jon nodded at his son to the cheers of the crowd. The father and son fought as one, taking on and defeating all comers. Any that challenged the royal pair eventually fell to their combined efforts, and they had a nearly endless stream of challengers. Several Stormlanders charged Jon and Rhaegar on horseback, but Jon held off the Storm Lords while Rhaegar circled around and attacked their flanks and both swordsmen knocked out all their opponents until they came to the hammer wielding Edric Baratheon. Edric with his two handed war hammer and plate armor was a mighty foe. Every blow from his blunted hammer made Rhaegar wince in pain even from behind his shield, while Jon had to quickly dodge or parry every strike; not an easy task in his middle age.

Edric wielded the hammer far more nimbly than he had any right to and easily pressed the attack on both dragon lords, keeping them on the defensive. Jon knew they could not defeat him this way and neither did his son. They acted in concord however, purely by instinct. Jon offered himself as a sacrificial lamb, purposefully leaving an opening which Edric enthusiastically committed to, lunging forward to strike the king until Rhaegar knocked his shield in Edric's helm and Jon struck him in both arms hard before knocking the hammer out of his hands. Then Rhaegar swung his sword in Edric's stomach and knocked him into the mud. The crowd cheered and even Edric, his helm knocked off by the blow, smiled as he walked off the field.

Father and son were nearly unstoppable, and they thinned the competition of a few dozen warriors who each tried their luck with them and failed. The melee itself had reached the peak of it's violence, most of the organized teams breaking apart into a chaotic free-for-all between nearly a hundred of the most ferocious and skilled fighters in the kingdoms. There were scores of skirmishes and countless duels ongoing while horses stamped across the mud and men wrestled in the dirt.

The young Ranger with two longswords came at Jon and Rhaegar, steel flashing. Duel-wielding longswords was a rare style and notoriously difficult to master. Most who tried were incompetent and more likely to hurt themselves than anyone else. But this Ranger was not among that number. His strikes were blinding in their quickness, and unerring in their preciseness. He expertly parried, blocked, and dodged while matching every blow for blow with both Jon and Rhaegar. He parried Jon to slash Rhaegar's shield before lashing out to try and catch both of them in their helms. The three fighter's blades moved too quickly for anyone to perceive and the Ranger finally managed to slip past Jon's defenses. A blade scratched against his chest plate but he kept his seat.

Jon leaned in to the Ranger's guard and headbutted him directly in the forehead. The young man was helmeted but was momentarily disoriented and leaned back in the saddle. Rhaegar knocked him in the back of the head with his shield and Jon struck him again in the chest as he flew forward, sending him off his horse and into the mud. He was dragged off the field as the fighters began to thin faster and faster. The melee had been ongoing for almost two hours and three quarters of the opponents had been knocked out, leaving several dozen to fight to be the last one standing.

Many knew the fight would end soon and all eagerly watched the proceedings with bated breath.

Deleted

@MrDidact

Merebelle Gray coughed out - upon having herself flung from her horse, via shield to the back. She would definetely feel that tomorrow and likely the next week as well. Nevertheless, she managed to recover and counter-attack faster than the Reach knight was likely expecting - when she had been taught the art of chivarly, she had learned a good amount. One mistake that many liked to make, was to assume that an armored knight was a slow one. It was false, since the armor was evenly matched on her body - in addition, to that, she customized her own armor. By adding an removing a few pieces here and there - it allowed her more mobility and balance in general. Which was how, she managed to bash her sword' pummel against the helmet of her opponent, knocking him down and out of the melee.

As the fighting continued on, she was soon surprised upon being amongst the few dozen left. What was more surprising, was the fact that she didn't spot any of her other kinmen. To the point that even the banner of House Tully was lying on the ground - indicating that the likely young Lord Tully amongst them had been unhorsed and defeated. She also spotted that she was soon spotted by three armored knights of the Green Hand. It was also that she noticed her bun had come undone - revealing her long hair and likely to the spectators, that there was a female knight still in the tournament. Likely she was the last one there at all.

Well, the nobles wanted a show - then she would give them one, even if she were to fall, then it would be with grace. She quickly rolled over and picked up the banner of House Tully - planting it into the ground behind her. As the soon three Green Hand knights approached her - likely expecting an easy victory, since she easily noted by their stance. Well, she was prepared to give them a good reply - since one would wonder, how she even got this far; cause it wasn't by blind luck.

Miri picked up her favorite, starting to slowly hum it - building up to her favorite part, as the three knights slowly approached her. Once they were close enough, she let loose her voice - singing a battle hymn, and charged at the trio. Whatever happened, she'd be talked amongst the nobility in one way or the other. Smashing her gauntlet into the first knight' helmet, her elbow into the gut of the second one and with her might slashed down against the sword of the third one. When she managed to shake the third one, she capitulated on it - smashing down again, and soon swiping her legs underneath him. Knocking down a Green Hand by herself - with her singing continuing and her flowing in the wind.

This prompted the last two, to attack her with equal might - as if they were fighting an actual male knight. It was a victory in her mind, being treated like an equal opponent - nevertheless, it ended with her getting shoulder-slammed and crashed onto the ground - a blade at her throat. She lost for that matter, but she never felt more alive. As she soon picked herself up, wiping the blood from her mouth. She took the banner of House Tully, carrying it proudly upon her shoulder. Namely as Merebelle - she had remained as the last bannermen of House Tully on the field, she had done so as a woman and she had managed to defeat a Knight of the Green Hand for everybody in King' Landing to see.

Walking out of the arena - she was curious if Ellion had been watching her. (@kingkonrad)

@MrDidact

Willas shrugged, sighing. It was a hard question to answer, because it had so many connotations for the outcomes of what could happen, and he really didn't want to answer it. But he had to, and he knew he might be the wiser of the responses to that question, given he'd seen all sorts of madness in this realm.
"War is a big word. Many consider it not as an option. I call it our last, not our first. Let them destroy each other, realise that when they tempt the wrath of the largest Kingdoms in the known world, backed up by tens of dragons and their riders, they are starting a fire they cannot possibly control. We are stronger, but we can never underestimate them." Willas said, rather dramatically, as he took another sip of Arbor, turning to Tyrion.

"We're both aware of mistakes that come from inaction of war. You've told me about Slaver's Bay, I'll tell you of the acts of the Reach of centuries past. But my position is as it's always been. Keep the peace. Help people, provide support, and only resort to the sword when they choose to start killing the people we send to help. Stop the developments while we can in the Stepstones, in the Vale, in Dorne, put them to the sword and make sure they never let their fingers slip beyond what they have. Let Essos destroy itself if it so wishes, I do not wish to shed any of our Seven Kingdoms' blood for a scattered realm across the Narrow Sea that means little to us in any strategic value. Our Queen may want slavery to end, but how many lives, how much blood must be shed, of our kind, so we can stop a trait of men far more barbaric than us, far more uncivilised in doing as they please? Our trade wouldn't even be affected, Tyrion. The Iron Bank of Braavos itself is already of the position of neutrality, and only acting as a neutral bank for mercenaries and merchants that allay themselves to either side. If they see the Roses, like I do, then we'd be wise to not to act on them. Perhaps that is a wise course of action." He added, as he finished his cup.

"It repeats itself, no matter what, Tyrion. You think you see a greater world, yet people still want to kill each other and they do horrible things for minimal gains. My brother would disagree, but I have learned from experience, as have you. War, greed and our selfish cravings that lead to the ladder of chaos, rather than a Kingdom that works. That makes the coffers money, so we can afford the armies we have, for when we need them, for the resources we need, and you know the rest. Lest chaos embed and take it all." Willas concluded, his side showing some sort of experience, though he seemed to present it as honestly and optimistically as he could.

"That's all I think we want to prevent. Targaryen, Tyrell, Lannister....they are a part of the wheel as much as we are. It will never break, it keeps spinning, and spinning, and spinning. My sister was a part of that game, and unfortunately, my brother was caught up. That great game, we will never win. But we will play for the highest stakes, so we can do the best we can for the people we love more than anything. We can't let go of what we have." He replied to Tyrion, and the way Willas sounded, he seemed to know what he was talking about. The kindness and good will of his heart still shone through what he said, as harsh and as unabating as it was, it was the honest truth, and not hidden away.

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

Alerie herself turned red, smiling to Jaehaerys, nodding.
"She has scales as maroon as my hair." She said, smiling, Voshcaris looking in her direction, as Alerie kept looking at the dragon, right into it's eyes. She saw madness, total insanity, and didn't want to look, her heart pounded, her skin felt a little trembling. But she blinked, and felt fine with it, felt suddenly just fine. Gently placing her hand on Voshcaris's scales, the gentle hiss of it's nostril felt warm, but not unknown. Alerie had to say, this was a fine beast, and if Jaehaerys was using this as a chat-up line, well, it was a very good one. But still, there were other dragons, and other Targaryens. She could see Baela with Lyrax, it's blue scaled form completely at ease with the Princess.
"Perhaps you'll have to take me up there, Jaehaerys."

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

Ellion smiled, seeing Tom Lannister, and his two twin brothers, the three just as blonde and Lannister-y as he would have come to expect. He remembered Garlan telling him about them. How they'd nearly come to raise hell against the Lannister armies, when they found out what had happened to Margaery, Loras and Mace. He knew that old man still had his hate, and well, Ellion knew that whilst it wasn't his buisness, it was merely a generation ago. Forgetting would be stupid, but he could reconcile that this particular Lannister had nothing to do with it, as he looked down at them. Tom was only 15, but he looked like a strong lad, certainly. One that acted older than his age, certainly.

"Thank you, Tom. It was a good joust...and I'm acquainted with your entourage." Ellion added, Duncan keeping behind the Tyrell, as he looked over at the Florent and Hightower boys, probably unaware of the politics. Ellion knew that across from his uncle's keep at Manderford, Brightwater Keep tormented him and reminded him that he'd had a higher position once, rather than a mere defender of the marches. Ellion knew Garlan was happy, contented with what he had, but it was always an uneasy pact to keep up.
"Your brothers have certainly grown since I last saw them. I don't fancy fighting in that melee, not after today's jousts. So why not....they are fine things to be in the presence of indeed. I'm sure Duncan would like to as well." Ellion replied to Tom, as he led the way, Duncan following behind, Ellion letting his squire stay with him, knowing so long as he kept his trap shut, he'd probably not be in the way.

"I saw my father speaking with yours, Tom...they're either trying to get my bloody sister engaged to you, or something or other. It's all politics, I suppose." He said, commenting to the Lannister, as they headed towards the pavillion, where some of the dragons lay. It was still a fine day, despite the fact that a few clouds sometimes blocked the beating sun, it felt like a wonderful place to be, and Ellion was in his element, just enjoying himself as he could, knowing he would need some rest after this. As they headed into the Pavilion, the sight of the scaled beasts could be seen, in their various colours and sizes. Ellion himself found them wonderful beasts, but they were monsters, after all, they burnt people, sheep, and did so only under the Valyrian blood of the Seven Kingdoms, which to the Tyrell, felt a little unfair. Whilst magnificent, the damage and the destruction they were capable of reminded him they could scorch and burn all that was green in the world.

Ellion saw Alerie, and almost broke away from Tom, a little suprised to see her here, with Prince Jaehaerys, of all people. She probably knew what she was doing, but he was curious, as he headed over to Voshcaris, and where Alerie rested her hand on her snout.
"Sister, I didn't take you for someone who liked dragons." It almost seemed at that moment that Voshcaris turned it's eyes directly on Ellion, a gentle hiss from one of it's nostrils instantly freezing the Knight in his steps, as Alerie giggled, the shiny metal and Ellion's very stance one that seemed a little...well, unnerving, as well as his speech, perhaps.

"Ellion, you're rattling him. They're smarter than you think." She smirked, chuckling as she looked back at Jaehaerys, firing a very distinct wink at Ellion, almost one that you couldn't see, just knowing he'd get it all. Ellion calmed himself, as he came by Alerie's side, looking back at Voshcaris.
"Fine...he seems friendly enough?" Ellion meekly said, as Alerie giggled, turning to Jaehaerys.
"Oh, this is Ellion, my brother. He's a fine jouster, dashing and beautiful, isn't he?" She said, almost half-leaping up onto her tall brother, gracing her hand through Ellion's curly and floofy hair, smirking, his fair curls gently swept by her hand.

"Or so he seems to like himself to be, when he's in that armour of his. Takes more care of himself than I do in that thing!" She smirked, as she knew that right now, she'd manage to well, make two men blush. One was a Targaryen prince that had a dragon, the other was his brother. To say Alerie lacked in courage, was seriously difficult to say. She looked over, seeing Tom Lannister headed over, as well as his small group of followers, his twin brothers and the other Reachmen.
"I suppose your dragons have interest, Jahaerys. Tom, you've grown quite a bit, since I've last seen you?" She said, Alerie looking over at Tom, staying close by Jaehaerys's side, so as to not lose his particular gaze, or interest.

(I'm not feeling incredibly creative, and yes, I want to link up with Merebelle- though I think Ellion hasn't seen it as I planned this post for a long time. Sorry :( )

Ser Aerion and the Lord Paramounts

Willas had been speaking with Tyrion and Sansa for some time, with Alerie going down with the two Targaryens, he had been left with the dwarf and the Stark of reknown. By the time the conversation petered out, another figure had come, the short-haired Knight someone that Willas didn't recognize, but he seemed friendly enough, another face to meet.
"And who might you be, Ser...." He asked, sipping a little more wine, knowing he wanted to parlay.

Ser Aerion had been patiently waiting for the conversation between the Tyrell and Lannister Lords to end, knowing it would be a grievous breach of ettiquite to speak to them before they themselves were done. He had since removed his helmet, the gold dragon adorned kettle helm buckled securely to his belt. Ser Aerion watched all those that had been engaged with conversation to Lord Tyrell finally make their departures, and to his relief, no other lords seemed to wish to engage in dialogue. Thus, Ser Aerion moved foward, presenting himself to Lord Willas Tyrell.

"An honor to be in your presence, Lord Tyrell. I am Ser Aerion Goldfyre, of the Stepstones. Might I trouble you for some conversation, if you do not mind having to interact with a humble knight?" Ser Aerion smiled politely, before bowing before Lord Tyrell. Aerion knew little about the man who was now in charge of the Reach, but he remembered hearing something about thorns and largest army in the realm. Letting out a small breath, he awaiting patiently for Lord Tyrell's response, and hopeful introduction to sit and conversate.

"Of course not, Ser Aerion." Willas said, his voice accepting, he didn't sound like some kind of stuck-up arsehole, and even though his position said he should have been, he was willing to listen.
"What is it you wish to ask? You seem to have been talking to the other nobles of this stand, so I assume you have kept them interested with some parlay." He said, his voice stern, but he seemed open, willing to talk, a little insular but still, gregarious enough. Well spirited to get on with anyone...and anyone he didn't get on with, that was a good judgement of a prick.

Aerion bowed slightly this time, "Thank you for your time. I will do my best to be brief as to not burden your day of fun and revelry." Aerion moved to stand out of the sun in the shade, as he was not specifically offered to sit. "Lord Tyrell, I don't know any other way of asking these next few questions without seeming too prying, but perhaps an ambitious knight must at times risk offense in order to offer his services to that of a noble lord. In that, do you, or perhaps any of your vassals, have any open contracts at the moment, that need fulfillment?" Ser Aerion straightened his tunic, and allowed for his tabard to catch a small breeze.

Willas scratched his beard a little, listening, paying attention. It wasn't an unheard of thing, and he had now remembered the stories of Aerion, well, they were rumours mostly, but he didn't seem like a nefarious or terrible type. A mercenary, perhaps seeking a way out of his life, from his armour, he could guess that he'd served in a famed Essosi band. Didn't make him a bad person, but it made him servant to coin, and Willas was no fool. Yet he was honorable, and he knew that from his appearance, he had to be a good fighter, he had the scars and scratches on his metal to prove it.

"Risking offense is a brave thing, Ser Aerion. I have no doubt in your abillities, and you've probably asked the other Houses for an offer, of what land, or titles I can bestow upon you. Truth be told, I'd be willing to give you a home. Mercenaries don't often find that easily, but if you're willing to serve House Tyrell, then you can be a man-at-arms for my son, Merlin. He needs a retinue, a military hand that isn't from House Tarly, or Garlan." Willas said, concerted and thought in his words, as he sipped a little more wine, realizing he was a ilttle rude.

"Actually, take a seat on that step, Ser Aerion. Amber, grab this man a goblet and both of us more Arbor." He said, to the small girl that sat on the stands below, Alerie's handmaiden no less, though she stayed with Willas upon Alerie's request. She made her way down, as Willas turned back to Aerion again. Perhaps he'd turn it down. Willas was not stupid, he might just fluster and demand land, an actual holding, of which Willas was not going to give him. There were hundreds of nobles and sons, Reachmen who would be deserving, than a random stranger, a mercenary that Willas had only just met, and was still figuring out. He knew he was a mercenary, and it sat as a certainty.

"No promises of land, but if you want a wage, and you want to serve House Tyrell, then you are granted that. I'm a fair and just man, Ser Aerion. My lands, my sons and daughters are too. Your bravery can give you that solace of a life like that if you want."

Ser Aerion patiently listened to all Lord Tyrell had to say, knowing that such great and powerful men said important things, words worth listening to, to those who had the ability to grasp at what was being said, what was implied, and what had to be learned and understood. Ser Aerion's armor would faintly glint from the sun, the well worn armor a testament to his profession and the level of combat Aerion, and the armor's predecessors had seen. The Lord of House Tyrell was a smart man, as all those had said in passing, both highborn and low. Certainly, the most prudent course of action in this tricky matter was to remain honest and forthcoming.

"Thank you for the seat and the gift of drink. I certainly appreciate such a kind gesture." Ser Aerion bowed his head, before taking a seat upon the wooden step closest to him. He politely thanked the Tyrell handmaiden named Amber, offering her a polite bow from his seat as she poured him a goblet of Arbor. He returned his full attention to Lord Tyrell, as he chose his next words as carefully as he could. "You speak honestly, and with caution, Lord Tyrell. All too often the notion of sellsword and greedy are intertwined with one another, and the ever present idea of dishonorable. I can do little to assure you in words, let alone one or two deeds. I would certainly have to prove my character to you, and by extension, those that owe fealty to you." He paused, taking a slow sip from his goblet.

"Some men might boast of their skill and abilities, but I will not waste my breathe, nor your time with trivial words of actions supposedly done in the past. Rather, I will say that you offer a fair deal. Any man, no matter who he is, or where he came from, has to earn his place in the world, and to do so otherwise, is to invite dishonor and discredit to one's name and house." Aerion looked down at the jousting knights, the lords and sons of lords jockying for fame and fortune. "A real test would certainly be in order, no doubt. A man, even the humblest of hedge knights, can get lucky in the lists, the melee. He could defeat a great knight, or an even greater lord, but a true test comes from a man's ability to serve honorably on the field of battle, even when the situation calls otherwise."

"Certainly. I wouldn't make my judgement on that. And believe me...we'd know." Willas replied, nodding, continuing to listen.

Aerion refocused back to Lord Tyrell, "Lord Tyrell, lands would be nice, as would titles, and the list goes on. But, I must earn those things in time, be it through saving wages, or through continued fealty and service to another. I could certainly fill the roll of a man-at-arms for your son, Ser Merlin Tyrell." He paused, only to take another sip of Arbor. "I would ask that grant me some time to think your offer over, not in the hopes of finding another, perhaps more lucurative offer, but to verify who you are, and if my friends would be willing to accept a contract of service, a leal of fealty, to House Tyrell, and by extension to you. I say this because I would want you to meet my compatriots first, to see what you, Lord Tyrell, would be associating yourself with, if we were to serve your House." Aerion would finish his goblet of Arbor, softly setting it down.

"A Lord, my father said, is an extension of those who serve him. Dishonorable men dishonor their lord. I would not wish to risk bringing any trouble to your Household if such could be avoided. For now, all I shall say, is that I would consider your offer to be a most fair and honorable one, and a propisiton worth pursuing." Ser Aerion stood up, bowing deeply before Lord Tyrell. "I thank you for allowing me to sit and speak with you, and for sharing your hard earned wisdom, as well as your Arbor. A good vintage, if I may say." Ser Aerion paused, unsure if he wanted to say more, perhaps thinking if it were even relevant to speak such, before taking a deep breath. "If I may be bold one last time, I will say only this, keep an eye out for those who may seek to profit briefly from your family, to take a rose without permission, only to run off where the winds carry them. Some people, no matter how brightly polished on the outside, are but gilded with gold to hide their true nature on the inside. Lord Tyrell, I thank you humbly for your time... and will take no more of it."

Ser Aerion turned quickly to face Lady Amber, and bowed before her once more, "And you, Lady Amber, thank you for your kind service in providing your Lord Tyrell and I with refreshment. You did not spill a drop of Arbor, and did so with precision. May you continue to excell at all you do." Aerion turned back to Lord Tyrell, awaiting for the Lords final words, and his own dismissal, before daring to turn his back and leave.

"Why, thank you, Ser Aerion. Believe me, I have watched my family like my favourite falcon will watch me. I don't intend to let people scrape off our riches, or our kindness. We grow strong, so we offer the goodwill we do, whilst making sure those who seek to destroy our family are always shown their way. You don't strike me as that, Ser Aerion. Experience has taught me who is just...and who wants to take everything you hold dear." Willas replied, turning, as he nodded, finishing the cup.

"Have some time to think, Ser Aerion. I will tell you that it will take work, you may not find the instant riches and gold you had, but with good work, land, and perhaps even a small title may come your way, if you prove worthwhile to our house. We do not forget those who do good by us...neither, do we ever forget those who burn us." He said, his insular voice far more extrusive, as he shook his hand, nodding.

"Thank you for your time, Ser Aerion. Consider my offer. You will know where to look for my house, if you need our services." Willas concluded, knowing he'd think about it. He knew exactly what Aerion meant, because he'd mused it himself. Putting him next to Merlin was an honour, but he knew that Merlin would keep him in his retinue, and no further than that.

Ser Aerion bowed once more, as we customary, before leaving Lord Tyrell and the rest of his retinue to their respective privacy, and made his way to his next destination, where ever that may be.

And so, Ser Aerion moved away to an empty area of the stands by the stairs, collecting his thoughts from all the new information that he had learned from the Great Lords of Westeros. Perhaps the two most forthcoming sources of knowledge and intelligence were Lord Lannister, and Lord Tyrell. Unsurprising was the underlying religious tensions, if not outright violence from the fanatical holdouts from the remnants of the Devout. Ser Aerion learned that Queen Cersei had risen the Sparrows to power, been betrayed by them, and then wiped out an entire sect of them within King’s Landing. Suffice to say, these fanatical worshipers of the Seven held a grudge. Raiding and sacking villages, crucifying those deemed heretics, which in their eyes, was a great deal of folks. A nuisance to be taken care of for sure.

Next came information of the so called “Vulture King”, a bandit leader who had taken control of a sizable swathe of land in the Northern region of Dorne. He would no doubt grow stronger, gathering more to his cause if not quickly suppressed. In tandem with this outlaw, were the Stepstones uprising, no real surprise there… ‘Pirates’ Ser Aerion thought, along with a pirate fleet commanded by the dreaded ship “Silence”. What was more troubling was the talk of mysterious disappearances, so called ghouls and ghosts, demons stealing small folk away in the night. Ser Aerion doubted it was truly such fantastic creatures, but rather a more mundane answer, slavers and bandits. Bad men and women who preyed upon the innocent, the weak, and the defenseless.

Last, and perhaps the most interesting of all to Ser Aerion, was the talk of, or rather grumbling, of the ruined lands that still lay fallow. Keeps, castles, villages that were still in ruins, without people to live there… or rather, pay taxes to whoever had dominion over the lands. Ser Aerion had smiled inwardly to himself. No matter how bad things were, for the most part, Lords really only cared about one thing, and one thing only, that their subjects were ponying up their due taxes to keep them fabulously wealthy and powerful. Though, they had that luxury and right, so to speak, while Ser Aerion owned next to nothing, aside from his armor and arms, along with a ship, that was in part owned by his friends. Still, time would tell if Ser Aerion could rise above being a hedge knight, to perhaps being a landed knight, or even a petty or minor lord. Hard work though, but it was certainly going to be worth it in the end.

Ser Aerion relaxed in his area of the stands, politely speaking to those that approached him, tending to be more often than not other individuals of minor standing. Servants, pages, cupbearers, knights, guards, and even the attractive Tyrell handmaiden, Lady Amber. Ser Aerion shared a few words with her, thanking her for their shared conversation. Though, as with everyone, duty called, and she had to hurry back to her duties, leaving Ser Aerion alone once more. He had looked a few times at the lists, more often than not bored by the pageantry and foolishness of it all. To many of these lords and knights, war was but a game, were some would accidentally die. The truth was far from that, and they perhaps kept themselves ignorant of that.

Aerion recalled a particular dreary campaign on one of the Stepstones. A climate that mixed both tropical with temperate, fighting was a nightmare. Bogs, forests, steeps cliffs and ravines, streams and ponds, marshlands intermingling with fields, more often than not it was the elements that killed a man rather than combat. He had even seen a few men dragged down into quick sand, being sucked into the ground as if it were water. The bloody combat, every day a savage fight for survival. Plus, serving under Bloodbeard, the leader of the Company of the Cat, you saw just how savage and depraved humans could be, both men and women. Ser Aerion shook his head clear, suppressing that memory and focused on another bout, choosing to humor himself at their vainglory rather that his past conflicts.

Medical Pavilion, Lady Clegane and Lady Lefford

Lady Lyvia had a splitting headache, not to mention a multitude of other wounds. That last thing she wanted was a lecture from Lady Cerenna, and yet that is what she got. Ser Jeor Mormont had escorted her to the Medical Pavilion, and been so kind to explain to Lady Cerenna what had happened. Ser Jeor was a good man, and strong, but even with his honest retelling of the events, it had not saved Lady Lyvia from a multitude of angry words and two curses, which was unlike Lady Cerenna, who no doubt was very, very angry. She sighed, letting Cerenna vent her anger out as she worked to begin taking care of Lyvia. Most the wounds would heal in a few days, perhaps one or two a week at most. The bruises would be ugly, and the scaring would be minimal. Lady Lyvia laughed softly as Ser Jeor spoke to her before he took his leave.

“Finely fought my lady. I hope to see you at the wedding feast. We shall drink to your health. And your fists.” Ser Jeor said with a wry smile, before he and his squire left to return to their business. Lady Lyvia bowed her head, as she found the comments oddly warming and needed. Turning her head, she faced Cerenna, and offered her would could be conceived as her most sincere and honest smile and apology. “Lady Cerenna, I am sorry for my fun. Look, I wasn’t going to let those dullards get away with insulting me, or my mother. You may not understand what it is like, but to be a Clegane is to be synonymous with infamy. I will not stand to let the pricks and guttersnipes of the world detract from who I know myself to be, and who I know my mother to be. So go ahead and be angry, you are rightfully so, I did disobey Ser Aerion, but at the same time, I did what I had to, regardless of the cost and outcome. So go and lecture me, tell me I was a bad girl, so at least Ser Aerion won’t have to lecture me as well, you are quick and sweet about it, even when you are mad… owww, be careful.” Lady Lyvia finished, growling her last words out as Lady Cerenna fixed Lyvia’s broken nose.

“Oh quit it you big baby, you just have to ruin all my fun, don’t you? Bah, you just shush and let me do my work. I needed to fix your nose, and now I have to figure out what to do about this swelling. For the love of the Mother, don’t you ever think about having a friend or two, so when you galavant off into trouble, we could possibly help you? No… no, I am Lyvia, I am a Clegane, and I must show everyone how tough I am… pssh, whatever.” Cerenna began to wrap a cool bandage about Lyvia’s swollen eye as she continued to rant. “One more thing, Lyvia, could you quit breaking your nose? Its going to be crooked one of these days, and nothing will be able to change that, so keep your guard up. I feel like all you do…” Cerenna shoots a glare at Ser Uther and Ser Oswell, “Is get into trouble, and need me to kiss all your hurts. Maybe one day you all could just not cause mischief, and let me enjoy a nice afternoon stroll, or a lounge by a pond… what would we do without one another?” Cerenna smiled, shaking her head as she busied herself with her work.

As Cerenna, and those like her hurried to mend the wounds of their patients, the air within the tent grew cool and quiet, as the flap to its entrance was pushed aside. Lady Cerenna, Lady Lyvia, Ser Uther, and Ser Oswell all paused, looking across the cots and tables to gaze upon a truly stunning and beautiful woman. She had an almost magical beauty to her, as she gracefully strode further into the mass of cots, bodies, and the such of the Medical Pavilion. Cerenna straightened up, wiping her hands clean with a fresh piece of white linen. The mysterious woman was soon flanked by a small number of guards, all whom bore the sigil of House Velaryon. The woman herself had the house’s colors as well, her dress the most intriguing shade of aguamarine, glinting and shimmering in the rays of sunlight that found their way through the tent’s cracks and windows. Both Ser Uther and Ser Oswell also took note of her seductively shapely figure, which was perfectly accentuated by her dress.

As she made her way across the interior area of the tent, she greeted those who were wounded, gently patting their shoulders, taking outstretched hands, allowing gentlemanly kisses upon her hand, all the while drawing ever closer to the four friends. To Cerenna, it was almost as if she glided across the floor, seemingly not touching it, but that couldn’t be true. Even her guards cut a dashing scene, their perfect armor and arms a testament of the house in which they served. Finally, she stood before the four members of the Band of Seven, looking to each one, before she spoke in a tone that had a calming and healing nature to it, like a voice of an angel.

“Valiant knights, noble ladies. I am Princess Daenyra and I came to offer my most sincere thanks for aiding my father in battle and coming to his protection.” She paused, choosing to offer a dainty smile, before continuing. “The King is a mighty warrior, but it is most heartening to know the King has true friends in your company. I heard the King has invited you to the wedding feast as guests of honor. This pleases me greatly and it would please me more if you were to be my guests at the festivities. My place would be at the high table with my brother and his bride, but a place of renown has been reserved for those of my husband’s house. Please relay to your leader that you are all free to be seated with the men and women of Driftmark and would be in honorable company. I have much to attend to, but I would be indebted if you were to convey my offer. I wish you all a speedy recovery and hope to see you at the feast.” Princess Daenyra smiled radiantly this time, before taking her leave, turning perfectly, leaving with her guards closely following behind.

As Lady Cerenna processed the offer that had been extended to her and her friends, she turned around to look at Lady Lyvia, Ser Uther, and Ser Oswell in utter shock. Their wounds had all but disappeared, leaving almost no sign of ever being there except small, almost silver like scars, that were barely visible. Lady Cerenna brought her hand to her mouth, shocked at what she was seeing, let alone processing. There was no possible way for such a thing to happen… no logical explanation. This unsettled her, causing Cerenna to take a few steps back, and splash cool water upon her face. She looked back at her friends, and shook her head, signing for them to keep quiet. Whatever had happened, she would need to tell Ser Aerion with all due haste.

“The three of you, when you are ready, make your way to the lists… actually, Ser Oswell, go get my brother and our other compatriot… we need to speak with Ser Aerion now… go. We will talk later.” Cerenna spoke with a surprising tone of command and seriousness, before turning on her own heel, her hair swirling about her as she rushed off to the lists, to find Ser Aerion, and tell him about what had just happened. In her mind, she knew it couldn’t be anything else, but still, the very thought troubled her, and made her worry. Magic… it was real, and it was being used here in King’s Landing… this did not bode well, even if it was used for good, there could always be someone who could use it for ill and evil.

The Visenya Wine Sink

Ser Lorimer sat quietly with his date, the two seated at an outside table shaded by a parasol. Lady Myrielle Hill laughed and smiled at Ser Lorimer, finding him absolutely dashing and roguish. She sipped on her wine, savoring every drop. It was not every day you got to be wined and dined by a noble lord, and one who was so absolutely attractive. Her green eyes drank him in, studying his every crease, wrinkle, rippling muscle, hair, his whole body. The same was for Ser Lorimer, who was infatuated by Lady Myrielle. The two quietly enjoyed their company, snacking on roasted lamb and little mango snack cakes. Their conversation was oddly romantic, as though this were a date rather than a meal with a whore and her client. Wine flowed freely, whilst words danced across the table, embraced hands and a playful foot, these two were perfectly content. To Ser Lorimer and Lady Myrielle, the world around them mattered little, and only the two of them inhabited it.

Within the tent though, another world brewed and raged. The clanking of tankards, boisterous voices and laughter. Ser Harwin and his two lovely ladies sat in the middle of it all. Drinking, eating, kissing, laughing, overall just enjoying the baser pleasures of life. The had a platter of ribs before them, half eaten, and still being worked on. Their faces covered in grease and sauce, the three couldn’t care less. The smiled and giggled, drinking ale, wine, lemon water, and whatever suited them and Ser Hawin caressed and groped the two women, with them touching and feeling him up in return, smiling and laughing. He couldn’t give two shits in the world other than the fun he was going to have once lunch was finished. Two beautiful women, a full bell, and a tasty glass of ale, well, nothing could be better in this world.

Across the crowded tables and floor space, Lady Visenya was busy drinking and singing herself. She had chosen to play nursemaid to Lord Bolton, which Ser Harwin found to be a fool of a man and a drunkard. It was one thing to indulge in spirits, to feel a bit warm, but when you drank to oblivion and spilled your stomach, well, you were a drunken sot and hardly worth a blanket made from the butt of a skunk. But, Lord Bolton was still a Lord, and he would no doubt need to be looked after less he get himself into trouble, as most drunken sots did. Ser Harwin turned back to his food, munching happily upon it.

As he looked up from his food, he watched Lord Bolton speak, or rather, read the man’s lips. A drunk will say stupid, and perhaps hilarious things, so he set his rib down from his mouth, and closely followed the man’s words. At first he wasn’t sure what was said, then by Lady Visenya’s startled and repulsed reaction, Lord Bolton had said it. Ser Harwin laughed heartily, laughing loud and deeply, pointing his rib bone at Lord Bolton as Lady Visenya struggled to react to such a crazy and clearly foolish question. Of course, this led to its own set of consequences, as Ser Harwin startled three tables by him, and of course, setting off a fight as a tankard was knocked over. Roaring with a rack of ribs in his mouth, his right hand, and a tankard in the left, he leapt up and joined the growing brawl, smacking people with his rack of meat, and bashing foolhardy folks with a hard iron tankard filled with a dwindling amount of ale.

As Ser Harwin enjoyed his fun, with his two wenches egging him on, he ended up defeating at least seven men, before being grabbing by the scruff of his collar, and drug towards the exit. He looked to swing, and then stopped, sighing as he finished eating as much food as he could before turning about to follow Lady Visenya. She was red in the face, he could tell… no doubt still embarrassed by Lord Bolton’s drunken request. He laughed allowed, pointing at Lord Bolton, bits of meat flying from his mouth to strike any about him. His two wenches followed shortly behind, no doubt eager to bed such a virile man. Ser Harwin made a ribald comment towards Lord Bolton and Lady Visenya, before laughing once more, “What a way to ask a lady to marry you… start a full on riot in a drinking tent and get her to steal you away… Hahahahaha” Ser Harwin smiled, thinking himself rather clever, but then squinting his eyes as he was led outside. Damn the world, be inside too long, can’t see, outside too long, the same. He sighed, and walked with his party over to where Ser Lorimer sat, who wore a mask of both surprise and annoyance. Well, time to crash the lover’s party, as they would no doubt need to make their way back to Ser Aerion.

Ser Aerion’s corner of the Stands

Ser Aerion sat quietly by himself, his sword laid neatly before his feet on the bench in front of him. He was looking at the fine blade, its craftmenship second to none. An ancient Valyrian blade, named “Poison” by its last owner. The blade did have an odd green tinge to its edges, as though it had been dipped in wildfire or poison. Aerion shrugged, picking the blade back up, and firmly attaching it to his person once more. He felt as though the blade were tainted, for it had been used by a number of cruel and evil men over the years, Pirate Lords of Bloodstone Isle. He had been lucky to kill the last owner of it, taking it for himself. He sighed, looking back out onto the horizon. More jousts, more foolish men and boys playing war. He smiled at that, before turning to be startled by his friend, Lady Cerenna, who was out of breath.

“Lady Lyvia got into trouble again… didn’t she?” Ser Aerion questioned, looking at Cerenna with amusement all across his face. He was getting ready to stand up, when Lady Cerenna stopped him. She placed her hand on his chest, pushing him back to sit, and then sitting herself. She looked about, clearly concerned about what she had to say and speak to Ser Aerion about. Nodding, Ser Aerion smiled, and leaned in close to Lady Cerenna, so that they could speak privately whilst appearing to be exchanging pleasantries. To the outside eyes, it would even appear that these two could be whispering sweet nothings to one another.

With a smile on a face, even with a few laughs and giggles, Lady Cerenna recounted the tale to Ser Aerion. She spoke of the wounds that they all had, the cuts, scrapes, gashes, and so on. The bruises, everything, gone once the Princess had left. Princess Daenyra. Lady Cerenna was sure that she had used magic, that no other possible explanation existed. Aside from the Red God, no other gods had ever intervened in the affairs of man, not even the Seven. Ser Aerion found himself profoundly unsettled, perhaps even afraid. They had all heard the tales of the Red Woman and Lord Stannis, of the Children of the Forest, of the White Walkers and more, but to have an active magic user within the midst of the King’s Landing, was downright unfathomable. Lady Cerenna whispered urgently, her warm breath playing across Aerion’s left ear.

“We must tread carefully here… who is to say that there could not be more users… others who could choose to do harm rather than good. You… we all saw what the Red Priests and Priestesses could do in the Stepstones… how the rebels would rise from the grave…” She was silenced as Aerion moved closer to embrace Cerenna, smiling as a couple of retainers walked by.

“Don’t speak of it here… not now. Those horrors we faced, the evil and depravity, no, let’s not relive it.” Aerion hissed, smiling as he let Cerenna go. He looked over her face, smiling even while his mind processed the fact that magic was perhaps spreading now, that the old wives’ tales and folk tales would become true. Maybe they weren’t lying about demons and ghouls, but who could be sure these days? He shuddered at the thought of a shade, a black shadow servant of the Lord of Light. Those creatures had wreaked havoc on the counter-insurgency forces of the Stepstones, officers being found with throats slit, gutted, and worse… no, Aerion shook his head, not here.

“Where are the others Lady Cerenna, oh how it would be nice to share in this spectacle of sportsmanship with them.” Ser Aerion smiled, bowing his head to Cerenna, signaling that any further talk would be put on hold. She smiled in turn, bowing her head in acknowledgement, before speaking up.

“Oh, they are on their way, just a bunch of slow pokes and lollygags. No doubt enjoying a few more drinks and bites to eat. You know how they all are. All fun and play rather than work. But they will be here soon enough.” Lady Cerenna smiled radiantly at Ser Aerion, batting her eyes while playing with her hair. She stretched eagerly, before returning her attention back to Ser Aerion and the jousts. She and her friend both now had to wait for the rest of their party to make its appearance. Now was the time for that awkward silence, the void of uninterrupted thought as both processed and recollected what had been said. Magic wasn’t just being used by Rhollor’s faithful, but by others as well now. And while it had been used for good, that same power could be used for evil.

Ser Aerion chuckled as one lord unhorsed another, the fallen knight falling in a crumpled mess in the dirt and dust. He looked on as the two men would then duel, before one would best the other. He rolled his eyes, bored to tears by this drudgery, but played along with it all, offering up his applause, and thankfully being saved by the appearance of his compatriots, one group led by Lady Lyvia, the other by Lady Visenya, who may have had another in tow with her. Ser Lorimer had a beautiful blonde woman with him, whilst Ser Harwin had two women, no doubt the both were wenches by the cut of their clothes and giggling laughter. Ser Aerion couldn’t help but smile, for the sight of his friends was always warming and an occasion to smile.

“Come, sit, enjoy the closing bouts of horsemanship, watch as the nobles play at war and see who shall be crowned the Queen of Beauty.” Ser Aerion called out, beckoning not only his friends, but Lady Visenya as well to join him. “Be seated among friends and allies, so that we might exchange the gift of gab, if even only for a moment.” He heartily spoke aloud, his tone one of kindness and friendship. Aerion stood, helping Lady Lyvia to her seat, and remaining standing to see what Lady Visenya would do. Either way, be it her choosing to sit, or having to leave, Ser Aerion took the time to speak with her at length, to learn what he could about what had happened since his dutiful tasking with the nobility. He would inquire into the nature of a few other things, smiling and nodding, before letting Visenya go about her business, be it staying, or leaving for other endeavors.

Though, true to form, at the end of their conversation, Ser Aerion bowed deeply, before rising up and speaking formally to Lady Visenya, “It is always an honor to speak with you, my lady. Thank you for all you have done for my friends and I, for without you, no doubt we would be lost in the sea of people. You are a gracious and kind host, and a very noble women. Please accept my humble thanks and may we be fated to perhaps meet again, should that be to your liking, Lady Visenya.” Aerion stared at Visenya’s purple eyes, his own striking their own distinct color. As he looked at Lady Visenya, he thought a few things, but most pressing, was that she was ever beautiful, and perhaps… no, without a doubt, was more beautiful than the “pure-blooded” Targaryens. They were but cut from the same cloth, and here stood a singularly unique and one of a kind diamond, an amethyst so perfect and stunning that it had no comparison. Sighing, he broke eye contact, allowing Lady Visenya to choose whichever path suited her most.

Soon dinner would be ready, the feast and tables needing to be eaten and filled respectively. Also, there was the matter of the invitation of Princes Daenyra, one that would have to be carefully treaded upon, less a grievous error of etiquette and disrespect be transgressed. Time was the great tell all to the world, and time was what Ser Aerion needed. To sit amongst those allied to a possible witch… a term the common folk referred to female magic users, or to risk offense and sit elsewhere… such difficult decisions to be made. Perhaps if he were lucky, Lady Visenya would insist he sit next to her, and keep him from having to walk the knifes edge he found himself at. May the Seven grant Aerion a break, or who knows what might happen.