(A collab with @MrDidact and @Greenie)

It was not the end that Taria would have wanted, having the pirates bend their knees and keep their lives, but she had kept quiet. She didn't know everything and she didn't presume to act that way. Not only that, she trusted the prince's judgement, having seen enough proof during this journey that he wasn't someone who did things willynilly and actually put thought behind his actions. She also supposed she should be grateful that her own family had been given a chance years ago; Greyjoys never had the cleanest of slates.

She would have probably ended up returning to the ship if the prince hadn't approached her and asked her to come along to the tavern. She had been surprised but had readily accepted nonetheless. "Of course, my prince," And so here she was now, standing at the table near Prince Aemon's chair, hand on the pommel of her sword. She looked the smuggler over and blinked. Hmm... A woman, and that too, one with a familiar face. Taria could have sworn she had seen this person once or twice in King's Landing.

The statement caused Tamsyn to snap out of her stupor with a jolt, spilling remained of her drink across the table. Cursing herself for dropping off, she pinched the bridge of her nose before focusing on the figures that were looming over her though she regretted it almost immediately. The man in front of her was tall, well built and rather noticeably, his clothes were covered in droplets of dried blood. More importantly though he was not alone, several other equally battle stained men were spreading themselves out through the room. Her buyers knew to send one man to meet her if they wanted their goods.

"I think you're mistaken mate, I'm just a traveler passing through, I don't work here." Tamsyn said before turning in her seat so as to wave at the rest of the room, her eyes darting between the few windows as she wondered what was underneath the outside of them. "I'm sure the girls will be more than happy to entertain you and your men if you have the coin.

Aemon smiled, taking a seat and motioning for Taria to stand close by, "Oh, I have coin and plenty of it, and that's why I'm here. A mutual friend referred me, you won't be meeting with the Maiden's Men tonight. But work out a deal with me and you'll be set for life." Aemon retrieved a heavy coin bag and jingled it for effect, showing her the contents before placing it back."

"What do you say? Are you amenable to a chat?"

The glittering contents of the coin purse had a near magnetic effect on Tamsyn, her eyes glued to to the bag until it disappeared back amongst the man's clothes. "Let's say I am interested in having a chat" Tamsyn said picking her words carefully, she couldn't help but speculate on why this blood flecked man knew she wouldn't be meeting the Maiden's Men. "What goods did our friend say I had to offer exactly?"

Aemon leaned in, speaking lowly so as not to be heard over the general ruckus of the tavern, "Castle-forged steel. Spears, shields. Bodkin arrowheads. Full-metal plate. Incendiary trebuchet rounds. Even some ship-mounted scorpions. Not the shit that the pirates sling, but quality armanents. Destined for the Scorpions is that true?"

"It seems we have a very talkative friend" If the Maiden's Men were still alive that was going to cost them a lot of coin. Still at least she could drop the irritating double talk, if there was trouble ahead then she had already been dropped well and truly in it. "But yes I can help you get your hands on those items for a price, though I'm sure you can pay it. I should warn you though, me and you are in for quite a walk to go find it."

Aemon nodded, "Very well, show me to them. I hope you don't mind if my friend comes along. Show us the way." Aemon stood, his mind running over the possibilities. They couldn't allow such weapons to fall into the hands of the Scorpions, if indeed this woman did have them. The question was how she was able to procure such armanent. And if she were so great a smuggler to do so, perhaps she could be of further use to them? He warily followed, ready for any sudden violence as he also pondered what to do with the apparent criminal.

For a moment Tamsyn hesitated as she debated about whether or not to insist that her new buyer’s associate stayed behind. She hadn't trusted the Maiden's Men enough to let more than one of them follow her and she'd known them. On the other hand maybe it was better to go along with the man's wishes, if he was going to cause trouble, and the state of his clothes told Tamsyn he might; well then she'd prefer to be somewhere with better escape routes and less of his men around.

"As you want" Tamsyn sighed as she got to her feet. "Stay close to me once we leave the town, it's a difficult path and I'd hate for all that coin to fall into the sea."

After placing a coin in her cup Tamsyn spent a moment reattaching the sword she'd brought with her to her belt before heading for the door. The sword wouldn't be much use if these two companions decided to cross her but she tried to ignore this fact and focus on the fat purse she would earn if everything went well.

Aemon nodded and followed, keeping his hands in clear view of Tamsyn's peripheral vision and keeping a reasonable space away from her in order to set her at ease as much as possible while still keeping close. Indeed the path was dark, and somewhat ardous to tramp through, but Aemon had spent years on Dragonstone and was used to navigating such damp, cramped, dark paths.

After several moments of this Aemon spoke up, "You do not look like a Stepstoner. I see no Essosi blood in you. Indeed, your accent seems to be mainlander. Where do you hail from?" It was true, most native Stepstoners had eastern features due to the eclectic mixture of blood in the isles and the vast majority were thoroughly suntanned. This woman however was of much fairer skin and hair. And though she may have been somewhat slender, she did not have the lifelong leaness of smallfolk from any land, much less the Stepstones. Her accent was somewhat refined as well. Much different from the pidgin of islanders or the ruder speech of the peasantry. Curious indeed.

The question caught Tamsyn off guard, normally people were more interested in trying to find out where she was taking them, where she got her wares or in the case of the pirates how much it would cost for her to perform some extra favours for them. Where she was from was something she hadn't discussed for some while and her first instinct was to tell the nosey git to mind their own business but thought better of it. "You're right that I'm no Stepstoner, I grew up not to far from Highgarden but my ancestors came from north of The Wall."

Aemon looked at the woman with fresh eyes, "I see. Not many of the first men find their way here. I wonder what took one such as you to these parts. I'm sure you have quite the tale to tell. How much further to the supplies?"

"Just through these trees, as for how I ended up here, that's not much of a story. I came for the coin, ame as most of the merchants, whores and sellswords on this island. The only reason you don't see more free folk is that few of us came as far south as my family did" That was a more or less true account of Tamsyn's life, with admittedly one or two slight omissions. "Which company are you with? I thought you Lyseni kept to yourselves, not mixing with people like your lady friend here."

Aemon accepted the answer without comment but did not entirely believe her, suspecting that there was something more to the story that was being unsaid. But now was not the moment to seek more answers, lest the smuggler grow overly cautious or paranoid. Aemon replied, "Many do, but more of us are just fine working with people of all bloods. I work with the Silver Serpent." Hopefully the woman had heard of the now deceased but infamous Captain Draxos and would leave it there.

"How did a free folk smuggler come across such armanent?"If there were traitors to the king, Aemon needed to know.

"Oh easily enough, from Bravos to the Iron Islands there's always someone looking to make a little extra coin willing to make sure some boxes get lost" Tamsyn mumbled. "Errm the Silver Serpent, the Silver Serpent, that's that mad arsehole Draxos's ship right? Huh, no wonder you want good steel, um just hold up here a moment." The trio had reached a small clearing in the scrubby trees and propped against the last tree was a crude rag torch. After a few industrious moments with her flint and steel Tamsyn stood up and turned to face the *man* torch burning heart in her hand.

"You'll need this, I think you'll find what you want boxes at the back of that cave." Tamsyn said pointing to what seemed like a small hole in the rock face across the little clearing from the group. "I'm sorry I only made the one, I wasn't expecting to need more. I'll be waiting here for you to decide".

"Very well, stay here Taria." Aemon retrieved the torch and went into the hole, crawling on hands and knees in the dark and cursing to himself at the cramped quarters. Eventually however he reached it and he stood to behold an armory's worth of weapons. Flammable trebuchet rounds. Scorpions and piercing bolts. Rows and rows of crossbows and bodkin points for arrowheads. High-quality steel weapons of all description, not the sort that even a middling noble could easily buy on the Street of Steel, but better than the crap that the Scorpions had for the most part. Even armor. Enough to arm a company of men well enough to fight royalists.

Taria had done as Aemon told her, giving a little nod in his direction before looking over at the smuggler, unsure of what to make of her. She was sure her eyes weren't deceiving her and she had seen the smuggler before, but she hardly wanted to give the woman a reason to get feisty and brandish her weapon.

"You don't look like a typical smuggler," she stated, breaking the awkward silence.

"I'm sorry, what?" Tamsyn said, her forehead wrinkling as she turned to face the speaker; what in the seven hell's was she meant to look like. Up until now the woman hadn't commanded much attention, she'd just sort of faded into the shadow of her companion.

It was hard for Taria to keep a straight face and not roll her eyes. "You don't look like a typical smuggler," she repeated, voice matter of fact, one shoulder lifting slightly in a half shrug. "Most I've seen are men..." Old and grimy and not very pleasant to look at, at least those were the thoughts in her mind.

"Well you don't look much like a pirate but here we are." It wasn't the smartest of replies but it would do, there were more pressing things on Tamsyn's mind, like the fact that the woman hand was clutched to her sword. "There's no need for you to grip your blade like that you know.”

Taria raised an eyebrow at that statement, a touch of a smirk on her lips. "Hm... I'll be the judge of that... I don't look like a pirate, right? So you can expect me not to be so... trusting of others who don't seem as they say they are." In truth, if it was merely herself she may have been a little less tense. However, with the crown prince around, she was not going to let her guard down even a little.

That said, her eyes shifted away from the smuggler toward the mouth of the hole where she could hear noise of crawling. Good, he's coming back.

Aemon returned and nodded, "I am satisfied. But I must admit to you, I'm not looking to buy myself. I was hoping you could help sell them for me." He looked around, made sure they were alone, "I'm not a mercenary." He showed her his signet ring, with the three-headed dragon upon it.

The bottom dropped out of Tamsyn's stomach as her eyes focused on the ring that had been thrust under her face. “Shit!” The bastard was an agent of the fucking crown. Without waiting to give the lying arsehole a chance to grab her Tamsyn spun on her heels and ran as fast as she could back into the thicket of trees. The idea of fighting wasn’t one Tamsyn even thought about, there was two of them and the man looked like he could cut her in two with one slash of his sword. She’d had thought they might try to rob her, but fucking agents of the crown, she’d not expected that, not here.

"Bloody- Seven hells!" Taria looked at Aemon for a hint of a moment before jerking in the direction the smuggler had run off. "I'll go after her!" She should have been paying more attention, instead she let something stupid happen on her watch! There was absolutely no way she was going to let that slippery woman out of her grasp. F*cking hells... The darkness of the night as well as the trees weren't very helpful, but at least that meant it would be hard for the other one too.

"There's no point in running," she called, still hurrying, though now she was using her hearing, following after the not too subtle sounds of someone crashing through leafy grounds. "There's no need to! Bloody woman..." The last part was whispered to herself.

Branches whipped at Tamsyn's face as she ran through the dimly lit trees. She heard the woman's shout but ignored it, there was every point in running. If she could just get enough distance from them then maybe she could get back to The Eel and get the hell off this damned rock with her head still attached. Suddenly Tamsyn felt her foot catch on something and before she could process what was happening there sharp blow to the side of her head as she careered into something and blackness closed around thte edge of her vision.

Taria paused in her step, noticing the lack of sound from the direction in which she had been following. Unsure of what may have happened, she slowly drew out her sword from its sheath, carefully making her way, trying not to trip over any roots or other objects littering the ground. Her eyes hadn't adjusted yet to the darkness, but her boot sure as hell touched something... or rather somebody.

"She's here!" she called out for Aemon to hear. Even as she did she knelt down, pressing her knee against the woman's back, sword pointed at her just in case the smuggler made a move.

Aemon came a few moments later, breathing a bit hard as he came to a stop after sprinting through the woods while trying not to trip on a branch and break his neck. He called out to Taria, "Good work. But don't be too hard on her, it's understandable why she would react that way."

He stepped around to look the prone woman in the eye, kneeling and spreading his hands in a pacifying gesture, "Don't be alarmed. We're not looking to harm you. We're not going to take you in for smuggling. Instead, I have a job offer for you. Do it right, and you'll have a heavy bag of gold and a pardon. And if you say no, we'll let you walk after we confiscate your goods. You can sail away unharmed and we will make no pursuit. But if we cross paths again and I find you trying to smuggle weapons to the rebels, then I can make no promises as to your well-being. So I believe it's in your best interests to listen to what we have to say. I vow on my word as a knight that we will offer no harm to you for the duration of this conversation and this night even if you walk away. As long as you agree to hear us out and not try anything. Do we have an accord?"

Tamsyn struggled to understand what was happening. The side of her head throbbed with pain, her whole world felt like it was spinning, something was digging into her back and now a knight was offering her gold and a pardon to work for him. "Okay" Tamsyn replied with a grunt somewhat muffled by the leaf litter in her mouth. She wouldn't of put any money on herself being able to walk to The Eel right now, let alone run, at least not without being sick. Besides if this knight was going to take her prisoner or worse, well he already had her, she might as well try doing as they wanted.

Aemon nodded to Taria, "Let her up Taria. But keep an eye on her." Aemon waited for the woman to collect herself and for Taria to position herself near the smuggler before saying, "My companion is Taria Greyjoy, trueborn daughter of Theon Greyjoy."

"I am Prince Aemon Targaryen, heir to the Seven Kingdoms. And you are no mere freefolk born smuggler, that much is clear. What is your true name, pray?"

When the weight was lifted from her back Tamsyn didn't try to stand up, chosing instead to slump against the nearest tree trunk. "Call me Tamsyn" she mumbled carefully forgetting to add her house name before waving her hand in a little circle and adding "Your Grace" with just a hint of sarcasm. This was all to strange. If someone had told her that the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms was going be on Bloodstone offering her a fat purse, well she would thought them a mad, drunk fool and yet here he was with a sword toting Greyjoy to boot.

"Do your self a favour and put your sword away before someone takes it from you Greyjoy. Your family doesn't exactly have the best record of holding on to them." It was a cheap insult, a variation on what her father had said anytime the Greyjoy had been mention whilst she had been growing up, but the sword was getting on Tamsyn's nerves and it felt good to watch the woman's face as she said it.

Taria couldn't help the sudden clenching of her jaw, nor could she stop her hand from tightening around the hilt of her sword. It had bothered her as a child, hearing people talk about her father's condition, but not as much as it did at this very moment, after finally knowing what a great man he was, after knowing that he did indeed care about her. Not the first time, she reminded herself, softly letting out a breath. Her face relaxed and her hold on her sword remained, though not as harshly as before.

She sent a placid smile in Tamsyn's direction, deciding it was best not to say a thing at the moment. Her sword, of course, remained unsheathed.

Leaving the Greyjoy spawn to stew Tamsyn turned to look Aemon in the face. "How may I assist you? My Leige." Again she didn't quite manage to keep the sarcasm entirely out of her voice and Tamsyn couldn't help but feel that her mother would of been quite proud of that.

It was too dark to tell whether Aemon was annoyed or amused, but he responded evenly, "I will learn your full name someday. But for tonight, Tamsyn will suffice. It is no secret that the Stepstone Rebellion has cost countless lives. I intend to stop it once and for all. There will be a secret meeting in Blackguard Bay between the Scorpion captains and their king. You will deliver your goods there and provide a cover for my men to slip into that meeting. And you will help us put paid to those rebels once and for all. I will not lie to you, it will be incredibly dangerous. But you will be well paid." He tossed a coin bag on the ground, where it fell with an appreciable thud, "Half now, half when the job is done. And you'll be sailing with my ships close by and some of my men onboard to watch you and ensure your honesty. Fair enough?"

For near on a minute Tamsyn said nothing, instead she just rolled the coin bag between her hands feeling the weight of it and listerning to the clinking of it's contents. The prince, if that was who he really was and Tamsyn wasn't sure she could quite beleive that, knew how to pay generously, very generously. She didn't much like the idea of sailing into a meeting of rebel and she liked the idea of crown men aboard The Eel as she did so even less but on the other hand it was really was quite a heavy purse she was holding and there was promise of another.

In the end the allure of gold won out and Tamsyn used the tree for support as she pushed herself up right so she could look the prince in the eyes without straining her neck. "Very well you have a deal."

Aemon nodded, a wry smile on his face as he extended his hand to shake and seal the deal, "Very good. We'll set sail in the morning, I'll have men come and load these weapons back onto your own ship and then join you. Moor next to the Silver Serpent and the Harlot after they finish."

He looked at Taria, "Taria here will come with you and ensure you don't run off. And it'll give you two some time to get to know each other."

Drowned God, Mother, Warrior, anyone listening... please give me patience. Thank you. Taria could tell the smuggler didn't like her, which made sense all things considered; she didn't see that berating attitude leaving anytime soon. She wasn't going to say no to the prince however, as much as she wanted to right now.

"Of course," she replied, bowing her head in Aemon's direction before straightening. Time to resign to her fate.

"Just tie me to a tree and take your pet Greyjoy with you" Tamsyn muttered as she kicked a few leaves aimlessly.

Fairmarket

The festival had already lasted a fortnight, yet the smiling Catelyn Tully could see that it was far from over. The year's harvest had been bountiful, the fisherfolk had caught enough fish to feed for many weeks, and violence had been but a faint bother for much of the season, so the people of Fairmarket had much to celebrate. Many had come from the nearby villages too, bringing their own goods to sell and share.

The air was full of joyful shouting and cheering in many tongues, as well as music from all corners of the world. Riverlanders and Essosi alike had their place in the revelry, and though the eldest seemed rather reluctant to mingle with their strange neighbours, their children and grandchildren had no such qualms. Copper-skinned boys praised a passing knight's horse in Dothraki, while little Riverlander girls gasped in amazement as a red priest with YiTish features made his flames take the form of a dancing dragon.

As she climbed down from her carriage in her silver dress, the justiciar from Riverrun breathed in the fragrant air. The scent of the trees and the flowers blended with that of roasted meats, freshly baked pastries, spices and herbs. Her sight was dominated by bright colours, from the lush greens of the country to the blues, reds, purples and yellows of the goods being sold in the bustling market. For a brief moment, she almost forgot about the troubles of the world outside of this town, outside of the Riverlands.

Her arrival did not go unnoticed. As her feet touched the ground, The smallfolk gathering around the carriage stared at her and her small retinue with visible wonder. Those who had the presence of mind to do it attempted to bow, but she stopped them with a gentle motion of her hand and a widening of her smile. A freckled girl with a sheepish look in her big green eyes braved touching the hem of her dress, prompting an aghast look from her father. Catelyn giggled and offered her its sleeve to touch as well, then placed a single kiss on the back of the girl's hand.

The daughter of the Lord Paramount walked among the people of Fairmarket with the confidence of one who was among friends, even though she had only met a handful of them in the past. To each that she would walk past by she offered her smile and a nod, sometimes a kind word. A portly singer began to sing a song to her beauty, earning himself a couple of silver stags, while those who could not sing greeted her with simple words or blessings. Some spoke to her in the Common Tongue, while others spoke in Dothraki and the bastard Valyrian of the Bay of Dragons. She responded to all, offered her own blessing to them and their families, wished them even better harvests in the future and promised to devote herself to a lasting peace.

Valerys and Mylenos Maegyr, looking relaxed and handsome in their blue and red doublets, followed close behind, along with a dozen Tully knights, who came carrying bags full of food, clothing and healing herbs for the poor of the town. Fairmarket had grown large with the arrival of Daenerys Targaryen's Essosi, but not all of her people from across the sea had since found a livelihood. If her father hoped to maintain order and harmony, Catelyn knew that those people needed, at the very least, to be fed, clothed and housed. It was a patchwork solution to a deeper problem, as fragile as the coloured paper gliding through the breeze, but generations of continued misery were an invitation for violence, and the Riverlands had suffered enough brutality already.

Soon she reached in the heart of the town, flanked to her left by the pristine flowing waters of the Blue Fork, a mummers' boat floating close to the bank, and to her right by the improvised dais where the most prosperous families of Fairmarket sat. Standing atop a small raised platform, for a time she only gazed with her blue eyes upon the smallfolk, happy to witness their unbridled bliss. But then she raised her hand, and all of Fairmarket fell quiet, save for a few of the children.

As the bright summer sun made her red-brown hair shine bright, almost as if it had a light of its own, she spoke to the whole expectant crowd at last. Her voice was clear like the river that ran through the town, warm like a loving embrace, and each of her words sounded as true as the gods'.

"My good friends, it has been too long... far, far too long... away from your delightful company. Time and time again you have proven that none other can celebrate a great harvest like the fair people of Fairmarket."

She spoke with her arms spread, the light of day glittering on the silver of her dress, her words eliciting a long, rapturous cheer from the crowd. With an amused chuckle and a small flourish of her hand, they quieted, and she continued.

"Your pride as caretakers of this beautiful land is well-deserved, and I am proud to call all of you wonderful, hardworking people my fellow countrymen. Our kingdom has lost and sacrificed much, yet with your passion, your generosity, and your tireless labour we have recovered again and again. I can only aspire to some day have that same fortitude, and become worthy of the same admiration that I have for all of you."

Another cheer, just as loud and enthusiastic as the first one.

"I imagine many of you will have heard by now of the events that transpired in King's Landing. It would appear that dark, evil clouds loom over the Seven Kingdoms once again. Yet you can be assured that the men of the Riverlands fought bravely by the king's side against this foe. And you can be sure that House Tully stands ready to fulfill its duty to you, the great people of the Riverlands."

The third cheer came as more of a fierce roar than anything else, a patriotic cry. It had taken her father over two decades to cultivate that sentiment; that ardent, steadfast appreciation for House Tully's struggle to maintain order. But the fruits of his effort were now plain to see.

"Now let us jubilate over these generous gifts our land has given us, and honour the brave who perished in its name. Let us sing, and feast, and be joyous in each other's company. Let us trade, make friends and love one another. Cheers, my good friends, and praised be our kingdom!"

"PRAISED BE OUR KINGDOM!" Answered the people as dozens of hands raised their mugs, tankards and goblets, filled with mead and wine, to the skies. A few praised Catelyn herself instead, either by her name or by her nom de guerre. The Essosi had grown rather fond of the latter, and would call to the Dragonfish in their thickly accented Valyrian. The festival resumed in full, music cascading down the crowd from every corner. The mummers stepped down from their boat, already dressed in their elaborate costumes and ready to perform what looked like a delightful farce, with a black cloth dragon, a pair of hollow horses and what looked like a modest replica of the Iron Throne.

Catelyn stepped down from the platform and began to walk among the people, exchanging pleasantries with the people on the dais, complimenting the produce being sold in the stalls, and giving coin, toys and clothing to the children that swirled around her. All the while, Valerys and Mylenos stood beside her, visibly relaxed and content. The older of the Maegyr brothers chanced a touch of her pale hand, which she allowed with a discreet but loving look, her supple red lips giving him a small, lopsided smile.

Before long, the Tully lady and her Volantene companions were just another part of the day's merriment. Her nobility and their fame was acknowledged, but it did not keep them from losing themselves in the crowd, dancing to the songs of half a dozen bards and feeding on all manner of home-made foods while drinking the wine of Fairmarket's modest vineyards. Many approached her, young and old alike, some seeking a dance with her, while others spoke to her of likely trouble with bandits and quarrels between the families. Some Essosi complained of mistreatment, particularly from those closest to the local septons and septas, and pleaded for justice or sanctuary. The red priest, having tired of making sorcery to entertain the children, came to her with words of warning, saying that he had seen the shadows that had struck the capital spread into the Riverlands. She listened to all, dance with most who asked, and swore to help all those in need.

She caught Valerys looking at her with longing and admiration as she traversed through the festival, skillfully managing both duty with merrymaking, and she felt herself blush like a little girl. Even now, she sometimes failed to notice just how much Valerys and Mylenos adored her, and acting as justiciar had become so second nature to her that she barely even realized when she did it.

The warm summer sun moved slowly across the skies as the day of festivities carried on with only a few petty incidents. And as it set on the horizon, the light of torches and candles spread up and down the roads, and Catelyn Tully found herself sighing happily in Mylenos' embrace, beneath a tall oak tree, surrounded by the dancing and feasting crowd. At some point, Valerys had joined the mummers in a lively recitation of humorous poetry, drawing much laughter from the audience.

"You seem quite pleased," said Mylenos, his thickly accented voice a whisper against her ear. She grinned and, as she looked at him, her blue eyes shone like a starlit sea.

"I am pleased. Fairmarket always lifts my spirits. When I was a child, I sometimes dreamed of living here, in one of these small houses. I wanted to grow massive pumpkins and raise cows." She answered, half-lying and leaving much unsaid.

She did care for this town, but her motive for coming had not been leisure. In truth, she had feared that the news from King's Landing would cause a holy panic, and that she would find the town ablaze, or its Essosi inhabitants slaughtered. She had feared that the forces behind the attack on the Red Keep would make themselves present in some form somewhere in the Riverlands. Whenever there was a spark in King's Landing, the Riverlands always burned first. For that reason, she had chosen to tour the region as soon as she returned from the capital, leaving her deeply troubled father in Riverrun. She needed to assess the state of affairs and do her part in preserving order.

Her mind juggled every problem she had heard of during the day, and she considered other possible problems that could arise from them. She calculated how many knights and foot soldiers she would need to find and capture nearby outlaws, questioned which laws the local septons and faithful might have broken in their mistreatment of the Essosi, and tried to envision the placing of new defenses against invasions from the south. She quickly lost herself in those thoughts, only vaguely aware of Valerys' recitations or Mylenos' warmth.

A kiss on her lips broke from from her reverie, and she pulled back from it with a subtle scolding look. The younger of the Maegyr bastards chuckled.

"My apologies, lady Tully, but you seemed rather distracted," said Mylenos, his hand resting on hers. "And besides, this is a harvest festival. I doubt anyone here will care if they see a noble lady kissing her known friend."

"Be that as it may, dear Mylenos, you are meant to ask for my permission before kissing me," she retorted, half-jesting by the sound of it. Her squeezing his hand appeared to confirm that, before she stood up and offered him her arm. "Now, take me to the dais. I have matters to discuss with the families."

Mylenos gave her a small bow and guided her towards them, passing through the still lively crowd. Valerys had finished reciting, and many blushing young girls rushed to congratulate him, prompting him to blush in return and offer a few words of thanks. Even now, after performing before them, her beloved knight from Volantis could be remarkably shy and quiet.

The three reunited on the dais, and they sat side by side at a table filled with delicious-looking food. Before them sat one of the elders, a plump and lovely woman who the town's inhabitants called Jeyne Goldheart, who greeted them with a broad, sincere smile and a few bows. Beside her sat a slightly younger man with copper-toned skin, dark almond eyes and a long braid of greying black hair. Jeyne Goldheart, rather famously, had been one of the first women in the Riverlands to wed one of Daenerys Targaryen's Dothraki. Catelyn had heard that, to this very day, the town's septon often threatened to annul their marriage, citing concerns about the tainting of Fairmarket's spiritual purity before the Seven.

"Milady, we are so grateful for your visit," said Jeyne Goldheart. "I hope you will stay with us through the night?"

"Nothing would please me more," said Catelyn. "Were it not for my duties, I might never leave."

"That is very kind of you, milady," said the older woman, and the look in her eyes suddenly changed. "Even here, troubles exist, but my beloved Qano keeps the family safe, and his horses are the pride of Fairmarket."

Catelyn nodded.

"I will be sure to tell the Lord Paramount as much," she said. "House Tully is always looking for better mounts."

Jeyne Goldheart's look turned meaningful. She had never been a talented concealer of truth, yet Catelyn did not think less of her for it. She was a virtuous woman and a good influence on her neighbours. Probably a far better influence than the town's septon, who currently sat not too far away, looking like he was trying quite hard not to show his offense at the way his people celebrated.

"If I may say so, milady, Qano and I worry," said Jeyne, leaning forward, her grey-streaked hair forming a curtain around her face as she glanced at the septon. "Septon Hendry has grown rather quiet as of late. When beasts or bandits attacked, he used to cry about the infidels and heretics in our midst, but now he says nothing of the sort. We hear much talk from travellers about sparrows in the woods, with knights among them. Our families agreed to sell some of the spare wheat, because coin is scarce, but then the Black Lads warned us that trading boats have been disappearing..."

"And my people are disappearing too," Qano suddenly interjected, folding his still muscled arms on his chest. His voice was a low growl, with that harsh accent of the Dothraki. "A family of the lamb men... Lazharene... their farm was far from town, to the north. It was burned. It has happened before."

"Yes, many of the more distant farms have been burned," said Jeyne. "Essosi families, all of them. That family in particular, though..."

She looked at the other elders on the dais, making sure they were not listening in, and then she carried on, her voice feather soft.

"Their son was sweet on a Westerosi boy. When his family heard of it, the Westerosi boy was given to a monastery between here and Oldstones. Full of sparrows and orphans, that place is. Makes the least pious amongst us quite uncomfortable."

Catelyn gave her a pensive look. "I have heard whispers of that monastery."

She did not say more, although she could have. Individually, the whispers said little, yet as a whole they implied much.

"Many farmers do not know the Lazharene and the Dothraki are not the same, and septons and lords call the Dothraki infidel rapers and savages," continued Qano. "They say we come to defile and steal their children. And these sparrows of theirs hear that, and beat our peoples with their clubs for it."

Catelyn said nothing and did nothing. She just listened, her expression unchanging, until they both finished talking, and then she nodded.

"I will speak to my brother," she said at last, and she looked at them with intense, sincere commitment. "Gods willing, he will find that family and take them to safety, and then bring those responsible to me, so that I may judge them. I won't allow the scourge of outlaws to harry this town or its people... and that includes the Dothraki and the Lazharene."

"Thank you, milady," said Jeyne, and there was much genuine gratitude on her wrinkled face. Jeyne Goldheart had learned to trust the young Tully lady and her justice, as had all of Fairmarket. Many outlaws had hanged from the town's gallows because of her, and many slighted or injured folk had received generous restitution through her judgement.

Catelyn nodded, then moved on to the other elders. Each had their tales, boasts and grievances, and she listened to all. Catelyn performed as she had learned to many years ago, all the while adding what Jeyne Goldheart had told her to the cacophony of juggling thoughts in her mind. Soon enough, the older woman's words reigned supreme.

However, the young lady from Riverrun would not end the night without indulging for one last time in the festivities. Trusting the combination of darkness and the still large crowd to keep her indiscretions hidden from unwanted gazes, she shared her last dance, and a long kiss, with Valerys, while Mylenos sung sweetly about love alongside the bards.

"What awaits us tomorrow, my lady?" Asked Valerys as their lips parted, the red in his eyes almost imperceptible in the darkness. The words sounded so foreign, so distant, coming from his lips. She yearned to hear him speak freely once they were alone.

"A short detour to Oldstones, to get a better understanding of matters, and then the journey home," she lied, and kissed him once again, her pale hands tangled in his long silver hair.

---

Blue Fork

Time had taken its toll on their skin, but Catelyn had no doubts about who the bodies hanging from the large oak tree belonged to. They had found the Lazharene family, as well as the Westerosi boy, his brown robes in tatters and stained with dried blood.

On the other side of the river, another farm burned, and Catelyn suspected that soon she would find more hanging bodies. The morning air was thick with smoke, and its stench permeated all. The looming rain could not come soon enough.

The justiciar's retinue approached the oak tree slowly, though not out of caution. Whoever had committed this atrocity was long gone and, if Catelyn feared the dead, she hid it well.

Her knights cut the bodies down while her and the Maegyr bastards watched. The mother and daughters had barely been touched, but the father, the son and the Westerosi had been beaten and mutilated. The two young lovers had likely been raped, she suspected. All of them, young and old, had a seven pointed star crudely carved on their foreheads. Even now, the agony and horror of their last moments was plain to see on their faces.

"Please, bury them properly, and pray for the boy," she said to the knights without taking her eyes off the bodies. She stood stiff, her fingers interwined with one another. "Mylenos... would you sing the family a song from their land as we put them to rest?"

Mylenos gave a tremulous sigh. Catelyn did not look, but she could imagine tears in his pretty red eyes, and it added to her pain.

"Forgive me, Cat," said Mylenos. "I don't know any Lazharene songs or prayers."

"They deserve better than silence," she explained coldly, although she was brimming with grief and fury underneath. "And I will not bury them with a prayer from this land. Any song, any words will do, so long as they are not from the Seven-Pointed Star."

Mylenos sighed again, but now there was no trembling, and when he sang, he did so as perfectly as he had the night before. It was a Braavosi song, one which spoke about freedom and death. It was melancholy, yet undeniably touching. It would do.

The Tully knights did the best they could burying the bodies, carefully placing them in individual graves, and said their prayers for the Westerosi boy. Catelyn contemplated them in silence and, once they finished, she climbed back into her carriage.

Valerys followed her, and spoke to her through the window.

"Cat, did you know?" He asked. "Did you make us go to Oldstones knowing we would find them on the way?"

His eyes were troubled, and she knew as she gazed into them that it was not just about the family and the boy. He was afraid of her answer.

Catelyn did not hesitate.

"No," she said, and she was telling the truth. She had suspected it, feared it even, but she had not known. "How could I have known?"

Valerys nodded, reassured.

"So why are we going to Oldstones, then?"

"We aren't," she said, placing her hand on the window's frame. He held it, almost as if by instinct. "Not yet. First, we are going to the boy's monastery."

"Why?"

"The Elder Brother there might have seen or heard something of import," she lied, reaching for his face with her free hand and caressing his cheek. "Maybe he can help point me in the direction of those responsible, and then I can tell Sylvester and his men where to go."

"Alright," said Valerys, nuzzling into her touch. "But we'll have to be careful on the road, Cat."

"I have you to protect me, my brave Valerys," she said, her voice warm and honey-sweet, smiling gently at him. "Could you ask Mylenos to come sit with me? The smoke has made me feel a bit ill, and I could use some of his herbal water."

---

Monastery near Oldstones

Some stories told that the monastery had once been a prosperous septry with dozens of brothers tending to it. Then the brotherhood without banners, worshippers of the Red God, had come and put most of the brothers to the sword. Then they had set the septry aflame, completing their foul deed.

The truth, according to the more reputable sources, was that the brotherhood had come in the defense of the brothers against the infamous Bloody Mummers.

Catelyn did not particularly care either way, but there was no denying that something terrible had indeed happened there. Much of the monastery was comprised of the ruins of the old septry, slowly being consumed by the growing forest.

The dozens of inhabitants of the monastery were of different ages and shapes, but most seemed rather meek at first glance. Many among them were clearly sparrows, while others had the look of orphans. It did not escape Catelyn's notice that a large number of the orphans appeared Essosi and miserable. She also saw a handful of strong-looking men, who she would have confused for anointed knights had it not been for their modest clothes and lack of weapons.

Valerys gave her a slightly nervous look as she climbed down from her carriage and made her way across the courtyard of sorts, a box held in her hands. She, on the other hand, kept a placid expression on her face and walked gracefully on the short grass and broken cobblestones. Halfway to the entrance of the monastery, a middle-aged septon stepped out. He was tall, broad of shoulders and with a thick beard. Some women, other than Catelyn, might have found him handsome.

"My lady, you bless us with your noble presence," he said with the booming voice of someone making a holy proclaimation, and kneeled before her.

"Please, arise, your holiness," she said, touching his shoulder as she came to stand before him. "May the Seven bless you."

"And you, my lady," answered the septon as he rose to his feet. "I am Septon Donnel. What does the daughter of our faithful Lord Paramount want with our humble flock?"

"Only a moment of your time, your holiness," said Catelyn. Valerys, Mylenos and her knights watched from afar. "There has been a terrible incident, and I may need your help bringing the Father's justice to the guilty. May we speak inside?"

"You bring troubling words with you, my lady, but I shall be happy to assist you," he said, and guided her into the monastery with a wave of his hand.

The inside was rather dark, the narrow windows allowing only slivers of light to enter, but they made their way through the corridors without any trouble. Within a moment, Catelyn and Septon Donnel were in his study. The windows within were somewhat bigger, and their light was complimented by candlelight. Birds chirped outside, and beneath she heard the rustling of the wind in the trees, and the first rumbling of the incoming rain.

They took a seat on either side of a small wooden table, on which she set the box, and for a moment the two only looked at one another. A young septa and a sparrow walked in, exchanged a few brief words with the septon, and left. And the silence reigned once more for a bit.

Catelyn finally talked as the first raindrops fell outside.

"I am sorry, your holiness, to bring such terrible things to this place," she said, and she sounded truly contrite, before placing the tips of her fingers on the top of the box. "Which is why I brought you some gifts, for you and your flock."

"There is no need, my lady..."

"I insist," she interrupted as she opened it, revealing a bottle of wine, vials of medicine and jars of herbs. "I am unsure as to whether you allow yourself to drink wine, so I also brought some goods from Riverrun's maester. I imagine you might have great need of such in these troubled times."

The septon smiled.

"I do indulge myself in small pleasures at times, my lady. I accept your gifts gratefully."

"Good," she said, smiling, and stood as she lifted the bottle from the box. "It is made by a group of families outside of Riverrun. They came from across the Narrow Sea, with the skill to make wonderful wine, but lacked the resources for their own vineyard. Fortunately, my lord father understood, as I do, that people who can do good deserve the tools to do so..."

She uncorked the bottle with some small effort, giggling, and reached for a goblet lying empty on another table. Then she carefully, methodically, poured some of that fragrant red wine into the goblet and raised it to her nose, taking in its sweet aroma. And then, finally, she placed it before the septon with a satisfied smile.

"So the two of us agreed to give the families some land, in perpetuity," she said, sitting down once again, "so they could share their talents with the people of the Riverlands."

"Quite generous," said Septon Donnel as he grasped the goblet and raised it to his lips, and he smiled too as he sniffed it. "And wise. It smells delectable."

He suddenly gave her a mildly puzzled look.

"Are you not drinking it, Lady Tully?"

She gave him a cordial nod.

"I fear I may become ill if I do," she answered, her blue eyes looking absolutely distraught. "I have a weak stomach, and the road does not sit well with me, even after all these years."

The older man gave her a sympathetic look, before taking a small sip.

"Pity," he said, licking his lips. "It is quite good."

Catelyn smile broadly. "I am pleased to hear it."

He took another sip, longer this time, before setting the goblet down.

"So... my lady... what is this incident that brought you here?" The septon asked, lying back on his chair.

"A terrible, gruesome crime, I'm afraid," she said, face distraught again, hands lying on her lap like a dead weight. "One of the boys in your charge was murdered, along with an innocent family."

"You found Alyn?" Asked the septon, looking truly concerned. "Poor lad disappeared into the night not a fortnight ago. He was rebellious from the day he arrived, tried to escape back to Oldstones over and over."

"I see," she said, eyes downcast, and was silent for a moment. "He was brutally attacked, then hanged. As was the family. Seven-pointed stars were carved on their foreheads."

"Poor souls," he said, taking another drink from the goblet. "Who were they?"

"Did you not hear of them, your holiness?" Asked Catelyn. "An Essosi family. They owned a farm north of Fairmarket. It would appear young Alyn had developed a fondness for the family's son, which did not please Alyn's family."

"Hmm," said the septon, cradling the goblet in his large hands. "I knew, from his father, that the boy had been corrupted and seduced into committing a grave, shameful sin of the flesh... Sodomy, my lady. But I knew nothing of an Essosi boy..."

He took a sip, and looked thoughtfully into his goblet.

"Not that I'm surprised. The Essosi don't know the true gods from the false, and we all know of all their sinful customs. They are an exceedingly lecherous race, and specially the Dothraki. Rapers and enslavers of women, to hear others tell it, and I imagine some among them would be wont to defile our innocent boys as well."

"The family were not Dothraki, however," said Catelyn, and now her blue eyes were coldly staring intently at the man's face. "They were Lazharene, a notoriously meek and peaceful people. Although I can understand why someone with an ignorant, untrained eye would have a hard time telling the difference."

Septon Donnel started, his goblet nearly tipping over, and looked at her with wide, sincerely shocked eyes.

"I... had never heard..." He began to say, but Catelyn interrupted him.

"You had never heard of the Lazharene before," she said, and her voice was cool, unsheathed steel. "Yet you thought yourself fit to blame the boy for his own murder, and that of his whole family. I imagine the man who gave the order to burn the family's farm and hang them from an oak tree had the exact same midjudged sense of their own wisdom."

Then she smiled.

"It was an honest mistake, your holiness," she continued, hand pulling the box a few inches towards her and closing its lid. "You are not a maester and you clearly lack the curiosity to do more than pass swift judgement and indulge in your righteous disdain for those vile savages from across the sea."

The septon opened his mouth to speak, but only muttering came from it. Catelyn paid no heed to him.

"I wonder," she said as she placed the box in her lap, her fingers stroking its smooth surface. "How detached would you have to be, how little sympathy for your fellow man would you need to have, to order the deaths of strangers for the terrible sin of praying to the wrong name?"

She looked at the box, a leaping trout carved on its lid, and the tip of her finger felt the scales and fins.

"And how cowardly would you have to be, to do it all from afar, and never face the consequences? The rotting bodies and the charred ruins..."

She raised her eyes to the unspeaking septon, and she sounded regretful again.

"Forgive me, your holiness," she said. "I have disturbed you."

The man drank again from his goblet and said nothing for a time. He was slowly collecting himself, finding his footing in this conversation. When he found it, he spoke with a quieter voice than before, but it did not falter.

"It is quite alright, my lady," he said with in most perfunctory of tones, trying and failing to imbue the words with sincerity. "And I do apologize for my unkind, ignorant words. But I have no help to offer, I'm afraid. As I said, I knew nothing of the Lazharene boy or his family..."

"Actually, your holiness, you might help me a great deal," Catelyn interrupted him, and she smiled. "You see, I am a woman of the Faith. As such, it would pain me a great deal to sentence holy people to death for this crime, specially when I might find cause for mercy."

There was fear in Septon Donnel's eyes, even as his face feigned offense.

"Are you accusing me, my lady?" He asked, and even his voice could not conceal the fear beneath the false outrage. "Of hanging a boy and an innocent family?"

"Of course not, your holiness," she answered, perfectly still and unflinching. "I would not make a formal accusation against a septon without any proof. I am just thinking aloud..."

She trailed off for a moment, watching his expression, but then she spoke.

"I'm wondering whether you are single-handedly leading this butchery, or if you have peers and leaders elsewhere. I'm wondering if my father's bannermen are giving you coin and weapons, and if you have friends among the Most Devout. I am wondering if there are anointed knights in your midst, and if you have made allies with other groups."

She stood, placing the box on her chair.

"I'm wondering if the orphans you raise in this monastery were orphaned by your command, so that you could raise them free from their ancestors' savage customs and false gods. I am wondering how many crimes you have committed, and how many crimes that I blamed on others were in fact yours. And I am wondering, above all else, whether all of that might be written down somewhere."

"Lady Tully," Septon Donnel said. "I am offended by this slanderous talk."

"It is only talk, your holiness. Idle speculation. I mean nothing by it, and I do apologize if it offends you."

The corner of her mouth moved slightly, but then she was utterly expressionless, except for her eyes. Her blue eyes bore into him with intensity.

"Of course, should there be any truth to my speculations, I would very much prefer it if you divulged it yourself, your holiness."

The older man matched her look with a stiff, unemotional one of his own.

"I have nothing to divulge, my lady."

She quietly stared, and his look began to quiver. A corner of his mouth moved impatiently.

"Well then, your holiness", she said. "Allow me to divulge something myself. A story... or rather an accurate telling of a singular moment in my pursuit of the Father's justice."

He gave no response, save for a slight pursing of his lips. She nodded, satisfied, and gave him the smallest of smiles before she started.

"I once sat at a table with a septon, much like I was sitting with you now, and spoke to him in very kind and friendly terms over a few cups of honeyed wine. I had served as my father's justiciar for almost a year, and I was quite young but not too naive or unwise. I knew the law, I knew history, and I knew my homeland and its people well enough to do my duty. By then I had tried and sentenced over a dozen people, common and noble born alike. Some had hanged or lost their heads or taken the black, while others had redeemed themselves with good labor or some time spent in a cell. I did not enjoy the sentencing, but I was proud of helping to bring just a little bit of peace to my fellow Riverlanders. I was aware that sometimes injustices remained impune, yet I believed that I had the understanding to never have to face such things myself.

"I was entirely wrong, your holiness. You see, it had never ocurred to me, until I sat with that septon, that the law and what is just are not always one and the same, specially in the eyes of one who believes in laws higher than those of man. And such was the case with this septon. He was utterly convinced that he could not ever be guilty of any crime that was not condemned by the gods, or at least that he believed to not be condemned by the gods. He thought there was no crime in hiding a fugitive from me, a young anointed knight whose men had murdered, raped and pillaged their way through a small community of Riverlanders who worshipped R'hllor. He believed that, as a woman of the Faith, I owed the knight and his men a lordly pardon, and that their surviving victims could only find respite if they embraced the Seven-Pointed Star. The fact that the knight was his kinsman probably also had some influence in his stance, I imagine.

"Now, the septon would not admit that he was giving the knight sanctuary and, even if he had, I would not have been able to do anything. It would have been unseemly, specially of the Lord Paramount's daughter, to break into a septry and drag out a man who had sought the Mother's mercy and protection. Though I was very young, I knew better.

"So, what could I do? Negociate? Offer a lenient sentence? Promise to give the knight and his men the benefit of the doubt in their trials? And besides, what evidence did I have of their crimes? The word of a few Riverlanders who had turned their backs on the true gods to worship a fiery demon from abroad?"

She shook her head.

"There was only one thing I, the justiciar of Riverrun, could do: I promised that I would pardon the knight if he came forward. I promised it in writing, and gave my written word to the septon, so that he could deliver it to the knight.

"The knight did come forward a few days later, comforted by the Seven's forgiveness, delivered to him by his septon kinsman, and my own. He rode with my retinue back to Riverrun, pledged himself and his sword to my service in gratitude for my mercy, and his kinsman blessed me and my house for seeing through the lies of the infidels and standing on the side of the anointed knight.

"And all the while, I lied better than I ever had before. I went against my own house's words and forsook honor in the name of my duty as a harbinger of justice, order and peace. As the two enjoyed their supposed impunity, I learned and prepared. The septon might have broken no law, and the knight might have been pardoned, but they were both still guilty and their victims were still waiting for restitution.

"Nevertheless, you might be pleased to hear that the septon yet lives, albeit not happily. After all, as you might be well aware, the Faith does not look kindly upon debauchery. And when a child with the septon's features appeared in Riverrun, accompanied by his outspoken mother, his peers were not very forgiving. Of course, I was not about to punish a man for something as superfluous as a bit of fornication, so I left his trial and punishment solely in the hands of the Faith.

"As for the good knight, he was truly a devoted man, but he too had his flaws, his little sins. One of them was wine. He was quite fond of it, almost excessively so, and it soon proved his undoing. One night he rode out of Riverrun alone, drunk and in full armor, and fell into the Trident."

She paused and looked down at her own hands.

"Maybe it was the Father's justice. Perhaps, when the laws of man fail, he intercedes in such seemingly fortuitous ways."

She then raised her eyes towards the septon.

"I would like to think, however, that I played a part in his retribution, however small it might have been. Because I care about justice a great deal, your holiness, and I cannot suffer rank impunity. I cannot tolerate the sight of people walking away from the smoking ruins they leave behind, knowing that they will never have to tread upon the ashes and choke on the thick black smoke of their crimes like the rest of us. I am tasked with cleaning the blood spilled by others, and yet sometimes my lawful tools fail me. And in those times, I am presented with a choice, and I choose the same path every time... Justice, your holiness."

The septon's eyes took on the unmistakable the look of a sudden, terrible realization.

"Am I being threatened for a crime I did not commit?" He almost growled.

"Threatening you would be superfluous at this point, Septon Donnel," said Catelyn. "After all, you just drank poisoned wine."

The horror in the man's eyes grew, the colour instantly drained from his face, and all pretenses crumbled at last.

"You... cunt!" He openly growled, his body shaking. "How murderous fucking cunt!"

"I would speak more gently," she interrupted him, "to the lady who has the antidote."

He quieted at once, though his body still trembled.

"A family and a young boy, murdered," said Catelyn, standing tall before him with the look in the eyes of someone who could recite a thousand memories as if they were poetry. "Many nearby farms burned to the ground. Worshippers of foreign gods living in fear. The nobility blames some band of outlaws or other, fills my ears with tales of rebels out to overthrow my lord father. The common folk glance at their septons and septas as they allude to terrible beasts and witches. None but the faintest of whispers even dare suggest that it could be the most sacred, most trusted of our institutions that are inflicting these horrors upon our land."

She reached for the bottle's neck, and carefully placed the cork back inside, her pale hands moving with lady-like grace.

"You have a reputation, Septon Donnel, and it is quite the sterling one," she continued as her fingers slid down the dark glass of the bottle. "You were but a lad when the High Sparrow perished, yet you carried on his holy work from this little, ruined corner of the world. The most devout among the common folk soon came to praise you for feeding the hungry and raising Essosi children under the true faith. Many speak fondly of your sparrows' diligence in punishing infidels and heretics, and ridding our land of its whores and sodomites."

"My flock is made of good men," he spoke up, sounding almost breathless. "We only seek to do good and fulfill the gods' will. We would never hurt the innocent. There is no cruelty to what we do, only necessity."

"It is not my place to tell men and women of the Faith what they can believe, your holiness," she said, "but it is my place, and my lord father's, to judge and sentence those who commit a crime. You and your flock appear to have forgotten this, and granted yourselves unearned power over the people living under my lord father's protection."

Her stance and expression suddenly softened.

"Yet I am always glad to show proper leniency, for what is the Father's justice without the Mother's mercy?" She said, smiling tenderly. "If you answer my questions now, and come with me to Riverrun to serve my lord father's peace, I will give you the antidote and personally ensure that your life and those of the most innocent among your flock are spared. Not all crimes are worthy of the gallows, least of all when the culprit may yet redeem himself and right his wrongs."

"And if I refuse," he asked, "you will just let the poison kill me? My sparrows will know it was murder."

She muffled a small chuckle. "And what will they do then? Kill the daughter of a Lord Paramount? That would gain them the attention of all the Seven Kingdoms. Your deeds would come to light in every corner of this land, and your work would soon be undone by the retaliation of the nobility. I imagine many among the common folk would swiftly turn against you and your peers as well."

Defeat showed in his older features.

"Now... speak. Who murdered Alyn and the Lazharene family?"

He hesitated at first, but a look at the bottle seemed to remind him of the risk in refusing.

"My sparrows. A few knights helped."

She raised a fine eyebrow.

"And who gave the order?"

The septon gulped loudly.

"I did, my lady, but only because..."

"I promised you mercy, did I not?" She said, stopping him. "You need not worry, so long as you are truthful."

He nodded meekly.

"Now," she said. "Did Alyn's parents know of your plans?"

He nodded.

"Is Septon Hendry of Fairmarket an ally of yours? Is that why he has ceased to complain about the presence of foreigners in his own flock? Because you help rid him of that presence?"

He nodded.

"Are the orphans the children of your victims?"

He nodded.

"Do you have the names of the knights, and all of your allies, in writing?"

"No," he said, "but I have letters."

He pointed at a stack of books and scrolls on a table to her left. She walked to it without taking her eyes off of him, and gave the writings a cursory glance. She smiled as she saw that he had been honest and took a handful of those letters, hiding them in her dress.

"Thank you for your sincerity, your holiness," she said as she walked back to the table and picked up the bottle, placing it back inside the box. "True to my word, I will show you and your sparrows mercy for your crimes. You do not have long, though, so I would hasten my pace and join my retinue immediately before the poison claims you."

Holding the box against her side with one arm, Catelyn made a gesture towards the door with the other, and walked away from him. She did not glance back, seemingly lacking any doubt that he would follow.

The young justiciar of Riverrun left the study with swift but graceful steps, and within moments she was nearing the door that would lead her out of the monastery and into the courtyard. Around her, she could hear the rain begin to fall in earnest before the saw it, and listened to the septon marching close behind her with barely restrained desperation.

The raindrops felt soothing as she passed through the threshold, and there was something pleasant about the sight of the green of this improvised graden being darkened by the water soaking the leaves and wood. At the end of the path she saw that her beloved Maegyrs awaited impatiently. She also felt the eyes of the sparrows and orphans and disguised knights on her and her secret hostage, and for a small instant she feared they would attempt to seize or kill her, but that attempt never came. If they suspected something, they did not show it, even as Septon Donnel informed them with brief shouts that he would depart with the Tully lady and assist her in her search for justice.

Mylenos was the first to come to her as she neared her retinue, and together they led the septon to an open carriage behind hers, the one on which they had brought most of her gifts for Fairmarket. Not a word was exchanged between the two lovers as the holy man sat atop the carriage and stared at Catelyn.

"You will get my mercy once we leave, your holiness," she told him as one of her knights handed the septon a thick cloak to cover himself with. "When it's proper, I will summon you to my carriage."

With that, she climbed onto her carriage, her red-brown hair wet to its roots, and Mylenos followed her, sitting across from her with the look of someone intrigued but eager.

To the sound of the horses beginning their trot down the road, he began to speak.

"What did you do, Cat?" His red eyes shifted from the wooden box to her comely face, and lost themselves in the latter as she smiled at him.

"Oh, my wonderful Mylenos," she said, her fingers holding his chin, thumb caressing his lower lip. "With your help, I may yet be able to expose these sparrows and their leaders to the whole realm."

A curious look came to Mylenos' face. "You did not actually poison this man, however... did you?"

"No, I did not poison the wine, my love," she answered, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. "He will drink the poison willingly."

His eyes gained the spark of understanding then. "But he does not know... and you will make him drink the poison thinking that it's an antidote."

She nodded, and they gazed into each other's eyes for a time. She saw that he was somewhat awed, yet disturbed, and pulled him in for a kiss.

"Are you certain that the poison will be slow?" She asked as they parted.

"Slow and discreet," he said. "He will have a fever, difficulty breathing, and die within four or five days. To everyone, it will look like an unexpected and terrible disease."

Catelyn closed her eyes and sighed, and shook her head slightly.

"I suppose it is too late for self-doubt," she said in a whisper, "but then again, I did just do what I, of all people, should not do."

"I used to think I would see the faces of those I poisoned until the day I died," said Mylenos, taking ahold of her hand and pressing it against his lips, "but I have forgotten most of them, and those that I remember certainly deserved it. I broke no gods' laws in doing what I did, and neither will you. Why would it be sinful and regrettable to take the life of a murderer, simply because he is a holy murderer?"

The daughter of the Lord Paramount sighed again, but this time she smiled and nodded to herself.

"I must speak to Sylvester when we reach Riverrun," she said, lying back on her cushioned seat. "He needs to hunt down every single one of these sparrows. And then he must go to Fairmarket and capture Septon Hendry. I'll let Lord Mudd deal with the family of the Oldstones boy."

She looked out the carriage's window, and saw the rain fall on the Blue Fork, disturbing the waters. Far away, the last embers of the burning farm died, leaving only their memory in the form of small puffs of black and grey smoke.

"The day of the royal wedding, I thought to myself that I was living in the beginning of a golden age. For a small, flickering instant, I was certain that my work was almost done, that soon I would wake up and see the Riverlands at peace, along with the rest of Westeros. I dared to dream that, soon, it would be me walking into that great sept dressed like a bride, knowing that all I had left to do was live happily with my family, and nothing else."

She turned to Mylenos, and he saw that the blue in her eyes had dimmed.

"But now I fear that there is something afoul, something terrible lurking beneath us all at this moment. Monsters rise from the sea, outlaws ravage our lands, our septons butcher whole families..."

Mylenos shut her up with a sudden, fierce kiss, pulling her body towards his, and she mewled. They held each other until the sun set, and the face of Septon Donnel began to fade from the mind of Catelyn Tully, if only for a while.

((collab with @MrDidact ))
Great Sept of Baelor - King's Landing

The High Septon steppled his fingers and regarded the pair evenly, "The Crown has sent numerous agents to speak with me already. I'm afraid I can't tell you much more than I already told them. But if you really wish to ask questions, please do so. I am at your disposal." He smiled disarmingly, this man who was the youngest, indeed richest man to assume the position of High Septon in years.

Lysara stood still for a second, getting her bearings on her situation. She probably didn't like any of this, but she had agreed to help the prince. The choice of companion... had been less than fortunate, and before him stood a man of Faith. Her wiles probably wouldn't be very helpful with the High Septon. And he was politely telling them that he did not want to answer more than was politely required.

A great start. She'd rather be thrown naked in a tent of horny mercenaries, but her job had to be done. She answered the Septon's back with her own beaming smile, and cleared her throat.

"Your Holiness, It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, even in these... strange circumstances." She said, employing her most polite tone, and being careful of being demure.

The High Septon smiled, "Indeed. I feel the same. I had prayed for you when word came of your near death and the gods were just. They did not wish for so beautiful a soul to be lost so soon. Indeed you remind me of Jonquil in many ways, I remember when she first came to us, a girl even younger than yourself. And far less confident."

"Hm?" Lysara's attention was drawn upon the High Septon's comment about young Jonquil, her mind cogs eventually starting to function as she listened to the septon's commentary about the septa. Confidence... so that septa lacked confidence to begin with. Well, if anyone got sent to a house of septas probably that would make someone doubt about herself. However, the fact the High Septon was making this kind of remark might indicate something.

"Alas, such a pity." She added. "How was she back then? Surely she doubted a lot of things about herself." She answered back in kind. Perhaps if she could hint enough information of her past...

The High Septon smiled magnaminously, "Indeed. She had trouble acclimitating at first. We do not have many nobles join the septas, and it was something of a process for so refined a lady to be used to living so ruggedly. But she was pious, humble, polite, kind, all the things a septa should be. In time she grew to accept her position. Though she was not a volunteer. Her own father, a knight who was cousin to Lord Ardrian, had her sent here. This was before I became the High Septon myself, but I visited the Grand Sept often and as one of noble blood myself, I often ministered to the faithful who were. After she became a full-fledged septa, she was assigned to the motherhouse on Dragonstone. It was felt that one of Valyrian blood was best suited to oversee a sept where so many were as well."

"I must admit, I am surprised you ask me such a thing however. I had thought you'd be much more curious about Jonquil's child." The High Septon stared into Lysara's eyes, as if searching for something there.

Lysara offered her own version of the disarming smile to the High Septon, as she looked back into his eyes."The child is but a consequence of the desires of its parents. So if one wants to know about a child, one must ask for their parents." Lysara said.

And one can know which strings pull one's heart and mind Lysara added mentally, not wishing to comment that out loud. "Several things have happened here for such a baby to be be born. For such a claim to be true, a septa must have broken her vows, and a prince must've put his carnal desires over his duty for the kingdom. This... kind of behaviour, often than not is seldom something that happens on pure whim, there are signs of it first."

The High Septon spread his hands, "Surely that is true, but it seems to me the explanation is self-evident, no? Jonquil may be a devout, pious, well-mannered young woman, but she is still a young woman. And prone to a maiden's fancies. The allure of the forbidden only makes such notions stronger to girls with romantic dreams in their head. And Aemon is a fine young man, he will be a fine king. But he still has a man's weaknesses, and needs. And after all they knew one another, were close to each other on Dragonstone."

"Moon tea." Lysara's gaze narrowed somewhat. "If this was a whim or a fancy, that would have mitigated the problem. But that didn't come to happen." She eyed the High Septon. "But i suppose that even a bastard child of a prince could spin things in the favor of some people, and ruin the reputation of others." Lysara added. "And I thought you people, of all things, would appreciate discretion."

The High Septon frowned slightly, "I'm not sure what you could be implying. It's not at all unthinkable that such a thing would occur. No motherhouse or sept would allow a septa access to moon tea. And I may be familiar with noble politics, but as the voice of the Seven on this Earth, I am entirely above them. By the laws of the gods, such measures are against the will of the Mother."

"But that would be besides the point. I did not know of the pregnancy until Jonquil had already informed her own house and the Most Devout. Once we all knew of it, even if we wanted to do such a thing, we could not have without knowing how the Crown would have reacted. As such, this is why Jonquil was instructed to confess to the King and the court. The Seven Pointed Star forbids us to prevent the birth and it should be up to the families, what should be done with the babe. Whatever benefit or loss some noble may accrue from this is entirely out of my concern."

"I see. Pardon my ignorance, your holiness." Lysara said, as she offered a curtsy as an apology, and looked at her companion, before proceeding. "Just one last question. Whenever a noble is sent to serve the Seven, the Faith does get a hefty donation, right?".

The High Septon nodded, "Indeed, it is not a requirement, but when a new novice arrives from a noble family, the family will often generously donate to the Faith whether it be in goods or coin. The patronage of our wealthier faithful is what help keeps the Faith in operation. And sending a spare heir to our doors along with a donation helps ensure the care of all novices. The case was true with me, with Jonquil, and hundreds of others."

Lysara bowed in gratitude, and she excused herself. "Do you have anything more to say, lady Tarth?" She eyed her companion, as she herself was growing tired of trying to make a stone bleed. There were faster, less tiresome ways of obtaining information.

Alys Tarth stood and said, "The only other relevant question is if you truly believe the babe to be the son of Aemon Targaryen, your holiness." The High Septon nodded, "I have not had a chance to speak to Prince Aemon, but I know him well and I believe he may have had a moment of passion. And for Jonquil, I have never known her to lie. I place my trust in her truthfulness."

Alys nodded, "Thank you High Septon, I believe that will be all." She nodded to the man and they left, Alys waiting until the two were well away out of earshot before saying, "Well that was hardly helpful. We didn't learn anything. I don't know what you hoped to achieve with your line of questioning."

"She notified her house...before anyone else, Alys." Lysara added. "The septon never tried to question me when I appeared to believe the babe was Aemon's. So he does not think highly of the Prince. He also admitted there might be coin involved." Lysara added. "It's not the things someone tells. It's how they tell them, and what they don't want to tell us." The Lyseni frowned. "There's also the matter that her family literally threw her into the faith. She could've concocted this while feigning piety."

"The waters are murky enough for conspiracy. That's what I wanted to test here." Lysara added, as she folded her arm. "But for good or bad, that man isn't going to say anything, because I suspect that at the very least he is trying to hide something."

Alys shook her head, "Perhaps, or perhaps you are grasping at straws. Every family donates to the Faith. On the other hand, he may have been lying about certain things, a High Septon he may be, but he was first a Hightower. And that doesn't change."

"What do you think he's hiding?"

"The Celtigars paid him to be his shield against prying eyes. But it's too much of a strong assumption, so I won't make it in public until I have something substantial. That, or he resents Aemon because he, as a noble, could only become High Septon." Lysara added. "By the way Alys, what do we know about the past of his Holyness?".

Lysara thought. Hightower were Reachmen... maybe they had some weakness in overindulgence. "Do you think he's above the worldly vices?".

The two exited the Grand Sept and rejoined the noisy throng, the closest to privacy that they could access, Alys frowned in thought, "Perhaps. But he's a Hightower. They're even richer than the Tyrells. And as High Septon... he's not exactly a pauper. The Celtigars would have had to offer much more than simple coin to get him in their pocket, if he even is."

She answered, "I do not know how well Aemon and he knew each other, but they would have. He's been High Septon since Aemon was a youth. He rose quite high, being the younger son of Leyton's youngest. The High Septon is one of the most powerful people in the realm. But could he resent the Crown Prince, perhaps. But I do not know of any rivalry."

"As for his past... well, not much is known about the man. He grew up privileged, even richer than most of us. But he was not a noteworthy tourney knight or singer or anything else. Until he joined the Faith. Then he became a rising star. He keeps himself very private. There are no sightings of him at any brothels or winesinks so either he is devout or he hides it very well. Is he capable of vice? Well, he is a man, and young for High Septon. I would not be surprised to learn he has a mistress or two."

"mmm. We'll have to pass him on the moment." Lysara thought as she nursed her forehead. "I still think he's not as pure as he claims to be. And we weren't bound to get much information anyway. He's deflected a lot of people, and he isn't shy in telling." Lysara thought as she pondered. "We either need to poke in the Celtigar's or Jonquil's septa acquaintances circle to garner some insight." She added, not entirely relishing the idea. "And chances are, I don't think they'll believe I had a sudden revelation of Faith." Lysara muttered, grumbling.

Alys smiled for a bit, "We have people crawling all over the Celtigars already. But I don't reckon many have managed to find out much from the Faith. We can disguise you. Send you in there with dyed hair as a novice. The Faith has many secrets. Perhaps you can illuminate the ones surrounding Jonquil."

"I feel like the Maiden smiles upon me." Lysara added convincingly. "It should be good to try and be a Septa." Lysara added as she got ready. "We have to inform the royal house of this."

Alys nodded and the two departed into the crowd. From the steps of the Grand Sept, one of the Warrior's Sons watched them disappear into the crowd.

The Red Keep

Alerie sat with Willas at that desk, chatting about all sorts and other. Goings on, and all that chit-chat, something to occupy Willas whilst he worked away on numbers. He was not his father, he was not an old oaf, he seemed to genuinely get on with what he did, the distant cawing of a falcon outside his windowsil. That was, until the servant came in with the letters. A few ravens, sent from Bloodstone. Nothing from Ellion, it appeared, but sometimes no news was good news. He was not much of a talker, and neither imagined that he'd be dead. But what was interesting was a letter that had come through Willas's mailbox for Alerie. And Willas had already spied a look himself, a little displeased though understanding of his daughter, in some way.

"Do you know anything in particular about this, Alerie?"
"She left the castle when we were attacked." His daughter sighed, as she replied, shaking her head.
"She did the wrong thing. Loyalty has to be shown." Alerie added, as Willas listened, taking a look at it himself.
"So too does mercy, my child. Just take some sympathy on her. She's young, like you, and prone to mistakes." Willas said, as Alerie initially nodded, but shook her head, taking it in.
"Maybe....but it wasn't right. It looks silly. Like I can't command any respect of her." Alerie replied, Willas nodding in a little discontent.
"You're my daughter, Alerie. You're a Tyrell. We aren't like the Starks or Lannisters, we don't intimidate people to do what we want, to do our will. She's a fourthborn, lowly girl, and nearly died. She doesn't need this." Willas said, optimistic and right, as Alerie gave a light chuckle, nodding.

"You're absolutely right, father. We don't intimidate people. We're friendly and we accept people make mistakes. We follow our chivalry. Amber...she did make an error. One I'll forgive her for." Alerie said, her voice completely truthful, absolutely. Yet what did her words hold? That was horseshit. Her father had a point, a very, very good one....they did not scare people into doing things. They just made them think that they would be, Alerie thought. They were better than that, they could manipulate and like the vine wrapping it's material up a stone wall, turn it to rubble with the slightest crack for when it had to. Amber was scared, and scared people were unpredictable, but like a horse that needed to be broken in, it would be something that would bend to Alerie's advantage.

The men of the Tyrell household weren't very good at understanding what the women of the house did. Alerie even knew that was true of her very own father, brothers and nephews. Amber wasn't being intimidated or backed away, forced. She was just unlucky enough to have her thoughts indirectly implanted into by Alerie, and so far, she'd proven her use. The response would come soon, Alerie did not ask an awful lot after all, but it was a tiny margin that had no risk, and the reward to come from it for the rumours she pursued. One she would tell Tom about in due course, a story and a tale that Alerie would take a gamble on if it meant that House Tyrell would retain it's influence in years to come.

"Glad to hear it. She may be a fourthborn, but we honour what we provide. She'll marry herself away in time. Some minor nobleman will take her, interested in her ginger hair, and that'll be that. A decent one. Another handmaiden will come."

---------

Taking some Arbor Gold, Alerie sighed as she leaned back in her seat, silent for a little while and drinking a bit.
"You know, I spoke with Tom yesterday evening. Spent some time in the gardens. He gave me a beautiful white rose." Alerie smirked, as Willas looked over, out of his books.
"You spoke to him a little longer then?"
"You could say that. I think there may be something between us. I'd be silly to not know who I'm talking about here, and I know you've met him before. And what it would mean to our family." Alerie said, knowing that whilst this wasn't needed, she almost wanted Willas to know this was her will, even if the details had been left.

"You know, he's a good lad. And you're a clever girl, Alerie. Clever enough to find who you want in the world. I would support you no matter what, because I'd know you think with your head and heart, and our interests in mind. But I would know it'd make you hpapy. I'll be meeting Tyrion soon. The Hand will no doubt be pleased, but the rest of our family will not. They won't understand why this matters, Garlan especially. What the Lannisters did to your Aunt, to your Uncles, in a fit of madness the Mad Queen did that to our family and many of us never forgave. I see it as you do, my dear. He's a courageous young man, like Ellion is right now, and a fit ruler for the Westerlands when his father passes. He will look after you well, and you will look after him. And the mistakes of one mad woman decades ago can't rule the Lannisters now. For centuries they were the richest, but never liars and thieves of the Iron Throne. So I imagine you will do the right thing." Willas replied, as he sat up, turning his attention to her, as Alerie nodded.

"Thank you. He is a dashing Lion after all, a lot of fire in his heart but I can tell he will treat me right. Someone who won't put me in Casterly Rock away for the rest of my years." Alerie said, as Willas chuckled, hearing it, knowing she was sweet as ever, but had done the right thing.
"It is fine by me, my dear. You're made for something good, to do the right thing. Now, you're a guest of Lady Julianna now, Princess I mean. She's probably wanting to see you at some point, would she not? That and the fact that I imagine while you've spent enough time with a Lion, it may be worth your while." Willas replied, Alerie acutely aware, as she finished her cup, nodding.
"Aye, I'll pop to see her. You want me out of the way, I understand..."
"No, it's nothing like that darling, it's just...there's a lot of money that the King and Queen are using to finance the mobilization. That and other letters from Merlin back at home. You're welcome to stay if you like, but I'm afraid it's terribly boring."
"That's fine by me, father." Alerie grinned at him, as she left the room, leaving Willas to it, writing away in the quarters of the Master of Coin.

--------------
The Spine

The keep that they had taken had been nicknamed "Rose Roost", given the amount of wounded Tyrell and Reachman soldiers that were inside it, and the night had been filled with a lot of need for recovery, rearnament and resupply. Scorpions had been placed on the battlements again, loaded with oil-covered bolts, and it was still a hive, with men on the watch and guard. Garlan had known that whilst Gendry was the head of the logistical operation at head here, he had implemented a lot of his own. The men were getting fed, fucked, and supplied. Some of the worst were being carted out, and replacements coming in their place, able to take the rank. They were levies after all, but if they were hurt severely, they weren't going to help. They were extra mouths to feed, and the men that could fight or stand had to do so. They had to survive, and the night was dark and full of terrors only everyone knew too well about. The sandstone structure was damaged but repaired to a basic extent, with some of the sappers and masons being able to at least construct some defences in the place of the destroyed and burned walls, to better defend and hold.

Inside one of the tents, sat Garlan Tyrell, already bringing through a number of letters. He had quite a few to send, and knew that whilst it wouldn't make sense to any Vulture readers if they were by chance intercepted, they had to made nonetheless. Letters to home, as well. There had to be something to say to them at the least, given the situation that was raging on.

He enclosed one to Mirren Sand, to be delivered by a runner through the caverns to meet her, a congratulations and an ask to return to service. He wanted her to see him again, for something he had in mind- she had proven herself very useful indeed, with what she had done, she had been more than useful.

Cathay stood in front of the mirror, glaring at herself. She had, somehow, become a little lap-dog for the Mistress of Whisperers, despite her precautions against it. Angrily, she snatched up her wig and shoved it on her head. It looked ridiculous and haphazard. She sighed, and collected herself, delicately readjusting it to a more comfortable position. Best not to let her anger get control over her. She remembered reading the records regarding her father. Anger had got to him in the end as well.

Cathay tied the shawl to her head, completing the disguise. This time, she looked old, a fortune teller hailing from Essos, who's years were long behind her. She didn't want a repeat of the tavern situation. At least this way, drunks would feel less inclined toward pulling her onto their laps.

She would find Gaemon Celtigar near the royal docks, where a flotilla of gold-sailed dromonds were readying for war. The Narrow Sea fleets had already departed to the Stepstones for the campaign, and the Gulttown fleet now took up the patrols, leaving the defense of Blackwater Bay to the royal fleet and the mainland levy flotillas. Ser Gaemon was pacing the length of the docks, shouting orders and kicking recruits into action, sometimes literally. His gold cloak trailed to the floor and his gilded gold armor had been polished to a sheen.

"I want these ships ready for patrol by tonight, or there will be hell to pay, understood?" A browbeaten row of sailors nodded and Gaemon dismissed them. He turned away from the docks for a moment and began walking through the market stalls that popped up near the shipyards, full with fishmongers and whores and every other kind of merchant selling their wares. Gaemon ducked under a tarp and ordered a bowl of clam chowder, taking off his helm for a moment in this brief respite from his strict routine.

Cathay, in her disguise, hobbled up to Gaemon, careful to rely on her staff to pull her along. She cleared her throat, and pointed one far too youthful-looking finger at his back. Hopefully, his eyes aren't as observational as hers. "You," she croaked. "You are a mystery, yes? Destiny swirls about you, like a bright typhoon filled of wisdom."

Gaemon turned, a skeptical look on his face. Like his kinsman he was a young man, though of considerably more serious expression, with close-cropped silver hair and a tightly trimmed beard. He snorted, "And to find out my destiny, is how much? Ten coppers? Twenty?" Gaemon was an experienced Kingslander, and already suspected some manner of grift.

"Ah," muttered Cathay. "You are clouded, far too long, by Westerosi pretenders. They do not see destiny, in the way true maegi of the east do. To give a destiny is its own reward, and I ask no coin or treasure to apply my gift. Now give me your palm."

The Captain arched an eyebrow in surprise, "Maegi you say? I suppose there's no harm in trying." He took off one leather glove and held out a weathered palm to the supposed wise woman, "Tell me what you see, maegi."

Cathay fiddled around with Gaemon's hand, prodding and poking, the way she saw many of her underground connections do. She had no idea what it meant, and she hoped that this captain had similar experience. "In the palm, I see many things," she crooned, continuing to play around with his outstretched hand. "I see your past, your future, and into your mind. Let me in, young man. Let me in." Then, she leapt back in feigned shock. "I detect dark thoughts within your mind. A conspiracy, of the largest degree. I feel it striking the hearts of the courts across the world, reaching even the high perch of the royalty. Tell me, tell me of this conspiracy. Confession, as those who taught me have said, is a cleansing of the mind."

Gaemon recoiled in shock, pulling his hand away from the woman, "How do you know about..."
The Captain snarled and reached for the woman again, gripping her wrist tightly, "What is this? Witchcraft? Or espionage? What do you know? Tell me what you know!" One hand drifted along his belt, reaching for his cudgel.

Cathay's eyes darted around the room. There was no escape, or at least no obvious one. It took all of her willpower not to shriek and slap him in the face. "I only know what I see in your mind. Relax yourself, I am not the enemy. Be at peace . . . " She reached up to clasp his other hand in hers. "Nothing to worry about. I am in body only a woman of many years. Now . . . you may speak your mind here, free of betrayal. Go ahead, it is not often I can entertain one who will end his life a royal, after all."

Gaemon's grip slackened, his features becoming less hostile and more curious. He eyed her and said, "A royal you say? You see this in my future? Tell me what else you see." Gaemon's inquiry was earnest, eager of an answer.

"I must hear it from you, for the . . . delicacies to take effect," Cathay whispered. "Tell me, have you a child? Perhaps one of a family with the king? Has fate given you that gift?"

The Captain straightened saying, "My children are no royals. But there is one... a cousin of mine. She carries a Prince's seed in her. The first Celtigar and Targaryen child in hundreds of years. Tell me, is this child how fortune takes a turn for us?"

"Tsk tsk. Fortune is a fickle creature, giving with one hand and taking with the other," continued Cathay, squeezing Gaeron's hand. "However, you are still too tense. Many soldiers have come to me, asking their fates, but such will never be if they are coiled tight as a snake." This was further emphasized by a hard squeeze of his hands.

Gaemon visibly tried to relax, "Very well. I suppose I was a bit tense." He took a calming breath and said, "Do you see anything else at all? Any hint of what may come of this child?"

Cathay silently groaned to herself. She was getting nowhere dancing around the subject like this. "I see . . . this child. Names, he has many, truth, he has none. I see . . ." she gasped, and let go of his hands. "Gold. Upon his fair head, rests a band of dark and red. Around him swirls darkness and secrecy! It seems the fair child has many enemies, so many above and below. Who is this child, truly? The secrets hide him so."

Gaemon seemed enraptured by the seer's vision, convinced he was witnessing a telling of the future and not the deception he had intitially suspected, and he worked his mouth trying to say something, "He will be a prince. Like his father. And if your visions are correct, he will be a king as well. A king with Targaryen and Celtigar blood. The blood of Jonquil Celtigar and Aemon Targaryen."

"But the enemies! Forget not the enemies! There is another, an old man, weary of his place and his world. He will seek to crush this child! His name I have never heard, but he too wears the dark and the red! Away, warrior! Defend your child, for the old will swallow the new!"

Gaemon stepped back, disturbed and said, "What do you mean? Does this man seek the child's death?" He ignored the shop keep telling him his chowder was ready and was wholly focused on the wise woman before him.

"Death, I know not. But perhaps, before I go on, you should rest. The mind needs fate, but not more than the body needs food. Drink, and let us continue." Cathay allowed herself a wan smile at that. She had always been . . . generous with this particular soup merchant. She didn't know the specifics of the contents within the chowder, but she knew too well what it did to people. Slight hallucinations, just outside the corner of their vision. A temporary dulling of the mind, and a strange desire to speak the truth and to put trust in those around them. "Drink, young warrior. You will need it."

Gaemon absentmindedly took the chowder and took a long swallow. After a few moments he jumped in fright, reaching for his cudgel and turning but finding nothing. He shivered and his movements seemed more lethargic, not the motions of a trained soldier so much as a drunkard, "What is happening? Is... this some magic?" He gritted his teeth and held his head in one hand, "I feel strange."

"Perhaps that is your body, for so long ready at battle, now finally allowing itself to feel content. Do you feel content? No doubt you do." Now, this was her chance! "But something tells me you are keeping a truth from me. Do you want to do that? No, that would be silly. Tell me this truth, perhaps it would help the connections between the now and the later."

Gaemon sat down and leaned against one of the market stalls, ignoring the cursing of one of the shopkeeps as he said, "Yes there is something. I know little, and only have suspicions. But I was at Claw Isle a few moons past, helping train the navy levies. My uncle had a visitor, a hooded man who did not show his face. He arrived in the dead of night to speak with Lord Ardrian and once he did, my uncle took him into his solar to speak with him, and they did not emerge by the time everyone was abed. The next morning, he was gone. This man... there was something about him. But a few months after he visited, I hear this news of Jonquil bearing a Prince's son. I think there is a connection."

"Indeed . . . nevertheless, you have done well. Both for this child and yourself. You will have a long life of few regrets, and will go far in life. I bid you good eve." And with that, Cathay stood up, and hobbled out of the soup tent. The Mistress of Whisperers would want to hear this. More importantly, her brothers will need this for when their reascension comes.

Highgarden(with @kingkonrad@MrDidact)

The night had come and the men that the Inquisitor had been housed after dinner, with Merlin being able to delegate that task out to the senchals of Highgarden, and the marble and whitestone rooms were at least something cosier than most other quarters would be on other keeps, perhaps compared to the North, a little less covered in furs and more suitable to the warmth of the Reach.

And the morning had come, the time for the plan to be implemented. Merlin knew this had to be done correctly. He was no Master of Whispers, but he knew that part of the plan involved no knowledge beyond himself, the Knight Inquistor and Alester being aware that this was a trap. The men would be good, but they wouldn't understand the finer target, just that there was likely to be an attack, a near certainty with the cargo. And to that avail, Merlin had left Eve to look after Merion and Margaery, knowing he had to and meet Arthur and Alester, who would be gearing up and preparing to leave in the early morning. The grain was set to leave, sacks and sacks of it, alongside other cargos was being carried in horse-drawn carts rather than up the Mander on a boat to Bitterbridge, and then taken from there. It was not the usual way of doing things, but given the number of horses that had to be sent anyway, it made sense for this convoy.

Alester could only sleep scarcely. But that was something normal for the young lord. He kept spinning and spinning, overthinking on his mind. When the dawn had come, he had already checked the sharpness of his sword, and wrote his thoughts in a diary. He dressed sensibly and ate frugally, his body in alert already, as he gave the servants piercing gazes as he went around through the keep, fully geared up. He only stopped for a brief moment, his tense factions making a little smile.

Irise was there, playing with the Tyrell offspring. He envied her. Children had every reason to be carefree, and seldom they found lasting enemies and grudges in their equals. They rarely paid attention to stances, and were quick to befriend. He just stood there, waiting for the girl to notice him. She did, early enough, beaming him a cute smile emphasizing her birthmark under her right eye, her pale blue orbs staring into his as a long cascading hair waved as she moved towards Alester, arms spread to receive a hug.

Alester didn't even doubt. He casted aside his noble stance, and knelt one leg to the ground, firmly tugging his younger sibling in his arms and hoisting her up. "Irise, I'm sorry. I've got to do lord stuff with the father of these two. Can you be a good girl and bear with it a while?"

Merion and Margaery were young, Merion being a long-haired lad already, a little like his father but with a prettier face and an interest already in flowers, falconry and play. He was a little rascal, while Margaery, like her namesake great-auntie was a lovely little girl, with brown locks and seemed to play a little with Merion. They were young children, but yet even so, were already under tuition, as Evelyn looked on at them both, then over at Alester and Irise.

"They're so lovely, aren't they." Eve said with a particular charm, as she stood by Alester, watching them play with a wooden horse that belonged to Merion, a toy that she remembered had been Merlin's, a plaything amongst many.
"He'll grow up one day to be Lord of the Reach. He's so charitable. Shares so nicely with his sister. But brave too. It makes me think there are so many horrors in the world, yet my two are wonderful. I imagine you will find out someday too, Alester, when you get married and settle into this." Eve said, not masking her knowledge, a little motherly as she spoke from a certain knowledge, as she grinned at Irise.
"And you're a lovely little girl too, aren't you as well?" Eve's cheeks were rose red, smiling at Irise as she giggled at her.

Alester noticed his sister was sulking, as she dug her face into his shoulders. "You never play with me anymore." Her voice said, as she eyed the other kids. "Can't we all just play a bit, please?" She said in her most heartfelt voice. Alester smirked. Damn, she really could pull his strings sometimes. Alester looked at Eve, and her tirade. "Kits on my own? Well, surely you've teamed up with this little lady who wants to be an aunt at age 10." Alester replied, eyeing Irise and tickling her under the elbow, which prompted a rebuke from the child.

"But it's true, bro! You're always saying no to the ladies and family and stuff!" She said, winking very obviously at Eve.

Eve chuckled, giggling at Irise's little comment, already reading she was a rascal of a Reachwoman already.
"Well, I imagine your brother is very busy. Alester, you can leave Irise with my two while you're away, if you like. She can come to Margaery's lessons too, if she likes. She seems to enjoy the company." Eve said, brushing the hair from her side, looking over at Merion and Margaery, before back at Alester.
"I bet you want to see the rest of the castle, don't you?" Eve asked Irise, her charm and voice like butter, it was so soft.

"I don't really want to impose myself. But that would be appreciated." Alester bowed so slightly, before letting go of his sister that would rejoin the kids in their play. "Alright. One quick trick, before I depart." Alester said to Irise that was giddy. "Give me some space, this is going to need a bit of it." He said, grabbing an apple with one hand, and gripping the sword pommel with the other. He smirked, throwing the fruit into the air, and in two deft cuts midair, he cut the fruit in quarters, who then blossomed as they fell into his hand.

"There you go." Alester said, quickly sheathing, and letting Irise have the apple.

Merion watched on gleefully and cheered, amazed at the sight of it, looking up to Alester.
"That was really cool!" He simply said, as Eve chuckled, looking to Alester.
"You'll be a good father someday, I think. There is a lot more to it than just sword tricks...take my word for it." Eve added, as she knelt down, to look at Merion and Margaery.
"I think the tutor will come later on. Will you two behave yourselves?" They both nodded, as Eve stood up, turning back to Alester.
"You're probably needed soon I imagine. Thank you for doing this. Merlin appreciates it a lot. It's a lot of work for him running a Kingdom."

"It's not only for his sake. It's my own sake aswell." Alester said curtly, as he excused himself out of the children's sight, and reunited himself with the other components of the host. He noticed one of his men whistling, as he handed himself a crossbow and a bundle of bolts.

"Les, here you go. Just as you asked. Just don't shoot anyone of ours with that." He said, as he grabbed the crossbow alongside his weapons. He eyed his companions. "Foxglove bolts. We've got to have a backup in case the sword fails." He curtly added.

"Seven Hells, Alester." Merlin added, as he walked over, noting the crossbow, and the tipped bolts.
"You're not messing about with that stuff." Merlin added, as he looked on at the rest of the carts, and the rest of the men around.
"So, ready to go?" Merlin asked, as he knew Alester was going to be leaving soon, almost as fast as he came in.

Arthur appeared, mounted and armored, and nodded to both men, "My lords, my men are all saddled and ready. Some of them will be disguised as Tyrell men and will ride with you. Some will shadow the caravan. Do you wish for me to accompany you my lord? Or would you prefer I follow unseen?"

"Have you been travelling incognito until now, Arthur? Or have you made little effort to conceal your presence?" Alester pondered, his gauntleted hand up his chin.

"We've been flying the King's Banners, Lady Lannister's banners, the Inquisitor colors. But no man should be able to recognize me without colors flying and without my emblazoned armor."

"Hmm. While it is true that it could enable you to accompany me for peace of mind, I would rather try to maximize their chance of a bold attempt to bit into our bait, so if you do not mind, follow us unseen." Alester added, gripping the pommel of his sword. "But spare a couple of sharpshooters with me. We might need to use my...special bolts regardless." He said back. His face turned to Merlin one last time.

"Yes, my Liege. But for a lord being bait, any precaution is necessary." He added.

Arthur nodded, "Very well, I'll slip out a postern gate after you leave. You won't see me but I will be there. And some of my archers will be there with you don't worry. Something may not even happen, but we will be prepared."

Merlin nodded, looking out at the banners.
"Understood. Be careful. Those banners need to fly when you leave, and most of your men won't be able to follow you, Arthur. So take a low profile and get out. I can send a few convoys other ways, and you can lose any leads in the fields, quickly. I can't tell you every path but it's simple enough to cut through to get to a road." The Steward added, nodding, as he knew this plan would be in action.

"Well then. We shall see what we get from this." Merlin simply noted, as he watched the rest of the convoy load up.

The Inquistor saluted the lords, pressing his fist to his chest and riding off with some of his men, the rest of them loading up on wagons or their own mounts and waiting for the word to start moving.

Alester did the same, reaching for his horse and eyeing his comrades. Among the people of the convoy, three old women looked back at him and nodded. The former spearwives from the Wall Alekyne had once sheltered, now dressed as part of the helpers of the caravans. Age had may have spoiled their features, that were once exotic to reachmen, but he knew by their stances that the fire of the Free Folk was still within them. He sighed inwardly. Get in the field. Lure the Gardeners. Find out the rebel heads. Make it safe home. The last part was important. Irise still needed him to return, after all.

He gave the instructions of being ready, and let the convoy take him through the desired route.

Merlin watched it as it moved out and left, returning back to the Keep and to his administrative duties. Soon enough, the others would leave, and he would find out by raven if the dividend would pay off.

(collabs with @AtomicNut and @MrDidact )

King's Landing

After leaving Willas's quarters, she'd made her way through the Red Keep, a couple of the Reachman guards following close, her handmaidens having the day off today, Alerie had decided. They were in no urgent need, not at the moment, as she made her way over towards where she expected to find Julianna. It wasn't particularly hard, given the Princess would likely be in in the Royal Quarters, and well, she thought it may be an idea to pay a visit to the lady who was keeping her around the Keep as a friend.

The princess was found in Maegor's Holdfast in the married quarters she shared with Prince Aemon. Julianna was sitting on the balcony, examining a case full of seashells and smiling softly. The Princess was often found with a whole entourage, but this was one of the few times she was alone.

Alerie knocked, finding the door was open, this being the shared quarters she kept with Aemon. She waited for her to come to the door, not wanting to come in yet, but took a guess that she was alone. Alerie ordered the guards away, as she wanted on Julianna to resopnd.

The Princess heard the noise and put the trinkets away, coming to the door and opening it to find Alerie, she smiled sweetly and opened her arms for a hug, "Alerie, it's so good to see you. It's been a little since we talked. Please come in. Would you like a drink, something to eat?"

Alerie nodded, as she walked in, hugging Julianna back, resting her head on her shoulder.
"Good to see you too, my Princess. I'm glad to see you are doing well." Alerie said, with a certain tone of voice, a soft and caring one, as she looked through the window, then back at Julianna.
"I've just had some wine and food with my father, but thank you. Any more and I'd be hard pressed to maintain my figure. And that would be something I wouldn't want to spread around the keep!" Alerie added, her feminine charm, that distinctly of a Tyrell coming through, as she sighed, nodding.
"It wasn't long ago, but it feels like it. I hope she's doing better. A sad thing indeed, a bout of madness perhaps." Alerie only could add, knowing the handmaiden was out of Julianna's keep most likely, after the events on the boat, as she stood by her side, looking out at the horizon, the sea and the cliffs of the Blackwater Bay visible from the Holdfast.

Julianna stood with Alerie and they watched the ships gathered in the harbor, scores of dromonds all prepared for combat, "Yes, the word is that the girl is quite unwell. But she is under suprevision now. Perhaps she will get better. I hope so, I hear Rhaegar is quite enamored with her."

She smiled at Alerie, "I doubt that will ever be a problem with you, you'll be beautiful till the end of your days, I am sure." Her expression became speculative, "Is there anything in partiuclar you wished to speak about? I'm glad you came, but I was not expecting this visit."

"There was, actually." Alerie added, as she took a seat, cutting to the point, looking still half at the ships outside.
"I know I asked for your permission, and I did spend some time with Tom. I think there's something real. My father thinks it can work. I just need to speak with Tyrion. And yourself...well, it may be possible to get a letter to him. What Tom wants sounds very impressive, but he wants that with me by his side." Alerie simply said, as she nodded, baring truth, not much more than just that.
"Like you said on the boat perhaps....it may not be too long till you and I are sister in laws." Alerie giggled, as she leaned back in the chair, awaiting a reply. She knew it was the wrong place to go, but chances were, with Tyrion away not much more could be done.

Julianna played with one of her golden ringlets, smiling, "Ah so my brother did charm you after all? I always supspected he would be drawn to you. As for my permission, you do not need it. Tom is almost a man grown. But you have my blessing. I believe, out of all the young maidens my brother can marry, you will be the best one for him. And I would be ecstatic to call you sister, Alerie. I will take up the matter with father when he returns."

"I am thankful to hear it, Julianna. I suppose the rest was getting to know Julianna Targaryen, too. Would be a little....cold of me to just nudge in just for that, shall we say?" Alerie added, a warm smile on her face, as she looked out.
"The rest of the forces are mobilizing there, as you say. All those ships. Never was much my specialty. Highgarden doesn't have many big ships either....it's remarkable to see." Alerie mused, brushing her hair back a little, sighing.
"Us ladies leave that affair to the men, I guess. Well, some of us do. I could never see a Lady from my House fighting, I suppose."

Julianna chuckled, "Nor I, though my Stark cousins are fond of training the women. And all of the Targaryens are dragon riders. Perhaps you and I could visit the armory and ask to be trained hmm? I could use a battle axe and you a polearm?" She smiled and sipped some wine.

Alerie giggled, laughing at the mere thought, as she sighed gently.
"I've ridden on a dragon myself. Not for the faint hearted....I imagine you've seen it for yourself too. Simply magnificent, like quite nothing else. Gets the blood pumping....you can see why the Targaryens have such a fire in their hearts." Alerie said, as she kept away from the wine, not really wanting to make herself too merry yet.

"But I'm too small framed, sadly. I'd leave that to my brothers. They handle swords and polearms far better than I will. But maybe someday, a Lady of the Reach will be a fighter. More than just thorns in words, but in warfare." Alerie looked back across to Julianna, still thinking.
"It does make me chuckle, my brother is more obssessed with his plate than I am with my dresses sometimes. So maybe it isn't as manly as they all make it out to be."

Julianna laughed, "I know what you mean. Aemon has taken me on a ride on several occasions. Though I wager, they may have been a bit more... eventful than the one Jahaerys took you on." She smirked and sipped some more.

"Perhaps someday a Lannister will be as well. But indeed, the men do love their armor don't they? Riding around on their horses with colorful barding, in their bright surcoats with their skirts that aren't skirts and their plumes." She laughed, "It seems to me quite a few knights have a hidden decorative side."

"Oh, too well. Ellion's probably crying over how much mess his armour has now." Alerie giggled in return, as she sat up, bringing the chair in.
"So...if you don't mind me being rather intrusive, but Lady to Princess....what's Aemon like? The young Prince...he must have lots of pressure on his shoulders, and being in the Stepstones, I imagine he's a risky devil." Alerie was so beautifully careful in it, she seemed to almost be an artisan, the topic change smooth yet simple, and genuinely quite innocent....though out of random curiosity Alerie would ask that. It didn't even seem malvolent, just open and sisterly, in a way.

Julianna chewed her lip in thought, "The prince. I've known him since he was a boy. And he's much like his father. He's very driven. Can be very intense. Incredibly strong of will. Brave. Intelligent. Charismatic. Compassionate. Loyal. Honorable. Forceful when he needs to be. But he has a great heart as well. And a wicked sense of humor. Aemon is one of the best men I know, though I may be biased. I think he will be a fine king. As fine as his father."

She grinned wickedly, "And he's part wolf and dragon after all. Going riding with him can be so tiring."

Alerie chuckled, nodding.
"The blood of a wolf, the heart of a dragon. Fire and ice." Alerie mused, as she nodded, agreeing on that point.
"He knows what he wants, I imagine. Sometimes men like that may make decisions that don't have logic, but they do the right thing and always have that compass for us to follow. I find that extraordinary." She said, as she brushed her hair again, sitting up in her chair.

"My father never really took my brothers hunting much, so I've never had to ride with anyone much...I imagine I will have to learn fast. I magine my father left it to them, given he's a cripple and always here. But they always remain falconers. I have to say, it was one thing I nearly got into as well. Would be funny to introduce Tom to some new pretty birds." Alerie gave a sly giggle, as she looked across at the jug of wine, thinking what the hell. She took the goblet and filled it from the glass jug, taking a sip.

Julianna nodded, "Aemon always does what he think is right. Even if everyone else is against him. He does what he does to help people, to protect them."

She laughed, "Tom would want to learn. And he'd want to be the best at it. That's how he is. I think he'd want to show you the menagerie at Casterly Rock. We have all manner of wonders there. Including some actual lions. My father helped save the mountain lions of the west from disappearing entirely. They're such beautiful creatures. Deadly, but beautiful all the same. Rather like some flowers in some ways."

"Has my brother already proposed?"

"I suppose that's what any good ruler has to do, or at least,....perhaps those lions are much like dragons too." Alerie mused simply on Julianna's former point, before she heard what she thought she did. It was a simply reply to make, and there was no hiding it.

"Well.....he wouldn't take no for an answer, and neither would I. So he has. Perhaps my view was misjudged before I got to know him, but I know that it'd break his heart in two if we were to be apart." Alerie replied, sharp in her response, sitting up, barely hiding it.

"My father's already given me the all clear. From my family's perspective, that was the main obstacle. There are Tyrells who won't approve of this. And people in the Reach neither, who may have been graced by Queen Margaery at some point. But it will come to pass, one way or another. I will make certain of it." Alerie added, honesty being the simplest way to make this one work, knowing it was crystal clear to her now.

Julianna nodded sympathethically, "There are Westermen who won't be pleased either. But I will do everything I can to smooth the path. They can hardly say no when a Lannister sits as Queen can they?" She laughed and held Alerie's hand to comfort her, "Do not worry, I'm happy for you and my brother. I'm sure you will be happy too."

"He is his father's son, and is a hopeless romantic. I can tell he's in love with you."

Alerie giggled.
"He found a white rose. He's certainly doing a very good job. The number of Knights that Ellion has been with and have tried to woo me without avail....Tom knows what he's doing." Alerie blushed, as she held Julianna's hand the same, nodding.
"I imagine it shall work out fine. I will have to show him the wonders of Highgarden someday too."

"That sounds just like him. You know, you are the first I have ever seen him so drawn to though. Many girls have courted him, but he's never been as enamored now as with you."

She smiled, reaching down to rub her waist, "And perhaps you can show me around as well. After the new prince or princess is born. I've never been to Highgarden. But I'd love to see it. I'm sure I can convince Aemon as well."

"Glad to hear it...I imagine sometimes the Seven work in weird ways. You'd love it. A city that smells wonderful, and has every flower you could imagine. A little....different." Alerie replied, as she took another sip, fully aware she shouldn't, but just was sipping anyway.
"So, you're pregnant....I imagine the need for a heir was fast. When they come, they will rule a world very different to what our fathers and grandfathers knew. With all it's changes."

Julianna nodded, "Yes, my son or daughter will be born in some months. These few sips I've had are the only wine I've drank in weeks. Sam confirmed it some time ago. It must have been our wedding night."

She set aside the goblet, dumping the rest over the balcony as she looked over the sea, "I miss Aemon, as I'm sure you miss your brother. I have trouble sleeping this days, as I'm afraid every morning that I will wake and someone will tell me that my child will grow up without a father. I want him to come home. Soon. This waiting is torture. I suppose every wife feels the same when her husband goes to war. I only pray you never need feel this when you are with Tom."

"I don't want my brother to die either......I know the feeling all too well, sadly. He risks himself a lot so I've become used to it, and while he can be an idiot....he has a heart of gold really. He just doesn't know what he wants. I can live in knowing he always finds a way, and so too will Aemon. I can't see it happening." Alerie said, putting her hand on the table, looking to Julianna's eyes.
"It'll be fine. They'll have a father with tales to tell." Alerie beamed, her smile warm and her touch soft.

Julianna smiled sadly and leaned on Alerie's shoulder. The two of them sat together on the balcony, watching the ships, arms interwined and taking comfort in each other as they waited for the men they loved to come home.

----------

Bloodstone

Ellion's low profile had been maintained throughout, as he cleaned his sword and armour, back on the ship's innards, looking across at the others that had ended up gething here. He had gotten a few bad looks, but had mainly followed the group, followed orders, and well, he'd done a few things to prove his worth, but of late, nothing particular. The grey man.

Seran eyed the rest of the people gathered, after several iterations of smalltalk and some wine, his face still ached because the ordeal. He probably had a couple of bad choices of words there, but he was aching to do something, after so much resting. The hostile ambient of the Stepstones certainly helped. He glanced sideways at Ellion Tyrell. Part monster of the sword, part of what he really hated about some of his brothers-in-arms in the stepstones. Naive and inexperienced, with much to prove. The kind of people that got themselves killed, and as well the kind who paind well. He just glanced, not even bothering to salute.

Ellion looked across at Seran, seeing the glance.
"I guess I haven't said a lot and yet you seem pissed. Thought it'd make a change when the shit hit us the way it did. Same amount of blood, nothing needs be added." Ellion mused, a little sharper it seemed, perhaps this had wholly changed his experience a little. He didn't seem as brash as he was at that Tourney, since the fight on the boat, the true gore of warfare had come out to him, though he knew that side was still deep inside him, returning when he came back home to civilization, as he took out the whetstone, gently sharpening the blade.

"My face aches, m'lord." Seran said, in the most corteous way possible, yet still the pang of latent discomfort was present. This man was a good swordsman, but still... he couldn't really place any trust on him. He seemed far too imbibed in the spur of the moment at times, as he eyed his sword sharpening carefully. "Or probably I am jealous. I don't get to have as many luxuries. Who knows." He said back.

"Luxuries are nice. But killing a man is the same experience, rich or poor I guess, same as dethroning a Knight on horseback. Just changes a few things here and there, but it's the same." The blade scraped as Ellion replied, as he finished off the final edge, the blade shining, the weapon cleaned and prepared, as he took a cloth and scrubbed some of the armour's dirt a little.

"Well, my lord. That is where I digress. Killing a man with a sword seems still too clean, when compared to other methods. A few cuts and that's it. But..." Seran trailed off as he eyed the sword. "Those few changes can be a world if you're not ready for them. Overrealiance on a single thing to solve all situations... that's the real dangerous path, m'lord. That is why I am not bothered with my sparse talent at swordplay. I've killed people with my bare hands." Seran said, his eyes reminiscing about past battles in the bloody fields of Essos.

"And it's why I like a polearm. Doesn't fit every situation though. Too long, too sticky. Fists work too, I imagine." Ellion added, nodding in agreement, wiping out some blood and dirt from the top of the collar, squeezing the dirt from the cloth.
"I imagine you and I aren't too different. I mean, I would have taken a career in the wars in Essos. I'm always looking for an adventure or two. It's why I suppose I'm here. If I'm in over my head, then I might as well do it now while I'm not an old man."

"You know nothing, Ser Tyrell." Seran said, frowning. "I am the son of a wine merchant, and I'd rather deal in a safer trade. However, this is the quickest path to regain the status i lost for the sake of my own sister." Seran said. "I'd rather avoid danger at all if I can help it. But it turns out, avoiding dangers doesn't bring you glory or knighthood. One needs to snatch the prizes from the jaws of death." He said. "Which would've taken me decades to do otherwise. We could not be more different." Seran finished.

"Alright, point made. I'm a secondborn and unless I go about killing at least three people who I dearly love, my claim to the Kingdom of the Reach is quite unlikely. I've acted honourably and I know I need to fight. I've proven myself useful, I hope." Ellion merely commented, as he sighed.
"No need to be a cunt about it." He finished with the cloth, as he put his plate back onto the rack, grabbing a swab of spirit and applying it to a cut in his side, gently cooing as he rubbed it in, a wound from earlier that he was looking after and trying to kill any infection, from time to time, his green shirt and dirty messy long hair making him look like some sort of rogue by the day, rather than a dashing Knight that he usually was. To be completely anachronistic of his description, it almost fit a surfer more than a soldier, which was rather amusing to see, as he finished with the swab.
"I hope I can keep being of use. We still have work to do after all."

"Well, if you want to keep being useful, I can give you a few pointers that will help you survive. At least when you're out of your depth, Ser Tyrell." Seran said, shrugging. He reasoned that arrogant and stupidly skilled, it would still be nice to increase the survivability of the Knight in this kind of environment. "Also has that wound been taken care properly?"

Ellion nodded, gently putting the spirit away.
"It's fine. It's only a flesh wound." Ellion mused with a slight chuckle, aware that it wasn't deep enough, it was surface-based and came from a bash, not a brush of a blade against his side. Platemail helped stop that from becoming something that could do far more damage, which was always a good thing.
"I've seen enough injuries and treated enough in the past to know my own. Us Reachmen are hard to kill anyway. Greenhand blood."

"It won't save you from a slit throat, regardless, Ser Tyrell." Seran frowned as he levelled himself with Ellion's sight. "Alright, listen up. You can kill a man in a single punch if you aim properly. Here in the nose, if you hit hard enough, or in the throat, crushing it with enough force. You don't even need a weapon, only a good arm." Seran said. "Also, Westerosi rarely pay attention to attacking a body's joints... but speak with a healer and they will tell you joint injuries are among the most cripping injuries one can make. You can drive a polearm through someone and he'll still fight in its death throes. Bend his sword arm backwards and he'll flail without doing much." He said. "Try grabbing a sword a making a mock stab, sire."

Ellion took the blade, taking it on board, though he knew most of this already. Punch a man correctly, and he was going to fall to the ground. Ellion knew that, any old wench in Flea Bottom could tell you that, he thought to himself, but it was a more eloquent, in relative terms at least, way of putting it. Perhaps different, but Ellion knew he was being underestimatated a little. He pushed the sword forwards, letting Seran show him.

Like a snake, Seran's arm shot and wrapped Ellion's in a peculiar way, immovilizing said sword arm... and then he started to exert strength and leverage, the grip of the sword arm weakening as an unbelievable strain begun to affect the elbow. Seran stopped short of popping the joint, but made sure Ellion felt it, before releasing.

"Just like that, unless you have a bonesetter, you'd be limping with a useless sword arm for the remainder of the fight. Of course you need reflexes enough to read the moves before attempting to do so." Seran added.

"I can read a man before he fights...you would need it. It's interesting." Ellion said curiously, feeling a little pain but knowing it was a immobilizing move. Ellion would have gone for a punch but it was a useful remark to make.

"You are a good improviser, Seran. I noticed that. But in Westeros, they do things different. You form as a man in a unit, not as a warrior going from point to point. We have cohesion, units, troops, not the Essosi style. But I will keep it in mind, it will be useful to me." Ellion added, as he put the blade back, sitting down again, taking it on board but not going any further with it.

"And last but not the least" Seran said, a disinterested expression. "Women WILL kill you. The wiles of women are more dangerous than rampaging dragons. I've seen it. Keep your guard up at all times with them. Speaking as a Lyseni, I know how truly dangerous pearly white teeth and a husky voice can be." The mercenary added. "Cohesion and troops will not help against this kind of thing. And those moves are for when I said, out of your depth, sire. Like being half drunk and disarmed in an alley."

Ellion chuckled, nodding.
"The trick is not to go to Lys, or be...too far out of your depth. I mean....as tempting as it is to explore the bottoms of the barrel, I'm good thanks." Ellion laughed, as he took a swig of water from his canteen, brushing his beard a little that had grown out.
"That sounds like common sense anyway. I'm keeping away from whorehouses for another reason too. But I'm tempted to go back. And besides Seran...where's the fun in living then?" Ellion added, and speaking anachronistically again to put it straight, it was a real James Hunt moment that he had there and then.
"If that was what I wanted, I'd go join the Unsullied and their legion of cockless. Famous warriors, haven't had the joy of sex and the touch of a woman. Or a man....let's be fair here, some do swing that way. Do you, Seran?" Ellion nearly pissed himself laughing, knowing he could, and would make that joke, even with his own ways.

"You can try Cyvasse. It's good for the mind. I'm not very good at it, my siblings beat me every time." Seran deadpanned. "Or reading books. Or cooking. Or winemaking." He enumerated a series of random things, his frown accentuating because of the cocky dismissal. "I've bedded men, yes." He shrugged. "Quicker coin than the sword, nobody gets hurt. A bit repugnant for my tastes, though." He deadpanned.

Ellion chuckled, nodding.
"Cyvasse is fun. And I am the same, not good at it either. Falconry is a good pursuit, as is jousting. For you, perhaps not. But it is a test of bravery, controlled. A rush like no other, a noble pursuit in precision and valour. The thrill of the chase, for no good reason yet every reason. It may seem pointless as a thrill....but one I happen to be quite good at doing. And it plays dividends for the presitge of my House." Ellion replied, knowing he was a little more humble now.
"We may be more different than we could ask each other to be. But alas. We do what we have to do, I guess." Ellion mused, a little relaxed now, as he took another swig of water.

"I tried birdkeeping. I got a loud, dirty loose-bowelled magpie who can only say one word." Seran said. "Guess I don't have much money for such endevours. Don't get killed, ser Tyrell." He said, tiring finally of the conversation.

"I'll try not to. It'd piss off my sister too much anyway."

"Heh. Now that is something we have in common." Seran added.

(Collab with @Applo)

It was a little while after Aemon had left when Taria decided to speak up once more. "You know, for someone getting a break when they could have been charged for treason, you're sure mouthy." She looked at the smuggler before shaking her head. She had heard the sarcasm towards Aemon, but the attitude she had gotten had been more aggressive than that. That being said, at this moment in particular she didn't feel she needed her sword out anymore; she didn't think this Tamsyn would try any tricks.

Wanting a bit of a break from the hostile behavior, Taria decided to sheathe her sword for the time being as she waited for an answer. The poor blade had seen enough blood for the day, as it were.

As Taria’s sword slid into its sheath Tamsyn relaxed slightly although she still watched the woman like a hare watching a fox, the woman was a Greyjoy after all. “You’ll have to forgive my rudeness. My people aren't use to falling to our knees like a cheap whore every time we’re asked. Anyway your clan has committed far greater treason than I and yet here you stand the prince's little pet.”

Even as she spoke Tamsyn realised her words were stupid considering Taria had just put away her sword. She excused herself on the basis that tonight really hadn't gone to plan and that the woman's family had never given any quarter to her own.

“No, your people are apparently used to acting like cheap whores when gold is thrown your way.” Taria couldn’t keep herself from replying to the slur sent in her direction.

“If I'm a whore, I’m a really fuckin' expensive one.” The coin purse jingled as Tamsyn rolled it between her hands to make the point.

Taria rolled her eyes at the response. “Right, a rich whore… so much better.” In her opinion, a whore was a whore, no matter how glorified. “You’re gonna find the rest of Westeros has moved on from hatin’ Greyjoys. The King forgave my father more than twenty years ago, and he’s now the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. My family helped fight against the White Walkers.”

“My people gave far more in the fight against the Night King than you Ironborn scum.” Tamsyn spat, losing her temper for just a second. How dare Taria suggest that fighting the Night King somehow excused her family's crimes. “Everyone fought the White Walkers, even the rats!”

“Good for your people, and good for the rats.” It was satisfying to watch Tamsyn react the way she was. “The past is the past; neither of us were there during the Battle for the Dawn, so get off your high horse, smuggler. Your father or whoever the hell fought there, his deeds were his own, same for my father. Or do you wanna be judged for what all your wildling kin did south of the wall?”

Tamsyn stared at her feet as an uneasy quiet settled over the pair. It stung to admit that Taria was right, not that Tamsyn would ever admit it aloud. What right did she have to the deeds of her forbears. For a while Tamsyn tried to come up with any responses to the Greyjoy’s words but nothing quite seemed to work and so she stayed quiet.

A silent sigh escaped Taria; she wished the Crown Prince hadn’t left her behind with this smuggler. If only she was more like Davos Seaworth, who had taken his punishment in stride, according to the stories she had read. Tamsyn here apparently deserved no such punishment and instead was given gold for her misdeeds… Stop, no need to think that way. She trusted Aemon knew what he was doing. Besides, as infuriating as this woman was, there was probably some use to having her around.

One thing made her curious, however. Greyjoys were respected, if not her father then her Aunt Asha, at least throughout the areas of Westeros where she travelled. So why was there so much hatred from this Tamsyn? Taria thought back, recalling the smuggler had mentioned she had grown up around Highgarden. Hmm…

She looked to Tamsyn, raising an eyebrow. “You’re sure quiet now,” she commented.

“I’d rather listen to the sounds of the waves than any more your screechy voice Greyjoy.” For a while longer there was silence between the pair and then a wicked little idea struck Tamsyn.

“Have you ever noticed how much you can hear when there’s no one around to make any noise.” Idly Tamsyn drew her own sword out of its sheath before laying it across her knees and running her thumb over the edge, seemingly to check the blades edge. “I love this bit of the island, it’s so deserted I can almost pretend that it’s my own little kingdom. Without giving any warning Tamsyn sprang to her feet. Sword still in hand she loomed over Taria, an evil little grin playing across her lips.

Taria was indeed a little surprised, taking a step back as she looked up at the smuggler. Her eyes narrowed, but something told her this was just a show of intimidation, so as much as she wanted to pull out her sword, she stopped herself. “You know,” she started, shaking her head a little, “unfortunately for you if you use that sword on me, you’ll be liable to die. I mean, I am a Greyjoy afterall, and my father and aunt are good friends with King Jon… Too bad we didn’t meet a couple of months earlier when I was just a Snow bastard.”

She let out a short laugh, one barely tinged with humour. “Don’t think you can intimidate me. I’ll bet I’ve lived a longer and less pampered life than you… Tammy.” She put her hands to her waist, her eyes boring into Tamsyn as if daring her to do as she seemed to be threatening to.

Tamsyn tried not to let her frustration a Taria’s reaction, or more accurately lack of reaction show on her face. Instead she looked down at the sword in her hand which she promptly dropped at Taria’s feet like one might a dead mouse. “Oh my Lady Greyjoy, please accept my most humble apologies” Tamsyn said in a slightly shrill voice that positively dripped with insincerity as she dipped into a deep curtsey. “I merely meant to say that we should hurry back to the weapons. We wouldn’t want your prince’s men to miss them because we were sitting out here blabbering away.” With that Tamsyn scrunched up her eyes as she orientated herself and then set off at a brisk pace in the direction she was sure the cave was in.

Sighing at the response, Taria quickly picked up the sword from the ground and hurried after Tamsyn. She honestly didn’t want to deal with all this tension; two battles during the day already had her winded and she was never one for sharp and witty comebacks. Well, perhaps the smuggler would give her some slack when she returned the sword to her. However, Taria recognized that as a fool’s hope.

Golden Tooth

After some time Ser Leon and his men had finished bathing and the company of companions dressed themselves in clothes prepared for them by the servants, rich in fabric and hue but with no device or sigil. The Vikary's men own livery was stained by travel and unsuitable for a polite gathering. Ser Leon walked with Lord Lorimer to the great hall for their supper and extended his hand to shake Lorimer's, "My lord, I thank you heartily for the hospitality of your home. It is a great comfort in these trying times. Once I return to the rest of my house, I will proclaim your kindness and geniality far and wide. And you may rest assured that you will always have a place at my own hearth and table."

Gates of the Moon

The feast was well underway and lasted for much of the night. There was food, drink, and merriment aplenty all to the tune of lively music and the chattering and japing of the Lords of the Vale. Near the feast's end, Lord Robin stood and tapped his goblet. The hall quieted as the Lord of the Vale said, "Tonight we honor my son's appointment as the first Knight Herald and agent of the Crown, and the elevation of my cousin Ser Harold to Keeper of the Gates of the Moon." The lords and knights began smacking their cups or fists on the tables in celebration. Robin cast a sideways glance at Tyrion, "We also welcome the Hand of the King to our hall. Lord Tyrion has always been a friend of the Vale." Tyrion raised his goblet in a salute while the other lords either laughed and mimicked him or kept their silence.

Robin continued, "Our King, has charged my heir and Lord Tyrion to finally bring peace to the Vale and subdue the Hill Tribes for good and all. To that end, the new Knight Herald and the Hand are meeting with their so-called Mountain King." Many lords muttered to themselves or spit on the floor at the mention of the upstart tribesman. Robin said, "I support this measure with all my heart. And to facilitate these peace talks, I send Lord Harold to watch over my son and participate in the summit. As Lord Commander of the Winged Knights, Keeper of the Gates of the Moon, and my kinsman, I know no better choice." There was another round of cheering as Robin sat down and Harry traded a knowing glance with Mychel before turning back to his wife and family.

Tyrion leaned in to Mychel, "Well, our job became somewhat more difficult."

The next morning the party gathered to leave. Tyrion and his Lion's Pride led by Ser Lancelot were all saddled and ready, along with Mychel and the Lords he had gathered to their cause. Lyn Corbray and a number of Corbray knights were part of the delegation, including chivalry from House Royce, Waynwood, and Templeton. Even though Mychel had not gathered all of the houses to his personal faction, many of the high houses wished to have representatives. Lord Harry had brought along a sizable squad of Winged Knights. The party was soon joined by members of the Hill Tribes that were friendly to both Mychel and Tyrion. Tyrion was happy to see them, whereas the other lords largely were not. The hillmen and the Lannisters were kept far away from the rest of the company and they rode off to meet with the Mountain King at the place he had designated, Mychel the only Valemen who rode close to them. Lord Harry kept behind with his Winged Knights and the rest of the lords and knights followed with their retinues.

Tyrion smirked at Mychel and said, "A varied lot we are. Lannisters, Knights of the Vale. And the venerable hill men. Charged to bring peace to the Mountain and Vale and cease over a few thousand years of struggle."

"May the gods help us." He laughed and rode on.

Vulture's Roost

The demon snarled at Uther, knocking aside his sword and going for the kill. It's maw nearly closed over his gut until it shrieked in pain and surprise. The demon recoiled and turned to see the young Alchemist with his sword of green fire plunged into it's flank. The demon bled black blood and beat at the flames spreading over it, it's tail lashing out around the man's neck and tightening. The youth choked, dropping his sword and flailing in the air as he kicked out in an effort to free his neck. Then a roar of challenge rent the air as Ser Andrew leaped in and hacked at the beast, driving it back before the demon smacked Ser Tarth against one of the walls of the castle, sending him tumbling down in a heap of cracked armor and groans.

The monster turned back to Uther and swiped its' claws at him, scoring blood down the side of his face before charging at him with its other claw raised high, the alchemist still choking on the tail.

The Skull

The time had come. Day had broken and the royalist forces had gathered. By midday, thousands of men gathered in front of the walls of the final fortress. Elephants thundered into position next to a massive siege tower and rows of siege weapons. The Vultures had collapsed the tunnels to the rest of the hidden passages and Mirren Sand's guerilla forces had been pulled back to the last waycastle to hold the garrison there along with the Reachman, the tunnel forces replaced by other men in case the Vultures tried to sneak out of the Skull. Lady Brienne of Tarth led the vanguard and her fresh forces were eager for combat. Tales of the monstrous fighting had circulated among the men, but the Stormlanders didn't seem much perturbed by the stories, almost recklessly brave. The officers and nobles were gathered at the vanguard, Ser Gendry, Ser Garlan, Ser Merrel, Mirren Sand, and the Red Woman among them. Lady Brienne of Tarth, Lord Andrew Estermont, Lord Donnel Swann, Prince Oberyn Martell, Lord Rolland Caron, Lord Dickon Tarly, Lord Edric Dayne, and Lord Harmen Dondarrion all were present armed, armored, and atop their horses. Ser Aegon Targaryen stood behind them all on the back of Viserion, the white dragon overlooking them all. Banners and pennants from over a dozen houses and companies fluttered in the air and on the walls they could see that archers and siege weapons were in clear evidence.

A Knight Herald rode ahead to the no man's land between the vanguard and the castle and said, "The royal army, led by the Master of War, Ser Gendry of Storm's End, seeks the submission of the forces within this castle. Come out to treat with us and submit, or face our unyielding force." He rode back to the noble procession and the group waited for several moments. Moments turned into minutes and almost half an hour had passed when Gendry grunted, "Well it seems like they prefer annihilation. Very well." He turned to give the order to begin bombardment, but no sooner had he done that before the gates of the castle shuddered open and a group of riders on black horses with Vulture cloaks rode out to them.

Gendry chuckled and kicked his stirrups. The noble delegation rode forward with a large company of guards and met the Vultures in the No Man's Land. The Vultures had all concealed their faces behind Vulture helms save for one comely man with a face freckled by the sun and turned bronze, his eyes stormy blue and his hair a dark blonde. He nodded at the nobles and smirked, "The famous Storm Bull. I am honored to make your acquaintance, ser. My greetings to all in your illustrious company."

Gendry said, "My thanks. I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Ser?"

The man smiled, "Ser Beezel. Beezel Dryland."

Edric raised an eyebrow, "Dryland? Your line was erased countless years ago."

Ser Beezel smiled, "Now it has returned."

Aegon laughed, "And it will vanish again if you do not submit. I doubt you have any answer to dragonfire, demons or no."

Ser Beezel replied, "You would be surprised Ser. Those monsters we threw at you the other day are simply the first of it."

Gendry cut in, "Enough with the posturing. We have taken every castle on this mountain save the Skull. Thousands of your compatriots either have gone to their ancestors or lay in chains. We outnumber you ten to one. We have siege weapons. We have elephants. We have a dragon. Surrender and keep your life and those of your men. Defy us and we will take that castle, and mount your head on a spike above the gates."

Ser Beezel threw back his head and laughed, "Ah, the famous Baratheon rage. It is quite an amusement. But I know it to be bluster. You cannot burn our castle down. You need it to maintain control of the Spine, and the Red Mountains. Destroying it serves you in no way. And you'd need all the highborn hostages you can get your hands on."

Brienne said, "Castles can be rebuilt again, and noble hostages are not necessary for our victory. Submit, Ser and spare your life and countless others."

Beezel shook his head, "We will not lay down our arms without a fight. And we will not make it easy."

Gendry smirked, "Even without a dragon, how do you propose to stop us? Conventional stones will kill you easily enough. As will alchemical bombs, spellflame, and water attacks. We will storm these walls and slaughter every one of you and there is nothing you can do to stop it. Except bend the knee."

The Vulture Knight replied, "That's where you are wrong. We have magic as well. You saw it yesterday, and that was only a taste. Oh we may not be able to counter your dragon, but our witches and warlocks can call up power to lay your armies to waste. We may die, but so will you."

Gendry said, "You're lying."

"Believe what you wish, but storm these walls and thousands will die. Including myself. Including you. Your friends. And all of your vanguard behind you. Save for perhaps Ser Aegon and his dragon. But there is another way. A way for this matter to be decided without so much death."

"What do you propose?"

"A duel. Single combat. Whatever weapon you choose. If you win, you take the castle and take us as your prisoners. If we win, you will allow us safe passage to rejoin our compatriots." Beezel took off his glove and flung it at the ground in front of the party.

Gendry replied, "Why should I agree to this if victory is certain?"

Beezel smiled, "Oh you may win, Ser. But not without death. You heard the screams. Storm this castle and it will be so much worse. We will call down hellfire and dark forces that have not been seen in these lands for millennia. At least this way, you can enjoy your victory, and you will take the castle either way. Unless, you are afraid of losing of course. Do you doubt the strength of your arms or the justice of your cause?"

Gendry fumed while Beezel looked around at the company, "Are none of you brave enough to take up the gage? What happened to the vaunted bravery of the royal forces? What about you, Brienne the Beauty? The Sword of the Morning? Lord Tarly? Ser Garlan? Perhaps that sellsword whore you brought along? There are many mighty warriors in this meeting, or have I been misinformed?" He smiled mockingly at the party and waited for a response.

The Roseroad, Near Tumbleton

The supply train had been travelling for several weeks. Hundreds of wagons rolled along the Roseroad, and large groups of Tyrell men accompanied the shipment, along with retinues from several other houses. It was the largest shipment of food in recent months and yet there had been no sign of the Gardener raiders in that whole time. Several travelling peasants had attached themselves to the convoy for safety and several freeriders and hedge knights now rode with them to King's Landing, hoping to sign on to the royal forces. A number of wealthier merchants had hitched their wagons to the convoy as well. And yet for all of that, there had been no bandit attacks, the outlaws of the Reach evidently unwilling to go up against such a heavily protected train. The monsters of the Reach had also shunned the presence of so many people.

Another week or so and the convoy would be safe in the Crownlands where the Gold Cloaks patrolled the roads with regularity and there had been little banditry or attacks. If the Gardeners were going to strike, it would be soon. Somewhere in the brush, Ser Arthur followed along. Lord Florent had command of the convoy and his banner had been proudly flying over the train for weeks. The sun was near setting, and soon they would make camp. The weather had been pleasant, and the roads well-maintained. One of the Inquisitor's men was disguised as a Brightwater man and rode along with Lord Florent, "I do not like this, my lord. I can feel trouble brewing." He cast his eyes around. For several miles now, there had been no other travelers on the road and only their procession rumbled along. It was quiet and peaceful. It was a beautiful day. The outriders had seen no sign of trouble. The man loosened his sword in the sheath.

It came. Arrows came flying out of the trees, flaming arrows, and buried themselves in the lead wagon, several raining down among the vanguard of the procession. More flaming arrows landed in the rearmost wagon and at the rear guard. Fire started engulfing the lead and rear wagons. The warriors and their horses scattered in confusion, drawing swords and looking around for an invisible enemy. More arrows came on the body of the train, striking warrior and peasant alike. Already a few dozen people had fallen, but thankfully the main barrage was not flaming arrows. The arrows stopped and a cry arose from scores of throats, "Spring Forth!"

The Green Hand flew in the setting sun once more, a band of armored knights in green plate with white cloaks charging down the hill towards the convoy, backlit by the sun as another band of similarly garbed men descended on them from the other side. There were almost three hundred, all told, and they formed two mailed fists that struck at the convoy, particularly at the section where Lord Florent rode. The air was soon rent with the clang of steel on steel and the cries of dying men and women. A knight in Gardener armor charged straight at the Florent Lord with a spear, point tipped at his steed.

King's Landing (Collab with @AtomicNut)

A haircomb, simple ointments, books about the Faith, a seven pointed star and modest robes. Those were the weapons she had been provided, and the ones she had at her disposal. No dagger nor poison among their midst. She was being watched, and thus her fangs had to wait to be unleashed. Deep blue eyes eyed the books one time more, as she caressed the engravings.

She had spent quite a time memorising those books by heart, trying to learn the subtlety of the Faith in the many ways she could think in such short notice. In her short life, she had been blessed not only with the looks to charm a Prince, but also with a mind worthy of a scholar, should she needed to dedicate herself to the task. Lysara sighed, as she grabbed the haircomb, and in broad strokes combed her golden-silver hair. She eyed the hair carefully, and picking up a flask with dye, examined it carefully. The hair would stand out a lot... but it could be dyed. Her curves could be concealed somewhat with her robes. Even her scar... could be shown or be hidden, should she need to.

But her eyes and her face were another regard. If only she could be a little plainer, the plan would have a slightly better success. But she would have to do and try to hide as much of her features as possible. Her sight wandered to each and every corner of her own room. Shelves and well-cared lodgings were ever present. It wasn't big and overly luxurious, but it was much better and fairer than any mercenary's tent.

It gave her chills how much it resembled her own home, down to the solitude. She shuddered. Seran wasn't there with her, and she could only move forward, aware that at any moment a knife would find the artery in her neck she had missed in her earlier attempt. But such was the role she had been entrusted. All for the realization of her dream. The dragon egg her brother protected with his life.

She felt scared. Alone. It was one thing manipulating events behind her reliable brother's back, but now... her allies were at best circumstancial, and at worst, rivals waiting to strike. She stopped combing her hair as she buried her hand in her face. "What am I doing, even. This is madness." She bitterly said, as a couple of tears squeezed through her face, still buried in her hand.

There was a knock on the door and Jahaerys Targaryen slipped into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. There was an earnest look on his face but a frown appeared as he espied the tears running down Lysara's face and he reached a hand to touch her shoulder and console her, "Are you alright, Lysara?"

The young woman tensed all of a sudden, trying to reign in the impulse of her body. She shivered, but the voice rescued to her senses as she tried to restrain herself. It would look bad if Jahaerys had a comb stuck in his throat for such a gesture. Well, for once she was glad she didn't have her dagger in reach.

"You saw, prince." Lysara's mood darkened all of a sudden, wisps of fury in her voice as a deep frown flashed in her factions. "That's not something not even my brother is ever allowed to see anymore." She said in a quiet, but ominous voice. Quickly, she wiped the tears out of her face, as she quickly composed herself. "Even I can feel second thoughts and fear sometimes, is that surprising? Specially with this kind of ploy going on. But I will be fine. I've courted death before." The young woman said, as she began to recite one of the Seven Point Star book passages.

"See, nothing to worry about it. I do my work." She added, as she weighted the dye flask.

Jahaerys didn't didn't withdraw but pulled his hand slowly back, "It isn't but, that's why you have comrades, people you can trust and who can help you. Remember that." He stepped back and appraised her, "Even the strongest feel fear. As my father says, it is the only time one can truly be brave."

He smiled ruefully, "But your secret is safe with me. Your enigmatic mystique will be preserved."

"What do you plan to do exactly? What do you hope to accomplish?"

"I'm going to go deep inside the Faith of Seven, disguised as Septa. I've talked with the High Septon, and I did not like what I heard. Specially not in the condescending way he talked about prince Aemon." Lysara looked to a side. "Like if he was expecting the prince's honor to be stained like this just because he's young and brave."

"Last time the Royal line fathered bastards, the Kingdoms bled, my Prince. I think he should've been more alarmed. He's hiding something, that I can feel. I can't crack the masquerade of the High Septon, after all he's a man with decades of experience of talking in public."

"But a chain is only as strong as the weakest link, as they say." Lysara added pouring the dye in a basin and her comb. "Even among septs, people have friends. And they're probably shocked at the news as much as others. Those people feelings are usually beneath the grand scheme of things in these schemes..." Lysara trailed off. "...and they might know something. But you can't reach them using normal methods."

Jahaerys crossed his arms with a smile, "As long as you don't poison anyone. Do you want anyone to accompany you? Perhaps Alys can come with you? The Faith has many secrets, and defends them jealously. It will be dangerous, and I'm not sure how else we can help you otherwise."

"Alys will be better off swinging a sword by your side. I think she fancies you, my Prince." Lysara added, as she continued to dye her hair. "I've got to do something about my face. I am far too striking to not be recognized." She thought. "Maybe some mild poison that gives a rash..."

Jahaerys chuckled, "I don't know about that, but as to your features... darker hair will do wonders at concealing your identity. And perhaps some makeup can make you look older... more weathered by time and the world. Perhaps my sister can help."

He frowned, "You'll be on your own then. Are you sure you will be ok? We will not be able to help should anything happen."

"Your sister...you mean the one with sorcerous powers? That sounds intriguing." She glanced sideways, eyeing a certain ring that was on display. A certain heirloom she grabbed in her hand, eyeing the features as she kept dying the hair. "Yes, that kind of help... could be useful, my Prince. Even if such arts have not the best reputation sometimes."

Jahaerys smiled, "I meant perhaps Baela could use some of her fashion tricks. I don't know the true extent of Daenyra's abilities. And I'm unsure if we should let her know what we need. Do you think we should speak to her?"

"On second thought, I'd rather not drag my benefactor into this." She muttered. "Nor more people than what they're already involved in. I shall probably use some make up to smudge my features on my own." She sighed. "If only i could have my dagger back..."

Jahaerys laughed, crossing his arms behind his back, "It would be a help wouldn't it. That's why I got something for you." He revealed a small needle of a knife, little more than a sharpened point, "It's easily concealable, and very quiet. But please don't kill anyone, we don't need that kind of attention or trouble. Can I trust you with this?"

"I know how to make people desire death and never reach it." Lysara said. "Rest assured...my Prince, I shall only use it in the most dire circumstances. She added, grabbing the small knife. "Ironic how resembles a surgical scalpel." She added, as she let go of the ring, and stored it away to better examine it.

The Prince leaned back on a wall and smirked, "Indeed, I found it in Sam's lab. So I suppose this is goodbye for sometime. I wish you good fortune." He smiled minutely, "Perhaps you need a kiss for luck?"

"Oh?" Lysara smiled as she eyed the Prince, finishing her hair dye in a shade of black. "A kiss from a Dragon for good luck. Now that would be interesting, my fair Prince...but these lips have been already claimed by another dragon. And if i had heard well, no rider has ever attempted to ride two dragons at once." She smiled, as she got up and bowed to the prince, finishing her details. Some of the dye mixed with makeup would make her skin unhealthy and darker.

Jahaerys smiled, "What you say is true, and I couldn't be prouder of my brother." He inclined his head, "For his sake, I wish you the best. If you need to send a message, you can pass a note to the carpet merchant who operates in front of the Sept."

"Is there anything else you need?"

"Hm. Since I'm going in there to risk my life for the Queen's sake, I would like you to do a small favour for me, my prince." She said, grabbing the ring she had been caressing earlier as well as a written parchmet. "Please see to this being delivered to the Queen in the most utmost secrecy, my fair Prince. It is vital information concerning my lineage." She said, without adding much detail.

Jahaerys took the note and nodded, "I will. I owe you that much." He offered a hand to Lysara, "Is there any message for your brother, or mine? In case of the worst?"

"Just tell them that I was serving the crown." She added, thoughtfully. "Trying to fulfill my dreams, my prince." She said, and without prompt, marked the cheek of the prince with a cheeky peck.

Prince Jahaerys smiled and held her hand in his for a moment before letting her go, "There is a hidden passage we can use. I can show you the way. Shall we go?"

The Lyseni smiled, as she let herself be led by the Prince.

Jahaerys walked her through the shadowed hallways of the Red Keep at night and he led her down a hidden passage, one of multitudes that criss-crossed the Red Keep. He led her by torch light to a secret exit that opened onto the city below the keep and Jahaerys helped her onto a horse waiting for them. They rode through the streets and came near the Grand Sept, though not quite in sight of it. He helped her down and said, "The sept has open doors at all hours. You can walk inside, but I hope you have a name and story prepared. Good luck Lysara, may the gods watch over you." He rode off and Lysara was alone.

---------

The Red Keep

As Cathay returned to her room in the Red Keep she found a note left for her on her bed. The seal had a Cat's paw, half-black and half-white on it. Once she tore it open, she would find instructions to meet, "In the same place as before, at the same time." Her lock had not been tampered with, and there was no evidence anyone had been in the one save for the letter. And yet the letter sat neatly on top of her bed all the same.

The Blue Fork - Near Oldstones

As Catelyn and her retinue returned home the morning after her fateful meeting with the Sparrows, they found difficulty on the road. As they passed through a storm that turned the road into mud and sent the peasants scurrying into their hovels, their passage was unexpectedly barred. There was a score of mounted knights in their path, all of them heavily armed, and all of them bearing the crowned catfish of House Fisher, long thought gone and now apparently risen again.

There were a dozen knights they could see, but with the downpour and the plentiful foliage around, there could have been more in hiding. The first knight shouted across the way from the Tully retinue and said, "We wish a good evening to the Lady Tully. We have no quarrel with her. But she has something in her possession that belongs to us. We humbly ask that she return it and we can all go along on our way. Otherwise, we will have to ask more forcefully. On my honor as a knight, I swear no harm will come to pass to the Lady or any of her companions if she returns what she stole. I swear it by the old gods and new."

The Stepstones

The following morning, the loyalists set sail. Captain Serona and her Maiden's Men sailed upon their own ships with Ser Aerion watching over them. The Maiden's Men were an established company with many members, but they would meet the rest of them at Blackguard Bay. The Silver Serpent sailed next to them, with the Eel following behind. Their rag-tag flotilla dipped out to the sea, towards the place where the Scorpions would be meeting to discuss their battle plans. And if they were lucky, the Scorpion King would be there and the rebellion would be even closer to being crushed. As they sailed they could hear the rumbling of dragon fire in the distance and the roars of the beasts it came from, reverberating through the wind and water. The journey would take less than a week by sea, and the journeying warriors and adventurers had some time to themselves for at least a little while.

-------

Some time later the royalists were in sight of Blackguard Bay, in an isolated isle of the Stepstone chain. The Eel had slipped ahead in the night and espied dozens, scores, perhaps even close to a hundred ships anchored in the Bay. And more were coming. Most were dromonds, sleek and deadly, with a few larger carracks and cogs. The ships were cloaked in minimal lighting, but several fires could be seen on the beaches. It was clear that there were thousands of men and women gathered in the Bay already. Not a place to look for a fight.

Under the cover of darkness the three ships hitched together far away from the bay. Aemon came out dressed like a pirate captain as before. He addressed the assembled companions, "Here's the situation. There's no way we're going to be able to overcome the Scorpions in any kind of fight. Not without dragons, and we don't have them right now. The objective of this mission is to gather intelligence and embed ourselves into the Scorpions. This is where we split up. We need volunteers to come on a shore party that will include myself, Captain Seronna, and Tamsyn. Then I need someone to accompany the Maiden's Men once we learn everything we can. You'll be our insider once I take everyone else to link up with Aurane. They're planning some kind of battle and it behooves us to have an asset in their ranks, that I can trust. It will be dangerous though, make no mistake. If you have any questions or wish to volunteer for a duty, speak up now."

"I!" shouted Arak, raising his hand up. He didn't even fully understand the mission, but ke knew well enough when to serve. "I vol-" a hand came up from behind him, enclosing itself around his mouth, while another wrenched his wrist down.

"No you don't," whispered his daily tormentor. Arak knew, without looking, that his brother was glaring daggers into the back of his head. "No he doesn't!" shouted William, over the muffled screams that might have suggested otherwise.

Aemon, the dauntless and driven Aemon, seemed a little taken aback by the outburst and scuffle and Viserys swaggered up and eyed the brothers oddly, "Now, perhaps Lord William has a point. We just finished rescuing Arak there at no small expense. We may be tempting fate a tad much by throwing him into the fire again. Perhaps Arak should stay with the ship. I don't know if the man is a convincing cutthroat either."

Visenya spoke up, "Well I am going with Aemon. I'm the best shot in this company. Will can be a convincing lout, he's been practicing his entire life after all." Visenya winked at Will.

"No no no . . . agh, damn it . . ." muttered William, but chose not to argue. Just like her to goad him into mad stunt after mad stunt. Now, Arak struggled harder, and broke free of his brother's grasp. "Hey-" William shouted, but Arak zipped through the crowd, running up to the front and kneeling before the crown prince.

"My life I pledge to you, Your Grace. Let me serve you in this mission," he said, so quickly they seemed to merge into one long word. William covered his forehead with one hand. He should be surprised, but he wasn't one bit. Gods, he needed mead.

Aemon seemed bemused by the whole situation, he urged the man quickly up with a gesture of his hand, "Please, ser there is no need for such dramatic action. You are a member of this company, we are bound by ties of friendship and brotherhood from this day till the end of our days. Your loyalty and conviction is not in question. But are you sure you can do this? You're not a deceiver. This mission requires you to act the part of a sellsword or pirate. And you only just barely escaped death and imprisonment. None among us would question it if you wished to stay behind on this assingment."

Arak winced at the mention of brotherhood, but stood at his liege's command. "I am what Your Grace commands of me. Put your trust in your servant." He felt awkward standing in the presence of such greatness, like as if he was mocking his future king by his actions. He sank back down to a kneel, thoroughly confused.

"Take him off. Don't allow him to go ashore," William said, sidling up to Visenya and grabbing her shoulder. "Don't make me beg. I'm not a convincing beggar."

Visenya nodded and said aloud, "Lord Bolton may have a point. Arak is a valiant warrior, but we need more than that once we go ashore. This is a certain amount of... duplicity involved in this that a man of honor like Arak may be somewhat ill-equipped to tackle."

The Crown Prince stroked his chin and looked down at Arak, "Arak, why do you want to come so badly?"

This made Arak think. To serve? What was he doing. He kneeled there, trying to come up with an answer. Firm hands grabbed his shoulder and tried to pull him back into the crowd. "You've made enough of a fool of yourself," said William. "Time to quit while you're ahead."

"Wait!" Arak cried, slapping a hand away and rushing back to the front. "I'd like to recall the wise Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Despite his loathing of the position as Hand, despite is inability to decieve and maintain fear, he chose to take the responsibility for that was his duty. Let me do my duty, Your Grace, for better or worse."

Several moments passed and Aemon smiled slightly, "Spoken like a man of Winterfell. Very well, Arak Snow. You may join us. You'll need a change of clothes. And you'll need to keep your sword arm ready and your mouth closed, just follow our lead. But you can come with us. Lord Will, you can mind him as well."

Arak finally let himself be pulled away by his insistent brother. "Listen, you complete, utter imbecile," growled William, hissing in his brother's ear. "That was a bad move. You're not a Stark, you're a Bolton, and Boltons don't make bad moves. I cannot believe . . . just don't run in front of swords, and don't challenge anyone to a duel, and most importantly, don't leave my sight." Arak nodded, not really paying attention. He was to serve by the side of the crown prince! Such an honor could not be stained by anyone, not even William.

The Eel had not been a homely sort of place for Taria. It wasn't just that the antagonistic Tamsyn was there, or that her snide remarks and sarcastic politeness was beginning to grate at the Greyjoy's forced calmness; that would have been somewhat easier to tolerate. It was more the fact that she had been pushed overboard and nearly drowned that did it. Granted, the continous use of the nickname Tammy should have been forgotten when Taria realized how much it got on the smuggler's nerves. However, after all the Greyjoy jokes and especially those about her father, she couldn't help herself from taking a little pleasure in watching the expression on Tamsyn's face when she gave her the cutesy nickname.

There was the fact that Tamsyn did save Taria. She wasn't sure why but couldn't help think it was probably because the smuggler realized she wouldn't get paid the rest of what she had been promised if she returned without a Greyjoy on the Eel. Taria supposed there was that to be grateful for, but feelings of magnanimity were long gone. If she wasn't going to be forced to, she didn't want to spend another moment on that vessel.

She was quiet as Arak volunteered, watching the scuffle between the two brothers. By this time she knew quite well who they were. It was interesting, truth be told. She wasn't really one to hold a grudge for things that had happened a long time ago, even if what their father had done had made her father the brunt of jokes for a certain smuggler as well as others. She couldn't quite tell whether the two liked or despised each other. Well, at least there was no mistaking her as a whole anymore.

"I'd like to join as well, my Prince. I volunteer to join the shore party." Taria took a couple of paces forward as she spoke before bowing her head. Please don't make me go with that smuggler wench. There was no way she was going to say aloud to anyone that she had nearly drowned and then been saved. She had her pride and wished for it to remain intact. The Drowned God worked in mysterious ways, apparently, and that was her story to herself.


As for Layali, the time she had spent on the ship was quite pleasant; it was almost as if all the months she had been in the brothel were slowly dripping away, leaving her feeling clean... well, cleaner than she had. She had spent the time practicing with the bow Seran had found for her. Getting back in the habit of holding the bow, stringing and unstringing, and finally finding safe targets to shoot at... it was all quite rejuvenating.

Chatting with the others was a little more difficult, but she did find she enjoyed the other's company, especially Ser Aerion with his gentlemanly way of talking and more especially his cooking; she had taken his offer seriously that first day and was quite alright with seeming like a little greedy critter.

Seeing the somewhat familiar face of Tamsyn was also treat. She had met the smuggler a few times while she had been at the pirate's den. The woman didn't seem much like a pirate to her even then, far too clean, polite and generous. It was a shame she didn't seem to wish for a little more affection than just polite talk, but the extra coin had been more than sufficient.

That's not to say that Layali wasn't surprised to see her there; she hadn't expected the smuggler to be with the Royalists. Well, the more you know. Not just that, it gave the young Meereenese the chance to chat with her.

"I'd like to volunteer as well!" she piped in with a grin, bright eyed and clearly seeing this as an adventure.

The Roseroad.(with @MrDidact)

Alester's eyes widened for a split second, before letting out a curse under his breath. The lull of the travel had almost made him forget what was the reason for this mission: These so called Gardenerers had waited to lay the ambush in the worst possible moment. The caravan was swollen with smallfolk and civilians. And damn him, he had told them to accompany him. He knew they would be in danger for the sake of luring the Gardeners.

He gripped his reins as he heard the screams of men and women surrounding him. Such was the price of lordship. After a first volley of archers, they sent their troops in a pincer movement when his own retinue was in disarray. A fast hit and run strike, but one that belied an effort of planning. He would have dwelled more on the subject, had he not been in the sights of one of the Greenhand pretenders bent on goring his horse. Given his position he couldn't counterattack, and he would most likely kill his mount if he followed course. He gritted his teeth, spurring his horse to stand on his hind legs, therefore avoiding the tip of the spear that was aiming at him, and then crashing the hooves on the head of the other knight as he passed by.

"Get your bearings! Use the carts to shield yourselves from the charge. Raise spears! Watch out for their archers!" He yelled at the top of his lungs.

The knight fell out of the saddle, his helm dented by the hooves of the horse and he fell to the ground in a heap. The soldiers and knights ran to proceed with Alester's orders. The peasants hid behind the defensive spear and shield lines that quickly but professionally sprouted, the warriors using the wagons as additional cover. They managed to get into position right before the Gardener knights charged them.

There was a great clash of steel and a few Gardener's had their mounts speared from under them or were pushed from their seats. Some men-at-arms had Gardner lances in their necks or were split open by longswords. The line buckled but it held, and the arrows commenced in earnest once more, landing among the wagons and the defensive line.

Behind the knights came even more men on foot, charging with swords and axes and mauls. Six men all charged at Alester, shouting at the top of their lungs and lunging at the Florent lord, intending to knock him from his seat.

Alester cursed under his breath"Arthur, get your ass here". As he eyed the new wave of invaders, he stirred his horse. "Lance!" He yelled to one of the carts, which yielded him his battlefield lance. He briefly pondered wether to fight back with his full skill or allow himself to be captured, so the civilians would be spared. But even if he was, the attack would probably not cease. He stirred his horse once more, making it spin on its own, and then spurred it into action, trying to start a charge alongside the line of carts. "Cavalry, regroup and attack them while they are swamped. Use melee weapons and bows to repel the infantry if need be!" He yelled as he gripped his reins tightly.

The guardsmen strung bows and began firing at the advancing infantry, downing several as the pikemen lashed out at the knights, who began running up and down the line to try and find weakspots while others kept trading blows with the spearmen. The loyalist knights regrouped and they charged out from the spear lines, clashing with the other knights or running down men-at-arms. Suddenly there was horn and the Gardener arrow barrage started to lighten. Now more arrows rained down, but on the Gardener infantry. Each arrow expertly found its mark and Arthur Glenmore charged onto the field with a squad of knights, running over dozens of men and joining the fray. The battle had now become equal and became a pitched fight and not a one-sided ambush.

Dozens on both sides were dead, and many more civillians were killed with countless wounded. The half dozen infantrymen who charged at Alester lashed out at the lord with their weapons, one man going for his horse while the other tried to hack at his sword arm. They obviously intended to take him alive.

Alester muttered under his breath. "Sorry." He muttered an apology, as he purposefully made a priority to keep his sword arm over his horse. He jumped out of the mount to avoid being crushed by the wounded animal, and he broke his lance on the head of one of the assailants.

"You want my sword arm. So you shall have it."He muttered, his voice trembling on barely contained anger. Why so many civilians had to die...He cursed at them and at himself... and let his swordsmanship loose. He danced, parried, and flung, a swathe of cuts in every direction, sparing no one of his fine swordsmanship. His fierce blows not allowing any Gardener infantry to even come close, lest they were cut into ribbons by his slashes.

They were taken aback by the skill of their quarry and four more men had died before the last surviving infantryman backed away in fright. Suddenly a knight came into view. He had a sword and shield, and a dented helm. Obviously the knight that Alester had thrown from his horse. The man roared and charged at Lord Florent with his metal buckler, intending to smash the Fox Lord in the face with the rim and cut at his leg with the sword.

Alester grinned under his helmet, his carefully crafted fox visor splattered in the blood of the fallen, as the new challenger arrived. He jumped sideways, as if his legs were springs, allowing the knight to pass through.... his bladed levelled at the neck height. He was gripping his blade with both arms, and given the speed of the other knight was charging...The fountain of blood that sprouted was a sight to behave as he sliced the neck of the knight clean, Alester's own helmet now becoming a bright red.

There was a crash of impact as the last man at arms jumped on Alester and tried to wrestle his sword away from him, angling him towards another knight who quickly loaded a crossbow and aimed right at his knee, taking a moment to center the shot. Behind him several pikemen advanced with spears leveled, trying to circle around.

"You want me that badly, sers?" Alester gritted his teeth... and he let his blade go. They probably weren't expecting that. Nor the glint of valyrian steel that followed. In such close quarters, Knightslayer sung, digging itself deep in the flesh of men with a flurry of stabs in the joints and chinks of the armor of his opponents, allowing Alester a reprieve. He took one of his strugglers by the decorations of his armor and used him as improptu crossbow shield, as he kept stabbing and struggling.

The man grappling with Alester sagged limply after being stabbed and made no reaction as the crossbow thumped into him. The knight cursed and holstered the weapon, taking out his sword and telling the spearmen to advance. The men surrounded Alester and lowered spears, attempting to prod the man and harass him, wound him. There was a clack of hooves and Arthur rode by, his sword flashing against the Gardener knight and sending the man reeling after parrying a blow while his horse kicked one spearman's head in, a dagger flying from Arthur's free hand to bury itself in the neck of another spearman.

Alester's breath quickened. He had been taken away by the fury of the battle, as his eyes went wide under his helmet. But somewhere, somehow, he still reigned himself in, and allowed him to reassert the situation. A spear circle. Normally this would spell his end, but his sight caught Arthur appearing from nowhere and starting to slay spearmean. He muttered mentally a heartfelt thanking to the knight, as he redoubled his effort. Seizing still the corpse of the Gardener infantryman, he charged the spear line with it thus rendering several spears ineffective, as he used the lump of flesh to blunt their tips and break through, taking some wounds in the process.

He still needed a sword, though, muttering as he held the woefully short but deadly Knightslayer in hand.

As he pushed through, there was a stab of pain as one of the spearmen managed to jab Alester in the shoulder, scoring a minor wound before Arthur lopped off his head with his longsword. The Knight Inquisitor jumped off of his horse and slammed into another man, stabbing the soldier next to him before planting another dagger in the eye of the man beneath him.

"Catch!"

Arthur picked up one of the fallen swords and tossed it at Alester as the other spearmen either stood off with Arthur or began rushing for the Fox Lord, trying to jab at his shoulders and legs.

Alester nodded sternly, as he grabbed the sword with a flourish and got ready for the spearmen charge. His shoulder was aching, but he held together. Sheathing Knightslayer, he he examined the situation. Grouped spears had every advantadge against a sword, no matter the approach. This was truly a test of skill. He could fall back, though, but he probably wouldn't be able to find a better matching weapon. He gritted his teeth, both his arms firmly gripping the weapon.

As the tips of the spear poked, Alester swung with all of his might and his fury, a flurry of blows aimed to divert or shatter the spearpoints, putting all his might into the swings. He hoped the weapon weighed enough to shatter the shafts.

Amazingly, one or two of the spear shafts were shattered by the strength and accuracy behind Alester's swings. The rest of the spears were expertly parried away from the Fox Lord. The two men who had their spears shattered, drew swords and tried to flank Alester on either side as the remaining two spearmen kept jabbing at Alester, trying to force him to give ground.

Alester gritted his teeth, liberating one of his hands from the grip of his sword. Deftly sidestepped, he purposefully entered the space of one of the swordsmen, to provoke him into a swing, and then, with his off hand, pushed him into the two spearmean with a swift move once more. Without wasting time, he squired to the remaining foot soldier, expertly clashing against his blade with one hand. "You guys are rather inept at fox hunting." He muttered in annoyance.

The man at arms cursed as they traded blows, getting backed up as his friends untangled themselves. Suddenly the man lit up with a broken smile, "Half of hunting is trickery innit?" There was the thundering of hooves and if Alester turned he would see another knight. Unlike the others, the Green Hand was displayed prominently on his breastplate, over his heart. His helm was immacutely wrought silvery plate, and his white cloak flowed in the breeze behind him. He had a shield in one hand, holding a spear in the other and he was bearing down on Alester.

Alester gritted his teeth. This was really a pitched battle. At least it was himself. That boy Merlin had suggested... wouldn't probably last this long. He thought. One of his arms was shot. He was covered in blood. He was starting to bear the exhaustion of wounds and harassing. But he eyed the knight defiantly. "Archers. Concentrate fire on my position!" He yelled to the troops, unsure if they'd answer, but it would be an equally powerful bluff, as he readied his sword for the knights' charge. His footwork shifted as he stopped swinging, separating himself from the footmen and aiming to cut the the rider on the spear's side. It was a do or die blow. He knew they would want him alive, so they'd refrain from using a killing wound. So he could sidestep that lance, and he executed his move without hesitation.

Several nearby archers strung their bows, and the knight twisted his shield to cover him as arrows embedded into the wood. Alester managed to knock the spear out of the man's hand in the confusion, and the knight wheeled around, retrieving his own sword and trading blows with Alester from his mounted position, all the while deflecting the odd arrow with his shield. The other infantrymen were now engaged with either Arthur or Alester's troops and the fight became a duel between the two knights. The Gardener was quick, precise, strong, and tried to cut Alester's sword from his hands as they clashed.

Alester smirked underneath. Finally someone on his level, and not the rabble he had fought up until now. Despite the wounds and the heated battle, he felt invigorated, his mind and body cranking up the pace as mentally, his restraints, the very thing that separated him from his most violent impulses eroded. Set me free. It rang with each of the parries, blows and exchanges, as the toll increased. Set me free. Be liberated. Lay waste to your enemies. His inner self said. It was then when revelation struck.

One of the blows, the sword flung away from Alester hands. But it had not been fully the knight's imput. It was a well calculated feint. One that Alester exploited to bring his prized Valyrian dagger in an arc. The metallic snap of steel cutting steel was heard, as the Knightslayer lived to its namesake, cutting both sword and sword's arm of the knight in a single stroke, before a second flourish dug deep into the knight's warbeast, sending the horse in pain and hopefully throwing his rider.

With no time to waste, he unembed the dagger, and rolling on the floor, captured his sword once more. "I'd rather capture you alive. Quit while you are ahead."

The Gardener crashed to the ground as his mount bled, as he fell he managed to kick out at Alester with his boot, denting his chestplate, but still he fell. He crashed into a heap at Alester's feet and looked up at the Fox Lord. He looked around as his men fought with the Florent and Tyrell men, with the Inqusitor's men and the freeriders. They hadn't expected Arthur to ambush them.

"Give me your word of honor that you will spare myself and my surviving men, tend to our wounds and treat us as befitting a prisoner. Your word, ser."

"Smallfolk have died." Alester gravely said, gripping his blade. "But you have my word. I shall spare you and your men from further violence and see to your wounded. Now. Give me your name and order your men to surrender." The young lord added, still wary of his surroundings.

The Gardener dropped his sword and said, "I am Ser Owen Gardener, brother to the true Lord of the Reach. Stand down!" Suddenly his knights stopped in the saddle, his men-at-arms ceasing their melee, looking to him. By now scores of men and women had died, smallfolk and soldier both, and the fires had taken a few wagons before the frantic peasants finally stopped them. Ser Owen nodded again and the men began dropping their weapons, dismounting from their horses and holding up their hands in surrender.

"I kept my word. Will you keep yours?"

"A little gaudy, ser Owen." Alester narrowed his eyes. "All troops! Stand down! Ser Arthur! The enemy has surrendered! Cease the fight, and start tending to the wounded of both sides!". Alester commanded, as he eyed the Inquisitor. Surely he would not mind giving the same orders, as hard-pressed for clues as he was. He sheathed his sword, and offered a hand to the Gardener pretender.

Ser Arthur called for the men to stop fighting, and medics rushed to tend to the wounded, while others sorted the Gardener men into ranks of captives. Owen looked at Alester for a moment before taking his hand and rising. He removed his helm to reveal a man who looked quite like a Tyrell. He was young, possibly even younger than Alester though still a man grown, with rich brown curly hair and bright gold-brown eyes, as handsome and fair as any maiden's dream of a Reachman Knight.

"Will you take us to Highgarden or King's Landing?"

Alester sighed, removing his helmet, caked with blood and grime, his squinty face and big ears also splattered in blood clots, as he eyed the knight. "You're skilled for your age, it seems." He added as a compliment, surprised that he was this young. His sight rested on Arthur. "I say King's Landing. What do you think, Ser Arthur?" He eyed the Inquisitor awaiting for input.

Ser Owen nodded in polite thanks and said no more. Arthur rode up and said, "I need to return to Highgarden with my men. But this shipment of material needs to reach the capital anyway. I'll call on more bannermen to help escort this shipment and the prisoners, and the Gold Cloaks can help once we enter the Crownlands. I say the shipment rides on to King's Landing. The Small Council will want to quesiton these prisoners. Do you wish to go on to the capital, my lord?"

Alester looked at the ground as he pondered, his gauntlet firmly planted on his mouth. "So be it, ser. I would rather have you and your men as escort, such a formidable lot they are, but I understand the sake of your mission. I shall take these prisoners to King's landing, thus preventing retaliation from either side. We won't spill more blood in the Reach if we can help it." He then motioned for him, to whisper in his ear. "I am wary we might suffer a second ambush, this time in full force. See to it." He added, before raising his voice again. "Crows! I need crows! I need messages to be sent to Highgarden, Brightwall and King's Landing." He concluded, and then paused.

"When was the last time you had a meal, ser Owen?" He asked.

Men rushed to apply his orders, a Half-Maester going to the crow cages to send the messages. Arthur quietly nodded, "We will accompany you until the reinforcements arrive." Then he rode off to see to his men. Owen composed himself well, even for a man who had been defeated, "Not since this morning. I would be honored to lunch with you, Lord Alester. The tales of your skill were not exagerrated."

He eyed the battlefield, as he sighed. "I hope your men would not mind some horse meat. We have come to have a surplus of it right now." He shook his head as he invited his prisoner to follow him. "I am concerned that such tales exist. I believe I told people to keep their lips sealed." He added as a comment.

Owen nodded grimly, "My men have been used to worse. As for the tales, well, people like to talk. And there are many ways to loosen lips."

"I should probably not push my luck and count your blessings. Let's get those wounds seen, Ser Owen. I shall do the same with mine and we'll share some wine and a meal." Alester added, eyeing the rest of the troops, as he indicated for Owen to follow him to a healer.

The Gardener knight followed, men being seen too and prisoners collected as the raid ended.
--------
The Stepstones.

Seran sighed, as he eyed the conversation take part. A very risky maneuver that called for volunteers. Seran had half a mind, his thoughts torn between his worries about the mission finally going awry and the fact that his last stunt had been less than stealthy. Still, he emitted a soft groan when the eager half-blood pup of Lord Bolton jumped at the chance of glory and riches. Less so when the Greyjoy did. She had been a little green back in King's landing with the whole fighting thing, but she had a good head upon her shoulders. She could pull that off. The little Meerenese? He was also a bit surprised. Perhaps she had encouraged her a bit too much. Yet, she seemed somewhat resourceful. Still, he sighed, obscuring his build with rags and cloaks, and using his bruised state to disguise his wholed visage with bandages.

"I'll go aswell. I'll try to be disguised. Worst case, i'll be bait, like last time." Seran added nonchalantly, his eyes drifting to that of Lord Bolton and Arak Snow. You may be a paranoid lordling, but I'll help you keep that eager pup in check for the sake of the mission. Just this once. He thought as he lingered for a bit, before breaking the stare.

Garlan looked to his side, Mirren being able to be back on the surface. She'd taken a few hits, the campaign in the caves and innards of the mountains clearly having an effect, not that he could see it past her mail and helm. He was impressed, knowing full well his aide that he'd put his trust into had put her part into the plan, at least saving them the embaressment and tactical fuck-up that would be being hit from the tunnels. She had fought well, and adapted to this situation. He knew he would have to offer her more work when she was finished, as she could make an excellent Master of Arms, on the money that Garlan could offer to her. Not a Knight of the Green Hand, but at the least, a senior member in Manderford's men at arms. A commander of the Reach, if she so desired it, or at the least, an aide to camp to House Tyrell in times of war. Someone like Ellion would get on well with her too, he almost saw something of him, albeit a little less interested in jousting and more interested in fighting against the odds, perhaps.

And while he didn't know exactly her fighting capability, he knew that himself, he wouldn't be up to a fight in single combat. He might have a good chance, but one false move, and with his age, he wouldn't recover. Mirren was young, and would have at least the survivability to keep going toe to toe, as he looked to her, nodding.

"I know you work for coin. But I think you can take him. You seem to fight with something none of us have." Garlan said to her, standing by the mercenary's side, his own helm removed, as he looked back at Beezel.
"A total disregard for anyone who stands in your fucking way. You've proven yourself one of the best warriors of this campaign thus far, to fight in a small platoon like that for so long. So, think you can extend that to him?"

Mirren was caught off guard by the suggestion that she be the one to engage the man in single combat. She was no stranger to it, for sure - she had almost lost count of the number of honor duels and trials by combat she had been commanded to fight in. This man however, seemed more than a blustering young noble offended at some cultural slight - he clearly knew how to fight. All the same, she was relatively confident that, even though she was tired from the campaign, by no means at her peak performance, she could take the man.

Merrell Florent eyed the battlefield with reservation. He bit his lip somewhat, trying to relief the tension. The last pitch. And in a single combat. It could happen, just a little more and the warriors of the Reach would be home. And yet... Garlan was performing some strange request, to one of the sellswords that they had brought.

"Are you sure about this, my Liege? I've got half a mind of taking the chance myself and ending this once and for all." He looked at the mercenary, his thoughts ponderous.

"I accept." she answered, after a moment's hesitation. "As many single combats as you wish if it means we get closer to having some proper food." Stepping forward, she addressed Ser Beezel. "Name your weapons, then."

Garlan looked back to Merrell, as Mirren accepted, Garlan happy with the response. He knew she could have turned it down, but would take it to get this over and done with, as he sighed, looking on at Merrell. Why did he have to do this? Now?
"I've got half a mind also....of telling you to shut the fuck up, Ser Merrell. Weigh it up, don't be a glory-seeking cunt or else I'll have to fucking stab you myself." Garlan barbed, no niceties needed, the tone of voice definitely telling him to keep quiet, and let Mirren get on with it.

Merrell eyed Garlan."The troops need a victory here so we can go home." He whispered back. "It doesn't matter who does it, as long as it is done. That's all there is, my liege." Merrell shrugged, finally getting his wineskin back and drinking a bit.

Prince Oberyn piped up, full of youthful vigor, indeed he was the youngest in the present company, "It should be I. Dorne must rid itself of these Vultures and House Martell must finish the job of overthrowing House Dryland. I should complete what Nymeria started."

Lady Brienne inclined her head, "The Prince speaks valiantly. But I would also be glad to take up the challenge. I have beaten numerous foes in single combat. And though Ser Ned may be a more skilled fighter than I, he is too wounded to fight. A knightly duel calls for knightly combatnants."

Ned Dayne chuckled ruefully, "The Evenstar speaks truly. The wound I took yesterday will be too much of a hindrance. I suspect Lord Dickon may be too worn out as well." The Lord of Horn Hill only nodded in confirmation.

The Lords Swann, Dondarrion, and Caron all spoke up to step forward, protesting the naming of a baseborn sellsword as the royal champion. Aegon, on top of Viserion, called out, "It should be I. It is my kinsman whom the Vultures offend, I must defend the honor of House Targaryen."

Ser Beezel smirked, "So many stepping forward. Not you, Ser Gendry? I thought a Baratheon would be eager to fight one on one."

Gendry spoke up, "All of you men and women are courageous and skilled. But Aegon, your dragon is too essential to risk you in this combat. Prince Oberyn, you are brave but inexperienced in duels fought in earnest. Lady Brienne, you are among our mightiest, but you are too valuable as a fighter and commander. The same goes for my lords. And you, Ser Beezel, I consider you unworthy to polish my latreen, much less sully my hammer with your traitor's blood. Mirren Sand will fight for the Iron Throne."

The Vulture Knight smiled, "Very well. We will begin the duel ahorse and with spears and shields. You may choose your other weapons, in case of being dismounted or losing your spear, but there will be no ranged combat. If either party yields, it will be considered a win for the other combatnant. Otherwise, this is to the death. You will have an hour to prepare, then we will fight on this ground. Make your peace with your gods Mirren Sand, you shall meet them shortly."

With a last mocking smirk at Gendry, Ser Beezel turned and spurred his horse away, the rest of his party following into the castle.

Gendry watched them go and spit on the ground, he turned to Mirren, "It seems you'll be carrying the campaign, Mirren. Go prepare, you will have your pick of the armory and stables. Win, and you will be rewarded."

He spurred his horse back to the vanguard and leaned in to Garlan whispering so none could hear, "I hope you know what you're doing, reccomending a sellsword to fight for us. If she fails, it's on you." He snapped the reins once more and he rode off, his entourage in tow.

"Understood. But as you just said. This is no Knightly fight. This is survival." Garlan only replied in whisper, as Gendry left, looking on at Mirren.

Mirren stood silently, watching the lords and ladies assembled bicker amongst themselves. She made no move to defend herself - if they saw fit to nominate someone else to fight, she would make no objection. She had no knightly honor to defend, no womanly pride - she would do what she was paid for.

"I thank you, my lord." She murmured in reply to Gendry - there was a rift between them, but she would do her best to keep it from showing. Turning to Beezel, she narrowed her eyes. "I have no gods. You would do well to prepare to meet yours, however. I'll get there eventually - do tell if they were happy to see you, won't you?" She smirked, turning to leave.

_______________________

The hour had passed and the time of combat had come. Ser Gendry Baratheon sat atop his massive destrier, his antelered helm sitting atop his head while a yellow cloak draped over his black armor. Lady Brienne was seated next to him in her blue plate, a white star in the middle of her helm while the Just Maid was sheathed at her hip, a white cloak draped over one pauldron. Every other noble was similarly attired, even Aegon Targaryen who rode a white horse instead of his white dragon, with black dragon wings sprouting from his scaled armor.

Across from them were the Vultures. A dozen knights with Vulture-feathered cloaks and helms wrought in the ravenous shape of a Vulture. The two groups faced off against each other. Behind the loyalist nobles stood a massive army, all in orderly formation. Elephants snorted while bearing the weight of towers and mounted weapons. Behind the Vultures, every free space on their castle was lined with an archer or crossbowman.

The gates of the Skull opened and out rode Ser Beezel Dryland. He looked like a being of nightmare. Instead of a Vulture helm, his helmet featured a snarling demonic face with fangs, demon's horns sprouting from the top. A cloak of black leather flowed behind him, fitting with his crimson armor that was wrought in the shape of a scaled monster. He rode a sand steed as black as night and in his hands he held a black shield that showed a horned, winged demon wreathed in flame. In his other hand was a black trident with cruelly spiked tips. He rode ahead of his party and his red-eyed mount stamped the ground with one steel-shod hoof.

The nobles of the Iron Throne parted to reveal their own mounted champion.

Mirren rode out, bedecked in little of the splendor and extravagance of those who surrounded her. She had picked a lean, wiry steed, and rode with an ease that spoke of many hours in the saddle. She held with her a lance, its length reinforced by iron, a plain, utilitarian weapon designed only to kill. There was no glorious spectacle to behold, her armor was the same she wore at all times - chain, lamellar, a helmet that concealed her face in entirety sans two small holes through which she glared at her opponent. Her own shield, a well used, sturdy disc of steel, rested on her arm. She had left behind her bow, as per the restrictions laid out ahead of time. It would have suited her fine to pick the man off from twenty meters, but she held no qualms.

"Are you ready, Beezel?" She called, purposefully neglecting the Ser in his title - she had never cared much for titles, and what little mind she paid to them faded when faced with the man before her.

Beezel shouted back, and his voice seemed distorted by the helm, rougher, as if it were an effort to speak instead of growl, and it reveberated through the field with an eerie bass, "I'm ready to end your pitiable life, Sand. Yield and I'll only leave a scar. Otherwise, I will keep your head as a trophy."

A knight herald rode from the royal party and positioned himself in the middle of the two combatnants, "In the presence of gods and men, we hold this single combat to determine the fate of countless lives. May all the gods look upon this duel and grant strength to the warriors and a just outcome. The terms of the duel have been agreed upon, it is a duel to the death if neither party yields, with the victor securing their side's terms. Do both champions understand and wish to continue?"

Beezel inclined his head and the Herald watched as Mirren nodded.

"The champions may make a final declaration."

Ser Dryland spoke, his voice booming, "For the honor of House Dryland, for the justice of our cause, for my brother, the rightful King of these lands. I will slay this dog of the Iron Throne Tyrants, this traitor to our people, and pave the road for a better future for Dorne. Let the histories remember this day as the beginning of our freedom. There is no other way this ends."

The herald waited for Mirren to speak.

Mirren sighed, fixing Beezel with a tired glare. "I'm here to slay pompous braggarts so I can get back somewhere with a warm bed, and decent food. I intend to be eating raspberries with cream off a whore's chest by the end of the week. Good enough for you, oh high and mighty bandit king?"

The Hell Knight snarled in reply, and it did not sound like it could have come from a man's throat.

The Knight Herald pulled out a silver horn, "Combat shall commence on the first blast and not before. Go with the gods." The knight rode off to rejoin the royal party and lifted the horn in the air before blowing, a silvery clarion call ringing through the mountaintop.

Beezel kicked his horse into motion, the steed whinnying as it began to charge, its rider practically roaring in challenge as the knight rode at Mirren. He sat on his seat well, his trident perfectly still and his shield held firmly in place as the horse charged forward. It was clear he had years of experience and skill in riding, and his weapon glinted in the sun as he came closer to Mirren. The royalists all quietly urged Mirren on.

For a few seconds, Mirren remained still, watching the man as though she were a statued, held fast with clamps of steel - as he neared, however, she spurred her own horse, no intention of facing a larger and heavier opponent in an environment that was his element - she had fought plenty of battles on foot, with sword and dagger - jousting was something in the realm of the highborn. Instead, she skirted around him, kicking her horse into a brief sprint, coming down to a canter off to his side. Her lance still sat comfortably in her grasp, and she shrugged her shoulders at Beezel.

Beezel twisted in the seat, his shield out in case Mirren tried an attack. His horse came around and he sat facing Mirren again. He began to laugh, "What's wrong, Sand? Afraid? Not ready to become meat for the vultures? Face your death with honor." Gendry breathed out in relief, the rest of the royalists similarly thrilled at the dodge. Brienne smiled at the skill of the sellsword.

Mirren grinned, calling back at him, "No, matter of fact, I was waiting for you to come - you seem to have missed! Are you sure you don't want to give up, clearly not at the top of your game! No dishonor in conceding a fight you can't win, after all!" She mimed blowing a kiss at him, "Perhaps one of the whores will take pity on you and kiss your ouchies - not this whore though. This whore intends to have a nice meal."

Beezel laughed again, "You'll have one. When you dine with the worms!"

The Hell Knight kicked his horse into action again, building up momentum with every moment as his steed charged at Mirren, it's red eyes glaring in the sun. He held completely steady, his trident on a clean angle at Mirren's chest, waiting until the last possible moment to make his move. His horse's black coat was complemented by black armor, his head, neck, and chest all covered in wicked plate, as the Hellgate standard adorned the side of the mount.

Once again, Mirren waited until the last moment - her own lance held at the ready - Beezel's trident was a better melee weapon, but she couldn't help but wonder why the man would bring such a thing for mounted combat. Her own lance was more nimble in the hand, lighter, longer. She grinned, spurring her horse to the side once again - but she spared little time for trying to dodge him, she knew he would do his best to counter that. She wheeled, bringing her own steed around, and with all her might and the weight of her own mount behind the point, drove her lance into the unarmored belly of her opponent's steed.

The horse shrieked in an almost human voice as it was pierced and it crashed to the side, Mirren's lance impaled into the beast. Gendry watched and was sure that Beezel would be crushed beneath the flailing horse. Instead, he watched in horrified amazement. The Hell Knight had twisted to face Mirren at the last moment, standing in the stirrups. Even when his own horse screamed in agony, he did not flounder. He shoved his shield at his opponent in a savage, quick, and unbelievably strong motion, the wood and steel shield becoming a projectile that launched at Mirren's chest.

At the same time, Beezel somehow managed to kick his right foot from the stirrup, plant it on his crashing horse and he kicked off from the steed. As it crashed to the ground, he managed, in full plate, to leap up and back and land on his feet, his trident held before him. Gendry right then knew that though Beezel had a human face, he was no mere man. Oberyn gaped openly at the sight, and even Aegon Targaryen seemed perturbed, gripping the reins of his horse tight. Ned knit his brow in intense focus while Dickon openly cursed. Merell just took another sip of Arbor Red.

Mirren's eyes widened as the series of... frankly impossible events unfolded in front of her. And yet, there was no time to gawk, no time to cry out against the inhuman strength and speed of her foe - she instinctively brought up her shield, managing to deflect most of the impact of the impromptu projectile. She cantered off, heart pounding - she had fought and killed scores of men before, but this was something else. Taking a split second to breathe, she dismounted her own horse - the man still had his trident, and it would not do to be unhorsed before that monster.

Her own lance was a shattered wreck, and she hissed, throwing the remnants of the weapon away and drawing her sword, content to let Beezel come to her.

Beezel advanced slowly at first, his feet stepping into the dust with menace as he came at Mirren with his trident leveled at her. He spoke again, "Impressive. Most would be dead already. But now you know that you are laughably outmatched Sand." He flicked his hand to his belt and drew a cruelly curved dagger. He flung it with a lightning fast flick of his wrist. But it was not meant for Mirren. Instead it buried itself to the hilt in her horse's eye and the poor animal floundered, crying out in pain as it died next to Beezel's own mount. Brienne recoiled in shock at the ferocity and savagery of the move, watching with horrified fixation as blood seeped from the horses' eye. Harmen Dondarrion gulped, and nervously cracked his fist, a sizzle of lightning popping in the air with the gesture.

Beezel twirled his trident lazily in one hand, stopping just out of range of either fighter in front of Mirren, "Yield. And I will allow you to live and tell others of what you saw today. After I brand you of course." He lowered his weapon and spread his feet apart in a lunging stance.

Mirren stood easily, in her element now that she was on foot. "A tempting offer!" She called back, grinning under the chainmail, "But I got my fill of the branding business in Volantis. Nasty, unpleasant smell, you know how it goes. I think I'll have to pass you up on your kind offer. However, since I know you knights have a love for honor - you're still welcome to surrender!" She gave a small bow, "At your leisure, good Ser."

Beezel chuckled, "So confident. Well let's see if we can change that." Beezel leaped right at Mirren, crossing the distance in a single, impossibly quick bound with his trident extended right at the sellsword's chest.

Mirren brought her shield up in a single, smooth motion, she had no doubt that this man was skilled - but on foot, she moved like she had been born to fight like this. Catching his trident on her shield, she brought her knee up, driving the metal plated limb into his groin with every ounce of strength she could muster.

There was a dull ring of impact and an enraged snarl from Beezel as her armored knee collided with his codpiece, but the Hell Knight took the blow much better than expected. His leap faltered in range but he curled up his own legs and he leaned into his trident, driving Mirren to the ground under his inhuman strength.

He landed on his feet, flailing for a moment to recover but stabbed right down again at Mirren on the ground and her shield, the prongs denting the steel right in front of her face. He stabbed again and then pulled on his trident, intending to wrench the shield from her hands and even possibly her arm from its socket with his monstrous strength. In the background, the Vultures on the battlements of the Skull began pounding their weapons and cheering his name. Gendry cursed under his breath, "Get up... get up." Oberyn started a ragged cheer, and the men behind them shouted their encouragement, urging Mirren to stand.

Mirren gritted her teeth, keeping the shield close to her as she gritted her teeth before spitting a hot pepper laden wad of saliva into the knight's eyes. Taking advantage of the moment, she drove her knee into his groin a second time, gathering her strength and launching a blow with her elbow into his jaw. As fast as she could manage, she rolled over, taking hold of her sword and jumping to her feet.

The spit clanked around the sockets of his demonic mask and he recoiled, pulling his trident back and wrenching Mirren's shield from her grasp as he did so. He twisted his hip, suspecting she would go for another sucker move, and her knee collided with his thigh. He grunted in pain and cursed venomously when her elbow smacked into his jaw. He stood back, quickly wiping away as much spit from his eyeholes as he could while stepping back, Mirren's shield pinned on his trident.

Beezel laughed, "Childish tricks. You fight like a ten year old. I wonder if you scream like a child too." Beezel shoved Mirren's shield off his trident and twisted the shield in his arm, holding it overhand and throwing it full on at his opponent.

"You really shouldn't ask a lady such things, it's unbecoming of a knight!" Mirren called, ducking at the dented and worn disc of metal came flying her way. "Really though, I can't help but think you only said I couldn't use a bow so this wouldn't be too easy for me!" She grinned, twirling her sword in her hands, "I'm still waiting."

"I've been too soft on you as it is. You want my blade? Have it!" He charged at her, going from a standing position to a dead on sprint in an instant and crossing the distance in a few breaths. He stabbed out with the trident again and again and again, the prongs hissing through the air at Mirren's chest or face before he pulled back and stabbed forward once more, every strike flying with unbelievable speed, every strike clean and precise, his movements almost impossible for Gendry and the other onlookers to track. Even Ned seemed daunted by the barrage.

To Mirren, the rest of the world was a distant memory, a faded echo of another life - her mind was clear of all but battle, and it was the song of battle that sang through her body as she dodged, weaved, ducked, and parried with speed and grace even she would have been surprised to see. Her armor protected her from the worst of it, now and then a blow would land, and leave a nasty dent in the lamellar, another bruise to add to the collection - and yet she gave as good as she got, whirling and hacking, a force of nature unleashed upon the field of war. Beezel would leave himself exposed for a second too long, and Mirren would be in there, cutting, kicking, biting, and punching at every chink in the armor, every exposed bit of skin.

An opening presented itself - Mirren didn't know if it was by sheer luck, carelessness on her opponent's part, or perhaps there was some god smiling down on her - but part of the Hell Knight's armor was loosening, Around his heel, she could see the straps on his armor had come loose - it was a golden opportunity if ever there was one.

With speed rivaling her inhuman opponent, she lunged forward, sword at the ready as the cruel edge sped forward, driving into his exposed tendon with a sickening sound of metal parting flesh, a thrill went through her - blood! Real blood, at last. She dug in further, trying to cut as much as possible.

The Hell Knight had managed to dodge or parry most of Mirren's blows up to that point, scoring and scratching her armor with his trident, inflicting many minor wounds and hits, while avoiding her sword as much as possible. But then she had cut into his heel and his howl of pain echoed through the battle ground. It became a low chuckle as Beezel snarled at her. She saw in that moment that his eyes were the bright orange of flame. His next words he spat at her, "Thank you." Gendry was beyond shocked, and all the others were as quiet as the grave.

It was then when Mella Florent, the Red Priestess, broke her silence and flayed, her louds loud for everyone to hear. "No, that cannot be! Not that magic!" She muttered.

His blood boiled around the steel of her sword and he twisted his trident in his hands, the shaft snapping out at Mirren's chest with a thunderous crunch. Her breastplate was cracked, dented and she was sent flying through the air several paces away in a heap. Ribs had been broken for a certainty, and there might have been even more damage that she could not ascertain. The sellsword felt blood bubble up from her mouth as she lay on the ground.

The Hell Knight cursed again, slipping a hand to his belt and retrieving a noxious material, some manner of black poultice that he irritably wrapped on his tendon, tightening the armor strap with obvious pain, "It has been some time since any has made me bleed. Congratulations. And thank you."

He leaned on the trident for a moment, getting his bearings and watching the sellsword on the ground, "Stay down Sand. Without that armor, you'd be dead already. Yield. Now. Or I will rip your head off with my bare hands. Yield ." He collected himself, stood. He favored his other leg slightly, his movements were a shade more rigid. But he could obviously still fight. The men in the army kept cheering Mirren on, desperately urging her to fight on.

Mirren staggered to her feet, breathing heavily, but very much still able to fight. "Are you offering, or wishing?" She grimaced, coughing - this fight needed to end, soon, before more permanent damage was incurred. "Because I don't think you got the message - I'm eating whipped cream off a whore's tits by the end of the week, yielding doesn't involve that."

Twirling her sword in hand once more, she took a deep breath, wincing, but straightening once more. "You fight well, though, tell you what - yield now, and we'll send two whores to take care of you afterwards. We can go up to three, but then I'd have to sacrifice some myself."

"And of armor - where would you be without that infernal aid of yours? Here I am, matching you blow for blow with naught but mundane steel, and mundane muscle - is this all your Gods can give you? Something to make you fight on a level playing field with some sellsword bastard?" She shook her head, "Really, who's the one who should be scared?"

Beezel shook his head, "Mortal arrogance. It is charming at times, but now very grating. You make a mistake to think you are anywhere on the same field as I, o Mirren Sand. Your insolence will be remembered. No more chances for you. Once I am done with you, it is your father next. I will make him beg for death. For I have no need to cry out for gods for help."

"I am one." He flipped his arm and threw the trident full on at Mirren, his most savage throw yet, aimed right in the center of her stomach. Dickon winced, certain that the trident would bury itself in her stomach.

Mirren gritted her teeth, and dove to the side, the trident whizzing past her with malevolent speed - she wished to any gods that would listen that she had ignored Beezel's inane rules, and brought her bow from the start. And yet... she jumped to her feet again, perhaps a little slower than before, but still very much ready to fight. "Mortal arrogance, is it?" She called, restraining the urge to laugh, "From the man who calls himself a god!" She narrowed her eyes, turning her sword in her wrist again - the blade would soon taste more of his blood, she would make sure of that.

"I've had enough of your words." While his trident flew through the air, he had retrieved another weapon. Now a whip was held in his hands, one that looked as if it was woven from condensed sinew with its crimson hue, and it snapped through the air, wrapping itself around Mirren's neck and pulling. He jerked the whip with an almost negligent motion, choking her and dragging her towards him while he pulled another cruelly carved knife from his belt, "Perhaps I should cut out your tongue first." Gendry bound his fists in impotent rage as he watched the demonic knight drag Mirren through the sand, the cheers of the men dying as they watched.

Thinking quickly, Mirren brought up her own blade, pressing the wicked keen edge against the whip and sawing against with with an energy fueled by newfound anger and desperation. After a few moments, she severed the material, tearing it away from her neck. However, instead of retreating as she had before, she charged, driving her full armored bulk into the man, aiming a thrust with her sword at his neck as she drew her own dagger.

Beezel dropped the whip and reversed the dagger in his grip. It would have been impossible for any man, yet he managed to block her blow with the dagger. He twisted at the other heel and met her charge, locking the sword in front of his face. One gauntleted fist came flying forward at the side of the blade and the steel shattered into jagged pieces. Beezel slashed out with his dagger, the blade scoring her chainmailed neck but not piercing, instead ripping open the rings then the steel of her helm and leaving a long bleeding gash across her face. He punched her straight in the jaw, doubtlessly knocking out a tooth, with his hand and stepped back, drawing another dagger with that same fist. During the whole exchange, each side had been shouting and cursing, urging both of their fighters to pound the other to pieces.

He had long since stopped underestimating Mirren and watched her warily, getting into position with the two black knives, "Oh if I wasn't going to kill you, I could have taken you as a concubine. I can only imagine what kind of children you would have borne for me. Perhaps I will take you anyway, and kill you after. The child and I can have a bonding experience."

Mirren raised an eyebrow, despite everything, she managed to grunt out, "Remind me never to visit one of your family picnics." She grimaced, pain coursing through her entire body, and yet she stood fast, bringing her knee into his groin yet again, and throwing herself into a full on bear grip, biting at any exposed skin on the man. Blood ran into her eyes, half blinding her, but she paid no heed - all that existed for her was this fight, all she lived for was to kill the man in front of her. She growled, a nearly inhuman sound that would have sounded at home coming from her own demonic opponent's throat, slamming open the visor of his helmet and bringing down a helmeted head once, then twice. She jabbed an armored gauntlet into his eyes, and held on for dear life against her monstrous opponent.

Beezel twisted to protect his infernal loins, likely annoyed at the repeating tactic, and grunted as she threw herself at him. He shouted as she headbutted him and poked at his orange eyes, and he screamed, a sound that deafened even the onlooking nobles. With a roar of rage, he stabbed out with one dagger, burying the tip of the blade into the meat and stabbing several times in impatient and furious bloodlust, while he slashed and stabbed at her back. With one savage move, he left one dagger pierced into her leg and used the free arm to wrench one of Mirren's arms from him. Then he grabbed the wrist and twisted at the hip, his monstrous strength allowing him to slam Mirren into the ground. He planted his black boot on her chest and applied pressure. With a jerk, armor and all, the arm he held snapped.

Then he leaned down and pressed the knife in her leg as far as it would go, kicking Mirren several times in the stomach, sparing no effort. With the other dagger, he stabbed the hand holding her dagger, "Now stay there for a moment." He limped for a few steps before collecting himself with some effort, walking to retrieve his trident with no great amount of hurry. The shouts and cheers of the Vultures on the battlements had been a constant hum all the while, as the royalists looked on, certain of Mirren's defeat and death. Gendry looked on.

Mirren howled, pain searing through every fibre of her being. Nowhere didn't hurt, one arm hung useless, dislocated at least - her right arm, still clutching the dagger, bled profusely, her grip was weakened - but her armor had saved her hand from any true permanent damage.

Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, letting out a stream of curses and grunts of pain as she hobbled after Beezel. "Get back here, dammit!" She bellowed, stumbling across the shattered remnants of his own shield, grabbing it from the ground and hurling it at him - once more, either luck, or the late blessing of some higher being intervened, and the splintered hunk of iron and wood smashed into the back of Beezel's head.

Beezel stopped in his tracks, his head knocking forward and he roared as he turned, ripped the trident from the ground and threw it right through the same leg that had already been stabbed. The prongs went through the meat of the calf and Mirren went down. Beezel was on her in an instant, pounding with feet and fists at every square inch of flesh he could reach. He ripped off the plating, grabbing one of his knives and slicing as much as he could. The chainmail did not give entirely, but now there was as much bloody gashes as rings. The whole time he shouted in rage and bloodrust and predatory satisfaction. All the nobles could do was watch while the Vultures cheered.

"You could have joined us, and lived in the glory of the true Kings of Dorne. But you betrayed your people, and you will suffer a traitor's fate for it. Your entrails will feed the vultures, your bones will feed the wolves, your blood will be drunk to the last drop, and I'll mince up the rest for myself after I send the head to Sunspear and your father. With the mark of a traitor."

He ripped off the rest of the helm, tore off his gauntlet to reveal a hand that was not the fair skin she had seen an hour ago, instead it was grey, like ash. He touched the hand to the gash on her face and the wound burned as if a brand had been pushed into it. Beezel laughed as she screamed. And then the laugh was in her mind, reaching into the deepest parts of her self. Even from his seat, Gendry felt the laughter press against his own mind and he shouted in pain at the infernal presence that he only felt. He couldn't imagine what was going on in Mirren's mind.

"What do you fear most, Mirren Sand? What do you fear losing? Not your life, obviously. But all mortals fear. It is endemic to your race. I wish to know what you fear. Before I take your mind entirely." She felt a presence drive into her mind then, digging through her emotions and memories, her soul, all the while burning with mad laughter and snarling pleasure, the scent of burning flesh and brimstone accompanying them.

Mirren screamed, instinctively lashing out, with her mind, with her body, with everything she could muster. Essos had exposed her to magics that many in Westeros could scarce comprehend - this was something else. Something uniquely torturous and horrible.

She kicked out, the power of pure terror, pain, and desperation fueling her, and Beezel broke contact, stumbling for just a moment. He looked at her with burning eyes, empty of anything even resembling human emotion. He reached a hand toward her again.

Mirren gasped, scrambling to her feet, frenzied and wild - for the first time, she had the strength and speed, manic energy pushing her beyond the limits of normal humanity - seizing her dagger, she rushed forward as fast as she could, almost falling upon her opponent - before he could mount a defense, before he could bring that monstrous, inhuman strength to bear once more, she drove her dagger into his eye, and the brain behind it. Again and again, the sickening squelch of flesh parting before steel filled the air. Beezel didn't scream, his hand wrenching around her throat and tightening. His one eye locked with hers as she stabbed him, and she felt the air leave her throat, the darkness pressing on her. All the while, she felt fire, smelled brimestone. And heard his voice though his lips didn't move.

"We're going to have so much fun together Mirren." And right before the life would have left her entirely, Ser Beezel Dryland, the Hell Knight, Prince of the Hellgate Hall, brother to the Vulture King, dropped to the ground with a thud of finality.

She stood for a moment, holding the bloody dagger. A second later, she collapsed, unconscious. As she did, a voice whispered her to sleep.

Gendry kicked his horse into motion, the steed flying to the battleground as he dismounted his horse and checked Mirren. He stripped the rest of her armor off of her. She was a bloody mess. And yet she was somehow alive. Hanging on by a thread, but alive. And she wouldn't be alive for long if she didn't get help immediately.

He watched in horror as some of the wounds started to blacken and a putrid smell arose, "By the gods." Gendry turned his head and shouted to one of his knights who rode up, picking her up easily and placing her on the horse, "Get her to the sorcerers! Now! Some foul magic is infecting these wounds!"

The man kicked off without further delay. Gendry turned and watched as the Vulture Knights rode forward. They dismounted and regarded Beezel, their expressions difficult to examine behind the masks. Gendry snarled, his hammer in one hand as he grabbed the lead knight by the collar, "That was no fair duel! That man employed magic! He was inhuman!"

The Vulture calmly replied, "No agreement was made that it would not be so. The Hell Prince was well within his rights."

Gendry slammed the man to the ground, "Rights. I ought to crack your skull right here."

"And yet you made an agreement."

He spat, "I did. You have an hour to get your men to throw down their arms and open the gates of the castle. Or I will pull that castle down around your ears."

"We will abide by our Prince's word. We simply ask that you allow us to retrieve his body. Preparations must be made."

Gendry snarled, "We're not savages. Take the Hell Knight and go. Leave his infernal weapon. It belongs to Mirren Sand."

"If she lives." With that the Vultures took the prone form of Ser Beezel and departed back to the Skull.

Gendry called for a squire to retrieve the trident. The man gingerly picked it up, wrapping it in a cloth before leaving. The knight called out to his officers, "Lady Brienne, wait one hour. If they don't come out, tear the castle down and damn the rest." Brienne nodded.

"The rest of you, to your stations. Squire, send a raven to Jon. Tell him we took the Skull." As Gendry mounted his horse, he saw one of their giant vultures take wing from the keep and fly off into the distance, likely to inform the Vulture King of what happened. He watched it go, and a sense of immeasurable dread filled him.

---------

Merrell had watched the entire fight, without saying a word. He had contemplated it with his reins as the duel went on. "A woman, huh." He said, ponderous, as he breathed deep. The spectacle of these last years had brought memories of the War for Spring. And not the most pleasant ones.

"Mella, get any priest that knows how to counter that kind of poison down there, quickly!" He yelled as he dismounted, and ran towards the downed combatant, trying to help her to carry her to safety."We can't have this person die here, not after the service she has done to the Reach!". He paused, eyeing the woman. Normally she would be brazenly replying to his quips, but she was staring wide eyed. She had been like this a while. "Mella!"

"No, they can't be. They couldn't pull a corpse from the crypts and use the kiss of Life on them so they may live again... such a thing..." She mumbled, before snapping hurredly and surprisingly obeying Merrell without a word.

Garlan only watched from his horseback mount. horrified at the sight. This was the most fucked up thing he'd probably seen so far, and he'd seen many a fucked up thing. He felt guilt, certainly, he felt horror inside him. He didn't doubt her ability, she went toe to toe like a hero, one that could fight and hold her own. And she had won. Just.

Nobody could have won that, he mused to himself. Not once that beast's true nature was shown. Gendry would have been far too brutal and underestimating, and slipped up. He would have done the same, and been dead by the end of it all too. So would anyone. That was not honourable. That was devastating. But she had survived. And yet was laying unconcious, not dead yet wounded and hurt. Whatever he knew he was paying her, he made a mental note to ask Gendry to triple it, now. And find her a new suit of armour. And a fucking estate in the Reach. Not that money would matter. He stayed back, knowing he couldn't heal those wounds, that was in the hands of the other healers that were rushing to her. Somehow, he knew his faith had been right in her, but this wasn't exactly what he expected, not like this. Whatever the hell was going on, her fate was in the balance. But he had to keep his head. Keep his mind. And stay focussed on the tactical matter at hand.

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

Garlan rode to Gendry's side, looking on.
"Like we've said said. This is not a Knightly fight, none of this is." Garlan mused, rather unsympathetically, a litle hardened in his voice in that he wasn't exactly feeling triumphant either, watching the vulture fly, as he shook his head.

"They just played us and bought time. The Vulture King knows our entire capacity for war, from our armies to our best individuals...that was not a simple combat, that was a ruse. And wherever he is, he'll know to double his defenses unless we stand on his neck. My best scout and our best fighter is lying there wounded, all for just one castle. That man she fought, fuck even knows, is going to maybe live...that wasn't human and what isn't human can be made alive again, from past experiences. They're going to unleash hell upon us if we don't fight smarter. This was meant to tell us that we are mere dumb, stupid mortals who are toying with the deepest hell of the Seven's animals. Send that raven and give Jon the good news. It'll be a lie and you know full well we need more than just this to win a war against these fucking hellspawn. We need something better...or we are fucked, Gendry." Garlan added, sighing.

"I'm running out of ideas. That mercenary was my best one there, and I don't think I'll get a chance to use that idea again, not in this campaign. The only one I can think of is to strike at the Hellgate Hall with all we have, before they have a chance to respond with all the shock and awe we can throw at them, or to prepare ourselves for a long siege of the other baileys in the mountains and get hacked away, platoon by platoon, while we do it. We go all in, or not."

Gendry and Garlan were the only two left, the others having long left. The Storm Bull grit his teeth and said, "You're right. That single combat was just a play. We'll have to watch those prisoners attentively. Some of them may be creatures or sorcerers themselves. And Beezel... I don't think that's the last we've seen of the Hell Knight. I'm not even sure if Mirren truly killed him the first time. You saw how he moved even with a knife in the eye. He had been toying with her for most of the fight, before the end. Nine out of ten champions we could've chosen would have fallen for it. And be definitely dead instead of probably going to die."

He cursed and continued, "We took the Spine, I expect to hear word of the Vulture's Roost and it's fall soon. We hold the advantage for the moment, but that could very well change. A second raven, with a coded message, is being sent to the King and the rest of the Small Council, informing them of the true extent of the campaign. It wouldn't do to let anyone else, even on our side, intercept the truth."

Gendry looked off the side of the mountain at the army that rested at it's base, at the mountain range surrounding them, "I'll call for reinforcements from the rest of the Stormlander Houses and the Dornishmen. As much as can be spared while maintaining defenses against the Stepstones. Enough to replace our losses and more. But you're right. If we don't press this advantage, they will wittle at us and poke us like every other army that has marched into these mountains. Patrols and isolated companies as well as supply trains have been constantly ambushed. Night raids on garrisons. Light casaulties so far, a minor annoyance, but I suspect the intensity of these attacks will increase in the wake of this. They were feeling us out. Now they know about us. And who knows what monsters will fight with them? Luckily for the moment, we have disrupted their supply network and coordination of their attacks, but that will not last long if we don't act."

The Master of War pondered the possible horrors for a moment before shaking his head, "Tonight we'll call a war council in the Skull. Someone will be left in charge to oversee the fortress and the other castles on this mountain, with this position, we hold the key to this mountain range. I expect confirmation of the Vulture's Roost and it's fall by then. We press the assault while we have the chance. Leave a few thousand men here to hold the mountain and every man we can spare will march on Hellgate Hall. Our intelligence agents finally managed to peace together a location from the prisoners and letters we captured. We plan the attack tonight, we leave at first light. Ready your men for a hard march and the hardest fight of their lives Garlan."

Garlan nodded, looking at the castle.
"The only thing that came of this is perhaps the men are not spent, but ready still to fight. I imagine they're sick of going uphill." Garlan chuckled, as he nodded, looking at the imposing fortress ahead.
"I can call upon more Reachmen to anchor themselves into the valleys, where they can replenish troop numbers and continue to keep the vice held tight. We will weather like the rock here if we don't seize the chance to press it home. I am glad you're hearing me out, Gendry. Perhaps not a voice you wanted to hear when we have our victory, but I never said I'd be that...but we need to keep our heads screwed on and the strategic aim in view. As for our men, they will be ready to go at your command. We can end this here in haste, rather than continue in complacent and slow warfare, as they may think we intend to continue. Their traps won't work if we're ahead of them." Garlan added, as he adjusted his seat, looking on at the fortress, wiping the dust from his face.

"I'm going to need somebody else to do Mirren's reconaissance, Gendry. It was invaluable in finding those tunnels. And possibly, it needs to be as soon as tonight to tell that we aren't about to throw ourselves into a world of pain. Does anyone from your party ring a bell?"

Gendry nodded, "Aye, one of Yronwoods has a young knight who knows the range well. He can take up Mirren's duties and scout the tunnels and passes, lead the irregulars to counter the Vulture guerillas. As for Mirren, she will need to stay here, on the mountain as the healers tend to her. She will be in no shape to fight for quite some time, if she does recover. Once she's strong enough, we can have her moved somewhere more comfortable."

"And we need to find something that will help us counter the power the Vultures wield. Our sorcers can do for theirs. Our men can handle their beasts. But they have vast power besides. Power that perhaps even a dragon-rider cannot overcome by himself. Garlan, what I am about to tell you is never to be repeated to anyone else. Until now it is a secret that has been known to nobody outside of the King, Queen, the royal twins, and the Small Council. It is a secret that could be worth your life. Can I count on your discretion?"

"I swear it by the Seven, Gendry. On my honour be it." Garlan replied, looking at Gendry, nodding.
"You have my word."

"You probably know that magic has been returning to the world for decades now. There are sorcerers, others with abilities. Special bloodlines and powers of all varities and intensities. But we have been looking for individuals who are close to gods in their strength. Vast power they command. Ser Beezel may have been one of them, if a weak one in comparison. Some mages are strong enough to be considered such, but the only one on our side is entangled in other matters. Lord Brandon is another... but troubles in the North have occupied his attention. The Night's King was one, and you remember what it was like to fight him. We need to find more. You know the tales of Garth Greenhand and Durran Godsgrief, I presume?"

"Two men of the Reach and Stormlands. Mystical figures, almost. House Tyrell assumes direct linage from Garth Greenhand himself....the effect of greenhand blood is minimal, if it exists at all. It has some in Alerie and Ellion, perhaps at most, their tolerances to flowers is one. House Baratheon has some linage from the Durrandons, so I assume the same. The stories are blurred....after all, they are mostly tales we tell to our children." Garlan replied, listening carefully.

Gendry nodded, "Well the tales are more than that. Brandon looked back into the ancient past. The tales were true. Those men and their children were demigods, Garlan. Beings of massive power. Somewhere between mortal and immortal. Many of the noble houses of Westeros can trace their lineage back to one legendary figure or another. When Durran Godsgrief mated with Elenei, daughter of the sea and wind, his firstborn son had the strength of a hundred men. Other abilities manifested. They waned over the years, as they did in every noble house descended from a similar figure, but some trace remains."

"Now the godlings have returned again. Brandon saw it. Daenyra saw it. Children of the gods and others with power like them walk among us. Perhaps one out of a thousand men or women have an ability. And one out of a thousand of them have powers that are more potent. And only a fraction of those have the power they speak of in legends and myths. But they exist. And we need them now, to fight the Vulture King and others like him. I have no doubt that the Vulture King is such an individual, not with what I just witnessed. Well, now we need to find another to counter him. We need to find our own godling, Garlan. Or else, we might all be marching to our death."

"Seven Hells, Mirren won't be able to hold her shit together when she finds out she killed someone of that nature." Garlan shook his head, as he looked on, blank in thought, before he turned back to Gendry.

"Whoever they are, if they are Gardeners, or Durrandons, they pose a threat to our rule. All of our Kingdoms. If they were to aquire that power over the common folk, that would be the end of the Seven Kingdoms. Finding them and convincing them to fight with us will be difficult, Gendry. You're asking someone with blood from a figure stepped in history and folklore to fight for us...and what if they can't be bought?" Garlan added, a questioning thought, as he knew that it was worth raising.
"Perhaps, you are right. We can find them, and bring them as a counter. Find a trace stronger than what we see already."

Gendry shook his head, "None must know. Not even Mirren. If this knowledge circulates among the kingdom, every noble will be searching among their family or their subjects, looking for a living weapon. It'll become an arms race that could threaten the stability of the kingdom, even the world. Brandon and Daenyra have not been able to identify any of these individuals yet. We've found dozens of somewhat more managable power, but not the kind of earth-shattering power we saw the Night's King wield."

"I don't think the Gardeners or Durrandons have found one either. But we suspect they know of them as well. That's why we believe they have allied with the Vulture King. Rest assured, they want one as much as we do. An individual that could stand up to a full-grown dragon and its rider by themselves, that's the kind of strength we're talking about. And we need to do everything we can to secure them for the kingdom."

Gendry continued, "Your brother is privy to this, and he's probably been combing the Reach, searching for another seed of Garth Greenhand. Jon has been searching in the North. And I have been searching the Stormlands. I believe we found a bead on one as well. I will send agents to find him, and they'll doubtless come into conflict with Durrandon agents in doing so. Perhaps with time, Harmen Dondarrion's powers will grow. But we have no time to wait for that. We need one now. But we march on despite that, or else we risk losing everything we fought to win. I'm telling you know so you know the kind of power we face, and the kind of power we might need to face it. You're my top general, and you need your eyes open on this. But nothing else has changed. Do you understand?"

"Understood. This doesn't travel beyond us. So you have someone from the Stormlands, willing to fight? If you're saying there's people willing to fight dragons....Seven Hells, I'd call you mad before, but I know what I just saw. Perhaps we have reason to think that." Garlan asked, as he nodded.
"It won't change the fact of what we saw. It adds up to what happened in King's Landing. It's far more extraordinary than can be fathomed. An unimaginable reality." Garlan added, listening to Gendry attentively.

Gendry nodded, "That's why once, we're done here, you can help your brother keep up the search in the Reach. If the best works out, the godling in the Stormlands can come to our side. Otherwise, we have to hope that Aegon and Viserion with those mages will be enough to fight the Vulture King. Our men will fight with the monsters and foot soldiers, but without a godling, the campaign rests on Viserion, the Red Mages, the Alchemists, the Water Mages, and the Lightning Lord. We must plan accordingly."

Garlan nodded, shaking his head a little, knowing Gendry was confident, but it was literally playing with fire. What he was suggesting was incredibly dangerous, and even his mind, beyond a military one, knew that it had enormous repercussions for every house in the Realm, the fundemental reshasping of power as anyone knew it.
"If the worst, you have a mortal with the power of a God running around your Kingdom. That would be incredibly dangerous, if the commoners even hear, that's it. Rule has been enforced by pure will and the established status quo...not Godlings or those who are born as mortals above our station. We will need to plan accordingly, but that is a risky move. I will need to look in the Reach when this war ends, but no doubt, it could be territory that is unsettling." The Reachman added, as he knew that this had a serious implication, even if it didn't change much of the battleplan.

"Now you know the stakes. We can't count of the Stormling to help us. But I will need you in the fight if we are to survive without that help. Prepare your men to fight a man with as much devilish power as the King of the Others himself. Abilities we can't even guess the full extent of. Are you ready for this?"

"Against the unknown....seems like I might as well see how this story ends now we're this far. They'll be ready, and we'll fuck them up. For the Seven Kingdoms, and for all our losses. We'll get that bastard.." Garlan chuckled, putting his hand out to meet Gendry's, a firm hand raised to grip.

Gendry nodded, a grim smile on his face, "Aye. You and I. We took down one Lord of Darkness, we can do it again. Together." He gripped Garlan's hand and the two watched as the gates of the Skull opened, Brienne's vanguard entering the castle to take the garrison into custory and the castle into their posession. The sun began to set that day, and hopefully, their bloody campaign would soon be over.

Sept of Baelor(with @MrDidact)

One step after the other, the figure eyed the rich cobblestones of the sept. Draped in muted clothes, she continued to meander among the sea of people, in her lips a whisper of a prayer. The Great Sept of Baelor awaited before her subdued stare, as she joined the crowds of her peers. Septas entered and exited all the time, the hour having been chosen as the most bustling of the day.

Lysara reigned in her emotions and steeled her face. It was a bit worrisome, and scary. But she had faced worse. At least the people in the Sept werent all hungry for her maidenhead, like the mercenaries she had been used to deal in the past. She acted sheepishly, as she moved aside her now dirty brown hair, braided in a simple ugly braid.

Underneath her robes, she clutched the forgery of the letter of her transfer. She was now Mya, aa stowaway they had found in Gulltown, and that she had joined the Faith to escape a life out of the streets after a certain enlightened encounter. She also had made sure to study Gulltown and its places before being questioned, in order to make her claim credible should it be challenged.

One step after the other, she was in. She sheepishly made herself unconspicious and wandered about, always making sure that she followed the most of the Septas as well as the lowest ranked ones. She needed to find the Great Septa at any rate, and present the letter, hoping she would be fooled. But in the meantime, she could just try and listen if there were any gossip to be found...

The septas, septons, and clergymen of all ranks and orders mingled with Warrior's Sons and various pilgrims. Most of the talk was about spiritual matters, but there was a fair bit of gossip of the wars and goings on across the realm, and especially about the supposed bastard prince that Jonquil was carrying in her belly. Eventually, Lysara laid eyes on the Superior Septa, one of the Most Devout. She was a matronly woman, with long white robes and a silvery coronal. She was attended by a train of lesser septas and accompanying Sons. It was she who Lysara would report to.

"Most Holy Mother, I- " Lysara began to talk, trying to hide her accent to some extent, her letter outextended. And there come forth the art of subterfuge and misdirection. For lies to go through, they had to have a base of reality sometimes... and a healthy dose of distraction. So Lysara gritted her teeth mentally as she made it so she stepped in her own tunic in eagerness, going face first against the cobblestones as she tried to hand out the letter, letting a little yelp while doing so."-transfer." She mumbled, reeling from a bit of genuine pain.

The Warrior Sons stepped forward to shield the Septa, but then helped Lysara up to her feet. The Septa looked her over in concern, making sure was alright before taking the letter and reading it, "I see. It seems everything is in order. We do in fact have a recent opening. You can be settled in the communal quarters with the rest of your holy sisters. You can start with one of the Superiors for your assignment tomorrow. The Seven go with you, child." She nodded and they walked off once more. Lysara was in.

"Seven be praised." Lysara said weakly, as she rubbed her chest. Landing headfirst in her cleavage had hurt like hell, but it had been worth it. She betted that her fellow Septas had already flagged her as clumsy, and as such, somewhat harmless. She got to her feet, so far so good, and cleaned her clothes. The communal quarters were next, as she eyed her surroundings. Now where the quarters were? She begun to walk in the direction that seemed to be the most likely, always keeping an ear for her surroundings.

A gaggle of hooded Septas passed her, all seeming to head to rest for midday, and Lysara followed them. Soon they were in the more private wing of the Grand Sept, several septas were assigned to individual cots that were seperated by partitions. Lysara also had a room mate. A ginger haired stripling with freckles a plenty who greeted her with a smile, "Hello. I'm Eliza. Pleased to meet you."

Lysara eyed the girl. Well, she looked rather...plain. But it was to be expected. Slowly but surely, she would have to slip in her role. She shifted back and forth in her bed, answering in the best smile she could muster. "Hi, I am Mya! Nice to meet you too! These cots are comfy!" She added as a random afterthought. Probably for the best to downplay her own intelligence. The moment of truth awaited, as she pulled her hood back, trying to see if her ability to put makeup had made a convincing job of making her much less comely.

Eliza grinned, "Not particularly, but definitely better than my parent's home. From Flea Bottom to the Grand Sept is a great transformation. What about you, where are you from? You don't look like a Kingslander. Country girl? First time in the city?"

"I don't know where I am from. Me momma was not even from the city i was born, and me dad is a big unknown because me momma was one of these ladies of the night, which someone in Gulltown paid of a sum for." Lysara parroted, her expression feigning sadness. "But yes, Kings' Landing is big... betcha the King who landed had a big butt." Lysara added as a random afterthought.

Eliza laughed, "It's just an expression Mya. But wouldn't you know where you lived?" She pointed out with a smile. Obviously she thought Mya was something of a lackwit, "Well to be sure, King Tommen landed, but he was only a boy. So what brings you to our modest little sept?"

"Uuhh...I lived in Gulltown, trying to scrounge whatever i could in the docks. Until ser whatwashisface i cannot remember put me in the sept." Lysara said, her finger pointing at her chin as she moved her feet. "But, well, they told me i could be useful in here yes." She frowned, faking strain as if she was trying to remember. "They said I could make men feel better?"

Eliza arched an eyebrow, "You are in the right place right? You weren't meant to serve at Chataya's were you?" She laughed and said, "There are many ways to do that, salving the spirit is one of them. That's what we do here, in addition to tending their hurts. You'll probably start with the hospital in the morning, if you're a healer."

"Yes, that was it! I had some talent in healing, so they told me." Lysara said as she tilted her head. "They also told me i could sing well. But that doesn't help with hurts." She added, rocking back and forth. "...uh, whose cot was this?" she asked, trying to wiggle herself as if feeling uncomfortable.

Eliza shrugged her shoulder, "Singing can be helpful. They might have you work with children, or other patients that bandages wouldn't help." She looked at the cot with some sadness, "That was Jonquil's. She was a Septa here, one of our best, before she had to leave." Eliza didn't elaborate.

"Jonquil... uuh. Well, i felt like if there was something pointy in the cot. It must be my imagination...." Lysara. "Did I say something stupid again?" She prompted at eyeing the face of Eliza, picking up the sadness in her stare. "I'm sorry." She added, awkwardly shifting her stare, or pretending to.

Eliza smiled softly, "Like I said, these aren't royal cots. Most like some defect." She shook her head and said, "It was nothing you said, I was just thinking about her. Jonquil was my friend. We started here at the same time, though she was at the Dragonstone sept first. She was my best friend actually. But life happens, eh?"

"Best friend? Oh I get it." Lysara said, surprised. She was genuinely surprised, for once. Finding herself in the spot where Jonquil had slept before was a genuine success, for once, but she couldn't drop her guard down, after all the favorable winds of the investigation could change, and fast. "I wonder if she will be alright. Because she made a baby with a prince. If it was Florian it would be a dreamtale." Lysara rambled. This train of thought of this Mya persona was somewhat...really intoxicating, for once.

Eliza smiled again, "Florian the Fool and Jonquil eh? Well, I think it was some fool. Some boy, Jonquil had met. These last past months she was practically walking on the air, which was a change because she is usually so folorn. She was in love. Broke her vows, and now someone is using that to their advantage. That's what I think. If you ask me, someone high in court spread the story and pressured the High Septon to go along with it. Most like Jonquil's lover lies in bowls of brown now." Eliza's expression had soured and she lay back on her bed.

"So, she met a boy and stopped being grumpy?" Lysara questioned as she took notice of Eliza's expression before undoing her ugly braid, and grabbing a meagre comb, began combing her dyed hair. "Well, I suppose thats what it makes it a vow, if it wasnt that hard to keep. Boys are nice. Sometimes. When they are not trying to rob you of your food or kicking you in the gut cos you are weak." She sighed. "What makes you think it wasnt the dreamy prince? Cause that is mean, to fool people like that." She said, feigning a sulk.

Eliza sighed, "I suppose in a manner of speaking. She was always a mellow kind of girl, smiled very little," She rolled her eyes at Mya's story about boys, "Yes, sometimes. When they're not trying to push you to the ground. But it's hard for most septas, especially girls our age, to stick by it. I just didn't think Jonquil would be one of them."

"A prince? I doubt it. She may have been highborn, and sure she may have met the Prince at Dragonstone, but where would she have met a Prince when she was here? Aemon hardly could sneak in with his silver hair could he? Not outside of prayer and ceremonies. The royals stick out like sore thumbs whenever they come here. All it is is that sometimes Jonquil is part of the group that gives blessings to the royal family. Aemon may sound possible to most folks, but I sincerely doubt it."

"Mmm, you never know Eliza. I once thought old Renas would never get a bethroded, and she did! Three days before she died of old age, she met an old man! But I will try my best to be your best new friend!" Mya said, finishing combing her hair before laying down in her cot staring at the ceiling. Well, with some dyes like me, maybe you could sneak in.

Eliza laughed, "Well, I suppose we'll see as long as you don't meet your own fool. I better get going, I have duties to attend to. Rest up, Mya, you have a long day tomorrow. It was good to meet you." She smiled at her and left, leaving her among the rest of the idly relaxing septas.

Lysara eyed the girl as she waved her farewell with her hand, continuing to stare at the ceiling. Well, now that was interesting. Should I send a message to Arya and Jahaerys about this? On second thought, maybe it is too risky now. Aahh, if only I had some of the strange powers people run around these times. She said, as she fumbled around. Maybe there was some kind of hidden diary in the cot? It would be a likely place to have one.

There was nearly nothing in the cot or around it, Jonquil or someone else likely cleaning almost everything out. All that she could find were some spare clothes that had been left behind and a copy of the Seven Pointed Star, which on first glance seemed to be quite standard.

"Well at the least it won't hurt to read on the Faith." She mumbled to herself, and tried to use the Seven Pointed Star copy to refresh her notes about the Faith. A mind needed books to stay sharp, and someone pretending to be from the Faith needed to study the book at heart.

I will wait a couple of days more, and then I will try to smuggle a letter out. She added as an afterthought, as she kept reading.

For several pages the tome seemed just like an average holy book, but soon Lysara started to notice certain things. Jonquil was prone to scribbling notes in the margins, circling or underlining certain portions of the text, mostly all notes on her reading and commentary. It was clear that Jonquil was well-read, thoughtful, and more skeptical of literal readings of the text than one might think a Septa capable of. On some writings put down by septons and holy men, she challenged their findings and even outright disagreed. Several passages about maintaining faith and the prevelance of good over wickedness were circled, as well as musings on marriage and bastardy.

Finally, after skimming more than halfway through, Lysara came upon a thin, neatly folded note. Upon opening it, Lysara would find it read, "To my dear Jonquil. Whatever it takes, I will save you from your prison. Fool that I am. I swear it by all the gods. Have faith in me, and stay strong. Your Florian."

Lysara almost blanched, as she picked the letter. This clue... this could be really helpful to the conundrum. But she would need the help of King's landing. Handwriting could identify a person, or disprove their identity. This could help the Crown greatly. But first things were first. She neatly folded the note back in its place, as she closed the book. "At the very least, he was cultured and polytheistic." She mused to herself, as she thought hard, and made a mental note about the scribbles. She had to send the note to Arya, but she would need to do it with the utmost care. She would have to wait for now... She thought to herself as she hid the book once again.

King's Landing(with @MrDidact and @kingkonrad)

The journey finally met its end, and Alester let the reins of his new horse loose for a brief second. The gargantuan sprawl of King's Landing, crowned by the Red Keep, was laid before his eyes. He had been a few times in the city, but it never failed to impress, the seat of power of the Targayens in the Seven Kingdoms. He uttered a small prayer to the Seven, thanking his luck to arrive at the city.

After all that happened in the reach, the travel had been somewhat restless, his paranoia acting up after the ambush. If the so-called Gardener spoke true, he was the brother of the Gardener pretender, and great wrath could be invoked in a second scuffle. Alester was courageous and he knew his way with the sword... but he knew better than to desire such heated battles. He patted his dented armor, as he shifted on the seat. It had been a closer call than he had cared to admit.

"King's Landing, ser Owen." He said to his prisoner, whom in deference, he had tried to treat him as a noble hostage, being the commander of the soldiers he had captured. His eyes met with him.

"Get a good look, It will be probably be a good silver lining upon the situation." He said, as he eyed the Goldcloaks and the other bannermen that had joined. He advanced slowly, trying to figure out, whom would greet him and his comitive, as the surviving merchants were making plans to sell their wares. He rustled his cape somewhat. It had been a bit torn since the battle but it was still serviceable. A good fox pelt. Like the ones he had carefully packed as gifts for the newlyweds, just in case.

Ser Owen stared at the city in open awe, watching as one of the dragons wheeled above it with a roar, "I've never seen the city or palace myself. But I have heard the tales. It is magnificent. If only I could visit it under better circumstances."

At the gates to the city, they saw a delegation approach. In the lead were several knights and lords in armor with their banners flying. Alester could see the Mormont Bear, the black ship and onion of House Seaworth, and the bldody spear of House Slynt. Leading the procession were Ser Jorah Mormont, Ser Devan Seaworth, and Lord Commander Morros Slynt of the Gold Cloaks. Once the party arrived, it was the middle-aged Ser Jorah who spoke, "Lord Alester, well met. We were expecting you. The Queen and the King are awaiting you in the throne room with some of the Councillors."

Jorah glanced at Owen, "I suppose this is the prisoner, the Knight Inquisitor spoke of? We can take him into our custody if you like. Then we can go on to the Red Keep, after finding lodgings for your men."

"Well met, sers." He addressed curtly, before he looked at ser Owen. "Well, ser Owen. I come to regret we met in these circumstances, but you shall be in good hands. These people are from reputable houses." He addressed his prisoner. "Ser Owen ...Gardener, as he calls himself is a man of honor and has surrendered. He has not tried to escape either. Please see to his commodities as a man of his...chivalry should be." He said without skipping a beat. "As for the lodgings, I thank you. Please see to it. I shall also meet the Queen immediately. I will not make a queen wait for a comfy bed." He addressed Ser Jorah.

Ser Jorah nodded and inclined his head to Morros, who had his men take Ser Owen into custody. The Gardener knight looked back, with a nod and a small humorous smile, "An honor to make your acquantice my lord. Mayhaps you will put in a good word for me to their graces." They left and Ser Jorah said, "Fear not, he will be treated well. There is a tower room in the Red Keep for him, in deferrence to his birth and station. He will be settled there before the monarchs call upon him. Follow me, to the throne room."

The rest of the group rode forward through the streets of King's Landing, smallfolk pointing out the battle-scarred Fox Lord as he rode by. They ascended Aegon's High Hill and were let into the Red Keep, Devan Seaworth peeling off to see to the lodging of the Florent men. The rest dismounted and Jorah and his men escorted Alester to the doors of the throne room. Armed men were in ample evidence, the guard being tripled since the attack on the Keep, men with the Stark and Targaryen livery rubbing shoulders with Gold Cloaks and men of several other houses.

Ser Jorah led the way into the throne room and a Knight Herald pounded his scepter. Several nobles were in the galley but it was a quiet day with no petitions. Seated on the thrones were the King and Queen, looking as regal and impressive as ever. The Herald said, "Lord Alester Florent, Lord of Brightwater Keep!"

Jorah bowed to the regents and bent the knee, motioning for Alester to do the same. King Jon was the one to speak. He didn't smile or frown and looked on calmly, "Lord Alester, welcome to the city. We missed you at the wedding, but you have my condolences for the death of your father. I also would like to thank you for the men you have committed to the action in the Red Mountains. Your loyalty is appreciated, my lord."

Queen Daenerys said, "We understand you come to us with tidings? How goes the campaign against these Gardener upstarts?"

Willas was in the hall, of course, the raven regarding the capture was of worth and importance to him, and he wanted to see it for himself, though he knew the prisoner would not be brought in as of yet. Alerie was not present, given she was away attending to other matters, but Willas was. Alester Florent, the man who had captured Ser Owen Gardener, the apparent. Merlin had placed his trust well, Willas guessed. He watched on, standing in the background, at the front of the nobles, looking on as he let Alester speak for himself. He would have a word with the Lord soon. After all, he would want to discuss matters his son's new ally.

Alester, almost inmediately bent his knee, crossing an arm over his chest, like a knight would, his head lowered. "Your graces." He saluted courteously. "I thank you for such kind words, given the state of affairs." He added, before pulling a parcel that he had been carrying all the way to the throne room, presenting them before the Royals. "Please accept these fox capes as late wedding gift for the Prince and his spouse. I had poachers and tanners running after foxes for months to produce the best quality." He said without much fanfare, indicating the gift to be delivered.

He cleared his throat, as he prepared to explain himself. "Yes, your grace. I bid good tidings. Thanks to the invaluable support of ser Arthur Glennmore and Lord Merlin Tyrell, we have executed a plan to draw the pretenders out and capture Ser Owen Gardener, whom he claims is the brother to the pretender himself. We have also managed to seize quite a few score of his men, in no small thanks to the effectiveness of their plan." He elaborated, deliberatedly playing down the parts where the plan had gone to hell and he had to cut through the Gardener's men until they had surrendered. Glory was enticing, but Alester knew that discretion was also wise. Specially after the so called Gardener mouthing off that rumours had spread about his sword arm.

Jon nodded, while Daenerys smiled to herself, pleased, the King said, "Well done, my lord. I must commend Ser Arthur and our friend Willas' son when the time comes, but you we can give our thanks to immediately. You have the hospitality of the Red Keep so long as you desire it, and if you wish it, I would be honored to foster any of the Florent children at the palace. I thank you on my son's behalf as well."

Daenerys then said, "This Ser Owen? Did he tell you anything about the Gardeners? Is there anything you can tell us about him that may be helpful? We will question him ourselves in due time, but any information or insight you could offer would be most helpful."

Jon nodded, "Indeed, even the smallest detail may be important. Then we can call the man himself in here."

Alester pondered for a moment, before. "Your grace, may I speak frankly?" He said to the Queen."The lad Is either an excellent mummer, or he truly believes he is a Gardener knight. He does look the part. He has also showed me signs that these pretenders have more connections in the Reach than I would have thought. He knew details about me that I tried to keep rather...discrete." He said, without missing a heartbeat. "Other than that he likes to flatter me, no doubt still hoping he may sway me. He is also skilled. Very skilled with the blade. This dent in the armor? His fault."

They both pondered that deeply with Daenerys saying, "We must find out the veracity of this blood claim, for it may be very ill if Gardeners really do live again. And if you speak of connections... then they may have spies and sympathizers throughout the Reach and the Kingdom."

Jon stroked his chin, "A skilled sword? I can see that. These pretenders have been raiding for months now, and this is the first time we've managed to capture so many alive. Tell me, do you believe him to be a schemer or a man of chivalry? In your opinion?"

"Both are not exclusive, your grace. But I do believe he is the latter type, although one can be never sure about pretenders who raid caravans." Alester pondered, letting his thoughts out. "It strikes me as being used for some purpose, rather than using others."

Jon nodded, "Very well, I suppose we shall see for ourselves. I suspect we will have to speak with him on multiple occasions, but we can get started now."

Daenerys gestured to a few guards and moments later, Ser Owen was brought in. He was out of armor, in a plain doublet with no device but was also unchained, several guards escorting him.

He stood before the throne and King Jon said, "So, you are the man who claims to be a Gardener?"

The young knight nodded and said, "It is not just a claim. It is the truth. The blood of Garth Greenhand and the Gardener Kings flows in my veins. Just as it does in Lord Alester's and Lord Willas' there." Owen made eye contact with Willas, and there was an intense look before Daenerys said, "The last Gardener king died with all of his brothers, uncles, cousins, sons, nephews, grandsons, and all of his other kin on the Field of Fire."

Owen's face became stiff and he visibly calmed and then said, "Yes, your ancestor broke the line. But our bloodline continued, and still runs strongly today, and now our name has risen once more."

Jon asked, "So you are a nobleman with a blood tie to House Gardener most like. You look much like a Tyrell of Highgarden."

Owen smiled slightly, "Rather the Tyrells much resemble the Gardeners of Highgarden. They are descended from the female line after all."

Jon waved a hand, "Be that as it may. You are as much a Gardener in blood as any other Reach Lord. Your family plotted this little ascencion by taking on a prestigious name. The question is which family. What was your given name, Ser?"

Owen shook his head, "I was not born with the name Gardener, that is true. But I earned it. And I will not betray our secrets, for I owe loyalty to my brother and my house as the rightful lords of Highgarden."

Daenerys steppled her fingers, "You would do well to talk Ser Owen. Your life will be spared and you can live in comfort if you do. The easy way. Do not make us question you more sternly."

Owen bowed his head, "Alas, I cannot. I keep my silence."

Jon said, "Very well. Guards, take him back to his room. We shall begin to question him more closely soon."

The Gold Cloaks came to place their hands on Ser Owen and march him away. Owen shared a glance with Alester and nodded his head while he delivered another significant look to Willas.

Daenerys shook her head and Jon frowned before waving a hand to the Herald. He pounded his staff and the guardsmen escorted the rest of the onlookers out so the only ones in the Throne Room were the monarchs, their advisors, their guards, and Lord Alester.

Jon turned to Willas, "What was your read on the situation, my lord? What were your thoughts, Lord Alester?"

Alester shook his head slightly, as he eyed Ser Owen part way with him. "It is as I thought, he is being used. Someone planted in his head the thoughts of glory and honor and he is being used to provoke the Reach Houses into action. These Gardeners seems to be rebels borrowing the Green Hand's sigil rather than a legitimate house." He pondered. "I wonder if his brother of his has abandoned him already." He paused. "Maybe he was a Flowers, or a descendant of one, since what he told me betrayed that he had not seen much world outside the Reach."

"...he certainly had not seen King's Landing before. Had he been of a house of certain repute he would have come to the wedding and thus would never make that one comment." He pondered.

Willas stared into Owen's eyes, as the Gardener did into his. He didn't say anything. He would have his words later. Willas was a kind, gregarious sort, he was a good man, most of all. Nobody would really be able to put much against him that he was a crooked politician who wanted chaos. He was a Lord Paramount from a Kingdom who for all looks and purposes, kept the books black and wasn't a complete asshole to people. He was friendly, and whilst not always a socialite, he was kind and well-meaning and mannered, someone to trust and know would do the best. But if he had to come to words with Owen, he would, in fact, he wantd to. He would do whatever it took to protect his Kingdom. He would be kind, friendly to some extent. But if Garlan, Ellion or Alerie were willing and even heard about this remotely, they'd have a far worse way with him. He almost didn't want that to happen, given the fact that he was a Reachman, and most likely from wat he saw, was potentially a bastard. Not an easy situation to ascertain all the facts in, none the less, but he had to give reply to Jon.

He walked out from the crowd, the Lord Tyrell walking with little limp, but still held an oak stick that proped his stance up.
"I can't say I know all the facts." Willas merely stated as he knew he had to, before turning to Jon, walking closer.
"But if I did need to amke a presumption, I'd say he was a Reachman that has blood of a Greenhand. While the Reach may have many pretty people....he seems to have blood of a noble house. Not a lowborn imposter." Lord Willas added, as he looked at Alester.

"As you say, he did a number on your plate, Lord Alester. So he certainly has his talents. That doesn't come by nature alone, albeit it helps. He had training. He had support. King Jon, if you will allow me to be frank in saying this." Willas was critical, analytical when he had to be, as he adjusted his stance, shaking his head.

"If this is an attempt to undermine the rule of the Reach, this isn't going to work. Him, or his brother....House Tyrell is the steward and rulers of a land that the Gardeners let burn under the Targaryen rule...quite literally. They let Reachmen and Westermen die in the Field of Fire, and the Gardener Kings and Princes were burnt alive for their mistakes....to fight a trio of dragons, of all things. Not for the good of any Reachman, they chose to die for their supposed honour rather than resist an invader that would burn every white castle in the lands of the Reach to conquer it....and all the peoples in it, peasant or knight, merchant or septon. Hardly a noble thing to do, it's bloody foolish and selfish. And we have ruled the lands with success...the kind that breeds stability and peace in our time, creating trade and a force for good that stands by the Iron Throne in times good and bad. House Tyrell will not capitulate a rule which has lasted three centuries and worked with House Targaryen as one of it's largest military forces and breadbaskets, not against to taunt it and die trying. Whatever threat he is, my house and order shall not lose it's hold against a set of Kings who failed in their task to protect the Kingdom of the Reach. May they exist, but find something better to do than ruling." Willas was a statesman in how he spoke sometimes the leaking of Olenna Tyrell's barbs leaking into his voice, though he was clearly beyond just quips- he spoke with a scholarly and learnered experience to do the right thing.

"I will want to speak with Ser Owen, alone if I may my King. Perhaps he will not part the tongue, but I wish to converse with him a little more. Lord Alester, you made a remarkable effort. I will speak with you in private as well. My son's trust in you was well founded, and I imagine we have much to discuss." Willas added, as he awaited both their responses.

Daenerys replied, "There are many noblemen who live out their lives without seeing the capital. That knight was a young man, so it is not unbelievable. He may be a bastard or a younger born son, or from a house with no renown beyond a name. It is too early to tell, but I have my own suspicions about who this man may be. It is clear however, that he is part of a larger plot. The Durrandons, Reynes, and Fishers arising in other corners is no coincidence."

Jon nodded, "Indeed. He seemed to have noble blood. Was trained in combat. Knew courtly manners. No lowborn, certainly. We will support you Willas of course, but we must be watchful. It is clear that someone has been providing political support and gold for their cause. And the Tyrells have ruled well for a long time, we all know this. But there will always be dissension. There are numerous nobles who think the Tyrells are upjumped stewards, as unfair and fallacious as that is. With the economic strain, uprisings, and monster attacks, this is a good oppurtunity for ambitious upstarts. We must be careful."

Daenerys continued, "The King and I will question the man, along with my good sisters. But we will allow you a private meeting Willas. But there will be guards right outside his door at all times. We need him alive. I caution you to not act rashly."

Jon smirked, "Not that we would seriously expect you to act rashly, my lord."

Willas shook his head, nodding afterwards.
"No such thing shall happen, on my honour. He fought honourably and is a man of the Reach nonetheless. It may be more for my interest and understanding, if you will. This is a direct threat to my Kingdom, after all. It'd be interesting to know his mindset." He replied honestly, as he knew that Jon and Daenerys had a point, not that he would have done so anyway. Willas was restrained, and knew nothing would come from anger after all.

"If this is a larger plot, it may be possible someting interconnects them. A transport of money, or supplies. They cannot operate alone, if they want to have a maximum destabilizing effect." Willas suggested to the two, knowing the economics a little behind a revolutionary fight, as he stood at the front of the crowd in front of the King.

"Mayhaps, my lord and graces. But above transfer of resources there will be messages rounding around, that I honestly think. There is only three.... ways it could be achieved. Ravenry, couriers...or...well...sorcery." Alester coughed as he talked forth."If we knew which, it could be intercepted. I hope ser Owen can shed light on that matter when you question him." He stod there, shifting his weight in his still kneeling position.

Jon inclined his head, "Indeed. We are pursuing multiple angles at the moment. We have received... troubling reports from the Red Mountains. If the theory that these rebels are working together is correct, then sorcerery very well may be their method of communication. I'll have the court sorcerers look into whether communications can be intercepted or tracked."

Daenerys regarded both men and said, "The bottom line is that we will need to pursue all avenues of questioning with Ser Owen. Willas you will have your chance soon. Lord Alester, I'll have Ser Jorah find you suitable accomodations. There is something we needs must discuss with Lord Willas. Pray join us for supper." Jon nodded at Alester in farewell and Jorah stepped up to see the Lord Florent out.

Jon turned to Willas and held out a raven scroll, "A report from Ser Gendry. They have taken the Spine, and the Red Mountains are almost entirely now in our control. But there's more. Read it."

Willas took the scroll, reading the scroll. What was on it, seemed rather graphic. The worst case scenario. Willas knew this couldn't be good, not for the morale of the men or the overall supply.
"Seven hells." Willas rarely took occasion to swear, as he read through, slowly offering his hand to pass it back to King Jon.
"Garlan wrote to me a few days ago, and it wasn't exactly pleasant reading back then. This is worse. They want more soldiers, far more than our replenishing stock. And something more than just what I know. Something I feel you understand better. It can be done with the coffers, but some Kingdoms are going to take a hit far more than others. If I may speak with you in private, of course I can illustrate this point a little further."

Jon nodded, rising from the throne with Daenerys following suit, "Let's discuss this in the small council chambers. I can have Sansa summoned, along with Lady Asha and Ser Jorah to discuss this. All of the other members of the council are presently engaged. You're Warden of the South, Willas, so we must talk further on this." Jon gave instructions to the royal steward and the three of them left to the council chambers. Lady Sansa, Lady Asha, and Ser Jorah soon followed suit.

Daenerys quickly repeated the situation to them all and Sansa was the first to speak, turning to Willas, "What do you propose we do? The army we have sent has suffered a few thousand casaulties, but the vast majority of the host is still intact. The Dornish and Stormlanders are keeping men in reserve in case of any attack from the Stepstones, but do you believe we should commit more men as Gendry asks?"

Willas followed close, looking across at the rest, nodding. In the absence of Tyrion, Willas knew that didn't make him the Hand. But he was the Master of Coin, and well, money spoke with a fair voice in these matters. He knew the situation well, because he was doing the accounting for it, after all.

"We have to. We have no choice. We do that, Gendry and my brother are as good as dead. The Vulture King is only going to take candence in victory." Willas added, as he shook his head.
"But that means we need to start uttilizing resources from other parts of the Kingdoms. Soldiers, officers and men with extraordinary talents that simply may not be found among Southrons. And to do that would mean of thinking this war as a smarter one, not a brute force. We can't rush them, or simply drive them out of their hovels. I'm going to suggest we consider sending a contingent of men of the Riverlands and Westerlands southward, as a new supply of soldiers. Perhaps they may not see it as their fight, that they have their own conflicts. Realistically in a time of war like this where we are fighting on two fronts, that's a big ask for our finances, and for them. But it's a fairer one than grinding more men and putting three particular Kingdoms at risk. Kingdoms that could be underequipped to fight further wars, financially and in terms of men. That doesn't bode well for anyone....so perhaps it is time to ask a fair share for a mutual benefit to everyone."

"I am not the Hand, that job is for Tyrion. But if the money is allowed to speak, as I will say, I will suggest that we don't strangle the Southern Kingdoms as hard if it is a war that may ultimately be connected to the rest of our troubles somewhat, and that intertwines everyone. All these rebels, all of this.....I know little of the occult but it seems to be a problem we all share. By taking this action, it'll keep the coffers stable, without hitting any particular Kingdoms in particular. I know that reserves in Dorne, the Stormlands and Reach must be kept, in order to preserve the peace and a backline aganist any Vulture escapees. Which leaves little other choice anyway. So that seems to be my suggestion, my Queen." Willas added, the tact of a politician with some thought put into his words, as he looked to Daenerys once more, awaiting a response.

Daenerys said, "Indeed. It is hard to deny that all of these matters are connected in at least some way, even if it is just oppurtunits taking advantage of struggle. But I do not know if it would be wise to send men away from the West and Riverlands. Neither the Vale. They are all facing their own issues. However, I can put out a call for hedge knights and free riders to join the campaign. That should give us enough men to replace who was lost without drawing more needed swords away from their homes."

Jon shook his head and said, "We can do so. But I have some six thousand Gold Cloaks right here in the city. It's time to put them to use. I'll leave a thousand here as a defense. But I will take five thousand and levies from the other Crownlander houses and we shall march with Gendry. I'll fly out on Rhaegal within the week."

Willas didn't entirely know how to react to the King, knowing he had a valid point, but he had to slow himself, consider a little more, even if it was uncomfortable. Jon was a brave and honourable King, he was probably one of the bravest men that Willas had ever had the chance to spend time with, given his history. But sometimes, even Willas knew Jon acted out of empathy, not out of logic or sound thought. He had the heart of a dragon, but it was best not to have a mind of one either. Willas only knew that was his job- to at least make him consider the implications somewhat, and he spoke without hesitation. He knew the King trusted him, it had been a number of years after all, and they were all past some formalities.

"It'll leave the city wide open. I'm no military mind, but even I can see that would leave King's Landing ripe for attack, and a thousand men may not be enough to protect it. Nor dragons, if there are some wilder beasts out there. The Gold Cloaks are not intended as an army. They're protectors of our capital, of the people of King's Landing. Not an fighting force to sit on a dusty mountainside, if I am frank." Willas said, looking to Jon, shaking his head, walking around the table.

"Another dragon would help, however. But it is a risk you'd pose, my King. They need more support, and the sooner the better. I understand the Gold Cloaks may want to be proven. Let a volunteer force go, but no significant numbers, it may not help immediately but it may help us keep our capital defended. I know it may not be an opinion that will be popular, but it may be a more sound approach, when we do not know the enemy we do not know." Lord Tyrell wisely mused, before looking at Daenerys.

"The Hedge Knights and free riders would be useful, my Queen. They would provide a good number of forces, but not enough in organization and skill. They need officers to lead them, to fight as units not glory-seeking men of fortune. But even rallying a call from a few minor Houses in those regions would be enough."

Sansa said, "Willas may be right. You have the fleets protecting the Bay, but what if there's another attack. A larger one? We may need every sword we can get in that case."

Asha shook her head, standing, "I say it's the right thing to do. Your men aren't the same gold cloaks of two decades past. You built them up you trained them. They're as professional as any other army now, more even, then some levy regiment. With you to lead them, that will be more than enough support."

Jorah said, "I agree that we must leave some men to defend the city, in case of the worst. But I think no matter what army we put behind the King, they will be well served with him as a leader. If it's officers we need, I will go with the force."

Daenerys had been silent up to now and looked at Jon for a moment before saying, "I understand why you feel you must go Jon. I know you only too well. But what am I to do while you go off campaigning? If what Gendry says is true, you and Jorah are headed into great peril."

Jon replied to them all, "I appreciate all your concerns. But it must be done. I can take four thousand, the other two will remain here. With the royal fleets guarding the bay, there is no chance of an invasion. I will also call in fleets from the Vale to reinforce us until the other ships return home. As for monsters... I'll have Lady Lothson send one of her creations here in case. And I'll call on Duskendale, Stokeworth, Rosby, Hayford, and Bywater to camp their levies around the city while we're gone. The men from Massey's Hook should be enough reinforcement coupled with the cloaks. And I will go. We faced the Night King and one. With Aegon, there's no threat, no matter how great, that should be able to overcome us."

He looked into Daenerys' eyes, "I leave the city in capable hands. With Daenyra and Jahaerys aiding you, there is nothing to fear. I have sat on my laurels long enough and let enough men die for us. The men need to know that we fight for them as well. That is my decison and the decison is final. The banners will be called and once the men are assembled, we will march. Inform Gendry when the moment comes."

Willas nodded, knowing he'd done his best. He'd at least kept 2,000 men back, and part of himself knew that while it was the right thing to do, it would be something that came with risk. A smart one, one that he knew Lady Sansa understood. It was strange almost, to find an ally in her. Willas and Sansa got on well, he remembered how he used to be close with her when Margaery never talked. They never would have taken it further, but Willas was a good friend to her, and he imagined something simular of her, even through her own experiences of the world that had changed her profoundly. Despite that, Willas knew what Jon wanted was not his responsiblity to change. The choice was made. They would action it.

"Understood, my King." Willas replied in response to Jon, as he rested his stance on one of the chairs, thinking for a moment.
"There are men from Tumbleton who could join them, if an attack did occur and an auxilary was required. You would have swords nearby. But it wouldn't be immediate. So there is that too." Willas mused, his thought almost internal rather than external about the provisions for defenses, as he looked up to Jon, a wry smile on his face.
"It's like the old days all over again. I haven't seen you ride into war for a while on Rhaegal's saddle for a long time." Willas seemed warming, not as clinical but a little more flexible to what Jon was thinking, willing to back him up almost.
"You will certainly stir the men, and that can only help."

Jon nodded, "There are men from Harrenhal that could come as well. Worry not on the city Willas. They already tried it once and they know there's too much pressure on them to do it again. They are strong but they have nowhere near the same force projection as we do."

"I hope that the sight of their King will put steel back in them and make them fight even harder. Cause we will need their morale. The campaign in the Islands is making good headway. Ser Daemon's reports are encouraging and my sons seem to be doing quite well. But we need this rebellion in the Mountains put down. Then we can commit on the Islands and turn back to the rebels in our borders."

"We still have a long way to go my lords and ladies. That's it for now, I thank you all for your advice. Jorah, begin preparing the men. Willas, you can send word to our forces in the Mountains. Asha, I will need you to prepare the ships to ferry them. Sansa, you can begin preliminary questioning of the captive. The Queen and I must needs speak alone."

Willas nodded, as the Council began to disperse, and knew he had his own task to set to. He would speak with Alester later, as well as Ser Owen. Two Reachmen who had proven very opposite in their capacity, as he headed towards the quarters of the Master of Coin, to set to work. Unlike Lord Baelish, Willas was not a scheming and conieving shit, he seemed to actually do administerative work. And whilst Alester had been taken to Sam for treatment for now, he had a few ravens to dispatch. Help was on the way it seemed, and whilst Willas did not sit comfortable with that fact, sometimes even he knew Jon had to be able to do stupid and ballsy things to prove why he was King of the Seven Kingdoms, and not the Night King.

-------

Alester nodded as he exerted an effort to stay on foot and bow himself out. A pang of pain ran through his shoulder, as he dug his fingers underneath the armor, staining red. "Shit." He muttered a curse as he advanced towards ser Jorah. "I might to have to impose in you, ser. I will need someone who can dress wounds in my quarters aswell." He gave a last glare at what they had to discuss as Willas cursed. "...tsk." He clicked. Probably the monsters. He thought to himself.

Jorah nodded and said, "I'll have the Grand Maester himself attend you in your chambers, he will be here shortly." Jorah showed him to an expansive and elegant suite of rooms. A light lunch of fruit, bread, sweets, chicken, and wine was there, recently placed. Jorah nodded to him and walked out, saying, "A servant will come to inform you when dinner is ready. In the meantime, you have free reign of the grounds. Good day, my lord."

The room had a clear view of the rest of the palace as well as the Blackwater Rush and the city. Drogon flew by, screeching before flying over the ocean.

Alester said not much more, focusing on getting out his dented armor with labored grunts, scattering the pieces in a nearby seat, making some noises. A laborious effort, being lone and wounded, but a necessary one. After some time, he was down to his leather undergarments, the bandages on his shoulder stained a bit of crimson. His bare torso betrayed that despite his tall and lanky figure, he was still as chiseled as any other knight in the peak of their fitness. He grimaced as he eyed the worn cloth. He had maybe pushed it a bit too far this time, but time was of essence and monarchs did not wait much. He slumped with a grunt, and begun to pour some wine to drink.

His eyes shifted across the room, the ominous screeching dragon awakening some sort of paranoia in him. He then reminded himself. With the Master of Whispers the Queen had, he wasn't sure himself if he was being watched or not. He did not have much to hide, anyway, as he waited for the help to come.

Grand Maester Samwell, white of hair with his famous spectacles entered the room and smiled, "Ah Lord Florent, you seem to have taken some wounds. But worry not I am here to help." The rotund maester entered the room and began expertly and deftly changing Alester's bandages, "Nothing seriously life-threatening, my lord. But I would caution you to not strain yourself for quite some time. How much pain do you feel?"

"Grand Maester, It is an honor to meet you, as ...disparate are the circumstances are." Alester did a small bow out of respect to the Maester. "I have heard of your exploits, grand maester. Both as wise man and as member of the Black." He paused. "Only the sting of the wound reopening. There is no tenderness nor anything that tells me that is festering." Alester replied honestly.

Sam smiled, "You do me much credit and I thank you. But truly all I did were read some words, write some words, and say some words all at the right times. It was Jon who saved the world. You may have read the book." He handed Alester a rag, "Now bite down, this may sting a tad." Sam began to clean the wound with boiled wine, disinfecting it as thoroughly and quickly as he could.

"I'll be fi-" Alester begun to talk, until his vocal folds failed to respond and devolved into a choked whimper."-nnngh." He nevertheless regained the composture quickly, as he reined himself back in quite remarkable. "You...also killed a White Walker."

Sam smiled apologetically and handed Alester a cup of wine after he finished, "Indeed I did, and I am quite happy to say that every other encounter I had with a Walker went much better, with far better swords around me. I see you've been reading up on Sam the Slayer?"

He started to knit Alester's wound closed with a sterilized needle while speaking, "You took a risk, taking on this mission. Almost paid dearly for it. If I may ask, what motivated you to accept? There are no shortage of valiant Reach knights who could have taken up the gage."

"I weighted against it heavily, but to be fair, I saw all the other options as far less palatable. I felt like... it was going to be pretty sour, no matter how well laid out the plan was. I felt like if I wanted to make a difference I would need to wrench victory with my very own hands and stake my strong points." He finished honestly. "Plus truth to be told, I am a rather questioned lord, after all... we were Stannis' host in the North."

Sam nodded in understanding as he started to apply a moist poultice to the wound, "You remind me of Jon in some ways, always needing to do things himself, to do them right and not risk others. And some may question your devotion, my lord, but I met Stannis. A hard man. But not a bad man. He tried to do the right thing and save Westeros, we will remember him for that. And you, you have proven your loyalty today."

"I only seek to do good for my men and the Reach, Grand Master, to the utmost of my ability." Alester said. "I shall confide something onto you. Before his death, my father lamented that I was one of the most talented Florents in generations, yet all I inherited was a broken homestead. I have...thus...much to do left in this world before I can rest. I can always do better. Better administration, better skill at arms. Better knowledge. An almost insurmountable weight, which I have shouldered upon birth." Alester said. "I feel sometimes like that man, Stannis." He confessed.

Sam smiled at Alester, "I understand your feelings all too well, my lord. You are not alone. Quite a few other knights and lords have had to work to bring their houses back from ruin. Daenerys and Jon included. I've watched them rebuild with force of will." He began to wrap a silken bandage around the wound, "Stannis was much the same. Unlike Stannis however, I believe you could do better for yourself. Take solace in friendship and family. Realize that problems and burdens can be shared. That you need not fret away your youth and talent all to focus on a singular goal, to the detriment of everything else."

"That is my advice Lord Alester. Take some enjoyment in life, and try to open your heart to other things besides your duty. Else you risk eroding away your soul, your life. Now, how does that feel? All better?"

"Well if it didn't feel better you would be a floozy and not the Grand Maester." Alester smirked. "...I wonder if i could ask of you to be able to gaze at the Royal Libraries. Since I am in King's Landing and probably with this wound I cannot spar with the King's Guard, I wanted to at least one of the things to do in this city before my chance vanishes." Alester added.

Sam nodded enthusiastically, "Of course. As a guest of the king you are entirely within your rights to do so. King Jon has sponsored the building of a great library tower, you may attend there. If you desire any tomes from my own personal supply, you need only ask as well. For the moment, I recommend you not strain yourself and eat ample food as well as plenty of rest. You should be back to swinging swords within a week or two."

"I appreciate the advice." Alester added. "Come to think of it I need to repair my armor aswell. That thing has a huge dent still." He added. "I mean not to impose, but do you know of blacksmiths in the city?" He added before taking a bit of food and more wine.

Sam stood and said, "The castle blacksmith is quite talented. If you want more ostentautious work done, there are several in the city I can direct you to on the street or steel. But the Red Keep's smith should be sufficient to see to your needs. Is there anything else you desire, my lord?"

"Peace." He said in a flat tone, before chortling in an amused grin. "But that won't come easy nor cheap. I do not mind not having ornaments as long as it is functional." Alester replied. "I am grateful for your help, Grand Maester."

Samwell bowed his head, "I do what I can, for it is my duty. I wish you a good day, my lord. I should see you at dinner." The Maester bowed once more and walked out, whistling a tune.

---------

Willas found Alester in time, after being able to get his Tyrell guard to find a few of the Florent soldiers that Alester had been with in the capital. He owed the Lord a conversation, at the least he thought to himself. It was a formidable way to prove himself, and Willas let ability prove, as he had seen with Mirren before.

Knocking on the door, he waited for Alester, hoping this was the room at the least.

"Do come in." He said as he eyed the panorama that the window of his lodgings offered of King's landing. A soothing scenery worthy of a picture, with moving dragons included. It helped alleviate somewhat the need for peace of mind he sometimes desperatedly craven. "oh, sorry, my lord. I did not know it was you." He quickly got up as Willas entered.

Willas chuckled, still using his walking cane, a gentle thud against the stone floor as he shut the door behind him.
"Lord Alester, I remember when you were a mere boy. Crikey. It's good to see you again. I am sorry to hear about your father. He was a good man." Willas said, a characteristic smile on his face, as he looked out the window for a moment, leaning on his cane.
"So, Merlin told me about what you volunteered for. Sounds like you got a little more than you just bargained for. Sounds like we both did." He added wisely, knowing that Alester would probably get his angle, as he waited a response.

"I thank you for your kind wors, m'lord. He is much missed." He said, as he somberly nodded. "That is indeed true. However, I must say I got exactly what I thought I would get. Or rather, what I feared I would get." He added. "I had a strong hunch it would get much sourer. Because everyone was pretty optimistic about it." He stated dryly. "That brief moment when all goes to plan, and yet it falls apart. That was how it felt."

"Well, nothing ever goes to plan. I deal with that frequently." Willas mused, as he stood by Alester's side, looking out at the window then back at the Fox once more.
"But you took control of the situation and handled it well. Did what you had to do, and captured a man that concerns us both. No harm will come to him, but he can't stay in King's Landing forever. To get him, you risked your own self, for a cause greater than yourself. A truly noble thing to do. So, that brings that around to what I may do for you, Lord Alester."

"You didn't come to my service merely because you want to serve me as your Lord, and you as a liege under me, that is customary by just sitting in a castle and paying taxes where due, with your land and your legalities mostly your concern. Knighthood of course, is a path far greater than that. And you seem to be driven for something. I've lived long enough to get the weigh of a man. What is it you want, Alester?" Willas added, as he stood in front once more, a grin on his face.

"You're clearly capable as a politiican, or a fighter. Both are in need. So you have my ear."

"A legacy." Alester said ponderously. "Of course, upstaging Tyrells like every Florent has always amused me a bit, but... I have to be realistic. You cannot harbor that kind of grudge. It poison's one's soul and that of your descendants. Look what the whole feud did to my grandfather. Sacrificed to a fire witch." He pondered. "Instead, I think I shall close the blood matter with blood, more elegantly. I seek marriage with a Tyrell, and the Florents shall not bother you for a long time, long perhaps to simply forsake the claim." He shrugged. "That way I can dedicate resources to make Brightwater keep stand for a long time as an splendid House of the Reach, and see to their people."

He eyed the Master of Coin in the end. "I have ambition, as you have guessed. But I am far from a rash fool."

Willas nodded, thinking for a moment.
"I don't hold a grudge, for what my father or brother did. That's why I am thinking many things that perhaps are inconceviable to some in the Reach at this very moment. The wounds of the past, like yours, can't be left open forever. Someone's going to have to seal them, even if it hurts." Willas replied, as he rested for a moment.
"I am glad to hear of your thoughts. There are others who would pretend who also did well to abstain their claims. Peake, Tarly, Goldengrove, Hightower. And for your effort, I shall consider it done. My youngest, Alys, is a young girl, so a marriage immediately is out of the question. I understand that may be in your priority right now, but you would if I was to ask it of your youngest sister. When she is older, a couple of years, shall we say, you may be wed, for now, a betrothal should seal your content." Willas said, as he looked at him.

"My brother will not enjoy hearing that news. He gave the Keep back to House Florent on mine, and the Crown's orders because we considered it the right thing to do for a Great House. The right thing to do is never the most pleasant, even if it is just that. You have returned that favour to us, and with Owen Gardener and your record, I would imagine it would be a sensible thing for both of us to agree upon. It gives you what you look for, and a Tyrell in Brightwater Keep no less."

"Alys Tyrell. A lovely rose of your garden. I would rather have her than Alerie." He mused. Truth to be told he didn't want to be in the same room as Alerie. And for the time being, as Ellion or Garlan. "I shall treat her well, as she is a precious flower of peace. I pray that I last a couple of years, hurling myself in walls of spears does me little good." He concluded. "Also, m'lord, among my underlings and people of my confidence, i am called Les. You may use it if you wish so, It saves time."

"She'll be your sister in law, Alester. Oh, and she's mostly harmless. She has her ways. Even I don't understand her, and I'm her father, for pete's sake." Willas added, chuckling as he sighed a little, taking a seat once more.

"As you say, m'lord." Alester let a small bumbling of comformance. Fathers were usually blind to the nastier traits of offspring. However, given their settlement, it was bound to work out, as long as he stuck to formality and kept her at least ouitside of his hearing. He paused. "You seem troubled, m'lord." He asked to Willas, although he probably knew the answer.

Willas chucked, shaking his head.
"When you're a cripple and you have to do the accountancy of Seven, if not now Nine Kingdoms with two wars on at the same time, you try not being troubled. That and my family is the one thing I'll care for more than any, Alester. One day, you'll have children. And realise just how difficult it is to let them find glory without getting themselves killed, let alone yourself." Willas mused ,as he took a large glass pourer, nodding to Alester to take a seat.
"You may as well stay and chat. Fancy some Arbor Gold?"

"A cup only, m'lord. I am sure the King and the Queen will offer a generous supper and I would rather not take leave of my senses while at it. Your offer is much appreciated." He said, as he sat where Willas indicated.

Willas nodded, pouring a cup as he poured one for himself, taking a sip.
"A meeting I'll have to go to as well. We're Reachmen. This stuff practically runs in our veins. Unless you're from House Fossway. Bunch of cider-drinking loons." Willas chuckled, hoping thta Alester would at least loosen to it, not that he was serious about it.
"So, how have you found the capital anyway? Must be a bit overwhelming, dealing with this amount of business so quickly in a new place."

"Half Manderly actually, m'lord." He said while tasting the wine in a careful sip. He thought about King's Landing. "I've been here before with my father, a long time ago. It seemed really overwhelming back then. Nowadays, It is still big, and it has dragons, but it is bearable. Plus it brings opportunities of finding more books than the ones at the Reach, business and politics." He paused. "If anything it is as if a huge bazaar of all trades opened before me, and I must be careful not to lose myself in wanting to do everything at once." He paused as he took another sip.

"It's easy to do it all when you're young. Try being an old bastard with a bad leg. I've seen much of it, experienced it." Willas replied, chuckling as he sipped a bit more of his own wine, looking out the window. His leg was a bit tempramental of late- a passing affliction, that came with probably putting too much pressure sometimes on it, just something that for at least two and a half decades had blighted him. And then it would pass, he imagined. Strange, that was the way it was.
"There's lots to do. The capital is good, but don't let it swallow you whole." Willas added, as he sipped a little further.
"Other than that, I imagine you'll have a part to play in affairs in the Reach for a time to come, Lord Alester."

"Colin seems to do fine as castellan." Alester deadpanned as he swirled his cup, eyeig the older Tyrell. "But I shall take your advice at heart. I still don't know how that man functions, even in good days, when he is not mouthing off Garlan Tyrell." He said as he eyed Willas. "I sincerely hope so, I believe there is much to be done." He paused.

Willas chuckled, as he sipped some more wine.
"He seems to function better than most people I've met." Willas added, as he finished the cup, taking his walking pole, and standing once more, clearing his throat.
"So, we may as well join the King and Queen for dinner then." The Tyrell Lord said, waiting on Alester to stand.

Alester finished his cup, and he let it thoughtfully, before raising from the table swiftly, and following after Willas. Supper was waiting. And monarchs as well. He missed the intimate meals at Brightwater, with only him, Colin and Irise, as well as a handful of servants who had enough trust to address him informally and offer him more food or crude tips on life.

Blackguard Bay
Ellion did not volunteer for the task that Aemon had suggested. It was all for a different reason, perhaps it was the reason he wasn't known as the best warrior of this whole campaign. The others had made a mark. Being the grey man was not his speciality, given he was usually clad in the shiniest, prettiest plate and his golden-brown eyes and characteristic good looks would usually rumble anyone. But over the campaign, he had clearly deteriorated his appearance, found the chaos of conflict to be excellent to cover his tracks. The shiny plate armour, the suit of armour he so beloved had gone home two weeks ago, to be placed back on the rack it would have rarely gathered dust on in Highgarden. A simpler plate and mail was all he had, and it looked like something a hedge knight would have worn, affording less protection and probably the same amount of movement, but it would work. His hair was almost black with a smell of sea salt and....pirate smells, his face dirtied from merely the blood and cold of conflict. He did still look dashing, but more as a rogue, not as a pretty Knight of some kind. The group were good, and no doubt they could have needed an extra pair of hands to help join in raising hell.

Rather, Ellion had something different set for him, from what Aemon had asked. Going ahead onto the island was not an easy move, it was risky as hell, but something that would give him a position at least to do some overwatch. Particularly, the task of cutting off the beacons on the rocky island's clifftops would be a task that would need completion, and didn't need a squad of men. It just needed one good swordsman to kill the crews, and leave the posts unmanned. After all, the ships could not be noticed. And this one beacon, if lit, would be the end of the suprise. Ellion's duty was to get in and stop the beacon being lit, when the ships would be visible in the rainy mist. And they were coming, fast.

And so here he was, on a small dinghy, rowing into shore. He looked like a smuggler, dirty and decrepit, but he would at least keep his cover for long enough. The cliffs were imposing in the rainy afternoon, as he felt the boat bottom out. Clambering out, Ellion Tyrell knew that while he had come to here expecting glory, he knew it was duty he had to maintain. And it would be a way of buying his friends some time, at least, as he dragged the boat ashore. It was deathly quiet, perhaps this cove hadn't been considered, he thought to himself, as he dragged it towards the cavern across the beach. Dragging a large sack out of the boat, he threw it over his shoulder, wiping his chin as he headed towards the staircase on the side of the cliff, the site remarkably unguarded. It felt like it should have been, and perhaps it was. Ellion knew chances were, he was being watched. And that was exactly what he counted on.

A voice called out from the top of the staircase, a man's, "Who goes there? Let me see your hands." Ellion saw a leather-clad cutthroat step into view with a sword at his belt and a torch in hand. He had the hand on the hilt of his weapon but hadn't drawn it yet.

Ellion raised them appropriately, looking up at the cutthroat step into view, as he shook his head. This was stupid, but Ellion guessed he might as well try this. He was always one for new experiences. Given he hadn't really stuck with anything, this was something different, he thought to himself, as he walked up the stairs, sack still over his back.

"Bloody hell. I end up bringing lobster, and this is what I get? You know Aurane is hunting anything that goes in and out of his ports." Ellion looked up, a grin on his face.
"Name's Arran, of Weeeping Tower." He didn't need to give a surname, aware he was some mere commoner, or at least, appeared to be.
"Am I going to have to give you some lobster, bribe you, or kill you? Because to be honest, I'm kinda feeling like if I have to do all three, it's going to be a real inconvenience to both of us. The former two together...well, that just makes option three more charming to me, doesn't it?" Ellion cackled, his grin still coming through as he walked up the staircase, straight in front of the cutthroat.

The man pursed his lips, "Smuggler eh? How'd you hear about this meeting, s'possed to be a secret. But let's see what you got, I do like me some lobster." The man allowed Ellion to step to the top and came closer, looking into the bag with his torch held high, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword.

"That's what I thought too. But people are really poor at keeping secrets these days. Can you keep one?" Ellion asked, as he drew the sack over, dropping it onto the floor. He opened it, and whilst it smelt of fish, it didn't reek so much.
"Have a look for yourself." Ellion let him take a peer, the rain spilling down the stony stairwell down to the beach.

The man smirked and said, "Aye, I can. Unless you get too much drink in me or put too many coins in my hand." He looked into the sack poking around to look for the reported lobster.

"Splendid. You'll be a good one to keep then." And with it, Ellion didn't go for his sword. No, he took the dagger at his hip, and shanked him low in the stomach, a dirty tactic but one that worked. The blade turned as he pushed upward, withdrawing it bloodily and messily. The man tried to scream as Ellion put his hand over his mouth, looking into his eyes.
"Seven Hells, you're one of those." Ellion added, as he slit his throat, his voice dying down completely as he did so. There was no honour in this. Ellion was normally a man who would have it, but right here and right now, the mission mattered. And cynically, he knew Garlan was right. That was the point.

Dragging his body to the stony bannister, he shoved him down the stairs, as his body lifelessly rolled down, like a ragdoll, off the staircase and into the sand with a quiet thud. Wiping the blood, he cursed, as he opened up the bag. Dragging out the lobster, he left it on the floor, using the sack to wipe away as much of the blood as he could. It wasn't pretty, but it had to be done, as he continued on his way.

The top of the staircase was an impressive vantage point indeed above the treeline, but Ellion knew he had to keep moving. After all, he was one of many guards, and it was a large staircase. Chances were, his body would be found quick. So Ellion had no time to sit around and wait. He had to get a move on, and from this point onward, get to work on the lighthouses. It would be an irritating effect, but it would buy Aemon and his group time. Time for him to figure out just how the fuck he was going to regroup, or find an overwatch to join them later on. Ellion had given it some thought, but at this point in time, was more concerned about survival.

The cliff was wooded, with several trees and quite a bit of undergrowth. In the distance, Ellion could see the improvised watch towers that the pirates had set up. One overlooked the ships in the bay and the bonfires on the beach below. Every now and then he could hear a duo of pirates walking by, not very attentively. Several archers could be seen on the tower, a massive pyre that was unlit in the middle. There was also a horn, and it was likely that one of the men had a spyglass, to watch for ships.

Ellion watched on, moving quietly through the undergrowth, observing the pirates and other cutthroat men that were lingering. observing. He had to consider his next move, knowing that if the horn was sounded, he was as good as dead. There were no archers to help, or anyone else. But there was few of them. Just enough to think they could take him. But few enough for Ellion to actually have. His talent with a blade wasn't cocky, but he knew that there was nobody remarkable. He merely had to have his mind about him, and needed to get this done.

Waiting in the hedges, he moved through the forest, picking a nice spot in which to hide. He heard the pair of pirates mumbling, as he tsked, the men turning. They walked over towards the hedge, the elevation just perfect and hiding Ellion very well. These were some seriously bored, hungry and underpaid men, Ellion thought to himself. And they were outside of the sight line of the archers. So if he was going to do this, now would be a good shot.

Ellion's skill with the dagger wasn't high, but he'd been bored on a ship. And understood the weighting of the small blade, playing with it. Ellion always took on board what others had said, especially Seran. Learning other weapons was a worthwhile function, and whilst he never saw himself a thrower of knives, it made sense to know how to use one. For this particular ask, he knew learning it would pay dividends. Perhaps it would be a skill he would keep, or not. He didn't know. This campaign had felt entirely different to anything he'd fought before, and taking this opportunity in it's own right felt like a rush, yet a part of the operation that someone or other would have to do. Waiting on the pirate to be in the right place, he stayed deathly quiet and still, before he gave a gentle but stern throw.

The blade flew into the first man's temple, as Ellion charged forward, aware he had to keep noise down even here. The noise of the blade entering the man's temple was silent, but his sword wouldn't be. So he had to pounce, and quickly. Ellion was fast on his feet, as he lept onto the other man from the hedge, pushing him onto the floor, as the pirate was quick. He punched Ellion hard, as he rolled him over, punching him hard in the face once more, before Ellion butted his head into the pirate's. Holding back his tongue, he took a hold of the man's throat, elbowing hard before dragging, panting a little as he felt the man kick out, punching, before lifelessly falling limp. This was not how he wanted that to happen.

But it was good enough, as Ellion had hidden the bodies, the rain washing the blood away fast, the forested watchpost now two men short. And that meant he had to be quicker again. The distant noise of dragons, and faraway thunder clattered, as he wiped the dirt and blood from his brow, feeling a warm trickle on his lip.

The pyre had been wet, but it was filled with napatha and oil, so it would burn like a bastard once lit. It would take one loose flame, and that was that. The archers would be difficult to kill, given they were likely fixed in place. The only alternative there was, Ellion mused, was to probably kill anyone else and run.

That was genuinely his best thought right there and then. It would have been helpful to bring a bowman along, but that would have made matters more difficult. And then he realised, there was something better.

Looking back at the bush, he saw the dead bodies, realising one of the men had, for purposes of keeping his head out of the wet, worn a full face helm. His plate looked simular, as Ellion knew this was even more retarded than his last idea. But it may have been the only way to make this work. The Scorpion King had used chaos as a weapon against the Loyalists, always unpredictable and unexpected. This was a chance to use the same weapon. If it seemed stupid, it was. But sometimes, stupid worked because these men were trained to look for an elite fighting force, dragons and the Royal Navy. Not a singularly ragged man with a sword and a terrible thought.

Ellion placed the helm over his head, shaking his head as he felt the disgust of wearing a dead man's attire. This was unbelievable. But he was going to do it. And this was going to be the only way it could work. He took the shield from the man's grasp, a rounded one-hander, and drew his sword, running out to the outpost, back on the main track, in full view. The archers turned, as he yelled.
"Shit, we have company!" Ellion yelled through the helm, as he ran towards the outpost, a couple of men coming out, swords drawn, looking on.

The man in the lead held out his hand and said, "What are you talking about? Where? We've seen nothing." He called up to the men on the towers and the archers shook their heads, not seeing anything in the horizon. For the moment, the loyalist ships were concealed. They began scanning the ocean and the cliff side, stringing their bows while the serjeant and his men approached, "What the hell are you on about?"

"They fucking dragged him into the wood...there's at least four of them, they're in the fucking wood! Shit....fuck! I can't do this!" Ellion yelled in terror, as he pointed over towards the dead body, looking like he was in shock. He trembled, as he knew now was a time to act. He headed towards one of the tents, a lit flame inside. This was going to be stupid, but right now, he favoured his odds, given the men weren't very monitoring of what he was doing. He looked more frightened and the threat seemed real. The fact there had been two of them, and only one came back...someone was worried. And Ellion knew that the pyre couldn't be lit, the horn couldn't be sounded, the archers couldn't fire on him, and he would need to try and not get killed. One of the men followed him, as he took the lit torch, turning behind.

"What the hell are you..." Ellion heard, the man dragging him by the shoulder, turning him around as Ellion kneed him in the gut, throwing him into the corner of the tent with a hard shove, into a wooden post. Torch in hand, he put the flame to it's innard material, the flame catching fast on the material. It was too fast to comprehend, because the other men were lookign the wrong way, but even as they did turn, it was not fast enough. Ellion was out of the large tent, and had lobbed the flaming stick at the watchtower, yelling. This was not exactly the best plan, it was insanity. But improvising could work. He almost liked it, he thought to himself, the man he had kicked was running out now, out of the burning wreck, stumbling, a little set alight. And the others had turned, as Ellion heard the archer dive out of the watchtower, scraping his way out, as the men turned their blades to the Reachman.

He dived out of the way, as one lashed out with a long swipe, as Ellion made an effort to go for the first man he could, the man carrying the horn. He tried to break out from the fighting, but Ellion did not let the other men impede him. He just moved around, and with a quick draw of his own blade, managed to block him out, forcing him into the fight. Another sword met his, as he kicked the second cutthroat, slamming his sword into the first man that he was tangled with, hornblower man. He recieved a hard knock as their swords collided, Ellion watching him kick out as Ellion missed and dragged his leg under him. Sword up to try and defend, Ellion gutted him in the gut, before withdrawing the sword and blocking another attack from his friend. Defending nicely, he let him attack and waste his energy, the third man, the Sergeant, trying to outflank him. But Ellion had no intention of giving up his advantage. And the other man didn't know Ellion was fast on his feet, taking the hit with his shield as he raked the other man in close, cutting him through the back with a hard stab, looking at the other man across.

"Just you and me then." Ellion added, as he saw hornblower man take the horn out, as the Tyrell ended him there and then, stabbing the blade into his throat, before turning the sword in his hand, grinning. This wasn't easy, but it was a hell of a laugh. Something about it felt....right. He had been a rogue all his time in Westeros. And never fully embraced it when he was paid to do it. But right now, any sense of what was normal in Westeros didn't matter here, where chaos was the order of the day.

"You're a shit fighter. No wonder you're on a fucking rainy hillside defending a pyre of flame." Ellion added, as he almost ate his words, watching the archer from the tower raise his bow, recovered enough to shoot, as Ellion realised what was about to happen. Shield up, the arrow landed straight at the top, as the Sergeant charged him, clearly attempting to take Ellion at the end of his fighting capacity. With a careful dodge, Ellion clashed, the archer preparing another arrow, as he let the Sergeant swing out again, this time waiting for his moment, letting him have one more go.

Then that was the end of that. Ellion let him have his fun. He hit back hard, the sword hand being knocked off in the wrong angle that the Sergeant would have wanted, as he charged forward, kneeing him hard and dragging him around. He kept the blade against his gut, looking to the archer as he held him by the neck.

"Drop the bow, or I'll fucking open him like a cake! Or do you not give a fuck about your commanding officer?" Ellion yelled, as he gently placed the sword blade against his stomach, as the man wriggled, Ellion kicking the man hard in the leg to quell him.
"There is no way you are good enough a shot from that range. Unless you're a fucking nutter. Drop it, and run the fuck away. You'll live to spend your gold that way."

The archer hesitated for several moments, obviously conflicted. But thieve's honor won out and he let an arrow fly, trying to get Ellion.

Ellion was quick witted, as he dragged the Sergeant back, he wouldn't be able to move him in time but he would be able to get him in the way, somewhat, as he brought him and the man to the floor, too slow to miss the arrow but fast enough to bring the man's body atop his when the arrow went in. And that was the exact effect, as the arrow went through the man's chest, piercing past his leather jerkin and gently grazing Ellion's armour on the other side, as he cursed, The body of the Sergeant limp, he let it slide down from his side, as he shook his head as he stood, and ran, shield raised. Oh, that prick asked for it now, as they ran through the wood.

The archer backed up, loosing arrow after arrow at Ellion and to little effect, at the lost moment trying to dodge to the side and loose an arrow at close range to Ellion's gut.

Ellion kept the circular shield held firm and low, the best he knew in defense against these weapons, as he felt it slam into the wood, breaching through almost into his arm as it went far beyond, the Tyrell feeling the shield almost entirely lose it's structure from the shot. It was good. But Ellion had closed the distance, and the man, whilst lighter, was clearly still taken aback from almost falling out of the tower. In a spate of something unpredictable, Ellion saw the man try to take for another arrow, but was greeted with a lobbed wooden shield, the round shield not thrown hard, but enough to knock him down for a moment, Ellion tsk'ing.

"You're probably the only decent soldier there. Shame you're a lot of trouble." Ellion mused, as he approached him, knowing he'd go for a shortsword, and keep him back. He had some training, Ellion considered, but that was why he had to act quicker, Ellion didn't swing his blade, but instead, used it to bring the archer's sword arm down with the flat side of the blade, kicking him onto the floor.

"My name is Ser Ellion Tyrell. I bet you didn't expect the Rose of Highgarden to do that for you. Any last requests?"

The pirate snarled and spit on him, "Fucking mainlander lapdog. My last request is you choke on my cock, you highborn twat."

Ellion shrugged, as he nodded.
"Choke on my cock. Alright. When a Dothraki horse rides through the eye of a needle, friend. I just wish it was that big too." Ellion only added, as he pushed the blade through his hand, the pirate yelping out, before he withdrew the sword. Stabbing it through his chest, he drove the sword in, with a little effort, given he was tired, before driving it out, and dropping onto his knees, sitting down.

"Fuck. That was....fun. That worked...somehow." Ellion said to himself, almost thinking aloud quielty, as he shook his head, standing again, looking down the hillside and into the distance.

"That really shouldn't have been....I'm the son of Willas Tyrell, not a fucking mercenary hire. You're a fucking Knight. Just get a fucking hold of yourself...it's done now." Ellion repeated, as he shook his head. He didn't bother with the bodies, not this time. He had to deal with that pyre. And he needed to get the fuck out of there. Where, he didn't know. The boat might have been comprimised, and the forest could be filled with even more men. So this part of the plan, he didn't know.

Dismantling the pyre wasn't too bad, and the fire on the tent and watchtower had mostly gone out, the smoke trail minimal given the wood and cloth didn't burn as vividly as the oil would have. Scattering the oil and the cauldron, he made haste to get out, Ellion Tyrell aware that he'd played his part in this. Now, he had to find an overwatch for the meeting, down the coast, and scatter like ashes on the wind. He'd made a bloody trail, but it had worked. And internally, every part of his Knighthood screamed. He knew that it was a trail that wouldn't be accounted to him, but in a small bit of flow, he had created his own little moment of chaos. He had proven himself to himself, perhaps to what Seran had even made him think about. And he had gotten the job done. But when this was all over, Ellion knew he had to have a good long think about what perhaps that made him.

Cathay knew, well enough, the dangers of putting too much trust in anything. In her early experiments with the court of nobility, she had a close friend who sought information for her. She was small and dextrous, with quick ears and an even quicker mind. Cathay had thought they would be joint plotters, fighting in the dark against enemies of the Whitehoof family. A romantic thought, that was soon proved false, as tends to be when dealing in such dark corners. However, the lesson was taught well enough, and Cathay took the necessary preparations for the next meeting with the Mistress of Whisperers. Lady Arya certainly seemed the type for ruthless vengeance.

Cathay would find the Mistress of Whispers in the exact same spot as she had before, with a hood covering her face and not a soul to be seen elsewise. There were a few torches to light the area, and the infamous spymaster seemed content to wait until Cathay showed herself.

She arrived, alone, as usual. Cathay took a ginger step into the room, then another, keeping a close eye on the door and a safe distance from Arya. If the rumors are to be believed, the Mistress could kill with a look in her eye, and practiced evil sorceries. Cathay was never put large faith in the arts of magic, but it never hurt to be more careful. "My lady," she called out, curtsying at her place near the stairs.

It might have been a trick of the mind, or else Arya really did laugh, a low amused sound that echoed through the room, "I don't think anyone has curtseyed so far away from me before." She removed her hood and revealed her youthful, pale face. She also opened her robe to reveal the lack of obvious weapons.

"Come, Cathay. There is nothing to fear from me. As long as you do not betray us. Now, tell me, what you have learned."

Arya was a thing of horror tales told by old spinsters. Despite being over ten years older than Cathay, she looked younger, almost like some sort of child. Cathay tried to ignore the fear climbing up her spine, choking her of air. "The Celtigars, my lady. They sent for a stranger a few months past. Gaemon knows not for what purpose, but the implications are clear. This stranger, who he may be, is the father of Jonquil's child-to-be. It sounds as if we may have to find out who this mysterious figure is to reach our conclusion. That would be close to impossible."

Arya inclined her head, "The father, or someone who knows who it is, most like. Well, this supports other leads we have dug up. It seems we must send an agent to Claw Isle. Lord Ardrian is most like on his way to the Stepstones by now. But I will dig deeper into this. In the meantime..."

"My nephew is conducting his own little investigation. Jaeherys sent that Lysara woman into the Great Sept. And now, Alerie Tyrell is running around with Tommen Lannister for some purpose. I have it on good authority that Catelyn Tully will soon be in the capital as well. The children are starting to play the game with us. I would know more."

Arya looked into her eyes, "First, with Jaehaerys and Lysara, she is most likely his agent on the inside. You will make contact with her, she will be some new arrival at the Sept, and you will tell her to hand over any findings to you. You will tell her that you are working with Jaeherys. You will deliver them to me. Sealed. I don't want you getting overly curious now. Clear?"

"As Braavosi glass, my lady," Cathay said. Seals were easy to forge, and one envelope was as similar as another. She could easily take a look at what the contents, if it were her intention. Best not to think too hard on it in the Mistress' presence, however. She had an air that suggested that she knew what one was thinking without saying. Cathay curtsied again, and left through the stairs, far quicker than she intended.

Arya watched her leave, and a cat darted from the darkness, ascending the stairs a few minutes after Cathay had gone. Arya pulled her hood back up, and soon the room was dark once more.

(Collabs with @MrDidact)

Gates of the Moon

Mychel Arryn did not feign joy at his father's announcement, and did not meet Ser Harrold's glance with anything resembling courtesy. He glowered like only he could, and drank his wine without raising it in even perfunctory cheering.

"Somewhat, my lord?" He smirked bitterly as he spoke. "If my father's folly doesn't end with half the Winged Knights dead and thousands of mountain clansmen marching to the Eyrie, I shall think us miraculous."

---

The young Arryn rode alongside Tyrion with narrowed eyes and twitching lips, every so often directing both at the party of Winged Knights behind them. A night of deep sleep had done little to deem his resentment, and even Passion's company on his shoulder did little to mitigate that venomous emotion.

As he had prepared to ride, he had shared a few words with the lords of the Vale on his side, sowed the seeds of a safeguard against the madness and stupidity he feared would reign over the proceedings. He only truly trusted a handful of them, but he at least had some faith in their ability to block any attempts by his kinsman to undermine their talks with the Mountain King.

The clansmen riding with him and Tyrion seemed somewhat reluctant to share their knowledge of the man with the 'kneelers', yet some information had slipped through anyway. It was enough to give Mychel a vague idea of where all the parts in this affair stood, a basis for him to think of offers for the rebel leader that might bring them closer to lasting peace.

Tyrion's mention of the gods, however, did bring a smile to his face, and a small bit of reassurance. Maybe the gods, old or new, would indeed help them.

"If the Mountain King has a pragmatic side to him, we might yet compell him to lay down his arms in exchange for his own fiefdom," he said, nodding. "Perhaps a castle and a lordly title will be enough to appease him. But if he insists on his kingship, the best we can hope for is that we will persuade his supporters to abandon him in exchange for the same rewards."

He sighed.

"It would be ideal if Ser Harrold was not personally present during the meeting. Tough he is certainly not lacking in intelligence, he is rich in ambitions. If he sees an opportunity to make himself a conquering hero, he will take it."

Even if it means getting me killed, he thought to himself. Perhaps specially if it gets me killed.

He looked at Tyrion then, and the tales of Tywin Lannister's brilliant though terrible deeds came to his mind again. And those tales soon morphed into something different, something more personal. Disturbed by his own thoughts, he quicked his horse's pace.

"We should make haste, my lord.."

Tyrion nodded, "Indeed, we shall go with all speed. We should be there within a few days. But we must also be on the lookout, in case this is some manner of trap. They say the Mountain King is a warg, and has spies throughout the Mountains. That's how he has managed to evade the Winged Knights thus far. But, an old friend Timmett of Timmett, will meet us there. With his support, perhaps this will work out well for us."

---

They travelled through the Mountains of the Moon, watchful for any signs of a surprise attack. They met with no incident however, and luckily the tensions among the eclectic delegation did not flare into any open conflict. Eventually, after a long slog of a climb up a cold mountain, they reached the sumitt and were met with a surprising site, an old nearly ruined stone fortress with a wooden pallisade wall commanding the approach. It looked like a fortification of the First Men.

At the gate a burly clansmen appeared, in oddments and scraps of rusty armor, "Who the fuck are you?"

Tyrion gestured for Mychel to speak, "Your show, Mychel. Let's make a good impression."

With a nod, Mychel climbed down from his mount, Passion perched still on his shoulder, and took a couple of firm steps forward, hands made into stiff fists by his sides.

"I am Mychel, son of Robin, and I come to pay my respects to the Mountain King and speak on equal terms with him, as an envoy of the King in the Iron Throne, Jon, son of Rhaegar, and the Queen in the Iron Throne, Daenerys, daughter of Aerys."

He gestured to the party of knights, lords and clansmen behind him.

"My people are here to make peace with yours, and right whatever wrongs we may have inflicted on each other. May we enter as your honored guests and break bread with one another as peers?"

The mountain man absorbed all of this in silence, his brow furrowed in strained comprehension as he scratched himself and said, "Uh... I s'ppose you the lot the King is waiting for. Go in, but watch yourselves, bloody kneelers."

Mychel could not help but chuckle, even as some of the knights and lords behind him scoffed.

He shouted behind him and the gate was pushed open by several tribesmen, Tyrion nodded at Mychel and the column rode in. There were scores of mountain men here, hundreds even. A ramshackle village on the summit of the mountain, in the ruins of this fort. Children pointed and stared at the lords and clansmen riding in, and several hid or cursed the men riding by. The clansmen with the entourage looked almost as wary as the Valemen, and several of the villagers clutched weapons at the ready. The Hand of the King smiled and waved, and several whispered amongst themselves, obviously talking about the infamous halfman. Tyrion brightened when he saw Timmett and the two exchanged grips enthusiastically, before the old friend joined them with his Burned Men.

Eventually they reached the middle of the village, where a giant runed stone appeared. All manner of swirling First Man patterns were carved into the stone and at it's foot was a throne of animal bone and wood. The Mountain King sat there, with his crown of bone and a large shadowcat laid at his feet. The Mountain King was garbed in a bear skin cloak, and several scavenged plates of armor. A stolen longsword was sheathed next to him. And he couldn't have been any older than Mychel. That give even Tyrion pause, though he didn't show it.

The youthful barbarian chieftain looked at the delegation with clear, blue eyes. His blonde hair sheared short. He had a surprisingly clean face, though it was angular and sharp. Tyrion suspected the boy was some abducted noblewoman's son. The Mountain King remained seated, his warriors gathering behind him and he said, "I am Cronun, son of Hunin, Chieftain of the Redsmiths, High Chieftain of the Clans, and the true King of the Mountain."

Tyrion said, "I am Tyrion, son of Tywin. Lord of Casterly Rock, Lord of the West. Hand of the King on the Iron Throne." He paused to let all the other notables announce themselves, including all of his friends among the clans which they did so with boisterous applomb.

Mychel kept it much simpler, more preoccupied with trying to determine Cronun's lineage, and silently speculating about his age and how he had risen to that throne so young, than with boasting.

"King Cronun, I am Mychel, son of Robin of the Eyrie. My father, and his father before him, may have been your people's sworn enemies, but I come as a friend seeking only peace, for my people and yours."

From his shoulder, Passion screeched, and Mychel wondered whether there was any meaning to it as he pet her head.

Cronun leaned his head on one fist and said, "Aye, your kneeler friends called for this meeting. I was bored of listening to this rabble here, so I thought why not? Might be an amusement."

Mychel grinned. "I hope to please you, then."

He stared intensely at Mychel, "I have three thousand warriors at my command. All the loyal clansmen," He shot a glare at Tyrion's companions, including Timmett of Timmett, "Enough to raid for years on end. You haven't gotten rid of us yet. And we aren't going anywhere. Why is peace in my interests? And on what terms?"

"You are King of the Mountain, a title which you must have earned through your own feats rather than right of blood, unlike many of us... kneelers," he said, guiding Passion to rest on his forearm as he gave a small bow. "So have the King and Queen in the Iron Throne. They both paid the blood price for the right to rule the continent. If you wish to challenge them both for the right to reign over the mountains, we will convey that message... but you must know by know what such a clash between kings would entail."

He paused, and turned to look at the loyal clansmen gathered around their king.

"Many among us kneelers would perfer that, and even those who would not might object to another king in this continent," he continued. "However, you and your people could still earn a place of power in this continent, a place worthy of my people's respect, provided you were willing to forgo the title of king for another. You could still rule the mountains as your fief, and sit on your very own throne, but instead you might call yourself, perhaps, a Lord Paramount, like my father and Tyrion, son of Tywin. Or perhaps a Prince, like the rulers of Dorne. I would not force you to kneel before the King and Queen, but only to acknowledge their well-earned right to be the only kings in this continent. Your people's traditions would not be threatened, I can guarantee you, and whatever land we grant you would be granted in perpetuity."

His grin turned into a softened smile.

"Now, if you have any specific demands, I will gladly hear them, and terms are always negotiable... within reason."

Cronun frowned in thought, mulling over Mychel's words. Several of the knights and lords present shifted in the saddle. It probably did not please them to hear talk of yielding lands to the mountain men or granting their king a title on the same level as Lord Robin or Tyrion. Most probably expected Mychel to ask for an oath of fealty as well. There was some quiet grumbling, specially from Ser Harrold and his Winged Knights. Tyrion kept his silence, his thoughts impenetrable for the nonce.

The Mountain King said, "Generous terms. Almost suspiciously so if you ask me," He spit on the ground, "We have no lords or Princes. Only Kings and Chieftains. You may have turned the wildlings into kneelers, but I will not allow any man of the clans to call himself a lord. Only a chief. If I accept, I will be High Chieftain of the Mountains of the Moon just as your Tormund Giantsbane is High Chieftain of the Free Folk. All will be chiefs under me. No lords like that Lord Thenn."

"I think that is a fair demand, King Cronun," answered Mychel. "I did say that your people's traditions would not be threatened. You may call yourself High Chieftain of the Mountains of the Moon, and your chiefs may still call themselves chiefs, and you may all worship your gods freely."

He grimaced, "Your dragon king and dragon queen are strong aye. But if the tales are true, then there are other kings rising. A King in the deserts. A King in the islands. You haven't defeated them yet. Are you scared of us perhaps? That you would offer us so much?" He put a particular snarling emphasis on the word offer and several of the clansmen behind him laughed.

"I was born and raised in this land, King Cronun," said Mychel with a chuckle. "I know the strength of your people.. so yes, I personally do fear you somewhat. But the King and Queen? They do not know or fear you. Not truly. They defeated the Night's King and his army of the dead, and three thousand warriors are not a great threat to their rule.

"But you are right that there are other kings rising. And every man who dies fighting your people is a man that could have fought against the Iron Throne's true foes. While my father's warriors fight your warriors, monsters rise from the deep and attack our shores. Your war against us doesn't frighten us, but it is wasting our time and resources. Now, from your words, I think you must be rather shrewd, so you must know that, if the greater wars are lost, whatever victories you get against my people will be futile.

He paused, and looked at Passion, the falcon staring back at him intently.

"Your people are the ancestral inhabitants of this land," he said after a time. "Though you have wronged my people, you do have a claim to the land we share. I would not expell you from it, or force you to serve my fellow lords of the Vale. If you want to be our equals, you can be our equals, and stand beside us, if not as friends, then at least as respectful neighbours."

Cronun listened and his brow furrowed in thought. Tyrion looked around and saw that all of the clansmen had gathered around. Some seemed surly and angry at their presence, others seemed pensive. Finally Cronun said, "Your fellow kneelers don't seem like the type to think of us as neighbors. But I will think on what you say. I must speak with all the other chiefs now. Your... friends can join, as is their right as men of the mountain. We will talk amongst ourselves. As to what the First Men of the Mountains will do. Peace or continued war. And on what terms. This may take a long while, perhaps days, and as such, once we come to you with terms, they will be final. Our only offer. In the meantime, you will camp outside the village, and keep the peace. Once we have reached a decison, we will call upon you."

"Then, before we part, there is but one more term of ours you must hear," said Mychel, taking a step closer to the young king. "If you and your chiefs are to be a part of the Seven Kingdoms, you must share bonds of blood with us. At least one son or daughter of each chief must marry a lord or lady... as must you, King Cronun."

That got a reaction as well. All of the clansmen began muttering to each other and not a knight there didn't glance askance at his comrade or tighten his jaw in surprised anger. Cronun was even taken a bit aback, though he recovered quickly, with an arrogant laugh, "I already do share blood with the kneelers, Black Falcon. But I will think on this as well. You're a pretty one, mayhaps I will put you in skirts and take you to wife." All of the clansmen laughed with him.

The heir to the Vale blushed, his smile turned sheepish, but he chuckled along and allowed himself a slightly sultry look for the Mountain King.

"The King of the Mountain flatters me. A pity that it's clearly in jest," said he with mischief in his blue eyes. "Were that a serious proposal, it could be a solution to our troubles, could it not? Cronun and Mychel, doubly legitimate rulers of the Vale..."

Tyrion whispered to Mychel, "Best we take our leave soon. I fear if we stay much longer, they may not be in such good spirits." The Shadowcat at Cronun's feet eyed Tyrion with a gaze that looked much too hungry for his liking.

Mychel nodded at Tyrion, and gave the king a small bow.

"But I thank you for your consideration. I will await your call in the meantime."

Turning back to the Hand of the King, he whispered to the older man, and began to walk the way back, out of the village. "You are right, although I am more concerned about the Valemen's reaction than the clansmen's. The king and his chiefs seemed to be enjoying themselves, even if it was at our expense. Laughter is not a bad start for negotiations..."

He spared a look for his allied lords and the Winged Knights, and saw an awful lot of thinly veiled glares directed at him.

"And now I fear I may have overstepped in my eagerness," he said, mostly to himself. "I will have to spend some time speaking to the Valemen, see how deeps the wounds to their pride are. This peace will be worthless if the lords are suddenly eager to undermine it."

The Hand of the King smiled slightly, "We're luck Lord Harrold didn't draw steel right there, the way Cronun paid insults to them. But not to worry. I told Timmett and all the others of the more favorable terms and concessions we desire. And they will talk and fight strenously for them. Mark my words, when Cronun finally gives us his offer, days though it may take, your bannermen will find it much more palpable. We just have to make sure they stay mollified until then. You did well with Cronun."

He glanced back at Cronun. "He is a bit immature... although, then again, so am I... but there is a sensibility to him. Maybe these negotiations will bear fruit."

He left it unsaid that he was fascinated by the king on a more personal level. His looks gave Mychel a suspicion that he could not quite put in words, as did his mannerisms. He was a clansman, yes, but more lingered underneath.

"If you had to guess, Lord Tyrion, which noble family would you say he probably shares blood with?"

Tyrion smirked and stared at Mychel with his own black and green eyes, "Why, Mychel, if I had to guess.... I would say he had the blood of the falcon."

---

The Blue Fork - Near Oldstones

Mylenos was clearly troubled by the sight of the mysterious knights through the carriage's small window, yet it seemed to have little effect on Catelyn Tully. The young lady of Riverrun only stared at them through the falling raindrops and light mist, and listened to the first knight's threatening demand. The heavy rain and thick vegetation made it difficult to ascertain how many more knights were blocking her retinue's path, but she suspected her protectors were outnumbered. Although she trusted Valerys' skills, and those of her lord father's knights, it looked to her like it would be a painful, bloody battle.

Beside her, Septon Donnel sat quietly in his wet clothes, cradling in his hands an empty vial of what he thought to be an antidote to poison. The remembrance of what that meant somewhat diminished her willingness to fight for her prisoner, even if it did not make her any more eager to simply submit and hand him and his letters over. But as she looked once again at Mylenos, all possibility of slaughter vanished.

"Who are they?" She asked the septon, and there was no pretense of soft, lady-like kindness this time. All the contrary, her voice was cold like the air in this rainy morning. Across from her, Mylenos' hand lingered over a particular space under his cloak, where she knew he kept his dagger.

"You can see their colors, lady Tully," answered the older man, and his eyes showed even greater fear than Mylenos' did.

"They are the colors of an extinct house," said she, turning back to the world outside the carriage, looking at the knights impassively. Within, however, she was brimming with sentiments that ranged from worry to curiosity.

Septon Donnel sighed. "It was foolish of you to take me from my flock."

"Gloating, are we?" she said without looking, letting out an almost bemused scoff.

"You would think he was holding us hostage, the good septon," said Mylenos, the amusement in his voice almost tangibly nervous.

Valerys appeared beside her window, his spear in hand, the silver in his hair darkened by the water. The fleeting thought that he looked particularly handsome like this passed through Catelyn's mind, undermined immediately by what awaited beyond.

"Cat, what do we do?" He asked.

She looked him in his red eyes, then turned her own blue orbs to the knights in House Fisher's colors. She did not hesitate.

"We definitely do not fight them," she answered, placing her hand on the window's frame and leaning out. "We speak with them. Their threat is just a threat for now, and we need not spill blood if they are clearly willing to ask for our cooperation before bearing their steel."

The Knight spoke again, "What is your answer, my lady? Shall we conclude this business in peace and part safely? Or do you intend to refuse us? I tell you, we will not leave without the Septon, and we will do you no harm, but I cannot promise the safety of your companions if arms are raised against us."

"Valerys," she said to the Volantene knight, "move away. I am going out to speak with them."

Her lover gave her a look that was as shocked as it was apprehensive, until it relented under her own. And he nodded as he stepped away.

Wordlessly, the daughter of Edmure Tully climbed down from her carriage, paying no mind to the countless raindrops that fell on her, and immediately began to all but march towards the knights. The mud covered her shoes and dress, tarnishing the once pure silver, but she paid no mind to this either. Instead, her attention was entirely fixated on the knight.

"I would hear your name before I agree to anything, ser," she said, her voice as strong as it had been when she had spoken before the people of Fairmarket. It cut through the sounds of the rain and the wind.

"If you are going to make demands and threaten a lady of the Riverlands, you should at least have the decency not to do that under the cowardly veil of anonimity... ser."

The knight on his horse said nothing, until he went down from the saddle and approached Catelyn, before standing in front of her and removing his helm. He couldn't have been much older than her. The young knight had night black hair and green eyes, as green as the trees surrounding them. He was clean cut, his hair cropped short, with a strong jaw and high cheekbones, "I am Ser Cullen Fisher. Of the dynasty of Fisher Kings. Lords of the Misty Isle."

Catelyn made a perfunctory curtsy, though her eyes seemed to be intently studying the knight's face.

"It is not every day that one meets a knight from a long dead dynasty that left no direct heirs who could legitimately claim the family name," she said, with a bit of humor in her tone. "Nevertheless, I thank you for introducing yourself, Ser Cullen."

He dipped his head and bowed, "My lady. I repeat my request to you. Relinquish the septon into our custody. And we can part amicably. You have my word of honor that none will be harmed if you accept."

"Septon Donnel is an honored guest of mine, ser," she responded, hands intertwined on her front as she stood firm before him. "If possible, I should like to know why I must part with him before I place him in your custody. You give me your word of honor, but how can I know that it is the word of an honorable man?"

Cullen looked into her eyes and said, "Septon Donnel, and many others committed a crime, a grave injustice in our name. Several in fact. Our lord has called for justice against those that would sully our name. We bring Donnel to face our lord's justice."

He nodded and said, "I can't expect you to trust my word immediately." He removed his gauntlet and the glove and raised the hand to face her, before drawing a dagger slowly and cutting his palm, "A blood oath, the old way, the way of our ancestors. I cannot break my word on pain of death." With that he loosened his sword from his sheath and replaced the dagger, offering the sword to Catelyn, "If I break my vow, then my life is forfeit and you may strike me down. I would sooner bare my neck for it than live in dishonor. I swear it by all the gods."

The justiciar was visibly taken aback by the knight's display, and remained silent for a time, gazing into his green eyes and watching his blood drip down his hand in turns. Eventually, she took ahold of the sword being offered, examining the blade and hilt with narrowed, softened blue eyes.

"Some people say words are wind," Catelyn said at last, although not necessarily to the knight. "But most of those people do not claim to follow the old way."

She raised her face towards his. "Though these circumstances cause me grave concern, and some offense, I will accept your blood oath, Ser Cullen."

Cullen smiled slightly and bowed his head once more, "I thank you, my lady. The tales told of you are true. Both of your righteousness and your beauty."

With another small curtsy, she took a step back.

"Should we cross paths again, ser..." she began, her voice hardening with resolution and cool, noble dignity once more, masking her wonder and unease at this strange encounter. "...and should I then find that you have broken your vow... I will strike you down, as the old way, and my duty as justiciar, demand."

Cullen met her gaze evenly, "If I break my vow to you, then I would demand you do the same."

She then turned to her retinue, and saw that the Maegyr brothers were just as apprehensive as she felt, if the wide-eyed looks on their faces were anything to go by. Seeing them like that reminded her why, above all else, she had chosen not to fight.

"Valerys, bring Septon Donnel to us!" Shouted Catelyn. Valerys was still at first, obviously baffled by her words, but he complied soon enough. The middle-aged septon came down from her carriage and began to walk towards Ser Cullen and her. She could not fully comprehend the expression on his face, though she imagined terror made up a part of it.

"Ser Cullen," she spoke without looking at the knight, "if your intention truly is to punish him for his crimes, that is... acceptable, although duty commands that I be the one to pass the sentence and see it carried out."

The knight nodded, "I understand what your duty commands. But you have my oath that Donnel will be punished."

She paused, pensive, as the raindrops slide down her cheek, and gave the knight a sideways look.

"What I cannot accept is that whoever put this man and his... flock... in a position to hurt so many innocent people might not be held responsible for it."

Turning to him, she handed him his sword back.

"So I would ask of you, Ser Cullen," she said coldly, "that you tell your lord that his actions, however well-intentioned, will not be ignored. I just had to bury a family and a boy because someone, in your lord's name, decided that young love and lack of devotion were deserving of brutal murder. If the monsters who have been burning homes and slaughtering our people did so under your lord's authority, then he is not without blame, and no blood oath will keep me from doing justice."

The Fisher Knight looked into Catelyn's eyes again, and if she looked closely, she might have seen a flash of approval, he tapped his fist against his chest and bowed his head, "I will relay your message to my lord. He is doing everything in his power to punish those that have committed such atrocities."

Cullen straightened, "And he understands that you will do what you feel you must. But so will he, and our house will not submit meekly I am afraid. I hope you keep this meeting in mind however, and are not so quick to desire our heads. We wish your father and the King and Queen to know that there is a way to settle these issues without violence."

"I cannot speak for the Iron Throne," said Catelyn. "But it is a lesson I learned long ago, Ser Cullen, and one that I will not soon forget."

Ser Fisher gestured to his men and they took Donnel into custody, binding his hands and leading him to a horse. Cullen turned to Catelyn and said, "I will take him to our lord, and he will be judged for his crimes. I will say it was an honor and a pleasure to make your acquantince. Your courtesy and sense of justice are matched only by your elegance and beauty. I hope that if we meet again, it will be in better surroundings."

He bowed his head once more, "House Fisher gives its regards to House Tully." He gestured once more and another knight brought up a chest, opening it to reveal a heap of coin, Cullen said, "For the families of the victims, a sign of our sorrow over the tragic loss of life." The knight placed the chest on the ground and stepped back to the horses.

If Catelyn was impressed by the contents of the chest, she concealed it.

"Coin is a poor substitute for the tears and comforting words of the truly sorrowful," she mused aloud. "But it may help those who survived to rebuild, and for that you have my gratitude."

Cullen donned his helm, "Farewell, Lady Catelyn. May the gods watch over you."

She curtsied one last time for him. "And you, Ser Cullen."

The lady of the Riverlands watched him and his party of mysterious knights disappear into the mist and rain. Even as they departed, she could not guess their true numbers.

For a while, silence reigned in that little corner of the Riverlands, as Catelyn Tully stood in the mud, watching the storm-blurred horizon. Valerys approached her slowly, his gloved hand caressing her shoulder, while Mylenos stayed a few feet behind. She gave the younger Maegyr a brief, meaningful look, though mostly focused on the older one. He seemed the most shaken.

"My lady... Cat..." He whispered, and the worry in his voice was palpable. It made her want to kiss him, but instead she gently pushed him aside.

"We must return to Riverrun as soon as possible, Ser Valerys," she said as she walked past him and back to her carriage. "My lord father will need my counsel in these trying times, and I have been gone long enough.

"Cat," said Mylenos, his voice firmer than his brother's. "The septon..."

"He is twice dead," she spewed, far more viciously than she would have preferred, even if Valerys could not hear it, and retreated into the dark enclosure of her carriage. Never before had she found such a thing comforting, yet now she felt she desperately needed it.

Outside, the rain kept pouring down onto the earth.

---

Riverrun

From his triangular solar, the Lord of Riverrun watched the Red Fork run its course as the rain pounded its surface and the mist concealed the farms and woods beyond. Somewhere in that place, his older son and heir was riding forth, on yet another journey to the Gods Eye and the Isle of Faces. He probably would not see his Sylvester for many weeks, and although he knew he meant well, Lord Edmure Tully could not help but yearn to see him return right then. Whatever helpful wisdom or spells Sylvester could learn from the children in the Isle of Faces, Edmure needed him here now, back home with his family and soldiers.

Edmure Tully stood on the balcony in full armor, as did his good friend, Lord Marq Piper of Pinkmaiden, behind him. He had only taken his armor off to sleep, and might have slept in it as well had not his sweet Roslin beaten some sense into him. Perhaps he did not truly need to spend every waking hour waiting for war to come to the Riverlands once more, yet the events in King's Landing made it difficult to believe otherwise.

"Marq, please leave us," suddenly came Roslin's voice from within the solar, breaking Edmure from his reverie. He looked at them both, his old friend and his lady wife, and nodded meekly, eyes still drawn to the misty woods Slyvester had ridden into. He barely heard the sound of the door of the solar closing.

"Edmure, my love," said Roslin, her graceful little fingers reaching for his bearded jaw, his small lips pressing against his cheek.

"Does it not worry you at all?" He asked her without looking.

"He is a man grown," she answered, "and we are not at war yet."

"The king might call onto me at any moment," said the Lord Paramount, allowing himself a small sigh. "I cannot afford to be idle."

He finally turned to her, and gazed into her brown eyes before kissing her chastely.

"And my men need to see that their lord is standing strong and ready."

"Standing in your balcony in full armor and staring into the mist is not strength, Edmure," she said, and it was perhaps the gentlest scolding she had ever given him. "It's fear, and if it consumes you, it will kill you a lot sooner than any sea monster will."

"It's not just the monsters..."

"I know, Edmure," she interrupted.

"We may not be at war, Roslin... but the piles of corpses and the burning villages? There are more and more of them with each passing day. Nobody is invading us, yet my people are dying by the hundreds and the land is turning to ashes."

He looked at where the farms were, on the other side of the Red Fork, and remembered how, not a week after returning from King's Landing, hundreds of common folk had walked through those fields and begged for help from the edge of Riverrun's moat. Someone had raided various orchards near the Twins, and a pair of dosh khaleen had been found brutalized outside of Saltpans. Not long after, another crowd had come, this time because beasts were attacking pilgrims in the River Road. And then there were the Freemen Brotherhood and the hunters of Red Priests, seemingly everywhere at once yet invisible when his knights set out to find them.

Edmure often felt that he was fighting a hundred unsung wars, even as his bannermen assured him that the worst had long since passed, and that the Riverlands had not seen such peace and prosperity since his father's early rule.

"I do not scold you for caring about these terrible things, my love," said Roslin. "I scold you for doing unnecessary, pointless things, pretending that they help. Wearing your armor here and now is an empty gesture. You are leading your people well without it."

He said nothing, eyes downcast. His gauntled hand rested on her swelling stomach, and the whisper of a smile formed in his lips.

"How fares our child?"

"Wonderfully," she whispered against his lips and kissed him. "And I know you will keep him or her safe, along with the rest of us."

The Lord and Lady of Riverrun leaned into each other, their noses brushing against one another, and basked in that quiet moment while it lasted, which was not long. Within a few relaxed sighs, the heard a soft knocking on the solar's door, followed by the door opening and the voice of their eldest child.

"Father, mother," said Catelyn, walking into the solar with her mud-stained dress and rain-soaked hair. Even then she managed to look dignified and graceful. She curtsied a few feet before reaching them, then held each of them in succession, her embrace as loving as always.

"My sweet Cat, we missed you," said her mother, kissing both her cheeks between giggles, "The storm showed no mercy to you, I see. What news do you bring from the Blue Fork?"

"The festival of Fairmarket was beautiful," said Catelyn, smiling at her mother. "Father and you would have greatly enjoyed yourselves there..."

"What of the roads, Cat? Were they safe?" Her father interrupted.

"The roads were no trouble, father," she answered, "but the people of Fairmarket do live in fear of outlaws. And there is another matter, larger and more complicated..."

"Speak, Cat," said her mother. "If it is important, pleasantries can wait."

Catelyn did not hesitate.

"I need Sylvester to go to Fairmarket and imprison Septon Hendry," she said as she produced a few letters from her dress, the parchment still mostly dry. "And others. Some of them might already have been killed, but those who remain need to be brought here for judgement."

Her father stood still and impassive, staring at the letters in her hands.

"Where did those letters come from?" He asked.

"The Elder Brother of the monastery near Oldstones," said Catelyn. "He gave them to me after he confessed to taking part in a conspiracy of sparrows and anointed knights to slaughter countless Riverlanders in the name of the Seven."

"And where is this Elder Brother now?" Asked her father, taking one of the letters in hand, idly passing his finger along the writing in it.

"He was taken from us," said Catelyn, her voice taking the tone of someone who was telling an ancient fable, and her eyes gaining a far-off look. "A knight who called himself Ser Cullen Fisher appeared before us on the road with a band of fellow knights dressed in the colors of the Fishers of Misty Isle."

She glanced down at the letters she was still holding. "He threatened me into handing him over; claimed that the septon would be judged and punished by his lord for his crimes. We were outnumbered, so I had to allow it."

Her face adopted a remorseful expression, and her father responded by kindly patting her on the shoulder.

"Sylvester has gone to the Isle of Faces," he said. "No raven will reach him. But I will send some knights to Fairmarket regardless."

Catelyn nodded in agreement. "If we are fortunate, nothing will impede them from bringing Septon Hendry to Riverrun, and we might learn more from him."

Roslin looked back and forth between father and daughter, her brown gaze thoughtful, before nodding herself.

"Alright, that is one problem swiftly solved," she said, hands cradling her stomach. "Now, I would like my lord husband to take off his armor and put on a proper doublet, and my daughter to put on a clean dress. You both have matters to attend to that require you to look presentable, which neither of you does at this moment."

Lord Edmure sighed, though there was some laughter in his voice. "Very well, Roslin."

"Perhaps I should go to King's Landing," Catelyn suddenly declared, her voice and expression imbued with calm determination.

Her father and mother started.

"Why?" Asked her mother.

"To inform the King and Queen on the state of affairs in the Riverlands," she explained. "The more we try to stamp out each and every fire, the more they all spread. I could personally try and sentence a hundred outlaws, and five hundred more would be rampaging up and down the Trident within a fortnight."

"Cat..." Her father began to say.

"I found and captured a septon responsible for the deaths of many innocents, and before I could bring him here, someone even more powerful came and took him away."

She handed the rest of the letters to her father.

"Some of these bands of outlaws are just that," she said, "but others... they are part of a larger problem. And with all that has happened... here, in the Riverlands... in King's Landing... I cannot help but feel that we are looking at something that exceeds my current grasp, and I cannot accept that."

She held her father's armored wrist in a comforting grip. "Your, your knights and Sylvester can deal with the fighting. As a justiciar, I am all but useless against them, and I fear I may not be able to single-handedly bring an end to vast conspiracies, and major threats to our land and our people, from my carriage, from this solar, or from the gallows."

"So instead you will play the raven?" Asked her mother, her voice and expression calm, stroking her cheek. Although she was markedly shorter than her daughter, it seldom looked like it to Catelyn, and this was true now as well. "What can you hope to achieve in that place?"

"We don't have a seat in the Small Council, but father is still the Lord Paramount of the Trident," answered Catelyn, releasing her father's wrist to hold her mother's. "And we have friends in the Iron Throne. There are people who might listen to me and lend me their help. And if something larger is at play here, I suspect that its roots are somewhere out there."

"I know you loathe to leave the Riverlands, Cat," said Roslin, "but if you truly believe that this is your best path forwards..."

"Clearly, I can no longer rely solely on my authority as father's justiciar here," she finished, and there was peace in her voice. "All of this chaos, this violence, it won't end from my riding from town to town, castle to castle, and judging thieves, rapers and murderers. I must do more if I am to truly help, mother."

Her father nodded silently, while her mother only looked at them both.

"She's right," said her father at last, a sorrowful but resigned look in his eyes. "You will take with yourself a larger retinue, for safety's sake, but you will go to King's Landing and do your duty for the Riverlands and your family."

"Yes, father," said Catelyn. "Thank you."

"Melissa is sensible and has learned much from you," continued the Lord Paramount. "She will make a fine justiciar in your absence."

"I'll make sure I leave her with much good advise, that she may be better than fine."

"Valerys and Mylenos should go with you," said Roslin. "You trust them more than anyone, and you will need people you can trust in King's Landing. Your Stark relatives know this to be true."

Catelyn did not protest, although there was a single, subtle twitch in the corner of her mouth at her mother's words.

"King's Landing is teeming with sellswords and spies; schemers, opportunists and traitors abound," said Catelyn, her fingers absendmindedly fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve, her nerves getting the best of her for once. "They would not be safe there."

"Cat," said her mother as she held her fidgeting hand, "they have survived worse. And you know they will want to go with you even if you refuse."

Catelyn Tully audibly swallowed a lump in her long, pale throat, and blew air out through her fine nose. For an instant no longer than the blink of an eye, she appeared afraid, but cold determination returned to her beautiful features soon.

"I will take Valerys with me," she said, "but not Mylenos. I will not imperil both of them."

"Alright, my sweet Cat," said her mother. "I will go and tell the cooks that we are holding a farewell feast tonight. I imagine you will want to depart as soon as possible, and make haste to King's Landing. I know you loathe prolongued expectations."

"You know me well, mother."

Roslin Frey kissed her daughter's cheeks again, and then she was gone from the solar, her father watching her with blue eyes filled with adoration. Catelyn remained pensive, her own blue eyes losing themselves in the mist her father had been staring at.

"Cat," her father said after a time, breaking her from her reverie. "Be careful in that nest of vipers. Better, wiser men than I fared poorly in their midst, and you are my daughter. My firstborn."

Catelyn turned to him, and her eyes had a mist of their own.

"When I was a child, I thought I had the bravest, strongest, wisest father in the world," she told him, a warm smile on her rosy lips. "Yet I lived in fear because, from this balcony, I watched you ride into the wilderness, over and over, to fight against one of the countless threats our house faced. Every time, I knew not whether you would return."

Her hand rested on the cold, wet stone of the balcony's edge, and she listened to the roaring river underneath.

"And when you named me justiciar, my very core was shaking, because I did not know if I could match you, if I could face what you faced. I was so young, so inexperienced..."

She stepped away from the edge, hands slowly unraveling her braid of red hair, until her long mane framed her comely face and spilled over her shoulders

"Do you remember what you said to me then?" She asked him. "What words of yours gave me the determination to defy my fears and do my duty?"

She paused, but he did not answer. He only returned her smile.

"They were not our house's words, which I had known by heart for the longest of times," she carried on. "They were your very own words. You said that I had already surpassed you by being born, for you were a summer child, whereas I had been conceived in a massacre and born during the Long Night, in the midst of enemies who sought to make our house extinct, like those of the river kings of old."

The mist of her eyes thickened.

"You said that, although Sylvester would be a great warrior someday, he would never enjoy a victory as sweet as mine own," she continued, her smile widened. "I had already faced the worst that this world could offer, and defeated their ill intentions before I even learned how to speak. Because I was your daughter, the Tully that should not have existed, the Tully that proved our house would not fade...

"When you said that, I resolved that I would continue to be that Tully. I would look in the eyes of evil and challenge it with every tool at my disposal."

Their Tully eyes met, and she saw glimpses of mist in her father's.

"I promised to myself that would dedicate my life to uprooting each and every threat to your peace, and your successors' peace. For our family, for our duty, and for our honor."

With a shared nod between father and daughter, Catelyn Tully left the solar, leaving a faint trail of mud behind herself, the wet silver of her dress still glittering in the faint sunlight.

---

King's Landing

The weeks of travel had left Catelyn Tully drained in body and spirits, though she suspected it had not been the journey alone. Valerys had kept her good, close company, however, and his passionate attentions had been a true balm for her humor, even if they had left her with unseemly red marks on her collarbones. ewFortunately, she knew she could trust her dresses to conceal them well in the presence of the court.

Their love kept hiden by the walls and drapes of her carriage, Catelyn and Valerys held each other and playfully kissed as the Tully retinue passed through the Dragon Gate, the silver trout raised high above the city's lively crowds. Even as she relished her Volantene lover's affections, she was aware of the many tongues being spoken outside their little moving haven, and could faintly smell the many odors of the great capital, from the spices being sold by foreign traders to the filth being thrown onto the streets by the common folk in their Crownlander accents.

"Cat, can you hear them?" Valerys whispered to her between kisses, his silver hair as disheveled as hers.

"Yes," she answered, barely parting her lips from his. "We have arrived... again..."

"I so wish you and I could walk these streets together, as a pair..."

"Were this Fairmarket or Maidenpool, I would do so shamelessly," she said, hand cradling his fair face. "But this is not a safe city. Not for you, nor for me. Discretion will be paramount."

"You Westerosi nobles and your discretion..." He half-jested, a little chuckle in his voice, before gently biting down on her lower lip and sliding its tongue along its increasingly reddened surface.

"You could always steal me away," she japed back, and bit his lip harder in retaliation. "Make yourself a pirate lord, and I your courtesan, your concubine."

"I've never enjoyed sailing, sadly," he responded with a grin.

The Tully retinue advanced almost unhindered, passing through the Street of Silk, by the Dragonpit on Rhaenys' Hill. It moved past Flea Bottom, and reached the Red Keep followed by a small gaggle of begging folk. The crowd faltered in their pursuit as they reached the castle's main gate, faced with the gold cloaks that guarded, although Catelyn heard her knights throwing coin at the people.

A group of gold cloaks received her and her retinue with practiced courtesy, one of them offering a hand for her to climb down from her carriage, which she took. A serving girl came forward then, dressed in the colors of House Targaryen, and led her into Maegor's Holdfast, to her own personal quarters in the keep, Valerys and her knights following close behind.

A while later, after washing up, braiding her hair once again and changing into a new silver dress, Catelyn Tully and her beloved Valerys were ready for what would come next. With the Volantene knight escorting her in his steel-scaled leather and silk armor, she walked out of her quarters and out the holdfast, and made the journey through the great castle's passages and courtyards to the Great Hall, where the Iron Throne awaited.

The great oak-and-bronze doors of the hall opened before her once more, a sight she could never quite get accustomed to, and she took her first steps onto the carpet that connected the entrance with the iron dais upon which the Iron Throne sat. A booming voice announced her before the entire court, and countless noble eyes turned towards her and her foreign companion.

Catelyn Tully walked along the carpet, towards the Iron Throne, with grace and cool dignity, her skirts billowing lightly in the air behind her, while the light from the high, narrow windows on the eastern and western walls caused the silver thread and pearls of her dress to glitter. Valerys followed closely, from the sound of it. She would not look back, but only forward, as she approached.

King Jon and Queen Daenerys Targaryen sat upon their seats, regarding Catelyn warmly. Daenerys smiled and said, "Catelyn Tully. Be welcome to the Red Keep, the hospitality of House Targaryen is yours. I am sure the prince and princesses will be pleased to see you."

Catelyn curtsied and smiled back at her queen. "You have my thanks your grace. I look forward to seeing the princes and princesses once more."

Jon also smiled, "I trust that Lord Edmure and the rest of your family fare well. We had not expected you again so soon after the wedding however. What brings you to King's Landing, Catelyn?"

"All of House Tully fares well, your grace," she answered, curtsying to him as well. "I did not expect to return so soon either, specially in such short notice, but pressing matters have forced me to."

She bowed lightly, and when she spoke again, she did so in what her youngest sister called her 'political voice', the voice of someone who did not just speak, but made proclamations.

"It pains me to say so, your grace," she said, "but although my house is safe and in good health, terror lurks in the Riverlands again. My lord father understands that the crown is concerned with far greater threats to the peace than petty banditry, yet since the royal wedding, your grace, we have uncovered most troubling truths and seen the rise of new difficulties, for which a mere justiciar like myself is ill-suited, and which exceeds my lord father's reach."

She glanced around herself, at the many knights, lords and ladies gathered around, and turned once more to the king and queen with a bow.

"If I may be so bold," she said with a voice imbued with pure, gentle sincerity, "might I divulge the full of extent of these news in private, your graces? I fear they might be cause for some controversy, and even one as young as myself knows that we must handle sensitive knowledge regarding the safety of the realm with great care."

Jon nodded, "Very well. The three of us will discuss this in the royal solar." The herald called for an end to the audience and the nobles began to file out, the Kingsguard escorting them to the private office of the King and Queen. Ser Josmyn Peckledon, known as Peck, smiled at Catelyn as they were conveyed to the room, before taking a position outside. With him remained Valerys, looking a fair bit awkward on his lonesome, though he softened as her eyes and his met as she left.

King and Queen soon stood in front of Catelyn, leaning against their desks, Daenerys spoke, "Tell us what is so sensitive, Catelyn. The attack near the Stoney Sept was bad enough. Do you bring even graver news?"

Catelyn stood straight and firm before them, although her face and voice expressed disquiet, her eyes falling to the surfaces of the desks for a brief moment as she began to talk.

"I returned from Fairmarket to Riverrun a few weeks ago, bringing with me a series of letters, handed to me by a septon who had conspired with knights and sparrows to wreak havoc throughout the Riverlands, killing many innocents.

"The septon must have met his end by now, for the knights who stole him from my custody on the road to Riverrun promised me as much. Though there was much I might have learned from him, that may no longer be possible.

She looked down at her own hands.

"Yet I had the letters, all of which I handed to my lord father for him to examine..."

She paused, and in her silence she reached into her sleeve. From it, she pulled a single letter.

"Except for one, your graces," she finished, and let the letter fall from her fingers onto Daenerys' desk.

"It does not tell the identity of the lord this septon, and the knights who took him, were serving," she explained, looking into their eyes, "but it does contain a certain, disturbing piece of information. It singles out a member of the Most Devout as the eyes and ears of this unnamed lord in the capital, and alludes to unnamed lords and ladies among you who serve th."

She took a couple of steps to her left, her sight resting on the letter. "My lord father knows nothing of this. He only knows that I suspect some of the troubles that ail the Riverlands might be rooted in higher power outside of our homeland."

Daenerys took the letter and pored over it while Jon crossed his arms, "This does seem to correlate with some reports from the field. After the attack in Stoney Sept, we've had men find the dens of these Sparrows and Rogue Knights only to find the inhabitants either gone or slaughtered. Mayhaps there is some kind of internal conflict in their coalition, and make no mistake, we believe there is a coaliton at work here."

The Queen raised her eyes and said, "This is stunning information. We must have Arya investigate immediately. But why did you not tell your father?"

Catelyn did not vacilate. She lied perfectly, confidently, without pause, presenting them with a bashful look as she responded.

"Perhaps it is just a foolish young daughter's concern... but I fear for my lord father's safety, strong and wise though he may be. The Riverlands face enough violence already, without a coalition of shadows setting our farms on fire and hanging whole families from our trees in the name of the Seven or some extinct house. We Tullys are ill-fit for grand intrigues."

Jon smirked, "And yet, here you are Catelyn. Mayhaps, grand intrigues are not outside of your purview. But you speak truly, we have enough concerns without these malcontents in our borders. I will have the men seeking the Freemen Brotherhood in the Crownlands be diverted to your father's command. We've found no sign of them here, we believe they have moved to the Trident. Edmure may use the Night Riders and Dragon's Teeth we give him to do as he sees fit."

Daenerys said, "In the meantime, we will look into this letter further. We must tread carefully before we make any hasty moves. Especially when it comes to the faith."

"I thank you, your graces," said Catelyn with a bow, smiling softly at them both. "I will inform my father."

There was another voice and a woman said, "And perhaps Catelyn will be more forthcoming in the future." Daenyra Targaryen, appeared, her blue and green eyes flashing as she smiled and said, "Catelyn. It's good to see you. I am sorry to hear about your subjects. But is there anything more you wish to tell us?"

The smile on Catelyn's face turned into a broad grin, and she went to Daenyra with swift steps and outstretched arms. "Dany, always sneaking on me."

She giggled as she held the princess' hands in hers. As she gazed into those blue and green eyes, it occurred to her that her childhood friend was still beautiful, and she remembered how they had used to steal kisses from one another as girls. For all the years that had passed since then, she was still fond of those memories.

Daenyra smiled at Catelyn widely and embraced her before pulling back and keeping hold of her hands, "Only because you keep leaving yourself wide open for it, Cat."

"There is, in fact, something else," she said, and turned to the king and queen before continuing. "With your permission, your graces, I should like to remain here and assist the crown in this matter I have brought forward."

She looked at Jon, a man she had always found almost as handsome as his eldest son, and someone who she respected.

"Whether grand intrigues are outside of my purview or not, your grace, I believe I have a responsibility to help pursue this coalition and root out its leaders for all the pain they have inflicted upon the Riverlands. And with your consent, I would like to serve as my lord father's voice in this court."

Daenerys smiled and Jon pursed his lips for a moment before saying, "You have our leave. I will assign you to Sansa. As she is Mistress of Laws, you may serve under her as one of her top aides and help her in the ongoing investigations. I will also empower you to speak with the voice of House Tully here in King's Landing. I'll send a raven to your father to inform him of such. Welcome back to King's Landing, Catelyn. We're happy to have you."

"You have my wholehearted gratitude, your graces," Catelyn said to the king and queen with a wide smile, and she curtsied for both, though one of her hands continued to hold onto Daenyra's.

Daenyra nodded her head, "Let's get you back to your rooms. It's been a long journey, and you'll have plenty to do besides work with Sansa. I expect the Princess Juliana will wish to have tea or somesuch. Come, I'll send for wine and lemoncakes. We must catch up. So much has happened since last we talked."

The lady of the Riverlands complied with girlish giggles, and allowed herself to be pulled out of the room by the lively dragon princess she had long known and cared for. She gave the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms a last, playfully penitent glance, and she was gone.

King's Landing(with @MrDidact and @kingkonrad)

After the supper, Alester was ponderous. So many things had happened in so little time, and so reflexion and more planning was due and needed. He had barely looked at his book of parchments recently, so the first thing he did was review the accounts he had shown Merlin and made some predictions. He would have probably to send a raven or so before leaving King's Landing. He sighed, leaning against the dusty table surrounded by a pile of books, with a beam of potent light prying away from an high window of the library into his table. He was rather simply dressed, and somewhat groomed, but he had the shuffling and wandering characteristic of an scribe rather than a noble.

He eyed the rare "Lives of Four Kings" exemplar he had found out. Always a good a reference for ruling, as he had given yet another brief lecture to keep the lessons fresh. But there were more concerns pressing his mind. The way Willas reacted on the news of the Reach and the way Glennmore had show him the decapitated monster head, knew he had to gather another kind of information. That of the occult and arcane. Those beasts were made by others, or they could be slain. If only the samples weren't so few and in incomplete... it would take a colossal effort to sort them out. But it did not hurt to try. For the sake of the Reach and Westeros.

"Mmm." He mumbled, his limbs starting to getting heavy and his eyelids weighing like lead. The monotony was sinking in at last.

"I always found the prose riveting myself." Alester heard a voice and he would turn to see Prince Jahaerys, thirdborn son of Jon and Daenerys, his stormy grey eyes looking into Alester's. With the Prince was one of the Kingsguard and a big, burly young man who had dark hair and eyes and a mouth made for wide smiles. The Prince nodded, "Greetings, my lord. We met at dinner, but we didn't get much of a chance to talk. This is Sam Snow, the Grandmaester's son. Ser Wex Pyke is guarding me as faithfully as ever. What brings you here?"

Alester blinked twice, before jolting slightly and offering the best salute he could "My Prince!" He exclaimed as he scrambled."i...uh, was reaping the benefits of being a guest of King's landing, when it comes to perusing written works. Few libraries are as big as this one, my prince. And it nevers does bad to extend one's knowledge."

Jahaerys nodded, "Indeed. My father has collected an impressive library. Only dwarfed by the Citadel's. I know almost every tome on these shelves, if not by content, then by name and subject. What do you seek, Lord Alester? What knowledge would you have?"

"Anything that would help me be a better a lord. The Lives of past rulers. The descriptions of tactics that foes might use. Specially those ones that are on the rise." Alester said, without describing much detail. "The seven Kingdoms are experiencing quick changes these days, and It would do well to try and anticipate them."

The Prince smiled, "Politics eh? Politics are so dreary. But if you want, there are extensive treatises on the reign of every king from Aegon to Tommen and of all the kings that came from the kingdoms beforehand. They're still writing my father's. Every scheme and plot, that we know of, committed to paper. This one series, by Maester George, is particularly illuminating on the events of my father's day. They're all in the histories section."

"I shall look into it at some point, my Prince." He simply nodded. He restrained himself, had he been a man of lesser station he would not have appreciated the prodding in which he was subject. The sensation of being watched was ever-present in King's Landing. "Admittedly, if I was in top shape, I would be sparring a little more aswell. No lack of talent in the seat of the Targayens. Alas, the capture of the Gardener pretender was not without hitch, and the Grand Maester was ...insistent about resting." He tried deflecting the situation, as he begun to rearrange and sort the perused books.

Jahaerys smiled sympathethically, "Yes, I heard about your daring adventure. My congratulations on your success. Those pretenders have been causing no small amount of concern here. And you must excuse, Samwell. He knows what is best when it comes to medicine. Perhaps when you feel better, you can join myself and my companions. You'll find quite a few talented fighters."

"I look forward to, but I might return to my keep instead, my Prince. After all, this travel was not planned in advance, and my sister's pout would reach all the way to here if I do not offer her some solace." Alester said. "However, I am flattered by the attention. A mere vassal of the Tyrells like me can only address the crown in counted ocassions."

Jahaerys chuckled, "A shame, I had hoped to see how you fared against Aemon Rayder.I hope you change your mind. If your sister could be sent for, I'm sure she'd like it in the capital as well," he smiled once more, "Don't be so modest. You are a high lord with a proud name. Not some landed knight from the Stony Shore. Men of your standing are always welcome here. My father has always had a sympathy for supporters of Stannis besides."

Alester frowned. "Guess there is no point in hiding it, if you yourself are interested my prince. I had hoped to keep my sword skill a little less known. As for my sister...hmm, your father offered me the same. It is worth considering." He paused. "Stannis. Heh. Yes, his shadow looms over my house, for Selyse was our kin. At the very least, the norther battles made us a bit more hardened to endure these years of recovering our household." He added, as he finished placing his book. "But power is so fragile, it only takes a stupid decision and moment to ruin it all..."

Jahaerys leaned on a nearby wall, "Oh there are already tales spreading through the city from the peasants who accompanied you. They say Lord Alester is a frightening warrior who wears a foxskin, has the eyes of a fox, and fights with the strength and speed of ten men combined. " He chuckled.

"I can see at least the bit about the eyes is untrue. Well, as for power, I find that small moments can ruin houses, and so can long periods of incompetence. My great-grandfather ruined our House, and my grandfather could have made much better decisons. Don't discount small moments for the longer ones."

"But your house is on the rise, thanks to you. The Florent name is on many lips again."

"No, thanks to my father. The real cause of his death is not widely known... but it was exertion, my Prince. He gave perhaps too much effort to rebuild the house, all while others watched and bickered." Alester paused. "If I do not commit myself to a similar level, I am not worthy of bearing his surname." He paused. "Also, I know that I am not the most handsome man of Westeros, but jeez, I am not that frightening. Or am i?" He jested.

Jahaerys smirked, "I've seen far uglier men my Lord, I think you look rather respectable. But you know how smallfolk are prone to their fancies. As for your father, he was a hard-working man, tis true. But if you speak accurately, this was the death of him. You are yet young, I would caution you not to commit the same mistakes and sacrifice yourself. There are ways to rule without burning oneself out. My parents have handled it admirably so far."

"Perhaps is because without mother, my father did simply not know when to stop. I suppose I should see to stop being single." He pondered. "I've taken steps in that regard, but so far progress is slow." He admitted, awkwardly.

Jahaerys spread his hands, "You are a very eligible bachelor my lord. Lord of a High House. Prestigious bloodline. And you are rich to boot. I'm sure you'd find several houses willing to make a match. And, there are many beautiful, unmarried women here at court. Some of my companions among them. Perhaps I can introduce you sometime."

"Uh...well, I already had talks with other Reach houses and eh." Alester's somber face quickly fell apart, the topic being one of his banes. And he couldn't make exactly public the agreement he had with Willas Tyrell yet, so he tried his best to reign his words in.

The Prince smiled knowingly, "Say no more, my lord. It's none of my business. Though I must say, there will be some disappointed women. Lady Stokeworth has been trying to marry off her youngest for quite some time now."

"But I wish you well with the nuptials. I enjoy being a bachelor myself, I'm glad my lord father isn't pushing me to get hitched quite yet. Though mother has been making overtures. Ever since Aemon got married, she's itching to make another match and have even more grandchildren. The woman is insatiable."

"Well, I dont think I will get married anytime soon. The father has been a bit stubborn in that regard." He paused. "Probably in a couple of years if i last." He confided the prince. "Fear not my prince. My sister is 10 and the only other woman of marrying age is a red haired fire priestess i would rather keep in the Dorne Campaign." He jested. "I don't pity you, my Prince. I have said 10 year old conspiring to get nephews, that is way worse than a nagging...queen mother."

Jahaerys laughed, "Mayhaps you are right. And mayhaps your sister may win out. I've come to fear the power young girls can wield. You should have seen my aunt Arya at that age. By all reports, she was a force of nature even then. The same may yet be true here, though I hope not in the exact same way."

"I believe you will last. You seem a hard man to break down. I wouldn't bet against you in this case."

"Well my Prince... I must confess that It is amenable talking with you. The reachmen of my age... I don't see eye to eye with some, like Ellion Tyrell. And since he's the best sword of the Reach... well, I can't avoid conversation without him popping up. I heard he was named Master at Arms. Topics ...can get get quite dull in some cases. "

"I've had a wonderful time as well. It's been a real treat, getting to know the Lord of Brightwater," Jaeherys laughed, "Ah, Ellion. I don't quite know what to think of him, but he will always have my gratitude for beating Viserys and wiping the smug smirk off of his face for once. Perhaps, we could someday see you and him compete in a bout. That should be quite a sight."

"Well that seems like Ellion already. Breaking lances and taking names." He pondered. And maidenheads. But I am sure the prince can pick that one thing on his own. "Also, you may call me Les, Prince. I do not mind and it is faster." He stated.

"Very well, Les. My friends call me Jae, you may follow suit if you wish," The Prince stood from the wall and said, "Well, Ellion is now taking names somewhere else. With my brothers and most of our companions. We ourselves could always use more conversational partners. If you wish to join us for luncheon, we'll be in the gardens. I have other matters, I must attend to." He nodded at Alester.

"Good day, my lord. I hope you find what you're looking for." The Prince and his compatriots withdrew, leaving the Fox Lord to his own devices.

"Good day, my Prince." He added as he decided to pack up. A lunch... and some socializing. He could see the use in that aswell.
-------------------------------------

Alester Florent made careful, simple steps as he was greeted by the radiance of the gardens. Having spent hours holed up in the library and his eyes used to the darker ambience, he could not help but have a pronounced squint. He nevertheless stroke a hand through his hair, eyeing the scenery. It wasn't Highgarden but it certainly didn't lose in terms of exuberance. His visage turned right and left, trying to see the signs of a social gathering of people around his age.

What he found, however, was a servant. He looked at her thoughtfully, before interrupting her task for a brief second, and asking politely, he was directed to the table of his equals, not after thanking the servant without any hint of the usual nobiliary arrogance in his voice. He looked at the assorted people, letting them be the first to greet him.

Alester found the children of the realm's mighty and powerful under an elegant terrace looking out over the sea. Julianna Lannister and her brothers were pleasantly chatting with Baela and Jahaerys Targaryen, along with Nymeria Martell, Alys Tarth and Catelyn Baratheon. Sam Snow, Vickon Greyjoy, Devan Seaworth, and several other young noblemen and noblewomen were in attendance.Alerie Tyrell sat with Tom Lannister, Alerie at least getting to know Tom's brothers a bit better, the twins both the lions that in her eyes, Tom seemed to be eclipsing a little. Scions of the most powerful houses in the kingdoms. Though their numbers were reduced somewhat since the start of hostilities, many of their number having gone off to adventure or battle. Ser Wex Pyke and Ser Josmyn Peckledon of the Kingsguard stood by.

Jaeherys saw Alester and smiled, compelling him over to sit among them. A sumptous array of food had been lain out, fruits and sweets of every descriptions alongside several roast quail and freshly baked fish. Wine and juices were in wide evidence.

"Lords, ladies, Prince, Princesses...sers." Alester said politely before taking the moment to sit in a chair besides him. Such a fine gathering. Indeed, it had been wise to follow along the whims of the prince Jaeherys. He probably would not meet half of these personalities in Brightwater or Highgarden even if years passed. It was worth even bearing to be in the presence of Alerie Tyrell and her thorns. "It is an honor to be invited to this meal." He said curtly. "I thank you, my Prince."

Jaeherys smiled and said, "The honor is all mine. I'm delighted to introduce the heroic Fox Lord to my friends," he turned to Julianna and the others, speaking loudly enough for all to hear, "This is the same Alester Florent who stopped the latest Gardener raid and took one of their leaders prisoner. A toast, to the heroism of Lord Alester."

The young nobles all raised their glasses in a toast, and drank. Julianna Lannister smiled at Alester, "I am pleased to make your acquantince, Lord Alester. It bodes well for my future as a Queen to know that Prince Aemon will have a loyal and dependable friend in you, as my good father does."

Tom Lannister stood as well, holding out his hand, "Ser Tommen Lannister, it's good you're here Lord Alester. I'm afraid the local competition is starting to get a bit stale with most of our friends gone. Clever he may be, a fighter Prince Jaeherys is not." Jaeherys smiled good-naturedly, "I'm better with a bow, thankfully."

Alerie stood by his side, quietly looking at Alester Florent, her red hair nicely composed in a fashion that would be anticipated of King's Landing, albeit with a Reachman influence that clearly put across her fair face in full view.
"Nice to meet you again, Lord Alester. It must have been a very long time ago we met. We were both far younger since I visited last." She smiled characteristically, her voice buttery and gentle as another came to attention.

Baela Targaryen inclined her head, "Lord Alester, pleased to meet you. I think you shall be the muse for my next ballad. I shall call it, the Fox Hunt. What say you?"

"Well met, Crown Princess. You have my thanks for your kind words. I regret having missed the wedding." He said to Julianna, straining himself to put his best smile despite the presence of the thorny woman. He turned his sight to Tom "Well met, young lion of the Lannister. You already cast your own radiance, Lord Heir of the Westerlands." Alester said as he shook his hand. "Alas, I can only disappoint this time." He said as with a swift motion, set apart some cloth of the neck to show the bandages over the wounds. "The maesters would kill me if I started swinging my blade too promptly again. Well, not literally." He added as he addressed the third person, Alerie Tyrell.

"Yes quite a long time, Lady Tyrell. Well met again." He paused. You conniving cruel thorny woman. I do remember that encounter well. You laughed at me. He reigned in his face, become somewhat stiff, before recomposing his smile to address the last person. Princess Baella. She was quite the charming beauty, and still so young that Alester felt like he wanted a new sister for himself.

"It will be an honor, my most fair princess. Talent in arts has always eluded me, and the times need more songs to liften the spirit" He finished.

Alerie nodded, chuckling.
"Gods, we were so young then. And now here we are, all grown up. You seem like quite the Fox now, Alester. All hansome and all. Lord of Brightwater Keep." Alerie was pleasant in her words, she wasn't flirting, but just generally being her usual friendly self.

They all sat and Julianna turned to Alester, "Oh you and Alerie knew each other? I suppose that makes sense. Your father was one of the highest Tyrell bannermen after all. Long in honor and glory."

Tom grinned as he leaned in and said, "So tell us what the beautiful Lady Alerie was like when she was a child. I wonder if she was always so charming and radiant."

Alerie kept using that honeyed voice of hers, and Alester suddenly felt the urge on his throat to gag. Bad memories were surfacing, and were rather attached to her. She had always been beatiful, true, but he, more than others knew that beyond the surface, there was other things, and not precisely nice ones. "Yes, we are grown up now, Alerie. Although I am not as handsome as you are beatiful." He added, as an afterthought. It was proper a compliment after a compliment.

"Ser Tommen, If you are trying to dig out Alerie's past, better ask herself, or do not ask at all in the presence of her friends and acquaintances. All I can say as a Reachman and as a gentleman is that she has always been quite the example of the Tyrell elegance and charm." He smirked back. Dirty laundry on Alerie? Oh he had known a few things, but he also was not foolish enough to break the pact of silence. What happened as kids, should stay as kids play.

And Alerie knew that too. Of course, she had just as much dirt on him as she did on her. It would be stupid and awkward right now, for both of them to disclose it. Alerie was already in with the clique, he wasn't. And neither wanted a scene, both mentally knew that in each other's heads. That's why he wouldn't, she quietly reminded herself mentally.

"I hope your wounds heal fast, Alester. I've seen my brother get hurt, and it never gets any easier to deal with it, when he comes in with bandages and cuts." Alerie added with her gentle demeanor, as she looked to Tom.

"We saw each other a few times when we were little, me and Alester. The Houses of the Reach tended to send their children sometimes to see the gardens of Highgarden, and I always showed them around when father let me. I'll have to do the same with you someday Tom, but I'm afraid I'm not a little girl anymore." She blushed, giggling a little as she gently wrapped her arm around him, red as a rose could be.

Tom smiled, "And aren't I glad of that," he laughed with Alester, "The lady knows I mean no malice. But sometimes, we could all use a little teasing, can't we? Lest we grow too proud and imperious. Hopefully, you'll get settled into King's Landing, my lord, and enjoy yourself." Tom bowed his head in playful contriteness.

Jaeherys raised his hands with a light smile and said, "Forgive Lord Alester, he is a man of action, and men of action often find themselves in a difficult spot when it comes to these dalliances. He'll see that ours is a more familiar kind of setting."

Baela smirked, "Oh, I'm sure the charms of our court will rub off on him eventually. Mayhaps, Alester will find his inner fox here."

"Japes have been lost on me since my father died, my princess and ser." Alester said solemny as he took a careful bite of the lunch, setting aside frugal portions as he ate carefully. "I am sorry to be ...so disappointing." He added as an afterthought washing it down with some wine."Also congratulations on your bethrodal. The Master of Coin hinted it to me, and I can see it now clearly."

Alerie nodded to Alester, knowing her father was at least somewhat able to disclose it. He was proud, and perhaps, why wouldn't he be. The mess with the Lannisters was behind them, and perhaps he was proud of her for seeing that.
"Thank you, Alester. Yes, it's been a long time coming. Tom and I have been rather....close since we first met in King's Landing. So perhaps it is the next step to bring the blood of Lannister and Tyrell together, despite perhaps what our families have had before." Alerie said, looking up at him with a warm smile.

"I hope you find Alys to be all you hoped for, Alester. As she grew older, I suppose I got on better with her than I did when we were young...but sisters are always that way when they're little! But she's my sister, and the only other sibling I have of the fairer sex. If my father thinks you'll treat her right, then so do I, and I trust she'll find you to be just as handsome as I do. She'll look after you in times good and bad. And is rather good at the harp and dressmaking , far better than I am." Alerie giggled, knowing this from her father, knowing it was a limited offer for now and only a betrothal, not an immediate marriage till Alys was old enough.

Tom held Alerie's hand and Jaeherys laughed, "It's not official yet, but already it's fast making the rounds of the castle. I suspect we can hear an announcement sometime soon."

Julianna rest her chin on her hand and looked at Jaeherys, "And when can we expect an announcement for yourself? I think it's long past that you were wed, good brother."

"You and my mother both. Ha, well, for the moment, I enjoy my sovereignty."

Baela giggled, "Oh I'm sure you do," the princess looked at Alester, "Alys Tyrell? A quick match. I had thought you a bachelor, Lord Alester. I'm sure the women of the city will be severely disappointed now."

"Fret not, Alerie. She will always be the fairest and better sister in my eyes, and I shall see to it accordingly." Alester replied, as he took another piece of food. "I have not know the prince Jaeherys for long, but I was fortunate to met his lover. Once." He deadpanned as he eyed his cup. Almost empty.

"And I am sorry I am being a disappointment in gossipping. However since it is a bethrodal which I wish to make to bring stability and peace of mind and in my land, I have little room to margin." Alester's eyes went directly to Baela. "Although i will not say no to a princess, even if I risk making house Tyrell a bit... inconvenienced."

Jaeherys smirked, "Oh if you had seen me with a lover, you must have eyes just like a fox, a bewitched or confused one at any rate. Though that doesn't seem in evidence. As everyone knows, I am steadfast in the celibate demands of chivalry." Baela rolled her eyes and laughed.

The Princess tapped her finger against her lip in mock thought, "And who said I asked, Lord Alester? Do you think yourself the only man in King's Landing who is a good prospect? Oh, Ser Wex has to beat off most of them with a stick. The hazards of being a Princess, I suppose. Father is content to let me remain unmarried, despite whatever I may desire."

Tom sat back and held Alerie's hand in his, "Oh I must disagree, my lord. There are no roses as bright and pleasant as Alerie Tyrell. Were you not injured, one might be tempted to demand satisfaction," he smiled to let Alester know he was joking.

"Father certainly did speak of this happening, Tom." Alerie giggled, joining in with Tom, as she shook her head, looking across to Alester once more.
"I imagine whatever the case, what my father proposed is open to you. I mean, if the Princess did open her heart up...not many would blame you, Alester! It is up to you, my friend. But I'm sure, Baela, some day a man will come and sweep you off your feet. He may not have a dragon to help, but he'll certainly be someone special indeed." Alerie said, aware she got on with Baela and the others well, letting either of them reply.

"Well, Ser Tommen, nobody would blame you for doing that. After all if you win all you beat is a cripple, and if you are defeated, you bring the shame of being defeated by a cripple. Not a lot of honor to gain, there." He shrugged, as he decided to answer Tom first. His eyes then went to Baella. "Well, I can't beat people in looks. So whoever gets married to me will look absolutely stunning in contrast, princess. And now that you say it, it is small wonder you have so many at your doorstep, what with the free lessons of Ser Wex." He responded Baela, leaving Jaeherys for last as he put a total serious expression.

"It is an utter disgrace that the prince fell into the clutches of that vile woman. She seduces men of all kinds, and leads them astray. She has worked with so many heirs and idle noblemen before I cannot even fathom. Alas, the prince is in the evil clutches of the one Called Life, first name Good." He finished. How is that for a jape, Jaeherys?

Tom smirked, "Indeed, luckily enough you can avoid the shame of being beaten by someone a few years younger than you for a few more weeks yet."

Baela laughed, "Oh, what can I say. It seems men get all kind of notions into your heads when women and honor are at stake. Though, I suppose even honor yields to the former. Although, truth be told, I always thought it such a shame that Cat's brother or Alys' brother were unmarried." Said young knights being absent at the moment, due to needs of state.

Jaeherys smiled, raising his glass, "And what a fine mistress she is. One, I take to with vigor and a complete lack of shame." Julianna giggled at the back and forth and drank some lemonsweet.

Alerie chuckled, as she nodded to Baela, knowing what Ellion was like.
"Ah, Ellion is rather....fickle. Seems to never be sure what he wants. But I'm sure someday someone will tame him, or he'll find something he wants more than anything. Merebelle seemed rather infatuated with him, and him with her, but I cannot see it last. He needs a fire. Or, just a duty really." She mused, as she joined in with drinking the same as Julianna, giggling a little at Jahaerys being...well, himself, as she turned back to Baela.

"He is what he is, I suppose.." She added, not really having to say too much about her brother.

"I wonder if he would like to trade places with me. I would surely love an easy life without obligations." Alester mused as he shook his head. As much as thorny Alerie was, Ellion's attitude rubbed him wrong the most. He eyed Tommen Lannister as he shrugged. "There is little shame in accepting defeat to one's better, Ser Tommen. My teacher told that much to me. Granted he wasn't Jaime Lannister." He conceded. "But, given the fact that you probably will keep me egging the whole time I will spend in King's Landing, and given the fact we might become linked to the Tyrells, I shall not allow you to go empty handed." He paused as he stood up and grabbed an apple with his hand. "Plus Prince Jaeherys introduced me as man of action. I would hate to leave him as liar."

"May I be so kind of perusing a sword? I shall show you a little party trick I use to delight people." He paused, making a mental check. If it is just this much, it is probably fine

Baela said, "Ellion, settling down? That'll be the day. It'll take a very rare girl to make him sit still. Mayhaps we ought to bring back polygamy for his case," Baela and Julianna traded humorous glances at that. Tom stood and handed his own sword around his belt to Alester, "Go ahead, my lord. I'm rather curious what you would show us."

Alester nodded, as he gripped the blade, and spun it a few times. "Tis a fine steel." He said, praising it. And then, making sure nobody was in his vicinity and allowing him some breathing room, hoisted the apple in midair. Two swift, precise cuts diced the apple in nearly perfect quarters as the apple dropped to the ground, his style being reminiscent to that of the Reach, and similar to Ellion Tyrell in that regard.

"My sister loves this trick. I always perform it so she can be reassured before a fight. Now considering this is just a trick, and I am wounded at that... if you cannot do this much, Ser Tommen, I do not think any of us will gain insight by crossing our blades due the difference of skill." He paused, touching his shoulder. It was sore, but it had not reopened yet. He handed the sword back graciously as he sat again.

Baela and Julianna clapped their hands appreciatively and Jaeherys nodded in admiration, "Fine swordsmanship, my lord."

Tommen stood and retrieved his sword, "Indeed a fine trick. But you need not doubt my sword arm." He held the blade in a classic one-handed Westermen stance, similar to his uncle. Jaeherys threw an apple up in the air and Tommen slashed his sword in quick, clean cuts. Four more apple pieces joined the others on the ground and the Young Lion grabbed another to bite into it, "It seems we are evenly matched in this regard, my lord. We need not fear an uneven contest at any rate."

He threw the apple up, tossed out his dagger and hit it right where he took a bite, slamming it into a nearby pillar, "Or mayhaps we do." He sat back down with a friendly smile, taking his knife and cutting more fruit, offering a slice to Alerie.

Alerie giggled, shaking her head with a little blushing laughter, as she took the apple slice and bit from it, clearly impressed by both.
"Crikey, you two having fun with swords?" Alerie giggled, as she gently hugged Tom, nodding at him and hoping he'd take it on the chin.
"A fine display, if I must say so. I imagine it comes with much practice. A needle's precision with the force of a blade." Alerie added to both of them, her voice still as smooth as ever, kindly and not aggressive or rising up, a calming one almost that bridged.

Alester had not said a thing, nor he had moved. Instead he had paid attention to each subtle shift and move of the Young Lion, as he watched the boy replicate his feat. Of course he was really smug about it, but it was to be expected. Unlike the lad, Alester had suffered defeat before, to the hands of Ellion Tyrell no less, so he took no heed of the further one-upping of his swordmanship, merely noting that, even if he lost to a 15 year old, he would grow and learn with the battle. One step at a time to keep honing his abilities. "Struggling against uneven odds is how one grows and matures, ser Tommen. It shall be an honor to cross swords with you, and learn something in the process." He furthered. He fumbled around for a fresh drink, after the display. "I am sure you and ser Ellion will get along just fine." He added as an afterthought.

Tom raised his glass, "I hope so. I intend to marry his sister after all. But I have no cause to think otherwise. I look forward to our bout as well," Tom snuggled up to Alerie and stroked her hand, "With my lady's favor, there is no chance the gods will see me defeated."

Jaeherys laughed, "Enough talk of fighting for the moment I think. There will be enough of that for the forseable future. The food is getting cold, and I would hate to waste it. By your leave good sister?" Julianna nodded with a smile and they began to dig into the food, the conversation becoming more lighthearted and of no consequence as they traded stories and gossip while eating the best the city had to offer.

Alerie nodded to Jaeherys, agreeing to that as she sipped a little honeywine down.
"We shall have to see, my Lion." Alerie added, gently kissing him on the cheek, allowing Tom to keep her close, as she finished her cup, before returning to the food.

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

The Tower Cell

Willas had made his decision, to head down to the tower, after being told that Owen was ready to be seen to by the Tyrell Lord. And he had suffered a little, apparently. Not like he was in the Black Cells, but a little to be convinced of his situation. Heading up the steps, he saw the pair of Gold Cloaks standing by the door, his own Tyrell retinue of two men following closely by, as the two Gold Cloaks knew they were expecting Willas.and slowly made their way up to him.

"You're here to see the prisoner?" One asked, as Willas nodded.
"Alright. You have your time. Your guards go back down the stairs from here. We will be outside." They sternly reminded, as Willas heard them open the strong door, the noise of Owen inside held by the chains he was bound by gently audible. They stood aside, as Willas walked in, seeing the man that was Ser Owen Gardener lie on the straw bed he had been left, looking at the man walking in. The guards kept the door open, and Willas took him in again.

"I suppose I don't have to make an introduction. Save your insults, if you had any. I can probably play what you want to say in your head right now in mine." Willas said with a stern conviction, as he walked in further into the cell, taking him in. He was weak, but his looks weren't fading quick.

"We're both Reachmen, and you know what you want to say. I imagine what I'll say won't be what you're expecting. I know that you won't spill anything about your brother because like any good man, you care for your family." Willas said, awaiting his response as he leaned against the wall.
"Tell me that's true. That it's one reason you have."

Owen, dressed in a plain shift, sat up on his straw bed and regarded Willas evenly, "I expected this meeting for some time. Their graces have already visited, and so have the King's sisters. A formidable lot to be sure. But they have heard little and less from me."

"You're right. I won't betray my brother. As such, my lord, unless you wish to discuss the latest fashion trends or mummer plays, I don't know if there is much for us to discuss. You may be Master of Coin, an educated man, Lord Tyrell, but I sincerely doubt that you'll be able to get anything out of me when the Stark sisters haven't yet. But if you wish to ask questions, ask away. I shall not answer as necessary."

"No, you don't need to. And I heard as much. They seem to be very interested in someone like yourself then. Makes you a very good liar...or a very good threat." Willas mused, as he walked to another spot, leaning against the wall.
"Either way, you respect him, clearly. That's good. I do with mine. Even with some of the things we disagree on, we always have to, for the good of the family. It's a common trait of anyone who wants to do the thing that they believe in the most. Family, honour, bravery. The moment one pillar falls, the rest follow. The moment you let go of one, the rest will fuck you up, piece by piece." Willas added with a biting curse, as he watched Owen, looking for something to give away, as he shrugged.

"But, I digress. Why talk about things we both know too much of...well, apart from one thing. I've got something for you." Willas said, as he headed to the door, one of the guards leaving a small jug with one of the Gold Cloaks, as well as a couple of goblets. Taking them with him as he went back in again, he put one aside by Owen's side, and poured, pouring his own as he gave a good sip.

"You don't have to drink it right now, because you won't spill your tongue even if I forced you to drink it. We're not animals with wine, Seven Hells, there's a circle in hell for people who don't appreciate good wine and drink too quick, as my friend Tyrion would say. And if there was poison in it, you'd either think me a bufoon, a moron or suicidal. But enjoy it. It's not cheap crap, either." He added, sipping down a bit more himself, knowing Owen would see that clear. If this was a bribe, that it was. Willas didn't care either way. It wasn't to him. It was a little generosity, if he was in the same place, he'd want wine.

"Anyway, whatever you know, it doesn't interest me. If it did, I wouldn't need to even be here, because I'd get whatever use is needed. They'd torture you blind, literally, but I think better than that. What I am interested in, is something else." Willas said, looking blank, before back at him again.
"You killed a bunch of civilians in your attack, I heard. People of the Reach you're trying to rally." Willas simply asked, neutral in his question, awaiting a response, if any.

Owen took the goblet and drank a sip, savoring it, "Arbor red. Good year. I thank you. I suspect your royal overseers wish to coax me with gifts to come but I am in the early stages yet, and the fare has been lacking. I wouldn't expect you of any such action as poisoning Willas. It is the weapon of cravens or women, and you are an honorable man, by all accounts."

The Gardener put down the cup and his eyes seemed to drop to the floor before he spoke with Willas, "Those deaths were unfortunate. But they were not my aim. And sad though it is, such casaulties are unavoidable when we nobles play our games. How many smallfolk died when your house cut off supplies to King's Landing in the War of Ten Graces? Smallfolk die, I do not seek their deaths, but victory comes at a cost."

Owen drank another sip of wine, "Give my compliments to Lord Redwyne."

Willas listened, nodding as he smirked.
"I shall when I see him next. I imagine if I was in your positon right now, I'd expect someone to do the same for me, so don't call it anything. Not sure how far I'd get with that. A naiive thing, perhaps. But it is what it is." He added, his observations close, and taking it in throughout.
"Same as smallfolk, really. It's nobody's choice. Not unless you really wanted to see the world burn. You know that much." Willas replied, looking back straight at Owen.
"Costs you're willing to bear, it seems though. A cause you believe in." Willas was open, very much so. It could have taken almost any interpretation to it.

Owen put the goblet down and said, "We don't want the Reach to burn. We see the troubles afflicting it. And we want better for our people. To have the true blood of the Green Hand sitting on the seat of Highgarden once more. And for that, I would give my own life to see a Lord Gardener sitting on our ancestor's seat."

"Victory at any cost, Willas. All revolutions must be conducted as such. For great gains cannot be won without great sacrifice. I expect your house will do the same, as they have done. How else do you think they came to power in the first place? Who was it who convinced King Mern to ride out to battle with all his heirs while they sat behind at home? Who shared his blood and used that to rise to power? We seek to right that wrong."

Willas nodded, taking it in. It was a nicely put way of saying it. And it had some truth. Strangely, he could see that, but he just didn't share that point of view. Neither would many. The mere fact that they were riding out in the first place perhaps reminded them that they were the idiots would would even dare fight three enormous dragons, let alone win. Owen was driven by his convictions, he could see that much right there.

"I see. I mean, there's plenty more than just that. Perhaps you didn't deserve that seat if you were foolish enough to fight dragons, or would have just been bored of watching keep after keep burn, vassal after vassal turn, so you took the advice of glory anyway." Willas said, with a certain charm in his voice, as he shook his head.

"That happened three hundred years ago. In that time, the Targaryen dynasty has gone from boom, to bust, to boom. The world nearly was destroyed as we know it by a threat far more terrifying than a revolutionary, because the dead and the living were all that mattered for a moment of our time. If you don't think I don't know what House Tyrell did, I would be a ignorant fool. But then again, all of the families of the Seven Kingdoms seemed to trick or break their way into power, unless you're the Starks or Arryns, of course. And we seemed to do well." Willas added, watching him for a response.

Owen smirked sourly, "Yes, power is gained somehow. Diplomacy, trickery, or war. It is the way of things. Every great house has climbed the ladder and played the game. The Tyrells played it well. But now we're playing once more. From the ashes, new growth is strongest. And there will be a Gardener in Highgarden once more. Even if it takes years."

"Then it shall be a good game, Owen. They won't hurt you, or torture you further here, not to anything unacceptable. There's men in the Reach who'd enjoy nothing more than that till you are kept alive by a string. Perhaps the same to me. But alas, let's not talk about horrible things. You have wine there and it's going unused." Willas replied, nodding.
"It was good talking to you, Owen Gardener. You're a rather interesting character indeed. We'll have to see how your growth goes." With it, Willas took his stick, and left the room, leaving him with the wine on the floor, and the goblet behind. He walked out, as the guards looked on a little confused.

As he left, Owen smiled and drank some more wine.

"He's got wine, so he'll sleep well tonight. I know you're not allowed, so thanks." Willas said, as one of the guards nodded.
"Noted." The reply was simple, as Willas headed down the staircase quietly, and away from the Tower Cell. He had his answers for what he needed, of what kind of person he was dealing with. The kind that would help him better set up his plans, and he knew it would not be alone if he wanted to help stamp out the menace in his own Kingdom.

The Spine, The Vulture’s Roost, Ser Uther and the Demon

The sudden change of the man before Ser Uther, the turning from man into beast, into a creature from nightmares and half-forgotten stories. The molting flesh, clothing, and armor clung to this beast’s new frame like some horrific joke of the former humanoid form. Still, such shock, the surprise and utter chaos of a sight lasts only for so long, for when the beast lashed out at Ser Uther, its claws rended a painful set of slashes across Uther’s face, tearing his chainmail coif from his head and sending the metal rings clinging and clattering across the stones. That moment was to Uther as though he had fallen back into his own body, finally able to control his own limbs and mind once more.

“Ahhh… bla… ssteeddd… bloody Seven…. Gawhhahah” Ser Uther cried out as he fell backwards onto his posterior. Blood oozed out from his facial would as Uther scrabbled backwards like some unsettled crab, scrapping his hands as he tried to put distance between himself and this chaotic abomination before him. The beast let out a blood curdling screeching roar as it was attacked by that young alchemist and his flaming sword, along with Ser Uther’s commander, Ser Andrew. Uther looked on in horror as the beast snatched the alchemist by his neck with its’ tail, the powerful hunk of sinew and flesh throttling the youth as the beast turned back to glare menacingly at Ser Uther.

Then his right hand found the haft of a discard spear, the ashwood almost calling out to his hand. Uther quickly recoiled upwards to his feet, and with a mighty heft, hurled the spear into the beast’s abdomen, eliciting a fiercesome roar of pain and challenge. Uther could see that the scored hit was but an inconvenience for the beast, as it quickly snapped off the spear’s haft, throwing the wood away. Ser Andrew was still recovering from being batted away, and with no other means of escape, Uther grabbed up a broken sword, holding it menacingly towards the beast. Perhaps it was his fear and own mind playing tricks, but Uther could swear that the beast laughed at him, its noise full of derision and mirth.

The beast and Uther charged one another, the alchemist still held firm in the beast’s powerful vicelike tail. Uther could see that the youth would not last much longer unless he did something, but that distracted moment allow the beast to score two quick hits in succession, across Uther’s chest and swinging arm. The broken sword found flesh too, only to be batted aside like a child’s plaything to the beast. The pain was intense, like a burning fire atop Uther’s body, as he recoiled back, sidestepping another vicious attack from the beast’s claws. Just then, Ser Andrew let out another cry of challenge, momentarily distracting the beast from its quarry. Uther took that moment of respite to snatch up a discarded halberd from a dead Vulture, shaking the dead man’s grip loose from the weapon.

Uther, without noise or regard for his own safety, slashed downwards with the weapon, aimed straight for the beast’s tail. The cut was clean, the steel blade crashing down upon the fleshy tail in a gout of blood, sparks, a falling alchemist, and a pained roar of great anger from the beast itself. The beast quickly rounded on Uther, turning its hateful gaze upon him, yet Uther was ready, knowing and seeing what he had to do. Uther ducked under the certainly mortal blow of the beast’s claws, before charging with all his might and strength, to impale the beast upon the blade of the halberd. Uther took the haft with both his hands, shoving it with all his might, before releasing one hand to grab the remains of the spear still imbedded in the beast. He let loose a cry of anguish, the beast raking its’ claws across Uther’s back, before freeing that broken spear and driving it deeper into the flesh of the beast itself.

The two remained locked in a painful melee, Uther pressing forward, the beast off-balance, as the two careened towards the gaping chasm of the castle lifts that led down to the docks below. Perhaps it was luck, perhaps it was divine intervention, but as the beast stepped back, it lost its footing, slipping in a pool of collected blood and pulverized dust, a mucky slush of slippery filth. The beast fell back, holding onto the exposed doorway with both its powerful claws, its beady eyes staring daggers of icy hate at Uther. Uther himself spat out blood, before taking a fallen standard from the ground, leaping into the air, and driving the pole into the beast’s chest. A cry of anguish leapt from the beast’s lips, and that of Uther, as he was slashed by the beast’s claws.

Both man and beast let out a fiercesome howl of defiance, as together they tumbled into the blackness of the lift shaft, their cries echoing upwards as they both fell the long way down to the bottom.