(OOC: The brackets << >> denote Valyrian, in this case lysene dialect.)
The ambience felt as heavy as the bones of the late Balerion. Lysara of Lys stood perfectly still, not making eye contact with the sovereign. She could hear the subtle shuffling of his brother's limbs, fists clenched in tension. But she needed to dare risk herself in this given opportunity. Through his brother, her words could reach one of the most influential women of the world and her king. Even if King Jon was a great individual, it was no doubt that it was she, the Mother of Dragons, the true head of the Seven Kingdoms.

What she heard made her felt reassured, and in the same span of time, dread. "Your Grace is well informed." She answered to Queen Daenerys answer. "Indeed, our mother was a Rogare." Even if I never met her myself. She continued mentally. What were the chances of the Queen knowing the rest of her...peculiar family story? Mayhaps even they could even feel the need to enact justice by blood.

But no, the rulers of Westeros had other plans. Plans she could abide by, and that rowed in her direction. She performed an elegant curtsy. "You are most generous, your Grace. I shall serve her to the best of my humble skill." Lysara added. After all, catering to the wishes of a princess was probably as close to the Targayens and the legends of dragons as she would ever be. Her eyes rested on Seran, who no doubt had been cast an unfavorable lot. Perhaps this was the manner to claim back their generosity.

But if there was doubt and concern in Seran's soul, he chose not to show it, simply nodding. "Stepstones shall it be then, your Grace." He added, by offering a curtsy. Other people, many people would join him in the campaign, and the prospect looked glum, but the silver thread that her sister had caught invigorated him. Even if the Queen had a fit of the proverbial Targayen madness and ordered him to march upon the Doom of Valyria, he would not have minded.

After all, the egg and Lysara were safe. Sort of.

Once they were dismissed, Seran walked half in a daze, with tired small steps. The tiredness of the fights, and the fast pace of events stunned him. It was only when a pair of hands grabbed his forearm, and tugged from him. Spinning almost without resistance, his face met that of his unmasked sister.

<<"That turned out alright.">> Lysara said, giggling slightly. <<"Step by step, we're doing our thing, aren't we?">>

Seran just offered a tired smile. <<"You're not going to the Stepstones. I have an inkling even Ser Aerion Goldfyre has doubts about the place.">> The Essosi replied as both of them went to the side of a hallway of the keep, to have a little chat.<<"Many of these Westerosi are thrilled about the glory of the fight, but I can see it being a huge mess.">>

It was then when the hand of the younger sister reached for her brother's face, caressing one of many scars. <<"Try to survive brother. Don't...chase after the glory. There will be more chances.">>. The younger of the Lyseni siblings frowned.<<"This will be the first time we will part. Will you be okay?">>.

<<"It will be fine. Despite that tool of Master-at-arms, we still have Aerion and his troop. He has fought there before aswell. But I could say the same about you.">> Seran added, voicing his concern. <<"I can see this is a place of hidden daggers">> Seran added, clasping his sister's hand in his own.

<<"We are from Lys, brother. This can't be worse than that.">> Lysara giggled, as she let go of his brother. <<"Now shoo, we've got many things to do. Get the things out of the inn. Even that stupid magpie of yours.">> Lysara added, as she hurried her brother, who then started to distance from her sister.

Lysara sighed, and rested in the hallway, thinking on how was the best manner to present herself to the princess. Leaning against a solid wall was nice. Due to her former mercenary trade, tents could rarely be used for such purposes.

Jenn and Mable made the preparations necessary taking the elite of Tavion's men while Steffon sent his youngest cousin a long letter. Jenn slept soundly that night while Mable poured over maps of the area wanting to learn something of where they were headed. While Mable was happy to be a knight for now it wouldn't hold her back from her true goal. Mable could almost feel the silk sheets of a noble's bed.

Steffon rode out to rally his soliders that night riding hard to the rivers to rally men. Steffon took half of his troops while still leaving Tavion enough to defend his territory. Tavion arrived around midnight sweating and tired having been requested to return immdeiatly. Tavion was astonished to be given temporary rule of the twins as Steffon beamed at him. The young Tavion had just that morning been scouting in the deep woods. Steffon smiled warmly at his cousin "just try to keep things orderly and if I perish be sure to check over my papers. It would do you well to see what my plans were." Steffon hugged his young cousin before riding out to Pinkmaiden still dressed in his armor from the battle sending a small elite group to join Mable. The people of Pinkmaiden woke to see a Frey host, but the lord had already sent word of what was happening. A brief exchange later STeffon's forces were ready to wait to join the army headed for the red mountains.

"Understood." Ellion replied, as he nodded, knowing he would have to assemble a host of Reachmen, and it would be a difficult landing. Anything could go wrong, but they could fight their way through it. He looked across to Taria Snow, the brave Greyjoy another pretty girl, and one that he knew had gone against the wind in that fight too. She seemed underarmed, and armoured, and he knew a person like that, if she was better equipped, could be a mean fighter, from the reports he'd personally received. Listening to what was left to be said, eventually, Ellion knew they would leave their room, and have time to prepare for dawn.

He seemed confident, brushing his hair a little, looking to Merebelle, as they left the room, taking her hand, wearing his plate and still a little uncomfortable under it, though he felt a little better now than he had before.
"I suppose we need armaments. Your plate is lovely, though I would suggest that if you wish to visit the armouries that the Reach have brought on display, they can offer you the finest plate. It's the best in the Seven Kingdoms. I wonder...if they'd be able to make you something as pretty as mine. I mean, for you, I might just have to bribe them!" Ellion giggled, kissing her on the forehead, knowing she was in a bit of a sweetspot for him right now, though even inside, he did feel this was strange.

This didn't normally happen. By now, he'd have probably gone back to matters more important, not this. It was strange. Perhaps not lust, but a little love. No, that couldn't be right. Even so, he knew he'd chase other women, somehow even Merebelle didn't entirely beat that to him. There were some women he'd laid with that were amazing. There were men he'd laid with that were amazing. And he hadn't even seen Lys or Myr yet....Seven Hells, that would be something.

Heading out of the hall, Ellion led Merebelle back to the Reachman camp, and knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep. He wasn't going back to the festivities. He had a war to prepare for, and already, had headed in to round up a few men. The best of the Knights of the Green Hand, not the old men of it's order, but the fighters, from high and lowborn alike, and he'd gathered about fifteen or so, men he could trust, each wearing a suit of armour a little different to one another. From here, Ellion had let Merebelle head to the armoury, and make any alterations she needed, or obtain any weapons she required, while he was already good to go. His travelling pack was readied, he needed little, he was used to a lack of comfort when it demanded it, and he'd already gotten a wash before seeing the King. A sword, rather than a polearm, as well as a heater shield wrapped around his back, his sword at his hilt and his face shaved a little made Ellion readied and waiting. The men were arming, and slowly but surely, Ellion knew his contingent would be readied. They were nervous, but prepared to fight, and Ellion knew they looked up to their young commander to get the job done, milling around the Reachman tent and speaking with soldiers, Knights and Duncan. He wasn't going to need sleep now, not while he was getting shit done.

-----------

Neither did Willas, and this was given the fact that the Tyrell banners were still there. He was still busy, and the Lame Lord was running on something beyond the wine he'd been drinking. Tyrells took a large quantity of wine to get drunk, Greenhands were a little strange, but it literally meant that they found the earth's sweetest nectar less impacting, and recently more strongly in Willas and his decendants, perhaps it had a different effect. Of all of the things you'd think the return of dragons would yield, stronger alcohol tolerance was not one that you would expect, but Willas was still a little groggy, albeit on the mend. He wasn't too sure how he was awake, but there was other matters to attend to. Tyrion would want him in the capital, and no doubt, he knew his friend had diplomacy to attend to in the Vale. That left him, and the few other Small Council members that weren't headed to war in King's Landing, and he knew the poltiics would intensify. He was a kind, and nice spirited man, but Willas Tyrell knew that even within his own family, making sure the Rose remained as standing as ever was priority.

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

The cawing of ravens left the tower at Highgarden, spread north, south, east, west. The war to come demanded fighters, and the Reach did not skimp on numbers. The North's distance put it at a disadvantage to provide soldiers. The Reach was close to both theatres of conflict, and men such as Lord Willas Tyrell understood that was respected. The Reach's armies were diverse, like a good flowerbed, but were not to be underestimated. They were not hardy men, but they had plate, they had training, and they were well fed. An army marched on it's stomach when it had to, and a campaign in the Stepstones or Dorne would not be underfunded. It was not a mere adventure. It was a well-oiled, carefully operated machine that had lines of logistics that would begin from the moment the Ravens arrived, and that would not underestimate either campaign. There came strength in numbers, for every man that would be felled, there would be another ten to surround their slayer...and the noise of a Kingdom came from the beating of distant birds.

Actually, to say William spotted a group of adventurers was a bit of an overstatement. In fact, at midday of the next day, he saw but one, a diminutive person striding down the street with purpose. True, those aspects do not immediately denote an adventurer, but the rattling plate coupled with the weapons strapped to his belt gave away his intents. "Oi! Whelp!" William shouted. "I don't think the Royal Army is so desperate they're willing to hire boys yet!"

Arak excitedly rushed down the street in a giddy daze. To be personally recognized by His Grace for his valor on the field and sent on a personal mission sanctioned by the crown! He nearly ran towards the local messenger's office, armor jingling merrily, letter in hand detailing the mission and asking that his commanding officer forgive his absence at drilling sessions for the next few months. While he walked through the city docks, however, he heard a voice that seemed to be speaking to him. He turned, and saw a man of his age standing near the water. A knight, judging by the breastplate he wore and the sword he possessed. The strange knight had the audacity then to insult him! This challenge of honor cannot be ignored. Still, Arak made an effort to behave civilly, as is befitting two warriors of similar rank, and to back out of a physical conflict.

"A lovely day, ser. Truly, who is it you speak of?" Arak asked the knight.

"Who else?" answered William. "Do you see any other jumped-up pages stumbling about?"

"Surely you do not refer to me," said Arak, immediately regretting his rudeness. He wanted to apologize, but stuck to his honor, and stood firm. This did little to intimidate the far taller man in front of him.

"Gods, how clearly do I have to make myself? Should I repeat it a few more times? Should I speak slower?" William shouted, emphasizing every syllable in a mocking tone.

"You dishonor me with deed, speech, and thought!" exclaimed Arak, drawing a sword. "I challenge you to a duel for honor!"

"So it shall be," said William. "Longswords at dawn, if that'll please your filthy honor." With that, the two parted. William watched the stranger leave, letting his rage boil over. So what if he died? House Bolton has no successors, and by some cruel irony, the last vestige of Bolton power in Ethering will revert back to the Starks, or royal command. If they think they could just screw around with him, giving him false hopes as some sort of evil little joke, then he doesn't need to stay around to be their court fool. He drew his sword and brought it down on a little crab, scuttling around the dock. It split the shell open with a sickening crack, and embedded itself in the wood, causing splinters to fly everywhere, including sticking in his boot. Great, even the earth itself is out to get him.

Five Days Later

The time had come. War was upon Westeros. The days that followed would be filled with blood and fire, sweat and tears. Heroes would rise and fall with the sword. Honor, duty, courage, and sacrifice would be just as common as greed, murder, lust, and deception. And all the while the great families would play their game of thrones as thousands died and hidden enemies grew in the shadows, waiting for their opportunity. The events that follow would make history, for both good and ill.

The entire royal court of the Iron Throne and all of the visiting nobility had gathered in the royal shipyards at the mouth of Blackwater Bay. The Red Keep stood watching the proceedings, standing sentinel as thousands of souls set off for glory and death, as dragons flew overhead. Lord Tyrion Lannister, the Hand of the King, Warden of the West, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands, and Lord of Casterly Rock embarked on his ship, an elegant and slender vessel called the Clever Lion. The Lannister Lion and the Arryn Moon and Falcon flew proudly on its sails as the Lord of the Rock and his retinue cast off. With him were Mychel Arryn, the Black Falcon; heir to the Vale and the first of the Knights Herald. Whatever Valemen Mychel had recommended for the expedition would join them. As always, Tyrion's friend Lord Bronn of the Blackwater was at Tyrion's side. Another companion was Ser Artys Grafton, Knight-Lieutenant of the Order of Winged Knights and his squad of Winged Knight brothers. An additional companion was Brandon Baelish. The boy had been a bastard of the late Littlefinger, born under Sansa's care, and he had been named and legitimized at her urging. As such the boy had grown cunning and loyal to the throne, and proved to be a valuable asset. He had turned his father's modest holdings into a stout keep and his silver tongue would be a boon in the deliberations. With Baelish was Dontos Brune, son of Lothor and Mya, and a gang of hedge knights.

The Lannisters were also playing host to the departing Vale nobles, Lord Paramount Robin Arryn and Lord Harrold Hardyng chief among them. The Valemen had arrived by land, but the Lannisters had graciously offered to transport the nobles to Gulltown in order to facilitate the quick marshaling of the Vale's military forces. Also included in Tyrion's retinue was a cadre of elite Lannister knights and sworn swords under the command of Ser Lancelot of Lannisport. The Lion's Pride as they were known would help shield Tyrion and Mychel in their journey. Sansa Stark and her children bade goodbye to the Hand and the Clever Lion set off for Gulltown, from where the Iron Throne delegation would journey into the Mountains of the Moon to treat with the Mountain Clans and deal with them, once and for all.

Several other ships were being prepared for another destination. Ser Gendry Baratheon the Bull, the Hammer of the South, Lord Marshall of the Iron Throne, embarked on King Robert's Hammer captained by Ser Devan Seaworth, along with a cadre of storm lords and knights, the lightning lord among them. The black bull on a yellow field flew high. The large and imposing Ser Gendry, almost seven feet tall, stepped onto the ship with the dashing red-haired Dondarrion lord right on his heels. Brienne of Tarth accompanied Gendry, along with Ser Ronald Storm and Ser Andrew Estermont. Lord Rolland Caron in his nightingale armor followed along with Lord Donnel Swann in his black and white plate. A contingent of Baratheon men-at-arms with antlered helms completed the company as the storm lords set off for Wyl, where they would make landfall before riding to Blackhaven to meet the armies. Several other storm lords boarded their own ships and followed the Hammer.

The storm lords were not alone. The Lords of the Reach and the Lords of Dorne were part of the armada. Lord Edric Dayne, Ser Oberyn Martell, and the Sand Snakes set off on their own vessel in the company of other Dornish commanders while the chivalry of the Reach sent some of its best and brightest along with them. Lords and knights hand-picked by Willas Tyrell would assist Ser Garlan in commanding the roses of the Reach. The Alchemists Guild had servants load spitfires into ships flying a green flame banner and the Wisdoms of the Order set off alongside the lords. And following the armada, Ser Aegon Taragaryen mounted the white Viserion and followed on dragonwing, keeping a leisurely pace with the ships below. Perhaps a few hundred souls were heading for Dorne and war, but as they sailed, more than twenty thousands swords and spears from three kingdoms were mobilizing.

The large bulk of the departing were headed for the Stepstones. Thousands of Mother's Legionnaires boarded their ships alongside Night Riders, men on horseback and men-at-arms with shield and spear marching side-by-side. Targaryen and Velaryon men-at-arms followed onto ships that flew the dragon and seahorse banner. Lord Monterys Velaryon and his uncle Aurane departed on their own ship, while Lord Davos, the Grand Admiral, commanded the fleet. King Jon's kinsman, Aegon's eldest son Daemon, had the command of the Targaryen forces. He rode atop his own blood-red dragon, Cairax, and flew alongside his sister Valanna, atop her sea-green Tiberian. Goldheart and Snowfyre flew alongside their cousins, but their riders were absent. The dragons were disciplined and clever enough to follow their kin into battle without explicit command. Both of them would bathe the rebels with dragon fire as necessary and the destruction they wrought would provide a distraction for the covert force. Hundreds of Targaryen and Velaryon ships, along with several sellsail fleets set off along with the ships bound for the Vale and for Dorne.

The small fleet headed for Gulltown would soon peel off and the flotilla bound for Dorne would breakaway once the main invasion fleet reached the Stepstones, but for the moment, hundreds of ships swam across the Blackwater Bay with dozens of standards flying, and five dragons flew overhead. It was a scene that awed all who could watch and demonstrated the awesome combined power of the Iron Throne and its vassals.

The covert task force led by Prince Aemon sped far ahead of the main force on a smaller, sleeker, more unassuming vessel without any adornment or decoration. Aemon's own flagship was part of the departing fleet and its crew carried orders to begin mobilizing the Dragonstone armada. Aemon left the shipyard with a heavy heart, thinking back on his tender departure with his wife. They had been married less than a week, and already he was off to war. Julianna had not wanted him to go, but he had to. The Stepstoners had nearly stolen her away, and he could not forgive that. He wouldn't stop fighting until the threat had passed and his love was safe again. Parting with Julianna had been hard but Rhaenys had cried even harder than Julianna. She had tugged onto his leg and refused to let go until Aemon assured her he would return. Mother had tears in her eyes as well, and father had looked on in solemn pride. Aemon had never gone to war before, and he was afraid. But he vowed he would end the threat of the Pirate King and return victorious. For his family.

Viserys for his part was much less reluctant to leave and had even been happy. He had insistent on accompanying Aemon, and Aemon had relented. Rhaegar had followed as well and Visenya had insisted on going. Along with the dragon princes were Lord Commander Podrick, Ser Malrik Towers, Ser Petyr Hill, Ser Robb Baratheon, Eddard Stark, Jaime Tarth, Tyrion Tanner, and many other sworn swords, friends, and comrades. Aemon's bloodrider Rakharo, sworn to him since his birth, followed without question along with the Legionnaire known as the Black Bat. Mother had also insisted that Larraq the Lash and the Red Lamb be part of the task force. Tyrion had even gotten Ser Jaime Lannister to accompany the task force. Tom had wanted to be part of the group as well, but he had been forced to stay at court and learn to rule under Sansa's tutelage while Jaime and Tyrion were gone.

Ser Ellion Tyrell of the Green Hand, Master-at-arms of the Red Keep, Ser Aerion Goldfyre of the Order of the Dragon, Seran of Lys, Arak Snow, Lord William Bolton, Ser Mable Frey and Ser Jenn Rivers, Ser Merebelle Gray, and Taria Greyjoy along with their own retinues rounded out the rest of the occupants of the ship, along with a handful of Dragon's Teeth. The ship was crewed by an elite assortment of adventurers and fighters and Stannis Seaworth had command of the ship. The final member of their fellowship was a cloaked fellow who hide his face under a hood and mask and kept his own council, though he did not seem hostile to conversation. The journey would take a few weeks and there would be time for the members of the company to get to know each other before their mission started in earnest.

A fortnight hence

The Vale - Outside of Gulltown

At Gulltown, the travelling lords had already disembarked and enjoyed the hospitality of House Grafton for a night before setting off once more. The large company of lords knew it would be prudent to travel together, and Tyrion resolved to accompany Lord Robin to at least the Gate's of the Moon, Ser Harrold's new holding, before setting off in search of the mountain clans. The Knights of the Vale and the Lords of the West were historically uneasy in each other's presence and today was no exception, but they were cordial and the fighting men were more worried about keeping an eye out for raiders than for eyeing each other.

Tyrion sidled over in the saddle to Mychel, "Tell me all that you know of the Mountain Clans, who leads the clans, who hates who, all of the essentials. Additionally is there anywhere we can meet with those mountain men loyal to the Vale? They would be an enormous help in these talks."

Blackhaven

Gendry and the other lords arrived in Blackhaven. They had arrived only the night prior but after a hearty breakfast, they got right to business. The Storm Bull and his circle of companions, confidants, and commanders crowded around the war table, with a large map of the Red Mountains overlaid on it. Garlan Tyrell and his Reachman would have arrived along with the Dornish already and the delegation of lords and knights set to work, planning their march. Wisdom Lyman of the Alchemist's Guild was also present, though he stood in the back and merely observed while Aegon Targaryen overlooked the whole affair with a cool demeanor.

Gendry conferred with Garlan, who was one of his appointed sub-commanders. Gendry pointed at the map, "We have no firm idea on where Hellgate Hall even is. These mountains are inhospitable and the raiders have confused any attempts of discovering its location. All we know for certain is that the hold is somewhere between Blackmont and Kingsgrave in a No Man's Land, but that is a very large distance. Rumor sustains that the Hall isn't even on the mountains and is buried within the rock somewhere in this damnable mountain range. As such, narrowing the area of search and blockading that area is our highest priority. Garlan, have your rear echelons guard the mountains on the Highgarden side, so that the Vultures will not escape from our grasp into the Reach. Oberyn, send word to Manwoodys and Blackmonts to hold the Dornish line. My brother's levies will reinforce Blackhaven and hold this area. Our main armies will advance on three sides with the forward elements reconnoitering the area. We can expect at least moderate resistance along the way, so Dornish scouts will be essential in leading our men. Ser Aegon will fly overhead and provide overwatch for the scouts and screen them from attack. If any unit comes under attack, they are to have their Alchemist launch a flare into the sky so that Aegon can reinforce them quickly. Every company will also have at least one Greenblood Orphan in their presence. They are to be considered essential personnel. If the Hall is discovered before all the armies regroup, a raven is to be sent immediately to the other army groups and a force will blockade the castle until reinforcements arrive."

"The three army groups will tighten the noose and converge here." Gendry pointed to a high-topped peak which was in the middle of the mountain range, "The Spine, the locals call it. Deserted and lonely for years, but it has the high ground even in these mountains. We will make this area our forward base of operation. If the Vultures already control it, we must take it, and from there if we haven't already found the Hellgate Hall, we can continue the search. If we hold this position, it will greatly increase our chances of flushing this Vulture King out. I am expecting heavy resistance here, so we must be prepared. The heat is damnable here, as such we will have locals in the train to help carry water supplies but every soldier must have double water rations on his person at all times. I will not lose men to the heat." Gendry looked around the table, at Dickon Tarly, at Brienne Tarth, Garlan Tyrell and so many others, "Does anyone else have any input? Garlan?"

The Narrow Sea

The voyage had been proceeding mostly smoothly so far. There may have been some minor disagreements but on the whole, the company's journey was progressing swimmingly. The ship had no escort and was mostly lonely on the waters. News of war had quickly spread and they had espied merchant vessels and other civilian ships fleeing in the direction of Westeros, but they were the only ones for quite a distance headed to the island. The sea was calm and the warriors had time to be idle, dicing or playing cards, drinking, or practicing at arms on the deck of the ship while the seamen professionally guided the ship. A young acolyte named Hugh in service to the Maester of Dragonstone, accompanied the band and tended to the ship's complement of Ravens, enabling the comrades to share both mission updates and personal communications with the Red Keep.

If the weather stayed on their side, they would be upon the Stepstones in a few more days, and a day after that they would land on Bloodstone to start their mission. The impending violence and danger did not trouble most of the adventurers however and they saw it as a calm time to get to know each other better before they had to fight at each other's side. Viserys was leading many of the crew in a game of cards, drinking and gossiping as they traded away coin and gear. Viserys looked at the players and took in a large measure of rum before saying, "So comrades, what brought you on this journey? What motivated you to join this band of adventurers? Glory, honor, bloodlust? What drove you?"

All manner of merriment and entertainment was practiced on the ship and the adventurers would be wise to make the best of the calm before the storm.

King's Landing

The mood in the Red Keep was anticipatory. War had been declared, and the corps bound for the Red Mountains had just reached their destination. The Stepstone Armada would arrive within the week. Conflict would follow and the castle was abuzz with rumors, gossip, and predictions as the nobility deliberated on the war. The attack on the Red Keep had galvanized the aristocracy into unity and patriotism and for once the nobles of the country had seemed to set aside their petty rivalries and grudges, but who knew how long that would last before the scheming would begin once more in earnest.

King Jon and Queen Daenerys sat on their twin thrones, waiting for the petitioners to arrive before them. The wars had demanded the mobilization of an enormous amount of men and material, even in regions that were still free of any conflict and the lords and ladies of Westeros would soon come begging for favors and considerations. Add to that, the every day petty matters that the aristocrats and commoners both liked to indulge in and the regents were looking at a long day indeed. And yet, it was necessary to hear out their subjects. The game never stopped.

@kingkonrad@MrDidact


Merebelle was most ecstatic, once both her and Ellion left the celebrations together - she was slowly growing to like the man in question. He was young and brash, but well - she wasn't no spring maiden either. She had heard of his reputation amongst women, but well - that was a commonary thing amongst many highborn sons and lords. It was like asking why was the wine red.

But Merebelle had hope in the old saying: 'a good woman can set any man straight'. Her mother had managed that, and their family life had been one of happiness and joy, despite Miri remebering her mother' comment about dad' loose belt. She was too young to understand it then, but she now knew what it meant. Merebelle wanted to be the woman, by Ellion' side at that - and she was willing to fight for it, both politically and physically if need be. She wasn't going to let some pompous and rich daddy' girl take Ellion away - not if she could help it.

Merebelle' face lit up in joy, when he offered her the chance to get new armor sorted out for her. While the armor she wore was sentimental, it was also several decades old and was likely not suited for long-term warfare anymore. With a happy hug and soft kiss onto his lips - she skipped over to the armory and got outfitted for some new armor. The old quartermaster, knowing his work at that - since ten minutes later, she was outfitted in something that felt like it had been made for her. Complimented by a cape as well - namely in the color blue, in honor of her Riverlands home. Not bad for a musician' daughter.

"Love you..." she spoke, hugging Ellion - in her new armor.

---

Five days later, Merebelle Grey had joined the many other heroes on the ships that sailed for the Stepstones - outfitted, in some new Reach-made armor, that had the emblazoend seal of a Hawk. She rather liked her new armor and had her...well, courtier to thank for that. Merebelle soon walked over to Ellion, removing her gauntlet and having her hand intertwined with his own. "The sea has a beautiful view, huh?" she started, making small talks with Ellion for the trip. "We mostly have rivers where I am from - so even though you can sail there - you can't see the far horizon, like here. It has a certain...view, to it. Wouldn't you say?" she hummed, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"I didn't mention this but..." she spoke, leaning to his ear and whispering. "I brought a good amount of mmoon tea with me. So whenever you are feeling lonely, open to it...or just plain wanting it. I am ready to go...all the way to the Stepstones, if you wish for it."

She gave that last sentence with a wink at that. Still holding onto his hand with her own. "Do you think, we'll be victorious?" asked Merebelle. "I mean, we are going at them with everything we have...but. Well, it's seemed too...direct. Like they wanted us to attack them and know who did it. But...well, that is just my opinion. You got any plans, for what will you be doing this trip?" she asked, gripping his hand tightly - and giving a subtle suggestion, on what he could do.

Ser Aerion's Discussion with the Throne

Ser Aerion patiently waited until all others in attendance had been dismissed. He made his way over to an empty chair, hands clasped upon his lap. The King and Queen spoke to the remaining individuals, passing on their thoughts, wishes, orders, and thanks. King Jon had an eloquent way of ruling, and while Ser Aerion had only known the man, or rather sovereign ruler for but a few days, he certainly was every bit a king and ruler as the true Targaryen's of old. He did feel a bit nervous, and who wouldn't, due to the fact that war would soon be coming, and that once again, he'd have to embark to a far flung region to enforce the King's Peace and rule of law. Sighing, Aerion drove those thoughts from his head, as he watched the rest of the people in attendance take their leave. Soon enough, it'd be his turn to speak privately, and put his fate in the hands of those before him.

Ser Aerion turned his head around to see a royal page entering the room, the man bowing, before announcing that the Princess Daenyra would soon be arriving. He bowed once more, before taking his position along the wall of the room. Taking a deep breath, Ser Aerion rose up as the princess entered the chamber, taking the time to bow as she gracefully made her way to sit by her family. Odd, Aerion thought, as he moved to the center of the room, standing before the table which king and queen sat behind, that now he'd be nervous to speak with honorable individuals, yet be able to charge a monstrous creature he'd never seen before. 'Be brave, be honorable, and face this like any other challenge before', Ser Aerion thought, before clearing his throat to begin speaking.

"Your Majesty's, King Jon, and Queen Daenerys, along with you, your Highness, Princess Daenyra, I want to first thank you for granting me this opportunity to speak with you all. I will be as brief as I can be, in order to not take up anymore of your time. I put my faith in your judgement and ruling, and will abide by it, regardless of the outcome. Whether or not you believe in the divine, or the mystical, Princess Daenyra has a gift, or perhaps an intuitive ability to perceive things that few may truly know. I wholeheartedly believe it it best that I speak to you about who I am, so to speak from the Dragon's mouth, so that nothing could be misconstrued." Aerion paused, looking over to the Princess, eyeing her inquisitively, before continuing.

"Your daughter, your Majesty's, may have told you, and may have not." Aerion sighs for but a moment, "I know this may seem fanciful, or perhaps unlikely, but I am the Great-Grandson of Prince Aerion Targaryen, the Brightflame. My family exists from his union between my Great-Grandmother, Lady Yna Ormollen of Lys. While I can not say if I am the result of a true marriage, or a heated passionate meeting, Prince Aerion Brightflame did lay with Lady Yna while he was in Lys. When he left, at least from what my mother told me, from her parents, and theirs, that Prince Aerion gave us a name after himself, before his departure from Lys. My family has lived across the Narrow Sea since their creation." Ser Aerion paused, holding his hand up, to allow himself to continue.

"I know the history of the past well enough to know that House Blackfyre created many problems for the throne when succession for who would be King arose. I know that many died, and that the Blackfyre's persisted well up until your own induction of Lord Aegon Blackfyre into the Targaryen household. My family too dealt with the Blackfyre's, back during the wars started by King Maelys Blackfyre. My family was almost extinguished from that man's cruelty and lust for power. It instilled a deep lesson within my Father, one that he ensured I learned even after his passing. A mad lust for power is the demise of even the greatest of houses, such lust and desire must be tempered and balanced through honor and integrity." He stopped, sighing, before continuing, "I am here to swear a solemn oath before you, that House Goldfyre... or rather myself, have no desires to have any claim to the throne, nor do I wish to see my House absorbed into your own House, your Majesty's. I am proud of who I am and the short history of my family. I would consider it a great honor to be allowed to continue on, as a Cadet House sworn to the throne as the throne see's fit, be it as the Tyrell's were before when they served House Gardner, or how the larger houses have a secondary house that rules from another location, or however you all see fit." Ser Aerion bowed his head forward, before finishing what he had intended to bring up.

"There is also one final matter, that I thought best to bring before you in private. I know not how my family truly attained this heirloom, but it has been with us since our creation on Lys, so many years ago. I have a Dragon egg, white and gold, said to be Prince Aerion's own egg. You, as the only rider's of Dragons, and my royal sovereigns, deserve to know, and to decide the fate of me, the last Goldfyre, and the egg within my possession. I place myself at your mercy, and pray that, even though distant, you see me as a loyal and faithful family member, rather than a threat." Ser Aerion finished, and awaited the Targaryen response.

Neither William nor Arak took part in the merriments below decks. Dawn rose, the sky slowly becoming pink as the first nervous rays of sun broke through the horizon. Arak awoke and quietly slipped out of his cabin, careful not to disturb the party, to meet his opponent on deck. Perhaps it would not be so bad if he died. The queen suggested that his half-brother was somewhere on this ship as well, and at least with death he would not have to meet the source of his shame face to face.

When he arrived, he found the strange knight already there, waiting for him and disinterestedly staring out at the sea. "Ho!" Arak shouted. "I have come to take up the duel!"

William could not sleep. He had little to fear from the duel, yet still, the threat of an unmaking wracked his conscious hours and prevented him from slipping into the unconscious with a vengeance. Instead, he had taken to spending hours on deck, watching the whitewater spill from the ship's hull, and on occasional lucky moments, a dolphin or three leaping from the water. "So you have, so you have," he said, pushing himself off the railing and staggering a few steps. "A pity it had to be delayed for so long. At the very least we're here now."

"I hesitate to slay a foe I am not acquainted with, good ser," called Arak. "Would you at least honor me by telling me of what you are called?"

William snorted. What sort of idiocy is this? What could he get away with? "I call my self the Lord Torrhen Stark of the Dreadfort. Though to be honest, I should have it renamed the Menfort, because I'm not going to fill it with supple, naked dread, am I?" he responded, choking back a giggle.

Arak was shocked, to say the least. To duel a Stark? This was beyond dishonor! Torrhen was known throughout the kingdom as a brash, honest, and large fellow of fourteen years. He had not expected him to appear as a man, yet here he was, about to fight to the death with his uncle's humble guardsman!

"I'm joking! Wipe that idiot expression off of your face before I pound it in," William snapped, and Arak nervously closed his mouth back up.

"Very well," said Arak, trying to retain as much of his dignity as possible. He reached for his belt and pulled his sword. "We shall make battle till first blood. May the Gods grant strength to the victor."

"First blood?" William said, drawing his own blade. "First blood is for pansies. We will fight to the death, or not at all. Now on guard, and don't bleed on my armor."

The two blades met with a crash.

Ser Aerion's proclamation did not seem to surprise the three royals in the slightest, with the King and Queen of Westeros trading enigmatic glances with their daughter. Daenyra spoke first, "Indeed, Ser Aerion, my royal mother and father are well aware of your lineage, as are the members of the Small Council. But we are the only ones who are aware of this truth besides yourself of course. I see it. Aegon the Conqueror's blood flows in your veins. A powerful ichor by any measure. And dangerous too. My uncle Aegon would have usurped the throne from my father had Lord Varys' treachery not come to light. House Blackfyre is no more, House Targaryen stands united. But as to House Goldfyre? I leave such decisions to my mother and father."

Jon favored Aerion with a smile, "It is clear to all that you are a friend of the realm and of our family. If you intended my House's downfall, you had many opportunities to ensure it already. Your loyalty, chivalry, and valour are all beyond question. I have no doubts as to your good intentions." Daenerys was somewhat more neutral, "Indeed, had that not been so, you would not have been inducted into the Order of the Dragon. But while your personal loyalty is assured, what can we say of those who will follow you? My kinsman Aegon is tied to us by blood, friendship, and soon marriage. House Velaryon is the same, in addition to being our vassal. We will maintain these blood ties so that the blood of the Dragon will never again spill itself. Our family's control of the dragons will ensure peace and stability in Westeros for generations to come. But you present a complication."

Jon nodded, "I'm sorry to say this, but it is true. Your oath is appreciated, have no fear for you are in no danger. But we can't quite let House Goldfyre run free. The safest course would be to absorb your family into ours." Daenerys concurred, "Indeed, dividing the family doesn't bode well in the long-term. It would be simplest if your house formally rejoined House Targaryen. But, if you intend to remain separate, we have a proposition for you. Send your man, Ser Tattershall to Dorne, we might have need of him in the campaign. The rest of your band may go with you to the Stepstones or follow Tattershall to Dorne as they wish. As for the new Lord Lefford, we've ensured the quick legitimization of his lady into House Lannister of Lannisport, and a small ceremony can commence within the week to cement the alliance. Our maesters gained quite a bit of knowledge from the infamous Qyburn's experiments into anatomy, so there is a chance we can give him the use of his leg back. Either way, he can remain at court to represent his House's affairs until he is well enough to travel to his new home. As for you, what happens next will depend on the outcome of this Stepstones mission."

Jon spoke up now, "If you help my sons and Visenya succeed in their mission, then we will reward your service once more. We are prepared to give you Daemon Blackfyre's old holding and title it to House Goldfyre in perpetuity. You will swear an oath of fealty to the throne and House Targaryen and your heirs will do the same for my son and so on through the generations. House Goldfyre can be what House Blackfyre could have been had they remained loyal. And as for your egg, we shall allow you to keep it. Should it hatch, the dragon will be yours to tame, and you shall be a dragonrider in our service. And we shall even give you the hand of one of our House's princesses in order to bind the Gold Dragon to the Red. We shall ensure that your descendants and ours will maintain these blood ties just as we are doing so with House Velaryon, the only other House we have allowed to possess dragons. The dragon has three heads, and House Goldfyre can be one of them. If you succeed and prove yourself once more."

Daenerys regarded Aerion, "If this offer is acceptable to you, you may leave now to prepare for your journey. If not, we will have to insist on the relinquishment of your dragon egg. We cannot allow an egg to roam wildly through the world. You will still have a place in court, in the order, and as our friend; but we cannot risk an independent rider. What say you, ser?"

@MrDidact

The last days of the past month had gone by like a blur for the youngest Targaryen son. Starting from Aemons wedding, Rhaegar had seemingly received a rain from gifts, from his victory at the melee to his knighting and then his father granting him the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister as a boon. But most importantly for him was the open display of pride from Jon, one that made him realize how much value he held for him as not only a Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, but as a son. And the very same night, it seemed like the gates of all the Seven Hells opened before them. The pirate lords that wished for the downfall of their family employed not men but scaled beasts, with scaled backs and filed teeth as well as warlocks manipulating dark magics. Stuff of tales and legends he gorged on as a kid yet didn't think he would ever live to see, and when they clashed against the Lords and knights of the realm, the little prince could only watch from the safety of the Red Keep as his King led the charge and men died for him. Even when he arrived to Aemons aid he was too late and by the next morn, when his father was sharing honors, he had half a mind to give it all back. How could he be worthy of a seat into the Order of the Dragon, or better yet the White Cloak he dreamed of when he couldn't fight besides his King or even defend his family with a miniscule of competence. Well now it was the time to prove himself...this mission would either prove his standing as a hero of his age or mark him as a coward and a failure, and Rhaegar would never consciously choose the later.

The silver lining to everything were all the new faces he had the chance to meet. Spending most of his time training in the yard, the Dumb Dragon was now the Bold one, and Champion of a Royal melee at that, which garnered him an immense amount of popularity that until recently was a stranger to. Still, one of the closest relations he was happy to forge was his friendship with the new Master-at-Arms, Ellion Bravethorn, who he knew as the son of their Master of Coin. It was impossible not to be fond of the affable Tyrell, since he and Merebelle introduced him to a sparring regime against three or four swordsmen, so that he was better prepared for an actual battle.

The Tyrell Knight and Lady Gray were an unlikely couple, but the way they smiled to each other gave a feeling of longing to the Dragon Prince. Considering his goals, he had accepted the possibility of not fathering any children, but the need for companionship wasn't something he could just discard...yet. Most curiously of all, he found himself drawn to one Lady Lysara, his sisters newest handmaiden. The Lyseni and her brother were already the cause of waves in their court and in the third day, Rhaegar finally found the courage to ask her for an afternoon stroll through the gardens. And when she accepted it was an immense surprise to him. If only his brother Jahaerys wasn't so scornful towards this budding friendship...

"Enjoy her company while you can Rhaegar, bed her if you will. After all, beds are abound in this city. But for pity's sake keep silent about it, less you make yourself a fool and the Lords get the wrong idea. They'll even be afraid to send their daughter to Court when they hear about Aegon the Unworthy reborn..."
Sometimes Rhaegar hated his brother. Always willing to impress those around him with his grasp of Valyrian verses and philosophical texts but his moral code was that of the alehouse. Why did he even had the right to reprimand him when he was lollygagging all day long with Ellions sister. The argument just burned from there, with Jahaeyrs avoiding the plate Rhaegar launched at him and Jon put an end to it with an iron-wrought command. It was uncharacteristic for two Princes shouldn't act like meddling children.

And now here he was, a sea away from home and pouring over a map of the Stepstones and Dark sister sheathed by his side. It was an impromptu War Council called by Aemon, and Rhaegar was more than willing to accept instead of being dragged into dicing or revelry by Viserys. They were also joined by Jaime Lannister and Ser Podrick Payne, both the past and current Lord Commanders of the Kingsguard.

"While Lord Aurane holds moderate control of the Islands, we should first pinpoint the dens were pirates are most in numbers in. It would help with finding the safest entry point for the task force. What do you say brother?" he asked the Crown Prince.

Blackhaven

Garlan Tyrell was a firm commander, that was much certain. After all, he was known for leading the Tyrell armies in the War of the Five Kings, and whilst he had been young then, he had been bold and driven by rage. "The Gallant", he was known, and he was certainly brave, Ellion reminded him a lot of himself, but he had began to lose hair and his brown locks had faded, not going grey as much as just starting to just vanish. He was not as furious as the nearly seven-foot tall Gendry Baratheon, but Garlan was still a very adept commander. After all, supporting the siege of King's Landing and sending tens of thousands of men to pillage and systematically hunt down Lannisters in the Westerlands, protecting his own kingdom in the process, made him a formidable commander. His approach of never using cunning, but rather, forcing his opponent to make mistakes and yield the ground they had, a blood and guts tactic, meant that his name did not go unspoken in times of war. Whilst Gendry, or Lord Tarly may have been a more impressive commander, Garlan had been at the helm of the Reach's armies, and his wrath wasn't entirely quenched when he heard the news about his family. Much had been lost, and he had reacted very, very differently to Willas.

Standing at the table, he looked on, listening to Gendry's plan, nodding.
"Understood. But I would be weary. High positions make our presence clear, especially The Spine. They'll know what we're doing. If you're fine with that Garlan. Once we make it up there, they will certainly know we are there. I suggest we move swiftly, we do not dawdle, nor walk into any traps if they have any prepared. These hills are a giant trap if they are used correctly." Garlan said, speaking from battlefield experience, and understanding that this was not an orthodox enemy.

"My men will hold the line towards Nightsong, and the Reach. We have a good pike contingent thanks to Lord Peake, so if they decide to run down, they'll find a prickly end." The Tyrell commander added, looking at the map.
"If they do spill out, they can go into the Prince's Pass. They cannot be allowed to head either way. They have to be crushed, and due to water supplies, we can't take prisoners. I hate to be the one saying it, Gendry. But chivalry and our honour can go so far for some of them, but I suggest for their mercy, we don't keep any. They're rebellious and nefarious to try something against us right now. If they were in the Vale, I'd think otherwise. But here, if our men are stretched on water and in this hellish heat, and they are challenging the very existence of about three Kingdoms. Including my brother's. This isn't a rebellion. This is someone trying to draw attention of the realm to see how we handle our relative peace." Garlan added, a sweeping statement, as he looked across the commanders assembled, before back at Gendry.

"We'll hold our own and press them in, heading through that Pass to wherever we expect to find Hellgate Hall. We'll contribute a significant proportion of men to the Spine, upon your orders, we can press advantage or hold the line. The Knights of the Reach are a tough flower. Difficult to prune."

After the meeting, he left to head back to his personal tent, expecting to meet Mirren Sand- a guard who knew Dorne and could be trusted, from what he had recieved in his letter from Lord Willas.

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

King's Landing

Alerie had met with Willas again, the father and daughter spending more time, in Willas's quarters, that which he had for the role he held as Master of Coin. She had spent the days waiting around, shadowing her father, and listening to gossip, as well as chasing up what had really happened with Amber. That was a small matter, given the scale of the other events in the capital, and Willas had felt it, as the head of a grand house, he had much to do.

"The King and Queen are taking petitioners right now. And here I am, doing his money, waiting for the moment King Jon comes in and tells me that there's something he has. I'm a kind man also..but kindness does not go well with savvy with finance." Willas mused, as Alerie looked on over, in a new dress, this time a brown and golden variety, her eyes still golden and her burgundy hair still tied aback.

"Sounds cynical, father. Where was the goodness that uncle Garlan used to tell me about?" Alerie questioned, as Willas raised his head, out of the ledger he was in.
"It's still there. Always for you, Alerie. And for Ellion, Alys, and Merlin too. I love you all to bits." Willas added, as Alerie chuckled.
"Always?"
"Always. I missed you the most. But it seems you are settling into life here well. Don't you want to go home? There's not enough flowers, or mildly mannered and nice people here...."

"Oh no, father. I've got plenty on my plate. I miss the flowers, but everything else...I can handle myself. I spoke with Jahaerys, after riding his dragon, I have to admit, he is a brave lad. Though not the easiest to talk to. Although..."
"It's Tom Lannister, isn't it?"
"Yes...he is lovely. A raring lion. I want to drop him a note. He has his eye on me, and I suppose I want to talk to him. And if I wanted to date a Targaryen...there are better out there."
"Careful, Alerie. You know what this game can be like. I told you about Margaery. These are some incredibly powerful men. I will look after you, I don't want to hear it that you did something stupid. You're golden hearted, my darling. My sweet rose, so clever, but you need to be careful.
"I've learned this game. I'll play the vines like I do. But alas." Alerie shrugged, as Willas got back to work, before stopping again, having something on his mind.

"Alerie, can I ask something?" Willas stopped writing with his quill, a little curious to find out what Alerie thought.
"Yes, anything at all, father?"
"What do you think Ellion will do? I mean...he's a Knight of the Green Hand. A formidable fighter, one of the best in the Realm, he could have carried on in that Tourney and unhorsed more, he has an impressive charisma."
"Honestly, dad?"
"Yes, Alerie. Tell me."
"He can't carry on like this. It'll get him killed. I saw the woman he was with. Merebelle Grey. A fine lass, but Ellion always, almost without fail, tires. In time, I feel he's trying his luck and pushing the wrong things. He's bedded so many women, seen so many things, trying to adventure so much. I remember when we had to stop him going to Lys, in the Free Companies. It'll be a woman, or poison that kills him, not a blade."
"You can't be sure."
"You know how he is. It's too known, even you, his father, wouldn't deny that. I certainly can't. He will have his fun. Then he'll be a commander, a second son, and while Merlin rules over the Kingdom, he stands by." Alerie added, as Willas nodded, coming back to the question.

"So what do you think we do in that case, Alerie?"
"Get him a position on the Kingsguard, father. I love him dearly. I do, I really would know it would kill him inside, he doesn't know what he wants. He'll have his gallivanting, I know he will. But the King himself will make sure he is held to attention to it. And he'll have order, respect, and someone to follow. Not to mention what it would do for our family. The Tyrell's finest Rose, the prettiest of our family, guarding the King and Queen. He would be rather dashing in Kingsguarder armour, too. I can see him in white." Alerie chuckled towards the end, as she looked to her dad again. He seemed receptive, but not accepting, just listening to it, as he replied.

"It won't be easy to do. Not from Ellion's point of view, not from anyone's."
"It's in our House's order to make it so. Like you say, you won't be here forever...and Ellion would do well in the Kingsguard, he would shine through to any King or Queen, he has the right charisma. We need to make sure we have a hand in the King and Queen's ear. We are the Stewards...now more so to the Seven Kingdoms, not the Gardeners."
"That's a difficult thing to do. I get on well with the King and Queen. But there's members of the Kingsguard who won't like the idea of a new Knight in the ranks."
"No, they won't. But I suppose we have time on our side if he did. I'm only suggesting this, is all. Perhaps Ellion will find his calling, bed someone he calls a wife, and ask for a patch of land." Alerie mused, as she thought about it herself. The handmaiden was a small fish to fry, a little thing she would chase up, yet this was a web she was far more keen to invoke.

"Though, that does seem to fit him less." Alerie added, chuckling at the thought. Sitting up, she let Willas get back to it, sitting there for a good twenty minutes more, before he finished up his day's ledgers. It was admin- admin for Seven, nearly Eight Kingdoms, Nine almost if you had the client trading with the Dragon's Bay cities, and he could barely do any of it himself, relying on a small army of bureaucrats and mercantile-inclined councillors, and he kept the books as best he could away from debt; though it was of course, unavoidable to keep a Kingdom running. The Targaryens used up more sheep and livestock with dragons, feasts such as these were on a far greater scale, and higher taxes combined to make a more difficult job for him. It was no surprise he was losing hair, because even with how much help he got, it took a lot to keep the wheels turning. He knew however, the last few years had been stable, controlled and gentle, and he had done a good job at it, being trustworthy, honourable and most of all, approachable. Alerie on the other hand...well, she already had something in mind.

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

@NecroKnight @Greenie

Somewhere in the Narrow Sea
The sea voyage was proving to be stern and steady, and whilst this wasn't the usual affair for Ser Ellion Tyrell, this was proving to be exactly the adventure he needed. He looked a little different, his hair had been grown out, his long light brown locks covered in salt water from his time on the deck, his golden brown eyes looking off into the distance. (To describe it properly, anachronistically it almost appeared to make him look like some kind of surfer). His armour was as pretty as always, though he used a dark green and golden cloak that wrapped from his neck through his plate to his back, woven through a few areas of the plate as to protect it's luster a little, and to keep him a little warm without blowing away. His sword was at his hilt, and his wounds seemed to have pretty much recovered, he seemed to have a few more scars than before, but his face and outward appearance, with the rest of the crew already settled down for the journey. Ellion had mustered his men, and knew his task to heart.

He knew his place would have really been on Greenhand, the Tyrell flagship that came of the form of a galleon, alongside Lord Redwyne, the ship as beautiful as the Kingdom it came from, though not lacking in ballistae, scorpions and other weaponry. Yet here he was, leaning against the edge, looking behind as he saw Merebelle come over. She was beautiful in that armour of hers, he had to admit. The Hawk's armour, and Ellion very much agreed upon the name, it brought out her hair and her eyes, and it had a Reachman design, rather than the starkness of the scales and clean plate of the Riverlands, it was a little more intricate and polished, whilst offering more protection.

She soon pulled herself up to the railing. Wrapping her fingers in his hand - going into a small talk about the sea itself. In addition to the fact, she had brought enough moon tea ingredients to keep herself free of any extras. While in the case allowing the two to have as much fun as they would like.

"So.... what you planning this trip?" she asked, winking at him. In a way giving him the idea of what he should do be doing - or the easier choice of what he would be able to do.

"Not much. I have a few things on my mind. It's just like you said. It's too much even still. I can turn heads but that would be better. To romp in on my own. There's too many heroes here." Ellion simply replied, wrapping his hands around hers, turning with a characteristic grin, smiling.
"I suppose the odds are different. I keep thinking to myself, where we are. There's no army on the horizion, just our swords. We'll make this work, or we die." Ellion's mood shifted almost like the clouds above, though he sighed, shrugging his shoulders.
"I suppose as romantic as I can be, the last thing I want is for either of us to die in one another's arms. That'd break my heart, my love. Like a rose's petals lost to the wind, life without you would be less beautiful." Ellion said, looking ahead on the ship, before back at Merebelle, his face changing again. He could really be a little poetic at times, and even his plate did have the lingering smell of flowers, it was still pleasant, though the smell of the sea was beginning to wrap even around him.

"I suppose we make a good team. I can hold myself in a melee, so can you. Comes from when I was young. My uncle, Garlan, made me train whenever I could, I spent so much time outside, and I always had a gift for it. Still learning a lot, but I've felled quite a few men. Almost went to the Free Cities as a mercenary, but my father talked me out of it. And yet...here I am getting my cheeks blushing from a Riverlander lady." Chuckling, Ellion kissed her, wrapping her close with his arm.

"Your plate truly is lovely. Brings you out so nicely, Merebelle. Your Riverlander heart is better around flowers."

"Well what about wrapped in flowers?" she giggled, giving Ellion a nice image of her in a field of flowers. "As I recall, this was a gift from you....if I didn't know any better, I might think, this could be translated as an...engagement gift?"

"You know I am not the usual type of girl, whom would faint at the sight of some pretty dress - from Lys or Essos. I like my things practical...." she smiled, warmly humming against his neck as he held her against him. "...but I do like it, whenever I get called pretty."

She looked out into the sea once more, then up into the skies where the dragons were flying. "Hope they don't poop mid-flight," she joked, laughing at the idea.

Ellion giggled, shaking his head. Seven Hells, she was dark. Not an ordinary girl, that much he could only say.

"Never mistook you for that, Miri. And I think they don't really care so much. Things that fly are like that, my father said they don't have a care in the world. Why would they, when they have freedom of the skies, a place where we cannot go." Ellion heartily chuckled, letting her lean in close against his neck, kissing her forehead, then up at the sky.

"I'll let you keep guessing, my dear. When you're with me, you'll find some things are more than just a gift." Ellion added, the Tyrell's hair blowing a little in the sea breeze, as he cooed, Merebelle short against his tall and slender frame, protecting her closely.

"Mhmmm....so, should I then skip drinking moon tea - incase we...I'know," she teased, kissing his cheek as she rose onto her tip-toes and then back down. "....the way you speak and talk, it's like you want me to keep chasing after you."

"Don't worry....I don't plan on letting you go...not now that I caught you....or rather, you caught me," she chuckled, humming happily against him. Her heart filled with immense joy and happiness. "I love you Ellion, and I want to be with you forever."

Ellion chuckled, and internally screamed a little. Shit. This was good, this was amazing. But he hadn't let go. Maybe not yet, he reminded himself. Or maybe he wouldn't...he couldn't really know, but she didn't feel like it was going to be easy.
"Me too, Merebelle. And hey....I suppose what else can I do but keep a fine lady from tripping over me." His look was gleeful, as he carried on keeping her in his embrace, looking on at the sea beyond.
"There might be a little rum, some Cyvasse perhaps later. Want to try your hand?"

"Of course, I would be willing. But you don't need to get me drunk, to be able to woo me into your bed," she chuckled - already treating Ellion, like they were engaged to eachother. It was a long way away - but Merebelle wanted to make sure, they could be together.

"Is rum any different, than what we usually drink back in Westeros?" she spoke, having heard it was mostly an Ironborn and sailor' drink at that. "I will admit, I am not very good with cards...or whatever Cyvasse is. Can you give me some tips, once we start playing?"

"Well...it's not Arbor. Us Tyrells can drink a hell of a lot of wine. It's like they say our hearts are fortified with vine, so it doesn't hit us as hard. But rum....rum is something else. Washes the head out of it's own place." Ellion added, as he knew she would be a little unfamiliar at Cyvasse. He was fairly average, but he played it with a cheat sometimes, a break from his chivalry at a game such as that, given it was played more by commoners. He always held his chivalry in almost everything he did, apart from women and cyvasse, he thought to himself.
"It's a fun game, to say the least."

"Well, I can't wait to try out both of them. If you think they are nice, then it must be great," she replied, giggling to him. "But talking about it - where did you learn about this game in particular? I haven't heard much about it, from Westeros? Is it Essos only, or rather a more highborn game in particular?"

She was mostly knowledgable in her own music and namely swordfighting - not much else. Merebelle was learning about the art of politics but it was a slow process.

"It's a lowborn's. Well....a certain kind. Learnt it when I was in the Arbor. Some merchants play it in taverns. I'd rather play with a battleground given the chance, it's far more refreshing for the head. But not as dashing though, is it?" Ellion chuckled, cuddling Merebelle, knowing he sounded a little bit like a nobleman in that moment, sighing.
"I spent a lot of time going everywhere in Westeros. It's a fun little game."

"You plan to continue your journey across Westeros I assume then? Once we return?" she hummed, resting her head against his chest. "...can't I persuade you to...mmm....settle down?"

Merebelle was taking the reins of the moment - wanting Ellion to know, how she felt about him truly and completely. She honestly believed Ellion was the right man for her - despite his quirks and apologies. She was almost like a mirror of her - free-caring to serious, rich to modest, brash to calm.

"Your already, granted the title of Master-of-Arms. A nice and well respected position....or are you trying to become King Ellion?" she teased him, laughing happily with him.

"I really don't know. Kingsguard. Mercenary. Tourney champion. All sounds really fun to me, I want all of them almost. I have the latter now. But I'm not stupid. I need experience. I need to learn more. Be a bit stupid, then wise up." Ellion replied, chuckling.
"Though I wouldn't mind being King. Speaking of sitting on a throne...I may need a moment." With it, Ellion headed off, out of the embrace, the wooden throne with a hole in it.

Merebelle hummed in reply, watching him leave - as she remained uptop, leaning against the railing and enjoying the sea air.

"We haven't talked much, have we?" Taria had spotted Ellion and Merebelle earlier, but she had been wrought to interrupt their talk. She didn't usually go out of her way to talk to others, but that wasn't due to hostility; she was just naturally quiet. However, she figured it would be a good thing to have some sort of acquaintance with her shipmates. She had already met Ellion before they left, and it had actually been fun chit chatting. She was hoping for the same now.

"Oh, hello? I don't know if I have met your acquintance?" asked Merebelle, turning around and greeting the young woman. She looked slightly familiar, Merebelle recalling having met the young woman in the banquet - but not her name specifically. "I am Merebelle, a pleasure to meet you."

"Taria Sno- Taria Greyjoy." Even after a forthnight and more, her mind still thought 'Snow' befor Greyjoy. "Pleased to meet you as well." She knew who Merebelle was, being rather good at linking names with faces and vice-versa. She had to admit the lady was quite lovely, as was her armour. She also expected she was quite the fighter.

She looked out toward the open sea, taking a breath of the sea breeze. "It's nice to be back on a ship," she said after a moment, trying to fill in what felt like an awkward silence. "Is this your first sea voyage?" She figured for some people it would be; she had seen enough grey faced folk in the past couple of weeks.

"Pleased to meet you, Taria Greyjoy," spoke Merebelle - while Riverlanders and Greyjoys didn't have the best history. Due to their ancient history, Merebelle kept it civilized - namely cause her family never had to deal with such issues.

"First time on a ship? Not really. Over in the Riverlands, we used boats a lot - albeit, they weren't as big as these things," she spoke, patting the wood on the railing. "As for sea voyage. Indeed it's my first time at that. But luckily, I have gotten practice with my sea legs, so I shouldn't get sea-sick that easily."

"Oh, that does make sense. I visited the Riverlands more than ten years ago." Taria smiled as she looked away from the water and back at Merebelle. "It's been a while, so I can't remember all the places I visited besides the obvious Riverrun. From there I wandered over to Pyke."

Rivalries or histories were subjects that Taria didn't give much importance to. As a Snow, she had simply not cared much about that which happened between different houses, since her opinion didn't have any real worth in what she figured were 'important' issues.

"Sea travel can be rough," she continued, "but we've had it lucky so far. The last time I made a sea journey was six years ago; my ship didn't last. It's nice to be back, though. There's something about the sea that just calls out to a person." At least, that was the case with her.

"I've been mostly stuck at my small abode - near the borders. My House was mostly a musician' group - namely, my great-father had done something amazing centuries ago - which is how we got our title. But most of the time, we got - by being, mostly....a bard school."

"Well not so much a school, as possessing the largest collection of old folk songs and other from across Westeros. My great-mother had loved music it seemed," she explaned. "And well...I was training to become one too...until I got ambushed by bandits. Then I decided to turn my life around and train to be a knight - since times were changing and it became easier to learn the sword."

"Got some fancy title, after I helped defend against those sea-creatures. And here I am," explained Merebelle - having unexpectly told Taria her life story. "But...enough about me. What is your life-story?"

"I'm afraid it's nothing too grand," Taria replied with a small laugh. "My father was Theon Greyjoy, but I only just met him at Prince Aemon's wedding. I was born in a brothel to one of the workers there, stayed there until I was old enough to decide I didn't want to be somebody's whore." She shrugged a shoulder, thinking back to her mother, wondering if she was still at the brother, or even alive at that.

"I left Winterfell around thirteen years," she continued. "Thought of travelling to the Wall to meet my father, but, well, it was too bloody cold." She chuckled, thinking of how stupid she had been back then. "I turned around and instead decided I wanted to travel Westeros. It wasn't too bad, following the King's Road. Spent a few years in Pyke with my Aunt Asha, sailed to Dorne, stayed there a while before sailing past... well, our destination. The Stepstones..." She paused there, remembering what came after that.

"... and eventually decided to reside for a while in KIng's Landing." Once more her shoulder rose in a shrug. "Spoken of so often, I had to see it with my own eyes. I've been there for six years, about." She fiddled unknowingly with a lock of hair that srayed onto her shoulder. "Hardly ever expected to meet Lords and Ladies, leave alone Royals. Or even my father. Funny the things that happen."

"Wow....sorry to hear about your upbringing," replied Merebelle, leaning over to hug Taria for a moment. Showing that her sorry was meaningful and not just out of pity for the girl. "You need any help just ask me. Not alot of girls on this trip, so we have to stick together."

"You ever thought about your mother? Or is she still around?" she added, knowing how such bastards are usually forced to leave their parents - to make their own way in the world at that. "So, now you are here and a nobility instead of a free-child."

Merebelle used the word 'free-child' and not bastard-born - since it was beneath her to insult another member of their group. "So what ya think? Should we join forces? Keep eachother' backs?" she teased, making small-talk with the woman.

The hug surprised Taria, but she wasn't left for words, smiling at the gesture. "Actually, though I hated it growing up, I realize that all I've been able to do with my life wouldn't've been possible if I had a proper name. Even my father told me that it was probably better I wasn't trueborn. Those with names have responsibilities." She wondered if she would be stuck with said responsibilities. Even her aunt had to 'settle' down and marry.

"As for my mother..." Taria shook her head. "I don't know. I never returned to that whorehouse, nor do I plan on it. I'm sure if she's still there, she's fine." And if she wasn't there, it probably meant she was dead. As harsh as it may have sounded if said out loud, she didn't care too much if the latter was the case.

Nor was she ashamed of being called a bastard, or took it as an insult. However, she appreciated the gesture. "Aye, I have my father's name now," she agreed, smiling sincerely. "I hope to make him and my aunt proud." As for joining forces... Taria couldn't help but chuckle at what Merebelle said. "I'm afraid I'm not the best fighter, but if you're in need of my help, I'll be glad to provide." She wasn't too sure what she could her the Lady with, however; she seemed to be quite self sufficient.

Coming back, Ellion saw Taria speaking with Merebelle, the Greyjoy a lady he had met . Now, Tyrells and Greyjoys were not the most natural in conversation, given that Garlan had given him a lesson at length of . But Taria seemed different, she seemed more in touch with her Northern roots, the leather armour she wore indiciating that a little. She was pretty indeed, and she was talented in a fight, someone that Ellion kept his eye on for. He knew he was almost completely different to the two women, he had a well known name and much that he could ask for, and he knew he had to be careful sometimes, as to not come across as too educated or elitist.

"You two pretty ladies sound like you're getting on rather well." Ellion added, sighing as he leaned against the ship's side, looking across at them both closer to Merebelle and leaning in a little by her side.
"I imagine we'll have a fun fight when we get ashore. Adventure and a distant land. Like the stories we tell when we're children. Except...they don't really tell us the part we could be hacked apart by sea monsters either." Ellion wryly chuckled, knowing Merebelle would find it a little true, but he wasn't so sure about Taria.
"Either way, we have the best warriors of Westeros by our side. I'm sure we can make our marks."

Taria gave a polite nod when Ellion had returned, smiling a little as well. It was always nice to see a friendly, familiar face. She had come upon the Tyrell by chance after buying her leather armour and wandering through King's Landing. Preparation hadn't taken too long for someone with little belongings, so after that first day, the Greyjoy had spent more time simply taking in King's Landing's sights.

"Well," she started, motioning toward the waves with her hand, "the Drowned God hasn't forsaken me so far, so I'm hoping it will be the same for us all." She knew her deity wasn't worshiped by any other Westerosi, but that didn't matter much. The sea was His domain after all; she figured a few prayers sent His way wouldn't do any harm to anyone. She never reaved, nor did her family anymore, at least those in Pyke, but that didn't make them less of believers.

"And, as you said..." She looked vaguely in the direction of the rest of the crew. "From what I've observed anyway, seems we've plenty good fighters." She wasn't one, but she had at least seen Seran fight. Not only that, she trusted the judgment of their lieges.

"Indeed. I find it curious, how you Ironborn like your leather so much. Never understood why you don't do plate. Perhaps it sinks you quicker. But I must say, you did get something rather pretty, Taria." Ellion replied, looking on at the others, then back at Taria.
"Whatever Gods we believe, the Seven, Drowned, the Lord of Light, we'll need them with us."

"Well," Taria replied, a little smirk on her face now, "you answered yourself there, Ellion." She found it easier to be free with the Tyrell, for the obvious reason that she knew him better than Merebelle. There was, however, the other reason that she had spent more time with boys and men rather than girls and ladies. Especially the latter with titles.

"Though, myself..." She shrugged. "It's practicality. Plate is expensive, this is easier to get." She looked down at herself before letting out a chuckle. "And especially when I've made it a goal to travel as long as I live... well, it's less weighty, like you mentioned.

"As for Gods, well, being from the North it was the Old Gods that were more familiar for a while." Though she had never actually worshiped them, or any Gods back then, unless feeding onself was called worshiping the stomach.

Ellion nodded, knowing the Ironborn bastard had a certain charm, though it was different to Merebelle's. Something strange indeed, she seemed at ease with being a mercenary and honor was a different concept to her than it was to Merebelle, perhaps.
"Ah, I understand." Ellion simply replied to Taria, looking off at the sea, before back at the two ladies.

"But plate is engineered. A difficult thing to pierce, and learning to fight against men in plate is a skill of it's own. It's why I learned how to use a polearm. No point slashing a man when you can put blunt force into them better." Ellion spoke from an experience of fighting and sparring with Garlan when he was younger, as well as his personal experiences, knowing the advantages it gave against certain weapons. Gently letting Merebelle wrap up against her, Ellion's hair blowing a little in the breeze, he watched the hubub of sailors on the deck move across, to go change the pitch of the sails.

"It's a remarkable history you have, Taria. The daughter of Theon Greyjoy. If ever there was an example of a man changing his ways better."

Merebelle coughed in reply, indicating that she still was also there - and wasn't much happy that he didn't spend as much attention to her, as he did to Taria. She wasn't angry at Taria - namely cause Ellion was doing the act.

"From what I have learned, protection doesn't matter much - speed and precision do," she replied. "It was why I wore how I did, with my first armor. Anybody can pull on a metal suit - but it takes skill to wear it. Many knights use the armor as another shield between them and the world. Instead of having it be them in essence."

"Well, I could always be like my father as well." The thought had come to Taria more than once, that perhaps it was time for her to properly learn archery. No matter what people may think of her, she felt she knew best of her skills, and fighting was not one of them, in her opinion. At least if she was proficient in a bow, the could support her companions from somewhere that wouldn't require her to worry as much about armour.

Well, that was her line of thought anyway. She knew she could very well be wrong.

"Thank you, Ser," she replied, nodding her head politely. She decided to simply take his last words as a compliment. In a sense, he reminded her a little of Viserys, though perhaps a little less flowery with his words. "I'll take my leave now." Her eyes were as sharp as ever, and she could tell there was something going on between the two here. Not wanting conflict, she figured it was best to leave them alone. She smiled at both Ellion and Merebelle, gave another nod, and walked off in no particular direction. They were on a ship after all, there wasn't really anywhere to go that hadn't been discovered already.

Chuckling, he knew what Merebelle was thinking, giving her a distinct smirk.
"Aye. It may be pretty and shiny, but even I'll admit, I'm not afraid of getting it scratched. No good armour is left untouched. It needs war wounds." Taria headed off, watching her smile as she left, giving a nod as she headed away, looking back at Merebelle, keeping close.

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

Later on, down in the deck, Ellion chuckled, the cards and rum out, as he drank a little more, looking across to his rival from the tourney.
"Mostly the fact that you're here. And I am not letting you have all the glory." Ellion chuckled, drinking a little of rum, playing a hand as he watched across.
"That and the fact that I always seem to like adventure. It will be no fun tourney. It'll be a hard fight. But I suppose I'm ready for that. Especially after dehorsing you." Ellion laughed a little more, drinking down a little rum, knowing he'd piss off Viserys, putting his hand out.
"You're a hell of a fighter though. Glad you're on our side. Not theirs." Ellion was wise not to start a fight there and then, knowing there were a lot of bodies in this room, and it would be stupid to get a cut or a bruise or waste his energy, continuing to play the game and let others pitch in.

Ser Aerion, Lady Lyvia, and Ser Oswell, Covert Task Force, Disguised Trade Ship Gray Ice

Ser Aerion had watched and listened, patient as ever. He sat surrounded by his two friends that had come with him, Lady Lyvia Clegane, and Ser Oswell Whent. The three had kept to themselves, perhaps out of a profound hesitation, or rather collective experience of campaigns on the Stepstones. The grayness of the sea and the clouds overhead did not help with the matter, but it would help keep the range of visibility down to a minimum. The three sat preparing their arms and armor, slowing and methodically ensuring that no rust, grime, or other foreign matter would mar their ability to fight. Ser Aerion looked about the ship, to the others who had been drafted into this conflict. They all looked, at least to him, itching for a fight, excited for combat. Most likely none had ever fought on the Stepstones, never had to slog through the Seven-Forsaken terrain nor stormed beaches aboard rickety landing barges. Under it all though, was the fear of not coming back, of dying on these far away shores. Aerion forced a smile, offering out his hands to his comrades, beckoning them to join his. “May the Seven protect us from the trials we will soon face.”

As they unclasped their hands, Ser Oswell and Lady Lyvia went back to their work, the two industriously working away and cleaning their gear. Aerion paused from her work, looking about the ship to the others aboard. He spied their leader, Prince Aemon, along with his other Targaryen kin, Prince Viserys, Prince Rhaegar, and Lady Visenya, the four all upon the Sterncastle, no doubt plotting their course of action for the coming storm. They did look imposing in their clothing, the shirts they wore probably worth more than many men-at-arms armor and arms. Aerion looked from them to Lord Commander Podrick Payne, the man imposing in his armor and flowing cloak, nodding in his direction. There were others of note aboard the Gray Ice, though Ser Aerion did not recognize any of them aside from Ser Jamie Lannister, the Kingslayer. Of course, that pompous braggart Ser Ellion of House Tyrell was aboard, much to Ser Aerion’s continued irritation. He couldn’t stand the man for obvious reasons, but that was neither for here nor there. Seran of Lys was aboard, to which Aerion waved at with a smile, knowing that at least there was another combat veteran of the Stepstones. Last were the men and women from the Riverlands and the North, of them, only Lady Merebelle Gray, Ser Ellion’s current paramour, and Lord Bolton, the drunkard who from table talk, was a joke of a man.

Aerion sighed, setting his sword down, the weapon one of the few Valyrian Steel swords in the world. Unfortunate that the blade was named Poison, but perhaps in time, it could be reforged anew into a more suitable name. Standing up, Aerion stretched his legs and back, nodding to his two friends, before excusing himself. He wanted to go pick Seran’s brain on what was going on, and what he thought about all that was going on. The ship rocked slightly as a gust of wind pushed it to the side, letting Aerion smile a little bit as the members aboard unaccustomed to sea life and travel stumbled about the deck. He found Seran standing by himself alongside the starboard railing. Probably thinking about his beautiful sister, or maybe of a better tomorrow. Aerion called out to Seran of Lys as he stepped beside him. “Seran of Lys, a fine day for sailing, wouldn’t you say?” Aerion smiled, speaking matter-of-factly, before he leaned against the railing. “It is good to have you here, most of the people aboard this ship have no clue what they are sailing into. Though, we both know what’s waiting for us in the Stepstones, don’t you?” Aerion looked about, before lowering his voice, “Seran, what are your thoughts on this… this all just seems like a quagmire. They can’t seriously think that attacking the Pirate King will really work, do they? I mean, you and I have fought here, seen the chaos that ensues when one pirate lord dies, and all the lower rank and file swarm his corpse like bloat flies. What is our brave leader planning… or are you in the dark like I am?” Aerion looked at Seran, politely awaiting his response.

A passing thought crossed into Aerion’s mind while he waited. He had accepted the deal offered to him by the King and Queen, well, almost entirely. He had asked if they would consider allowing him to marry freely, as he pleased, to find a wife that he truly could love, rather than having one forced upon him so to speak. While the idea of being allowed to marry a princess was alluring, Aerion wanted to properly court whoever he was going to marry when the time arose. He left his family’s egg in possession of the King and Queen, one if he were not to return, and two, because he didn’t trust anyone else to look after it. While he had no room to barter with the King and Queen, they at least said they would think about it, and would have an answer for him once they had thought it over. More than likely, they would stand by their first offer, to which Aerion would accept, but there was always hope for this small bit of freedom.

Ser Uther Tattershall and Ser Harwin Strong, The Dornish Marches, Castle Blackhaven

Ser Uther stretched heartily as he dismounted from his horse. Dust still covered his armor from the long ride from King’s Landing. He sipped quickly from his water skin, before moving quickly to join those within the War Council that had been called. Ser Harwin called out as Ser Uther made his way through the outer courtyard to the interior of the castle, “I’ll take care of our horses and gear, don’t worry. You know this region better than I do, and besides, one of us needs to make sure everything is ready to go. Don’t let those people bully you around either.” He smiled, before turning away from the departing Ser Uther to take care of his work. Uther rolled his eye, before disappearing inside. Lord Gendry oversaw the operation, and Ser Uther wanted to be in attendance before he spoke.

Ser Uther found himself a spot toward the middle of those gathered about the war table, a large map of the Red Mountains overlaid upon it, though something seemed odd about it, though Uther couldn’t put his finger on it. The Tyrell subcommander was in attendance, along with his assorted Reachmen officers, and beside them, were the Dornish forces, though Uther couldn’t figure out who was leading them. Oddly, was the man from the Alchemist’s Guild, along with the Targaryen Lord or prince… Aegon, Uther hoped, though he wasn’t truly sure. It had been a long time since he last visited his homeland, and long still since his family lived here. Lord Gendry had a commanding aura about him, as he spoke aloud to the council. Odd, Uther thought, as the man spoke upon not having a for sure location to Hellgate Hall, the supposed stronghold of this new Vulture King.

The scope of the operation was to create a defensive line about the region, with the Reach forces along the Highgarden side of the Red Mountains, the Dornish forces along the Southern ranges, led by Lord Oberyn, and finally, to the North, the royal forces holding the line along Blackhaven. The Tyrells would be held in a rear echelon position, while the main thrust would come from the forces under Lord Gendry’s command. Uther looked at the pieces upon the map, indicating military units and forces, the usual, but he took note of the piece placed in the center of the map, indicating the Vulture King, or where he was supposed to be. Gendry detailed every part of the plan, to include the most interesting piece, Ser Aegon would be flying atop his dragon, and would provide a sort of over watch to the ground forces. Should they find themselves in a hairy situation, they’d signal the dragon rider, and he would swoop in to make use of the dragon’s fiercesome abilities, namely its fire.

The first phase of the rebel cleanup operation was to take the Spine, the highest peak in the Red Mountains. It commanded a clear view of the region, along with allowing a stepping stone for the further phases of this conflict. The risk of course, aside from enemy combatants, were the elements and terrain. High heat, high altitude, sparse water sources, hostile wildlife, and of course, when rain storms hit, it caused flash flooding and mudslides. And that was in the summer months, the winter brought freezing temperatures, and torrential snow fall that could bury entire passes. Hellgate Hall was the final prize, but everything one step at a time. The standing order was to have double water rations upon one’s self always, which certainly made sense. After Lord Gendry finished speaking, he opened the floor to the others present, to see if anyone else had any input.

After letting the other Lords and knights speak their parts, Ser Uther cleared his throat to speak out. The others had brought up important things, raised valuable questions, but they were missing something rather important. Uther had finally spotted the oddity upon the map, it becoming clear once he had gotten a better view of it. The ruins of Vulture’s Roost was missing from the very detailed map. Ser Uther moved to the forefront of the room, closer toward the table, and spoke aloud in a polite manner. “I couldn’t help but notice, but your map is missing the location of the Vulture’s Roost.” He paused, before motioning those to look at the map, towards where the River Wyl began. “I would assume this is a newer map, and probably why those ruins were left off. The Vulture’s Roost was once a formidable castle that commanded the region. It fell some time ago, during the reign of the First Vulture King. It may still be in use, and it would certainly serve as a means for them to smuggle goods in and out of the region. I’d wager they have a sizable garrison there, and maybe even personal maps of the region. Plus, if you cut off this means of resupply, you would weaken them innumerably.” Uther paused, before reaching into his shield, pulling out an old and yellowed map. While it wasn’t as colorful nor fine as the war table map, it had old details that had long since been forgotten or left aside with the progress of time. “This map is very precious to me… to my family, so be careful with it, my Lords.” Ser Uther stepped back, and if any were looking close enough at his face and eyes, they might be able to see he was holding something back, suppressing some internal strife.

Lord Lorimer of House Lefford, Lady Cerenna, his sister, and Lady Myrielle Hill… now Lannister, the Red Keep, Lord Lefford’s Rooms
Lord Lorimer sat in his study, in a rather cozy chair. Never had he believed such things would happen to him in a million years. He had the Targaryen’s to thank for all that he now had, even this room he was recovering in. The apartment was beyond anything he had ever stayed in. His lady wife was asleep in their bed, and how lovely she looked, even asleep. She was so serene and perfect, and it was by the charity of the Targaryen’s that he could marry her, and have a home in which to offer her. He still remembered the small ceremony in which they were married, and how the King and Queen were present, joining the Houses of Lefford and Lannister together. Never before had he seen such a kind sovereign, and forever would he be beholden to them. It was a great honor to be in their presence, one which he would not forget.

Lorimer smiled, pushing that thought away, as he focused back unto his work. He had asked the throne what he could do to help, even if it were small or insignificant. And thus, was how Lord Lorimer had been tasked with carrying out writs of disbarment and warrants of arrest, or rather, helping to write them out. The stack of papers was for a group of bandits that was harrying smallfolk and supply lines in a triangular region between Red Lake, Silverhill, and Goldengrove. Apparently, they were being led by two lesser sons of local nobility, namely a bastard son of House Swyft and the third born son of House Webber. These two had gathered a few dozen down and out hedge knights, along with a few other assorted criminal filth, and had proceeded to pillage and steal small trade caravans and farms. While in of itself was probably not that big of a deal, the longer it went on, the worse it could become. While traditionally those within the King’s Justice employ would do this type of work, they were overwhelmed right now with the amount of warrants and writs being levied upon them.

Lorimer felt a touch upon his shoulder, looking up to see his sister smiling down upon him. She had probably woken up to get herself some water, and stopped to check in on her older brother. “Lorimer, you are working too hard. Go get some rest and lay with your wife. These papers will be here tomorrow, as will any other work. Besides, you need to rest so your leg can heal, less you want to have a stump instead. Now go… or I will go wake Myrielle and sick her on you.” She said with a smile, quickly moving away to near Lorimer’s bed. He rolled his eyes, and sighed, nodding to his sister. “Fine, fine, I will call it a night. I best get some sleep, and I wouldn’t want to have two angry women. You win sister, you win. Now off with you, troublemaker.” Lorimer rose, grabbing hold of a crutch to help him walk to his bed.

Cerenna smiled, wishing her brother goodnight, before moving to blow out the candles in his study, tidying up his desk, before heading back towards her own room. She sat down, taking a sip of her water, before looking at a letter that sat upon her small writing table. She sighed, not sure how to finish writing it. But, there was plenty of time to figure these things out. Instead, she blew out her candle, and crawled back into bed, sleep first, worry later.

(A collaborative work. Thanks @MrDidact!)

Blade met with blade as Arak and William fought, up and down the deck of the ship. Arak knew he was out of his league. A rank-and-file soldier through and through, he had not learned how to effectively fight with a sword, sticking instead to spears. This mistake, he thought, would prove fatal.

William, however, was finding it to be very easy. He had a natural aptitude for blades of various kinds, and this duel here was almost trivial. He found an opening in Arak's defense, and plunged in with his sword. Arak deflected, but a little too late, and his sword was flung out of his hands, landing a little ways away. "Ooh, bad luck," William said, circling his opponent.

"Yield! I yield!" shouted Arak, covering his head with his arms.

"Yield?" William said, raising his sword. "You must not know me very well."

Before William could strike, a Dragon's Tooth stepped in front of Arak, shielding the man with his sword and shield raised and William felt a strong hand grab his sword arm while another arm reached for his off hand and William felt a cudgel rest on his shoulder. The cudgel was held by another Dragon's Tooth and Black Visenya gripped William's arm with another man at her side, stopping him from striking.

Visenya snarled, the special forces ranger and not the childhood friend, commanding William, "William, stop. Disarm." He was outnumbered and the special forces troopers had gotten the drop on him. Visenya continued, her arm taut on Williams, "You might be a friend William, but I will not let you get away with slaying a member of our company. We are all working under the king's banners, I will not have comrades shed each other's blood. And don't even protest, telling me it's mutual. Both you and I know you provoked this duel and wanted a lethal conclusion. Well, I tell you now that you will stop being you and you will start being a soldier of this company. If I see you put the lives of our comrades in jeopardy again, I'll have you put in chains."

Visenya kept her hold on William, "Believe what you want, but I'm doing this for you William. For the sake of our friendship. If you had killed Arak, you would have been condemned. The Starks would have called for your head for striking down an unarmed man, and you would be forever known as a kinslayer."

Seeing, the look on both of the men's faces, Visenya frowned, "You didn't know? You're half-brothers, both sons of Ramsay Bolton."

Arak was crushed. To think he had come so close to being slain, and by his own brother no less! He had wished never to see his brother in his life, and this was in no way the ideal way to meet. He fell to his knees, only barely propping himself up with his sword.

William, however, was enraged. Lord Tyrion the Halfman was strongly suspected of killing his own father, and by his current position as Hand of the King, proves rather conclusively that the kinslaying curse is but superstition of the smallfolk. Eventually, however, after a lengthy period of thinking, removed one finger from his sword, then another, and the steel blade clattered on the wooden deck.

". . . Aye," he muttered. "Now, if you could command your men to stand down, let me pick up my sword, maybe both of us could be on our way. Don't hear me wrong, I do like embracing, but to do so with a woman I haven't married strikes of infidelity."

"My . . . brother?" Arak gasped.

"Yes, yes, we're all very impressed by your ability to hear things," growled William.

Visenya frowned and nodded at the man in front of William, who sheathed his weapons and helped him to his feet, keeping a hand on his swordbelt in case William tried anything. She nodded at the other men holding William and they disengaged, though they too were ready for the young Lord to get out of line. Visenya however, kept her arms loose at her sides, trusting that William wouldn't try anything.

She replied to William, "Your ability to make jokes in such situations will never fail to amaze me Will. Very well. You both may go on your way. But no more duels, at least not duels fought in earnest. Arak, if you wish you may go see the Acolyte if you need medical attention. William, please don't cause any more trouble. If this goes well, Sansa will convince Brandon and Jon to reconsider your position. They will give you back the Dreadfort. If you can prove yourself. It's all you ever wanted, since we were children. Don't throw this chance away."

One of her men went with Arak, escorting him away from the group if he needed medical attention, while the two remaining Dragon's Teeth flanked William and Visenya made eye contact with William, "I'm sorry Will. I thought you knew. Arya told me before we left. I thought they would have told you the same. Are you alright?"

"I'm not gashed, if that's what you're asking. Incredibly annoyed, however, that I'm the last to know of my brother," said William. Gods, his weakness revealed itself then. He's too honest with Visenya, a half-Targaryen of all people. He didn't know if his grandfather or father had a proper burial, but if they were, no doubt they'd be spinning so hard in their graves they'd dig themselves back up. "Was I that obvious about the Dreadfort?" he said in an attempt to change the subject, albiet a little feeble.

Visenya knew not to press the subject too hard, and that asking further was liable to sour his mood even further so the bastard princess obliged him, she smiled a little, "You didn't have to be. Anyone would want their ancestral home to be theirs. I know I would have." She laughed, a strong almost throaty sound, not the more sedate giggling of a proper lady, "Indeed that is true. I remember the time you threatened to duel that poor squire over the honor of a dance with me. Daenyra's thirteenth name day. Can you believe it's been so long? Do you ever miss those days Will? When we were young and didn't have to worry about any of these intrigues?" She thought back to her childhood, growing up a bastard with her royal cousins and the children of the realm's greatest warriors and most powerful nobles, and how a young boy, the only heir to a dishonored house had been one of her closest friends. The thought made her smile truly.

"Which one?" William asked, smiling with her. "I think many squires over many years are out for my blood today." He, too, did have some complaints of living life by the great game. It was one thing to be a bastard of the Targaryens, left out of the high table in great feasts or the prospect of marriage with a powerful house. It was quite another to be the son of the infamous Ramsay "the Raper", destined to have enemies he may never meet. Nearly everywhere he looked, he knew there was someone in his vision who would gladly rip his guts from his living body, simply because of a thirdhand account of him told by a lying drunk in a seedy tavern. The two of them naturally gravitated towards each other, two rowdy, dishonored kids in a sea of disapproving faces. "You know what? I think I'm done with watching dolphins for now. Maybe I'll go down to the rooms, cheat Aemon out of a few dragons. Another time, Visenya." With that, William picked up his sword, slid it into his sheath, and walked away, whistling to himself.

(Collab with @bloonewb)

It didn't take Taria long to peruse the ship for the umpteenth time once she left Ellion and Merebelle's company. For the most part, she had simply been watching the others, making sparse conversation here and there. She wished to be seen as someone who they could rely on, but what troubled her was whether she actually was. Self-reflection was a little tedious after a while though, so it wasn't long before she decided to head down below deck, perhaps have a drink or two, maybe even take a nap.

Arak stumbled down the stairs, having to be effectively carried by the Dragon Teeth. No, truly, it cannot be! His own brother, willing to risk the ire of both Gods and Man to kill him! Perhaps he did not know, but the stories tell of men being cursed nonetheless.

"Not to worry, sers, I am perfectly capable of handling myself from now onwards," he said, and the Dragon Teeth let go of him. He walked, as if in a daze, and didn't watch where he was going until he slammed into a woman walking in the opposite direction. "Seven pardons, my lady!" he cried, extending his hand to help her up.

"No matter," Taria replied, blinking up at the young man. "I should have paid more attention myself." She took hold of the offered hand, mostly to be polite since she was quite capable of standing up by herself. Once she was standing, she realized that she recognized him, not just as a face of someone from the ship, rather the fellow who had barged into the King's chambers. Her forehead wrinkled a little as she tried to recall his name. "You're Arak, right?"

"You honor me to no end, my lady," Arak said, helping up the woman and bowing. "Forgive me truly, you know of me, yet I do not seem to possess memory of you. If you would give me your name, I would shout it on the lines of battle to my dying breath."

A chuckle escaped the Greyjoy. He had quite a way of talking, this man, though she didn't feel it was forced charm, rather how he usually spoke. "I'd rather you not die at all," she started, returning his bow with one of her own. She straightened and then smiled. "I didn't make myself known much. I'm Taria Greyjoy, formerly Snow. Nice to meet you, Ser."

"I have not the privilege of being a ser, my lady," Arak said, smiling sheepishly. "Yet then, I am not one worthy of being the subject of any a conversation. You say you were a Snow? It is of course always a day to celebrate when a fellow of the house of Snow is given unto them a proper home in the folds of their great families. A cheer for you, my lady! I myself have not yet been given by the gods fortune enough to say the same." He chose to omit the fact that he prays to the gods every day that he is never branded with his family name. Surely not everyone on this voyage knows he is a Bolton.

"Thank you," Taria replied with a small smile. She understood how he probably felt, the longing one felt at having a name that wasn't just based on where you were born. "It was only recently, well, the night those monsters attacked the Red Keep." She looked at him closely, though tried not to seem too scrutinizing. "You seem from the North as well, am I right?" No matter how far and wide she had travelled, others seemed to always guess where she was from before she even mentioned being a Snow. She figured it was from her lighter complexion.

"If I may be so honest, I applaud your good eye," Arak said, shifting uncomfortably in his armor. He did not know how to conduct himself around womenfolk. He was about to go on, but was stopped by the sound of clattering footsteps on the stairs.

"Brother!" came a voice from above, as William descended the steps, walked over, and clapped Arak's armored shoulder with a clank. "I've been meaning to talk to you. Oh wait, not really. Where can I find some good mead on this damn ship?" Without waiting for an answer, he randomly picked a direction and began walking away, but not before turning back and shouting some parting words. "And give her an extra silver for luck!" Arak felt he was going to scream.

"If you'll excuse this humble servant, I must depart," Arak said, and returned to his quarters.

Nodding, Taria watched him leave before heading off to find drink for her own self... though she stopped in her track. Wait... An extra silver? That other man, did he think she was a prostitute?! Her hands tightened, face heating up in anger. What a... She let out a breath before shaking her head, deciding it wasn't worth getting angry about.

The Evening(with @Nightwing95)

Lysara looked at her hands once more, the third time in the lapse of several minutes, as she straigthened her back and tried to stand as regal and as composed as possible. Things were going fast-paced at court. In the span of three days, she and her brother had met the Mother of Dragons, the King of Westeros, she had been offered a position as a handmaiden to a princess, and had been asked by a prince of all things. Her brother used to say she was a rare jewel among that mercenary camp, but she never truly witnessed how much her Valyrian appearance would sway people in Westeros.

Still, things were smiling for her and Seran, at long last. Despite the campaign in the stepstones. She had managed to set some time for this walk among the tasks a Handmaiden had, and she had even brought one of her best perfumes. She was even wearing her best Lysene dress for the ocassion. Some people wouldn't put that much effort in an afternoon walk, but some people never got to walk with Targayen Princes. So she sat there, in the shade of a tree. A tingling sensation of crawling appeared in her hair. At first ignored it, but it was persistant. Her hand reached the afflicted part and patted it so slightly.

The culprit was found to be a small garden spider, who was now crawling all over her hand. A few ladies would have screamed on the sight of vermin, but not Lysara. She let the spider crawl through her hand, twisting it so the arachnid would not run out of sight. "Well, well aren't you a busybody." She whispered, before freeing the spider back into the tree. She couldn't meet a prince spider in hand, could she?

It was amazing how quickly things could change in the span of a single day. Entering the Melee of a Royal Tourney as the least popular- and widely considered as the less bright - son of the Targaryen family meant that expectations were set low even amongst the most confident spectators. And then he walked out a Champion, proudly bearing the title of a Ser and the moniker of the Bold one, similarly to the legendary Barristan Selmy. Then, it only needed a nightly attack on the Capital to be inducted into a newly-made, yet prestigious Knightly Order as he prepared to march towards his first grand Campaign against the enemies of the Crown. Achievements followed the one after the other, but instead of falling back into his shell and decide how to choulder them all, Rhaegar became thoughtful of his fathers words. The White Cloak was still not as close as he wished for it to be, so why not enjoy the fruits of his newfound fame while he could?

Lysara as his first choice was somewhat unexpected, but not entirely so. After all, the Valyrian features didn't have the same impact on him as they did to other squires or young knights and as for the other reason...it was just too base of an instinct for someone that walked the path of a True Knight. In the end, he could point everthing to a sort of curiosity that turned into admiration when he saw her stepping before the Iron Throne that very morning and speaking out of turn. People lost their heads for much less and yet here she was, with a position close to a Dragonprincess as her handmaiden and confidant.

Dressed in finery befit of a Prince, a doubled sewn with ruby red string and with black detail, he approached her with a container of wine in his hands. He felt his heart ready to burst out of his chest as he tried to remeber the advice Viserys gave him. Smile and give the girl a few pretty words, that was it.
"Lady Lysara...y-you look stunning this evening." Rhaegar said, trying to do just that.

Lysara looked at the young man approaching her. Tilting her head and beaming a smile, she could not help but notice he was trying to look as charming as possible. A boy pretending to be a man, in many aspects. Truth to be told, his Targayen blood almost made him succeed, but the stutter... the stutter sold it. He betrayed a lack of confidence. In some ways, that was endearing.

<"The prince only deserves the very best."> She replied quickly and fluently, in the language of the Valyrian ancestors, as she drew closer towards the prince, eyeing him in the eyes. She then performed a small grateful curtsy emphasizing her figure, as she eyed the young man.

His eyes were like twin spheres in the color of heliotropes as they crossed with Lysaras, and as if he couldn't fight it they lowered onto a more tantalising sight as she went for the curtsy. Quickly regretting the unthoughtful choice he made, he returned his view back to the eyes of the Lyseni.

<"If I deserve something then I hope to also earn it..."> he spoke with full honesty, and although his Valyrian came out fluently, his dialect was of a different form than that of hers. He made no other move, still clenching at the carafe he brought with him.
<"If you wish, you can just call me Rhaegar. There is no need for titles out here."> he added.

Lysara stopped for a second, hearing the prince speaking in Valyrian. To his credit, he was better than she had thought regarding the rumours of him being... difficult with studies. The Lyseni's smile accentuated so slightly, before waving a hand through her hair. <"Then so be it, ...Rhaegar. Of course you may call me Lysara."> She added, as she allowed some space for the prince to sit besides her. <"Would you also prefer to use the common tongue, aswell?"> Her words seemed to carry a hint of mischief, as she eyed the carafe. Maybe there would be some drinking involved. She hoped she would be spared of the follery of alcohol... memories about his brother betting her maidenhood were apparent.

<"Relax, you don't have to pretend here."> She added, slumping leisurely in a rather unladylike manner, her shoulders down, and her legs half stretched.

Even though Rhaegar would never be a scholar, he was convinced early on by his mother to study with enough persistence to gain a good command of their ancestral language. Of course he was no match for his brother Aemon as a polyglot or even close to Jaehaerys in his flawless transition between the high and low variants while in conversation.

"I am not...I only have the most honest of intentions." he said almost defensively after her comment on pretending. It was as if she questioned his chivalry-which he himself also did- and that only magnifies the irrational feeling of guilt for the thoughts he was nurturing. He placed the wine carafe near his feet, seeing as it didn't seem that either of them wwere eager to engage in heavy drinking, so he forced himself to think. H had to move the subject along or else this conversation was dead in the water.

"I like your name...Lysara, it is beautiful. Did your parents wish to honor the great city you hail from when they chose it for you?"

Lysara let a soft chuckle, as she sprawled her back onto the seat, yawning like an overgrown cat, and probably displaying more things than she should have. With a hint of singsong in her voice, she just added. "Oh, but you are pretending. All people in this court have to wear a mask, and yours is that one of a prince. Regal, well intended, an example to follow. But everyone... has their quirks. Even the most saintly of knights." Lysara retorted, as she eyed the young man. "According to my brother, it was my mother who chose it. In honour to the Lady of Lys." The young woman added, as if she was droning a trite old tale. "So, in a sense, you're right... Rhaegar."

The young woman then deftly slipped a hand towards the carafe, producing some wine to drink in the process. As much as she was wary of the wine, one could simply not talk in a parched mouth, could they?

"I won't ask where yours comes from. Everyone with a History book does know. It's still a very regal name." She chuckled once more, making a small jape.

The Targaryen Prince struggled to prove her wrong, albeit to no avail. He tried to keep his eyes away from Lysaras body, so he instead decided to concentrate on the carafe. After his companion placed it back down, he followd in turn and took a hearty swing, hoping that the wine could help him salvage the situation. And it did, sort off...

"You are also not wrong Lady Lysara..." he said with a shadow of a smile climbing across his lips. He truly had little interest in speaking about his grandfather, the so-called Last Dragon, lest he repeated the things everyone knew again and again. "If I do wear a mask, then what do you think I hides behind it?"

"You're scared of bungling this up. Because I am probably the first woman you have ever fancied." Lysara said, a cheeky grin in her face showing pearly teeth. "You're a good kid, and you're trying to make everyone else happy. And by doing that, you think you will be happy. You know manners are not your best, so you try limiting your contact. You don't like to lie, nor know how to do it well, so in order to not be taken as naive, you do not dare to talk too much." Lysara, added.

"But you've seen how you have your own good points in the tournament, and you wish to try your luck at things that up until now, have eluded you." She finished. Well, more or less. I hope I am not wrong. Reading people is never exact. She added to herself.

He chuckled once more, followed by a thoughtful silence that span a few seconds before he would turn to Lysara once more "Congratulations Lady of Lys, you have struck all the targets. You and my Aunt Arya would certaintly find common ground..." he said with an amused tone as he took another swing of Arbor Red.

"Well then, at least I know that I offer suitable entertainment to your evening..." the way she said it, it seemed like he was already exposed by her near flawless reading. What woman, especially one as fair as her, would choose a boy over the many men that littered the Court?

"It's not half bad. But I prefer playing Cyvasse." Lysara added. "And making my dear brother beg for mercy." She added, an amused giggle as she took another sip. "You're a rare gem, Rhaegar. A decent, straightforward man in a court of intrigues. I could simply say no to such invitation. You remind me a bit of that fool of a brother of mine. Although he doesn't have any redeeming talent with the sword unlike you. He just swings the thing like a rag." She added.

"Your brother...you mean Seran, right? He seemed like a decent bloke to me when I saw him at court, but if he does swing his sword like a rag then the Stepstones might not be as hospitable as he thinks." he said with an amusing tone, as he peeled off his defenses little by little. Her admittance that she could say no to his invitation seemed to give new life to his hopes and expectations, even flaring up his confidence for a bit.

"In that case, would I overreach if I suspected that you might...fancy me too?" he asked.

"Well, you should have seen him in the throne room. Even if he complied, I know he wanted all but scream... He didn't want to go back." Lysara quickly replied. "Nevertheless, he is good at surviving. He will do well. Probably." The young woman added before eyeing the prince directly into his eyes.

"To be fair Rhaegar, you're just the kind of man that someone like me would like to have at her side, even as my fair appearance withers away inevitably." Lysara replied with certainty. Not to mention, you will not have an unsufferable ego, you have enough high status for my machinations, and you will be able to cut whoever points a blade at me. She added internally.

"I will protect your brother if it comes to it..." Rhaegar blurted out a promise as his eyes met with Lysaras. His aspiration had been to done the White Cloak, not out of ambition to gain legendary status, but to protect his family. And now that through her answer she seemed willing to be by his side, the young Prince felt as if he was capable of holding the weigh of the Seven Kingdoms upon his back "You have my word Lysara."

Lysara couldn't help it, as she initially jolted. Then from her throat a high pitched laugh rose, picturing the young prince saving Seran like if the latter was a fair maiden. She completely caved in, moving her head backwards in amusement. "You...protecting Seran... well, I won't decline such an offer, Rhaegar, but heed me. It's true that idiot has no grace at all with the sword. But... he might be capable of killing people with a single blow. Or with his bare hands. I've seen him doing it before. Back in Essos... Seran cut his way through an entire mercenary band. So don't worry about protecting him, he's a grown man." She finished, drinking more wine in amusement.

His pale cheeks lit up with a dusting of red, not from the wine but instead the realised that he once again allowed his tongue to outrun his mind. It seemed that old habits didn't die easily. "He will still be my brother-in-arms, so if it happens that we fight side by side..." he tried to save it but instead opted to take his turn with the carafe.
"I know you might find my question foolish, but...would you allow me to share a kiss with you?" and as he said it he knew that if Vierys was looking from a corner, he would be hammering his head on the bricks.

Lysara tilted her head thoughtfully, as her mind raced, even if she wasn't outwardly showing it. Eager, aren't we? She thought to herself as she took another sip of the carafe, eyes sideglancing the prince with an impish smile.

"They say that there are some hallmarks that distinguish boy from man. One is to prove oneself brave." She smirked. "Both in the battlefield... and in the court. Even if they might lose." She added. "You might have won the meelee, but you're still so green in certain things. People do not ask for a kiss. They read the signs their partners do, and then move accordingly." She finished, as she drew closer to Rhaegar.

"Just like this, they will nuzzle up, allow them to feel their body heat and perfume. Allow them to see their face close... and when the time is right... they go forward." Lysara added, her stare direct into the prince's eyes, her lips forming a peculiar shape.

For the first time in this nightly sojourn, Rhaegar noticed the smell of Lysaras perfume,taking in what he found out to be an entrancing sensation. "So it is very much like a dance...or a duel." he remebered the teachings of Podrick,on how he had to study his opponents movements before moving in for the strike. So without any delay,he eliminated the miniscule of distance between as he claimed the red lips that at the moment found simply irresistable, with his own. There was a warmth between them as he kissed her, and all the nervousness he expressed previously melted in an instant as he softened his mouth on her. His lips lingered on hers, and then he straightened, staring into her eyes and wondering what she was going to say, if anything.

Lysara just let the sensation linger for a while, before pulling backwards. A grin almost as wide as her straightforward attitude was present in her face. "Well, I must one of the best thieves of the kingdom... I managed to steal a kiss from a prince who had no intention to take a woman."

---

King's Landing (with @MrDidact)

Even amidst the start of an ominous war, the chitchat in King's Landing never ceased. True, most of the lords with importance on their backs had departed for ventures in the name of the kingdom, but the heart of the Nine Kingdoms was far from lifeless. Indeed, to Lysara, even the vibrant and mysterious city of her ancestors seemed to be fairly insignificant when compared to the seat of power of the Targayen.

She stretched her back once more, stepping to peek out of a window and admire a couple of birds flying from a perch of the Red Keep into the vast city, probably trying to gather food. Truthfully, she was thankful her bed was much better and she at least could get a proper food and appearance, besides the hastily cobbled look she had done up until now. It would not hurt, as she felt that her appearance in part, was the reason why she had been chosen over others to be one of the aides of Baella Targayen.

The circumstances were a bit odd, what with herself being older than the princess, and truthfully rumours and jealousy started to spread. She even had seen the hints of buddying bullying and sabotage when she had found a single mouse in her bedsheets. It could be worse. Rats could get really big and fat in Mercenary camps, probably due to the abundance of corpses.

She resumed her walk. Or at least she tried to, but she had to reconsider. Offering a respectful bow of courtesy, she immediately acknowledge the figure before her. Baella.

"M'lady."

Lysara said nothing more. After all, silence before those of higher station was a symbol of respect.

Baella smiled, bowing her head back to Lysara and beckoning her to follow, "Ah, Lysara I was just on my way to collect you. Nymeria has invited us to luncheon and a handmaiden's place is by their lady after all." Baella intertwined her arm with Lysara's, assuming a very friendly posture as they walked through the halls of the Red Keep, those passing them by offering bows or greetings which Baella replied to courteously and graciously. With the departure of most of her brothers, their hangers-on had become hers, and she would be lying if she said she resented the attention.

Baella contined to chat, "I know father and mother are seeing petitioners in the throne room but I couldn't be bothered to attend. Daenyra is with them, naturally, but it's oh so dull sitting next to the throne and hearing all of the tedious complaints and asinine requests. I am quite glad I will never have to suffer that. If there's to be such a large audience, I'd rather be playing on the lute." The Princess was a renowned musician, and had mastered several instruments already. Her singing voice was famed throughout the kingdom.

"Fair warning about Nymeria. She may be married to my brother but she is absolutely incorrigible. She will immediately try to bed you. Especially with your.... build. However luckily she is somewhat discreet, and does take no for an answer, so don't be afraid to refuse her. Unless you don't want to of course."

"Oh and my siblings will be there as well. Daenyra will most likely join us shortly, and my brother Jaehaerys will be in attendance. Now he will try to bed you as well. He'll be much more subtle about it, but he is perhaps even more relentless than my sister-in-law. But his saving grace is that he knows when to stop, so the same advice applies." Baella and Jahaerys were often seen roaming the Red Keep together and many in the court speculated that the two would marry but the King and Queen seemed intent on keeping their hands open in case of need for political alliances.

Baella continued to list off the other guests, "Rhaenys will be there as well. She's young and bratty and will most likely try to cause some sort of mischief. Then there's Cat Baratheon, Arya's daughter. She's a bit stern, but a lot of fun once her hair goes down. Julianna, Tyrion and Sansa's daughter, will be there too. Almost sickingly sweet that one, but I love her. Alyssane, Brienne's daughter. She's cocky. With good reason. And then there's Lyanna, Brandon's daughter. You'll just have to wait till you meet her. And a whole host of others who escape me that the moment. This will be your first real social engagement so, you must be in top form dear. Some of them will be friendly, and some of them will try to test you." The veterans and nobles who had survived the Long Night had seen the value of friendship and loyalty in the face of the White Walker's onslaught, and many had fostered their children at the Red Keep in order to build those same friendships and alliances for the next generation.

"But enough about that don't want to overwhelm you on your first real day. How are you faring Lysara?"

Lysara was content to let herself being dragged away by the Targayen princess, who wasted no effort in being as detailed as possible in the situation. The amount of information and words piled in seemed to overwhelm Lysara at first, as she strained herself to retain as much information as possible. It would be a rare chance to get as much information as this in one go, and her lady would probably want her to act according the indications she had been given. She simply pondered for a brief moment, as she kept walking, before lowering her face slightly, obscuring her eyes with the locks of hair.

"I grow restless, like everyone else. Truth to be told, this is the first time I will be separated from Seran for long. The fact that you found me wandering was me trying to perform an assessment of my surroundings, my lady." She paused, as she flicked her head upwards once more.

"But fear not, my lady. Nymeria may be Dornish, but I am Lyseni. I would do no justice to my ancestors if i could not perform in this kind of environment." She added, a smile struck at the princess.

Baella giggled, hiding her smile behind a pale hand and playfully smacking Lysara's arm, "Oh you're just as bad as my brothers. You'll fit in just fine here Lysara. My other girls are not so nearly as intriguing as you are. The beauty from across the sea. Reminds me of my mother's story, strangely enough. I didn't think I'd need another handmaiden but I'm glad my mother chose you. And yourself how do you feel about this position?"

Lysara smiled back as she rubbed the afflicted arm with her free hand. "My lady, I can only be grateful. Days ago, I was merely scraping by. Now I could only hatch a dragon egg so my resemblance with her Grace is complete, I could die happily." Lysara japed back. If only the princess knew...

Baella laughed, eyes glittering, "I wish my other ladies-in-waiting had your sense of humor. Uncle Aegon's children have dragons, and my brother-in-law Monterys' children will have their eggs hatch soon, but my parents would be so flabbergasted if another egg appeared outside of the family. But you? Scraping by? I can hardly believe it? How is such a beauty accustomed with squalor and not splendor?" The Princess had a reputation as a gossip and it was absolutely true.

Lysara's smile faded out, just as her eyes became hazy, and unfocused, staring in some part of a non-existant horizon beyond the walls of the keep. "And yet, it is true. I lost my wealthy position in life when I was eleven. I never met my mother. And I've had to work for my life." She extended her hand in front of Baella's face. "Beatiful as these hands might be... they are not as ladylike as they should. They are getting better by the day, thanks to all the care I am giving them, but you can see it. The calluses and parched skin are still present in there, my Lady."

Baella frowned, somehow making the expression graceful and held the hand in her own manicured and moisturized hand, feeling the calluses with her fingers and hugging Lysara more tightly to her, "I am so sorry Lysara. I didn't know. We will speak of it some other time, I can see it is painful for you. But no worries, you're with us now. You'll be pampered as befits your true station in life my dear." Baella may have been a gossip but even she knew when it was wise to not press. She would ease the details out of Lysara carefully, but no need to dig now.

Baella changed the subject, grinning mischieviously, "Tell me is it true that all Lysene girls must learn the arts of pleasure?"

"Hmm." Lysara added, retracting her hands. "No. It's not true. Then again, the noble men of Westeros need not to learn the arts of the sword... but they usually do, just to not be ridiculed by the rest." She added, deciding to settle with an analogy such a prying question. Truth to be told, she didn't know. Nor cared. But given the amount of Lyseni experts in pleasure, it was the one explanation that fit.

Baella nodded, "Oh the young lordlings and knights will love you. So much mystery. I can tell we're going to have so much fun." They stopped before a door where a member of the Summerhall Guard nodded at the pair and opened the door admitting the two into the room. Several young men and women were already there as well as one member of the Kingsguard, the mute Ser Wex standing in a back corner.

At the head of the table sat Nymeria, her tanned skin and brown eyes glistening in the light from the balcony. Jahaerys sat at her left hand and Rhaenys, thirteen and tomboyish, fidgeted in her seat at her brother's side and across from a large, athletically built woman with dark black hair and grey eyes. Cat. Julianna, the future Queen of Westeros, sat at Nymeria's right hand, her green eyes flecked with gold. A spritely blonde with hair even paler than Julianna's sat at the table, with starry blue eyes and a thin almost boyish build. Alyssane of Tarth. The Northern beauty with long black hair and stormy grey eyes was undoubtedly Lyanna Stark. All of them regarded the Princess with smiles and Lysara with varying degrees and varities of interest. Many more young nobles sat at table as well. Including Baella's other handmaidens, who all regarded Lysara with either envy or suspicion.

Baella approached, escorting Lysara along and trading hugs and greetings with her friends, "Everyone this is, Lysara. My new handmaiden, Lysara, this is our charming little group." She took Lysara around, introducing her to the various dignataries. Nymeria openly ran her eyes up and down Lysara's body while Jahaerys kissed her hand and offered a chivalrous compliment, and Rhaenys smiled earnestly. Cat opted for a nod while Julianna smiled at her and offered a compliment on her dress. Alysanne Tarth smirked at the handmaiden and barely said a greeting before commenting on her bust to the grins of her group of young male admirers. Lyanna stared Lysara right in the eyes and some enigmatic mystery stirred in them before she smiled and nodded hello. A tall Mormont named Dacey gripped Lysara in a bear hug and shoved a glass of wine in her hands with a smile. Dale Seaworth, one of Davos' grandsons, politely bowed.

And the dance of social interactions started. This was probably the most crowded lunch she had ever had. And she had been down to mercenary communal barracks. She herself let herself be led, making only notice of preserving a demure attitude, and nodding in approval to what Baella was doing and saying. However, the brusque invasion of the Mormont made Lysara quickly reel in surprise, triggering reflexes that otherwise would have saved her life in other ocassions, but that were working against her in this particular case. As soon as Lysara processed that indeed, she was just a big overfriendly lug offering a cup of wine, the damage had been done. The glint of a small blade could be seen between her fingertips of one hand, only to retract briefly afterwards.

For my own sake, I hope nobody noticed that She added, offering an ample, generous curtsy to all those present in return of her greetings. Inadvertendly showing perhaps too much of her figure in the process. She also spoke up graciously, but the choice of language she used was not Westerosi. It was High Valyrian. She offered a heartfelt sincere welcome in the language of the Freehold.

Many of the young men tried and mostly failed to hide their appraising glances but even a few of the women didn't refrain from evaluating Lysara. Wex who had been watching in the corner, had laid his hand over his pommel when he saw the flash but didn't draw when the flash had disappeared. No doubt Arya had briefed Wex as best as she could on the mysterious beauty and Wex doubtlessly recognized the look of someone tramuatized in childhood. He kept his peace as the nobles socialized. Jahaerys smiled at Lysara and recited a phrase in High Valyrian back to her while Baella translated her initial greeting to the group, " "You speak the tongue beautifully my lady. More beautifully than I have ever heard. You must be Lysene."

Nymeria grinned at the girl, "Where did the Queen find you dear? A pleasure house perhaps?" Julianna gasped and said, "What a thing to say Nymeria. Simply no need to slander Lysara in such a way." Nymeria winked, "It wasn't a slander my dear good sister."

Upon hearing the Prince's reply, Lysara's face offered a brief but satisfied smile of complicity at the prince, signaling she was accepting the compliment. As... stuffy and predictable it seemed, and even though she had been approached by another prince already, it didn't hurt to leave some kind of door open. "Surely you jest, my Prince." She added, replying in common tongue. Her gaze lingered for a moment, before drifting over to Nymeria.

"Pleasure Houses aren't what they used to be... after the changes on the regimes of the free cities, lady Nymeria. It would be a good story, however. Just like the Mother of Dragons had one former pleasure slave as one of her trusted aides, so her daughter would have aswell." Lysara tilted her head. "Alas, my story is different. You see, her Grace the Queen found me..." Lysara stopped middle sentence, allowing suspense to build up before the deliver of the line.

"...behind my brother." She finished, beaming a smile.

Jaehaerys smiled again, "Surely not, my lady. Baella is a singer but common suits her better. The tongue comes to you like water to a mermaid." Nymeria drank from some wine, "Ah your brother. I saw him in the throne room with all the other heroes. A strapping young lad I do say so myself." Baella agreed smiling, "I should say so. You simply must tell us all about him Lysara. The ladies of the court were so disappointed when he left on that mission with the others." Julianna frowned ruefully, "I only hope that my Prince and your brother will be safe. I pray to the Mother every day." Nymeria dismissed the concern with a wave, "No worries good sister. My Viserys is one of the finest warriors in the land and Aemon is no squire either. I'm sure that brother of yours is a tough fighter as well Lysara. Tell me, how traditional is your family?" Nymeria giggled.

"Thank you, my Prince. Now I feel reassured knowing that my High Valyrian sounds like the gutural gurgle of the creatures of the deep." Lysara smirked, swirling her cup and taking a thoughtful sip, catching on the cue of Baella's intentions. So, her princess wanted some juicy gossip? Well, it seemed fair enough. Although Lysara still couldn't resist but adding her particular spin to her tale. "My brother? He's a tool. He has to constantly depend on me to do his planning of the day. He swings the sword like a club, and the club like a sword. And he could never beat me in a game of Cyvasse." Lysara added, swirling her cup. "But I do guess, he is good at doing something alright." Lysara added. "He may not be able to beat me at Cyvasse, but he makes me sweat to win the games. He may depend on my planning to deal with the day, but he carefully assists me with mine. He may have no grace when swinging weapons, but he can swing them all equally, and he has saved my life by cutting a path through sure death." Lysara finished, her stare in the cup. "Family you say, Lady Nymeria? I wouldn't known."

"Besides Seran, everyone else is dead. My mother since birth. My father since I was eleven. And my other brother aswell died." Her stare now became defiant, eyes clashing with Nymeria's own orbs, the stern gaze of a dragon upon her. "So I would humbly request not to dabble that much in that subject, my Lady." She finished, curtly.

Jahaerys seemed unpertubed, and the ghost of a smirk even graced his features. His grey eyes seeemed to reevaluate her, searching her own for the mysteries she held concealed, "Not just a lovely voice, but a quick tongue too." Nymeria seemed pleased with Lysara's initial answer,"Oafish men have their place my dear. Sometimes you don't need refinement and vigor is all that is required." Upon her defiant rebuke, Nymeria smirked, gazing back unafraid and unapologetically. Julianna, shocked by Lysara's story, offered gracious sympathies and platitudes while Baella gently scolded her handmaiden, "Please excuse Lysara ladies, she's new to the capital. Her manner requires some refinement still." Nymeria nodded, "No need good sister. The fault is mine. Besides, I like spirit."

Alysanne spoke up for the first time, "Spirit is well and fine. But what's better is knowing your place. Apologize to the Princess, my lady. One does not rebuke their betters." The young Tarth lady eyed Lysara arrogantly. Some whispered she was the daughter of Jaime Lannister, and the Kingslayers famed youthful pride shone brightly in her. The mood in the room soured as several guests either looked on in interest or pretended not to notice and carry on as they were. Wex's hand drifted over his sword again. Alys was quick to anger and quick to draw steel and the situation could turn violent at any moment, if she were further provoked. Cat put a hand on Alys' shoulder, urging her friend to stand down but she would not be dettered. Lyanna looked on with something like a grin. Alys repeated herself, "Nymeria's honor will not be besmirched."

Jahaerys sensing the tension, put a hand on Rhaenys' shoulder and urged her away from the table, looking on as Baella sighed in exasperation.

Lysara's fist contracted, as she eyed the situation. Well, she had hoped that flaring up a bit would probably cut short the questions, but now the retinue of Nymeria seemed rather... discontent with her actual performance. Her eyes met with Baella for the briefest moment, then lady Tarth, and finally Nymeria.

"Valar dohaeris." She said in a clear voice, alluding the old Valyrian greeting, and following that, offered one of her most contrite bows directed as Nymeria. "I apologize, lady Nymeria. I have spoken out of place, due to my naivety and arrogance."She paused."Please do not take it against my Princess."

Nymeria accepted the gesture with a nod and a smile, "Come my lady, there is no need for such pleasentries, the fault is entirely mine. Please excuse, Alys. She's as quick with a sword as she is with a smile and she is a bit overzealous when it comes to her friends. Are you appeased Alys?" Alys did not seem very satisfied but she could hardly complain. She stared at Lysara for several moments before finally nodding. A bit of a smirk crossing her features as she drank some wine.

The rest of the guests murmured amongst themselves, gossiping about the confrontation. Baella quickly recovered, and was practically ecstatic when the door opened and the food was placed on the table, a decadent array of various meats, fruits and vegetables, and sweets. Baella dragged Lysara to the table, "Oh you simply must try the roast duck dear. To die for." Alys traded glances with Lysara and smiled again before turning to her male retinue.

"Yes, my Lady." Lysara's reply was soft and mellow, as she eyed Alys for a brief moment before resuming her role as handmaiden of the princess. She did not take the roast duck immediately, instead waiting to see others taste the food before grabbing a piece for herself. The experience of her brother with tainted food, and the popularity of poison to deal with political opponents in Lys had made her wary. And yet, she had to appear unconcerned, so she struck a balance she could easily justify by not having much appetite, a ladylike trait.

The chatter in the room became more sedate and relaxed, the mood slowly returning to one of levity. Many of the other guests were trading glances among themselves or sneaking looks at Lysara. For the moment Jahaerys and Nymeria had seemed to had their fill of conversing with Lysara and chatted with their friends. Baella was content to gossip with Lysara and the other handmaidens, the gaggle of girls giggling over the latest rumors and news.

Finally the door opened and Daenyra Targaryen entered. Tom Lannister was at her side, escorting her on his arm as the pair entered the room. Both had just come from the Throne Room in the aftermath of the petitions and Baella rose, introducing Lysara to them, "Lysara, this is Daenyra. Aemon's twin, Lady of Driftmark. And Tommen Lannister, the Young Lion, future Lord of Casterly Rock. Sister, good brother, this is my new handmaiden. Lysara of Lys." Tom bowed his head, "Charmed." Meanwhile Daenyra stared at Lysara with those unsettling blue eyes and nodded her head minutely.

Daenyra sat close to Baella and Lysara, hugging Rhaenys in greeting and eyeing the Lysene handmaiden, "I trust you're enjoying your time in King's Landing Lysara? A marked difference from Lys no doubt. What brings once such as you all the way to our city? A girl from an old house, raised in a mercenary camp?"

Hmmm. Well, this place is more vibrant than I thought. Also many possible good candidates for marriage without being claimed. Lysara thought to herself, smiling at the assorted nobles that kept being presented to her. She also kept an ear through the gossip, smiling Baella's jokes and nodding vigorously. She had to appear a bit like a puppet of Baella for the time being, as no doubt the other handmaidens would see their positions threatened. She still bore some doubts in the back on her mind, about her brusque confrontation with Nymeria and the honor-strung make-believe of lady knight. Would those be lovers? They might as well be. Lysara offered her best curtsy to Tommen and Daenyra. "The pleasure is all mine, lady and lord." She answered putting the best smile on her.

Jaehaerys, Rhaegar or Tommen? Difficult choice on who to court. Oh who I am kidding. The young Rhaegar seems the safer bet to aim without much competition. But better keep my channels open. Lysara pondered, as she went to face Daenyra.

"Well, this is so far the kind of situation i would choose over the company of crass mercenaries, and everyone present here. There is no comparison, simply put." Lysara. "Still, It feels a bit overwhelming at times." She conceded, her prior brush with Alysanne being rather obvious. "Well, my objective is probably the same as half the people here. A better life. My brother was of the opinion i was wasting myself away while cleaning wounds, and eventually decided that this wasn't any more risky than the boiling cauldron that is Essos nowadays."

Lysara smiled somewhat humorously. "Who knows, even I might find my soulmate among this lot... just to spite that tool that would rather wage war in Essos than keep me company." The younger of the siblings beamed.

Daenyra smiled back at Lysara, glancing at Alys, "I've known Alys since we were children. She's loyal to her friends, to a fault almost. But I will make sure she apologizes to you. She was out of line." Daenyra sat with them for some time more, eating very little and listening more than she gossiped. Eventually, Baella had a servant bring her a lute and she began playing a ballad, singing melodiously as she performed the Silver Queen's Song, a story of her mother's ascent from exile princess to dragon queen.

Just as she finished the song and bowed to the applause of her audience, Daenyra stood to leave, and touched Lysara on the shoulder as she passed. A soft whisper sounded inside her mind, " Tread carefully. Very carefully. You are being watched. " Daenyra kept walking and left the room, and it seemed as if a gloom had settled in with heer absence.

Lysara watched the conversation unfold, her eyes glancing at Daenyra at times. Dragon in her own right, isn't she? Her thoughtfulness accentuated at times, only to be woken by the princess' song. Well, she's good. I don't have to worry about upstaging my lady when it comes to singing. She probably could use a second voice... She thought as she gave a clapping and ovation.

Only to be cut short by Daenyra's ominous whisper. That much i know, alright. At times this game can be much more dangerous than a battlefield. She pondered before nodding. She still couldn't tell wether this Daenyra was an ally or was trying to bully her, but she would refrain from making bold moves for a while. First, let Baella enjoy her new Lyseni handmaiden. She couldn't pretend to move the stage on the first day, could she?

Oh brother, please come alive. I could use someone to rely on in this nest of masked intentions She thought to herself as she sipped one last cup of wine.

---

Disguised Trade Ship Gray Ice

((OOC: I assume Aerion understands Lyseni bastard Valyrian, represented with <<>>))
@Abefroeman

Dealing with the eve of battle was always hard, even for a seasoned mercenary. The Lyseni known as Seran was no exception. While there was much eagerness, even rowdyness, his spirit was still somber, and it was due to politeness that he wasn't sporting a frown in front of the Targayens who were sponsoring the fellow adventures. He took his cup of wine carefully, sipping ever so slowly so it would never get refilled. He was not going to drink himself to sleep this night, like others. Not when many things needed to be prepared and pondered. However, there was so much one could tolerate, and after bearing witness to some less than ... fortunate comments and attitudes, Seran made his own aportation with a curt response. "Survival. Now, if you excuse my insolence, m'lord, I must tend a growing seasickness." Seran added, eventually getting up and reaching for the starboard. Blunt? Maybe. But he needed to breathe air.

Apparently it wasn't the only one who had the same idea, judging how a couple of youngsters were bent on carving the deck in an insipid sworddance. It was a good thing that Visenya had stopped them and that Tarya Greyjoy had somehow managed to defuse the situation further with her words. A savvy girl, that woman. He considered giving her a greeting, but more pressing matters were at hand. Namely Sir Aerion, who had approached his moment of solace to seek questions from him.

Well, he really wanted to take a look at the silent night and think over, but he didn't consider Aerion's interruption annoying. It was more of a ...revealing sort. He could see it too. <<"Fine indeed, sir Aerion, if one worships the Many Faced God.">> The Lyseni quipped back, turning ever so slowly to an interlocutor. <<"Unfortunately for me, I do not, since I am partial to the lady of Lys...">> Seran let trail off before a hoarse voice shouted on his back, the ruffling of black and white feathers accompaning it.

"Tits!" The magpie shouted in an idiotic fashion. Apparently the clever animal had followed him to the starboard.

<<"...lady of Lys, one word this thing learns... and it's...">> Seran added, mumbling between the magpie's cawing. However, he bounced back pretty quickly, his eyes now matching those of Aerion. <<"Seeking advice of the troop and file, ser Aerion? Quite an odd thing to do. But then again none of this makes much sense, does it?">> The Lyseni nodding, confiding his opinion. Well, Aerion wasn't one to hear things minced, so he cleared his throat.

<<"No luck there, I am afraid, ser Aerion. I am as clueless as you are. But I fear for the worst, that they will take this one as one of the Westerosi make-believe wars. They will try to press on to make a massive battle where dragons can fly and scorch the enemy, and glory hounds get their share.">> Seran added. <<"And yet...it probably can't be done.">> The Lyseni shrugged. <<"Well, if it is any consolation, I do think the Iron throne does not have its entire faith on success. With the frontiers of the kingdom as swollen as they are... they're probably dispatching us with gold and glory, in hopes that we might succeed, and save the rewards on those who will have fallen. The Mother of Dragons does know her trade, doesn't she?">> Seran smirked, half-resigned to his fate.

<<"Although I hope they realize the folly of using dragons against people in this island. Stones don't burn well... ships do, however.">> Seran added, thoughtfully. <<"And the Stepstones are called that because they must be taken one at a time, or else you will only fall.">> He added. <<"Still, we're not completely helpless, we have enough veterans and talent here to potentially overturn the situation. If we're lucky.">> Seran of Lys finished, as he tilted his head to the sea.

<<"Valar Morghulis, ser Aerion.">> He offered the customary Braavosi greeting. Oddly grim and fitting for this situation, he thought.

Mirren had ridden hard and long towards the Reach in order to arrive in a timely manner. Certain nobles of certain houses might have seen little merit in going out of their way to arrive on time, but in her experience they certainly expected such in kind. She didn't know whether the Tyrell man would fall into the former or latter categories, but she was not eager to find out the hard way. It would be a poor first impression to arrive a week after the Reachmen had begun their foray into the Dornish mountains, and an even poorer first impression if they had done so with little care for the ways of fighting of the mountain bandits and other inhabitants. Nobles were ill dispositioned to take kindly to her presence when an absence of it had cost them hundreds of lives in ambushes from hidden mountain passes.

To that end, she had borrowed a horse from one of the Reachmen in King's Landing, promising him that she was in fact riding to meet with Ser Garlan, and not a smooth talking horsethief, and paying him a decent sum for the horse's use on the route. Judging by his demeanor, he could afford several more horses of considerably higher breeding if he so chose, but she had seen little point in bringing the matter up. Though, as she winced at the beginnings of saddle sores against her buttocks, he certainly could have provided a saddle that wasn't nearly hardened to rock.

Thankfully, the journey itself had been somewhat uneventful. Aside from one encounter with a band of men who professed themselves to be men of the Reach protecting the roads, but when they had demanded payment, things had gotten ugly. One man had charged at her waving a worn out axe, which she had deftly sidestepped, delivering a swift blow to his side that, while not fatal if he sought treatment, would teach the man a lesson. The others had taken flight at that point, and aside from a straw arrow sent at their backs to encourage them to run faster, she had continued on her way without further incident.

Blackhaven was not far into the Dornish Marches, the settlement of tents and an encampment already forming, this being the basis of an army. The Tyrells were here in number, with Houses Goldengrove, Peake and Tarly contributing large numbers of men, roughly equal to the number if not more than the Stormlanders had contributed, and it was a small fraction of what House Tyrell could spare from the armies of the Reach. Green and a few yellow coloured tents were scattered, within which was the tent of Garlan Tyrell.

But now she was arriving at the camp of the Tyrell army, and she swiftly dismounted, quickly presenting the seal Willas had given her and continuing on. Slowly and somewhat hesitantly, she approached the tent, leaving her other belongings upon the horse she had borrwed. "My lord?" She called, not entering the tent without permission, "I am here on Ser Willas' instructions. I seem to recall something about having use for someone from Dorne in this campaign?"

The guards let in Mirren, recognizing the Dornish woman from Raven-sent instruction, that Garlan was expecting a retinue to come. Garlan Tyrell was not what he once was, but he was still a known commander, and even though his hair was beginning to go, and his age was showing, he was still a proud soldier of the Reach. The plate he wore was simple, a traditional breastplate and legs, that was dusty and scratched, with a green ornament that signified who this was in particular. The Commander of the Order of the Green Hand, the sigil resting on his chest, a wonderful looking brass and golden design of a hand.

"Mirren Sand. A mercenary sword. I've heard things." Garlan chuckled, walking up to her, offering out his hand.
"We could certainly use any help, particularly on Dorne. Flowers don't tend to do well here. We have guides, and locals willing to help. But I could use some help that goes beyond that, to understand the conditions, a fixer, shall we say. I trust in Willas's word that you'll serve well."

"That is my hope as well, my lord." Mirren inclined her head, looking around. "I must admit, I have not been in Westeros for some years - some young noble from the Westerlands had it in his mind that Essos would be an excellent place for business when all you have to your name is the name itself, and little more than that. My father was in no need to abdicate his own position, so I joined up with the man. Dare I say, I learned quite a bit more than bodyguard duty - mostly how not to behave around Lyseni pimps." She closed her eyes, doing her best not to think too much about the Lyseni brothels she had been forced to enter.

"Regardless, I did grow up in Dorne, and while I may not be able to tell you of every single invisible mountain pass hidden by stones and sand, I can tell you of quite a few you probably don't have marked on a map." After a pause, she added, "And probably help to fend off anyone who gets any ideas about how much longer you should live. Might I suggest keeping the helmet on if possible when we're in the thick of things - it's rather hard to shield someone from an arrow when the archer is hidden behind a single rock outcropping among millions."

"Understood. I would imagine there is much different to back home. Best to never underestimate a foreign field, such as these mountains." Garlan replied, listening to her story, as he sighed, leaning against the tent's pole.
"I have nothing bold in terms of ideas, a few have been mooted. The taking of the Spire, the conequest of Vulture's Roost, before we locate and find Hellgate Hall. All in one co-ordinated attack. It is a bold move. Would certainly take them off guard. But it still feels like they dragged us to here for a reason." Garlan mused, looking to Mirren.

"I understand you probably haven't seen the situation here in a while. If you know the passes, that helps us a great deal. Yet the point being though, I think our form of warfare is a little...jagged in these hills. I may have a thought on a better response, to adapt our forces in these hills. I trust my brother's word to think you'd be capable for this, if you're willing to hear it." Garlan added, walking across the tent, gently taking his hilt from the table, and putting it by his own side.

"I certainly am." Mirren took up a slow walk behind him, eyeing the tent and then looking back to him. "What did you have in mind? I can certainly say prior suggestions would be of... dubious efficacy at the very best. Any amateur student of history could easily say what happened last time a massive army from Westeros attempted to subjugate Dorne with a large host. And if memory serves, there was no enemy to fight." She shrugged, gesturing at the map, "Seizing every castle and redoubt in the Marches will do little to actually counter the problem. Dorne has castles, sure. But we're perfectly happy abandoning them if need be - a foe who thinks he's safe in numbers is one who's susceptible to small raids and lightning charges into the weakest points of his supply column. You lead your forces in bulk into the mountains, and I can almost guarantee you that they'll fade away to thirst and attrition. Let me caution you as strongly as I can, not to fight in Dorne as you do in the Reach. It won't work, and it's not worked before. Sans the Dance of Dragons, little else has brought down a dragon but attacking Dorne in force." She stepped to the side, "With that said, what did you have in mind, Ser?"

"Lyonel Tyrell did not fare well either. Had scorpions dropped on his head, I recall." Garlan commented, nodding.
"I understand that this is not a normal war. A war where we must creep slowly, and be careful. Though orthodox as I am, I know that cannot happen. If they will attack us will small bands, then we can respond in kind." The Tyrell added, as he walked to the table, gently looking at the map inside his own quarters.
"Blackhaven is beyond their reach. And our scouts tell us they are sporadic, just as we expected. Weak in number, but armed with archers, and swordsmen. Rather than marching our whole contingent of men in, I intend to send a smaller reconaissance force, made up of a small number of men. To find out just what is atop the Spire, and watch anything that comes in, and out." Garlan commtented, turnign to Mirren.

"You may be a mercenary. And I have many fine commanders, Lord Tarly among them. But I have a feeling you may be able to do what we won't...you'll certainly fit better in the environment and be far more nimble. A small assembly of men can be given to you, a few ravens, and the chance to give us the information we need before we attack, and waste our men." Garlan laid the plan out, but knew it simply wasn't that.

"Worst comes to worst, nothing comes of it. But if so, you can find, harass and eliminate them, make them aware that we are hunting them. Dragons and armies won't win this war alone. Gendry is bold, but knows the hammer. If I've learnt anything from the past wars and from my brother, it is that war is won by information."

"I know you were sent to me as a guard. And you may stay as that, if you wish. But if you wish to take this, you'll help us to win this conflict. Defeat the Vulture King."

"I seem to remember something about him having those scorpions dropped on him when he called for a whore, or something to that effect." Mirren added with a sly grin. "Regardless, your plan is sound - to a point." She walked around, facing the man across from the map, "I will take command of a small force for you, but simply leading them into the mountains is dangerous. Once again, I may be of Dorne, but I am from the coast. I can tell you of hundreds of small passages through these mountains you or any other knights of the Reach would never sea, but the people who live here could list thousands more still. Marching straight in with a small or large force is tantamount to protracted suicide - I would urge you to hire local guides whose loyalties are not in question - a feat in and of itself."

She paused for a moment, gesturing and pointing at various spots in the map, "We cannot fight them on their own terms. Neither I nor yourself will ever know the mountains like they do, and to that end I would suggest a slower plan, and costlier in the short term." She looked back up at him, "I will be honest, my lord. Neither you, nor myself, can adequately command a force to simply eradicate the bandits. We cannot think of this as a traditional engagement, you know as well as I do. Every mountain crevasse, every nook and cranny, could be a hiding spot for a small party of the enemy. I would advise a twofold strategy - hire those guides I mentioned, I can oversee them for you if you wish. And use your superior numbers to block the main routes through the mountains and advance slowly. Do not think in terms of territory gained or lost - this is not a rigid front like wars anywhere else in Westeros. The bandits can slip by on foot easily enough, but even they will face a difficult task in bypassing columns of Reachmen with food and supplies once their farms are burned." Her face darkened, "And yes, you will likely need to burn their farms."

"Gendry will not be pleased. Neither will I. Doing that is going to piss him off, but I know why. The mountains are like a large castle...we cannot simply enter them, there's fortifications and hideyholes everywhere. Then there's the actual castles themselves...." Garlan exhaled, sighing as he looked at his map.
"But you are right. I know the costs. The implication of war. The greater good rather than the lesser evil that amounts to a greater horror." The Tyrell commander was wise to make the comment, recognizing his own boundaries, and the fact that this was why she was here.

"The Tyrell vanguard is blocking the pass at Nightsong, and the western front. If the Prince of Dorne doesn't let any out at Wyl and Skyreach, and the Stormlanders neither towards Blackhaven, then we'd have that encirclement. Any small bands with encampments that are exposed will be easy to sweep, and it'll be our first step. Higher in the mountains, I would take your strategy. So in which case, I'd like you to do something additional then. Given your attributes, I think while you may not know yet, you sound like you might be able to find out." Garlan added, looking at the map.
"I'd like you to find us more guides, and more men. Dornish Spears, actually, and archers. We can arrange the funds to hire about 1,500 in addition, mercenaries, guides, scouts, men who understand the lay of the land, and each passage. Oversee our reconaissance, and our view in. There are dragons that can burn out any cave you mark, so long as we find no Ballistae or Scorpions."

"But you must understand, Gendry isn't going to be patient. He's got a lot of wroth, a lot fucking more than me. King's orders are to put this down, before any word keeps spreading. There's more than just the fact that even a small number of men are in these caves, it's the fact that the Vulture King has access to some very strange pheonomena that we can't account for. That would put a spanner in the works. So that adds another variable we can't account for. Not easily...there are some men from Oldtown who say they've studied it, that I would want you to have with you. That is another factor we need to be mindful of." Garlan replied, as he sighed, looking across the table, opening a leather-covered canteen.
"Anyway. Wine? You've travelled a long way."

"Tell Gendry," Mirren began, nodding towards the man and looking around for a chair, "That if he's so eager to rush in and defeat them, that I'd like him to tie a purple cloth around his right shoulder so I can identify his corpse once we get to it." She sighed, "The King was a member of the Night's Watch, and he expects this to be a quick campaign?" Letting herself fall into a nearby chair, she groaned audibly, "Fuck me, and here I thought dealing with upstart minor nobles was hard enough. I'll take that wine if you're still offering."

She stood after a moment, walking towards him, "I can command these men if you wish, but I must inform you again - there will be no quick victory here. It will be long, it will be painful, and unless the Vulture King loses all sense and decides to march into an open field and face your army in a straight engagement, it will involve burning down farms and villages. Are you sure you're willing to do all that? In addition, there are likely men more capable of actual command than myself, my lord. I was a bodyguard, not a general. A small unit I can lead and have done so many times, but a force of this size..." She frowned, uncertain, "I do not wish to be the bearer of bad news, but I have no experience with this level of command, and a foray against mountain guerillas in their home territory who may have powers we don't fully understand may not be the best learning experience. I can lead a spearhead squad for you, or direct your own personal guards, but commanding hundreds of men..." She trailed off.

"Then do just that. The tip of the spear you have to hand then, Mirren Sand." Garlan wittily replied, as he put the cork back on the canteen of wine, nodding.
"Anyway, telling Gendry Baratheon that is like telling a raging bull to calm down. He'll gore you into bits. And Gendry can do more than that. I've seen him do worse. King Jon is willing to do the right thing when the time inclines...but he isn't always the most experienced. He's learned a lot, but he has his bravery, and no cunning. He sees this as a distant affair." The Tyrell chuckled, as he took a seat himself, bringing it against the table.

"You take your number. A small one, and recruit who you need. I have men who can command. But they're not....well, let me be frank. They won't understand what I'm telling you now. They'll want all the men they can muster, and they could do it, easily. If you think that upstart little nobles are difficult, wait till you see an army of noble Knights who all want glory when we go to war. It's hell...and I know that some of those from Goldengrove and Peake don't even know that yet." Garlan looked at the map again, looking over the pieces, and the routes in.

"Tell Gendry, if he wants to know what happens when you charge into these mountains I'd be happy to share some horror stories with him. Or perhaps, send him into the foothills and I'll take some blunt arrows and show him just what would happen myself. Maybe the bruises will make him think twice." She rested her face against her palm, "Though if prior experience with Knights is any indication, he'll probably just get angrier and challenge me to a duel." She looked up at Garlan, "Something tells me he'd be even worse about that, though, wouldn't he?"

Looking over the map again, she groaned, burying her eyes in her hands, "By the old gods, the new, and every one in between, this is going to be a right nightmare. What was the King thinking sending a bunch of knights of the Reach against bandits in the Dornish mountains?"

"Knights of Dorne, and the Stormlands too. We're here to do a job, and I suppose as the King asks, we serve. Same as you. Your input is valuable, and know it hasn't gone unused." Garlan added, shaking his head.
"Keep it to yourself....I'll do what I can...this will work, but only if we act carefully, and skillfully. We do not repeat the mistakes of the past. Whatever anyone may think." He looked back at Mirren again, at her purple eyes, the Lyseni origin clear to see. Mirren was powerful yet slender from his view, she seemed like a guard alright, even if she didn't have the age, she sure had the cyncism.
"I can tell we'll get on well. We're both cynical enough to know this won't work out the way some people want it to." Garlan only took the the rest of the wine, as he led the way towards the exit of the tent.

"Grab some sleep. There's a few spare beds going in the tent over there, for now it'll do. Don't worry, the men aren't all perverts. I have a funny feeling they'd be too scared to kill you either way, but don't fucking take their genitals. You serve me, as they serve their liege commander. We ride at dawn." Garlan said, the stoic commander bold in his words, proud yet not cocky, he sounded weathered and commanding.

He watched on as Mirren left, already having a good taste of what someone who actually knew what the fuck they were doing here was like. Garlan was cynical, after all, and even though he didn't freely admit it, he had been hit more by the wars past than he'd tell Willas or anyone. And once it was done, he had to adjust back to normal duties. Training men was good, and so was helping Merlin in running the Kingdom in Lord Willas's absence, but even so, there was much to be said that he didn't know exactly what else to do, after all. Mirren seemed cynical in that sight to Garlan- yet somehow, he could tell he'd get on well with her, beyond some initial reluctance.

King's Landing

King Jon Stark and Queen Daenerys Targaryen sat side by side in the throne room, the king sitting tall on the Iron Throne while Daenerys sat restlessly at his side. Ser Terrance Thorne, Ser Josmyn Peckledon, and three other members of the Kingsguard stood at attention at the foot of the throne while a contingent of Stark and Targaryen men-at-arms flanked their respective lieges. Ser Terrance had command of the White Swords while Ser Podrick was away. The Direwolf Ghost rested on the floor next to the throne while Grand Maester Samwell Tarly, Justiciar Sansa Stark, and Lord Treasurer Willas Tyrell were seated on their own chairs near the throne. Save for Arya Stark, every other member of the Small Council was deployed on some manner of mission, and the infamous Mistress of Whispers was rarely present at such court functions. Princess Daenyra and Ser Tom Lannister had already retired long since, but the line of petitioners still came forth. There were dozens more waiting on the King and Queen's words and the tedium was starting to affect Jon deeply.

The lords and ladies of the court milled around in the gallery, observing as each petitioner came forth. The Herald had called for a short recess and the process was just now starting again. A golden-haired man in a black robe with a maester's chain around his neck came forth, bowing low as the Herald called, "Archmaester Victor, Master of the Arcane." At his side strode a tall, regal dark-haired woman of completely indeterminate age and could have been as young as twenty or as old as forty. The Herald introduced her as, "Lady Malora Hightower." Victor had bright blue eyes and a youthful face under which an enigmatic aura seemed to emanate. Jon nodded to the man and the lady, "Welcome Archmaester, my lady. I have heard much about both of you. Your forays into the arcane are the subject of much discussion. What brings you to us today?"

Victor smiled and replied in a sonorous voice, "There is much business to put forth before the throne. In the last two decades, the Citadel has recorded a dramatic increase in observable incidents of magical activity, a statistic that continues to trend upward. You are aware of this no doubt, but after intensive research, I believe we can finally begin to harness this force. The Alchemists Guild has already begun concocting potions and chemicals with supernatural qualities and wargs are now an accepted part of Northern military formations. There are many Maesters of the Citadel who have learned to create magical artifacts and imbue enchantments within objects, myself among them. Many in the Faith have shown propensities towards healing, prophecy, and other divine gifts, some of them are even in the Warrior's Sons. But more can be done."

Victor bowed to Malora who came forward and said, "I have studied magic for years and it is thanks to this arcane knowledge that House Hightower and the Citadel were able to resist the Ironborn invasion during the war of Ten Graces. Our family has pursued magical study ever since. There are many noble families who have followed in our stead." Malora shared a significant look with Queen Daenerys before continuing, "In light of the recent attacks on our nation, Victor and I have come forward to share that we can finally weaponize magic."

A murmur passed through the throne room as Jon quieted the chatter with a sweep of his hand, "Go on, my lady." Jon and Daenerys were already fully aware of this matter, but it was political theater that they had to stage in front of their vassals and courtiers. Malora indulged them and said, "In addition to the Alchemists Guild, Victor and myself propose the creation of new arcane organizations. The first of these would be an Oracle's Guild. These would be individuals who use augury, astrology, and other methods of omen-reading and divination in order to help see the past, present, and future. They may not have the same accuracy or potency as a greenseer or a red priest, but it will be much easier to find individuals with talent and hone their skills. They may be of some use to the throne, though they wouldn't replace other methods of intelligence gathering." Prophecy was something that Jon did not quite believe in, but it was a subject that was gaining much traction in the Seven Kingdoms, but was often religiously tinted. Having a secular method of prophecy would be useful for many reasons.

"Next, our compatriots among the skinchangers and greenseers of the kingdoms have observed that many other abilities related to the ancient green magic of the old gods have manifested. Men and women have been known to talk to animals, to soothe plants and trees into growth. It is even rumored that a few can even truly change their skins. As such, we convey their proposal that the Throne endorse the creation of Druid Circles, who will provide spiritual and metaphysical assistance to the people and the noble houses. Those with combat efficient abilities will become part of the Green Men and will answer a call to arms. In exchange, the Iron Throne will help the Green Men preserve the natural environment of Westeros while each Druid Circle will treat with their local lord on matters of natural preservation." Many of Brandon's children showed such abilities, and many houses that drew descent from the First Men in all of the kingdoms were starting to see similar traits. Having such powers in service to the throne would be an enormous boon.

"Finally we propose the creation of a Mage Order that will seek out and find all individuals with magical talent and seek to train them. Those with more specific abilities will be sent to the respective specialist organizations. The Faith will continue to be allowed to cultivate their own talents for the benefit of the realm. But the sorcerers of the Mage Order will be primarily loyal to the Iron Throne and will only serve the interests of their own lords if their duties do not conflict. Furthermore, our experiments into the creation of magical hybrids and living weapons have finally borne fruit and those creations will now henceforth be available to the Iron Throne and other houses by commission. House Connington has already purchased a large number of our creations and their efficacy in the coming campaign will hopefully convince the throne of our worth." For the benefit of those watching, Jon stayed silent for several moments, seemingly in thought, before finally replying.

"The attack on our capital showed that the world is much stranger than we believed. We must harness these powers if we are to survive. Archmaester, my lady, I accept your proposal. An Oracle's Guildhall will be immediately built and the Druid's Circle of the Kingswood will be among the first to be established. The Mage Order will have their headquarters in the Dragonpit and will train the first official generation of sorcerers in service to Westeros. You, my lady, will be one of the order's leaders and other premier sorcerers will follow. Approach me in my chambers after this period in order to further elaborate the details." Victor and Lady Malora bowed and withdrew, the court buzzing as the exchange was carried out.

After some time, the doors opened and the Herald cried, "the Mistress of Whispers, Lady Arya of House Stark." Arya approached, flanked by several hooded followers. They all bowed low and Queen Daenerys said, "Good sister, what matters do you bring before us today?" Arya stood and said, "The recent attacks on the Red Keep have demonstrated deficiencies in our counter-intelligence and clandestine capabilities. This simply cannot continue. We need an officially sanctioned intelligence organization, not a motley web of connections. To that end, I as Mistress of Whispers, propose the creation of an official Inquisition, with myself as the Lady Inquisitor that would act as the espionage wing of the Throne. The Inquisition will allow recruits from both the high and lowborn and will help protect the kingdom against hidden threats both within and without." This was simply another theatrical display. The matter had already been decided upon but King Jon inclined his head in agreement and the decision was officially made. Arya nodded in appreciation and took her leave, presumably to begin the construction of her organization. What was left unsaid was that the Inquisition would include spies, sneak thieves, and assassins in its number and not simply counter-spies.

More such tasks followed. The High Septon approached and requested sanction for the reestablishment of a Rainbow Guard, this order would have rainbow cloaks and colored armor but would be the most elite of the Warrior's Sons and would protect his holiness while still being answerable to summons from the Iron Throne. In addition to a Bard's College, other universities and colleges were given charters and stated for construction in many cities, where both noblemen and wealthy burghers would seek further education without having to become a chained maester though maesters would provide much of the instruction. A military academy was given official endorsement by the king in order to nurture a growing generation of officers for the royal fleet and army. Finally, a series of orphanages and hospitals, sponsored by the throne and other wealthy donors would be erected in King's Landing and other cities to provide support for the common folk.

Other matters of less import followed until finally one nondescript man approached the throne. The Herald introduced him as, "Septon Carston, wandering septon of the Riverlands!" The older man bowed low and Jon smiled at the priest, "What matters do you bring before the crown, Septon?" Jon expected a request for aid to his hamlet or some charitable endeavor. He did not expect what was actually said.

Carston, cleared his throat and spoke clearly, "I arrive here on behalf of families whose legacies have left their mark on the histories of the seven kingdoms. House Fisher of Misty Isle. House Durrandon of Storm's End. House Gardener of Highgarden. House Reyne of Castamere. They have been cast down, but now they rise again. Foreigners and heathens choke the riverlands and the capital. Excess and debauchery runs amok in the nobility. And the Iron Throne carouses with monsters and abominations. These ancient houses, risen again, along with the Sparrows say no more. We represent the true spirit of Westeros and we proclaim an end to this darkness. I beseech the Iron Throne to end its follies, to expel the apostates and heathens from its lands, and to install these houses back in their rightful seats. Or blood will flow."

The septon would have kept preaching if not for a gesture from Daenerys, at which point several Targaryen men-at-arms took the Septon into their custody. Just as they were about to take him from the throne room the doors burst open. A knight rushed into the throne room in a rush, prostrating himself before the throne as the Herald identified him as Ser Edmure Piper. Jon gestured for him to speak.

Piper, took off his helm and said, "Your grace. I've ridden day and night to bring you this news. At Stoney Sept, where several of her grace's eastern followers were settled..."

Daenerys leaned forward, "Speak, ser."

Ser Edmure swallowed and said, "They were slaughtered your grace. The local septons roused the smallfolk and then the Sparrows rode into town bearing arms. They armed the peasants and they stormed the immigrant settlements. Word reached Pinkmaiden and the other castles. And when we rode out to put paid to the chaos, we were ambushed by the Freemen before clashing with a host that flew the Green Hand, the Red Lion, the Catfish, and the Gold Stag. We lost nearly half our men before we finally managed to drive them off. And when we arrived at the Stoney Sept, it was already all over. Almost seven hundred men, women, and children put to the sword or worse. Countless women and girls raped. The village completely burnt down and destroyed. They hung or drowned or burned the foreign priests and the herbalists and the soothsayers. We stormed Stoney Sept and have brought the ringleaders her for judgement. But the Brotherhood and the outlaw knights were gone."

The priest solemnly raised his hands in adoration, "It was the work of the Seven. Sometimes, to walk in the light, dark things must be done."

The gallery erupted into vocal chaos at the news, and the Herald vainly tried to restore order until Ghost howled for quiet. King Jon glared at the priest until he said, "Ser Edmure, take this rebel Septon and his cohorts to the black cells. I declare a bounty on the Sparrows and every member of this rebel band. A silver stag for every sparrow head, a gold for every rogue knight. Thrice if they are taken alive. Grand Maester, send these words across all the realm. This abomination to the laws of the Crown and the Faith will not be brooked. Any and all who give comfort and aid to these rebels will be considered complicit in their crimes. I call now for knights and warriors to step forward to form a band and end these outlaws. We have tried words on these malcontents for decades. Now is the time of fire and blood." With that Jon and Daenerys descended from the throne and the Councillors filed behind them as the gallery once again began to burst into gossip and speculation. Many were distraught or angry. And a few were secretly smiling.

The Red Mountains, the Path to the Vulture's Roost

Ser Uther and Ser Harwin had had their mission approved and a force of two hundred had been authorized to travel to the Roost and capture the fortress, with Ser Uther as a guide. With them was a young Alchemist named Patrek. Patrek had competed in the melee, stunning the competition with his flaming sword before being vanquished by Prince Rhaegar. Now he rode with the knights. If the castle was successfully taken, he was to pull out a strange tube-like contraption and let loose a colorful ball of smoke into the air to signal the victory. He would fire a different color if help was needed. Along with the signal flare, as Patrek called it, he packed a bandoleer of chemicals in round vessels and wore a sword on his back, ready to spread a flaming chemical on it. Also with the expedition was a Dornishwoman named Lorrana, a short tanned woman who hailed from the Orphans of the Greenblood. The force was a mixed unit of Dornishmen, Reachmen, and Stormlanders with a few dozen knights and warriors of renown and several score men-at-arms. The band was led by Ser Andrew Selmy, a three-and-thirty year old knight who had been fighting the Vultures for most of his life.

Andrew, Patrek, and Loranna rode near Uther and Harwin, who were leading the main band while several Dornish outriders on sand steeds screened their advance and a force of eighty guarded the supply wagons that would allow the band to fortify the Roost for occupation, as well as carrying surplus food, water, and weapons. Andrew, whose light brown hair was nearly shaved down to the scalp and who had a long scar running down his cheek turned to Uther, "Do you know anything about the layout of the castle? The kind of fortifications we can expect? Escape routes?" Some of the knights had regarded Uther with some suspicion after his revelation, but Andrew hadn't shown any feelings one way or the other. He simply wished to get the job done and wanted to know everything he could that could aid in his mission.

The sun was high in the sky, but autumn had fallen. The heat was not quite so unbearable, but come nightfall, the cold would be vicious. But they wouldn't find good ground to make camp for quite some time. The pass was thankfully wide enough for a half-dozen men to ride comfortably abreast but the company as a whole was squeezed into the opening. The men were on high alert, and archers and foot soldiers alike had hands close to their weapons. The rocky peaks reached far over their heads, and any number of threats could have been hiding in the caves.

They saw a Dornishman riding back on his horse, raising a hue and a cry and Andrew ordered the men into defensive positions, arrows narrowly missing the scout as he rode back into the ranks. The ululating cries of Dornish raiders grew and grew in intensity until it was all they could hear and suddenly the raiders were upon them. Archers and spearmen appeared above and immediately began trading fire with the Iron Throne's marksmen while columns of horsemen with foot soldiers behind them appeared at the front and back. They had roughly equal numbers to their force, a little more considering the few dozen or so outriders who were not present. The raiders all wore vulture feathers on their cloaks. Likely the garrison of Vulture's Roost had somehow heard of their arrival and planned to break them before they had even gotten there. Andrew ducked beneath an arrow and said, "Ser Harwin! Loranna! To the supply train! They'll either want to steal or burn our material, don't let them! Patrek, Ser Uther with me! Knights, stand fast!" Andrew retrieved a small crossbow and loosed a bolt, catching one of the riders right in the chest as he ordered pikemen into formation, the knights right behind as the raiders bore down on them.

Blackhaven

Besides, Ser Andrew's expeditionary force, most of the men were just now departing. Orders had been sent to every other castle in the vicinity. The Summerhall Garrison would hold the line in the North while the Yronwoods held the pass south of the Boneway and House Fowler guarded the Prince's Pass. With the Peakes and Tarlys holding the Reachman side and augmenting the Carons at Nightsong, the Wyls blockading any traffic from the river Wyl, and the Storm Marchers holding Blackhaven, Stonehelm, and Harvest Hall, the encirclement was completely assured. Any Vulture raiding party would meet insurmountable resistance, and companies of men were patrolling the blockade to ensure no small groups slipped the net. The Vulture King had thousands of followers but would never be fool enough to try his luck in open battle, and thousands of mercenaries and freeriders were screening the formations.

Aegon Targaryen had not yet disembarked on Viserion, but would do so once the vanguards of each army began to advance. A chorus of shouts rose up among the camp when several shapes appeared in the sky and drew closer. The men had heard tales of wyverns attacking the keep and were not eager to experience such an attack. Many began reaching for bows and spears when Gendry marched out and told the men to hold until the shapes became clear. The beasts had the bodies of slim lions, and wings like a great eagles, while the beasts looked down on the crowds with sharp eagle eyes over even sharper beaks, black talons glistening in the wind. Their feathers and fur ran the gamut from nearly snow white to almost night black, and there were a few dozen in all.

The men began shouting in wonder, though Ser Aegon looked on in mild amusement. Griffons of legend landed on the sand, and the lead griffon, a huge beast with a russet coat, squawked as its rider disembarked. A tall, athletically built man with a head of fiery hair grinned and gripped hands with Gendry. Gendry laughed, "You're late. Flying on griffon wing and you're still tardy." Ronald Storm, the bastard of Griffin's Roost, chuckled in reply, "I may have arrived late, but at least I arrived in style."

Gendry gestured to the griffons, whose riders were disembarking. A crowd was beginning to form around the creatures, though none dared to get too close. Gendry said, "These beasts will augment our scouting forces?" Ronald nodded, "Yes. We may not have the firepower of a dragon. But we can still throw javelins or fire arrows, and our mounts can kill with a snap of their beaks or a slash of their talons. We can help scout and serve as outriders for your formations. Aegon will have the real firepower, but with us in the theatre, we can reserve him for real emergencies."

Gendry, satisfied, grunted in approval, "Good. If these beasts perform well, it will be a huge advancement in our warfare tactics. Attach a few of your riders to every company, you will be attached to my division. Go inside and get some rest, eat, prepare your equipment. We begin to march at break of dawn." Ronald nodded and marched off. At the same time, the first batch of mercenaries were arriving. Many were Marcher Bowmen who were veterans of countless battle actions, and many others were Dornish survivalists, trackers, scouts, and marksmen who were native to the Red Mountains and would help the army advance. They soon were assigned to units, and a few were given to Mirren's force, who were assigned to reconnoiter the Spine.

On the march

At break of dawn, the army began marching. Garlan marched in Gendry's force, and thousands of men began filing into the mountain passes as armies all around the marches did the same. Mirren and her force of men had already left, far ahead of the main advance. Gendry, riding side by side with Garlan, donned his horned helm and was thankful that the heat was not quite so hellish at this time of year, though it was still hot enough for an under supplied man to die of thirst. The army marched on, thousands of men combing the mountains for signs of the Vulture King. Gendry and Garlan's force was headed for the Spine, where Mirren was scouting ahead.

---

Mirren and her small band found only deserted paths and quiet peaks. Eventually, with a local as their guide, they espied the Spine from a distance. The peak itself was still miles away but they saw the tall cluster of sharp peaks and mountaintops jutting from the Boneway like its name suggested. Mirren had been giving another Alchemist to signal the main force of what she found, along with some ravens to send messages, and a myrish spyglass to observe the peak from afar.

Upon looking through the lens, Mirren would see a large seemingly deserted mountainside, and abandoned remains of holdfasts and castles sewn into the rock. Mirren then observed a few dozen men on sand steeds crossing a narrow pass close to their position, riding hard for the mountain and not seeing the crown loyalists in their haste. They all had vulture feathers in their cloaks. They were still quite some distance from the mountain itself and chances were very remote that anyone on the Spine. She then had a choice. Ambush the men in hopes of taking prisoners for interrogation or letting them pass, where she could either then move closer to find more information or fall back to the main force and advance without any useful intelligence. Whatever choice she made had potential to vastly influence the direction of the campaign. She had to make her choice quickly, for the riders would soon be beyond her reach.

Mountains of the Moon

The journey had been thankfully uneventful. Evidently the Grafton's reprisal for the attack on Gulltown had sent the potential raiders back into their hiding places and no hillmen had dared to attack the crown forces. Tyrion and Robin's retinue soon entered the Gates of the Moon, whose new owner also accompanied them. They would stay there for a few days, supping and conferring with the Vale lords before Tyrion's party continued on their journey and sought out the Mountain King and the other hill tribes of the Vale. For now, they had an opportunity to rest and relax before braving the Mountains of the Moon once more, and venturing into territory that was much more dangerous.

Gray Ice

Viserys for his part, kept the peace and gamely responded to Ellion's jabs, "I was growing a bit tired of winning too much anyway. Now, I'll just have to train harder. And next time, it'll be a rose that is left in the dirt. I'm glad you're hear anyway, ser. You'll have an opportunity to see a proper swordsman. Not all of us have to compensate with a polearm." Jaime Tarth shook his head in bemusement and they all chuckled, recognizing the sometimes vitriolic companionship of warriors. Viserys drank more wine and began to play in earnest, eager to test Ellion's skills.

Above deck, Aemon conferred with Ser Jaime, Ser Podrick, and his brother Rhaegar. Aemon rolled out a map of the Stepstones, "The crown's forces hold a tenuous grasp on the Stepstones at best. Our main bastions are Torturer's Deep, where Lord Aurane holds his seat and Grey Gallows, where Salladhor Saan holds his. The Rhoynar have their primary settlement on the Weeping Isle and have kept the peace, though they do not stir themselves to help either. But outside of that, the fighting is nearly constant. Aurane's forces hold the major ports on the other isles and little else, and barely that. Unfortunately, our mission takes us to Bloodstone, where we believe the ringleaders are in hiding. We don't know exactly where, and so we'll have to investigate for ourselves. The main pirate den is a port of blackguards that they call the Devil's Rest. We might find some leads there. There's also a nearby fortress we should take care to avoid if it all possible, the Siren's Den. Word tells us that there is a stout keep and a large flotilla there."

Aemon would have continued but Stannis at the helm shouted out, "Black sails! On the horizon! Two pirate ships! Bearing down on us!" Aemon ran up to Stannis as the crew scrambled, trying to coax more speed out of the sails to little avail. Aemon said, "Are you sure?" Stannis nodded grimly, "I recognize those ships. Those are the the Last Rites and the Silver Serpent. Men who helm them are both cutthroats to the bone. We can't outrun them, for the wind is on their side and they'll break out oars even if we gain a lead. They'll be upon us within minutes and will probably try to surround us."

Aemon cursed before shouting out, "Battle stations! Archers at the ready! Everyone else, prepare to repel boarders!" Aemon, hurriedly buckled on his armor, fearing arrows more than he did drowning. The seamen abandoned their tasks, grabbing weapons while Visenya whipped the men into action. The Dragon's Teeth were all master archers and most of the seamen were fair shots as well, but the bulk of the adventurers were foot soldiers and readied their weapons. Aemon drew Blackfyre from his sheath, Jaime, Podrick, and Rhaegar all with swords out at his side while Stannis nocked a bow.

The two ships came into closer view, one flew a Silver Snake skull on a black sail while the other flew a bloody seven-pointed star. Aemon knew they could expect no quarter, and besides, the Stepstoners could not discover their mission. He nodded to Visenya who ordered all of the bowmen to immediately begin loosing arrows. The Dragon's Teeth had dragonbone bows and began firing on the pirate ships long before the Gray Ice was in range, and Aemon ordered the men to take cover once they were. The Dragon's Teeth had felled many of the pirates already and the returning volleys were not incredibly effective, though a few crewmen were still slain. Stannis and the other naval archers returned fire and their own archers managed to suppress the pirate's bowmen. But the wind was on the pirate's side and soon one of the ships bore down on the Gray Ice with it's ram.

Aemon yelled, "Brace for impact!" And the deck shook violently as the Silver Serpent rammed into it's side, though the sturdy vessel held steady but was now halted in the water. The Last Rite hung in the back, coming around on the other side and pirates from both ships shouted and cursed while the knights and warriors of the seven kingdoms stared them down.

Aemon held Blackfyre in the air and shouted, "Attack!" The pirates armed with longsword, axe, and dagger, over a hundred of them between both ships, boarded the Gray Ice from both sides with murder on their minds. A man leaped swung near the helm and Aemon twisted, slashing him out of the air to fall screaming into the water as Jaime Lannister leaped onto the deck and began cutting a bloody swath through the pirates. He was old and had only one hand, but his golden hand was a shield and a mace that he blocked blades and crushed bone with while his sword stained the decks red. Podrick stayed by Aemon's side and shielded his back while Stannis kept firing arrows and driving his dagger into necks or eyes when the pirates came too close. They kept coming and the fate of the Westerosi seemed grim.

The entire ship rattled with the impact of the enemy vessel. Cards flew around the room and coins scattered across the ground. William grimaced and drank deep in the wineskin he stole from the cargo hold. Was he that drunk already? Unbeknownst to him, a pirate had broken off from the main battle on the upper deck and had slowly made his way below, looking for easier targets to slaughter and valuables to take. He quietly tiptoed down the steps, feet not making a sound due to thick leather soles, brandishing in his hand a cruel, jagged sword of surprisingly fine make. When he reached the level below, he found not piles of silk, spice, and jewels, like he had thought, but a gaunt, pale man slumped over a chair. Around his feet were littered a smattering of dragons, stags, and groats, not worthy of being called a hoard. He had taken the man for dead when to his surprise, an arm moved, carrying a skin up to the supposed corpse's lips. An eye lazily turned over to the pirate, and to his horror, he found it to be pale, seemingly without substance.

"Good day," William drawled, not making the effort to laugh at the intruder's stunned expression. "Don't be shy. Come, share in the coin, the wine, except not this wine. This wine's for me." As if to prove his point, he took another swig of 'his' wine and grinned.

"Aye," stammered the pirate. "The coin. Give it." He pointed the end of the sword at William, in an attempt to regain some small form of control over the situation.

"By all means, take it. It ain't mine," was William's response, waving his hand casually over the modest pile. He did nothing to stop his supposed enemy as he opened up a sack and began filling it with the gold on the floor. When he finished, he stood up, the sack now looking reasonably heavy and jingling with a merry tune, and closed it up with a bit of string.

"A pleasure doing business with you," he said, grinning back and pointing his sword again. "But I think I'll be having that skin. Coin collecting's thirsty work. Just ask the Hand." William rolled his eyes, and took an inordinately long sip, draining the wineskin of its contents. With that, he threw the empty sack at the intruder. It bounced off his armor and came to rest at his feet. He glowered, and advanced on his inebriated enemy. "If not that, then your sword. Can never have enough swords," he said, raising his own.

"What, this one?" William asked, drawing his sword and pretending to inspect it. "Surely not this one. Look at it. It's no good for anything. Ain't even castle forged. I bought it from a secondhand novelty dealer in Pentos. Didn't cost me three stags."

"Lies," spat the pirate.

"You're right, you got me. It was Braavos," answered William. The pirate charged, stabbing down at his foe. William moved his sword up to deflect, and stood up as he did so, stumbling a few steps and dropping his weapon. "Dearie me, buttered fingers," he said. The pirate, seeing the opportunity, charged again, this time readying his own weapon for a downward slash. Unfortunately for him this turned out to be a ploy. William stepped close, rendering the cut impossible, and brought up his hand clenched in a fist. It made contact with his opponent's face, sending him reeling. His sword flew out of his hand and bounced a few paces away. William strode up to it, as if he had all the time in the world, and picked it up. "Oh, lovely. It's probably worth double mine." With that the pirate scrambled up and slowly began advancing, fists ready to strike. Rookie mistake. Williams longer reach, combined with the fact that he was actually armed, meant that he could just lunge and pierce the intruder in his chest. He fell over, clutching the hole that exposed his heart. William just shrugged his shoulders, and picked up the sack of coin. "They were huge monstrosities," he said, taking out a dragon and putting it in his left pocket. "Two huge, burly raiders that overpowered me. One of them took the gold and ran, and I barely fought off the other." He put another dragon in his other pocket as he talked, and one more in the secret space in his sleeve. He went over to the window and opened it. "They took it all, I swear," he mused, tossing out the sack. Now for the sword. There was something peculiar about it. At first glance, it seemed like normal iron, but upon closer inspection, a line went through the middle, bearing the signature of Valyrian work. William tossed that out the window as well. If his enemy wanted to keep it, he should have fought harder for it.

@AtomicNut@MrDidact@kingkonrad Thank you to all these fine artists for their help in this collab.

----The Grey Ice, The Frothing Chaos of Battle----

Lyseni bastard Valyrian, represented with << >>

Ser Aerion listened to Seran speak. Funny, to hear one's native tounge after going so long without using it, refreshing to say the least. He looked away from Seran at the sudden arrival of a magpie, perhaps a pet of someone aboard the ship. 'The Lady of Lys', Aerion thought, before he couldn't help but laugh at the bird's humorful outburts. It shouted "Tits!" aloud, cawing afterwords as though proud of itself. Still chuckling softly to himself, he turned his head back to look at Seran, a smile playing across Aerion's face as the magpie and Seran seemed to fight one another in order to be heard.

Seran continued to speak, making note of his feelings on the situation at large. Seran was right though, in that little of this adventure made sense. It certainly appeared to an outsider's view that certain individuals were far too eager to fight in this conflict, turning it into some heroic tale of warfare and heroism. Dragons flying high above, burning their "foes" indiscriminantly to a crisp, with men and women on the ground rushing to claim their glorious victory, so it can be forever memorialized in song and story. Aerion nodded at Seran when he seemed to elude to the possibility of this being a suicide mission of sort, in that it would be easier to pay the few rather than the many.

Seran finished by eluding to the possibility that the use of dragons and a heavy handed crackdown upon the Stepstones might only serve to further insense the rebellious people of the islands, rather than subdue them. Everyone, young and old, had heard the tales of Harren the Black, and the ruins of Harrenhal. Yes, it ended that evil king and his whole line, but that castle has remained forever cursed, and the difference between here and there, was that the people hated Harren the Black, and the Stepstoners love, or at least like their lords far more than those of Westeros. Seran was right in that they had a number of vetrans that would certainly be useful in the comming chaos, but who was to say what they all would exactly be facing. Seran finished by turning his head to look away at the ocean, and offered Aerion the customary greeting of Braavos, <<"Valar Morghulis, Ser Aerion.">>.

<<"Valar Dohaeris, Seran... Valar Dohaeris.">> Aerion sighed, then turned back out to look at the sea with Seran. <<"Seran, just because I have a knighthood now doesn't make me any different than the man that fought beside you, beside all of us sellswords in that Seven forsaken string of islands. But you speak truthfully, in that some of the bravado and posturing some of these greenhorns are showcasing is worrisome. But who am I to judge? I am but a humble knight and fighter among many, and we have our leaders assigned. Though, I do wonder if they share the same fears that we do, or if their hubris of command and 'glory' blinds them to the dangers we shall all soon face.">> Aerion shrugged, turning his back to the sea, looking at the deck of the ship as all sorts of people moved about, completing whatever tasks they set out to complete.

<<"Seran, tell me something, if you don't mind, but whatever happened between you and the company you had been working with? I heard rumors, vague at that, but, well, you and your sister seem to be out on your own, rather than at the behest and employ of... what was his name, that greedy hot-headed captain of yours, the one with the golden tooth and the scar on his face? You know... that guy...">> Ser Aerion smiled, laughing softly as he found himself unable to recall the former captain of Seran's sellsword company. <<"He reeked of a tavern most of the time...">>

Seran tensed, his arms gripping the ship's rail tightly, his gaze still in the vastness of the sea. The question was unavoidable, was it. <<"Ah, that fat Pentosi. We all called him Grimbeard. Some people because it seemed a worthy nickname to strike out the fear into his enemies. Most of us because he always was covered in some sort of grime.">> The young mad added, his blue eyes now glaring at Aerion. <<"It's always greed, you know. Both we had drunk a little too much after some goddess-sent spoils. So we decided to try our fortunes once more. I won. He lost.">>. He paused, averting his gaze. He could tell this much to Aerion, but it still was hard to remember the situation. <<"But, he went back on his word. He tried to take by force what he had lost at gambling. He tried to sully my sister. His men killed my brother.">>. He paused. <<"And I cut through half of the men's of his vanguard.">>

"Tits." The magpie cawed once more.

Aerion noticed Seran tensing up when he spoke about that particular chapter of his life. He wasn't going to press any further. <<"I'm sorry about your brother. I am glad that you and your sister are safe... you both are good and honorable people.">> Aerion smiled, and rolled his eyes as the Magpie screached out "Tits" again. <<"Let us not traverse such dark waters. Perhaps another time, if ever. Seran...">> The sudden pause was due to Aerion being distracted by something dark and ominus on the horrizon. The shape was closing fast, and soon turned into two. From above, on the helm, a voice shouted out what Aerion feared, pirates, and by the proximity, pirates that were loyal to the Stepstones. Switching back to the common tongue, Aerion sighed aloud and spoke, "Well, it certainly looks like all those itching for a fight will have one. Good thing that we have but our leathers on. The water can pull a man down faster than you could spit." Aerion turned to look at the closing sails of their new enemy.

Seran's eyes narrowed, following Aerion's line of sight. His switch to common followed almost in reflex as he eyed the commander. "That kind of night, huh. Not even allowing a beachhead. Tough luck." He added.

Aerion moved away from the edge of the ship, towards the center where the stout mast was. He looked about for his two companions, Lady Lyvia and Ser Oswell. They appeared from below deck, no doubt having been storing away the clunky and heavy armor they were cleaning. The two ran over to where Aerion was standing, taking ahold of the rigging to brace themselves for impact. The three began to steel themselves, knowing the enemy ships would be ramming the Grey Ice with everything they had, not to mention the rushing tide of pirates that would leap from their ships to the Grey Ice. Aerion looked over to where Seran still stood, and shouted out to him, "Seran, come with us, and take ahold of the rigging... its going to get really bumpy real quicky."

Seran nodded, as he performed a brisk run following Aerion's steps. Luckily, his uneasiness had made him skip most of the wine and the morsels during the dinner, so his stomach wasn't wavering in the slightlest.

The Gray Ice rocked violently to port, listing heavily as the Silver Serpent viciously rammed it from starboard. As the Grey Ice began to settle back, it was rocked again from the port side, The Last Rite slamming into them now. Aerion felt his arm strain and tense tightly, gripping the rigging with all his might, praying the ship's mast didn't break apart and fall. The rocking and creaking had finally stopped, all three ships dead in the water, signaling the dread surge of bodies pouring across decks to meet in combat. "May the Seven protect us all, both those who believe, and our friends and allies of different faiths." Aerion let loose of the rigging, drawing his Valryian Steel sword Poison, and looked to his friends, "Lets banish these criminals to the briny deep, and make the world a safer place because of it." With that, Aerion, Lyvia, and Oswell rushed into battle, leaving Seran to either join them, or strike off on his own for fighting.

And Ellion himself had already thrown himself into the fray, the collision of the ships already making him run into action, sword and shield drawn, his helm away for the moment being, given that there weren't so many arrows flying now. The movement of wood, and the mixing of men, blood and chaos about to erupt made him lose sight of anyone else, only the Crown and those pirate scum now in his head.

Seran gritted his teeth, as the tides of battle once more flew around. A blanket of chaos covered suddenly his surroundings. Brigands and pirates jumped onto the knights who retaliated fiercely. Screams, and the sound of clashing steel. He clenched his fist, pondering Aerion's invitation. His voice, almost a whisper. "Aye... the world is such a cruel place." He thought of his dead brother. He thought of her sister. He had to fight. His muscles surged and twitched underneat his clothes as he started to follow in a brisk pace at first. Then a trot. Then a full sprint. His self was allowing to undo all the cumbersome restraints. There was no manners, and no rules in a battlefield, only beasts with the shapes of men. He smiled.

At the very least, he could stave the sorrow he had remembered, with the fresh smell of blood. His first objective was beset, as he tried to stab him through the head. A palm powered through the defense of the pirate, making a direct contack with the neck area, a gristly sound as the windpipe was smashed, prompting the man to fall. Seran, who had no weapons, quickly snatched the blade of the choking man, as he caught up to Aerion.

"I shall cut you a path."

He eyed him, with a brisk nod, and he performed a flourish, and then a throw to another pirate. The distraction allowed him to overpower him quickly as well, catching the spear of the second man. A different style of weapon, but Seran could use that aswell. His pace quickened. He jabbed, run, smashed. What he couldn't put down in one or two blows, he skidded past. He discarded his weapons as many times as he took them from the fallen. Damnit all. You seven and all your glory and honor. Die you all, and be the fodder for the Iron throne. He thought bitterly, as his fighting intensified. No grace. No style. Only pure brutality and efficiency. He kept cutting down and advancing, eventually overtaking in his advance several of those with more flourished armors and weapons.

And Ellion saw Seran at work, the brutal swordsplay that the Valyrian was using impressive, as Ellion himself clashed with one pirate, using a scimitar of sorts to parry away his shield, as the Rose-smelling Reachman used his superior knowledge to the pirate's training to knock the sword and his whole shoulder aback, smashing the shield hard against his collarbone, before slamming the longsword with an effective stab through his ribs. Kicking him off the sword, Ellion glanced another hit with the blade, the armoured and long-locked Tyrell no stranger to fighting.

He seemed to have a different energy, not that of a water dancer nor a un-noble skirmisher, he seemed to hold a commanding presence, his height and his armour, the way that he blocked and counter attacked making it difficult to get a bead on him. The blade cut through another man's arm, the blade slicing through to his neck as he turned, blood pissing away, as he used his shield to bash another. He yelled, as a man ran up, with a mace of some sort, Ellion feeling the brunt of the man knock into him as another pirate in the chaos collided with him, using his sheild to parry away the blunt weapon and counter attack with a kick, every single movement and swing and swipe feeling automatic, flowing, unending. He hacked the man at his side, taking a couple of hits on his armour- these pirates perhaps didn't know how to deal with advanced plate, such as the metalwork that Ellion had, and he almost let them come closer, a rather strange way of fighting that a Westerosi Knight could afford when he knew the benefit of the doubt. The fact that it was heavy meant nothing to the Tyrell- enough mail and plate was difficult to slash, rather point or brute force was needed, and that was what Ellion was focussed on, his training kicking in, watching for their weapons, capability, and position.

Walking over a few bodies, he looked over at Seran, following close to the Valyrian, watching yet never too closely as he kept his eye on other pirates on the deck, his blade red with blood, his wooden heater and the Tyrell sigil beginning to blur, with a mist of red and pus.
"Fucking come on then!" Ellion yelled, raising his shield and sword, clattering them against each other, looking over his shoulder at Seran, a little blood on his face. Blunt methods were bloody, after all, and the Tyrell didn't look so pretty now. This whole experience was insane, everything felt fluid, and perhaps it was lucky he was not able to look on afar at the chaos. Being in the middle of the hurricane of swords, he knew his swordplay was not going to be simply for show or honour, but for survival and duty, and he felt like he understood that a little more, the moment he saw blood drip from the end of the longsword's end.

Aerion nodded towards his two friends, and together, they joined the combat. They fought as a team, watching eachother's backs, all the while doing their best to not die. Aerion used his sword to deadly effect, Posion slashing out in a lightning arc to cut down two pirate like freshly cut wheat. He huffed as he deflected a downwards slash of a nasty looking boat hook. The weapon lodged itself into Aerion's shield, as the pirate tugged upon it, Aerion stumbled forward. He cursed silently, and let his shield go, the pirate and wooden shield tumbling backwards. Aerion took his sword in both hands, holding it before him in a defensive manner. He turned to his left, hacking downwards at a rushing pirate, taking the man's hand off, before shoving him away. Aerion backed up, nearly bumping into Ellion Tyrell, stopped only by the cry of anguish from a man killed by the Reachman. Aerion shook his head, moving away from the Tyrell, as he looked for any other adversaries.

Lyvia Clegane cut down two more men, her blade wet with blood and her tabard stained with gore. She yelled at Ser Oswell to pay attention, and for him to keep an eye out for Aerion, who had been lost in the chaos of the fighting. She sneered at another pirate, the man seeing his two allies cut down deciding to find a more easier foe to fight. Her shield had been hacked to a ruined mess, and discarded for another sword. She parried and fought the pirates with measured patience. They were untrained, undisciplined, relying too much upon attacking the weak and defenseless. Still, each foe put up a challenge that had to be met with equal caution and respect, less she risk lossing a limb or worse. She cut down another pirate, both blades cutting him down and creating an opening for Lady Lyvia to see Ser Aerion finally. Somehow the man had mannaged to get a few dozen paces away, and was near none other than Ser Ellion Tyrell.

"Ser Oswell, lets cut outselves a path to Aerion... we must regroup and figure out how to end this madness. The pirates will fight to a point, but if they try and leave, our ship might sink. Lets not let that happen. Move..." Lyvia shouted to Oswell, the two making their way across the wooden deck of the Grey Ice. Oswell fought more defensively, rather than killing his foes, he wounded or incapacitated them. Taking off a hand, a foot, smashing a fash with a gauntleted hand or his shield. The ship rocked slightly beneath him, his feet staggering slighlty as he regained his balance. Lyvia was right, they needed to capture one of the enemy ships, or when the two backed off, the Grey Ice would begin to sink. He knocked another pirate out cold with his shield, before using it to block a blow meant for Lyvia's head. "Almost there... Aerion, get your ass over here." He shouted aloud.

He dodged backwards, tripping over a fallen corpse. Aerion cursed his luck, rolling off to his right to dodge a nasty downwards slash. He grabbed a discarded shield, holding it above his body as the pirate hacked downwards at him again, the vile man's axe biting deep into the wood. Aerion was cornered at the moment, waiting for a chance to break free. Another axe blow rained downwards, and this one thankfully, got stuck in the shield. Aerion grimaced, twisting the shield as hard as he could while snaking a gruesome kick out at the man's knee, hearing the satisfy and disgusting sound of bone breaking, followed by a howl of pain. He reached for his blade, taking it back up in both his hands, then thrusting it down into the pirate's heart, silencing the man. He wiped a bead of sweat from his face, before being rejoined by his compatriots.

"Aerion, are you alright?" Lyvia asked with concern.

"I'm fine... lets make sure these pirates don't escape." He paused to help fight back another pirate with Lyvia, the man cut down and falling overboard. He held up his left hand, cutting off any more discussion. The three worked in unison to vanquish four more pirates, the fight quick and bloody, and it earned Aerion a new cut along his right arm. He gritted his teeth, it wasn't deep, but it burned like hell. Another scar to add to the collection, as Aerion thrust his blade into the pirate's neck, killing the man. He finally spoke during the brief respite in battle, a small opening while more pirates boarded and clashed with the Crown forces. "We have to board The Last Rite. She hit last, and will have the least amount of damage. Plus, if we take her, we will have our meal ticket to the table." Aerion swung his blade out, catching a pirate in the abdomen, cutting the man down.

"We will need more than the three of us. Seran is close to us, as well as that pampered priss Tyrell knight. That gives us five, but we need at least one more person to come with us. Lyvia, Oswell, do you see anyone that you feel is compitent enough to help take over the helm of the enemy ship?" Aerion asked in a heated voice, fighting back more pirate now as the three compatriots fought off their foes.

Ellion overheard it, chuckling as he headed over, watching Aerion gut the pirate looking across.
"That pampered piss used to sail boats in the Shield Isles when his uncle couldn't." Ellion calmly said, as he walked up to another pirate, charging at the Tyrell, as he ducked and hit him with the shield, kicking out his legs before sliding the blade into his throat. Calmly pulling it out, he wiped the sweat from his brow, looking to the experienced Goldfyre.
"Whatever you may think...don't think I came here with no good reason."

Visenya was a demon to behold, her violet eyes flashing as she quickly slashed and stabbed her way through the brigands. She favored a one-handed style and smoothly flowed across the battle while Viserys comported himself like a water dancer, stabbing and thrusting with finesse and precision, an exuberant grin on his face while Visenya grimly went about her work. Jaime Tarth was a boulder, armored with a star emblazoned on his shield, breaking bones and hacking limbs with his longsword and shield, no foe able to penetrate his defenses as next to him Robb hammered the foemen as savagely as his vaunted grandfather had. Meanwhile Tyrion Tanner favored the sword and dagger, fighting like his adopted father Ser Bronn, all deadly cunning and practicality, without the chivalric tendencies of his comrades. The young Ned Stark fought side by side with his wolf, the beast rending throats and ripping guts from the pirates while the wolfblooded lad cut a bloody swath with his axe and longsword. Petyr Hill fought with a greatsword, swinging the blade with speed and strength despite his youth, cutting men in two and bathing the deck in blood and viscera.The group had trained and fought together since childhood and the waves of pirates were cut down like twigs in their coordinated defense.

Visenya, seeing the other group making a move towards the Last Rite, disengaged from her friends, flinging a dagger into a pirate's eye before making her way to them. Visenya shouted over the clamour of the skirmish, "I'm with you! Let's take these bastards!" Trusting in them to follow, Visenya slashed a pirate swinging his way onto the deck and took his rope, jumping to the other ship and rolling to the floor before stabbing another pirate and clearing a circle for the group to follow. Jaime Lannister, seeing the offense, rallied the companions to the Silver Serpent while Aemon and the Dragon's Teeth held their own ship. Scores of pirates still remained, but they had evidently not expected such fierce resistance, and the battle was beginning to turn in their favor. One of the pirates on the Last Rite, seeing the souring fortune, began wheeling a small scorpion around to the Gray Ice, intent on sinking the trading vessel with all of the loot in a desperate attempt to kill his opponents.

Seran's bout of violence kept at its insane pace for a while, although it became increasingly erratic. The blood was getting into his hands, making them numb and slippery. Nicks and cuts, old and new, opened and bleed again once more. He was panting, but still well in the vanguard. And then the realization that perhaps, he was getting too fark from the bulk of his allies. One thing was sure, if he stopped, an arrow or an sword would cut his fairly light dressing and cause a major wound.

He still hadn't seen any of the usual targets you would seek in this kind of fight, officers or the helm, and time was running against him. The Tyrell tool and sir Aerion looked they were being kept more and more behind, deciding to go elsewhere. Not good. Seran then spotted the group from afar, and clicked his mouth as he made yet another pirate lose a copious amount of teeth with a well placed hilt blow.

He spit on the ground as he tossed his blade in a last ditch effort to drop more weight, his legs sprinting towards the group with almost what remained stamina. An arrow zip past his arm, cutting it right in the same place as he had taken the gash during the defense of the Red Keep. He gritted his teeth and pushed forward, eventually reaching the group. It was then when across the decks, he spotted in the opposite side the pirate with the scorpion. Could he really cross two ships in a small amount of time? He braced himself as he caught up to the pace of Sir Aerion, ser Oswell and Lady Livia, and of course the pompous Tyrell.

"I spotted a scorpion! Move!" He harkened, his breath ragged.

Ellion himself bolted with a run across the ship's wooden deck, following behind Seran as he put his shield up, taking a arrow as he carried the momentum into a pirate, his leap more like a step really. With a hard bash, he was moving at a heck of a pace, and smashed the pirate into the ground, the shield's bottom then landing straight in the man's throat, with a kick following it up as he moved by Seran's side, a few men coming over.
"Yep!" Ellion added, looking across.
"Come on, ya bastards!" Ellion's southern accent was clearly not as vulgar but was proud and brave, he still seemed to have an aura about him, as one of the men yelled, charging over.

Seran's frantic pace once again resumed as he literally zipped past the deck culminating with a tackle that broke the pirate's throat, effectively neutralizing the threat. Seran's vision was finally becoming blurry, as the tiredness crept to him. He couldn't last much longer at this rythm, but he clenched his fists. He had captured the scorpion. He pondered on what to use next, as he steadied himself among the tide of battle.

Ser Aerion smiled as Lady Visenya soared across the water to land like a cat atop the enemy ship's deck. "Well, I guess we have our sixth person. Lets move and take control of the enemy ship." Aerion, Lyvia, and Oswell pushed forward, cutting and hacking down the unlucky foes before them. Aerion himself mounted the Grey Ice's railing, leaping across the small gap the land atop an enemy pirate who was picking off Crown forces with a bow. The man's bow split in two, Aerion's blade landing solidly in the pirate's shoulder. One less villain to kill forces of the Crown, as Aerion pulled his blade back from the dead man, making his way forward. They needed to take control of the helm and the command deck. Lady Visenya was in the lead, and Aerion with his two allies would defer to her command for the time being.

Lyvia snarled in rage, cutting down two men with a vicious swing of her sword, a dagger protruding from the meaty part of her thigh. She let loose a string of curses, before pulling the dagger free and letting it fall to the floor. Turning to fend off another pirate, Lyvia took a solid kick to her wounded leg, sending her tumbling to the floor. It was a blessing when Ser Oswell stopped the falling sword blow, and killed her attacker. He smiled, helping Lyvia up, before moving off to help Aerion defeat a particularly large foe. She spat the blood in her mouth at, and ran to help kill off the overly large pirate. They needed to help Lady Visenya, and the path to help her was through the big brute swinging two large wooden mallets. "Lets cut you down to size..." Lyvia snarled as she joined the frey with the freakishly big deck hand of the Last Rite.

The brute swung its hammers with surprsing finess. Already it had driven back Aerion, Oswell, and now it bared down on Lyvia. She narrowly missed being brained by throwing a passing pirate in the brute's path. The pirate crumpled with a sickening crack and thud, tumbling to the ground lifeless. The pirate sneered at Lyvia, laughing in a gutteral and sadistic manner. "I am gunna taste you... yes, licky you and thens fill you up, dog lady. Hehehehahahahahehahhehaheheh, yesh... your tasty cunny is going to be mine." The brute then roared in anger as Ser Oswell jammed his blade into the man's back, but still it did not kill him. Oswell recieved a pummeling punch from the deckhand, sending him reeling and falling to the floor. Aerion knew that they were outmatched, this freak certainly was beyond normal, and pain seemed to only enrage him more. "Damned be you, the Seven will purge you from this realm." Aerion shouted out, before looking for either Visenya, Ellion, or Seran... he shouted out loudly... "Help us, strike this beast down and send him to the stranger!"

Ellion ran over, pushing down a pirate on the way, sliding the blade into his throat, as he looekd across at Lyvia, the tall Clegane bastard even dwarfed by the large pirate, as they tried to overwhelm him. Moving to his side, Ellion let his shield sit on his back, taking the longsword in both hands, nodding to Aerion. Moving up he swung out, the hammers coming close as Ellion barely dodged them, skidding away from them as he swiped his sword across the man's arm, scraping his arm, the wound skin-deep but enough to give him another moment to take him on. He was head on in the giant's path, as he looked up, with a distinct grin.
"Come on then, you fat fucker." Ellion's smirk only made the man charge, as he let him, the hammers swinging again, Ellion aware he was slow. And with it, he didn't even need to make a fast move, countering the giant by pushing forwards, and actually grabbing a hold, pushing him over unstable towards Aerion, knowing the Goldfyre would have an easy shot at him.

"DUCK!" Seran's broken voice roared, as the sound of thunder happened almost immediately afterwards. Holding a fuse in his hand, the Lyseni was leaning on the just used scorpion, gently rocking by the sudden release. Opposite of him was standing the mindless brute. Literally mindless, as his head had been blown in tiny bits by the bolt. "I uh... it was a big target." He confessed.

The brute's head was literally turned to a pulp, well, it was more than an arrow or any other piece of hand-drawn equipment could do. This was a weapon that would clear through thick wooden planks. Through flesh, it had passed through with ease. The brute dropped onto the floor like a headless chicken, Seran by the scorpion on the other side of the very dead man.
"Seven fucking hells...." Ellion looked on, his mind taken away by the sight, he actually wanted to piss himself laughing, rather than look on in horror, it just seemed almost comedic. But there was more fighting to do, as more pirates emerged from the hold, Ellion looking back at Serran and Aerion.
"That's one way to solve a problem. Let's get these fuckers!"

Aerion felt the splatter of blood and gore upon his face, the warmth of it never something you could get used to. Also the fact that it was sticky, and seemed to stain everything it touched. Gritting his teeth, Aerion rallied his two comrades, helping Lyvia up to her feet, checking that she was fine, before propping Oswell up to his feet as well. "Thanks, the both of you mad fools. Lets rally to Lady Visenya, and take this ship for the Crown." Aerion waved his sword aloft, charging towards Lady Visenya and the direction of the helm, shouting the battle cry of House Targaryen, "Blood and Fire!!". The day was not over yet, but hopefully, together as a team, they could overwhelm these vicious pirates. With Lyvia and Oswell, and hopefully the other two, they made quick time to Lady Visenya's side.

"My Lady, fancy meeting you here. What are your orders?" Aerion quipped, a smile on his blood splattered face.

A circle of bodies surrounded Visenya and their portion of the deck was mostly clear of pirates. Malrik Towers, Rakharo, Black Bat, Larraq the Lash, and the Red Lamb were engaging another cluster of crewmen while Jaime's party fought on the Silver Serpent. The decks were choked by bodies and it wouldn't take much to slip on the blood or trip over a corpse. Near the helm of the craft, a man in a Septon's robe with a ridiculously large hat and an axe in his hands bellowed harsh orders, a phalanx of pirates arranging themselves between Visenya's group and their captain.

Visenya pointed her blade at the captain, "The Grey Septon. Kill him, capture him, this whole ship falls into disarray." A long row of pirates were in front, spears out, the men tense as they waited for the Kingsmen to make their move. Behind them were several swordsmen and a quartet of warriors who had the look of water dancers as well as a squad of crossbowmen. It was a tight ordered formation and wouldn't be easy to break. Visenya yelled for them to cover behind the mast as the crossbow men fired a volley. Visenya called out to her Dragon's Teeth on the Gray Ice, who strung their bows and riddled several spearmen with arrows, making a very momentary opening as the pirates struggled to reform their spear line and the crossbowmen reloaded. Visenya shouted for the charge and ran full-tilt at the pirates, leaping over them to slash and stab in their midst.

---The Lonely Mountain Pass leading to the Vulture's Roost----

Ser Uther dove out of the way from an arrow shot at him, scrapping across the dry ground. He scrabbled across the dirt pathway, his armor making loud crunching noises as it crushed and rolled over small pebbles and dirt. He finally unclapsed his shield from his back, finding two arrows lodged into the wood already. A smile played across his face as he looked around for their attackers. It had seemed only minutes ago that they were all riding in quite reverence, talking amongst eachother. He heard the cries of men wounded and dying, drawing his sword out of its scabbard while he moved as cautiously as he could towards the main body of allied forces. It was Ser Andrew Selmy rallying the men, bring a sense of order to all the chaos that swirled around them.

As he dashed across open ground, he remembered what he was asked about Vulture's Roost by Ser Andrew. But that was cut short by this defensive attack by the rebel forces. Uther made his way to stand near Ser Andrew, speaking out above the din of the combat. "Well, isn't this peachy? Vulture's Roost has been in disrepair for at least a few hundred years, but last I was told about it from my father that even in ruin, it was still a place to behold. Who knows what these rebels may have done in their spare time." Uther's voice carried a sense of annoyance, as he shouldered the impact from another volley of enemy arrows. He looked about, seeing where is friend was. Not anywhere in sight, but people are easy to get lost in the chaos of combat.

Across the pass, on the other side of the formation, Ser Harwin fought off a pair of skirmishers screening their allies. He narrowly missed be hit by a javelin, the poor soldier behind taking the projecting square in the chest. He felt the warm blood splatter across his neck and back, shuddering at the idea of dying himself. To say it was a tactical nightmare was an understatement. The enemy had the high ground, and was still harrassing them while their foot and mounted forces charged in to hopefully cut down their enemies. Harwin slashed his weapon downwards, cutting down the lightly armored foe, while he fell back a little, keeping in line with his allies. Only a fool would rush out into battle in a place like this, and hope to live. At least the numbers were even, as the Crown forces began to fall back towards the baggage train. Strength in numbers, and the large wagons would provide cover from the incessant enemy archers. He smiled as an enemy archer sprouted a bolt in his chest, from from the ledge he was perched on.

Uther continued to fight from his side of the line, having to step over a few dead allies as they neared the baggage train. 'At least they are not using fire arrows... the heat and dry air will turn the wagons into infernos.' Uther thought to himself, cutting down an unlucky vulture. He made a mental note to come back to that particular man. His cloak was rather nice, and his boots were about the same size from a quick glance. He looked over at Ser Andrew, seeing if any new orders had been issued. For the time being, it was fall back, regroup, and fight off the enemy until either they were all dead, or were forced to retreat. Another damned arrow found its way to rest in Uther's shield, making eight arrows thus far. He felt the hard wheel of a wagon behind him, signifying that this was where they were going to make their stand. "We are at your command, Ser Andrew... lets show these rebels what happens to traitors." He shouted aloud.

Andrew grinned back at Uther while the arrows rained down on them, his smile growing wider when he espied a falcon flying through the air, "We're about to have our chance in a minute boys. Steady..."

Vulture Raiders clashed against their pike line, horsemen either being driven off or impaled by the professional formation while javelins and arrows embedded themselves in the shield wall or the wagons, which were being used as impromptu cover. Luckily for the Loyalists, Dornish tactics favored lightning assault and they had maintained enough composure to counter the assault. But still the men kept coming and Ser Andrew had the troops hold the line.

Until, a hue and a cry rang up on the cliffs, several sand steeds running along both sides as riders slashed, stabbed, or shot arrows into the archers and spear-throwers above the Loyalists. The outriders had heard the commotion and organized a counter-attack, and the pressure lessened on the soldiers below. Andrew bellowed at the top of his lungs, "LORANNA! NOW!"

The small Rhoynish woman ducked beneath a wagon, closed her eyes and held out her hands as the latest line of Vultures rode at them. Their war cries choked in their throats, they swayed and jerked in their saddles, their steeds halting their charge as their bodies became grey and took on the complexion of ash. They wailed, the sound of cracking parchment, as water drew itself from their bodies and the riders wilted on their steeds, their screams giving way to gasps as they blew away as dust on the wind before Loranna turned the floating water into hundreds of tiny razor-thin drops that hurtled themselves into the foot soldiers behind the riders. Loranna collapsed to the floor, spent, as water spears tore themselves through eyes and mouths, brain and viscera giving truth to the name of the Red Mountains.

Andrew shouted, "Charge!" The pikes parted and the mounted men retook their horses, the knights charging for the disorganized and rattled remnants of the raiding party, who had lost over a third of their number in just a few moments. Following on the knights' tale were the foot soldiers and the Vultures, defiant to the last, charged back at the Loyalists, the battle turning into a pitched melee of flashing steel and cries.

Ser Uther followed his commander into battle, letting loose a powerful war cry. No sense in trying to make sense at what the hell just happened. The enemy were cut down, and were outnumbered now. He ran past the grisly dead of the Vultures, meeting the enemy sword and shield in hand. He thanked the gods that their enemy was now falling back, as with each passing moment they lost more and more men. The arrows and javelins had seemed to stop, as he looked up, he saw that they ranged combatants were either dead, or had turned tail and run. That only left the enemy foot forces, who fought as violently and viciously as to be expected. He cut down two more men, still on the look out for his friend, Ser Harwin. And that was when he saw it, letting loose a cry of enraged anguish.

Ser Harwin fought valiantly, fought honorably, but in the end, he was cut down by a Vulture Knight, a man that carried a shield that bore a sucinct resemblence to Uther's own shield, though the colors were purple and gold, rather than red and gold. The Vulture Knight reveled in the kill, leaving the dead Ser Harwin where he lay as he looked across to Ser Uther. Uther knew that beneath the man's closed helm, he was smiling, gloating over his victory. Yet, he was too far away, too many men, of both sides were inbetween the two, and as soon as he had killed Ser Harwin, as he had appeared as though from a nightmare, he was gone, fleeing atop a loose horse. Uther smashed his shield against the face of another enemy, before fighting his way across the field of battle to kneel beside his dead friend... forgetting about the faltering combat about him. The Crown forces would mop up the enemy... he needed a moment for his own grief.

The riders rode off the last of the Vultures, Marcher marksmen raining arrows on the fleeing enemy who shrank back into the mountains, utterly broken. Scores of Vultures and a dozen or so Kingsmen had been cut down, including Ser Harwin. Several other Vultures had been taken prisoner and kneeled in the sand, hands bound by rope while Ser Andrew wheeled back to Uther and Harwin, dismounting and shouting for Patrek. Patrek, trained in medicine, kneeled down and saw that there was no saving Harwin. He pulled out a tube and fired a ball of maroon smoke into the air.

Andrew gritted his teeth, "I'm sorry Uther. Harwin fought valiantly. One of the Conningtons will be along soon. There is a Red Priestess waiting at Blackhaven. Ever since the King's own resurrection, the new strategy has been to present highborn before a Red Priest to see if their Lord of Light can breathe new life into them. It rarely ever works, but... there may be some hope. If not, the Silent Sisters will care for him. The rest of our soldiers will be buried here, their resting places marked for posterity." Andrew directed a burial detail while Patrek had the Vultures gathered into a heap for burning.

Andrew came back and said, "Take however long you need Uther. We'll rest and tend to our wounded and continue along shortly, while we question our captives. The Roost knows we're coming but their assault failed. We press on after break of noon."

--- Lord Lorimer, The Red Keep and the Militant Faith---

Lord Lorimer looked on in shock. This ssepton from the Riverlands, Carston, had brought dark tidings with him. He spoke of long dead families, houses wiped out through war, violence, hatred. Perhaps these families did indeed survive, lingering in secret. But the worst fact of the matter was these families, along with religous zealots, had risen up in defiance to the throne, and we starting to purge out any non-believers of their faith, and non-natives to their land. He was sickened at the reports of the violence. Such chaos, and unfettered violence, it was what had consumed the realm some twenty plus years ago. Septon Carston was a messanger, perhaps even a perpetrator of the crimes commited at Stoney Sept. While not being a Septon himself, Lorimer knew well enough the Seven did not condone this level of brutality and evil.

"This is no work of the Seven, Heretic. You have sullied the name of the Seven with your crimes..." Lorimer shouted out in anger. He found the crimes of these men appalling, but what was more, he saw a chance to bring honor to his household and family, to help balance out their service to Cersei Lannister. Soon after, the room descended into chaotic yelling and fighting. The Septon and those captured were hauled off towards the Black Cells, with Carston himself preaching all the way. Lorimer hobbled after the King and Queen, knowing that he would need to volunteer himself for their mission to defeat the rebellious religious zealots who had now cropped up within the mainland borders of the the Seven Kingdoms.

"Your graces, King Jon and Queen Daenerys, allow me to stamp out these murderous zealots. I can serve the crown on the field of battle better than I can do so here. Please, hear my plea for combat." He called out, pride and anger in his voice.

Jon and Daenerys stopped walking, the group clustering in the hall toward the small council chamber, Sansa, Sam, and Willas all standing silently nearby as the king regarded Lorimer. Jon finally said, "Luckily for you, our maesters managed to help your leg. But you're still in no shape for combat ser. You've much progress to make before you're fully healed. But, I do have a task for you. Within the week, I'll have a ship take you and your household to Lannisport and then have you escorted to the Golden Tooth. You'll be charged with the garrison of that fortress and the gathering of men to seek out where these so-called Reynes will be hiding. I'll have Tyrion's cousin, the former commander of the Golden Tooth, with some Lannister soldiers under your command. I want you to stay out of combat, but we need a strategist and administator on the ground. Castamere and Tarbeck Hall have to be secured, the rebels may have settled there.Once we find out where, send a Raven and we can formulate further plans from there.Any other questions?"

Lorimer simply nodded, and then knelt before the King and Queen. He was forever thankful for their generosity, and for them giving him another opportunity. "As you command, so shall it be done, your graces. I owe my leg, my life, and my home to the throne. House Lefford will be your faithful servants till our dying breaths. I will see to it that the Golden Tooth is not only secured, but fortified for any coming storm. The traitors will be found, and I will report anything of importance to you with all due haste. Thank you, your graces... thank you." Lorimer finished. He still knelt, paying homage to his lieges for their station and kindness.

Daenerys favored him with a smile, "No need to stand on ceremony, my lord. You paid your dues to the crown, and now we must do so for your loyal service. Tom and Aemon will be lucky to have such a loyal family. Now, the Council must convene on certain manners. Return to your wife, my lord. There is much to do and little time to do it."

"As you command your grace." Lorimer rose up to his feet, still favoring his uninjured leg. He bowed once more, before stepping back to allow the crown and council pass by. They were right, it would be some time before he could fight properly once more, but at least they allowed him to help out in this small measure. He watched them leave, marvelling at their grace and sheer greatness. After they were gone, Lorimer made the long walk back to his rooms, to meet with his lady wife and sister, and let them know the news of things to come.

Highgarden

Merlin Tyrell had already taken in the day's work, and Garlan had left a while ago. The news of Gardener pretenders, and the occurances in King's Landing had become more clear. The administrator took it in, the fact of the matter was, there was an issue to resolve. The heir apparent, the Steward of Highgarden and pretty much in turn, the entirety of the Reach, knew it was a lot to take in. The peasantry were happy, well fed, and doing well. The harvests were remarkable, but yet the underlying fear existed. That of the supernatural, the things that people didn't talk about. Before it had been the crazy people who saw witches and some ghastly shit happen. It was usually murderers, an insane peasant who had killed a bunch of people, before having the long hand of the Reach's law and order enforced. And yet now it was real. It was horrid. A village had entirely been murdered, almost 50 people hung and several decapitated, was a horrific sight found near Uplands, perhaps down to the Vultures, or something else. Merlin understood the arcane a little more than his father or brother did, but at the same time, knew he understood very little. The Maesters did the best they could to understand it, but even he had to admit, it was beyond his depth. In times past, this would have been fine....but now, it was different. Where he had sent his men, nothing had really come of it, a few witches hung publicly didn't change much either.

Standing in the tower, he looked at his bird of prey, sitting gently in his hand, feeding it a little feed, the beautiful red kite a sizeable bird indeed. Not a common bird for a falconer, but Merlin, like his father, adored these sorts of bird. Scarlet was a beautiful bird, though even if her name was soft, it was an impressive bird. Cooing it's wings up, Merlin raised his hand and let it pulse itself out of the window, taking flight with a screech. He had heard of even finer birds that had emerged into the world. Perhaps when the war died down again, he would return to falconry far more. For now, he had to let Scarlet go and have a hunt of her own on the banks of the Mander. Rats, mice, whatever she liked.

The noise of the morning market could be heard occasionally from the castle when more people bustled in, Merlin looking on from the tower, as he heard knocking on the door. Turning, he watched his wife, Evelyn, or Eve as she was better known, slowly walk in. A light yellow dress, and a slim form, Eve was a pretty girl, and still relatively slender, even after birthing three children, she looked remarkably healthy. Maybe the only lady that Merlin could compare to Alerie, albeit Evelyn was far quieter, and a little less cunning. She was just a lovely wife, as Merlin approached her, taking her hand.
"You are always looking over the land. Never seem to stop." She commented, hugging Merlin, reaching up a lot to the taller Tyrell.
"My mind tends to stray. Got a lot to worry about. Lest people hound me more." He replied, sighing as he took a seat on a chair, Evelyn grabbing one right next to him.
"It's only going to get worse when your father passes, you know that?" She brushed her hair gently, as Merlin gulped, nodding.
"Indeed. The Gods are kind on him though, as he is with others. He'll live a while."
"By that standard his Kingdom wouldn't have all this....strangeness."
"Perhaps....though maybe we do need someone to help us explain. More than a Maester can."

----------------
King's Landing

The gardens of King's Landing were pleasant, and Alerie had spent the day with a few ladies of the court, her handmaiden, Alys, and a few others. She'd requested that Amber came back, after she had recovered from her wounds. Alerie would have visited her handmaiden herself, but given she didn't know anything about her yet, it seemed strange. The discussion had been good, there had been some watered down wine, and the sun had been out. It had been pleasant, and Alerie knew she wasn't needed with Willas, who was busy with the King and Queen listening to petitioners. She heard the noise of shoes, and her eyes rolled. Seven hells, what sort of look did she have to come back here?

Amber walked in, the shy handmaiden finding Alerie quickly, bowing.
"My lady, I'm sorry. I was told to find you here...." Alerie turned away from the lady she spoke with, sighing.
"There is nothing to forgive. Actually....my dearest ladies, give me a few minutes. I shall return soon. It is good to see you well, Amber. After what happened..." Alerie said, standing up from the chair, walking away from the little pavillion in the gardens, taking Amber's hand gently, walking away. She kept silent, until she tutted, looking across at the Redmayne.

Turning into the Rose Gardens, a part of the garden particularly adorned with roses and relatively isolated, Alerie stopped, gently putting her open arm into a rosebush, barely even fazed by the pain, and clutched a rose, pulling the stem out, with a gentle pull, it severed from the whole of the bush itself, as she looked to Amber, with a glare. She felt no pain, nothing at all almost, it seemed to sit on her skin and barely even affect her.
"Stupid, stupid girl. This thorn has less of a pain than you. I always thought it might come to this happening. And you're lucky not to be dead...." Alerie coldly and harshly remarked, brushing the rose against Amber's skin. She naturally felt irked, looking on, words barely forming.

"But you almost deserve to be. How do you think I look, when my own handmaidens can't even be with me at a time of peril! You ran off and slept with a man of a class even lower than you. How do you think that's going to help you here?"
"I only wanted to be with Ser Aerion, I.."
"I thought as much. You don't think, Amber. You won't be in my services then. I'll send a letter back to Jamie, tell him you can go back to The Arbor and carry on being the girl you were going to be and deserve. I should have known better. You've probably got the pox now....you'll be redundant to any suitor. Lucky you even had me to try for you."

"Please, Lady Alerie....I'm sorry, I can't....please, don't!" She burst into tears, as Alerie knew she was broken by the ordeal. Alerie looked on icly, clutching the rose, shaking her head.
"Well, there is one way you can redeem yourself. You seem to be a rather wild flower. Would be a shame to keep you away. So you're going to do something for me, and perhaps I'll find you someone you can marry and be merry and live happily with. Refuse, and I'll make sure you suffer." Alerie said, as Amber nodded her head, barely wiping the stream of tears in the isolated and empty rose garden.

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

Somewhere in the Red Mountains

Garlan looked on at Gendry, the large Baratheon commanding a presence, marching alongside him on his own horse.
"It's a different world to the one I fought in, Gendry. Just fire and huge battles. Not this." He chuckled, looking on at the Red Mountains in the distance, very much living up to their name in the Dornish sun. The horse was cloaked in green and gold, with a number of Garlan's personal guard following in the group, alongside the Baratheons. A co-operation, that much it could be said this was.

"I don't understand your griffons, or any of this mythical shit. A world far before my time and after, I'm afraid. You've proven to be a commander and a half in your time. At least you understand how to work those resources. For me, it was defence of our land and retribution, throwing soldiers in enormous fields and always cutting them apart, no matter what odds, through blood and guts. You know something more.

"But I'm glad you listened to me regarding Mirren. She'll do well. That, and the other soldiers we'll send in ahead." Garlan added, adjusting his visor a little, looking in the distance, the sight of columns and huge numbers of soldiers clear to see, the enormous spire that was the Spine, a little covered in snow even at this time of year at it's very peak, showing there had to be some cold in these mountains somewhere, as Garlan pointed it out.

"Spire's got a few gentle routes going up. But it's a hell of a climb. May give us a roost to view the world from. But it also makes us as visible as we could be. Rockfall and archers are the worst we could run into. May I suggest we segment our forces to take them on all angles of that face, perhaps consider the use of our tricks up our sleeves to get them? I personally see that as a difficult and challenging target. I have a funny feeling you're about to suggest your griffons might be able to help."