@NecroKnight

The fighting raged, and through it, Ellion had been separated from his love this night, Merebelle somewhere else, fighting in the Tyrell line. He had to hold his own, and command, and command he did. He hacked his way into one of the beast's front, pushing the pike through with a hard kick following it up, as he smashed the axe-end into it's skull, before pushing it out with a shimmer and hacking into another. They were coming thick and thin, and the line was pushing, every Tyrell soldier rallied to Ellion, they couldn't ignore what was going on, after all. The sight of Lord Dickon to his flank stopped Ellion, as a few of his men took out a couple of the crab-armoured monsters, covering their Commander.
"Dickon, mind your fucking head, get the men to push!" With it, Ellion shoved the Lord Tarly aside from the beast's claws, the large, dwarfing figure of the beast that appeared to look like a shark going directly for Ellion. It's claws, it's appetite unsavaged, it's body covered in blood of what it had killed. Some of the Reachman soldiers could barely look at it. And Ellion was seperated, Dickon had been pushed away, Ellion knew as well as Dickon could handle a sword and a bow, he wasn't a master in hand to hand. Not like he was. Dickon was a commander, a leader of armies, of soldiers and brave men. Ellion WAS a brave man. And if one of Dickon's personal men-at-arms was hacked apart, Ellion knew that Dickon would understand that direct command to let it happen. In that chaos, Ellion only looked into the eyes of the beast, and locked in, shuddering. This didn't end here.

It moved forward, using it's enormous size to swipe hard, Ellion having to dive to the side and hack into it's groin, the polearm designed to stab and shank through gaps, the pike end catching the armour, as Ellion felt the beast howl. But it was wedged. It was time enough to be knocked to the ground by it with a hard scrape, as Ellion was shoved down, with it taking his polearm from the wedge. The shark-headed monster swiped again, attempting to take Ellion off his feet, and take his head, but the Tyrell was fast, nimble enough to push his blade forwards, swiping it with a blunt hit enough to push it back. It only angered it, Ellion blocking it's parry, digging the axe into it's limb, and pulling. It howled once more, as he knew that whilst it had strength, it had no mental strength.

It was pure aggression, not thought. And he knew every second he played with death, he could go beserk and charge him, sweep him off his feet, and tear him in two. A calculated risk, the Tyrell guessed the beast wasn't doing that because he was weakened from before, and wouldn't be able to catch him. Ellion knew he had to take it apart, limb by limb, it was a savage and uncontrolled beast, not a hunter, or a duellist. It was a monster. A monster that thought it could take Ellion Tyrell. Pushing the polearm into a swing, he felt it be taken, as he countered, pushing back, Ellion seeing Merebelle run, almost distracted as he missed a swing from it's paw, angrier than ever, and forcing Ellion back. He dared not go directly, and was dancing almost around it, forcing it to stay on it's feet, and keep assessing Ellion's position, while he assessed it's points. Strength would win him no battles. Only cunning would.

With a resounding swing, the polearm in both hands once again, he feined a high strike, before it grabbed the end of the steel weapon, before undercutting hard, seeing precisely his point of hit. This beast could rip a man in two...but was slow, and stupid. Like a jousting target, it had a centre of mass, and points of fragility. The pike pierced through, slamming into it's abdomen and up into it's chest through it's shell, and even if he was the size of the Mountain, a pike through that point would not be like a sword, it was far worse. A point source, a force concentrated into one point, rather than a wider swipe. It had been large, but slowly weathered away in a long, hard duel, and Ellion was caked in sweat, it's and his blood. Pushing, he used the polearm's momentum to impale the beast onto the floor with an overwhelming cry and shove, a Tyrell bannerman coming to his side in time to move over, close by his commander's side. Offering his sword, Ellion simply took it, wiping the blood from his forehead, before slowly sliding the blade over it's throat, walking close. With a gentle twist, there was no chivalry in it. Ellion merely had to turn the blade a few degrees, and shove.

The blood that poured was of a weird colour, as he passed the blade back, looking across at Merebelle, before drawing the polearm out again. He looked down at his tunic, and felt the bloody stains, cuts and bruises, lining his arms and shoulders, one just below his collarbone, one particularly seeping with blood. He rubbed the material in, moaning a little as he looked on, a little blurred.
"Seven Hells...." He seemed tired, exausted even. He had taken a hell of a beating, as he almost fell on his knees, barely standing up. Lord Dickon had rallied the men, and they were fighting harder than ever, and had defeated a great deal of the beasts and monsters, holding the line as they had intended. He was in a far better fighting condition, as he looked across, with a particular look.

"Are you alright, lad?" He asked, as Ellion nodded, spitting blood. Dickon was like his father in many ways, a little softer and gregarious, but no less, a commander, a martial leader through and through.
"Just fine. Not dead, but I'm losing blood. Get me some bloody bandages. I need to lead." Ellion simply said, as Dickon nodded, as Ellion did fall down onto his knees, coughing.
"Shit. Merebelle, can you help him? Get him back to scratch, get out of..."
"Bollocks, Dickon. I'll be fine." He said, looking across at Merebelle, wiping the blood from his tunic, having to actually take his shirt off to better press against one particular cut, tsking a little as he held it in.
"Just get me some bandages and some Poppy. I need to stay with the men." He said, the Tyrell strong of spirit, it was difficult to kill a Rose after all, the very blood that ran through Ellion's veins was that of a greenhand. He hadn't had a cut like this, but he knew how to deal with it, from past experience in skrirmishes in leading his own forces.

@kingkonrad

"No, Ellion you are wounded. And it won't due anybody any good or the men - if they hear that you had died, fighting these beasts. And I am not losing you either," she added, as she soon ripped a piece from his shirt - exposing herself slightly more, but this wasn't the issue currently.

Using it to createa a makeshift bandage to press and use his shirt to make a pressure, to hold his bleeding in check. "I will carry you out of here myself, if I have to. But you aren't fit to fight those beasts currently."

She leaned on her sword, before looking around them. "Come on now. We have to get to the Red Keep and make sure everyone is safe," spoke Merebelle, helping Ellion to his feet and to lean against him. "They need every men there as well - plus it's more easily defendable and liable to have a Maester maybe there, whom can help you."

Merebelle for extra effort, gave him a deep kiss to his lips. "Remember that. Cause I ain't losing you, and you ain't dying on me. Understood?" she asked. "Now let's go. To the Red Keep!"

" . . . The stars are lovely tonight," mused Bran Stark, stroking the unkempt mess that is his beard. "A pity nobody in the city would be able to see it. Daenerys did a wonderful job of standardizing lighting in the city. Too wonderful, I think." The wheels on his chair creaked as he pushed on them, slowly driving him along the quiet seaside. Aside him paced a nervous Arak Snow, improvising a long spear as a walking staff.

"My lord," he began. "With no offense intended for your sound judgement, I still believe that you made a rash decision when you requested only me as your guard. I fear for your safety greatly. Any number of things can happen so many miles from the city." Bran chuckled lightly, sounding a little more like a rasp. Stories told by old smallfolk tell of him traveling beyond the wall to commune with ancient sages of the Old Gods. Arak was not sure if those stories were true, but whatever happened, the lord Bran looked far older than he was and should be.

"Why would I need more guards? I have you," Bran mumbled. "And enough of this 'my lord' nonsense. I hear it enough from my submissive vassals. Bran is a fine enough name, would you not say?"

"I'm sure, my lo- Bran," Arak answered, catching himself. The two of them continued to silently make their way down the beach, the spear tapping to the rhythm of the wheels creaking. Arak decided to break the silence with something that had been harboring his mind for the whole walk. "I feel as if a stroll upon the sand was not your full purpose of requesting me to escort you here," he said, already feeling guilty for accusing his liege of anything.

"Excellent perception," Bran said, smiling. "There is more to be done outside of relaxing to the sound of waves. I should have seen to this years ago. Do you remember the old commander . . . what was his name . . . ah yes, Quorik?"

"Yes, my- Bran," Arak said. "He passed, quite a long time ago."

"Yes, that he did. Now, I haven't gotten around to filling his position yet, but perhaps I should now. I was hoping that your eye for character would influence my decision. Any competent looking soldiers catch your eye?" Bran asked, an odd twinkling seeming to form in his own.

"Well," Arak stammered, fiddling with his spear. He had not expected his lord to even allow him to speak in the beginning of this walk, let alone listen to his counsel! "I would like to put forth my instructor, Sarin. He judges fairly, and is well liked by his men."

"Actually," Bran interrupted, the twinkle getting more apparent. "I was thinking more of a younger officer. He's a tad inexperienced, true, but his valor is unquestioned. I believe he goes by Arak." Arak's eyes shot wide at that.

"Surely not me, my lord! Even I could tell you it would be most unwise to hand a command position to a-"

"A Bolton?" Bran said, eyes narrowing. "Believe me true, I had toyed around with offering the position to another skilled tactician, William. However, I saw immediately the flaw in that. Aye, he'd lead. Aye, he'd win. And when he wins, he'll turn his forces right around and send them at Winterfell. I think that you wouldn't be so inclined to make such a decision, would you?"

"Surely not me, my lord!" Arak said, stuttering almost every word.

"Good, now that we are on the same page, you will take the command position, and I will not hear a word of objection out of you. Is that clear?" There was no response. "Good, that was not so difficult, was it? Now we may go back to enjoying the quiet darkness the sky has to offer." With another push and creak, the wheeled chair made its way further down the beachside. A dark figure, out of the corner of Arak's eye, seemed to crawl out of the river. Was it a figment of his imagination? He turned to look, and discovered to his horror that it was not.

"Duck, my lord!" he shouted, lifting his buckler just in time to catch a bloated pincer crashing down on his liege's head. With his other hand, he lifted the spear and drove it into where he guessed the neck was. It dove in, and stuck. The man-creature stumbled back to the sea, but righted itself. Before it could, Arak grabbed the handles on Bran's chair, turned it around, and began racing for the city. The Red Keep, dominating the skyline within its walls, was but a speck on the horizon. "How far is it till we reach the castle!?" he asked, between breaths.

"If I were to guess, three miles," came Bran's response.

(collab with @Greenie)

If somebody told Taria she would be involved in a fight like this, she would not have believed them. However, here she was with both knives in her hands, hiding behind some stranger. Well, not really a stranger anymore, but that was just semantics. She usually ran away from this sort of thing, not like she was right now, running towards it. Well, she supposed she wasn't running right now either, it was more like a shuffle. She looked this way and that, trying to figure out what exactly these creatures were, but it was to no avail. All she could tell for sure wass that people were fighting them with all they had, amongst them perhaps even those who had been there eating with her. Yet here she was, skulking like a coward, unable to do anything.

That however changed when she spotted not just her aunt and cousins, but her father. He was all right then! Fighting yes, with a bow, as skillful as she had always thought he would be. Her pride and awe quickly changed to shock though, when she saw that he was just stabbed by one of those beasts.

"Father!" The word burst out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Her hands gripped tightly around her two knives, in rage and in shame. How could she just stand there doing nothing while her father was doing all he could, even though he was on the ground, now being attacked by yet another creature? No! She was not going to be that sort of person. Not anymore.

An unfamiliar cry escaped her as she bypassed Seran and his shield. Ignoring anyone else who came in her path, she rushed forward, faster than she had ever run. She lifted her knives high in the air as she reached her father's assailant. "Die!" she snarled, shoving both knives into the back of the creature covered in seaweed.

Seran started to breathe with difficulty. Here and there, the cuts and wounds were a constant reminder this was an ongoing battle, and the foul smell of gore and the fires in the battlefield numbed his nose quite fast. He gritted his teeth, knowing full he had to brace himself for the task before him, and with redouble efforts he keep lashing at the creatures, advancing with powerful steps each time one of the beings was repelled or felled. His march was interrumpted when he hear the otherworldy scream and the words of grief of the odd companion that he had at the time.

Running at a target screaming in top of the lungs was usually a mistake, no matter how one put it in. Probably, upon seeing the scene and her father being besieged by such, she had lost her wits in the battle frenzy.

Also was that the Commander of the Night's Watch?

He shook his head. Maybe it was none of his business, but he himself, understood fully well the need to protect his family. And the heartbreaking failure of failing to do so. "Damnit." He cursed under his breath as he followed Taria in her charge. While her attack had been fast, two stabs in the back weren't usually immediately lethal, and there was always the chance of retaliation.

Which was promptly cut short by the edge of his shield meeting the ugly creature's head, repeated times as well, with a dash of pommel hits from his other hand. It was far from the finest swordsmanship, and Seran himself wondered if he was felling more creatures with his shield and pommel than the actual blade, but it was throughout.

"You need to be more throughout. You never know with these things." He muttered, allowing himself a brief sentence in the middle of the battlefield. And of course, that was an invitation to be attacked. The blow came from his back, striking his sword arm and making him lose the blade. A sharp turn allowed him to turn the second, definite slash into a grazing blow, but the damage to the sword-arm had been noticeable.

Seran said no words, as he turned towards his opponent, an ugly slimy thing with a jagged curved blade made of strange sea materials.

Well, that's the sword arm for me. Move, damnit! He tried to no avail wake up the damaged limb from the pain as the other creature charged confidently. Seran's footwork allowed him to sidestep a thrust to the head, and his damaged, now naked arm, trapped the creature's elbow.

Got you He added, as he kept his grip with the elbow tight, his head tilting backwards, delivering a mighty headbutt in the creatures face, followed by a sharp kick in the waist, causing the nasty bastard to be disoriented.

He examined his arm. It was hurt and bleeding, but still somewhat functional. Picking up his sword, he looked at the creature once more, with the intention of resuming the fight.

Taria barely heard Seran, what with the din surrounding them. His words were true and it had probably been foolish of her to even attempt to fight. She would have to thank him later for helping her with the creature, if ever they met again, assuming they left this battle alive. Meanwhile, she focused on her father before her. As she helped him to a stand, she could feel the wetness of blood from where he'd been stabbed earlier. She was sure he had gotten worst injuries in his life, well, she hoped.

"I'm not much of a fighter," she muttered. She would have attempted to lead her father away, but that was when she saw realized that Seran's arm was hurt. Cussing under her breath, she let go of Theon and looked around hastily. Her knives were still in the creature she had stabbed, but she didn't move toward it. They were too small and useless, better for petty fight or defence. Instead, her eyes quickly spotted a shortsword by a felled soldier She ducked to the ground and grabbed it, quickly coming to a stand once more. She sidled forward, making sure the sword was up and between her and any potential enemy.

Ser Aerion’s Race Against Time


Ser Aerion ran to the side of the stricken Lady Amber, dashing across the open streets to kneel beside her. It was bad, even to a seasoned warrior as himself. To make matters far worse than they already were, the amount of blood Lady Amber had lost was an unknown factor, for it had mixed with the pool of blood from her fallen mount, and perhaps the small rivulets of blood of those who had fallen further up the road. She was breathing still, which was good, but her breathes were short and labored, pain written across her unconscious face. Ser Aerion reached for her neck, to feel a rapid and erratic pulse. How could such a thing happen… where were the guards, let alone the scores of men-at-arms, squires, knights, and lords residing within the city. Ser Aerion turned quickly, scornfully cutting down two barbaric raiders, hacking them with a cold fury that had possessed him at the sight of someone so innocent and young being the victim of the great evil that beset itself against the city of King’s Landing.

Not waiting for the fallen foes to finish their last breaths, Ser Aerion sheathed his blade in its scabbard, moving the belt so it was now slung across his back, the leather pressing down upon his already raw and painful wounds. He gritted his teeth, using a crude club to break out the windows to a nearby clothier’s store. The glass scattered about the interior of the shop, as Aerion tore down a beautiful silken curtain, using a knife from a dead guard to cut the fabric into more manageable swathes. Wiping the sweat from his eyes, Aerion hurried back to Lady Amber’s side, now armed with silk bandages of his own making. With a few of the bandages, he laired them one atop the other, folding them into compact squares, pressing them onto the abdominal wounds of Lady Amber. The silk quickly began to drink the ebbing blood of the jagged cuts, the fibers and natural congealing factor of cold blood to form a slightly better barrier. Next Aerion took the remaining strips of fabric, and wound them tightly against the folded swathes, compacting and compressing them against the wounds of Lady Amber, and through directly applied pressure, helping to staunch a measurable amount of the bleeding. But such actions were only half-measures, and would only serve to delay the inevitable unless a surgeon could be found to mend the wounds more permanently.

Ser Aerion darted back to the clothier’s, taking a warm fur coat from the shop display, an unsold item from the winter stock no doubt. Lady Amber would be cold from her blood loss, and the extra warmth would help stimulate her body to naturally try and heal itself, to help slow her descent into death. With as much as he could do with his own two hands and battlefield triage knowledge, Ser Aerion scooped Lady Amber up into his arms, her short labored breathes warm against his neck as he held her close to his body. The worn leather of his boots held firmly as he began to run headlong towards the Great Sept of Baelor. Only the skilled healers and doctors of the Faith of the Seven could save Lady Amber. It would be of no use to try and even head to the Red Keep. With these monsters running loose, and their bandit-esque brethren, the drawbridge and gates would be sealed shut, and no man or beast could leap across the dreadfully deadly moat filled with spikes and other unknown dangers. No, he had to make with all his will and endurance to the Great Sept, to the arms of the Faith, and their septons and septas, who could mend any wound, small and great alike. But Aerion had to get there before it was too late.

Ser Aerion slipped and fell hard, slamming and skinning his right elbow upon the jagged cobblestones of the road. He let loose a cry of anguish, hissing loudly through his teeth, holding back profanities as he focused his gaze upon Lady Amber, making sure she had no wounds from the fall. Thank the Seven, she had safely landed atop Ser Aerion, only suffering a shifting of her clothing and hair. Spitting out some blood from his bitten cheek, Aerion slowly and wobbly rose to his feet, panting slightly as he caught his breath. By the Seven, he had covered a decent amount of ground, but it was still very, very far to go. As Aerion looked about for a horse, a carriage, something and anything to expedite his flight to the Great Sept, a bow twanged as the arrow and string were let loose. Followed was the subdued thud of a metal and wood meeting fleshing and fabric. He nearly fell, the arrow having lodged itself in the meaty part of his left shoulder, coming clean through and out the other side. Blood dripped from the cruel looking barbed tip of the arrow, dripping upon the surreal peace that made-up Lady Amber’s face. Ser Aerion snarled in pain, pushing himself forward farther down the street. Such a foe would doubtfully be alone, and to retaliate, would only mean more delays. Cursing the enemy, Ser Aerion trudged onward, the hill upon which the Great Sept sat upon growing large with each passing footfall.

Lady Amber was dreadfully pale, yet still she breathed, life still within her body as Aerion raced onwards. His own blood dripping down his body, his breathing hard and hoarse, straining with every fiber of his being and body to continue onward. Nothing could ever prepare someone to have to madly race across a city and time to save another’s life. Ser Aerion coughed aloud, spitting blood from his mouth as he skidded to a stop. A small skirmish was unfolding before him, Gold Cloaks against a motley assortment of man beasts and mercenaries. “Cursed burned bodies of Stannis’s Seven,” Ser Aerion cursed aloud, pressing he right shoulder against the outcrop of a building. He would have to wade through the fighting, to push ever onwards to safety and medical help. Steeling himself for the frantic dodging and darting to come, Ser Aerion dug his feet into the ground through his boots, and set off, dashing out of the shadows into the dancing light of small fires and lanterns. He ducked, dived, dogged, dipped, and darted his way in-between the opposing forces. Near misses, little cuts, blades barely scrapping across his body all the while he kept Lady Amber from any more harm. He could feel her bandages beginning to dampen, though be it from sweat or blood, he could not tell yet. As he sidestepped a fiercesome opponent, another scored a vicious cut across Aerion’s right temple, cutting down to the bone through flesh and muscle. The pain alone nearly caused Aerion to fall, but he balled his toes up, letting the pain writhe through him as he smashed his head against the fool’s face, shattering the man’s nose and causing his attacker to double over, before a passing Gold Cloak finished him off.

Ser Aerion had almost made it through the fighting, when another bowman of the enemy let loose an arrow towards the forces of good and justice. Ser Aerion cried out, falling to his left knee as an arrow buried itself into his right thigh, nestling painfully in the fatty hind part of his leg. The pain was blinding, only to be joined by more pain from a laughing and sneering foe, who shot another arrow to find its mark in Ser Aerion’s right arm, causing him to momentarily drop half of Lady Amber. He yelled out in blinding pain and fury, his own conviction now the only force driving him onwards. “BY THE SEVEN… I WILL NOT FALL, BLESSED BE MY OATH AS A KNIGHT OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS AND THAT OF THE FAITH!! I WILL NOT FAIL!!” Ser Aerion forced himself upright, grabbing Lady Amber tightly to his own person, biting his cheek and tongue as he rose, fighting against the pain to push himself forward, and away from the fighting.

He favored a glance behind, seeing a surge of Gold Cloaks pressing down the hill. He laughed, a bitter laugh of anger and hatred. If Lady Amber were to die, he would never forgive himself, no would he let the fools of the city guard ever live it down. He coughed and sputtered, moving upwards through the street, making his way past friendly forces finally. The guards were more prevalent, along with the Faith Militant, who were more apparent as he neared the Great Sept. As his muscles burned and ached, his wounds screaming and tearing, Ser Aerion made it to the safety of the outer square that led to the Great Sept. His eyes stung with the mixture of sweat and blood, of dust and grime from the long arduous push to make it here. Aerion nearly stumbled, regaining his footing as he began to mount the steps leading up into the Great Sept. Faith Militant ran by with frightened smallfolk, whilst others ran in the other direction to join battle with the enemies that beset King’s Landing. Ser Aerion shrugged off the helping hands of those that offered, determined to carry Lady Amber all the way to the Sept, and into the skilled hands of the Faith’s surgeons and doctors. He looked like hell warmed over, but such a sacrifice would have been worthy and noble if it saved the life of the innocent and pure Lady Amber.

As the sounds of battle fell away behind Ser Aerion, the great oaken doors of the Sept blocking it all out, Ser Aerion breathed a small sigh of relief. He would soon be surrounded by members of the Faith, Septons and Septas, who lead both him and Lady Amber in his arms to a cloister devoted to the Mother, for her mercy would be needed to save the lives of the wounded, and most of all, to grant hope for Lady Amber’s survival. Aerion allowed his charge to be taken from his arms, Lady Amber being carefully lain atop a fresh linen sheet atop a wooden table, where a group of the Faith surgeons began to hastily work upon her. Ser Aerion hobbled over to the magnificent statue of the Mother, and knowing if he knelt, he would likely not be able to get back up, he prayed quietly and quickly to the Mother, for her mercy, and for her guiding hand to save Lady Amber. “Sacred Mother, aspect of the Seven. Grant mercy to your child Lady Amber Redwyne. She is a good soul, pure in heart, mind, body, and soul. Save her from the wounds she has suffered, and watch over her when those who have sworn to defend the innocent cannot.” Aerion bowed his head, before painfully moving back over to Lady Amber’s side, holding her left hand whilst the doctors went about their work. Only time, and prayer now, could tell if the young woman would survive her injuries. Aerion sighed heavily, shaking his head to another doctor, saying, “I will take medical attention once she is out of the woods… not before.” He forced a smile, before focusing back upon Lady Amber.

Jenn/Mable

Mable watched in shock as the figures appeared attacking the men almost immediately. The men only has eyes fro the crown prince trying to move into position as there master spoke. Mable swung her blade up through the nearest man’s throat long before the man refocused on the women. The blood hot and thick ran down her bracers as Mable pushed the man’s corpse aside. The noise alerted the others and as they turned Jenn fired two arrows from behind Mable. The first arrow flew through a bandit’s eye planting itself in his skull. The second aimed at the bandit closest to the prince missed its mark. The arrow instead burying itself in the attackers arm as he moved to swing. Mable smiled holding her shield up to protect Jenn as the remaining two men turned to face them. The sorcerer appeared to be fighting desperately against Arya as the three remaining men were left trapped between the Prince and their attackers. The bandits looked fearful glancing at the woman as Mable smiled deflecting attacks off her shield her eyes vicious.

Collab with @MrDidact

Arya and the Warlock battled, their duel conducted at lightning speed. Aemon had trained with swords his whole life. He had seen his father fight, seen the Kingslayer duel, seen the Sword of the Morning in combat. He had never seen anyone move as fast as Arya. Her swiftness was impossible, inhuman. Her body and blade were just blurs in his vision. The warlock tried his best to dodge and parry, but he was getting the worst of it and his sickly blue blood dripped from a score of wounds. And yet he would not die. He screeched inhumanly, displaying ragged blue teeth, and stood in place as Arya buried her sword in his guts. The warlock snarled and tried to swipe his dagger into the Mistress of Whispers. Arya ducked her head to the side and gripped the warlock's hand in hers, effortlessly snapping his wrist and eliciting another shriek of agony. The Warlock pushed her back with his hand and her sword slid out of his guts. A blue ball of energy coalesced in his undamaged hand and Arya flashed forward, diving in to attack.

Aemon noticed no more and focused on his own opponent. She made no move to strike, grinning ghoulishly at the Prince as he stood in front of Julianna, Blackfyre at the ready. He had seen the warlocks move and while they weren't as fast as Arya, he knew he would be hard-pressed to match his opponent. She was waiting for him to strike first, to lunge at her. He suspected her dagger to have some devilish poison, and knew that she had the advantage in close quarters, especially with her magic. So he had to fight on his own terms. Aemon's hand drifted down to the poker in the fireplace and in a flash of movement, he flung it at the warlock while he lunged towards her. The warlock oozed to one side, dodging the poker, and tried to evade his strike. But Aemon had closed the distance too quickly and she wailed in pain as Aemon slashed her across the side with Valyrian steel, her wound boiling and sizzling as the enchanted steel cut her. She staggered and oozed back, crying out for one of her henchman to throw himself at the crown prince, while the other two thugs, much doughtier than the other comrades, charged headlong at the Frey women.

Mable let out a small cheer the men taking long enough that another two arrows flew from Jenn’s bow. The arrows buried themselves in the prince’s attacker. The arrows struck the thug’s neck an spine leaving the prince free to fight the woman. The move left the two Frey’s vulnerable as Mable whipped her shield up to block the first thug’s attack only to have the second man cut her across the shoulder. The pain was so intense Mable nearly blacked out dropping her shield. In that instant it seemed to the thug’s the women were handled before Mable’s blade sliced up the man who struck her from waist to shoulder. The man yelled blood spraying the beautiful room as the man hit the floor. Jenn took the time loading another arrow and finishing the thrashing man as Mable glowered at the remaining man. Mable was exhausted and nearly spent ducking to avoid an axe and moving towards Jenn trying to tempt the man into the tunnel. The man lunged as Mable tripped falling to the ground thrusting her blade up to hit the man in the stomach. A sound of cracking bone suddenly sounded as Jenn finished the attacker off with an arrow. Mable looked up desperate to see if Arya and Aemon had slain the two intruders.

Steffon

Steffon felt the tentacle start to choke him as his men turned the tentacle creature dragging there lord away. Steffon swung up slamming into its hip as his men slashed the tentacle off focusing on pushing the creature back. The creature released Steffon to attack his men quickly being cut down. Steffon coughed hard having been nearly strangled feeling dizzy and spent from his fighting. The sound of more troops arriving signaled an army trying to retake the city. Steffon shook his head to rally himself rising to lead his men shakily. The Frey knights battle worn and coated in the blood of the sea monstrosities welcomed the help of the troops flooding the city joining them in a charge to clear a nearby battlement. The five of them who were left alive stood helping there lord push into the battlement two more knights torn to pieces by the crab abominations. The Frey's moved to the wall trying desperately to prevent the battlement from being retaken. The most wounded Frey and Lord Steffon quickly moved up to the top of the battlement shooting the creature as they approached the battlement. The remaining knight stood guard to the entrance his sword ready to fight anyone climbing the ladder to reach Lord Frey. Steffon felt hopeless even as he urged his two remaining men to keep fighting. If help didn’t arrive to their wall soon it was likely they’d be lost in the sea of foes. The two men worked together shooting every creature they could see near there part of the wall until all the arrows were spent. Lord Steffon grinned to his last two guard. “It’s been an honor serving with you two the best we can do now is guard the entrances. If we’re lucky we’ll kill enough of them to block the entrances.” Steffon used a few corpses as he spoke to create a small barricade on either entrance hoping beyond hope that they’d survive.

@MrDidact

The Battle

Caught between warriors and knights from all over the Seven Kingdoms, the monsters swiftly began to dwindle under the attack. Redwyne, Florent, and Hightower men along with all manner of Reach chivalry advanced to reinforce the Tyrells and the Tarlys. The Reachman pressed forward, urged on by their lords. From behind, the Vale Knights, River Knights, Storm Knights, Iron Reavers, and Night's Watchmen cut their way through the monsters. There had been hundreds of beasts only a few moments ago, but now they had less than half of their numbers. The inhuman screams and cries of agony from over a dozen different kind of sea creature soured the air. Caught on all sides, their deaths were imminent. The monsters seemed to recognize this, and when only a quarter of the original beasts still stood unhurt, their spirit broke. One tall beast with a shark fin on his head raised a hue and cry and gestured back to the sea. The creatures immediately abandoned the assault and pressed forward in a single direction. Most of them dropped their weapons to run, all of them scrambling to one side of the Westeros formation to escape the slaughter. They fought even more ferociously than before, like animals caught in a snare, some of them trampling men-at-arms in their rush to escape. They used whatever means they could, some lifting off to glide with gossamer-like wings while others slithered or sprinted over shields, a few even able to leap clean over the Westorosi lines. Many of them died in the attempt, and those that were left abandoned the battle; fleeing in the direction of the seaward battlements.

The Westerosi gave a collective roar of victory. Many ran off after the fleeing beasts to give chase while the others ran to support the men on the battlements or the battle in front of Maegor's Holdfast while a smaller force kept watch in front of the Throne Room. The doors of the Throne Room were thrown open, a giant roaring and stomping after the fleeing sea creatures while another giant gestured for the wounded to flee into the Throne Room. Several Targaryen men-at-arms and servants arrived with stretchers to help the wounded inside including Ser Harwin and Ser Oswell. Theon saw his daughter and smiled as the battle raged in a different direction. Several of his men helped carry him to safety, another few Rangers helping Taria and Seran along. Theon grit his teeth in pain before smiling at his daughter, "You proved yourself a Greyjoy today Taria. You are Ironborn." He was helped away before he could say more. Several Florent men came up to Ellion and Merebelle. There was little love lost between the Florents of Brightwater Keep and the Tyrells of Highgarden and there was a certain tension in their features but they stayed true to Ellion, covering his side as Merebelle escorted him inside the throne room to safety. A Corbray Winged Knight came to Mychel and Artys, his sword bloody. He gestured to the Throne Room, "Withdraw my lord. You are wounded. You must seek shelter. Ser Harry is driving them back to the sea, but we must keep you safe. Come my lord." A small cadre of Winged Knights saw Mychel inside the Red Keep, swords out, ready to cut down any who threatened the heir to the Vale. Inside the Throne Room, a makeshift triage center had been created. Maesters, septons and septas, nurses, citadel acolytes, and combat medics of all description helped tend the wounded. They had raided the finest supplies from the Red Keep's stores and tended to the men professionally and calmly. Ample room was found for the wounded warriors. However in a distant corner, several white hooded figures stood vigil over one of their number, watching silently as the figure on the ground softly sighed in a noise akin to the pattering of snow. One figure knelt over their wounded comrade, head bent in noiseless grief.

On the walls, the situation was much the same. Longboats had disembarked on the shores and troops jumped from the ships to attack the beasts on the beaches. Seeing their comrades fleeing, the aquatic monsters took flight as well, leaping over the walls to escape the swords of the Red Keep's defenders. They abandoned their assault on the wall and fled in droves, many of them cut down by arrows and blades. Some of the coming longboats were attacked by sea beasts covering the escape of their compatriots, men dragged down into the depths by tentacles and seaweed covered hands, but the marine forces had caught the monsters between them and the Red Keep and the monters's assault turned into a rout. The wyverns took flight, a small paltry number escaping the slaughter of their kin at the teeth and claws of the dragons. Several Legionnaires relieved Steffon's position, pushing away the beasts with shield and spear. One of their commanders came up to Steffon and spoke in lightly accented Common, "My lord. The battle has turned. The knights have secured the throne room, where medical triage has been erected. Please let my troops escort you and your men to safety." Drogon alighted on one of the walls nearby and he roared into the sky in a goat of black flame. Soon the other dragons followed and the roar was taken up by the defenders as the assault was overturned. Those who had chased the beasts to the walls joined the garrison in pumping their fists and raising their swords in the air, crying out their lands, lords, and words as they watched the beasts flee.

Meanwhile in the courtyard the battle was also won. A small group of black and white clad figures had hit the Marauders in the rear, cutting off their path from the secret passages of the Red Keep as the King's men pressed on them. Within minutes they were defeated, with the vast majority killed and the rest wounded or captured, unable to flee unlike their monstrous allies. One of the black and white-garbed fighters, approached King Jon. His entire outfit was split down the middle, half black and half white, and a hood covered his face while a scarf covered his mouth. A black and white cat pinned his black and white cloak to his leather armor. He kneeled in front of the King. Jon quickly bade him to rise, "Lucky you came, ser. If you hadn't cut them off, they would likely have kept coming or escaped." The man bowed, "It is our duty to serve. If it please your grace we took captives. But we already know who these men worked for." Jon frowned, "Who?"

"They all bore the mark of the Pirate King, your grace."

Jon grit his teeth in fury as the gate to the Keep was opened and a column of Gold Cloaks entered the keep. Their leader, the Lord Commandeer Slynt hailed the king, "Your grace. We would have come sooner but these beasts and their pirate friends started attacking in the city. They ran amok in the ports and the markets. They set fires in the winesinks and houses. We would have rushed to your aid but it would have left the smallfolk at their mercy." The king nodded, "You were right to stay Lord Commander. We were hardly short-handed here. How did the battle fare?" Slynt grinned, "They were all slaughtered your grace. We had hundreds of men on patrol and hundreds of men-at-arms from all manners of lordly retinues were guarding the manses. They came out to help when the attack began. With the sailors and soldiers from the warships in port and the Knight Templars at the Grand Sept, we put these pirates to paid. We outnumbered them and they were hardly organized. They are all either dead, captured, or fled into the night. We have patrols combing the Blackwater and the Kingsroad now, and we will likely have more in the ground or in chains by the morning. Your brother and his man were out in the city but a patrol found them and kept them safe. They should be here soon."

Jon nodded, "Keep your men on high alert. I want Legionnaires and Night Riders assisting in the patrols and manhunts as well." The day had been won, but something still bothered the king. Viserys and Robb came to Jon's side. Viserys wrinkled his brow, "What is wrong father? We won. A wedding and a victorious battle in one day? With minimal casualties? I daresay tomorrow should be a celebration of this victory. And after these festivities are done, we will gather a fleet and throw this Pirate King into the sea."

Jon frowned, "This was a victory, but it was also a foolhardy assault. This was the worst time for any kind of attack and now they will never get to attack in this manner again. We had ten times the number of men present than usual and were on high alert. They didn't bring nearly enough to overwhelm us and now we know they can attack by sea and that they have knowledge of the secret passages. They won't be able to surprise us with those kind of attacks any longer. And yet this was highly coordinated. Multiple attacks at once, all designed to force us to fight on several fronts. This took months of planning and yet they failed to prepare adequately? What could they have hoped to achieve?"

A rider came rushing to the retinue, dismounting his horse and kneeling, "My king, grave news."

"Report."

"The Gold Cloaks and your bannermen held the Red Keep, the attackers did not breach the castle. But one of the Others was wounded. They say he will die. And one of their children is missing."

Jon cursed, "A distraction." He turned, comprehension dawning, and ran to Maegor's Holdfast without a word, his retainers hurrying to catch up.

Inside Maegor's Holdfast, Rhaegar and Malrik burst into Aemon's room as the fight raged. Jenn and Mable had killed most of the thugs and another had died on Aemon's sword. Arya and the Warlock kept dueling, until finally the Mistress of Whisperer's caught the Warlock in a hold and stabbed her dagger into his neck. With a strong and quick motion, she sliced off his head and the Warlock finally fell and stayed dead, sizzling blue blood spilling onto the floor.

The female warlock was the only one left alive and she snarled, hissing at the others as they closed in from all sides. She turned at Aemon and charged, hands reaching out past the Prince to grip Julianna but the Prince stopped her with a shove and chopped off one hand with Blackfyre. The warlock howled and ran in the opposite direction, diving for the portal. Arya threw a regular steel dagger and caught the woman in the leg but she limped along until she fell into the blood-red portal which closed with a sinister whisper.

Aemon dropped Blackfyre and held Julianna tightly to his chest. His violet eyes exuding gratitude to Arya and the Freys, "Thank you Arya. Lady Mable, Lady Jenn. I owe you a debt." Arya shook her head, "It was the only thing to do nephew. We are safe for now, but now we must make preparations."

King Jon burst into the room, followed by several guards and saw Aemon and Julianna safe. He sighed in relief and hugged his son close. The King stared at Arya and nodded, "Sister. Now is the time. Have the lords and their retinues gather in the Throne Room after the wounded are attended to. I will make a decree shortly."

The City

Arak and Brandon saw the fighting in the city as they rushed to the Red Keep. Fires in numerous shops, taverns, brothels, and homes raged as knights and gold cloaks clashed with pirates and beasts. The smallfolk were running in the streets, screaming in fear when just a few moments ago they had been raising cups to the Prince's health and dancing under the lanterns to the tune of music. Luckily, the army heavily outnumbered the attackers and the battle was in the city's favor. A group of Pirates saw the lone lord and his solitary guard and made to attack but then a column of Gold Cloaks rode down the men, forming a protective circle around Brandon Stark and Arak. The Winged Wolf was known on sight, and was the King's blood brother. They protected him fiercely, forming a circle around Brandon and letting Arak join them as they held off the attackers. Soon the pirates fled and their captain turned to Brandon, "My lord. The battle is in our favor. I will call for a arraign and once it arrives, we will escort you to the Red Keep."

The Grand Sept

When King Jon and Queen Daenerys ascended to the thrown, they had had difficulties with the Faith Militant. It was dangerous for holy men to carry swords and the fanatical Sparrows had nearly laid the city low. And yet it could not be denied that the slaughter of Silent Sisters and faithful during the war proved the need for champions of the Faith. And so the Faith Militant had been reformed. The Faith would not have the authority to conduct religious trials and the Sparrows had been dispersed entirely, with the remaining Poor Fellows following the Warrior's Sons as men-at-arms. The High Septon would not have the authority to declare war on any other faith and the Faith Militant would be dedicated solely to defending Septs and religious pilgrims instead of harassing non-believers as the Sparrows had done. The High Septon would swear fealty to the Iron Throne and the Faith Militant could only go to battle at the King's consent and command, but have never been deployed in over two decades. The order was now mostly made up of hedge and household knights as well as younger sons and those seeking atonement. The compromise had worked, even though some in the Order believe their direction should be more hardline and many Septons agree.

And yet the Faith Militant proved useful, defending the city from the attack. They covered the doors of the Grand Sept, ushering Aerion inside. The healers set to work on Amber, their efforts directed by one young man with light brown skin, black hair, and clear blue eyes who sang softly to Amber as they tended her wounds. His presence seemed to soothe the young woman, and she was much more stable after several minutes under his care.

The man went to Aerion's side, "She will not die. You got her here in time and we have managed to stop the bleeding. Her wounds were deep, but with time they will heal. Though she will bear scars. Let me see to your wounds, Ser." The man calmly stitched and bandaged Aerion up, moving quickly and calmly, humming that same tune that seemed to automatically ease nerves and tension. After some time Amber lay sleeping on the bed and Aerion's wounds seemed to have recovered greatly, almost miraculously. A Redwyne retinue entered the room and Lord Horas and his son Jaime immediately went to Amber's side, holding her hand with tears in their eyes. Lord Redwyne bowed to Ser Aerion and the healer, "Ser. Septon. I owe you my life. Whatever I can do to repay you, if it is within my means I will do so."

The young septon raised his hands in a small smile, "Fear not my Lord. I was simply doing the Mother's work. She is the one to thank. I require not your thanks but they are highly appreciated."

Horas nodded, "Still. If either of you ever need call on my aid, it will be provided. I also came with a message. The king desires Ser Aerion's presence in the Throne Room. An announcement is to be made. The gold cloaks will escort you to the keep Ser."

The Septon stood, "I will accompany Ser Aerion. There will be many wounded in the Red Keep and I will do my best to help them. Come Ser, let us leave at once. Lady Amber will be fine, but you should say your goodbyes. If my feeling is right, the time to draw your sword is fast approaching once more."

The Throne Room

Roughly an hour later, after the dead had been collected, the prisoners rounded up, and the wounded either tended to or moved to a proper facility, the survivors of the attack gathered before the Iron Throne. Scores of men-at-arms had been killed, and some camp followers had been caught in the attack. Almost two hundred smallfolk had been killed in the city. But miraculously the majority of the nobility had escaped with wounds. A few knights had been severely injured but the bravery of the realm's chivalry had ensured the survival of those lords and ladies who could not fight. A messenger from the Grand Sept had come earlier bearing tidings that the Sept's healers were tending to Lady Amber. Hobber Redwyne and his sons were standing in for Horas and his son as they were at Amber's side. Brandon had been found safely. Jon did not know the young lady well but he was relieved all the same. Her father commanded one of the largest fleets in the realm and it would not do for him to be in mourning during this time. And Jon did not know what he would do if Brandon had been killed.

The royal family stood seated in seats below the two thrones where Jon and Daenerys sat. The small council and the remaining Wardens and the Lords Paramount with their own families were seated near the royal congregation. The hall was alive with chatter. Many were in shock at the attack, others mourning friends who had died, still others boastful of victories or angry at the attack and seeking vengeance. The herald stomped his staff on the ground a dozen times until order was restored.

Jon, crown on his head with his bloodied armor still encasing him spoke clearly without preamble, "After intense consultation with my council, we have come to several conclusions and courses of action. I will proceed in informing you all of my plans quickly. But first, I must congratulate you all on your conduct during this battle. We were attacked in the dead of night, unaware of the danger approaching. We could have all been killed, victims of inaction and panic. But we rallied together, kept our wits, and stood valiantly against our enemies as we once did in the Long Night. There has never been a more chivalrous, courageous, and honorable collection of knights, lords, and ladies and I am proud to have fought beside you in battle once more. Tonight we were united and this unity saved the kingdom. Before I reveal what must be done next, I shall bestow the throne's honors upon the collection of heroes gathered here today."

The herald unfolded a list and the King quickly went through a list of honors to those who distinguished themselves, agreed upon by both the throne and consulted high Lords. Several young lordlings and heirs had earned their knightly spurs and more veteran knights were inducted into the Green Hand or the Winged Knights in recognition for their bravery. Many soldiers received promotions while hedge knights were accepted as sworn swords to many households. Our heroes received their own honors, with Queen Daenerys bestowing them herself,

"After consultation with Lord Willas, it has been agreed that Ser Ellion Tyrell if you accept, will be given recognition as a Knight of the Green Hand. You will also have a position at court for as long as you desire as Master-at-Arms of the Red Keep." Every Reachman in the throne room cheered, with many calling him Ellion Bravethorn or Ellion Sharkbane.

"Taria Snow and Balon Pyke, with the consent of Lady Asha Greyjoy, if you accept will now be known as Greyjoys. You came to the defense of your blood in this battle and proved yourselves true Ironborn. You have earned true names." Asha and Theon both smiled at Taria, beaming with pride at the young Greyjoys. Balon, Victarion's bastard, a tall and broadly built youth with lightly tanned skin clapped Taria on the back and hooted in joy as the Reavers raised axes in a rowdy cheer.

"Ser Mychel Arryn, the Black Falcon. At your Lord Father's consent, you will be offered recognition as part of the newly formed Knights Herald, under the purview of the Lord Hand Tyrion Lannister. You will be asked to carry our words to foreign courts, to protect our delegations, and to lead men in battle if need be. The time has come for men who are both diplomats and warriors and you have proved yourself in this regard."
"Ser Harrold Hardyng. Your quick decisions and quick action saved many lives today. Lord Robin and I have agreed that you will be named Keeper of the Gates of the Moon. Ser Artys Grafton, your valor has earned you a promotion to Knight-Lieutenant of the Winged Knights, in command of your own squad of knights and a position at court." Despite Mychel's odd reputation, the Knights of the Vale cheered their future lord loudly and proudly and many Winged Knights near Artys clapped him on the back in congratulations.

"Ser Merebelle Gray, in recognition of your bravery, I have decided to offer you a position at court as a sworn sword and bard. You will defend the Red Keep and inspire us with your song and speech as you did in the field today. My husband will also begin the construction of a Bard's College here in King's Landing, a monument to the musical culture and legacy of the Seven Kingdoms where aspiring musicians will learn to hone their trade. The Greys have been known as accomplished minstrels for generations and your house will be honored in the college's dedication."

"Lady Mable Frey and Jenn Rivers. You both came to my families defense and proved yourself true warriors. You will be given honor as anointed knights and I pledge to welcome you to my home for as long as I live. Lord Steffon I have arranged a marriage between yourself and Lord Mudd's daughter Jonquil as a reward for your loyal service. The Freys have proven themselves friends of the realm today." The cheers for this proclamation were more halfhearted from most of the room but the Freys present in the throne room cheered this news loudly enough for a whole tourney audience.

"Tom Lannister and Petyr Hill will henceforth also be known as anointed knights for their courageous deeds. They have proven themselves knights of the West. You will take your vows immediately." The Westermen all cheered, calling out "Pup! Pup! Pup!" to Petyr's chagrin, though he also smiled proudly at the announcement while clapping Tom on the back. The Lannisters all hailed Tom as the Young Lion and he traded proud gazes with Jaime and Tyrion.

"Seran of Lys, I offer you a position in court for your willingness to come to our defense. You will never want for shelter or food and you will always have a place in our home."

"Ser Aerion Goldfyre. It has come to my attention that yours is the blood of Valyria. And you have proven yourself a loyal friend of the realm. For your service, I shall name you a Knight of the newly formed Order of the Dragon. This order will be made up of knights with Valyrian blood in their veins and will be one of the realm's principal defenses against its enemies. The entire Band of Nine will be forever known as friends of the realm and will always be welcomed in my hall. Lady Cerenna, my Maesters are working tirelessly using revolutionary healing arts to give your brother back the use of his leg. They will work day and night until he can once again stand. Tell him that his sacrifice has earned a great reward. House Lannister will relinquish it's temporary garrison and House Lefford will once again be known as Lords of the Golden Tooth."

"Ser Robb Baratheon, you are kin and have been a faithful friend of my family and of the realm for all your life. For this continual service, I hereby bestow upon you the position of the King's Justice. You will be the hammer who will strike down those who commit crimes and atrocities against the realm. To my niece, Visenya Storm, who has proven her worth a hundred times over, I declare her a knight of the realm and a knight of the Order of the Dragon."

"My sons the Princes Aemon, Viserys, and Rhaegar will all be inducted into the Order of the Dragon, and Prince Aemon shall be the order's Lord Commander. Their martial skill in battle and their courage against all enemies proves their dedication to the realm and their worthiness as Princes of the Realm."

Many and more accolades and rewards were passed down to the valiant warriors of the court. After the honors had been bestowed, Jon spoke up to decree matters of more grave importance, "It has come to my attention that this attack was perpetrated by none other than the upstart Pirate King of the Stepstones." The announcement was met with shouts of disbelief and fury, the knights of the realm eager to avenge the attack. Jon called for order and continued, "We have been at peace for 25 years but now the time has come to raise our swords again. We shall also finally stamp out the various other rebels that plague our realm. As soon as possible, all fleets and armies from all houses will mobilize and stand ready. A force led by Ser Gendry, twenty thousand men, made up of Storm Knights, Rose Knights, and Dornishmen who will march on Hellgate Hall immediately to capture or kill the Vulture King. Ser Garlan Tyrell, Ser Archibald Yronwood, and Lord Dickon Tarly will be his seconds. Ser Aegon Targaryen will accompany the force on Viserion, and the Alchemist Guild will follow with Spitfires. It shall depart as soon as possible. All knights who wish to volunteer for this campaign shall approach Ser Gendry."

"Lord Robin, Ser Harry. Upon your return to the Vale, I want you to prepare your defenses should the Mountain Clans attack and to ready your men to strike back. We just received word of a failed raid on Gulltown. Dozens of smallfolk put to the sword before the Graftons turned them back. I want the raiders to be found and made an example of. We shall try to negotiate with the Mountain King but prepare yourselves for battle."

"Lastly, a fleet will sail to the Stepstones. Lord Davos will have the command of the fleet. I shall commit the Targaryen and Velaryon armies along with the Night Riders and the Mother's Legion to the campaign. Any and all warriors who wish to join the effort will present themselves to Lord Davos. Otherwise, orders will be sent to mobilize all levies and fleets and await further instruction. Dark days are fast approaching my lords and we must be ready. That is all. Get what rest you can for on the morrow, the realm goes to war."

The gathered audience began to exit, excitedly chattering about the recent events. All save our heroes, particularly Aerion, the Band of Nine, Rhaegar, Petyr, Malrik, Miri, Taria, Arak, Jenn, Mable, Ellion, Artys, Mychel, Rickard, Steffon, Jenn, and Seran, who were each singled out by servants and asked to present themselves to different officials.

Tower of the Hand

Mycel and Artys were asked to the Tower of the Hand. Tyrion was there and he smiled at the youths before speaking, "I asked you both here today on a mission of great importance to your homeland. On Jon's direction, I will attempt to negotiate with the hill tribes, in order to bring them into the realm once and for all as vassals to the Vale. I have some experience myself with the clans, as do you Mychel. We shall go there as part of a royal delegation to meet with the Mountain King. It will be dangerous as many in the tribes want the hostilities to continue, but if we succeed we may stave future bloodshed. If you accept, we shall leave by the end of the week. The mission will take a few weeks at the most. Succeed and we will be heroes. What say you?"

King's Chambers

Jon and Daenerys were sitting behind a large desk and greeted the rest of the invited personages. Refreshments and seating were found by servants who left the room before the King and Queen began.

"You all distinguished yourselves as true friends of the realm and as such we have decided to approach you with a few tasks we would ask of you. The realm is facing dark days and we will act to swiftly end these threats to the realm as they appear. For that we would like the help of skilled adventurers such as yourselves. Succeed and you shall be given awards and honors, but you must swear your confidence and discretion along with your loyalty." They waited for said oaths before continuing.

Jon said, "Some of you were already selected for a mission in the Stepstones, the rest of you here now were invited because of the loyalty and skill you have demonstrated. At the same time, we may need the assistance of skilled warriors in the Vulture Campaign or in a diplomatic mission being headed by Tyrion Lannister. Mychel Arryn and Artys Grafton have already been approached for that particular assignment but the rest of you will have more flexibility. That mission will take them to the Vale to negotiate with the Hill Tribes while the rest of you shall embark to either the Stepstones or the Red Mountains to deal with the rebels."

"If you wish to accompany Tyrion, please present yourselves to him immediately after this meeting. And I wish for skilled battle commanders and warriors to accompany the army into the Red Mountains. You will depart within a few days by ship, make landfall at Wyl and rendezvous with the army at large in Blackhaven before marching on Hellgate Hell. This assignment is particularly dangerous as the guerrilla fighters will be resisting the march at every mile. The rest of you will accompany Aemon and Visenya to the Stepstones to help deal with the rebels. You will need to fight, but we may also have need of skilled negotiators and spies, as well as people who know the land."

"If you wish to accompany the army you will go before Gendry to learn more. The rest of you will see Arya who will explain the mission in the Stepstones in further detail. These missions will be leave by the end of the week, you have until then to choose and prepare. Upon your successful returns, you will all be rewarded greatly. If any of you have questions or wish to declare your intentions, or have recommendations for other operatives we can recruit for these missions, please proceed."

Jon waited for anyone to speak up.

@Abefroeman@MrDidact

The aftermath was even more a balm for Seran's wounds than the bandages and cares of the septas. He eyed the congregation and chatter, all nobles and guests of the King and Queen of Westeros, and he was right in the middle of it. The rant went around about how these were trying times for them all. The type of enemies they faced needed not much eloquence. Fortunately King Jon wasn't one of the most verbose rulers he had ever heard, and his explanation didn't feel tiring. He took some mental notes of all the faces that were named, one after the other, as the knowledge of the events would be probably useful.

It was not an easy task. Between the blood loss, his injuries, and the chattering ambience, his concentration waned and waxed. Fair Lady of Lys, I could use some mulled wine and sleep. Seran chided himself mentally, his stance slumping at times due to the fact he had probably clubbed more critters to death with his sword and pommel than actual swordplay. However, he bolted up, straightening himself when the King graciously announced that he eventually would never need to pay a bed or lodging in King's Landing at all. She looks like a Queenly version of my own sister, eerily enough. Truly the tales do justice. He thought of the Queen as she was handing out the condecorations.

Well, it's not what I had in mind, but still eventually worked out in the end. And no more tainted food. He added mentally, forcing his body to perform a curtsy before the monarchs. "Your Grace is too generous" He answered in return to their offer, as the Queen carried on. The next named surprised him even more.

What, Ser Aerion is here? Where? He squeezed his eyes, looking back and forth at the crowd. Fortunately, he didn't have need to look much further, as an elbow jab of Lysara, clad in clothes and still under a hood not unlike a septa, pointed him in the right direction. He nodded briskly at him before pondering how the hell Lysara had snuck into the throne room. Probably because she had been confounded by a healer, what with his insistence of her being covered up. A bump in her sash confirmed that their most precious treasure was still there.

A order of Valyrian knights, huh? I might be recruited then. We both might be. Seran thought to himself as he noticed the odd silver hairlock or two that poked from the hood of his sister, as well as being conscious of his fine Lysene, yet somewhat scarred features. The King went on his tirade. Enemies. Opportunities to carve a path and rise even higher, even if he probably was fairly outmatched. That Tyrell Rose Knight seemed like, well, a monster in its own right despite his pompous appearance, probably even on par with Aerion...or the Royal family.

Speaking of the devil... Seran decided it was best to approach the dragon-blooded mercenary, now fully legitimized. It never hurt to greet your kin of trade, even if it was mercenaries.

"Ser Aerion, It is good to see you, and you have my most sincere congratulations. I only wished I had noticed you sooner. My felicitation to you aswell, sers" Seran said to the mercenary commander and then his troupe. The figure next to him shifted as she put a hand in her mouth, a giggle of levity escaping amidst the celebrations.

"Tainted food is a formidable enemy, ser Aerion. My brother should know better than pick his fights." Lysara added, as she let out the poisoned dart fly towards her own brother. Even if she understood what he had done and why, she still wanted to return the last barbed comment he had made towards her. "I hope Lady Amber gets better." She added, a touch of concern trying to cover up her more stiff brother's compliment.

When the servants both approached her brother and Ser Aerion Lysara couldn't help but bit her lip. Concern? Jealousy? Seran would never know, but his sister firmly tugged his arm as he tried to follow the servants after excusing himself. He understood the message as he whispered back in her ear.

"I don't think I can take you to that meeting, Lysara." He curtly, and carefully answer.

"Just watch, and follow my lead. Carry on walking." The younger sibling whispered back, as she tugged to his clothes, slumping somewhat as if she was a scared child. Seran frowned, but kept on with his march towards the meeting spot. Hey, that's not fair. Stop manipulating me so wantomly. He muttered under his breath as he approached the guards stationed outside the meeting room. They made an attempt to pry her sister out of her brother.

"No, don't go Brother." She added in a singsong, misery filled voice. "Stay with me." She added, and then... silence.

What, she doesn't want me to go to...OH! I see. It's my cue! Seran quickly puzzled out before adding. "Sorry about that, but it seems my sister is reluctant to part with me right now...Much has happened... can something be arranged about this?" Seran puzzled through, and after some exchange and sweet talking, both siblings went through, even when only one had been called.

That was damn sneaky, sister. Seran thought to himself, as he quickly bowed and apologized to the present people. "Sorry about this, your Grace...but my sister Lysara doesn't want to part with me at all after these events. I suppose... well, given the circumstances..." Seran of Lys tried to piece some kind of excuse, but he didn't know what to see. She's beatiful and a deadly spider that seduces men? That's not going to flow through.

"I am sorry your Grace and Lords." She added, pulling her hood back in a brisk motion, her long silver locks flying wildly as if an invitation to look into her features. The blood of Valyria and the charms of the Lady of Lys were strong in her factions and figure, and Seran himself thought that if there was any kind of Lyseni who could steal a Targayen's heart, that would be anyone who looked like Lysara. "Pardon my interruption, but I really appreciate all you have done for my brother. I... do not wish to be a burden. I can also be useful aswell. I do know how to dance, and entertain aswell. And some healing." Lysara said, trying her best to make her pitch.

It's time to take a gamble. She thought to herself as she tried to steel herself and appear as modest and humble, yet charming as possible. This was her act of a lifetime.

@MrDidact@kingkonrad

Merebelle helped Ellion into the Throne Room, thanks to more knights of the Reach, coming over and helping to escort them there. Once there, Merebelle started treating his more serious wounds and helped stopped the bleeding.

"Next time, we're heading out - how about grab a chainmail instead of a shirt?" teased Miri, in a slight way. She was glad that he was alive - but worried that he did more damage to his body, than was necessary or needed. As her old teacher had spoken to her - wasting energy on bravado and glory, was great and all; but worthless if you were dead. "Luckily nothing important is damaged, so were good."

She then started cleaning her own minor scratches and cuts - coming up better than some of the men.

---

Merebelle stood at Ellion' side - after they had managed to get some actual healers to clean their wounds and a quick wash, while having time to properly get dressed and called to the Throne Room to hear the King and Queen speak about the future. Merebelle was surprised that she had been called - having been initially only a minor fighter in the Tournament and a pretty face hanging on Ellion' hand. But she thought helping to get the man of Highgarden away from danger helped with her reputation.

Merebelle smiled in addition with the other Reachmen - as Ellion got awarded the title of Knight of the Green Hand and even a Master-of-Arms at Red Keep. It was a very prestigious position, and from what she knew from talks with him the Green Hands were a big deal too.

Her eyes snapped up, upon hearing her name mentioned. Namely about the fact of her getting a position at court - as both a guard and as a bard. Both of either one was a position that would send her political reputation to the skies. But as a bard, she would be very deeply embedded into the court. As highlords and ladies a good song, and always talked upon such occasions - as some bards throughout history had also acted as spies. Whatever the case, Merebelle was very happy for such an opportunity.

Then came the next boon that made her feel like she was roasted in dragonfire. A Bard' College in King' Landing - one that would likely be set up and managed in the initial years by HER family and HER House. She grasped onto Ellion' arm a bit tightly than she wanted - but the fact of the matter was, this was a BIG step for a Minor House; that had managed to gain some prominense after the Riverlands Civil War.

Merebelle couldn't wait to receive the letters after this. She remembred, how her initial idea of becoming a knight - was treated as a fantasy tale in her youth by her parents. But once they hear about this, she would be holding her head very high in their family gatherings - and whenever they visited their resident Lord Paramount.

---

Merebelle Gray later stood with Ellion in the King' Chambers. A very high honor for a noble, knight and lady such as herself now. Depsite having been initially selected out for this expedition in the first place. Now however it felt the situation was more serious - since their enemy had attacked them first and now it was time for payback.

Merebelle gave her oath to the King - proving her faith and trust that she would give her loyalty and life for his service. Miri didn't have many ideas on where they could get any extra men or what they would plan further on. What was more on her mind, was for which mission would she be best suited. Any number of them could go easily or end badly - they would be rewarded sure, but depending on what happened it could easily scale from there.

@kingkonrad

Miri didn't ask any questions and calmly waited for the King to finish his speech. After everything, she scurried over to Ellion to talk to him. "Hey. So what are you thinking? Which kind of mission shall you be undertaking?" asked Merebelle, she wasn't sure which mission she would be suited best. Plus in this case, since she kinda slowly starting to grow attached to Ellion - she decided to have him pick the mission of his choice; with her liable to tag along with him.

Perhaps it was a little strange, or maybe it really wasn't, but while Taria hadn't paid much attention to what Seran had told her during the battle, what Theon had called out to her before he was led away continued to echo in her mind, even after the battle was over. "You are Ironborn... You are Ironborn. Was there really more to her than just mere traveller? She supposed she would have to find out. The sword she had picked up was covered in disgusting matter, proving at least that she had used it to good effect. Not as well as the others, she reckoned, but she was alive and well.

It was a good thing that she had those words in her mind. A battle like this, although small, was more than she had ever been involved in. She could hear the tales her Aunt Asha had told her years ago, from how they used to raid villages to battles alongside the Targaryen Army against the White Walkers. As she wiped the muck off her sword, she could hear the sounds around her, heavy breathing, pain-filled whimpering, relieved laughter. The smell didn't bother her as much as the sound.

You are Ironborn, she reminded herself, taking in a deep breath, holding it in for a moment before slowly letting it out. Well, at least she could boast to her cousins that she hadn't thrown up like some of them had.



Being in the Throne Room once more had come as a bit of a surprise, yet there she found herself once more, in the presence of the King, the Queen, and many others she had seen during dinner. She had a knack for faces, if not names. She did, of course, remember Seran, and she was glad to see he was mostly unscathed.

Her head jerked in surprise when she heard her name being spoken, by the King no less. Eyes opened wider than she would have wished, she looked up at the throne, shocked by the sudden announcement. She looked over at Balon, her first cousin once removed. Well, he certainly took it in stride. Her eyes quickly swerved in the direction of her father and aunt. Seeing the look on their faces told her all she needed to know; this was really happening.

She was now a Greyjoy. Perhaps later she would realize the burden of a name, the responsibilities that came with it, but for the time being, all she knew was that she could openly claim to be part of a respected and even feared family. She could be proud of who she was, not just as her father's biological daughter, but his legal child as well.

A happy smile now found its way on her face; while her joy wasn't as raucous as the rest of the Ironborn, it was there for all to see.

The giddy feeling remained in Taria throughout the rest of the King's words, though it began to fade as he reached the end, where it was back to business. Those things... are we going to meet more of them then? It seemed to Taria as if there was more than just fear of the sea she would have to contend with. Though now that she thought of it, it was beginning to lessen. She had proved herself to her father and even herself that she could stay alive in a battle. She would have companions on the ship, she wouldn't be alone like the last time, with no one to come to her aid. Not only that but- Ser Davos will be there?! That had her giddiness surface once more, if just a little.



If Taria had been surprised at returning to the throne room, then it was even more at being invited to the King's Chamber. She felt the need to keep her hands to herself, worried she may sully something or other. She was more than relieved that she had managed to clean her hand and sword of gunk and dirt before being summoned to the Throne room. Once more she let her eyes wander, taking note of everyone there. They stopped their wandering once the King began to speak, moving from him to Danaerys and back.

It was still a little surreal if she was being honest with herself, but she decided to remain silent and not make a fool of herself by, say, pinching her arm in vain.

Instead, she focused on the words he spoke. It seemed there was more than just one mission that was being meted out. For a moment she considered the possibility of going with Tyrion. However, she discarded that thought almost immediately. She had made her decision at the docks, and she wasn't going to go back on it now.

She was about to speak, simply to say that she would continue on the mission they had deemed fit for her last night... but she stopped herself. An eyebrow raised, seeing Lysara. Hm... She decided for the time being to remain a silent bystander and simply watch the events unfold. She was always more of a quiet sort anyway, choosing to observe people and their words, storing them away for later.

Ellion chuckled, beaming at Miri. He'd been quieter than usual when he was carried in, after looking after his men, and letting Ser Dickon take the lead. He'd done so well, and fought valliantly. The men were talking about the shark-headed beast he slayed, and one lucky fucker had actually gathered it's head, putting it on a wooden pole. The Bravethorn, they called him. Confronting Viserys Targaryen had been one thing, but Ellion felt better than that. He felt not cocky, he felt deserving. Like he'd earned his rose. And that made him feel content with it.
"No, it doesn't seem anything important. Just a few cuts and wounds. They'll heal. I hope you still like my body beyond the scars they'll leave." Ellion said, smirking at Merebelle, knowing she'd give into his charms, even now.
"I suppose a mail shirt would have been good. Or perhaps we would have never made it to the fight. A true warrior doesn't need armour, they say in Braavos." The Tyrell added, aching as he adjusted his position, a little blurry but back to himself now he'd had some treatment.
"So, Merebelle Gray. You did well...." He added, pulling her down from the kneeled position he had by her side, and close to his mouth, kissing her on the cheek, half-whispering into her ear as he embraced her.
"....and what can I say....we both took a sword today." Ellion almost felt his wounds hurt from how much he chuckled, knowing it would be a complimentary slap from her, but he quelled it by kissing her, the look of sheer care and like on his face, he seemed so warm and glowing, the heat was not like from a Targaryen, but felt organic, comfortable, warm and almost like a bed of roses.

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

@Monochromatic Rainbow

Mirren stood, staring eye to eye with a member of the Kingsguard posted right outside the Red Keep. "Dammit! That was an attack by somebody!" She gestured angrily at the corpse splayed out on the ground scarcely a meter from them. "You can't tell me a single thing or let me into the keep?! Do you think I'm some foreigner come to continue a failed assault?!"

She huffed, looking around for someone with a less stonefaced demeanor to speak to. "I don't suppose there's a single thing you can tell me that's even remotely helpful? Are the king and queen doing something about this? Is there someone I can go to who does more than stand there?"

The Reachmen looked over, seeing the Dornish lady, the guards at the gate being from Ellion's movement and garbed in mail and plate. They recognized the armour as Dornish, and one recognized who the person wearing the lamellar armour was. The Captain of the guard at this entrance no less, and it was a complete happenstance, that what happened next, as he walked up to her, on the other side of hte gate.

"You're Mirren Sand, are you not?" He asked, the Reachman decked out in mail after the fight, the captain of this patrol on the Red Keep's walls bolstering the other City Watch that were posted here.

"I know you well. Hell of a talent with that spear of yours, you were a bodyguard, weren't you? My liege was just looking for those from Dorne to talk about strategy. I would imagine you'd fit well with him. You aren't here to kill anyone, I know you may be a woman who serves gold, but you're smart to know you'd be very dead in due time if you tried after what you just saw." He said across to her, as the other men opened the gate, as the Reachman Captain sighed.
"Name's Ser Eflyn of Oakheart, fourth son of the Lord Oakheart. I'll lead you to my liege. You might be an unfamiliar face, but I think if you happen to come by now, I can introduce you to someone who needs a Dornishwoman right now."

Mirren raised an eyebrow, tacitly following the man. "I remember you, I think we met during negotiations for the construction of a brewery in House Tyrell's personal territory?" She shrugged, "Well, do tell me about your liege, Ser Willas, yes? Forgive me, my knowledge of Westerosi lords is not what it used to be."

"Back in Manderford. I remember now." Eflyn replied, as he nodded, the gate open, allowing her to come in, as he looked at the patrol, then her, his faceplate fully lifted.
"He's the Lord Paramount of the Reach, Master of Coin. And also, I imagine he has need for someone who knows the lay of the land in Dorne as well as the people." He added, as he led her away from the patrol, and towards the Keep itself.

Following the meeting with the King, Willas and Alerie had left, the speech over, and the orders clear. Willas had begun writing marching orders, and had headed to their quarters. They had been met a few times with a few dignataries and people of merit, but mostly, it had been the same old, post shark-headed and fucked up attack on the Keep as it had been. And the guards that were by Willas's room saw Mirren, a little on edge, till they saw Eflyn.
"Who's this, Eflyn?"
"It's Mirren Sand, a Dornish soldier. Someone who may want to meet Willas." With it, Willas already walked out of the quarters, past his guards.
"A Dornishwoman in armour. You came a little late. But I appreciate the effort." He simply said, a smile on his face, Willas limping a little but confident, quietly charistmatic and approchable, gregarious yet not overbearing.
"What brings you here, may I ask? Ser Eflyn is not one to recomend people without reason."

"Forgive me, Ser. I was a little preoccupied with the attackers in the streets of the city. I'm sure you had it under control, but alas, most of the smallfolk lack armor and weapons, so they were not quite as capable of defending themselves." She nodded to the Reach knights who had accompanied her, "However, alongside the guards, I saw several men of the Reach fighting remarkably well. I'm rather impressed."

Taking his demeanor to be permission to enter the room proper, she stepped forward. "Ser Eflyn has indicated that you might have need of someone who knows Dorne and its people? I take it the king has tasked you with something in the land. I admit, my knowledge of Dorne's more recent developments could be better, I have spent the better part of six years away accompanying a lord on his... escapades until he apparently snuck a barrel of wine past me - unfortunately for him it was poisoned. Nevertheless, I am in the market for someone to serve, and from what I gather you may have need of someone from Dorne?"

"Yes, there is. You seem like a bodyguard, that sort of armour is worn by those who don't want to get killed protecting people. Heavier than usual, compared to lighter leather for movement. So I might have an idea, if you know the area." Willas added, limping a little, Alerie nodding to the woman that had come in, acknowledging Mirren but letting Willas get on with buisness, as he took a seat by his letter table, which doubled for where the Master of Coin, namely him, did the Realm's accounting.

"King Jon wants a Reachman and Dornish army to rout the Vulture King out of the Dornish Marches, the mountains. They are cooped up in a borderland that is difficult to access, with few routes in, and are terrorising everyone, hiding in the dust."

"Now I know us Reachmen and Dornish don't naturally get on. But I know that this is a border issue, and my brother, Ser Garlan, will probably not be on the best terms with the Prince. So his men may need a pathfinder, a soldier to lead them through, and perhaps that is where you come in."

"Generally, I would say this sort of armor is the type worn by those who have no wish to die in general, truthfully." She nodded to the rest, "Bandits in the Marches again? I remember them. I could've sworn my father lead a raiding party into the area that flushed a good deal of them out. I take it they've returned and are somehow more troublesome than before." She sighed, "Seems much in Westeros has happened while I was away. I can help you through the marches, though I'm afraid the soldiers of the Reach may be ill suited for desert warfare. Let me suggest one thing above all else - bring water."

She walked forward a little more, eyeing the plans on the table. "I am, however, a bodyguard for the most part. I have training and some experience as a commander in some regards, but for the past five years I have mostly served as a bodyguard, do you or another of the Tyrells need someone such as myself for that role, once the rats in the Marches are dealt with?"

"We need people who know things. Knowledge is power, and I would imagine that while we'll get on to get rid of this threat, someone who understands both sides will prove useful. If that is what you can provide, Mirren." Willas was agreeable, nodding.

"It's the mountains. King Jon wants this to be a swift campaign, a sideshow of that total war he wants in the Stepstones. I understand in a war there is no such thing as a sideshow, Garlan will not spare anyone if they threaten his combined forces and their access in. If they don't know the mountains and don't have someone to strike back at them the way they might wear away the army, then whatever their numbers, they won't survive long." Willas added, as he sighed, sipping a little more wine off his desk, realizing his guest. Alerie already put a cup on the table, as Willas poured some Arbor in, for Mirren to drink.

"You would be well suited to be a confidante to my brother, then. Support him in his command. You'll be paid in coin, and Garlan can offer anything beyond that for your service. I'm a kind, but fair ruler, Mirren. I suppose Eflyn weighed you up well. You'll protect and serve House Tyrell in helping us clean up the banditry in those mountains, for your land and ours both." Willas added, sipping down more wine.
"What say you?"

Mirren frowned, "You are right, the Dornish mountains are nothing to consider a "sideshow", your grace. Dorne was the only kingdom to withstand the Targaryen invasion, and I daresay any force that deploys against the bandits within them, especially if those bandits are organized, best tread cautiously lest they find themselves dwindling low on numbers and supplies. I've seen it happen before and if you do not take care it will happen again. The untrained foreigner knows a few passes through the mountains, the natives know thousands. I daresay you may want to hire more than me."

She shrugged, "Nevertheless, I will serve you."

"That's why I learn from the past. We'll be working wtih the Dornish forces..and I do not intend to have our men succumb. I imagine we will gain more when we regroup with the Dornish in their lands." Willas seemed wise, he seemed to take on board what Mirren was saying, knowing full well his house's adventures during the attempted conquests of Dorne.

"Very well. I will arrange for payment and transport. The army's marching orders should be coming in. Several thousand men will head to the passes in the Marches, rallying at Nightsong, and you can meet Garlan there. I will let Garlan dictate the strategy, but he's no fool as to what lays south. The Dornish forces will probably close the net, leave them nowhere to go. It will not be easy, but if Eflyn thinks well of you, then I anticipate you can do well." Willas added, as he finished his goblet, sitting up.

"As you wish, my lord." Mirren nodded, "Let me caution you against relying purely on numbers, the advantage can quickly become a disadvantage should you find your supplies running low." She stepped back, unsure of how to proceed. "Shall I accompany you, Ser, or make my way there on my own?"

"I'm afraid I'll be staying here, and my son, Ellion is headed elsewhere. I'll send a retinue of Reachmen with you, to make your way there to meet Garlan. They'll be stocking up, and preparing a plan of action. It's far more than a rebellion in the Reach, for certain." Willas added, as he quickly signed another piece of paper, before placing a wax seal upon it, half-sliding it across the desk as he gave it to Mirren.

"Though feel free to go see my son. Half saved the castle tonight, held the entrance to the Throne Room with the Reachmen we had. The forces of the Reach, and the Rose Knights will be there in a few days to meet you." The Tyrell Lord added, as he sat up a little.
"I trust you will serve our House well, Mirren Sand. I think you'll find it is benefitial to us both. A spear in protection is a spear that serves indeed."

Mirren bowed, taking the roll of parchment and deftly tucking it away. "Farewell then, my lord. I can depart this day if you wish."
"With the rate things will go, you might have to."

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

There was more parchment writing, and Willas had written a systematic set of orders. Orders not disclosed to anyone but him, his sister and later on, Ellion. For now, the orders were enclosed for Merlin and Garlan to recieve, on the matter of the army. He had sealed it with the green wax seal that in itself, smelled of a particular flower from the Reach, a reminder of home that Willas had. He thought about all the mess, and Mirren. That and Ellion's wounds, and he hoped he'd be well.

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

Willas and Alerie emerged from the safety of their quarters, and found the scene a mess, a chaotic one. Willas had spoken with King Jon and the Small Council in the immediate aftermath, and the Knights of the Realm were fully alert, bleary but guarding. He had confirmed one particular wish for Ellion's bravery, and Jon had granted it. Willas didn't seem suprised, but was still happy nonetheless. Yet the deaths of the men had been miserable, unfortunate, terrible. The ceremony in the Great Hall had been amazing, and for Ellion, he had been humbled, kneeling at King Jon's feet upon recieving the honour, bowing as he took his stand once again, heading by Merebelle's side. Willas was visibly proud, firing a look across at his son, now wrapped up in his armour with his bandages beneath. Ellion was naturally pleased, a firmer grin on his face than some, as somber as he felt, he felt well for a wounded man. He looked at Merebelle, almost as happy to hear it. Yet something ticked in his head. Something that felt strange. A ticking sensation. She was beautiful, good. But she wasn't right. Not a...well, she was exotic, and fiery. But not like some girls he'd heard of. She was pretty, but not stunning. Even the sex, it was good, but not the best he'd had. It was...strange. What the hell was he thinking? Most lust for others? Or just complacency? Maybe his mind was tired...and he didn't know anymore. All he knew was, he wanted the touch of something tomorrow morning, before he recovered his mind again.

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

Amber breathed, a loud sigh of air rushing into her lungs. She was confused, unaware, and not able to understand. She should be dead. By all accounts, she had been. The life had dripped out of her fingers, and she didn't know why.
"Ahhhh..." She moaned out, opening her eyes, as Jamie ran to her side.
"Amber!" He yelled, as she cooed, sighing as she looked down.
"It's the Milk, don't think about it. You're lucky to be alive, sister."
"I don't know what I saw...it's all black. Where's....where's Aerion?"
"He headed up to the Red Keep, sister. It's okay. You're going to be fine." Jamie replied, as Amber sighed, leaning back, not wanting to think about it.
"Is he okay?"
"He saved you. He saved you, sister. I love you more than you ever know, you know....."
"I know. But I chose to be out there. Please. Don't tell Lady Alerie. She'll have my head. Say I got caught up." She said, Amber's words simple but easy, a lie to keep and Jamie looked confused.
"She can't know."

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

Ellion could only nod, looking to the King, a distinct nod, as he knew where he'd be going. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he knew where his place lay. He'd head to the Stepstones, as the note had provided. Some others would go to the Red Mountains, but the note specified The Stepstones, and he felt roguish enough to take it on. It would be a feast of fire, a bath of blood, dragons, ships and pirates. But he liked that. Not a military campaign. A chance to be trusted by the King, and that confirming acknowledgement, to act as Master at Arms in the Red Keep, was a humbling gesture. Not exactly tying, and Ellion was happy with that. He could live with that, or something else.
"I'll go to the Steptones, if you permiss me to, my liege." Ellion added, drawing his sword and holding it by the hilt, walking to a step in front of Jon, kneeling.
"I could use a little adventure. My father has told me that the armies of the Reach are already receiving their orders, and will meet that of the Dornish and Realm's forces in Hellgate Hall. I wish to undertake a different task. I will be available as a sword at your hand for the Stepstones. For whatever is required, for the greater good of the Realm." He said, his voice bold, but readied.
"I could use a few good men in this room, and a couple of Greenhands. Enough cowering in the dark from the monsters of the salt....I wish to find what their darkness is." Ellion said across to the room, looking across at Merebelle, a certain look to see if she would follow, as would anyone else.

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





The early morning noise of cawing and creaking could be heard in the Rookery, and the Maester had already attended to the new post. The night's flight of the ravens, and it had been swift. The fastest that he'd seen it, and Maester Olyvar only knew that meant one particular thing. Marching orders, or death. He prayed to the Seven it wasn't the latter. The sun shone through the high tower, the green fields in the distance illuminated, the rolling hills and distant mountains visible from here, the cawing echoing.

He was right, at least, he was half right on the topic of what had happened to a good number of men in King's Landing, and attached was Willas's letter. From the seal of the Lord Paramount himself, the wax that of the House that Maester Olyvar served loyally and humble. He stumbled out of the Rookery, and already headed down the stairs, already finding the Steward of Hightower, Willas's son, Merlin Tyrell. The man was already in his garb, and looked like he'd been woken up by his children, who had come to visit.

The look of fatigue on his face, Merlin was a particularly tall man, 6"4 after all, just as tall as his younger brother, Ellion, a remarkable trait among House Tyrell's well fed and strong bloodline. Perhaps it was all the wine, and the good upbringing that gave them the potential to be healthy and happy. He had the looks of Willas, though his hair was receeding, you could tell he could no longer sustain a long lock of hair, so had his hair trimmed back, leaving a thin layer atop his head, that would in coming years, turn to baldness, and no attempt was made to cover it up. A stocky fellow, he seemed to look larger than Ellion's slim yet well trimmed physique. Did Merlin fight? Not much, or at least, not as much. He was a father, a steward, and he was following his father, yet hadn't seen him in almost seven months now. He had his own life, and Merlin Tyrell was a fair, well-respectable man. You could crack your jokes, but at the end of the day, he was a sound fellow, he earned his respect and in his garb, seemed fitting of House Tyrell's legacy as it's heir in waiting.

"Lord Merlin, it's your father from King's Landing. He sends word of mobilisation." Merlin's face dropped, as he looked across, hands by his side, sighing.
"Fuck. I didn't want it to come to this. None of us in the Reach liking these words. But I know he has a point, it would only be a fragile peace for so long. Alright." Replying as he recieved the note, reading through, taking every word.

"It's a lot of men. At least 8,000 to a campaign in the Stepstones, with that being part of a coalition. And 16,000 to the Dornish Marches, to Nightsong and Blackhaven into the Red Mountains. That is a big ask. He wants us to send almost a third of our military forces to war. That decision of who goes he hasn't specified. But I imply he wants me to make that decision. I suppose the old man didn't want to use up too much quill. He knows that's my end from politics here." Merlin said, as Maester Olyvar looked at him, wondering what their next move would be. Merlin seemed wise to the situation, he was not deaf to the ear of the Reach and it's Lords, he listened to his Lords and knew that they would voice their opinions, strengths, and availability, vying for power. The Reach was a large place, it was difficult to govern, almost as much as The North. Many different peoples within the Reachman identity existed, from simple cider farmers to shipping traders to wise men, to warriors, and everything in between. A Kingdom of farmers, fighters, drunk people, clever people, and mercentile people. An industrious kingdom. A drunk Kingdom that smelled pretty. Merlin had to admit, the game of politics was not so easy sometimes, but when you had an understanding of power, and the fact that everyone respected where they were and what House Tyrell did for them, they served well.

"Send a raven back, and a few others. We have plans. Tell the Steward to find me Garlan, so I can meet. I need to speak with him, and let him know he is needed. Rally the banners of Oakheart, Goldengrove, Tarly, Caswell and Peake. The former two, I want deployed to the Stepstones on Redwyne ships to help carry any coalition that the Kingdoms have, alongside banners from smaller houses inland. The latter three, I want them to deploy to be Garlan's army, alongside Garlan's personal guard at Manderford. We need the rest here. That leaves us with a defense should we need it, and people in the fields happy." Merlin said, Olyvar nodding, as he knew he had a long day. He had his children to go see, caught in between their tutoring, and Garlan to meet later.

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

"Aarrrgh!" Garlan's blade rang off the armour plate, as the man was knocked backward over a little, Garlan giving him a hand up.
"Bollocks. Concentrate." He said, as the man took Garlan's hand, looking over.
"Again." Garlan added, as he went forward, charging far too quickly, Garlan slowly but decisively blocking the blade, before swinging it over, kicking him down. He slammed the blade right next to the man's head, burying it into the dirt, tutting.
"This is an exercise in fucking futility. You aren't fighting an opponent fair. I woke you up at the crack of bloody dawn so you understand that better." He added, as the man spat.
"And isn't that all we're taught?"
"You can't be an honourable Knight if you're dead. Everyone fights dirty. Even Reachmen. Look." Garlan added, as he adjusted his blade.

"You have to think of it better. You have a weapon in your hand, but you are a weapon too. When you're in plate, you're carrying momentum, and the more you get bashed, the more you'll tire. But you're like a battering ram. You'll knock, and jostle someone, and that gives you seconds to do what you do. That is, you aim for points, not for sweeps. Again." Garlan added, his son, Martyn, responding well. He was a late learner, but he wanted to do a morning spar, and get his son a little more disciplined. He was a good lad, following in his footsteps, but he worried sometimes he was a little too shy, a little too meek. This was a good way of keeping his martial mind focussed, and Garlan knew it would do him well.

Jostling forward, Martyn swept, as Garlan clanged, Martyn now charging in and shoving hard, Garlan being knocked back, but on his feet.
"Better. Don't risk too much. But don't be afraid to be stuck in." Garlan added, as they started again, sparring and sparring, swords clanging, and Garlan despite his age, was holding well in a fight. He could hold Martyn back, the youthful energy going, but not as good as Ellion, and that Garlan did want that in some way of his own son. Minus the carelessness, of course.
"Good, good. You're doing well. Not fucking bad. I'd imagine you have other matters to attend to in the castle. Speaking of..." Garlan added, Martyn quiet and only listening to his dad, not really having much to say, as the Tyrell brother to the Lord Paramount saw the guard come.

"It's Merlin, he's calling a meeting. There's information from your brother, there's a call to arms."
"By the fucking Seven. Well, Martyn, I'll make a soldier out of you yet."

(Fuck, that was a long time coming. It wraps up some story, and gives me a foothold in the events to come. I don't feel well, and am very tired- this week coming is far more dead and able for me to post in.)

King's Chambers

It took quite awhile for Lord Frey to accept the word's that had escaped King Jon's mouth. The two remaining Frey's cheered there Lord excitedly as with a few words Jon doubled his army and holdings. Steffon was happily debating just how easy it would be to destroy his cousins armies in the woods when a messenger informed him it was time to head to the King's chamber. Mable was beside herself with joy. Steffon had helped her become a knight! While not a lady of leisure it was a definite step in the right direction. The two fellow Frey Knight beamed at her clapping her roughly on the back. Jenn smiled gently the position would give an assassin room to move through the ranks of her enemies unseen. Aemon was still her charge to protect and this would make her presence less notable by his side. It would serve her master at the very least.

The three quickly followed the messenger listening carefully to Jon's speech. Steffon was thrilled at the idea of marching on the step stones, but understood that his forces were not naval. It would be better therefore for Steffon to rally the men he could spare to march into the Red Mountains. Mable and Jenn nodded already knowing there mission was to aid Aemon in the Stepstones campaign.

Steffon spoke quickly "King Jon, I can rally a spare one thousand men to march with me into the Red Mountains and still leave the Frey, Pinkmaiden, and Mudd lands well guarded." Steffon bowed quickly hurrying to meet with Gendry to report what aid he could offer and draw up plans.

Jenn and Mable stood calmly. Jenn announced "If your Lady Stark will allow it I know that fifty of our finest archers can be spared for a naval campaign without leaving our people vulnerable to bandits." Mable and Jenn much like there lord hurried off to meet with Arya to continue protecting Prince Aemon.

@MrDidact

@kingkonrad

"Of course I do, the scars simply add to the appearance," giggled Merebelle, as she fixed up his cuts and wounds. Humming in enjoyment when he kissed her cheeks, and then made that cheeky joke that almost made her want to slap him - just a little bit. Luckily he managed to defuse the situation - namely by giving her a sweet kiss, one she eagerly returned. She wasn't about to let Ellion get away this easily - knowing her, she planned to play for keeps.

---

When Ellion called out for people to follow him to the Stepstones, Merebelle was the first to step forward and offer her blade and hand for the cause. "I shall join you. These monsters lacked the honor, to attack when we were awake and strong. Instead they attacked like cowards at night, without warning or declaration."

"They also ruined our festivities and that requires reclamation," she added - phrasing it in a way, that indicated the many celebrations that were happening around King' Landing and were made to be continued today. To Ellion in particular - it was a simple statement of they had ruined their private fun - now she wanted payback for them having done such a thing.

Plus Merebelle was eager to remain by his side - war and fighting, brought many brothers together - but it also made one long for the comfort of a woman and she was certain, if they spent this time together that it might take their newfound relationship further.

Arak ran like a madman, putting as much distance as possible between him and the monster, but the length began to drag on him. How many miles has it been? One? One and a half? The Red Keep seemed much larger than it had minutes before, but it was still too far away. Occasionally, more men-creatures would rise out of the sea, forcing him to swerve to avoid them. Once, the tide seemed to rush in on him, and a slimy claw latched onto his boot. Panicking, Arak grabbed his buckler by its edge and brought it down upon it, letting free a resounding crack. The claw didn't bother him afterwards, and he picked up the full sprint he was maintaining.

Eventually, the city came into view. Various monsters beyond description clamored up and over the city walls, so much so that it seemed as if the stone was a living, wriggling mass. The gate was left open, barred only by a contingent of soldiers brandishing long spears.

"Let us in! Let us in!" Arak shouted, waving with his shield. There was a bit of confusion among the guards, but they recognized Lord Bran in time and parted to let the two of them in. Still, there was no respite within the city. Fire raged through the poor sectors, jumping from house to house and turning the thatching into a brilliant shade of red. The occasional monster would poke its head out from back alleys, only to be tackled by an armored warrior. Then, a loud cry of "Give 'em hells!" came from behind the pair, and Arak turned and saw to his dread a band of gruesome looking raiders, each armed with a wicked blade. Arak froze, and prepared for death. He had not the strength to fend off even one undisciplined brute. They charged in a horde, but out of nowhere a small troop of guards emerged from a side street and formed a wall against the attackers.

"Take me to the castle, so that we may both get a little rest," commanded Bran from his chair. Arak, however, let go of the handles and grabbed his buckler. "What are you doing?" called Bran. "Get back here!" Ignoring him, Arak approached one of the guards and tapped his shoulder.

"Could you let me in here?" he asked, gasping for air but not relenting. The guard shrugged, and stepped away from his compatriot, allowing for a hole that Arak would occupy. He stepped into the ranks and wielded his shield like a mace, bringing it down on heads, shoulders, and ribs. The pirates soon saw their folly and broke, running down the road and dispersing in the alleys. Arak stumbled where he stood and collapsed on the ground. He could do nothing but breathe.

A Victory is won, the Band of Seven, Aftermath

Victory had been hard won, with dead and wounded from the valiant defenders of the Red Keep and King’s Landing now needing to be taken care of, be it in funeral rights, or through medical care, the vile foe was vanquished, but not without a blood price being paid by many. The following day brought a sigh of relief and relative peace for both those high and low within the rankings of the city and realm. Ser Aerion massaged the muscles in his right leg, working the stiffness from his tired and sore body. He took a moment to lean against a wall, enjoying the warmth of the early morning sun upon his face and exposed skin before having to make his way to the stuffy interior of the Throne Room for the Red Keep. The King and Queen had summoned a substantial number of people to be in attendance for the King’s response to the raid purportedly perpetrated by the Pirate King and his secessionist forces in the Stepstones.

Ser Aerion walked with a slight limp, or perhaps it was a bit of stiffness from his own wounds healing and being taken care of. While the Septon had done wonders to patch and stitch up Aerion’s wounds, it would still take a few weeks for everything to be back to normal. Little cuts and scrapes were one thing, but slashes and arrow holes take time, though for some odd reason, they felt as though they had been helped along by some unknown force or higher power. No use it putting too much thought into the matter though, best to let some things be at face value, and go about your day, Ser Aerion thought to himself. Spotting his comrades in arms, Aerion made his way across the crowded Throne Room to stand with the Band of Seven, nodding to them as they all traded pleasantries, save Ser Lorimer, who was sound asleep from Milk of the Poppy. Aerion had learned he lost his leg to some foul creature, and that Lady Lyvia and Lady Cerenna had to cauterize the wound to staunch the loss of blood. A shame, but better to be alive and have a wooden leg, then to be dead and with both legs.

The cavernous room was alight with chatter, people talking in their groups and cliques, some debating this and that. Talk ranged from revenge, sorrow, mourning, anger, surprise, and the like, emotions running raw and hot from the still very fresh attack. Ser Aerion made note of important individuals about the room, High Lords, Lord Paramounts, even the Royal Family, before focusing back onto a conversation between Lady Cerenna and Lady Lyvia. “They say they might be able to save his leg… but I doubt such things are possible. Only fools believe that they can sew a leg back onto a cauterized stump and expect it to be just fine and dandy. No, Lorimer will have to become a clerk or ruler from a desk now, rather than a soldier on the field of battle.” There was a pause, before the conversation continued, “But, I am glad he is alive, either way. Lorimer is strong, and he will come to terms with his new lot in life. Lord Tyrell… Willas I think, his leg is lame, and he rules the Reach… maybe not in physical prowess, but a sharp mind and patient man can rule anything.”

Ser Aerion was going to chime in, when the King’s herald began to bang his staff upon the ground, signaling for all in attendance to hold their tongues and be ready for their liege to speak. Surprisingly, it took the burly herald a dozen times of slamming the butt of the staff upon the stone floor to gain order within the room. He nodded to himself, before bowing his head and looking to the King. King Jon Targaryen, still encased is his armor, dried blood and all, rose from his throne, looking out over the crowd of people before him, perhaps gauging the room, and his audience and subjects, before speaking.

“After intense consultation with my council, we have come to several conclusions and courses of action. I will proceed in informing you all of my plans quickly. But first, I must congratulate you all on your conduct during this battle. We were attacked in the dead of night, unaware of the danger approaching. We could have all been killed, victims of inaction and panic. But we rallied together, kept our wits, and stood valiantly against our enemies as we once did in the Long Night. There has never been a more chivalrous, courageous, and honorable collection of knights, lords, and ladies and I am proud to have fought beside you in battle once more. Tonight, we were united and this unity saved the kingdom. Before I reveal what must be done next, I shall bestow the throne's honors upon the collection of heroes gathered here today.”

Ser Aerion and his compatriots listened intently to the king, musing to themselves within their own minds on who might be recognized and deemed heroic for their actions. Aerion watched as the King’s Herald unfurled a long scroll, the document every bit as expensive and magnificent as a four-course meal at one of the upscale inns within the city. No doubt the Iron Throne and the Small council took their time to create this list, some folks deserving, others for political gains and checks. But such pageantry was needed for the greater good Ser Aerion guessed. Aerion watched several young lordlings and heirs earn their spurs, while more seasoned knights were inducted into the Green Hand or the Winged Knights in recognition for their bravery. Many soldiers received promotions, while hedge knights were accepted as sworn swords to the greater households.

What transpired next was a bit interesting to say the least. Queen Daenerys Targaryen herself, the Stormborn and Breaker of Chains bestowed the next set of honors’ herself, to the perhaps more noteworthy individuals. First to be recognized was the pompous tosh Ser Ellion Tyrell, and after the ribald jokes that Lady Amber had related to Aerion, he thought even less of the man. He was inducted into a Reach knightly order, Knights of the Green Hand, while also being offered the position of Master-at-Arms for the Red Keep. While all the lickspittle Reachmen cheered their shiny penny, Aerion thought otherwise. ‘Too young, too cocky, too arrogant. Sure, raw and natural talent, but all this will do is go to his head and make him more of a tosh and cocky.’ Aerion rolled his eyes and continued listening.

Next to be recognized were the Greyjoy bastards, Lady Taria and Reaver Balon, each the respective bastard of a full-blooded Greyjoy. Good for them, Ser Aerion thought, they probably did some serious fighting to get upgraded to full familiar recognition. Both had the look of good solid fighters, trained through hard combat and rigorous training, rather than the comfort of a castle training yard. Next was Ser Mychel Arryn, heir to the Vale. He was being drafted into the Knights Herald, which after the Queen’s explanation, sounded like a lesser royal guard detailed to diplomatic endeavors, under the review of the Lord Hand, who happened to be Lord Tyrion Lannister. Made sense, the young man seemed to be a bit more studious rather than a tavern brawler, perhaps it would serve the realm well. Following Ser Mychel, come another few Valeman, a Ser Harrold Hardyng and a Ser Artys Grafton. The former was given a ceremonial title of Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, a sort of garrison commander probably, whilst the latter was given the rank of Knight-Lieutenant within the Winged Knights.

After the noteworthy combatants from the Iron Islands and the Vale had received their honors, the Throne turned its praise unto the Riverlands and Westerlands. First was Lady Merebelle Gray, though she was more a fighter than a lady, much like Lady Lyvia. Perhaps a bit odd referring to her as Ser, but it was not Aerion’s place to question. She was bequeathed the title of Sworn Sword and Bard of the Iron Throne. What was more interesting was how the Crown promised to build a school for Bards and their like, along with the Gray family being recognized during its dedication ceremony. Next were the Freys, with Lady Mable and Lady Jenn. Both were being given their spurs for their meritorious service, along with the promise of being always welcomed at court. Furthermore, Lord Steffon was given the privilege or rather benefit of marrying Lady Jonquil Mudd, increasing their power since their fall from grace a few decades ago. From the Freys came the sons of House Lannister and House Clegane, Tom and Petyr. Both young lads were knighted for their actions, bringing their own rounds of cheering.

Aerion watched as an interesting individual was honored. Seran of Lys, a fellow sellsword, though one who had gone missing a while back after some sort of dispute, rumors said. He was offered a position at court, along with promise of food and aid. A smaller reward than some, but perhaps a bit of a carrot on a stick to get more from Seran before greater rewards came. ‘Good for him’, Aerion thought, before his reverie was broken by the mention of his own name. Queen Daenerys spoke loud and clear through the room, the command in her tone carrying from wall to wall. "Ser Aerion Goldfyre, it has come to my attention that yours is the blood of the dragon. We are kin. And you have proven yourself a loyal friend of the realm. For your service, I name you a Knight of the newly formed Order of the Dragon. This order will be made up of knights with Valyrian blood in their veins and will be one of the realm's principal defenses against its enemies. The entire Band of Seven will be forever known as friends of the realm and will always be welcomed in my hall. Lady Cerenna, my Maesters are working tirelessly using revolutionary healing arts to give your brother back the use of his leg. They will work day and night until he can once again stand. Tell him that his sacrifice has earned a great reward. House Lannister will relinquish its temporary garrison and House Lefford will once again be known as Lords of the Golden Tooth."

Ser Aerion was astounded. He had done little more than what any good knight would do in such a dire situation. Far be it from him to look a gift horse in the mouth, he smiled polite fully, and bowed deeply before the throne, owing his status and future hopes to their good graces. Lady Cerenna was ecstatic, her and her brother’s home would finally be theirs again. While such a token reward came at the expense of her brother’s leg, even if there was a chance to reattach it, she knew it was slim at best. She smiled, pride beaming on her face. She knelt farther than any of the others before her, tears now coming from her eyes. Calling out while she could, “Thank you your majesty… this is the greatest honor and kindness that any could ever bestow upon House Lefford. A thousand thanks my Queen.” Both Aerion and Cerenna rose up at the same time, both thankful for their accolades, but their time was past, and the focus was to others once more.

Next came the blood far closer to the throne of the Seven Kingdoms. Robb Baratheon was promoted to King’s Justice, while Lady Visenya Storm was given her spurs and inducted into the Order of the Dragon. Fair honors for such skilled combatants. Next, were the princes of House Targaryen. Aemon, Viserys, and Rhaegar were all inducted into the Order of the Dragon, with Aemon being presented as its Lord Commander. The Queen spoke of their skill in battle, along with them earning the right and respect to be true princes of the Realm. Last, came the final rewards and accolades of men and women of lesser renown and houses, rounding out the joyous nature of the event, dovetailing into the real reason for everyone being summoned forth.

King Jon addressed all those in attendance of matters grave to the security and stability of their great Kingdom. He spoke of the Pirate King in the Stepstones, the Vulture King who controlled Hellgate Hall and its surrounding regions, the rebellious Mountain Clans within the Vale, and a few other lesser evils that plagued the realm. But paramount was the defeat and reconquest of the Stepstones and its rebellious King. Aerion listened intently, seeing where it would be best for him to lend his aid and skill, as no doubt seasoned veterans and the like would be needed for the upcoming campaigns. Plus, the chance for greater rewards, or rather, the chance to see his friends hopes and dreams fulfilled was alluring. Lady Lyvia wished to regain her ancestral home, while Ser Uther, Ser Oswell, and Ser Harwin all hope to gain homes for their families once more as well. They all came first, before anything else. Once they had been helped, then, and only then, perhaps Ser Aerion could seek his own fortunes. Aerion looked around to see the audience had been dismissed, save himself and others of import, who were being summoned to a private audience with the King and Queen.

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The King and Queen, a private Audience arrayed
As Ser Aerion was making his way through the throngs of people exiting the Throne Room, he was stopped by a familiar face, or rather, faces. Aerion smiled at Seran and Lysara, bowing his head in greeting to them as they called out to him in thanks. “Ser Aerion, it is good to see you, and you have my most sincere congratulations. I only wished I had noticed you sooner. My felicitation to you as well, Sers.” Seran spoke in a friendly tone. Ser Aerion found Seran to be a good man, quiet, dutiful, and very protective as his family. If the rumors were true, a shame what happened to his brother. Next to Seran stood a smaller figure, feminine beneath her modest and conservative clothing. Lady Lysara, if Aerion’s memory was correct, though it had been several months, or was it years, that Seran had dropped off the face of the world.

A giggle, followed by a sultry sounding, yet playful voice came forth to make Ser Aerion laugh softly at Lady Lysara’s banter. Apparently, Seran was unlucky enough to eat some undercooked or spoiled food, which led to him being somewhat less able bodied to participate in the city’s defense. She was certainly as witty and beautiful as Aerion remembered, and laughter escaped his lips as the look between Seran and Lysara was exchanged. They certainly hadn’t changed, which was good. Her remarks about Lady Amber certainly seemed genuine, and Ser Aerion spoke up in return. “Thank you Lady Lysara, I truly appreciate your condolences. Death is never a good thing for anyone. I hope that she pulls through it all, so that my conscious can have a sigh of relief. But enough of such darker matters. Thank you for your congratulations, but far be it from me to ignore your own achievements. You have certainly earned recognition from the Throne, and all the better for you both. I hope and pray more shall follow, and perhaps, if fate deems it, a home for you two to build anew for your family.” Aerion smiled once more, bowing his head to both fellow sellswords.

Soon enough though, royal servants were beckoning Ser Aerion and his compatriots to the meeting chambers. Aerion sighed, nodding, and looked at Seran, “See you inside I guess. Take care, and watch your back. Lysara, always a pleasure to speak with you, and perhaps if time permits, you and your brother could join my friends and I for lunch, less your duties keep you from it of course. Seven guide you.” Aerion bowed, before turning to follow the servant, leaving Seran and Lysara to their own machinations.

Aerion passed through the guards without hassle, placing himself towards the center of the gathered people. Lady Cerenna and Lady Lyvia were closest to him, quietly chatting to themselves, while his other friends, they stood near the front of the room, wanting to try and distinguish themselves in the hopes to completing their goals, and regaining their familiar lands. At long last, the King and Queen spoke, explaining the reason why the select few had been summoned forth into this more private meeting. Aerion and the Band of Seven took their seats, quietly and politely listening to all that had to be said and relayed. The King broke the reason down into three parts, three different campaigns, all with their own unique conflict and dangers. The Stepstones, the Vulture King, and the Mountain Clans.

All those in attendance were given a singular choice out of three possible options. March with Lord Tyrion Lannister, with Ser Mychel Arryn and Ser Artys Grafton, to the Vale. Once there, it would be your sole mission to either bring the Mountain Clans to fealty, or fully wipe them out, once and for all. The Crown would no longer tolerate these lingering First Men remnants within its borders, and it was either bend the knee, or be destroyed. The second option was to march with Ser Gendry, in his campaign to defeat the rebellious Vulture King. On the borders between Dorne and the Reach, lay Hellgate Hall, a massive fortress, and its surrounding lands, that had risen up in full armed rebellion, proclaiming their own king, and kingdom. Such could not be allowed, less it give leeway to the unrest of old, the time of the Five Kings and their wars that ravaged the land. Last, was the campaign of the Stepstones reconquest. Under the watchful eye of Lady Arya Stark, those who followed her would once and for all defeat the Pirate King and his rebel lords, and wipe out all resistance within the Stepstones.

All three were viable options, though to be honest, Ser Aerion held reservations about fighting in the Stepstones once more. The place was a nightmare, through and through, but he had the experience, which would be of help to his commanding officer. He sighed, thinking of the best course of action, while he let the others speak their turns first, patiently waiting to address the King and Queen for what troubled his own mind. He watched as Lady Lysara addressed the King and Queen, smiling at her courage and daring move, bowing his head towards Seran and Lysara respectively. Aerion watched others addressing their concerns and oaths of fealty before the King and Queen, finding it all to be surreal. As the others would make their way from the room, heading off to find their new commanding officers, Ser Aerion arose, and slowly approached the table where King Jon and Queen Daenerys sat at. He bowed deeply before them, before rising up and speaking with the two what weighed upon his mind.

“Your Graces, King and Queen, I want to thank you for the honor you have showed me, but I feel it necessary to speak up in the fact that I was only doing what any knight of the realm would have done. I am honored to have been able to faithfully carry out my duty before the Crown, and would like to continue to do so. Your Graces, if I may be permitted, would it be possible to arrange a meeting with the both of you, and your daughter, Princess Daenyra, to explain a few things, and ask a few things… if that is acceptable with you. Also, I thank you for returning the ancestral lands to my friend’s Ser Lorimer and Lady Cerenna. They are good people, and will never dare to let you down. You have shown them a great honor and compassion that will not soon be forgotten. Though, I humbly ask, that if the other members of the Band of Seven come back from their respective campaigns, they are rewarded before myself, as they are more deserving than me for their hopes and dreams to be fulfilled. I swore an oath to protect and defend the innocent of the realm, and I promise to never break that oath for as long as I serve the Iron Throne, your Graces. King Jon, Queen Daenerys, if anything is within my power, I will do so to see it completed to bring honor not only to my own name, but to that of your own names and stations. I represent you both in the field, as all your subjects do, and I can only hope that I do not bring dishonor unto you both.” Ser Aerion paused, smiling, and offering another bow, before speaking upon one last thing.

“I hope that a private meeting can be arranged, so that I may better explain my hopes and intentions to you, without the hustle and bustle of preparations interrupting us. I will go where you command, thank you, your Graces.” Ser Aerion bowed, awaiting a response if any, before making his way to the back of the room to converse with his compatriots.

Ellion only nodded, looking across at Merebelle, nodding. She was right in saying what she said, and well, he didn't really know what to expect of it all. She was willing to follow him. Most women would have given in or probably not even bothered, because Ellion had left them. He was famous in the Reach after all, the culture worked differently compared to other Kingdoms, perhaps. Not like Dorne, but bastards weren't as marred as elsewhere, or at least, to a lesser extent. Ellion probably had a couple unacknowledged already, but it wasn't like the mothers would hunt him...not after the fact that they could acknowledge a night with someone like Ellion. He was a Tyrell, after all, and the rulers of the land were fair and pretty, Ellion being already a little of a legend in his own right. The looks of a young Leo Longthorn, they said.

And yet she was a warrior, not just some maiden. Ellion didn't entirely understand how it would work, but she was following him. He knew he did stupid things, brave, bold, and daring things, and held a bastion of chivalry while he did it, all in the while having a little fun and pleasure. And she wanted to follow into that. And he was ensnared. He didn't get it. He almost didn't want to, as he nodded to her, taking a stance, waiting on the others, and waiting for what King Jon would say next.

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

Alerie had left for her chamber, next-door to Willas's room in the tower the Master of Coin inhabited, and whilst it smelled of roses, it was nothing like home. Alerie knew that well enough. She sat in the room, with her handmaiden close, her other one, that was. A girl of 12 years, Megga, a lowborn of some House that had a minor plot of land somewhere in the Highgarden. She was pretty, and more of a lady-in-waiting, though Alerie knew she wouldn't have much, she was kind and sweet. And yet Amber was missing, and it worried Alerie sick. Though something hadn't seemed right in the last few days. The way she spoke about King's Landing. She didn't really want to understand it, and felt it was a little wrong. The Tyrell lady sat with Megga, as the handmaiden adjusted her hair, ruffled from waking up. She would choose to stay the night up, she had decided, sunrise was coming soon.
"Good heavens. I told Amber to stay in the Keep. She's gone and gallivanted off somewhere. Don't suppose you know?" Alerie added, sighing, as Megga, the girl having brown hair and a very short stature, gently went through her master's hair.
"I don't know where she went, m'lady. Perhaps House Redwyne needed her?" Megga innocently suggested, as Alerie tutted.

"She doesn't serve them now. She serves me. That's the way it works, isn't it? And in return, I happily give you a life that allows you to meet, maybe even speak with suitors and Knights of the realm, who wouldn't ordinarily be of their status. Very powerful men indeed." Alerie replied, cold in her response, as she looked back at Megga.

"You know...something. What you just said gives it away. You're a lovely girl. But you just can't hold secrets even to help your friends, can you...." Alerie said, the ice cracking, and it had been a long time coming. For the last few hours, the tension felt elastic, and Alerie had been ticking, ticking, ticking. Till now. Alerie was good at this. Even on her own handmaidens, it kept her sharp. She noted for Megga to sit, as she stood, walking across the room, in her dress.

"But.....I suppose handmaidens will be handmaidens, won't they? The ones that serve the daughter of a Lord Paramount. A potential suitor to an heir of one of the Seven Kingdoms. I'd think a marvellous opportunity. Not to be wasted." Alerie took a seat on a stood away from the bed, as she gently threaded her hand into a jar, with numerous flowers sticking out. She pulled one out, the thorny rose against her hands, the stem barely affecting her hold. She was a Greenhand, as was Ellion. A particular trait, it was like the flora and fauna decided to sit well with them, and the red rose that Alerie held seemed to have little effect on the way she clutched it tight, as she gently dipped her other hand against the petals, before looking back at Megga.

"So, I suppose, my little petal...I'd like to hear why that isn't the case with Amber. Tell me, where could I find your best friend, beyond all those terrible sea monsters that tried to kill us? I imagine you know more than you would like to admit." Alerie was cunning. There was no doubting it. This wasn't just her proving a point. This was finding out what little Megga could do. It was testing her. Alerie, like the rose she held, was able to wrap her vines and thoughts into poor Megga's head, and well, this was a lovely chance for her indeed to see what a little girl would do.

"I don't know.....she wanted to go out of the Keep, that's all I know, she wanted to chase someone!" Megga looked like she was about to sob, she was saddened, as Alerie didn't let up, leaning in.

"And who did she want to go see?" Alerie stared straight into her eyes, Alerie went from a kind, gentle Lady to a vine that felt like it put spikes into anyone's throat and head, a thick and thorny presence that only demanded an answer.
"I don't know, Lady Alerie, I'm begging you!" With it, Megga cried, as Alerie shook her head. Well, she had already inferred the whole story. She didn't care for her handmaidens hugely, but she knew their politics already.

"Alright. Go back to your room, and get some sleep. I imagine I have a few little things to do on my own. Your best friend seems like they got themselves in very deep trouble." Alerie replied. Megga was not remarkable, but she was good enough a liar, good enough to show the truth when she had to, and good enough to know when to leave details. Of course, Alerie could have guessed it was Aerion, the Valyrian was without much attention, and Amber hadn't been herself, with an occasional stare, and Alerie was feminine enough to know exactly what was happening, when any other person would have brushed it off. Well, not until what she disclosed.

She knew Aerion was a hedge knight of some sort, and Amber wasn't always reliable...a little distant. A good handmaiden, but even with so little information, she already threaded it together. Of course, she had her own motives for Aerion, and by good chance, this completely and utterly remarkable turn of events felt to Alerie like she could see into a benefit for her own ends. From what her father offered, very kindly indeed, and from what Alerie would need, it worked well. A little intrigue, and it would give her reason to join dots. For Aerion, she didn't actually know, nor for Amber or Megga how it would end. But Alerie knew that as the Freys had their own conniving ways, she had hers. You didn't use people. You made them act like they felt like it was for their own benefit. And you didn't work in shadows.

Alerie Tyrell was a kind, lovely daughter of a Lord Paramount. But a good listener, observer, and most of all, she didn't need to overexpose herself to work towards what she wanted, be some Lysene plotter, she just had to pressure a couple of the right people in the right time, and that was to get what she was working towards, whilst keeping her family in high, if not higher regard. Everything was in the open, there were no whispers to be had. Only a few little pulls of vine here and there.

The final moments of the terrifying battle were but a whirlwind of scents, sounds, sensations and colors to the wounded and exhausted Mychel. As his wrist bled profusely, he kept on fighting alongside his fellow Valemen with blind determination, the faint memory of where he was, and where his foes where, guiding him where his eyes could not. Time itself seemed to distort as the slaughter reached its end. He did not give chase when the creatures from the sea fled back to whence they came, and instead he remained with his father's knights, shouting their victory to the winds simply because he felt it necessary. At that moment, even the smell of the battle, the spilled blood both human and monstruous, became almost imperceptible to him. He felt the hands of the Winged Knights as they all but dragged him into the Throne Room, led by a Corbray knight whose named escaped him. He understood the words, remembered that his pain was because he had been hurt, and followed without a word.

Healers rushed to the heir of the Vale as he sat amongst his fellow lords, eager to be the ones to save the young Arryn's hand from infection or amputation. Even in his lingering haze, Mychel knew that the fate of his hand would be revealed in time. Even the finest maesters could fail, and seemingly healed wounds could suddenly betray the person and take more than a mere hand. A panic seized Mychel while one of the healers prodded the deep cut, showing that the clawed monster's attack had reached deep into his flesh, yet he refused the milk of the poppy when a maester offered it. His judgement had been clouded long enough since the battle's end, and he desperately wanted, needed, some clarity.

His father's look wavered between paternal concern and paternal anger. He feared for his son's health, but resented his decision to fight. He muttered something or other to reflect those blatant thoughts, but Mychel paid them no heed. As the fog in his mind dissipated, his attention turned to his surroundings, his curiosity now a comfort from the pain and fear over his hand's undetermined fate. The casualties from the battle appeared minimal, at least among the nobility there present.

When the king spoke to the gathered lords and ladies, Mychel's thoughts were as clear as the blue sky above the Eyrie, his wrist safely wrapped in fresh, pristine cloth, the skin and flesh beneath itching from the poultice the healers had applied to it. He briefly pondered each and every announcement that the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms made, looking at the recipients of new honors, adding faces to the memory of their names and titles. So focused was he on that endeavor, that the announcement made concerning himself almost passed him by. As he heard it, he was unable to restrain a small gasp.

A Knight Herald, a man of peace, or war if needed be, in the service of Lord Tyrion...

A possibility he had not considered entirely plausible before, an opportunity the likes of which he had craved for years, now was a tangible reality. No longer would he be merely an heir, spending years doing nothing but wait for his father's passing.

Mychel bowed enthusiastically to the King and Queen, and spared not a glance for his lord father. Whether his father consented to it or not was immaterial, as far as he was concerned. Defiance and manipulation had gotten him this far, and would carry him even further if needed be.

The Knights of the Vale cheered their future Lord Paramount, and he joined them in their joyous display, happily congratulating the valiant Ser Artys and nodding in Ser Harrold's general direction.

If ambition had been a bright spark in Mychel's spirit before, now it was dragonfire, drunken on the power and prestige of his new position, fueled by the knowledge that he would be serving under a man he actually admired, one of the most formidable minds in the Seven Kingdoms. The things he would be able to achieve as a Knight Herald, outside of the Eyrie's halls and gardens, seemed limitless, and he was eager to begin this new era at once.

Thus he immediately answered the summons to the Tower of the Hand, offering but a perfunctory farewell to his father and Ser Harrold. As it turned out, persuasion was unnecessary. Both men could be foolish, but they knew better than to refuse the Iron Throne. He departed the Throne Room in a new daze, this one born from excitement and expectation.

---

The Tower of the Hand was not as ostentatious as other constructions in the Red Keep, but then again it was not luxurious decorations what made it an awe-inspiring place. Because, contrary to the great halls and royal chambers, filled with spoils of war and art and finery, the Tower of the Hand was filled with wisdom. Scrolls and tomes covered almost every surface, creating one of the largest collections of information the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, surpassed only by the Citadel in Oldtown. He saw on one table stacks upon stacks of letters and parchment which contained the truth of the Iron Throne's finances, a subject in which even Lord Paramounts were often extremely uninformed. On another table, a tome on Lysene history awaited alongside a thoroughly embellished telling of the War of the Ninepenny Kings.

More important to Mychel, however, was the man who inhabited the tower. Lord Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King, received Artys and him with a smile, one to which Mychel responded in kind with a bow. He listened intently as the man spoke, his mind immediately beginning its usual labor, remembering past history and details, strategizing, until the newly named Knight Herald forged a fully formed idea that traveled to the tip of his tongue as soon as it was finished.

"I say, my lord, that this is one endeavor I shall be glad to take part in. Many lords of the Vale disagree, but the only viable solution to the problem of the mountain clans is peace. The continued aggression of the Knights of the Vale only fuels the clansmen's bloodlust." Mychel spoke with certainty and clarity, his smile diminished but still lingering. Thoughtlessly he touched the wound on his wrist through the bandage, perhaps reassuring himself that it had not been that grave an injury, that his hand would survive.

"I would, however, refrain from approaching the Mountain King himself. I have not met him, but from what I have heard, he is nigh impossible to persuade, specially when it comes to the crown he thinks himself entitled to. His bannermen, the lower chiefs, are the ones who we should appeal to. They follow him largely because they feel unsafe in solitude, easy targets for our overzealous knights. Remove that fear, offer them security, and they may, at the very least, waver in their resolve. And without their loyalty, the Mountain King's strength vanishes almost in its entirety. The men he personally commands are but a fraction of all his forces."

He grinned and bowed his head.

"In short... Yes, my lord, I will go with you as part of the royal delegation and help make peace with the mountain clans, if you will have me."

The King's Chambers

Jon arched an eyebrow at Lysara and it was Daenerys who spoke, "My, you are a pretty one. And it is clear that the blood of Valyria flows in both of your veins. If what I have heard is true, your mother was of the venerable House Rogare. Hmm, I believe a use can be found for you. Just as your brother has a place in court, so shall you. If you consent, I will gladly take you on as a handmaiden to my daughter Baella. And as for you Seran, you have something of a reputation in Essos. It seems to me that you will be most valuable in the Stepstone campaign. You both may also prove useful when we must treat with the Triarchy." Daenerys scrutinized both of them with her violet eyes and seemed to be satisfied with what she saw. She gestured to Taria, "Your Lord Father has been a faithful friend, and you have proven your troth on the battlefield today. I would be honored if you accompanied my son on his mission. As a Greyjoy, your nautical know-how will surely come in useful."

Jon turned his attention to Ellion and Merebelle and favored them with a nod, "The ship will only be able to carry a limited number of passengers. The vessel will be light and fast, as speed and stealth are of the utmost importance. Assemble a handful of fellow Reachman warriors, stalwart men that you can trust to be both effective and discreet. Choose wisely. You will arrive in the islands well before the main invasion and the company will have no support until then." He turned to Jenn and Mable, "The same goes for you. Pick a small group of men who will serve best, as we cannot fit so many on the vessel. And as for you Steffon, it is your prerogative to lead your men into battle but you must take pains to ensure that whomever you leave in command at the Twins is competent and reliable should your cousin attack once more."

Daenerys continued, "These monsters were clearly in league with the rebels. Part of your objective will be to ascertain their true origin and the nature of their alliance with these upstarts. It is also clear that magic had a strong hand in this attack. As such, I have arranged for an expert to accompany you on the mission. They will meet with you at the docks."

Jon smiled at Ser Aerion, "From the moment you set foot in the city, you have shown yourself to be a true knight. I have complete faith in your ability to act chivalrously and honorably. As for your comrades, the return of their ancestral lands was the least we could have done. If all goes well in our campaigns, the other members of your band will have a home again as well. And you yourself will be honored appropriately. I grant your request. As soon as this meeting is concluded, you will remain and I will call on my daughter to attend us so that we may discuss whatever it is you wish to discuss."

Daenerys hid a smile as Arak came barging in, "Please do not be so shaken. You have nothing to fear. It is simply our wish for you to accompany our son and our nephew on a sensitive mission."

After several more moments of discourse, Jon nodded to all, "I thank you all for your valor and loyalty. It is comforting to know that the realm has such true friends in these troubled times. The ship will be ready to depart within the week. Take this time to say your farewells, prepare your equipment, and enjoy what relaxation or entertainment you can procure before it departs. Ser Aerion you may stay. The rest of you will have the freedom of the castle to do as you please. Our own wedding festivities are being cut short but there will be no shortage of wine, food, and company for the duration and the city will keep celebrating despite these troubles. Please enjoy yourselves. For soon, the war begins."

Jon dismissed them all and waited for Ser Aerion to speak his peace.

Tower of the Hand

Tyrion smiled at Mychel, "It is increasingly evident that you were wasted cloistered away in the Eyrie, Ser. You have the makings of a magnificent Lord within you. It is true that the Mountain King will be nigh impossible to placate, but the effort must be made all the same, if only so I can get a measure of the man. But your suggestion to court the lower clans has weight. We will be going to these clans to learn as much as we can and to make deals if we can. If we cannot persuade them to set aside their blades, it will still be useful to gain intelligence and sow the seeds of rebellion among them. Luckily we both have experience in dealing with their kind. I understand you've already gained the loyalty of a few clans, perhaps a few of them can accompany our delegation. You know the Vale, tell me, are there any other lords who may be useful as delegates or knights who will be useful if negotiations are not so smooth?"

They discussed the mission at length for quite some time, making arrangements and plans before finally Tyrion dismissed the two of them and Mychel and Artys were free to prepare themselves for the journey ahead.

The Red Keep

The clean-up efforts in the castle continued as bodies were dragged away, either to burials in the case of those loyal to the crown or to pyres for the rebels and beasts. A large triage tent had been erected in the courtyard, and the wounded were being ministered to by a small army of healers of all stripe. Despite the somber duties, the mood of the castle was strangely energetic. It had been twenty-five years since the realm had been at war. Many of the young lords and knights saw the coming battles as opportunities for high honor and glory. It was no matter that some men-at-arms had died in the attack. The nobility had covered itself in glory and many were hungry for more while others thirsted for justice or vengeance. The wedding festivities may have been officially over but the guests preparing for war had set up their own impromptu festivities. Many still feasted in the Great Hall or danced in the ballroom to the tune of musicians while others viciously trained at arms in preparation for the hostilities. Still others took the time to be with their families for they knew they would soon part. It was a chance for the warriors of Westeros to settle affairs and grab a last measure of enjoyment or relaxation before the battles began. Meanwhile the schemers and plotters of King's Landing planted the seeds of their great schemes as they always did.

(A collab with @MrDidact we were sitting on for a while.)

Eventually, Arak picked himself off of the floor and slowly made his way back to the Red Keep, leaning heavily on whatever walls he could find. When that wasn't possible, he had to resign himself to crawling. There, however, was no opportunity to rest, as the moment he entered the castle walls a servant rushed up to him.

"Arak Snow?" he asked, flipping through a few documents.

"Yes, this is he," Arak wheezed. Talking was expending far more energy than it used to.

"This way, please," the servant said, quickly striding away and motioning for him to follow. Silently, Arak groaned. He was immensely sore all over, and the end of the hall appeared so far away. Steeling himself, he pressed a hand on the walls and followed. The servant led him to an ornate door, perhaps leading to an office of sorts. "I was told to send you here, so I'm afraid this is where I leave you," he said, and disappeared as quickly as he appeared. Arak nodded, and slumped on the handle, pushing the door open and collapsing on the floor. There he lay for a few seconds, before he looked up and realized that every eye in the room was on him . . . including those belonging to the King of Westeros. He jumped to his knees, trying to ignore his muscles screaming in agony.

"Your Grace! Forgive this slight of mine, it was my own weakness that forced this humble citizen to conduct myself with such rudeness in your enlightened presence! Please, I beg of you, show mercy on this lowly armsman of yours!" he babbled, trying to hide his fatigue.

Jon smiled indulgently at Arak and motioned for a servant to bring him a chair, "Please do not stand on such formality Arak. You've served my brother well, you have nothing to fear. Please sit." The servants helped the guardsman into a seat and even brought him a chalice of mulled wine.

Daenerys proceeded, "We've just informed these others that we will have use for them in the wars to come. We have many enemies to deal with, the Pirate King among them. We're sending an expeditionary force to put the Stepstone rebels to paid once and for all. If you accept, you will be among a special detachment sent ahead of the main force. My sister-in-law will inform you of the details further, but I understand that your half-brother is among the company. My son Aemon will have the command and my niece Visenya will be his second."

Jon picked up after his wife, "My brother tells me that you are one of his best. Do this service for us and I will see you well compensated. What do you say? Do you accept? Do you have any questions?"

"The best?" Arak echoed. "Surely not, Your Grace! You may have me confused with my brother-in-arms, Erin. He is a vigilant eye and an unmatched blade, surely he would make a fine addition to your task!" A few other thoughts passed through his head, but Arak had the sense not to burden the king with his pointless inquiries.

"Brandon recommended you to me himself, " Jon replied, "You're loyal. I can depend on you to help achieve this mission. You may certainly ask for volunteers from among the Northmen. And one of my brother's sons will accompany the expedition, I believe I can count on you to shield my nephew in battle and make sure he comes home. Do you feel up to the task?"

"Erm . . ." Arak mumbled. He was conflicted now. To challenge the sound judgement of a superior, especially one so high up as a king, is without doubt treason, and disrespectful to say the least. Yet he didn't feel up to the grand mission the king was setting for him. After giving it some thought, honor won out in the end, as usual. Arak stood up from his chair and kneeled before the king. "If it pleases Your Grace, I shall join your Stepstones Company, and fight for its cause to my death."

Jon nodded in approval, "Rise, Arak. Rise a true and loyal friend of the realm. You will have five days before the expedition departs. I want you to gather a small group of men you trust that you feel will be useful for this mission. When you return, I shall make sure your chivalry and service are rewarded greatly. Do you have any further questions?"

"No, Your Grace. By your leave, I shall prepare for this mission," Arak said, rising from the ground. With Jon's nod, Arak turned and left. The moment he was out of sight, he collapsed on the floor and began cursing himself. The queen knew he was a Bolton . . . and had just blabbed it to everyone present.

Quiet as ever, Taria made sure to take note of those who were coming on the Stepstones mission, or quest as she favoured to call it in her mind. They seemed worthier than her, with names and armour and looks. She wondered how they were at sea? Granted she wasn't the best or even close to it, but she had found her sea legs years ago. Maybe once she was on an actual ship, she would find them again. At least, that's the hope that was building within her. Having the Greyjoy name was certainly proving to help her confidence, even if it had just been a little while.

Her eyes had returned to the King and Queen just in time to see Danaerys look her way. Despite herself, she felt warm at being acknowledged. A petty thing, perhaps, to those who were used to it, but not so for Taria. She had to form her words in her mind before speaking up, not wanting to stumble in her speech and look like an idiot in front of the Mother of Dragons.

"Your words do me more honour than I deserve," she replied, managing to keep her hands loose despite wanting to curl in nervousness. "I- I'm the one who is truly honoured, your Majesty. I hope to be useful when the time comes." She bowed her head, thankful that her hair managed to hide the flush she could feel growing on her cheeks. She hoped she hadn't sounded silly, and for goodness' sake, she really hoped she addressed the Mother of Dragons as she was supposed to.

Taria lifted her head and once more followed the conversation that wasn't necessarily directed to her but to the mission she would be embarking on, including looking over the fellow who had barged in. Well, it seemed he would be joining their mission as well. She could understand that this would be a larger group that she had ever travelled with. Certainly an experience she wouldn't be forgetting soon.

Once they had been dismissed by the king, Taria decided it was high time to leave. However, even as she left the castle and headed in the direction of the inn she stayed at, she couldn't forget his final words. For soon, the war begins. She had been much too young when the previous War took place, though if she dug in the recesses of her memory, she could remember one thing, being very cold. This, however, was different. It wasn't as sizeable, perhaps, but she was to partake in this, for better or for worse.

Although they wouldn't be leaving right away, she decided it was never too late to see what equipment she had. Taria had always made do with little to nothing, not because she was ascetic or anything of the sort; it was just easier to move when all there was to carry could be put on one's person.

She gave a nod to the innkeeper as she made her way up the stairs to the room she had hired for the last few months. This particular inn was kind enough to give her free meals if she helped with various chores. The symbiotic relationship seemed to work so far, enough that they greeted and even made small talk on occasions. As she entered her room, Taria vaguely wondered if she would be missed here once she left. If the mission was a success and she returned, she very much doubted she would stay here, in King's Landing. Or even Westeros for that matter.

As she gathered all the money she had hidden securely in her room, she decided she may as well spend on buying a worthwhile sword and perhaps some sturdier clothes, perhaps some boiled leather armour. A small chuckle escaped her as she shook her head. "The idiot runaway is going to join a legion of warriors. Seven Hells, this is madness." And yet, that didn't stop her from leaving the inn in search of better equipment. If she was to die, she could make it a little difficult for the enemy, at least!