The Golden Tooth, a celebratory dinner...

Dinner was coming along nicely, each dish being cooked to Lady Myrielle's exacting specification. She hummed softly as she drifted between stations, tasting this dish and that, complementing the cooks and their helpers. She smiled brightly as she tasted a particularly delectable dish of grilled lamb, before moving on to decide what drinks would be served to their guests. Her movements were graceful and seductive at the same time, as Myrielle seemed to glide through the pleasantly warm kitchens. To the kitchen staff, their new lady was a welcome and enjoyable change from the Lannister's of until recent.

Lady Cerenna too was present in the kitchen, helping her sister in law with the final food prep and tasting, as well as engaging the staff in polite conversation about anything that they needed to improve their jobs within the kitchen. The two women laughed and traded kind words among each other and the staff. The air had a pleasant vibe to it, as well as the intermingling scents of delicious food. Unbeknownst to either of the House Lefford ladies, a special ingredient had been added to the pork and vegetable soup that was to be served tonight. The young man quickly disposed of the three large earthen ware containers, before returning to his assigned duties of bringing the scraps to the livestock.

Now, it was time eat, to drink, and to enjoy pleasant conversation between guest and host. The food was brought forth, along with drink and a single lutist, the middle aged man sporting a fine leather doublet with a red metallic pin over his heart. What was more a surprise was to the delight of all, a large jug of vintage Arbor Red was found deep in the wine cellar, and twas Myrielle herself who found it. She poured the first cup to her husband, and then another to the honored guest, Ser Vikary. With joy in their eyes, and hope in their hearts, everyone began to eat the served dinner.

As the host and guests dined inside, a lovely lady made her rounds about the castle and it's fortifications. She smiled and chatted, all the while ladling out hot fresh soup to the guards on duty. Each guard happily took the warm meal, glad to have something to warm them up on this deceptively chilly night. No doubt the soup would be served soon inside, but more importantly was to ensure the loyal guards to both House Lannister and Lefford were well fed. The young lady finally finished her rounds, wishing the last group of guards a wonderful night, before she disposed of the bucket and ladle, and made her way to the livestock pens.

Dinner was delicious, with good wine to help wash it all down. The music was soft and pleasing to all in attendance, the middle aged man surprisingly skilled, even to Lord Lorimer himself. He had finished his second helping of soup, the taste almost seeming to be invitingly addicting. No doubt the cook was rather skilled, and he would need to bee rewarded. Lorimer looked at his lovely wife, smiling at her before stifling a rather large yawn. To his surprise, it seemed the yawn was infectious, for soon all were yawning and rubbing their eyes. He chuckled a little, turning to speak with Ser Vikary, when the music changed, from the warm happy tune to a slow and sad one. One he had heard many a time in stories of old. Yet, such a realization was too little too late. As Lorimer tried to fight off the creeping spectre of exhaustion and sleep, the dramatic melody of the Rains of Castmere lulled out from the lute.

The lutist put his instrument down, smiling inwardly to himself. "Milk of the Poppy, sleep well my patron and your guests. The Red Lion desires to speak with you all." He turned to the waiting staff members who were in cahoots with the Reyne Lord, speaking gently, as though not to wake a child asleep at night. "Bind them all. No killing. Hostages are off no use to our Lord if they are dead. Besides, this Lefford fellow and his family are good people. Bring them all, the guards too, to the great hall. Our Lord shall meet them there one they have awoken. Run along, I must continue to serenade our lovely guests to the Red Lion." With that said and done, the musician picked his lute back up, and continued to play, while his associates hurried to bind their captives and begin moving them to the great hall.

King's Landing
The Rose Garden (with @kingkonrad@MrDidact)

---

Willas sat out in the beautiful garden, the flowers in full bloom, as he sat at the pavillion, at work out here instead of inside. It was a nice day, after all, and he thought he'd do something here. Then maybe talk to some courtiers from the Iron Bank, and a couple of other meetings. He was comfortable out here, and it was a pleasant place to be. It was also one of the few places he could sit with his falcons and birds of prey, the blue Peregrine swooping in onto a wooden rail by his table.

Willas was an avid falconer, and despite being a slight cripple, he was known for his skills. Here in King's Landing, it was muted, given dragons ruled the roost, but he knew that even made waves in House Arryn. He was good at it, as he fed a little feed to give to Vulcan, his peregrine a thoroughbred. Though it wasn't as large as the bird next to it, a striking golden eagle, that nearly dwarfed the size of the falcon, and it was far more majestic. They got on well, Willas was good at culturing the bird to each other, as Willas gently stroked Goldrush, the Golden Eagle screeching as he gently put his leather glove to it's talons, letting it step on.

"Good girl." He gently fed a little feed, the bird eating it with no such complacency. Back home, he remembered what he bred of these birds, something that most would be humbled by. And he was astounded to hear that Griffins were alive again, he always wanted to meet one and see how it would react to his falconer's touch. That and larger birds were always a treat, but these were magnificent creatures for hunts and companions, his son taking up his hobby too. It was a hobby more than a trade, but Willas was no slouch when it came to looking after the birds, one of the best in his home Kingdom and his name for this work known far and wide. He let Goldrush jump up his left arm, as he gently drank from his wine goblet, the bird heavy yet sitting nicely on his arm as he let the bird look around and take in it's environment.

Alester sighed as he rubbed his shoulder, stretching the taut healing tissue. These things took time and rest. But he had no such luxuries, so begrudlingly he counted the hours and days go by. Walks were useful for that regard, or cultivating his reading and mind. However, he also could do other things in the meantime. While Merlin was the Steward of the Reach, Willas still was the one above him. A good relationship would be benefitial for the both, moreso after the bethrodal offer.

"Splendid sheen, no signs of moult or loose feathers. That bird has been raised with care, my lord" Alester said, as he approached the knight-turned-falconer.

"Indeed. All of mine are." Willas replied, as he saw Alester come in, nodding to the table, gently removing the glove from his left hand and passing it to Alester.
"Here. There's a little bait, so she likes that glove." Willas let Goldrush make the decision, letting him wait till Alester had the glove on, given he was far more comfortable around his owner.

"They are magnificent creatures. From the mountains of Dorne, they are the sharpest eyed creatures there are. A wingspan of about five and a half feet, so they can sit in the air and wait, and wait. The Targaryens may be Gods, for they can fly on the wings of dragons. But this is as close as us mortals come. And the courage and wisdom of an eagle yields merit to one who looks after it." Willas intellectually mused, as he let Goldrush leap from his arm to the glove, sitting on Alester's hand. He looked at the Florent, eyeing him up, it's face critical yet curious. It was a mature bird, and certainly a fine specimen.

"I confess I have had to neglect many of these noble hobbies for the sake of my success." Alester said, as he fed the majestic creature and carefully caressed the head of the bird. "But one does not need to master falconry to see the facts. I very much doubt this raptor does eat mice. It would eat small deer or even lambs with that much wingspan." He grunted, the weight of the animal and the stiff position straining the wound. "Vultures are even bigger, but such cowardly carrion eaters are hardly befitting this environment." He added, sighing. "Dragons bleed fire, but they still bleed. They are as mortal as us." He paused. "If I wanted to pick a falconry animal I would have the smaller falcon instead." He added. "Because they hunt targets that are bigger than them."

Willas nodded, agreeably.
"It has a go, certainly. Oh, and back at home, I have Condors. Enormous birds, that could probably lift people off their feet. I don't bring them here in case...well, the Targaryens have enough issue with dragons eating things they shouldn't when out in the wild. Imagine a flock of Condors, taking little children. They are birds with a wingspan that makes most birds feel small. Most mortals too." Willas chuckled, shaking his head as he knew it was in jest, as he nodded.

"But you are right. Peregrines are sleek, fast. They survive because of that. The biggest birds may be the most proud, the most majestic, the most awe-inspiring. But Vulcan over there is a bird that can fly at the ground faster than any. It is powerful, yet humble. A beautiful hunter that blends with the sky it sits in, and yet makes itself present." Willas added, as he looked across at the gentle Goldrush, seeing it saw it's master again. Hopping onto the table, Willas took it on his arm again, around a leather vambrace.
"I imagine you aren't here by accident, or as a falconer. I suppose we have much to discuss too. On the same level, Alester, I know you are interested in what I spoke with when I met Owen Gardener."

"Among other things, my lord. We are fighting a two war front." Alester said as he straightened himself after having being used as a bird perch. "I am interested if the guest I procured has been useful...as well as why I get a raven from my subordinate in the Reach campaign explaining he had to sacrifice a good number of knights because the army was seized by fear." He added as he lowered his voice. "I know about the real nature of our enemies. They are in the Reach too." He said in all but a whisper, eyeing Willas Tyrell, as he took a small sip of wine after pouring it on a cup for himself.

"He was useful. He's a good asset. Convicted in his beliefs. I think I have the measure of what they are now." Willas said, sipping a little, nodding.
"I understand what he wants. And how far he'll go. So do you. It makes him dangerous. He's not psychotic, or willing to burn the Reach to the ground to have it. But he's willing to believe it and follow through." The Tyrell Lord added, nodding his head.
"Aye, he's not going to spill much. But he'll protect his kin. And his kin will do the same for him. So what you did will have an effect. It'll push them. Killing him would only rile them, holding him as a hostage works in our favour. And he's a far more valuable hostage than anyone." Willas was thinking out loud almost, as he shrugged.
"So, I suppose I do as well. I saw what he had to say. What he would give away. And that works more to us than he thinks. We need only find one more, and their dynastic idea shall be weakened." Willas finished the cup, pouring a bit more.

"Your guest was useful. But what of the beasts in the Reach? Do you consider they work for the Gardeners as equals, or are forced?"

Alester swirled the wine, as he listened to what Willas said. He has an idea on who these are. Well, at least it is useful. He frowned his grip on the cup tightening all of a sudden. "One more, huh. It makes things easier. Or more difficult. Hell if I know which. If we could somehow break that honor-bound defense of his... maybe if we could trick him into believing he was abandoned and betrayed... he would surely break and spill everything." He paused. "Although I don't know enough of him to even make such attempt."

"Regarding our guests in the Reach..." Alester gritted his teeth. "There is hardly that many. It could be even rogue parties. But they aren't going to lower their number anytime soon. They seem some kind of shock troops reinforcement to make things even more confusing. The Inquisitor is dealing with them as we speak." He added. "Although it would do us well to be aware... and not spread the news much further than the small council and some lords."

"There's some terrible stuff going on Alester. The world is changing faster than most can deal with it. Beasts and creatures that are undescribable. Rumours, back. It used to be simple once. A mastery of politics and combat was enough. Now there's something far more terrifying out there that we must respond to. Something far more scary. If the commoners were to understand what we knew, it would destabilize society as we knew it. Hundreds of years of progress, unwound." Willas replied, as he finished pouring, taking sip.

"That is good to hear at least then. We need to respond. Finish them. Our campaign in the Stepstones is about to be underway, and in the Red Mountains, things could have certainly been worse. But it affirms what I was thinking. We are in a rapidly changing world, and those with the knowledge of the new will know how to survive. Even if it is arcane and mad, it is what allows them to thrive in this new world we inhabit. For now however, I see that men and food win wars. And even beasts need to eat. That is why the Reach cannot fall, or change hands. Lest the rest of the Kingdoms have any thoughts." Willas added, thinking about Owen once more.

"As for Owen...trickery shall not work. Time will have that effect. And time is what we have. In time, he will break, a sane mind eventually becomes wrapped in entropy, it becomes more and more unstable in a isolated environment. Keeping him as our hostage shall work in our favour, till we see the effect of time. He'll be treated well, but isolation is what will make him tick. If torture can't, then that shall, as it eventually can with anyone."

"Time is precisely the one thing we might be running short, my lord" Alester added as he let the cup rest against the table. "I do not like this, not one bit. In general. We thought we had the initiative, but they were playing us for fools. We are dancing to their tune still, and if we don't break their pace and plans soon enough, it...might be too late." He said in a sour tone, almost snarling. "There is scarcely any books about these subjects. I have checked. Stupid faith purges and censorship, had we known..." The Fox Lord breathed deeply, trying to rein the stress in. "But its okay. If the world is changing, so shall we. We will beat them by outsmarting them every single move. It's all we can do. Relearn and reinvent, wind the clock even further my lord. With what little time we have."

Willas understood that Alester was smart, but he was young. Even Alerie didn't have the gift of wisdom, even Willas knew that in times like these, that remained a constant.
"Neither do I. But we have their false King's brother. We hold the cards. We don't need to dance to their tune any longer. Now we have something that matters to them. They'll need to decide how to act. So we do have time, Alester. Perhaps not much. But enough to work with. To create weakness in rock, a crack must form first. The crack can come from imperfections, but in the end it, doesn't matter. The crack expands, and the crack deepens. and the rock sheers off. That is the Gardeners." Willas sipped wine, looking at Alester.

"You won't find this in books. Wisdom comes from experience. Much like Ellion, I sent him to fight because he wouldn't read and could hardly sit still. But he knows more of the world and what of it than sitting and reading books. The greatest men never read books all day long. They kept it in mind, but what made them was action. So in a time of change, observe the world, don't just read about it. The scholars who make them, the Maesters, will not keep up in a time like this. Of course you should, much as I do. But you're young. And that matters more to you than it shall to me." Willas chuckled, a humble and neutral, yet positive point to make for Alester, Willas understanding he could make that about him.

"We shall defeat them. I imagine it will be a mess when we find his brother. I won't lie, he is a traitor to the realm, and shall likely be killed, publically. Any man that does this suffers that fate, no trial is even required."

"Your wisdom is appreciated, my lord, although I would like to indicate such wisdom reaping antics are fairly limited in me right now" Alester added, pointing to his wound. "Maester Samwell would throw a fit if he saw me doing anything remotely physical or adventurous."

"Well...not right now. When you heal I imagine you'll be right as rain. You're a Reachman. Made of sterner stuff than most. A fit and healthy young man." Willas chuckled, aware that Alester was probably the same age as his son, if a couple years younger, and that was rather strange almost to know, given he was talking Lord to Lord.

"Observe the world, huh." He paused, as he looked at his surroundings, slumping in the chair, his sight resting in their surroundings as the birds chirped. Dozens of thoughts were in his mind as his tension disipated if for a brief moment. "Funny you mentioned Ellion, he is the one that gave me a beating when i took up the sword and thought I was a good knight." He mused."I saw Alerie earlier aswell. She got a Lannister for himself." He added,relaxing the tension a fair bit.

"Yes, that she did. A strong bond between House Tyrell and House Lannister. Something to beat the horrors that happened between our two families. A bond like that would do everyone well. Even if there are those who are opposed, it's better to have my daughter do some good in the world and steer the classical Kingdoms back to peace." Willas nodded, clearly content with that, as he sipped his wine.

"As for Ellion, he is talented. He has his trouble. But he has his honour. I imagine he'll grow out of it. Any young Knight with enough talent always does." Willas added, drinking the wine softly as the golden eagle lept off his arm, and sat next to Vulcan, standing tall on the wooden rail.

"My father entered me into a tourney when I was too young, pushed me. He was an idiot sometimes, my father. I didn't think I was ready, and Oberyn Martell knocked me off my horse so hard, and my leg was still caught in the stirrup. I was dragged and winded, knocked out from the endeavour, I felt a pain that you wouldn't imagine. Your wounds are significant, but they will heal. So if you feel angry, try being a cripple, knowing you can't fight, joust or soldier on. All that potential, put out. I can ride a horse, and walk, so I am thankful to the Seven for that. It was enough to do any duties I had to in the wars. But one poor decision sealed the rest of my life." Willas said, knowing it would probably put out Alester's worry about his wounds, as he sighed.

"Ellion is smart enough to know he won't kill himself in a tourney, besides. Young as he is, he takes from something I don't know. A fighter with a potential. Yet beautiful enough to the fairer sex to get himself into trouble. All the Ladies of the Reach would want him, the lionhearted son of the Lord Tyrell. Yet I suppose it shall not last. It'll end someday. I imagine he'll do well for himself, find a love he can stay with, or a duty he can live for. He would be a good man for either."

Alester heard the liege lord's words, as he poured a cup of wine. Looking at Willas talking so fondly about the two Tyrells that had hurt him the most made him somewhat restless, and darker emotions surged into his mind. He began breathing very slowly. "My lord, did you not notice? The last two reports my late father sent to you had a different penmanship." He added, as he sip through the wine."After the gods saw that I lost my second sibling and mother in one fell swoop, his mind begun to fall apart. I had to held both him and the disheartened Irise together. Losing a leg cannot even begin to compare being trapped in the body of a brat while all your house goes to hell." He sipped. "And the bitter thing is, there is no lesson learnt from all of this in that the world is a cruel place, and we must see to our loved ones." He finished his cup. "I do not share your optimistic view, my lord."

Willas chuckled, softly.
"You aren't alone. My father, brother, sister, all died in the old Great Sept. Before you were even born. Consumed by wildfire, by a mad Queen who spared no remorse in killing everyone to have power. Just that. Because they were in her way. Not out of personal hatred, or as just victims in a war or of a disease. But because Cersei Lannister, the woman who would have burned the Reach to a cinder, spared no length to make certain her position." Willas said flatly, shaking his head.

"I could have been not optimistic. And I mostly am, Alester. I was never the same after that. But I know what it's like to lose people you love, in one go. And then become a Lord when you barely think you know what you're doing. Try convincing people to fight when you can hardly fucking walk. But we must." Willas mused, as he finished the cup.
"We have to fight for a better world, not hope for one. There is realism in that. If we can do anything with who we are, more than sitting and drinking wine, it's to do something for the people we serve and love." Willas sighed, as he leaned back in his chair.

"One day, you will have children with my daughter. You will be happy, and so shall she, because you will have to know that you are no longer the only thing that matters, nor your Kingdom, nor your beliefs. It may not seem it. But there is light, believe me." Willas smiled, his rare crack in his sometimes reclusive and analytical nature, knowing that even if Alester didn't agree, he had to hear it.

Alester stood there, his bad mood somewhat tempering and then mentally kicking himself. Of course he had known! Tyrells had been a big player in the Game of Thrones, and they had not win in the slightlest. He could also empathize on the family being burnt by crazy bitches. He recalled his grandfather had died like that. So, instead of trying to antagonize further, and sparing himself an awkward apology, he said deadpan.

"My uncle Colin does all the time. He says the secret is yelling really loud and being creative with the insults." He took a sip. "Too bad he hates all Tyrells. He would get along with you, my lord."

Willas chuckled, shaking his head.
"I am glad to hear it." Willas replied, as he fed Vulcan a little more feed, before looking back at Alester, and then filling his small goblet up with some more wine.

As the two Reachman talked, crimson cloaks flashed in the rose garden. Tommen Lannister with his young Westerman companions and brothers at his side marched through like the proud lions they were with a squad of Lannister guardsmen at their back. Tom was dressed finely, in a red and gold doublet with a cloth-of-gold half-cape.

Tom caught sight of the two lords and smiled, nodding at Alester before bowing his head to Wilas, "Lord Alester, Lord Willas. I hope I'm not disrupting your meeting too much." He came closer to his future good father and straightened, hands behind his back, "I've come to formally ask you my lord for your blessing of a betrothal between Alerie and I. I am still not a man yet, but my sixteenth nameday approaches. I know Alerie already sought your approval, but as your potential future good son, it is only right I do so as well."

Willas looked over, seeing the three Lannisters, the proud Lions arriving, as formal as could be. Willas's garb was still neat, but it wasn't as formal as the Westermen that had arrived.

"You've interrupted little, Tommen." Willas said, smiling, as he stood up, walking over to him. He gently felt Vulcan fly from his perch, and land square on his shoulder, as he stood in front of the three, the falcon eyeing up the three Lannisters.

"I want the best for my daughter. I ask you, and I ask it honestly. Will you give the best for her, Tommen?" Willas said, as he looked him straight in the eye.

Tommen looked right back at Willas and nodded with conviction, "I will my lord. She will never want for anything. As a knight, I will fight for her honor. And as a lord, she will be the Lady of Casterly Rock. The armies of the West shall protect her. The gold of the Rock will see her kept in luxury and comfort till the end of her days. The fleets of Lannisport will sail forth with ships christened after her. With Brightroar in my hand, I will destroy any and all who would seek to tear us apart, and defend her from all our enemies. And if the gods are good, we shall have children with the blood of the lion, the wolf, and the rose in their veins, who will shake the world as well. I will love her till the end of my days and with all my heart, I swear by the old gods and new."

Willas smirked, nodding, as he walked up to him, close, staring him into the eye.
"Well then....you have my blessing. You shall be my son in law, and worthy for it." Willas said, his tone of voice positive, as he hugged Tommen, like a son almost. What he had said was true, it was genuine, not a lie. And that was reassuring to hear. Because whilst he had his issues sometimes, and he believed it. And that was something that was difficult to fake.
"You'll be a good husband. And she will make you the happiest man you will know."

Tommen was surprised, but quickly recovered and hugged Willas back, "I thank you my lord. I know she will, as I will try my best to make her the happiest woman in the kingdoms." He withdrew and shook Willas' hand firmly, "I will be honored to call you father. And I swear that our firstborn child will be named to honor your family and your name."

Alester watched the scene unfold, only spoiling the whole thing with a curt, aseptic sentence. "Congratulations." He said, as he took a leaf out of his Uncle, once more, and decided to simple tend to the wine as the object of his interests.

"I am glad to hear it, Tommen. Come sit with us. We were just sipping wine and discussing matters that affected our families. I am sure it is simular in the Westerlands. The talk of...horrors and people who think to restore names past dead." Willas said, offering Tommen a seat, before finding a couple more that would be suitable for the twins. They were mature for their age, he had to say- Tommen would be a tall lad once he was fully grown, and though he was 15, he sounded much like his second son.

"It is never good to turn to matters like that but it is the way it is. Oh, and feel free to take a look at these two beautiful birds of prey. Vulcan and Goldrush. The Peregrine and the Golden Eagle, respectively. Feel free to approach them and take the glove, they are rather gentle." He nodded towards the wooden post behind him, as Goldrush squaked, noisily, eyeing up the three Lannisters.

The Lannisters and their young westermen lordling friends took their seats, Tommen introducing the two lords to sons and nephews of various Lords of the West, with many old and prestigious names among them. Tommen sipped and said, "A fine vintage my lord."

He sat straight and said, "And even finer birds. Even my father's meanagerie has no such specimens as well bred. Though we do have lions. I would wager you have the finest bred birds outside of the Vale." His brother Tywin took the glove and smiled at the eagle while Tytos examined the peregrine with an appreciating gaze.

Tommen frowned, "Indeed. We have strange reports every while. They say that manticores, sphinxes, and chimeras have been spotted in the hills and forests. And that more and more fishermen espy merlings in the waters off of Lannisport. Not to mention the robber knights, outlaws, and bandits prowling the kingdom. The Lion's Pride do their best to keep order, but with the Reynes and Tarbecks apparently arisen, it is difficult."

He smirked, "They say Lord Banefort has shut himself away in his castle. The smallfolk talk of necromancy." He smirked at his friend Harys Banefort before continuing, "Tales only, I suspect, but we receive more and more reports and rumors of strange goings on. Shapechangers, vampyrs, and witches among them. Demons, even."

He laughed, "And next I will hear stories of grumkins and snarks. It seems all of my nursery tales are coming true. And my father's fears as well." His expression became musing, "It is a shame, that Reynes and Tarbecks must to war with us once more. They were once among the stoutest of the Lannister bannermen. If only it could be so once more. Peace, instead of war."

"Everyone seems to feel it." Willas nodded, listening closely.
"It is a common problem. But one that has to be resolved. One way, or another. House Gardener poses a threat to the very stability of the Reach, and they are not equipped with just swords and shields, with simular beasts in our land potentially helping them." Willas added, as he poured Tytos and Tywin a cup, knowing they were young, but they would be fine with this amount, his fatherly instict said. Well, they weren't Reachmen, or Greenblooded...but still.

Alester sat in his chair, setting aside his wine. "Do not be foolish, ser Tommen. Those Reynes and Tarbecks might be just imitations yet, and even if they were real, centuries of grudges would blind them to anything but reaving. If magic is involved, they have gone that far." Alester added. "Such interesting times, as the Yi Ti curse says."

Tommen spread his hands, "Perhaps. Or perhaps not. They were old and proud houses. Their bloodlines spread outside just their names. And if the tales are to be believed, one boy survived my grandfather's purge of the Tarbecks. As for the Reynes, I suspect some bastard descent." He sipped more wine, "It is not so long ago they were our friends. We fought together in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Our family disputes have lasted far shorter than the history of amity between us. As for magic, well our forces use magic as well. In a nobler way perhaps, but a weapon is a weapon."

He cocked his head curiously, "Curse? What do you mean by that, my lord? I'm afraid I know too little of Yi Ti."

"Oh, it issuch a trifle. I just found it by mere chance on Maester Guywin's work the Far Corners of the World. Apparently they are such an educate folk so observant of manners and protocol that when they want to wish the most abject death and disgrace upon someone they just say." He paused as he raised his cup.

"May you live interesting times." He paused. "Just like this. I believe we have been ...mentioned a lot of times given the current outlook."

Willas was a little bemused, but nodded only in agreement, feeling it was true, but he didn't believe in curses or superstition.
"Curse or not, we have work to do. Kingdoms to make safe again. This is meant to be a time of peace in our land, not of constant worry or fear. So it is for everyone's better good that this is sorted out, soon." Willas said, looking to Tommen.

Tommen nodded, "Indeed. I have little use for ghost stories either. Only reality. And the reality is that magic prowls among us, but it is not invincible. My uncle proved that in the War for the Dawn. With the Golden Tooth manned by House Lefford once more and with Ser Martyn Lannister patrolling the country, order will be restored. Once we put paid to the Vultures and the Scorpions, we can focus on the threats in the West and Reach."

Tom finished his glass, "I would prefer to settle this business peacefully if possible, so we can prepare our country for any conflicts from the east. But I will prepare for blood all the same. If need be, the rains will weep over Castamere once more."

He smiled, "With the Tyrells and Florents as family, I believe House Lannister need not worry."

"I am flattered, given the fact I am just a mere vassal to the Tyrells." Alester added in a rather polite but stiff retort. "But ser Tommen, if I may ask, how are you going to prepare for blood?" He added, as there was a gnawing concern in his mind. Too fast. Too soon. Willas words had told him to do the same, to not rush. Yet this lad before him was doing the same thing, if not worse. Plus... there had been family antecedents. The sword arm of Jaime Lannister never sung again because of that.

Willas nodded, not filling his cup with more wine, given that he'd already had quite a bit, and didn't need to drink any further.
"I imagine so, Tom. A rich alliance it shall be indeed. There is yet a long way to go, but we shall win this war."

Tom smiled graciously, "House Florent is an old and proud name, and your house has risen back to previous heights. Yours is no mere family, my lord." He sat back in his seat and said, "Soon enough, I shall be a knight in truth and Brightroar will be in my hand. I have trained all my life to follow my father as a general and my uncle as a warrior. My grandfather fought in a war at my age, my uncle crossed swords with the Smiling Knight. I will not be found lacking if the need arises for it, that I can promise you."

He nodded at Willas, "That we will, my lord. One way or another." He stood to leave, bowing his head to Willas and nodding at Alester, "I must take my leave, but it was pleasant to chat. I thank you once more for your acceptance, my lord. I must inform Alerie. She will be eager to begin preparations. I wish you both a good day. And a speedy recovery to you, Lord Alester." He turned on his heel and left, his retinue of Westermen and his brothers following them as his soldiers fell in line, lions marching out of the rose garden.

"I imagine so. Good day, Tommen." Willas simply replied, as they began to leave.

Alester made sure the Lannisters were out of reach, as he leant towards Willas, and whispered into his ear. "I am worried about him, my lord. Pretty words but little substance. While I tested his skill in the sword with a little trick, he seems...green."Alester added to Willas. "He also wants to beat me to boast about it."

"He's young, and confident. And if you were aged 15 and wanted to prove to your betrothed how capable you were, you'd do the same." Willas said, as he nodded, chuckling.
"Don't worry about him. Leave matters like that alone. If you think matters like those are a concern, try dealing with the coffers of the Iron Bank." Willas added, letting Alester soak it in, as he turned to Goldrush and Vulcan, slowly taking the former from his stoop and looking out. With a gentle whistle, the bird lept off Willas's arm, it's wings pounding as it flew out of the garden, as Vulcan barely needed to follow up on Willas's second whistle.

Taking a seat again, he looked through the last of the papers in the ledger, shuting the book, leaving his quill that had rested atop the book in it's wet ink-soaked vial. He went through the rest of his papers left on the table, packing up slowly.
"So, I suppose on that note, you will soon wish to return to Highgarden, to spend some time with Alys. And marriage shall come soon after." He added, awaiting response.

"Regarding the Iron Bank, I can help if you want my lord. After all, your son hired me as aide initially. It would behoove me to keep the skills sharp." Alester replied, as he eyes Willas."Yes, that is my intention. I shall take your other daughter as my beloved, and I shall protect her as if she were the most prized person of my life. If you would be honored to give me your blessings, that is." Alester added, his formulation more curt. "And let me carry the burden of protecting her in these trying times."

"Then I guess you have it. Anyway. If you're interested to learn, you can come with me to the meeting. Try and listen, don't assume anything. Believe me, it's a lot to learn about how the realm pays it's debts." Willas added, as he stood up, taking the ledger and the quill, as little stern but to the point on the matter.
"You'll have the chance to keep your skills sharp, if you ask, you shall recieve." Willas smirked, as he walked around the table, to lead the way back to his quarters.

"Father once said that I had the makings of a Hand. While no doubt that much was paternal flattery, I have never seen a Hand without management skills. Nor an aide to a liege." He added, as he left after Willas. "I appreciate very much this opportunity, my lord."

They had been campaigning for just over a month. And the fires still burned.

When the rebellion started, countless petty lords and landed knights had risen up against Lord Velaryon and the throne. On every isle they had risen in the thousands to oppose the royal writ. And the crown responded swiftly.

One of the largest armadas assembled in recent history had embarked to the Stepstones, with almost the entire royal fleet and the fleets of Lord Aurane and the so-called Prince of the Narrow Sea, Salladhor Saan gathering around the islands.

They had smashed whatever rebel ships they came across, but eventually the pirate ships disappeared, though raiders and bandits still roamed the countryside and multiple castle garrisons and ragtag armies were still in revolt.

Daemon had sent men to cover each of the major islands, levies from Dragonstone and Driftmark, Night Riders and Legionnaires, and men from Torturer's Deep and those leal local lords and knights. They then began systematically cleaning out the Scorpion rebel dens.

Valanna upon Tiberian and Matarys upon Haeraxis had been sent to accompany their own divisions. Daemon had taken the main force of Velaryon men and rode Cairax to Bloodstone. Castles and towns and enemy companies burned, whenever they offered resistance, and the same was the case across the islands.

Smoke rose to the grey sky on a daily basis and ash fell like snow. Eventually, all of the major Scorpion dens outside of Bloodstone had been pacified, for the moment, though ragged bands of men still roamed in the countryside to stage small-scale guerilla raids. Curiously, it seemed as if the great part of the rebel army had been absent with their fleet.

But now the commanders of the field campaign had been gathered to Bloodstone, where they had identified the last known Scorpion stronghold. Daemon had called his siblings to him, and now they met in council.

They met in a small castle that was the home of a local petty lord. He had bent the knee and turned the castle over to Daemon, and Daemon's army was encamped around the holding, a tent city in the thousands. The castle was crowded as well with the knights and bannermen and commanders with Daemon, and they all greeted the two dragon riders with respectful nods.

Valanna, tall and full-figured was draped in black leather armor that accentuated her form, a longsword at her side. She was younger than Matarys by a year, but had the silver hair and purple eyes of Valyria, despite her mother being of Dornish stock. Her mother's blood was represented in the caramel brown skin that marked her apart from her fairer relatives, and caused a striking contrast with her pale hair that hung to her shoulders.

She had arrived just as Matarys did and embraced her brother with a hug and a wicked smile, "Glad to see you, brother. Those pirates didn't manage to knock you off of the saddle after all."

Matarys returned his half sisters hug, answering her smile with little more than a riased eyebrow. Unlike his fair haired sister Matarys smooth brown hair was tied into a ponytail behind his head, the long hair drawn into a tight tie near the top back of his skull. His beard and goate were cropped close to his chin as he was never one to allow his facial hair to go un-maintained.

In another contrast to Valanna, Matarys was in his full plate mail, the red enameled steel shone darkly inside the room, having gone without proper polish in some time. Soot clung to its edges still, by product from the flames of Haeraxis that had not been washed away.

"I would certainly hope I was not knocked off Valanna, it would mean I had improperly fastened my riding chains. Seeing as not a single one of their men seem to have any sort of aim.", he admired her gilded blade as she presented it to him, its richly gilded hilt making it an impressive piece of loot.

Valanna laughed, holding out her arm for Matarys to escort her as they walked down the battlements, "Aye, those pirates can't hit the broad side of a barn for the most part. Mayhaps their sailors are better shots, but I haven't even needed armor this whole time. As soon as they see Tiberian, most of them give up or run away on the spot."

Matarys linked his arm with hers as was customary, wallking along the battlements as dusk settled upon the camp. His bright lilac eyes seemed almost luminescent in the fading light. He let the ghost of a smirk pass his lips at Valanna's comments. Even the Black Princeling was not devoid of all humour.

"They lack spine, so may years of easy plunder has made them soft, complacent and unprepared to be properly challenged. Vicious men for certain, but unable to hold courage once they begin to lose. The sight of a dragon is too much for such men and I've seen my share of hosts run. In all honesty it has begun to bore me. They run only to resurface and plunder peasants rather than face the fires of Haeraxis or the blades of my men."
, he scowled seemingly at nothing as he thought of the many faux engagements that were simply bandits running from him.

Valanna nodded, "Indeed. Between Edric, Arianne, and Aurane they haven't been able to raid Westeros any longer even. They've only been striking out on small raids on a passing Lysene or Braavosi ship whenever they work up the courage and wit to avoid the authorities. We've beaten them into submission multiple times. And yet they persist in rebelling. Well, let's hope we get rid of this latest rebel leader and the lords fall back in line. Or else lose their heads. This should be the last time, I don't want to come back to these backwaters again, profitable as they may be."

Matarys shook his head dismissively, "The Lords of the Stepstones have had enough chances. I beleive we sould take wing and burn them all out. None will rebel after that and none could blame the crown.", he mused thoughtfully, liking the idea of letting Haeraxis loose upon the rebellious lords and their holds.

Valanna nodded thoughtfully, "Perhaps you are right. Daemon's been doing a good job of burning them already, but perhaps we should go further. At the very least, heads need to roll and hostages need to be taken."

"But enough about heads," Valanna gestured to the new curved knife on her belt, with a gold gilded hilt, "Took it off of one of their captains. The war has been kind to me so far. How have you fared?"

"Indeed it has been kind to you. I myself have not yet found any sort of martial loot, but I have chained to Haeraxis a small chest bursting with gold and jewels. Some foolish pirate Lord's personal loot I imagine. It would seem there is no better an enemy than pirates when seeking personal gain.", Matarys suggested.

She smirked at her brother, "You are right brother. These islands may not have much in themselves but there is a lot more gold and treasure hidden around then you'd think. They've been preying on merchants and passenger ships for centuries after all."

"But what are you going to do with gold? You're swimming in it already. What are you going to do, buy some jewelry?" Valanna was fond of her light-hearted japes and teasing and almost never meant any of it. It was a simple chat between brother and sister as fires roared in the horizon.

At her mention of his plunder Matarys shrugged lightly, "A new blade? A new suit of armor? If i have enough perhaps an estate in Essos or Dorne. I may have the blood of the dragon and a rich house to support me but personal gold is often more useful. No one to complain about wasting others coin."

Now it was her turn to arch her brow at him, "A new manse? You never told me," she pouted out her lips in mock hurt, "Don't tell me you're leaving King's Landing Matarys? What are you going to do in Essos? You'll be horribly bored without us around. And I never thought you much cared for Dorne either. The sun doesn't suit your complexion." She laughed and they continued on, working their way to the keep's hall.

It was Matarys turn to jape it seemed as he smirked cruelly, "Well Valanna I just feel that perhaps I can find far more beautiful women in Essoss. I feel we have a severe lack of them in Kings Landing.", rarely did Matarys joke, and often it was mean spirited but here at least he was genuine with his humour.

She laughed and playfully slapped Matarys on the arm, "And here I was missing your homely mug these past few weeks. Now I remembered what an arse you can be," she pursed her lips and said, "I'll have you know that Ser Luthor Crakehall and Ser Desmond Massey almost duelled over me once, at Aemon's wedding. You can't mean such things, Matarys. Julianna made a beautiful bride. Nymeria, Catelyn Tully, Baela all beautiful."

The young man managed to hold his smile longer than usual, "I must say I've never been called homely before sister. A woman of firsts you are indeed.", he teased. However at the mention of Prince Aemon's wedding he already began to visibly sour, smile turning to smirk to twisted smirk. Harmless enough, Aemon may have been Matarys' rival but he could stomach the wedding knowing Aemon could be tied only to one of his loves.

Valanna laughed, "I always try to be Matarys. I was the first to have a hatchling if I remember correctly."

She smirked, "Though I think you had eyes for only one woman."

It was not until the mention of Daenyra than Matarys smile dissapeared completely. His eyes seemed to gleam in anger, for that was who Valanna was speaking of. She had attended on the arm of Monterys her husband, and Matarys had spoken only briefly to her. He had stuck to the walls and shadows of the celebration. He kept his arm in hers but his gauntleted hand squeezed down, metal shod fingers crushing into the soft sleeves hard enough to begin to bruise. A very clear but subtle threat.

His face was solemn now as he locked eyes with Valanna, pale lilac orbs burning into hers, "It was quite the wedding wasn't it? You'll have to forgive me sister, how did Ser Luthor and Desmond resolve their conflict?", the switch in topic and pressure on her arm made it clear he wished for her to no longer press the subject.

Valanna frowned as the mirth died, staring back into Matarys' eyes as she felt the pressure on her wrist. The warrior princess didn't react much more than grit her teeth in discomfort for a moment but made no further comment, saying, "It was amusing at first, but I decided to take pity on the poor men and danced with them both. I made sure there were no hard feelings."

She left a significant pause to let the implied apology sink in before saying, "And thankfully they let bygones be bygones."

They reached the great hall and the guards opened the doors to convey them inside. Along the walls were knights and lords who had come along on the campaign, and at the lord's seat was Daemon Waters, the oldest of Prince Aegon's great bastards.

Daemon's silver hair was cropped short, his matching beard similarly trimmed close. Daemon was tall, taller than both Valanna and Matarys and with broad shoulders to match. His muscled arms strained the fabric of his black and red leather jerkin and his skin was tanned by the sun, a prominent scar cutting down one of his cheeks. A relic from his days helping Prince Aemon patrol the waters near Dragonstone.

Their elder brother stood, and smiled, "Matarys, Valanna. Good to see you both, how have the islands been treating you? I trust you had pleasant flights? Thirsty, hungry?"

Valanna smiled back at Daemon and went to hug him, "I could use some wine Daemon, and I've been faring well. These islanders haven't been giving me too much trouble."

Daemon hugged Valanna back and reached out a strong arm to grip Matarys' in a manly greeting.

"Less fights than watching cowards backs as they dissapear over the horizon.", Matarys grimaced and took Daemons hand, embracing him as brothers do. Once done he stepped back and took his place at Daemons right hand side, sitting down in the chair and finally removing his soot tipped gauntlets.

"I could use a glass of water myself brother. The islands are hot, I've debated wearing less armor to better deal with the heat."

Valanna sat as well and Daemon snapped his fingers, calling for wine, he sat back down and said, "Aye, humid as all hell here. The locals tell me that the storms should be starting soon, won't that make fighting with dragons interesting? But I would recommend the armor, Matarys. And you as well Valanna. Once we finish with the pirate dens, we need to find the fleets. And I won't have one of you taking an arrow from some salty Stepstoner sailer. It'd be an embrassment to the family."

The servants came and poured wine for them all, Daemon drunk and said, "To business then. I trust you both pacified your islands by now, at least for the most part. Anything to report?"

Valanna nodded, "Indeed. Malcontents still roam the wilds, but all of the knights and lords have either been burned out of their keeps and are in hiding or are now in chains, awaiting the King's judgement. We've sent the prisoners to Torturer's Deep for Aurane to send back to the Red Keep. We haven't encountered troops in signifcant numbers though. Bands of a few hundred at the most so far."

Matarys sipped from his glass, the odd man out at the table. Matarys did not drink wine, at least not commonly. He listened to Valanna's report, nodding in encouragment as he heard pf her success. He swilled the water in his cup while he listened, reflectingon his own similar experiences in the Stepstones... very similar. Something felt wrong about that. As she finished he let only a moment hand in silence before giving his own report.

"It has been much the same with my forces. Brigands and scoundrels with borrowed arms and armor. No significant force has yet met us on the field, the largest battle thus far was a few hundred men who brok and ran shortly after meeting us. Although some of the petty Lords put up more sport for me. Two at least were burnt out completely, naught but daughters and mothers still alive and sent to Torturers deep. Others have fled or been sent more... complete to be hostages.", he nodded as he finished his own report.

"I do not think these similarities are a coincidence Daemon. Something is... off", Matarys expressed his concern out loud. Only because he trusted Daemon.

Daemon's brow furrowed and he nodded, "I've had the same experience. We've captured nearly every castle, and put rebellious towns down. But we have yet to engage anything approaching a proper army. I've had the Night Riders hunting down raiders and outriders in the forests. But no damn battles."

He drank, "It is no coincedence. These islands may not be as fertile as the mainland, but they should be able to scrap together enough men to challenge Aurane on the field. Especially with sellswords. They have gold at least."

"The disappearance of their fleets is the same. I believe they're gearing up for an assault. On Torturer's Deep, Aurane's castle. I think they mean to break his navy, take his holdings, and take him prisoner. Leverage. That's why we've not encountered any serious resistance."

Valanna frowned, "It would make sense. But we know that the Scorpion den you mean to clean out is major. The largest, last keep they have. Perhaps they've all rallied there?"

Daemon shook his head, "Scouting reports say that it's the largest force we've seen yet. Several thousand men. But not the totality of their strength. And no ships in sight besides barely a score of dromonds off of the coast of the castle. I believe the Scorpion King has long since moved on from there. The question is should we move on it still?"

Matarys reclined in his chair, sipping from his glass of water. The look in his eyes was one of deep thought and contemplation. He stroked his beard absent mindedly as he considered the siblings options. With ten thousnad men between them it would seem foolish at least to him to commit an attack on the Scorpions den if so few soldiers were there to meet them.

"Devoting our combined forces to such a task would be a waste of our time, especially if it is not their true force. I think leaving them alone however would be just as foolish. If we can take Scorpions den the Scorpion King may begin to lose support after all. None of it matters if we can't find the true bulk of their forces though...", Matarys brooded, thinking on every hold, pirate den and bandit camp he had come upon during the war, perhaps there was a connection?

"Other than the lack of numbers, have our foes held any other similarities? Men cannot move without leaving signs and if a large force is indeed amassing to attack Torturer's Deep they are somewhere on the Stepstones."

Daemon nodded, "I agree. With our dragons, ten thousand men is overkill. But neither can we indiscriminately slaughter them with all three of our dragons either. We need live prisoners to get intelligence from, I suspect the castellan of the keep knows more than the rabble we have been capturing."

Valanna interjected, "The men we have been encountering are either green boys or old men it seems to me. Armed with rusted longswords, woodsman axes, and iron-shod clubs. The fighting men, and women, have all seemed to leave with all of the good steel and equipment. Good horses taken from the stables as well."

Daemon sipped, "Indeed. They seem to slip away in the night. No sign of them in the forests, no word from the scouts. It seems as though they've been very careful to slip out in small groups, ships most likely leaving in twos or threes but not flotillas. They could be gathering on one of the more remote islands, but that is hardly of any help. I do not know if we have enough men to keep order here and go gallivanting on some search."

"Which is why the King and Queen sent Aemon and his brothers on that covert mission of theres. We're expecting a raven or message soon. Perhaps the Crown Prince found out more."

Matarys expression soured once more at the mention of Aemon, especially now knowing he was in the stepstones. He sat up straight and held his tounge but all the same it already began to upset him. But this was war and he supposed it would indeed be difficult to find them and deal with the men at the Scorpions Den... perhaps he could yet turn this too his advantage.

"All the same, the Scorpions Den must be taken. If it pleases, in order to ensure we have the most men ready for a proper battle I would ask my host be allowed to take the Scorpions Den. I've no doubt the castellan will have answers and I can take it quickly. Besides, I doubt it is defended by green boys and old men. A man that can't hold his home is no man at all, and the Scorpion King is likely to have his horde there. I can take it from his men while you await word from the Crown Prince and his brothers."

Daemon thought for a few moments, then said, "Very well. Take a third of our forces and flush them out. I want the castellan and the other officers alive if possible. In the meantime, I will marshal all of our men together and prepare to move as soon as we receive intelligence from the Prince. Valanna and Tiberian will go with you. They'll have defenses to try and take down a dragon, you need another rider to help cover you. Agreed?"

"Agreed brother. The Scorpions den will be ours within days. We will depart in the morning. I would depart tonight but find myself quite exhausted, same with my men. The brignads have run us ragged brother, a night of rest should be sufficient however. Is our council here ajourned? Or are there other matters to be discussed?"

Daemon replied, "No, I believe that's all for now. There's matters of supply lines and garrisons, but I can discuss that just fine with my commanders. I hope both of you can join me for supper. I tire of the company I have kept at late, and desire a private dinner with family."

Valanna smiled, "I accept your invitation. It's been a while since we've sat down and relaxed a bit."

Matarys nodded, satisfied he would not need to deal with Aemon nor-credit him with his own accomplishments. "Of course brother, I am famished and would gladly sup with you and Valanna. I'm certain our hosts cooks can supply whatever we wish. Perhaps even more exotic dishes."

Daemon grinned, "You can bet on it Matarys. We're right in between the mainland and Essos. Some of the finest comes back and forth. I managed to requisition a shipment of spices from Myr. And the fishing is excellent. I'll have a table set within a few hours."

He called to a servant who nodded and scampered off, then Daemon stood, pulling on his gloves, "Now what say you two to a little ride? It's been a while since we've all raced hasn't it? Time we settled that last tie Matarys."

Valanna jumped up with a laugh, "This time I'll pull ahead boys, just you watch. If you aren't afeared of course Matarys."

"All smart men fear you Valanna, a woman with skill at arms is rare enough for your sex. Very well, perhaps a last flight will help Maeraxis sleep.", and stood with a slight sigh, a smirk on his lips.

Mirren was in a deep slumber, a coma even, the mental and physical tramua she had endured as well as the poison working through her veins forcing her into as great a battle for her life as the one she just fought. Perhaps even greater. For if she loses, she might not just perish, but lose her mind entirely for the rest of her days.

She found herself in her darkest nightmares, in the most twisted corners of her mind, ghosts of the past and spectres of her imagination coming to haunt her. It was a miasma of sensation and feeling that overwhelmed her, leaving her stranded in a vast ocean of mania and confusion. She saw impossible things, things without description. And there was pain. So much pain.

And through it all, a voice that was both a whisper and a scream, that she could not block out.

"Give in Mirren. It is easier that way. Let me embrace you."

Suddenly Mirren found herself under a scorching sun, in a vast desert with sand the color of blood. A monstrous wind blew and now the sand was blowing into her face, blood scoring her skin and lashing at her like thousands of small needles. And then she felt herself begin to be pulled down by hands and arms. Grey, rotted limbs that slowly but surely began to draw her under the sand, she felt a sea of bodies beneath her, writhing. And somehow she knew that all the people she had killed were with her.

As the voice continued to coo and shout in her mind.

"Be at ease, warrior. Rest. The fight is done."

Mirren looked around within the dream, this new voice was unlike the previous one, attempting to torment her, drag her under the sand. Again, she swatted away at the festering arms that clawed at her, dragging herself to the top once more.

Perhaps it was another mirage, vestige of hope manifest in her own subconscious, the beast she had fought had tried that before - hope, once taken, was more horrible than never having it at all. And yet, there was no harm in trying once more - she'd defeated this beast in life, she could handle it in dream as well.

Loudly, she called, "The fight is not yet done - I haven't had cream off a whore's tits yet." Breaking the fingers of yet another fetid hand, she continued to search, "Mind telling me if you're another illusion, or one of the army's mages?"

A shadow appeared before her, formless and vague. All that Mirren could see of it was the outline of a smile, "I'm here to help you, Mirren. In madness, there can be much pleasure. You may even find your whores there."

A dark palm stretched out to grasp Mirren by the hair and shove her under the sand. But then, the sun dimmed and the largest murder of crows Mirren had ever seen appeared in the sky. They blotted out the sun and dominated the sky, pecking at the shadow with their beaks and clawing at him with their talons, until the entity roared in pain and vanished.

Several crows began to flap into the shape of a man, and Mirren heard a new voice, fatherly and soothing, "Death converges on you, Mirren Sand. But you can escape it. This is your mind, your dream. In here, you have the power. Find it. Before it's too late."

The crows blocked the howling sand, pecked and clawed at the hands holding Mirren down, giving her breathing room, the oppurtunity to free herself. But slowly, even the thousands of crows began to slowly succumb to the sand and grasping dead hands, and the darkness began to coalesce once more and swallow up the black birds. Her time was running out.

Mirren spluttered, disappointed but unsurprised with this turn of events. She gritted her teeth, once more seizing hold of the outstretched arms and hands that grasped at her, breaking, snapping, and pulverizing them with an exasperated sigh. Truth be told, this hellscape of a dream didn't actually look all that bad - perhaps a nice shaded house to get out of the sandstorms in, but otherwise not bad on the eyes at all. Even so, it was immaterial, that much she knew. That voice, whatever demonic grudge it held against her, grated in her mind - perhaps it meant to break her down, crush her spirit and will to resist. In truth, it just annoyed her. She'd killed Bezeel, dammit, and yet he apparently had to continue his fight, tormenting her dreams now.

Under her breath, she swore that she'd have to find his corpse at some point and bury whatever was left of it in a pit of manure.

Another hand grabbed her shoulder, and she turned, face to face with the wide eyes of the first man she had killed. For a second, she was taken aback, her own eyes widening in shock, before hardening. Just as she had year ago, she drove a knife between those eyes, snapping the bones that clung to her and trudging on. Another hand, and she turned, slashing outwards with a sword she could have sworn had not been there a moment before. Another hand, grasping at her leg, and she slammed down a shield that had likewise not been there a moment before. For a moment, she was confused by the sudden appearance of weapons she had seen Bezeel destroy before her eyes, but now was not the time to ponder the intricacies of her subconscious. She slashed with a vengeance at another outstretched hand, neatly severing it, kicked savagely at a second one.

Blood started to seep out of the sand, turning it to a red soggy morass like mud, making her steps slower, her footing unsure. The corpses still writhed, and the smell of gore and viscera was now dominant. The crows continued to do their best to shield and aid the mercenary as the wind turned to stinging rain and storm clouds appeared to cover the blazing sun. She had to keep fighting through the slog as the dead men wailed, any misstep meaning she would be dragged under.

The demonic presence reverberated through the desert, sending vibrations in pools of blood colored water and seeming to press against her skull, "Tell me. Why do you fight? For what reason? You are a killer. And always will be. You will not die peacefully. You will die in battle, in pain, sooner or later. Eventually you will weaken as their years take their toll, and someone stronger than you will kill you. All so you can do what? It is pointless."

"Rest. Stop fighting. And let darkness take you. You deserve it. You know you do."

The bodies increased, not just the people Mirren killed. But the people she had seen die. The ones she hadn't saved or let die. The people who had died because she had killed a brother or son or father. The people she would kill, and all the other deaths she would cause if she kept living. Mountains of the dead, a screaming, agonized press that kept growing and kept pressing to her, trying to suffocate her under their wailing weight.

Mirren grimaced, and continued to struggle on, hacking, slashing, punching, and kicking at the festering corpses. Perhaps, the voice had a point, but she cared little - she knew that living her current life would inevitably end those of many, it was a fact she had accepted long ago. And still, she persisted, perhaps it was selfish to place herself and her own comfort over the wellbeing and lives of many others, but she cared not. She would escape from this nightmare, that much she was confident of. When, how, why, all of these she knew not, but she continued on, hacking, slashing, fighting with a fury as inhuman as the tormenting voice that sought to crush her.

Perhaps it was another illusion, perhaps she was gaining control, she knew not, but after what seemed to be days on end, as her arms screamed at her, every ounce of her body shrieked in protest, as she hacked through the never ending tide of bodies - their numbers seemed to thin, to wane, no more did they press in on her in a throng that blotted out the sun. They still numbered many, but now she had hope that there might be an end to them.

The question now was a matter of her own endurance.

Outside the dream world, the body of the mercenary known as Mirren was fighting for its life against the poison. Laid in the center of a spacious tent, and surrounded by solemn flames and chanting red priests, the followers of R'hllor fought back in their own, sending their prayers and purging flames to fight against the miasma that ate Mirren's body away. The healers had long given up as mundane methods had proven far less successful. Maesters and Alchemists both had pried the woman with several powerful elixirs that helped stave off the mystical poison. Water mages kneeled next to the fire priests and sang in their own rites, glowing water playing itself over Mirren's body as their compatriots chanted. Amidst the middle of the chorus chanting, the priestess known as Mella Florent bit her lip.

Not all the might of the faithful gathered there could shrug the curse that she had been beset easily, such had been the might of their foe. The Florent noblewoman bitterly gathered that if this was the Vulture king's brother, they would need every sword they could spare. For their opponent, according to herself, had powers that could cheat death even.

Was all there to it? Mella Florent clenched her teeth, unable to succumb to despair. Only one option remaining. The Last Kiss. Once a rite to purify the soon to be departed, when the magic arts came back, the Last Kiss would give new life instead. However, such power was only wielded by the truly faithful of the lord of Light. She...was no high priestess yet, so its effect might not be great. She certainly never tried before. But among them all she was the most important.

Stepping into the circle, she leaned over the tortured body of Mirren, inching ever close to her face. Poor, foolish woman. She could have lived another life, but now her looks were beginning to suffer the wear and tear of battlefields. Such a fierce warrior. She wondered how many times she had kissed others with those lips of hers. Mella Florent gulped. Mirren had the chiselled body of a warrior, yet she was a woman. It was...confusing. But it had to be done. She had to kiss her in order to make it work. She swallowed, and focused.

Her lips touched Mirren's own mouth, as she felt a slight jolt. She focused her mental prayers, and felt like something sudden stirred from her chest. Her mouth felt hot, and her eyes went wide upon the sensation. Glimples of flame and lights were caught by her eyes as she kept locking her lips with Mirren's. Deep inside, she knew. That was a Last Kiss.

The voice growled, booming, "Even if you escape, you will not be able to run forever. One day you will succumb. One day madness and despair will take you. One day you will be MINE!" The last word was a boom throughout the land, flattening everything to the ground for a moment.

Mirren grinned, a fresh burst of energy from where she knew not. It wasn't huge, there was no lightning bolt of vigor, but she stood properly again, cutting down the last emaciated, fetid corpses that shambled towards her. "I think the correct words," She called, feeling a burst of laughter welling up in her chest, "Is you'll be a dried head on my wall!"

There was an endless shout of rage, a thunderstorm of fury that seemed without end as the darkness rushed in to Mirren. But suddenly, there was fire and light. Mirren's illusory weapons fell to the ground as a corona of fire surrounded her, burning away the blood and shadow, leaving her one point of light in the hellscape around her. The clouds began to part and the crows returned, cawing and flying around her as she began to float above them, into blue skies.

Then she opened her eyes. There was pain and weariness, and she hadn't felt so sick before in her life. But she was awake and alive. And for now the voices had ceased.

She woke up with Mella Florent's lips on hers.

Mirren cracked an eye open, her mind taking a moment to register what exactly was going on right in front of her. It was certainly a surprise to wake up to the press of Mella Florent's lips, certainly not an unwelcome surprise, if nothing else.

"I thought only knights got kisses from the pretty noblewomen after fighting monsters." She murmured, grinning, "Didn't get the memo they changed that policy."

Mella Florent's eyes went wide with surprise as no small amount of comfort and relief soothed her body. The plan had worked. The woman would live to fight once more, and she and the Fire Priests' reputation had lived up to it. However, surprise and comfort soon gave to in to fluster, as her face reddened to a shade not unlike that of her hair, an angry scowl forming in her factions like a small predator surprised and cornered.

"You deviant!" She cursed, horrified to see the fact, the woman seemed to have liked it. Her hand raised, and imparted swift judgment, the slap being a fine follow up of her angry words. She wasted then no time in crawling her now spent and exhausted body from Mirren's topside. Standing up with what dignity she could muster, she gave a last sideway disgusted stare to the mercenary. "You should count your blessings. Had it not been because our craft, you would have died." She added, her voice almost breaking into a hiss. She had to wash her mouth off.

"Inform Garlan that...we brought back his blade." She said dryly, as she eyed a priest who deployed a brazier for long communication distances. Merrel had finally conceded they would need even to employ sorcery to communicate with eachother, and she was not going to pass the opportunity.

Mirren grinned to herself as Mella Florent stormed away. She had her doubts as to the truth of the woman's claim - it was entirely possible her actions had given her the last burst of energy, but to take all the credit for herself and the red priests... Mirren shook her head, grinning to herself. If she was to be honest, she'd rather have a second round with Beezel than deal with religious zealots.

The Stepstones - Blackguard Bay

(Collab with @AtomicNut)

After several had their say, Aemon turned to Layali and said, "I do not know if you should come. You are brave. But I do not know that it is enough. We go into dangerous waters, and this mission requires discretion and skill in arms both. I'm not sure that one so fair and genial as you, should come with us."

Then he turned to his brother, "Rhaegar. You've proven your valor many times over. What do you wish to do? Shall you come with me? Or can I trust you to manage things for a short while? Viserys and Visenya will come with me. It could be up to you to oversee everyone else until we return."

The answer would normally come out of the fourthbornes mouth as sure as day...although this time, Aemons words brought some worry into the youngest Prince. The past experiences of this campaign, especially the operation in which he rescued Arak Snow-the first time he even commanded men too-, gave him a new perspective on their mission. Should he remain unmoved on his goal of acting as a dedicated shield, or see the larger picture before him. After all, his brother wasn't a babe, this was the Prince of Dragonstone standing before him...

"Aemon, do you really trust me in this endeavor...to oversee over our men?" he asked. Could he really command the same amount of respect just on his own?

Visenya smiled at Rhaegar, and even Viserys nodded at his younger brother with a smirk. Aemon said, "I do trust you Rhaegar. You're as much a dragon as any of us. You proved yourself many times over already, and we need somebody that we can trust to do this right if you do remain here. Should anything go wrong, should anything happen to us, it will be up to you who will take up the mission for our family, our country, and our people. I know you won't let us down, no matter what you choose."

Rhaegar didn't fail to notice the smiles of approval from both Viserys and Visenya, his own lip stretching to a similar one in reply. Just like every human being, the Prince wished to obtain a desire that was bigger than himself, and while it wasn't endless amounts of gold or fertile lands, praise was always something he secretely craved.

"It will certaintly be a daunting task...perhaps even more so than yours. Being a Dragon can do so much for you Aemon..." he replied with a rare use of sarcasm, even amidst the lingering trace of self-doubt. He ignored the comment of something going wrong, as in his mind he could just not fathom the possibility of his eldest brother failing.

Viserys chuckled, "Just make sure the ship doesn't sink before we get back. You realize how much I spent on good silks and velvets for this cutthroat wardrobe?"

Aemon smiled minutely at his youngest brother, "Indeed it can, Rhaegar, more than you know. Very well, until we return you are in charge. If you see a yellow flare fly into the sky, that will be the signal to try and help us. Our.. special guest may come in handy then," Aemon nodded at the hooded figure who had accompanied the band this whole time.

"Red, red means you must go immediately and not look back. And be on the look out for anyone trying to sneak up on you in this darkness."

The Prince stood tall, "Alright, if that's all there is to it, it's time for us to go. A dozen at most, the rest of you will follow Prince Rhaegar. He speaks with my authority." The three elder royals all traded a glance with the Bold Dragon before turning on their heels and descending to a small skiff that would convey them, Captain Seronna, Tamsyn, and the rest of their companions to the beach, along with Tamsyn's Eel carrying the arm supplies.

"As if you do not have enough back at home...not to count all the armor you keep at Summerhall." Rhaegar shot back at Viserys' quip with one of his own. After all, eh had to act to act more like a leader rather than a glorified wardrobe guard. He then listened carefully to Aemons instructions and nodded in agreement as he memorized them. Yellow for Reinforcement, Red to abandon the mission and abandon everyone left behind.

Needless to say the latter was a choice he would rather avoid...

His turned at their hooded ally, but before he could inquire or question further, they were already descending towards a small skiff "May the Warrior give you strength!" he called after them, before reciting a small prayer uder his breath. The Bold Dragon was never a religious sort, mostly missing the sermons in the Great Sept that the rest of the Royal Family was implored by the Most Devout to join, instead spending his time in the sparring yard. Yet it was moments like this that brought a profound need for faith into a man.

"Well, if things are like that...uh. I think Prince Rhaegar would make a better use of me." Seran added, after pondering. They were carrying a lot of good competent swordsmen to the meeting, and his abilities could prove superfluous. Plus he reasoned that in the worst case scenario, it was Rhaegar the one who had attachment to his sister, which made in his eyes, more valuable than the other princes. "Besides, I might be recognized. even with the disguise." He paused as he walked towards Prince Rhaegar, and performed a corteous bow.

Aemon nodded, "As you will. We shall proceed now at any rate."

------
(Collab with @Greenie)

Later, the skiff began to approach the beach. They had edged onto the outskirts of the pirate armada, and most of them had been too drunk or otherwise preoccupied to even notice them as they slipped in among the other skiffs heading onto the beach. The Eel was small enough to beach itself on the sand as well, among the scores of fires that had gone up in the night. There were hundreds of pirates. Thousands even. And Aemon knew that even if they flew a yellow flare, even with their hooded ally, there would be little chance of escape if this all went to hell. Which meant getting this deception done without a hitch, was the best move forward.

Aemon allowed Seronna to talk and grease palms, preferring to remain quiet. There were a few score of their number who had landed, mostly Seronna's own Maiden's Men. They made blending in much easier, and Viserys did an admirable job of appearing like a Lysene lout. Aemon kept at Seronna's side, well within dagger reach. Should the lady pirate betray them, she would be the first to die, and she knew it. But she did her job and kept up the facade.

One band of armed and armored cutthroats approached them, led by a man with a bright gold bandana and skin dark as pitch. His accent placed him from the Basilisk Isles, "Seronna, you're late."

The blonde captain bowed her head, "Fashionably, Bill. Fashionably."

"What the hell is this? You were supposed to bring the weapons, not the damn ship too."

She shrugged, "Change of plans. The royalists cracked down. Took Goldbeard, killed the Grey Septon in the cove. Captain Draxos and I had the get out of there, and the smuggler decided to tag along instead of getting thrown into a dungeon. Figured she might come in useful anyway."

Bill, apparently, looked Aemon up and down, "Draxos eh? You're younger than I'd think you'd be."

Aemon grinned, speaking with a Lysene lilt, "Didn't stop your mum."

It was dead silent for several moments, all the chatter dying as the pirates turned to look at them. Bill glared at Aemon. Then he laughed, and everyone else followed.

Bill jerked his head, "Come on then, it's starting."

Seronna nodded, "Lead the way. We're the last to arrive I suppose. Quite a gathering."

Bill turned and lead them deeper into the forest away from the beachside festivities, "You're damn right. We have ships from all over the islands, all the captains together. We hired sellsails from the Three Daughters, Braavos, Pentos, Volantis, Lorath. The Basilisk Isles. The Bay of Dragons. Even some pirates and cutthroats, from the mainland. The Black Kracken has some of his armada parked on the other side. Three hundred ships, easily. Closer to four. More than enough to sink Aurane's castle back into the sea."

Aemon nodded, "Impressive." Inwardly he cursed. Three Hundred. Enough to match both the ships his father sent and the ships Aurane and Salladhor Saan could rely on, as frustratingly placid as most of the local lords had been. And the rumors were right. The Black Kracken was with the Scorpions. He was one of the most dangerous pirates on the fourteen seas. And he was here.

Aemon had never met the man, but even he knew enough to be nervous. He was the Crow's Eye's son. He had inherited his father's ship, and some said his cruelty and his curiosity for black magic. He had gone into exile in the Far East to build up his forces to challenge his cousin, Asha for the rulership of the Iron Islands, and now apparently, he was here in the Stepstones to help the Scorpions. It made sense.

With the Iron Throne focused on the islands, it would allow him to go to the west while the royal fleets struggled to restore control over the province. This whole mission just got intensely more complicated.

But all the reaction Aemon showed was an appreciative nod, "Good. That Ironborn bastard can help us with the royalists."

Bill laughed, "That's the idea Draxos, that's the idea."

Eventually they reached a clearing near a river that fed into the sea, the moon clear above. There were dozens of pirates there already. Several pirate captains, corsairs, and sellsails that Aemon knew by reputation if not by sight.

He saw the Black Kraken. He was dressed in dark leather, his armored breastplate emblazoned with a black kraken with a red eye, a great axe in one arm and a valyrian steel dagger at his belt. His hair was dirty blonde, and his eyes were as blue as the ocean. He was young, not much older than Aemon, and would have been comely. But the scars and the cruel set of his features spoiled the effect. Out of everyone there, he had one of the largest retinues, all of them hardened killers by the look of them, most of them from the Iron Islands.

The one with the largest retinue was the Scorpion King. He was shorter than Aemon would have guessed, and slimmer of frame, but even so he had two sabers at his belt and covered his face with a dark red cloth that color of blood. A black scorpion marked his breastplate. He was surrounded by pirates of every description and upon his head was a golden coronet set with a grinning skull. In the low light, it was hard to tell, but Aemon thought he saw a flash of dark blue eyes. It seemed, even here, the Scorpion King wanted to hide his identity.

Bill said, "Captain Seronna and Captain Draxos. Goldbeard and the Grey Septon were taken out."

A ginger of about fifty with a long bushy beard, standing next to the Scorpion King stepped forward and said, "Troubling news. But we welcome the Maiden's Men and the Silver Serpents to our company. Our King would like to thank both of you for your help in breaking Aurane. And he would also extend his regard to the famous Captain Draxos." The Scorpion King nodded at Aemon and he nodded back, "Good to be among like-minded company. Now, we getting to business?" The man was likely Redbeard, a famous Stepstoner and said to be the Scorpion's right hand.

Suddenly, Aemon noticed a surge in the water and someone threw themselves out of the river, to rest on the rock. Aemon gaped for a moment before recovering. She was beautiful. With full womanly curves, soft skin, long glistening hair, and bright big eyes. She was as naked as her nameday. And her hair was black as the night, with streaks of blonde from the salt of the sea. Her eyes were nearly white, shining in the moonlight, and her skin was a greenish blue, the hue of the ocean. She had gills, and Aemon could see that her naked feet were webbed, as well as her hands. And that the lower half of her legs were scaled in the colors of the rainbow, the moonlight reflecting in dazzling patterns. He thought that he saw a flash of a fin or tail when he saw her perch on the rock, but when the water settled, he saw only legs.

A mermaid. A real life mermaid. Aemon knew that the monsters of the deep were real, ever since the attack on the Red Keep. But a mermaid? He didn't expect that. The being of legend looked at him and smiled. He could only stare back. Almost everyone stared, including Captain Dagon Pyke, who looked at her with a leer in his bright blue eyes that Aemon misliked.

Redbeard stepped up and said, "Alright, alright, all of you stop gawking. Welcome, Princess. Our regards to your father. Now that you're here we can begin."

Aemon's mind worked. Princess. Merling royalty? Did that mean that the stories of a Merling King were true? And that this Merling King was allied with the Scorpions? It explained how the castle had been attacked by creatures of the deep. The Scorpions had the forces of the sea, seemingly at their disposal. This already daunting mission just became more dangerous.

How could they counter such a force with their own ships?

And Aemon had a horrifying thought. If the sea creatures were working with the Stepstoners. That meant that there was another party in play. Shadowbinders.

His eyes darted around but he didn't see any sign of sorcerers, especially the female warlock who had attacked him at the Red Keep. He may have looked much different with his haircut, his clothes, and several weeks worth of beard. But he didn't want to risk that she recognized him. It would have blown this whole operation and gotten them killed. And yet the fact she wasn't there, made him even more nervous. Why wasn't she here?

Seronna noticed his ill ease, but did not show any visual acknowledgement, "Yeah, yeah. Pretty girl. But can we move on with the plan? I have a need for a drink." There was a murmur of agreement from those around them.

Redbeard grinned, "Alright then, listen in. We'll tell you how we're going to destroy the Velaryon fleet, and rid the islands of the royalist scum for good and all."

So far, joining Aemon's group was proving to be full of shocks for Taria, even more so than any of her previous 'adventures' since the night of the Prince's wedding. Still, the latest two were enough to send her mind riling.

The Black Kraken... this was indeed an epithet she was familiar with. The rogue Greyjoy and his men had been the whole reason she left the Iron Islands in the first place; she had been a coward and hardly wished to meet her dreaded relative in combat. It seemed fate had always meant for their paths to cross. She had expected the Scorpion King to look as he did, intimidating to the eyes, enough to make ones knees shake. It still didn't quite effect her as much as the Black Kraken; he looked more terrifying than she had imagined, and it was hard to keep the expression on her face calm and collected.

As if that hadn't been enough, there was the mermaid. Even Taria couldn't keep herself from gaping at her like the others. Yes, she was beautiful, but it wasn't the quite that. It was more the otherworldiness she represented. She believed in the Drowning God so a mermaid shouldn't have seemed like such a farfetched idea, but the fact was that she'd never believed in those tales.

She looked to her companions for a fleeting moment before returning her gaze to Redbeard. Her mind was rather overwhelmed, however. Why were the Merlings allied with the Scorpion King? And more importantly, how could they possibly with this fight when their enemy literally surrounded them from all sides?

Redbeard laid out the general overview of the plan for the gathered pirates, killers, and mercenaries. They would apportion an armada to strike in a feint to draw the attention of the royal fleet. One of their captains would lead an assault on Bloodstone, at the major port of Red Harbor, ostensibly to retake control of the island from the royalists. He also revealed that the true portion of their strength, including the Black Kracken and the merling forces, would then strike at Torturer's Deep in a lightning attack while the main royal armada was engaged in a false attack. They would take Aurane's castle and take Lord Velaryon and as many others hostage, then use them as leverage to force the exit of all royal forces from the Stepstones. The diversionary fleet would all depart in single ships or small groups and rendevouz close to the Harbor. The attack fleet would do the same, so as to not be detected.

It was simple, effective, and Aemon had the sneaking suspicion there was something more. But he could hardly voice his suspicions without drawing attention to himself, and for now, this was actionable intelligence. Aemon listened to the plan in silence, then said, "Just tell me where to go, and we'll do it."

Redbeard smiled and traded glances with the Scorpion King, "We want you in our diversionary attack. It may not be the big one, but it will still be dangerous and we need someone with a good head on his shoulders to be there. Captain Seronna though, she'll be with us in the main strike."

Aemon grunted, "So be it, I'll do as the King says, long as I get paid."

The Scorpion King's aide laughed, "Oh aye, you'll have plenty of coin from plunder too, I'm sure."

It continued on like that for several moments with back and forth between the various pirates, Aemon nodding at Seronna who nodded back. She knew what to do. She would take her Maiden's Men, and several royalists including Visenya, with her as part of the main fleet. Aemon and the Silver Serpent would warn the crown and help stop the attack.

Dagon Pyke spoke up, "When do we move then? My men and I came to fight, not talk. And enjoy the local color of course." Dagon smirked at the Merling once more, who met his eyes with a look Aemon couldn't decipher.

Redbeard said, "We can start leaving now, we need to move quickly, before the Throne has too much of a hold on the islands. You all know your parts, let's get these royal bastards out of here."

There was a chorus of cheers at that, Aemon nodding in affirmation, then the meeting began to break up, pirates leaving to either join the festivities or prepare to leave. The Prince caught once last glimpse of the Merling Princess as the Scorpion King went to her with his retinue behind him. The Princess smiled dazzilingly and they seemed to begin to speak.

Aemon looked away and he went to approach Seronna in a cluster with all of their crews. Aemon leaned in to Seronna and whispered under the babble of general ruckus, "Visenya and some of my men will accompany you. We'll break away from this diversion when we can and join you when the party starts. Good luck Captain."

Seronna grinned, then leaned in and kissed Aemon full on the lips. Aemon was too surprised to do much more than widen his eyes. After a moment, Seronna pulled back and laughed, "A far better parting gift don't you think?"

Aemon arched his eyebrow, "I definitely won't forget."

"Then I haven't lost my touch. Good luck, Captain."

She turned to leave, her men following her. Aemon walked over to Visenya and said, "Keep an eye on her, stay alert. Don't take any unecessary risks. Keep our people safe. And we'll meet again soon. Godspeed cousin."

Viserys swaggered up, "Indeed. Without you, the repartee would decline rapidly."

Visenya nodded, smirking, "Don't worry about me cousins. You still me owe me twenty gold. You can bet I'll be coming back for that." Viserys smiled at Visenya and the three of them stood there in a circle, silent for a moment.

Aemon said, "We will all meet again. I know it."

Visenya embraced Aemon, then Viserys. The rest of the company made their goodbyes and they all left. Visenya looked back one last time and then there were gone, with the Maiden's Men.

Aemon watcbed her leave and then he motioned to Viserys and the men following them, heading back to the beach, and then on to the Silver Serpent. The night was dark, the future uncertain, but they had a job to do.

----------------
The Golden Tooth

Lord Lorimer awoke where had fallen asleep, in the lord's seat of the Golden Tooth's great hall. And he wasn't alone. Men in white and red livery stood all along the walls, two of them right behind Lorimer with longswords at their hips. His sister, his wife, all of his men were gone. Ser Leon stood at the far end of the table, his face grim, his eyes seeming somewhat regretful. Next to him, in the chair directly across from Lorimer sat another man.

He was older than Leon, at least in his third decade, and looked much like him. Golden hair that was cropped short, a square cut golden beard that was kept nearly trimmed. And light brown eyes with flecks of amber. The man's face was unscarred, and he was even comelier than Leon, with a lord's bearing and countenance. The nobleman was bedecked in a set of white plate armor with red enamel, with red lions as pauldrons, and golden insets shaped into claws along the collar.

The man spoke in a refined baritone, "I apologize for the intrusion, my Lord Lefford. Rest assured, your family, your soldiers, and your servants are all unharmed. I simply wished to have a chance to speak to you alone. I had hoped for our first meeting to go more smoothly, but my plans have been accelarated."

He smiled, "I see you have treated my brother well. I thank you for that. The roads are not as hospitable as they once were."

A servant, one of Lorimer's own, came and poured wine for both of them. The man picked up his glass and said, "Don't worry. It's perfectly harmless. I thought there was no point in wasting fine food and drink, when you already went to the trouble of setting it out."

"We do have occasion to celebrate after all. House Lorimer has returned to the Golden Tooth. And House Reyne has returned to Castamere."

The man stared into Lorimer's eyes, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Lord Roger Reyne, Lord of Castamere. And I'm here to talk."

"I believe we can come to an arrangement."

---------------
The Vulture's Roost

Andrew Tarth gritted his teeth, rising from the ground as the battle came to a close all around him. The royalists had flooded into the fort and the Vultures were all dead, dying, or surrendered. Ser Uther's mad charge had saved his life, killed the beast, and left almost no resistance in the enemy camp. Andrew watched as the alchemist knight Hallyne rose, coughing and clutching his throat.

Ser Tarth came and helped the young man up and they both hobbled over to the battlements, looking over into the chasm where Ser Uther had fallen. They watched as the dragon banner flew over the Vulture's Roost and stood as the men cheered and raised their weapons to their air. The two warriors had no cheer in them and Hallyne looked down into the chasm, "He's gone. Nobody could have survived that."

Andrew was silent, then said, "There is always a chance. Tend to the wounded. Gather the prisoners. Send a raven to Gendry. Tell them we took the Vulture's Roost. And organize a search party immediately. We're bringing Ser Uther home, one way or another."

There was nothing in this world worse than a pretentious lowborn, William thought. He was surrounded on every side by dirty-mouthed pirates, all rubbing shoulders and grandiose threats. Worst of all, he was strictly forbidden from killing any of them where they stand. He glared at a figure who seemed a bit too interested in him, and whoever it was obligingly looked away. Serves the fool right enough.

Arak clutched his spear, the wood warping under his heavy grip. He knew what it meant to be in enemy territory, with no more than an instruction to carry out. He swore himself to the task, and the sun will rise in the south before he would break that promise. Just a few more days of holding out now, he promised himself.

"Ey, youse," croaked a fat pirate, rubbing down a sword. "Gots tha hunge' fer sommat royal blood?"

"Erm . . . certainly, surely, and without doubt," Arak mumbled. "I stand always at the ready to thwart the efforts of Their Maj-"

"Eh, what's it ta youse?" William snapped. "We's gonna cuts youse up if ya don't shuts ye's mouth, see?" He stood up, and stared down the still-shorter rebel, and said rebel suddenly seemed to remember a task he had put off. "What did I say about proper grammar?"

"Don't," sighed Arak.

"Good. Now fetch Visenya. If anyone tries to talk to you, don't respond without two mouthfuls of this," William said, fumbling around his coat. "Damn this . . . where did I leave it . . . ah yes, here we go," he pulled out the wineskin, then gave it a hard shake. "Hmm . . . seems lighter than I remember. Here." He pressed the skin into Arak's hands. "Now, like I said, find Visenya." With a shove, William sent Arak out, on his own, into the midst of the Scorpion camp.

Arak would find Visenya with the Maiden's Men, the company of sellswords drinking, laughing, gambling, and making merry. Captain Seronna, for her part, was drinking several of her men under the table. Meanwhile Visenya was playing a knife game with some of the pirates, stabbing between her splayed fingers quicker and quicker while keeping the blade away from her bare digits. The watching pirates were all rapt with attention as they watched the speed and surety of her stabs, and it was clear that a large amount of coin was on the line.

"My la- no, no, that wasn't it. Captain!" Arak shouted, waving to Visenya. He approached the table and was about to drop to his knee, stopping himself at the last second and choosing what he thought as more appropriate, a bow. "The . . . erm . . . 'quartermaster' would like to have a word with you, if you can spare the time."

Visenya finished the rapid tattoo of knife thrusts and picked it up before tossing the knife at a pirate with a puffy hat. The hat flew right off of the man and buried itself into the bark of a nearby tree. There was a loud round of cheering and slaps on the back as Visenya grinned and grabbed a hefty bag of coin, turning to Arak, "Very well, sailor. I'll see to him right now."

Black Visenya Storm, now known to the pirates as Black Calla, walked over to William and smirked at him, hefting the coin bag over her shoulder, "Something you need, Bill? I was just cleaning out some pockets right now."

"I'll say," William chuckled, turning his gaze to the angry faces lining the table. A few of them reached with uncertain hands to the pile of coins in the middle. "I seem to have been left out of your grand plan. Do you know how insulting that is? I don't think I've ever been left out of one of your schemes in my entire life." He rolled up his sleeve for dramatic effect, revealing the burn marks on his forearm. It was old and faded, but still rang of the time Visenya had tried to steal a wedding cake from the kitchen, and the angry cook had thrown a torch at the two of them. William didn't even remember what made them try something so drastic. "I don't sit here talking like the mentally slow for the fun of it, you know. Well, not just for the fun of it."

Visenya saw the burn marks and she smiled, remembering, the she laughed, "Well, you do have a sibling to look after now. I wasn't sure if you wanted to participate." She sat down next to Will in the private pavillion that their men had erected, away from the other pirates without being too suspicious, "Tell you what, the next grift, I'll let you take the lead. How about that?"

She grinned, "I'm surprised you came with me, this could prove to be quite a dangerous job. We'll have to pretend to be dirty, drunk, conniving pirates for quite some time." She paused then said, "Well, it might not be so difficult for you."

Visenya laughed and pulled out a wineskin, taking a sip before passing it on to him, "Why did you want to take the risk, Will? I'm genuinely curious. Grateful, but curious."

What was he supposed to say? William took the skin and took a generous helping of it for himself. He once again found himself without words. Damn it all, this always happens at the worst times. "Well . . . hmm . . ." he said, before ducking behind the comfortable cover of the wineskin. Eventually, though, it was to run out. "I couldn't just let you go galavanting off to the Stepstones, leaving me with the gutless ladies in Westeros." He finished. The wine tore through his throat in the way only a strong wine could. Gods, she knew exactly what he liked.

Visenya smiled at him and said, "That might be the nicest thing you ever said to me Will." She let the matter lay and took the wineskin, frowning at it's emptiness, "I suppose it makes up for draining my reserve of Arbor red."

The bastard princess sat back and looked up at the stars, a sea of lights above them, "Remember when we used to camp in the Kingswood? You, me, the Princes, our friends. I miss those days Will. Things were simple then."

Her smile turned sad, "I wish it could have stayed that simple."

"Friends? That's new," William laughed, handing the rather empty wineskin back. "Way I saw it, it was you, me, and a load of white-headed bullies who for whatever reason insisted I skin the animals they hunted. They were all so excited when I did. 'Ooh, your father could do the same trick with humans' every time," he grimaced. "You lived the simple life. Mine's been complicated the moment I was born."

Visenya looked at him, "Aemon never did that Will. And you know Viserys is an ass, but he means nothing by it." She placed the wineskin away and poured out two bowls from the stew boiling over a nearby fire, handing one to Will along with some bread, "It wasn't always simple for me either Will. I'm a bastard with no parents. The King and Queen raised me. I may be part of the family, but I don't have the name."

"You at least, you can make the Bolton name honorable again. Make it something to be proud of. If we do our jobs right, Jon will give you back the Dreadfort. And you won't have to deal with my schemes any more." She smiled and took a bite of bread.

"What a shame that would be," William said, taking the bowl and having himself a large slurpy drink from its contents. It was tasteless and lumpy, but he didn't expect or wish for anything else. "I rather enjoyed stealing that cake. Especially after, when we returned it, looking all sorry, with our own little birthday surprise in it." Perhaps the best part of the night was when Lord . . . some big name or other joyfully sliced it open, and to his horror a live rabbit bounded out of it, covered in sweetbread and angry from being confined for so long in a big loaf of it.

Visenya giggled, sounding like a girl again as she remembered, "I had no idea how you found that one. Remember Sansa's face? She was absolutely furious. Knew it was you right away. And Jon knew it was me too. We had to scrub the kitchens for a month. But it was completely worth it."

"When you're Lord of the Dreadfort again, make sure to come down and visit, will you?"

" . . . Sure. I will," William said, far hushed, while thinking angry thoughts, directed mostly at himself. Well, there goes that, he supposed, finishing the last of the porridge. "Any excuse to get out of the cold in the North, right?"

(With @MrDidact@Nightwing95)

---

On the Silver Serpent, as Rhaegar and the crew awaited Aemon, a form melted out of the shadows. She wore black robes, with a shaved head that reflected the moonlight and empty eyes that did not fit her youthful face. Her lips were dark blue and set in a thin line void of expression. She stood in the middle of the deck and found Rhaegar's gaze and she said in quiet, whisper that still reached all of them, "Who are you?" The shadows seemed to twist around her, swirling in ways that were impossible, and the darkness seemed to deepen as she bored her eyes into the Prince's.

As they watched, several masked men armed with cruel weapons of black steel stepped out of the shadows behind the sorceress, along with several snarling hounds with coats as black as sin and just as sleek, red eyes that burned and gnashing teeth. Black dogs. Spiritual warhounds of myth, come alive.

The Sorceress spoke once more, "Identify yourself. Or die."

Rhaegar had to wrap his hand around the pommel of Dark Sister tightly in order to prevent himself from visibly flinching. That second sentence wasn't one of the many idle threats that graced his ear during the length of this campaign, neither one he exchanged so many times with sparring partners during the heat of practice. This shadowy woman seemed truly ready to rip out the soul out of his body....

But he wouldn't just stay still like a statue, if not for his own sake then for all the men that his brother left under his care. Those upon the deck already begun diverting their attention towards the new presence, so the young Prince decided to finally speak. "My name is Aegar the Younger, cabin-boy for Captain Draxos. He left me in charge of the ship until he returns from his errants." his delivery might not have been as succesful as Viserys', but he would be damned if he let their cover be blown in the first few minutes.

The woman was quiet, regarding the youth absolutely silently while her men formed a ring behind her, facing off with the gathering shipmates who hadn't yet drawn steel but were close to doing so. Stannis Seaworth stood by Rhaegar's side and kept his stony silence, but there was tension and fear in the air. The blue lips and shaved head marked her as one trained by the Warlocks of Qarth. But her command of darkness also suggested she was at least familiar with the infamous Shadowbinding of Asshai. An adept of either discipline would be daunting enough. None among them had seen or heard of one who was learned in both.

The Sorceress sneered then, showing small pointed teeth and said, "Aegar? A warrior's name. Are you a warrior, boy? You stand as if you are. You have a sword. Tell me, why did the infamous Captain Draxos leave his cabin boy in charge? I didn't know he placed such trust in his concubines." She laughed lowly then..

"Why are you so far away from the rest of the fleet? Don't you wish to join your comrades? One would think there is a lack of trust." Her expression hardened again and all could see that violence could erupt at any moment. The woman's shadow from the moonlight writhed and twisted behind her.

Seran watched the scene unfold from inside the Cabin, as he made the final touches to his disguise and wrappings. He had concocted the idea halfway, as he probably thought that after Goldbeard's incident they were looking for a man with his characteristics. But...if he wasn't a man, then he would be technically safer. He reminded embarassed how his former commander had ordered him several times to appear as someone of the fairest gender. And given his features and how much he resembled his sister...

He cleared his throat, shifting his pitch. "Ooooh, Aegar, what is the hold up? I want to see your mighty blade!" He said, in a near perfect impression of Lysara's voice. Seran was now dressed in some clothes lent by Lira, as well as having changed his bandages. He had, however kept the sword at hand. He felt somewhat...conflicted about how well the dress seemed to fit.

Somehow it became even more silent, as most of those gathered turn to look in bafflement. Even the masked men seemed flabbergasted. The sorceresses' expression turned to one of annoyance, a slight twist of her blue lips and she grit her teeth as she nodded to one of her men. A masked henchman stepped forward and leveled a crossbow at Seran and the warlock said, "Answer the questions or your whore is the first one to die. If I do not receive a satisfactory answer within the next few moments, I will leave you alive and inflict such torment on you that your own mother wouldn't recognize you. Now, speak!"

"I...I just..." Rhaegars cheeks did flare red at the sight, but out of some kind of miracle, he managed to turn the shame at the sight into an expression of fear once a crossbow was trained towards them. He knew what Seran was trying to do, so if they pulled through this then he swore to all the Gods he knew, he would strangle the Lyseni with his bare hands.

"My father was a great warrior...or at least my mother said so. The famed Corsair Aegar the Painted, she gave me his name so it could lend me strength..." he quickly remembered the name of one of the Pirate Captains Aemon encountered during his tenure as Fleet Commander, raising his arms just slightly to the present threat "I just make the Captains bed and bring him his wine...but he promised....he promised that if I follow his exact orders do a good job he would promote me to a fighter." he pleaded perfectly before turning to look at the disguised Seran "Please show her mercy, she is nothing but a working girl...slaving for some easy coin."

The sorceress' lip twisted pensively, "The Painted? A great pirate, to be sure. Killed by the Crown Prince only a few years ago. I had not known he had a son." The shadows shifted, covering her form and then the darkness seemed to jump, oozing across the floor in a rapid shift until she stood in front of Rhaegar examining him, "Hmm, yes. You do have the look. The blood of Valyria, clearly."

"I suppose, you wouldn't know why Draxos does what he does too much. The man has always been mysterious." She walked around him, examining him as if he were a prize horse, "Tell me, Aegar the Younger. Why are you here? Why follow in your poor, dead father's footsteps?"

''I am not sure he knew either..." the Prince finally allowed his posture to relax somewhat, feeling that they were halfway out of fatal danger...a few more lies and suspicions would finally be abed "My mother came from a poor family in Volantis and I was born outside of the Black Walls. The only possible futures for me was either starve to death, sell my good looks for coin, or jump aboard the first ship that sailed out of the port." It was obvious what the choice was, but his mind didn't stop there with the weavng of his tale. "I came aboard the Silver Serpent recently when I heard Captain Draxos was gathering men to join the enemies of the Iron Throne here in the Stepstones. My fathers blood stains those Dragons, and I want nothing more than my rightful vengeance."

Upon the sight of the Crossbow, Seran tensed almost immediately. Things were going not so well, and while he had actually suceeded at baffling and confusing the paranoid and stubborn assailants, it was far from a deal breaker. He steeled himself as he crumpled to a heap "IIIIH don't shoot me!" He said, forcing his voice to emit a pitch as high as possible. He had no doubt that this stunt would break his voice for days afterwards if he kept it like this, but he seldom had a choice. Rhaegar's quick followup was a welcome surprise. Perhaps there was hope for the self-appointed Dumb Dragon. He merely might have another kind of smarts that could not be relied upon when reading books, but that were most useful in the most pointy situations.

"They are a bunch of bastards." He muttered, feigning a very convincing spite. "There was this Visarlis, or whatever he was called. He wanted me to seduce an elderly man for his own amusement, but I could not do it. When I denied him the boon, his troops left me like this." Technically, this was not evenven a lie, but he had omitted quite a few important details of the truth. "I was lucky to be found by Aegar and the captain after having to leave Lys." He confided, still crumpled in the ground.

The woman stopped in front of Rhaegar, looking directly into his eyes. She had been at a height with the Prince, but now, in the dark, it seemed as if she had grown... taller somehow, though most of her form was still wrapped in the night. She nodded minutely, "Revenge. The purest of motivations. I can see it in your eyes. You're a killer." She leaned in, grabbed his hand in her cold clammy one, "You have a touch of.. destiny about you. You will do either great or terrible things. If you live long enough."

Her head snapped to Seran, she smiled sickingly, "Viserys perhaps? Let me be clear. Did you encounter this person before or after you left Lys?"

"I...It...It's hard to explain, scarly lady Warlock Shadowbinder almightier, don't eat the marrow of my bones, please!" Seran forced himself to squeak and stutter, giving the impression he was terrified, as he began to spin a tale. "I saw my sister poison a nobleman in Lys, okay? I just wanted to get out of the city!" He whimpered. "So there were these guys seeking for cute girls, and they had a too good offer, and the next thing i remember is being stranded nowhere with my broken face and my backside sore! Damn Siverlys! He got me out of Lys and then threw me out on a whim!" He reassured. He hoped by using a few of the darkest events during his Lysene life would probably sell the spinster tale. And by using such ship trickery and misnaming he would assure some more leeway should he be pressed further in the interrogation.

The sorceress' face became visibly thoughtful and she spoke very quietly, "What did he look like? Tell me. Now. Tell me truly." She stayed where she was in front of the Prince, but locked eyes with Seran.

"Valyrian? Just like half of my city!? I don't know! A lowly little me can't look at important people at the face unless directly told to. Or else they just hit me!" He said, almost making his voice break with panic."Don't eat my bones please."

The sorceress growled, and the sound was positively animal. She turned to the so-called Aegar with a grimace, "What do you know about this wench's story? Speak!"

"First of all, let us be calm. We might not be friends but Captain Draxos told me not to be afraid of allies..." Rhaegar finally said, making a hand gesture as a request to lower the Crossbow that was somehow still traced at him and the disguised Seran. He then motioned for the Shadowbinder to come closer as he lowered his voice slightly "Believe me my Lady, we didn't take this girl with us for her quick wits or her skill as a storyteller....but despite her line of work, she hasn't display a tendecy of lies yet. Just spare some coin and with my sweet words, you will have her sing to you like a canary." the uptight Prince had truly morphed through his deceit, speaking with a certain amount of cunning that could almost confuse him with the late Littlefinger.

The sorceress grimaced and gestured to the crossbowman, who let loose a bolt right next to the apparent prostitute's ear and she gritted her teeth, "No coin for you harlot. Tell me if you know any more now, and speak truly. Everything you know. And if I see you lying, I will take you with me. Tell the truth and I'll let you all live and part ways with me in peace." The shadows around the woman grew deeper as she stared the supposed harlot in the eye, "Now talk."

"IIIH!" Seran let the most high pitched scream ever, as he squirmed to find Rhaegar's back, as a small terrified animal. If they had fired the bolt one minute ago, he would have not flinched. It took some time to get in character, after all, but he now was impersonating half of the people he saw on Lys streets at night. He had many chances to observe, after all. He began to speak quickly in his native lyseni, feigning a panic attack. <<"ImsorryAegarIjustriedtofittinIliedabouttheprinceaVolantenebastardtrickedmeIdontwanttobekickedout!">> He pieced together as fast as he could.

"Take a breath...be calm..." Rhaegar had to feign his own care as an answer to the disguised mercenaries pretend panic attack. He even cupped his cheeks into his hands, a notion that he made to seem lovingly in an extent....but Gods if they could manage to get out of this alive, he would recant his previous thoughts of throwing Seran in the deepest Black Cell for the embarrasement. "No one is going to hurt you, I promise."
He would then turn his attention to the demonic woman that ordered her man to shoot at them with a crossbow "You see Lady Shadowbinder, she isn't the most quick-witted one...a customer of hers from Volantis fabricated his identity, making her believe he was the Prince. This was all a great misunderstanding."

The Sorceress stared intensely at both of them for a long moment, her expression void of any emotion as she measured them, then finally she said, "Very well. I'll leave you and your plaything alone then. Tell Draxos, I give him my regards."

She looked back, staring into Rhaegar's eyes, "We will meet again."

The Sorceress stepped into the shadows, her men following, her. There was a rush of wind, cold. The world dimmed for a moment. And she was gone.

The Village of Three Corners, Dominion of House Slynt, and the peoples there-under.

The Outskirts of Three Corners, the farmlands of Will Steeltrout

“I’ll tell you what, your holiness… The Seven don’t look kindly on men who cheat their neighbors, nor their friends, and certainly not the farmers who help the faith. They also don’t like weak men who cower before someone wearing robes and armor with a seven-pointed star. The deal stands like it was agree upon with your predecessor. Forty bushels of corn, twenty bushels of wheat, twenty bales of hay, ten barrels of beans… you have the damned list in front of you. You know the deal. Septon Ronal, these are fair prices as any you will get, especially with that heretical bitch, that apostate Trout, up in Riverrun stirring up trouble. You agreed to lend help for planting and harvest, I agreed to charge you a fair price for all the goods loaded in these here wagons. Plus, you have safe haven here, should the need arise. Now lets cut the idle chatter. You need better arms and armor for the Warrior’s Sons, such items are not easy to come by. Septon Ronal, you’ll find these wagons much to your liking, but don’t dare ever try to cheat me again. I support the Faith, and the Faith supports the people. Remember that.” Will finished speaking, his tone deep and gravely. He stroked his salt and pepper colored beard, before extending out his hand to shake the septon’s in acceptance of the deal.

Septon Ronal sighed, pursing his lips, before drawing in a sharp, short breath. “Brother William, our staunchest supporter and supplier of goods, I will acquiesce to your terms today, as a sign of our mutual respect for those who see the Seven as the true divines over these lands. All that I ask is perhaps a lower amount could be charged for future transactions, or perhaps some more bartering, labor and perhaps goods for exchanging, rather than Golden Dragons or Silver Stags, let alone Copper Stars. You have the largest farm in these parts, no doubt more help with harvests would undoubtedly benefit the both of us, my brother. Of course, we’d still pay for the ‘misplaced’ arms and armor that seem to sprout from your fields, but hopefully with a slightly more advantageous discount for the defenders of the Faith.” Septon Ronal smiled, his balding head beginning to sweat in the midday heat.

As the farmer and the septon dickered over prices, a few poor fellows and two Warrior’s Sons stood idly by, watching the perimeter for any spying eyes, if some nosey hunter, or perhaps a heathen of the Heretic of Riverrun were about, they’d be ready to depart for the safety of their sept with their charge, Septon Ronal. Will Steeltrout laughed boisterously, slapping the septon on his right shoulder soundly. The two shook hands, smiling at one another as both agreed to a new set of terms. “Fair enough Septon… them merchants, they call it repeat customers, and I won’t turn down good helping hands to tend to me land. Now bugger off, before some devil worshipping heathen sees us all and takes a lark to tell that cunt Tully. Yes yes… language as always Septon. Now I’ve got land to farm, and you’ve got wagons with cargo to move. Blessed by the Seven and their Divine Light.” Will finished, smiling to himself moreso, as he walked away.

Septon Ronal rolled his eyes, smoothing his robes out, before beckoning his militant followers to hitch up their horses to the wagons, and to get going. Will was right, no one wanted to get caught with their business, nor did they hold a fondness for the new religions that had taken root like a weed in a rose garden here in Westeros.

Will watched them all leave, waving to them with a broad smile on his face, before he too set back to his work, trading talk with a few of his field-hands, giving some silver to another to buy some supplies, seed, some pig iron, nails, and so on, for the farm, while giving the rest to a pinch faced man that served as the little farm’s coin counter and stock keeper. He spat a glob of dark spittle out onto the ground, nodding, before hurrying off to a large barn that served as a storage place of many interesting things.

Arthur Blackrose, Gatehouse to the Keep of Three Corners.

The ten or so men-at-arms sat gathered around a table, gambling some loose change over a game of dice. All were smiling and enjoying themselves, because whoever won the most, as custom, bought the first round of drinks, so no one really lost, just got to be the lucky duck of the night amongst his friends. Arthur himself had been the lucky duck three nights in a row a week ago. This week, he had one once, so it wasn’t an overall bad week. He smiled and grinned like a fool as all the rest, trading jabs and jokes with his friends and buddies, enjoying their time in the shade and cool, rather than the light and heat of the outside. Of course, such things don’t always last, when one of the household knights for House Slynt came in, bringing an end to the game.

Ser Morgrin spoke in a bored, dull tone. “Lord Moros wants us to conduct a patrol of his lands. Don’t bother trying to talk your way out of this, we are all tasked in going. Apparently, word has gotten out that the Tully’s are keen on sending their daughter out and about to inspect their lands. Lord Moros doesn’t want any hitches to come of this, and the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can get back to your game. He is calling for all the men save a handful to conduct this patrol, so don’t think your friends in the other two tower houses are getting a pass. You got twenty minutes to fallout into the drill yard. I’d suggest brining something to stay out for the night, knowing our bloody luck.” The knight adjusted his rucksack upon his back, and nodded to the men, before leaving from the door he came in.

Arthur snatched up the dice, and rolled one last time. “Come on, lucky fives… lets go, double fives…” The dice fell atop the table, rolling and bouncing and spinning, before coming to a stop on nine, a three and a six. “Bloody Seven tits…” Arthur cursed, before tossing down a Copper Star. “Well, Smiths, looks like you won this time. Good job.” Arthur spoke warmly, as a blonde haired man, perhaps no more than twenty, collected all the coins on the table. The youth smiled, and spoke out, “Drinks on me once we get back, maybe we’ll find some nice lasses out in the fields. Those farmers just aren’t the men like we are.” Smiths spoke with a wicked grin. The group all laughed aloud as they gathered their assorted gear and whatnot, before they set out to rally up on the drill yard.

Arthur took some melted wax to quickly twirl his full mustache, in part to look more dashing, and in part, because he knew they’d be marching past the battlements where Rae Kestrel tended to Lord Moros’ falcons, and to him, she was quite the looker. He felt a slap across his back, and was rushed out by grinning friends. “Come on you old foolish Reachman, we’ve work to do, no time for you to chase skirts of the lady folk here at home.”

The Slynt Wood’s, A hunter and his quarry.

Renly stepped light as he moved through the underbrush. He’d already taken down two deer, along with a fat turkey and a whole brace of squirrels. Good meat he thought, and a great day of hunting. Lord Slynt and his brothers would be most happy, even if it was a bit of poaching. The land he hunted on technically belonged to some lord in the Crownlands, or was it the Westerlands, or perhaps it was the Reach… either way, he changed it up where he was hunting for game, making sure to bring in fresh meat for the Slynt’s, and they in turn kept a blind eye to his actions, and even payed him for his haul. Of course, should anyone ask, he was a licensed woodsman and gamekeeper for House Slynt, and he was maintaining the animal population to keep the woods pristine.

He was about done with his sweep of the woods, save for checking some bait traps he had tossed into the shallows of the river. Fresh fish and crawdads were always welcome too, and they fetched a nice little price with both the Slynt’s and the local tavern/brothel. Renly smiled to himself, looking forward to a warm bed and a naked body to join his own tonight. If Seven forbid someone was out in these woods with him, well, Renly certainly appeared to not be paying any attention other than to his bait traps in the river shallows.

Lady Calla Silvermane, a luncheon with family.

Calla quietly ate her lunch with her father, Lyman Lannister, while he chatted to her uncle and grandfather. Her two aunts smiled at her, while they sipped their tea and ate some tarts. Calla smiled back at her aunts, before looking back to her father, who seemed to be a bit displeased at what was being told to him by his father. She could only guess as to what was being discussed, and rather than eavesdrop, she turned back to eating a well cooked and seasoned meal of chicken and corn, along with some freshly baked bread with plenty of butter. Still, if there was one thing to enjoy about these monthly family get-together’s, was the food. Her eyes wandered the room in which they were eating, settling upon a family portrait of her father, Lyman, her mother, Tyanna, and a young Calla, without the scars that now adorned her face. She looked away, to a family sigil adorned shield hung on the wall, the roaring lion of House Lannister beautiful as it always was.

Well, it wasn’t truly hers, as her father had never officially legitimized her, but at the end of the day, she was of the proud lineage of House Lannister. It was something in her father’s own inflection that stirred Calla from her daydreaming. She looked to her father and grandfather, both of who stared at her intently, whilst her uncle and aunts politely excused themselves. Calla’s grandfather, Ser Tytos Lannister, spoke first.

“Your father and I have come to a decision regarding your… birth outside of wedlock, as your mother and my son were never married, Calla. Lyman has spoken on your behalf greatly, and it was his choices that leave us here today. As the head of our household branch of the Lannisters, I shall accept your father’s request to legitimize you. Calla Silvermane, if you so choose, here and today, you shall henceforth be recognized by the Westerlands, House Lannister, and the Crown as a Lannister. Just remember what such a prestigious name carries, and how you will have to conduct yourself from now on. You are no longer a bastard, and a noble born lady. You shall act as such. Do you understand what I have said to you, granddaughter?” Tytos spoke in a stern, ponderous tone, as though he himself didn’t really want to be extending the offer of full legitimization to Calla. That having to accept a bastard, a bastard from an Essosi woman no less, was a stain upon his family honor to say the least.

Calla looked to her father, Lyman, who was but a shadow compared to his father. Where his father was all bravado and seasoned soldier, her father was a more skinny and bookish person, but perhaps stronger, in that he had kicked his addiction to milk of the poppy among other things. Still, Lyman looked to his daughter, love in his eyes, mixed with defeat and anger, and mouthed, “It’s your choice… I will always be proud of you.” He then looked away, back to his father, and what Tytos’s reaction would be to Calla’s response.

The Falcon , the Viper, and the Wolf, Keep of Three Corners

Leyla Icefang and Rae Kestrel sat perched atop the battlements, watching the proud men of House Slynt march off in formation to conduct a series of preventative patrols in the area. To keep the people safe and sound, Lord Moros has said, though anyone with a brain between their ears knew it was more for show to the powers that be in the Riverlands, and to make anyone or anything that could cause trouble for the Slynt’s to be scarce for a while. Like the Sparrows that had been seen about of late, though these were unarmed, so, who could say they were really Sparrows. Rae turned to Leyla, after having blown a kiss to the dashing Arthur Blackrose, and spoke softly to her friend and fellow keep dweller.

“Well, seeing as most of the garrison is gone, perhaps we can enjoy some spicy sweet pie that Miss Sunviper bakes?” Rae asked questioningly. Her eyes looked pensively at Leyla, though flickers of mischief danced in the corners.

“Some spicy sweet pie, you say? Well, I suppose I can manage to join you two harlots for a bite to eat, besides, Lord Moros himself has left with his men, and he didn’t need his dogs for some odd reason.” Leyla rolled her eyes, “Probably didn’t want them tearing apart the people that pay protecti… I mean taxes to him. The Sparrows and the Faith, good men, mind you now, seem to be well funded, or Lord Moros needs a new bathhouse.” Leyla finished, smiling gleefully at Rae. “Well, lets go find our friend and pester her to help bake with us.”

Below in the drill yard, Aliandra Sunviper shared a passionate kiss with Ser Danos Slynt, the two tenderly parting one another’s arms as Ser Danos moved to mount his steed. He smiled at Aliandra, blowing her a kiss, taking her hand once more to kiss it, and then calling out as he slowly rode out with the rest of the patrol force. “My Dornish delight, I will return to you as quickly as I can. May the sun keep you warm without my embrace.”

“My noble knight, golden spear with the blood of traitors, I shall eagerly await your return, and promise you this… a warm bed and lover await you. Ride safe.” Aliandra called out to her departing lover, her voice like warm honey poured over a polished shard of amber. She smiled, waving goodbye, until Danos was out of sight. As she turned, she rolled her eyes… seeing her two friends of the Slynt household retinue.

“My, my, what have I here? A freezing puppy and a little lofty chick. Let me guess, you wish for the divine food of my mother’s home, to tease and please your tongue and stomach? Come on you two fools, let us hurry to the kitchen, I am sure that Cookie won’t mind us in the least.”

Together, the three women quickly made their way to the depths of the Keep of Three Corners, to the kitchen for food, drink, and good times.

The Skull

collab with @Applo

As the Eel ground its way through the sand Tamsyn pinched the bridge of her nose and tried to stamp the tiredness out of her legs. The previous night's scouting expedition had been a long arduous affair and catching up on sleep during the day had been almost impossible with all the hustle and bustle of the preparations for tonight going on although this was all just the tip of the problem. The real problem for Tamsyn was that she had just sailed into a bay full of cut throats, murderers and rapists so that their sworn enemy could wonder in and poke his nose around. People could be very unreasonable about things like that and her mind was filled with images of all the ways these rebels could devise to kill someone, most of which made having your throat slit or being beheaded seem rather pleasant. Even the thought of a heavy purse of gold was failing at keeping her distracted anymore. Mostly she wanted to be sick.

Looking across to the expeditions other boats she watched as prince and his men clambered out of their little skiffs and generally set out acting the part of pirates, it wasn’t a confidence filling site. On her own boat five sets of eyes watched Tamsyn carefully. They obeyed her instructions well enough although Tamsyn was sure this was on for the look of the thing. Their real purpose was to make sure that she kept in line with the prince’s instructions. To the them she was almost as big as an enemy as the rebels. Still at least it meant she had someone to do the heavy lifting.

“Unload everything and pile it up just above the tidemark” Tamsyn said dismissively before quickly adding “and then someone turn my ship around and have it ready to sail.”

With that Tamsyn retrieved a long and bulky leather package from the cabin of the Eel before jumping down to that sand. She would have preferred to stay and supervise the unloading but she had been tasked with another duty and as much as she hated the idea of it she had felt unable to refuse the order.

The journey across the beach to her arranged meeting point was blessedly uneventful and free of people shouting things like oi you and stop! There had been a plan to explain her unexpected arrival but Tamsyn had been apprehensive how the rebels were going to react. The fact that the worst she had to deal with was lust filled drunkards was a blessed relief.

When she was sure that she had reached the agreed upon spot Tamsyn to a furtive look around and happy that no one was watching she emptied the contents of her package onto the ground. It was the work of moments to string the bow and after a few draws to test the string Tamsyn rewrapped the bow and quiver in the leather pouch. Every possible avenue of activity and preparation now exhausted she sat down on a nearby rock and waited for the person she was meeting to appear.

Ellion emerged from the sandy cove, the time and the meeting clear, as he made his way out, sword at his hilt, the sight of Tamsyn in front of him, sitting on a rock and preparing her bow. His brown hair was almost black from the beating it had taken from the sea and dirt, but was still long and flowing, blowing in the sea-salt spray on the beach in the evening.
"You're late." He said to her, as he chuckled, nodding.
"So, we have work to do. I hope you're good with that bow. We'll need to be quick footed, skirmishing. We can't pick fights we can't end quickly, or run from."

"The sound of Ellion's voice made Tamsyn jump but she made an effort of taking her time to turn around. The figure that stood over her was dirty, decrepit and covered in more than a little blood yet somehow to Tamsyn's mind still looked like a knight. There was something about the way the man held himself.

"Don't worry about me, if I couldn't avoid soldiers and guards I wouldn't be sitting here. As for my bow, my parents taught me to shoot the Free Folk way. If I missed I didn't eat, it's rather an effective way to learn something."

The last statement was stretching the truth more than a little but Tamsyn was dammed if she was going to let this Tyrell doubt her. Her father and her brother might scrape and bow to them, but she wouldn't.

"Right lets go then" she said as she slung the quiver over her shoulder before picking up her bow.

Ellion chuckled, as he led the way off the beach, the gentle drizzle pouring down, nodding.
"You seem confident then." Ellion replied, as he looked up the shoreline, aware that they still had another beacon to find. She was attractive, he had to say that to himself in his mind, at least. A pretty girl, a redheaded Northerner, with a charm of a Lyseni smuggler.

This trip got stranger and stranger, he thought. Into the heart of darkness he had seen his own knightly ways change as a fighter, he had forced himself into a little adventure and found himself as a warm-blooded swordsman, and his talents had changed. It was almost surreal, but Ellion Tyrell wasn't distinctive in this armour, his messy hair partly covering his face, only something observable to those who would perhaps look into the Tyrell eyes and his fine form beneath it all. And slept with one girl so far. Maybe another, if Tamsyn felt that way. She was a rough diamond, that was for sure, and he'd be courteous. Hard to get, perhaps. Maybe not. He didn't really know. He had to stop thinking with his dick and with his brain, because shit needed to be done.

"The beacon's up that way. Shouldn't be long to get there." He added, as he kept his eyes on a swivel, looking back at Tamsyn.
"So, what brought you into the party then?"

"Coin. A lot of it. More than I could possibly refuse." She was glad that Prince Aemon and the Greyjoy cow had kept the details of how this little arrangement had come about a secret. After the prince, this Tyrell clown was one of the most dangerous people in the group for her. The Grimm's might be a small family in the reach but they were just a little unique. All it might take could be a few careless words and the idiot in front of her would have everything he needed to work out who she really was. Even though Ellion seemed about as quick in the head as sheep so far it being near him was still a risk Tamsyn wasn't exactly thrilled about.

"How well guarded was the last beacon?" she asked before adding "What should I be expecting?" Tamsyn hoped that talk of tactics and battle would keep Ellion's mind occupied.

"A few good men. Archers though. The men themselves aren't incredibly well trained, they're restless, as rebels are." Ellion added, as he looked back.
"Not much resistance if we're clever." He added with a wry smirk, his voice still holding it's usual charm, not grizzly as you would almost anticipate with a man of that look.

They headed up the hilly track, the route winding but open. Ellion could hear the distant noise of marching, and already enacted a response. With a firm push, he nudged Tamsyn and dived into some shrubbery, diving onto the floor.

Putting his finger to his lip, he counted the footsteps, listening to what was coming.
"There's too many. Ignore it." Ellion added, keeping his profile low, as he knew that it would be easier to hide than it would be to confront, and risk being exposed.

It was all Tamsyn could do to resist the urge to give Ellion a kick and instead just roll her eyes at the instruction. She had no intention of leading a charge at the men who she could now here coming towards the pair’s position.

As the footsteps grew louder Tamsyn's hand closed around the handle of her knife and she regretted not having kept one of the sword's she'd just delivered. If it came to a melee a knife wouldn't do her much good, she'd have to trust in Ellion and luck far more than she was comfortable with. With each passing second the footsteps got louder and Tamsyn's heart raced to keep up. She'd hidden in bushes before but the gut wrenching nerves caused by thinking that you were about to be discovered was something that never seemed to go away.

Ellion just kept down, watching them go past, as he looked to Tamsyn, nodding. The patrol had passed, as they emerged out of the shrubbery, knowing that they had avoided a conflict. For now, at least. That was a probelm for later, as he led the way on again, dusting himself down.
"Not far now."

The task of climbing out of the bushes that they had been hiding in took somewhat longer than diving into them had, for Tamsyn at least. While Elions armour meant that it was easy for him to climb out Tamsyn's clothes snagged and caught on the branches, slowing her down as she had to untangle herself. By the time she was on the road again Ellion was already a good distance from her and she had to half run to catch up with him.

"Do you actually have a plan for this or are we just hoping there isn't a cart load of rebels guarding this beacon."

"Well.....bit of both. Kind of makes this an adventure." Ellion smirked as he remarked it, as they continued heading up the coastal track. It was a strange feeling to be like this, but after all, when with rogues, you had to be this way.
"Where do you come from, Tamsyn? You sound Northern, but....you definitely sound like you spent time from my land." He asked, as they continued walking up, the dirty and dusty track after the rainstorm.

The question made Tamsyn watch her feet for a while as she tried to remember exactly what she had told Prince Aemon and the Greyjoy woman about her background. She had to say something, stubborn refusal would only make people more curious but at she also had to make sure she told the same story.

"My parents were from beyond the wall before The War. My father wanted richer land than those in the North so he brought my mother south and settled in the Reach which is where I grew up." Tamsyn hoped to the Old Gods and the Seven that this Tyrell was just making idle conversation and wasn’t going to press any further.

"I get it. I was going to say." Ellion replied, as he looked up the path, then back at her.
"It's a beautiful land. My brother is going to be Lord when my father passes. That'll be a funny day." He chuckled lightly, as he looked up at the beacon, the track diverting off, as he led the way off it.
"This way. Let's head into the undergrowth. Flank the place." He added, leading the route, still heading up through the forest. The distant murmuring of men could be heard, as Ellion leaned on a pine, looking over.

"It's there. About six men. Two archers. Think you can shoot straight?"

"If you think you can do better than by all means have at it" Tamsyn snapped as she pulled an arrow from her quiver and notched it in the bow. "You give me the signal and half of them will be dead before you can get off your perfumed ass, my lord." Part of her wanted to add that one her arrows would be going throw his perfumed arsehole if he kept questioning her ability, but she knew better and bit her tongue. The image her imagination conjured up was pleasing enough to satisfy her for now.

"Cheeky. I like." With it, Ellion winked at her, as he split off, finding another route in.

Trekking through the undergrowth was slowing going in the effort not to make any noise that might draw the attention of the guards but eventually Tamsyn found herself a spot where she could use the cover of a tree trunk to see as many of the rebels as possible. Working quickly she pulled another ten arrows from her quiver and pushed them gently into the ground at her feet. She was sure she could hit every target in sight with one arrow but why risk not having an arrow to hand if she needed it.

Seeing Tamsyn across the camp, he watched her set up, as Ellion emerged from the undergrowth, not even sneaking in, he went straight towards them, catching the eye of a few.
"Hey, who the fuck are you?" Swords were drawn, as Ellion looked on, shaking his head.
"Gentlemen, you're confused. I'm from Bloodstone. I've got lobster in my cart down the road."
"We're not falling for that....that's what they found on Gulliver's body! You're that fucker!"
"Well, Gulliver was a bit of a bastard to be fair. All take, no give." Ellion drew his sword, as the archers behind the four men drew their bows, Ellion shaking his head.

"Okay, point taken. You can have the lobster. After I feed you to it. Shall we?" And with it, he gave a pulling gesture with his left hand, yelling at the man at the front, who raised his sword and ran.

The instant the first of the rebels made a move Tamsyn loosed her arrow. It wasn't the longest shot she'd ever made but it was also far from the easiest. Her arrow hit her target, one of the bow men, but only through the shoulder. Still she didn't worry about it, he wasn't going to be drawing his bow anytime soon and if the Tyrell moron could be taken down by a bow man with only one working arm then frankly he deserved it. Quickly she pulled a second arrow from the ground, took aim at the second bow man who had already realised that someone else had a bow and released the bow string.

The arrow smushed into the man's skull, as Ellion charged the man at the front, knowing Tamsyn had unleashed hell. These fuckers were going down, and Ellion knew that much was the plan.

The first one charged forward, too fast, too stupid, as Ellion ducked and went low, pushing him onto the blade as he thrust him over, withdrawing with a subtle movement, parrying another man. He hoped Tamsyn would give a little help at least, as they were swearing, aware that they had to light up the beacon, one way or another. One of the men heading towards Ellion broke away, and headed to the steel cauldron, to light the thing and alert the others.

As the rebel ran from Elion Tamsyn allowed herself a moment of victorious self congratulation, right until she realized what the man was running towards. She knew if he managed to light the beacon then she'd have the chance to find out how accurate her imagination had been as to what these rebels would do to anyone working for the crown. Ellion was still tied up with the remaining swordsman and Tamsyn knew it was down to her to stop the beacon being lit.

It wasn't an impossible shot but at the same time, it wasn't a shot she wanted to be betting her life on. She drew back her bow and tried to get a bead on where the man was going to be but the rough ground meant he was moving erratically. Tamsyns arms were starting to ache from the effort of keeping the bow drawn and her she could feel her arms shaking but she knew that she didn't have time to risk missing and having to loose another arrow. This shot had to count.

The rebel was slowing down as he approached the cauldron when Tamsyn finally released her arrow. The flight seemed to take an eternity and all she could here was the sound of her heart roaring in her ears. Then suddenly the solider toppled sideways, the force of the strike knocking him from his feet. Just to be sure Tamsyn notched a second arrow and aimed it at where the man had fallen but when he didn't stir she released the tension from her bow.
"Are you killing these fuckers or trying the kiss them" she yelled over the ring of clashing steel.

Ellion was not bad, as he parried the swordsman, knocking him aside with a hard push and headbutting him, letting him deal with his friend coming at his flank with a spear. The sword clashed, knocking the spear down into the floor, before a blade entered his abdomen. Pulling his friend around, Ellion was in the flow again, sword withdrawn, as he took on the original swordsman, noticing that his energy was lower. And that was what he'd capitalise.

With a stern parry, he smashed through his block, then thrust forwards, Ellion becoming talented at having a little creativity rather than structure to fight, it was definitely growing out of his tuterlage, but growing right here. Ellion Tyrell was a fighter alright, and more than a dummy or a spar, this was real blood and real guts. And he had to say, the thrill was like nothing else. Better than jousting. This was real insanity.

Withdrawing the sword from the man's chest, he kicked him over, the other two looking on.
"Shame we had to do this the ugly way, you ugly bastards." Spinning the sword in his hand, Ellion saw another swordsman run at him, a little more talented than his friends, the muddy encampment

And he was good. Christ, he wasn't bad. Second to last man. He knew Tamsyn would get the other, from afar or up close, as he sparred with this man, taking his hits where he had to, seeing that his opponent had more energy than he did right now, and a better than expected skill. Interesting.

Leaping through the scrubby vegetation Tamsyn cursed herself for agreeing to this mission. She would have preferred to have kept her distance from the fray but with the rebels left were too close to Ellion for her to be able to make a shot without risking putting an arrow through the Tyrell's chest.

As she closed in on the fight one of the sword men broke of from circling Ellion to charge at her. Tamsyn drew her bow and loosed and arrow but the rebel had expected the shot and jinked out of its way, the arrow clattering harmlessly against a rock behind him as he closed on her. There wasn't time for another and Tamsyn threw her bow to the side before launching herself in the other direction to pass under the sweep of the soldier’s sword. The second she landed instinct told her to roll and sure enough the tip of a sword buried its self into the ground where her throat had been an instant earlier. Not wanting to give the bastard another opportunity to skewer her while she was down Tamsyn lashed out with a foot and felt a satisfying crunch as she connected with the rebels knee.

The few seconds when the swordsman was double over from the pain in his knee were more than enough for Tamsyn to scramble to her feet and draw the steel dirk from her hip. Now the pair circled each other, Tamsyn taking care to stay out her opponents range whilst knowing that somehow she had to get in behind his blade. Her chance came sooner than she expected when the rebel made a wild lunge that was easy to duck under. Unfortunately what this particular rebel lacked as a swordsman they made up for as a brawler and a knee connected with Tamsyn's stomach before her knife tasted blood. Some struck her head before she had a chance to recover and the next thing Tamsyn knew she was flat on the found ground with the rebel kneeling over her and slamming her hand against the floor until the dirk slipped from her grasp.

"Fucking give it up and I'll make sure you live to see the dawn from the inside of the whore tents bitch."

Ellion looked over, as he parried his own sworsman, watching Tamsyn run in, taking on the other swordsman. Shit, she wasn't going to do that. She was too small to keep up with his power, she was risking a lot. And he didn't have time to focus. Only on his own opponent.

Letting his own target come forward, he parried with his sword smoothly, knocking the man's pommel and kicking low, hitting hard in the thigh, before slashing out with a quick push against his chest, cutting him neatly open, as he turned to the man pushing Tamsyn into the floor.

"I'd think about giving it up, pal." He added, as he walked on over, impaling the sword into his neck, the blade coming out of his mouth in a bloody display, Ellion twisting for good measure as he pushed him off.
"Up you get, love." Ellion said, spitting the blood from the earlier brawl, chuckling, shaking his head, offering a hand to her.

Waving away the proffered hand Tamsyn crawled to her knees and tried not to be sick.
"Give me a minuet" she groaned. The whole world felt like it was spinning underneath her like she drunk her way through a barrel of cheap wine and she didn't trust her legs to carry her at all. Giving up on the idea of standing up for now she rolled on to her side so she could see Ellion and hopefully keep the contents of her stomach down

"Well, that was interesting. You seem a better archer than in hand to hand. My advice, keep to that for now. I don't want you getting killed." Ellion added, as he walked over towards the cauldron, pulling out the material from inside, wood and general oil-filled rags, dumping it out of the metal, as he wiped the blood from his blade with his leather gauntlet, sighing.

"I didn't want you missing a display by the dashing Ser Ellion Tyrell, after all." He chuckled, fully aware of the irony of himself, as he finished clearing out the cauldron, leaning against it and letting Tamsyn get a look.
"Other than that, you held yourself well."

"So pleased to be of some small assistance my lord." No sooner than the words were out of her mouth then the pressure from her stomach became too great and Tamsyn only just managed to lift her head off the floor before being sick.

Ellion looked on, knowing he had done it himself.
"It's a bloodbath. Don't you worry, lass. I did it too the first time I saw how much blood comes, the pressure of it all." He said to her reassuringly, knowing it was a weakness leaving, perhaps a focus coming in, and that Ellion had that trust in Tamsyn at least to say those words, as he sat by her side, sighing.

"How's your head?"

"I'll live," Tamsyn mumbled "my bed and a bottle of dornish red would help though. Would you go find my bow so we can get out of here?"

Ellion nodded, as he heard one of the soldiers moaning, the arrow in his shoulder also having him on the floor, as he sighed.
"Shit, one second." Ellion added, as he walked on over, looking over at the wounded man.
"Seven Hells, what are we gonna do with you." Ellion asked, as he looked at the injured soldier, the arrow pushing through his shoulderblade into his upper chest, leaving him pretty broken, he wasn't going anywhere for now.

"Well.....you'll suffer if I don't finish the job. Don't underestimate one good man with a sword. And a girl with a bow." With it, Ellion gently pushed the blade into his chest, withdrawing it after a few seconds, letting the life drain out of him, sighing as he looked across at Tamsyn.
"Try and get them a bit better next time. It's the least honorable thing to do. But it leaves us a lead. We need to get going, Tamsyn." Ellion said, as he cursed.
"Shit, your bow. It's over that way. Come on." He added, pointing out, at least giving her a hand up before they headed away.

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

Altogether, the voyage took two days to complete. The seas were unseasonably calm, the weather warm but pleasant, which perhaps to the unexperienced eye, would spell good fortune and weather to come. To the experienced, to those who had lived in the Stepstones or plied its waters, knew a harsher truth. This was the calm before the storm, the warm winds upwelling from the Summer Isles and Seas that would mingle with the cold frosty air of up North. Aerion sighed, knowing that it was best to enjoy the calm seas and clear skies before it would all go away for many weeks, if not months to come. Life in the Stepstones was both a blessing and a curse, one that he could never seem to escape it appeared.

As the hours progressed, Ser Aerion spent his time with his remaining companion and the new friends he had made thus far. He shared stories, cooked food, and even sang for them, showing a side that he rarely ever made apparent. Lady Lyvia laughed and clapped, enjoying herself more than she had in many months, seeing the pallor that had hung over Aerion seem to dissipate. Aerion himself made sure to devote his time to getting to know the new members of his circle of friends, speaking at length with ‘Lady’ Layali, even when she would tell him she was no lady, he did his best to show her that the world, while at times dark and unpleasant, it still held much brightness and joy in it. He laughed at he jokes, told his own, and even wrote down his recipe for clam chowder for her, should the day come when she wanted to cook it for herself, or if the Seven blessed her, a family of her own.

Serona Drennys was a person all her own. The two had shared a stint in the Company of the Cat, albeit many years ago. The two possibly had even seen one another without ever realizing it while carrying out their separate duties within the sellsword company. Strikingly beautiful, yes, but it was a piece of her person, the rising sunlight the shimmers atop a deep body of water, hiding the true nature below. She was cold only to those she did not like, yet below that thin veneer of ice atop a lake, smoldered a fiery volcano of personality. Aerion and Lyvia took an instant liking to Serona, seeing her as a kindred spirit, though perhaps a bit rougher about the edges. Aerion himself spent an entire evening enjoying the company of Serona, the two retelling old war stories, songs, and other appropriate things to enjoyably pass the time.

On the last night before the small flotilla of ships was due to sail into the belly of their enemy, Ser Aerion cooked up a small feast for those select few to be invited. Among them were Lady Lyvia, Lady Layali, Captain Serona, Seran of Lys, along with an open invitation being sent out to Lady Visenya and Crown Prince Aemon. The food had been served steaming hot and fresh, freshly caught crab, fish, and even a few eels, somehow a fresh loaf of bread that baffled everyone there, bits of bacon, or at least what tasted like bacon, along with salt, pepper, and some other spices, lastly, was some garlic and lemon added to top it all off. Aerion himself at last, making sure everyone else had eaten their fill before ladling himself what remained in the pot. Last, if anyone did notice, was that Aerion did not partake in drinking with those gathered about him, only dining to have water to wash down his food and quench his thirst.

To Aerion, friends were far more valuable than anything in the world, and he surely hoped that he would be a trustworthy friend in their eyes as well.

Yet, this lull before the true storm soon ended, and as the sun set on the third day, their ships sailed into the maw of the enemy, Blackguard Bay. Aerion himself had scarcely ever seen so many ships before, perhaps ever. This massive pirate fleet, cobbled together from ragtag fishing vessels, longships, war galleons, and anything else that could float, packed the bay tightly, riding the waves gently, sheltered from the turbulent ocean beyond. Aerion and Lyvia stood above deck, looking out over the dark water as their ships passed the enemy fleet at anchor. The two shared and unsettled look between them both, before returning their gaze to the tiny sparkling lights of torches and lanterns that illuminated both ship and shoreline.

If anything went wrong, there would most likely be no escape from this hornet’s nest. It was quite literally a sink or swim situation. Aerion pulled himself away from the ship’s railing, and made his way to the center, where everyone of importance seemed to be gathering. As Aerion and Lyvia looked on and listened, the Crown Prince spoke quietly amongst select members of the loyalists, along with members of his family. He was readying a landing party, a small one that could make their way to the congregating place of the rebel officers and captains, to imbed themselves with the rebels, learn their plans, and hopefully, find a way to foil them. The Crown Prince spoke with those closest to him for a while, before orders were relayed to the rest of the crew.

Prince Rhaegar would remain in command of the two larger war vessels, with most of the loyalists remaining with him. He was to guard the ships, and provide a means of reinforcement should things go south, and a yellow flare being spotted, with a worst case scenario of leaving behind any ashore should red flare be spotted. This was all said while the Crown Prince indicated to a mysterious hooded individual amid the crew. Aerion looked in the person’s direction, guessing whomever they were, they had to be a deadly fighter or perhaps some dark magic user, best to be left to their own devices. The briefing ended shortly thereafter, with command and authority being delegated over to Prince Rhaegar in the Crown Prince’s absence. Aerion sighed, looking to Lyvia, offering her a smile, knowing that the two would be separating for the duration of this mission.

“Lyvia, I’ll see you when I get back. And, if the Seven should decree otherwise, well, I look forward to seeing you in the next life. You know what to do should I fall in battle, though I have a sinking suspicion that I will be owing you a few drinks once I return, and some new stories about what I see.” Aerion spoke lowly to Lyvia, smiling at his longtime friend and ally. The two shared an embrace, and then a clasping of necks with one another’s hands, as the two bowed one another’s heads together, letting their forehead’s touch as the two spoke a low and silent prayer together. Once finished, the two let go of one another, jostling their shoulders, before Aerion set off to report to the Crown Prince.

Lyvia called out after Aerion, speaking in a joking tone, “Does this mean I get to have your boots if you don’t make it back, they are rather nice, and I bet they will fit me nicely. Come back in one piece you blighter, so you can cook some more food for us and sing in your pretty voice. Seven bless you Aerion.” Lyvia waved her last goodbye, before walking off to find something to do.

Aerion reported in to the Crown Prince, stating his desire to join the shore party, in part to see for his own eyes the enemies he would be facing, no doubt some of them former allies in combat, and enemies as well. Second, was that he vouched for Captain Serona Drennys. Should she betray the Crown Prince, or in anyway go back on her word, Aerion knew it was his duty to bring her to justice, and then face punishment from the Crown should they all survive. Last, perhaps a bit selfishly, was that he wanted to fight for his own glory and fame, to earn a just reward when he returned to Westeros in triumph. Too long had he wandered the lands of Essos and the Stepstones, it was time to settle down and start having a family to continue on his line.

Aerion climbed down the rope ladder to the small skiff that awaited the shore party. He placed himself between Captain Serona and Black Visenya, nodding to both, before steeling himself for the worst, such as it was. The final words were said between the royals, and friends, before the skiff pushed off from the larger vessel, and began to make its way ashore. Aerion looked about, seeing the Crown Prince, Prince Aemon, Black Visenya, Captain Serona, a few Maiden’s Men, a few loyalists, and in tow, the shadowed outline of The Eel, the smuggler’s ship carrying the goods bound for the rebels. Hopefully, the Seven were on their side, if not, well, this would be a short night.

Aerion did as he was ordered, ensuring he kept an eye on Serona, not trying to get distracted with her beauty, mind you now, but rather, focusing on her movements, trying to spy any quirks that she perhaps was planning on a most vile betrayal of the loyalists. The skiff and the Eel were both beached and tied up, leaving only the long walk to the rebel’s assembly area, and to finally meet the leader of the rebels. Aerion fell in line with the rest of the shore party, sporting a cruel looking whaling spear, along with a rusty scimitar, having left behind his Valyrian Steel sword in the care of Lyvia. As the party progressed, Serona did the talking and bribing, speeding them past the rebel checkpoints and guards along the path to the real enemy, the rebel leaders.

The party had a few holdups, a key one being a pirate who knew Serona personally, and was giving her grief for being late. Aerion wondered since when did pirates care about punctuality. Yet, Serona was a silver-tongued speaker, and quickly got them through and an escort to boot. The best part was that this pirate captain they had run in to was a talker, and freely spoke of the disposition of the enemy forces, bragging almost, as though he had done it all himself, when the truth was no doubt far from that. The trouble was, this Bill character was revealing just how many pirates, rebels, sellsails, sellswords, and other vile criminal elements had gathered to oppose the Crown and its claim upon the Stepstones. Aerion couldn’t help but laugh mirthlessly inward, reminding of the war of the Nine-penny Kings. This was bad, and no doubt the Crown Prince was realizing it as well.

At long last, the small party reached their destination, and Aerion could do was pray to the Seven that Serona did not betray them, because if she did, they would be well and truly fraked. Renowned pirate captains, famed sellswords, vicious looking mercenaries, and at the center of them all, sat the self-proclaimed Scorpion King, looking meaner and crueler than all the rest put together. Returning his attention to those before him, and primarily Serona and the Crown Prince, Aerion listened on to the unfolding conversation.

The first real surprise was the arrival of a mermaid, and a royal princess of the once mythological creatures, up until now, yet to be honest, after the events at King’s Landing, anything was possible. She was pretty, the stories certainly didn’t lie, but Aerion knew to gaze at such a beautiful woman would invite unnecessary distraction from observing other unfolding events. The Scorpion King had allied himself with the very waters themselves, perhaps in marriage, to seal the deal. After a long moment of gawking, everyone’s attention was returned to the battleplan, which was put forth not by the Scorpion King, but by his right hand, a reviled pirate named Redbeard.

The attack boiled down into two parts. A small diversionary attack, a feint to draw away the bulk of the royal fleet, would commence upon Bloodstone, targeting the key port of Red Harbor. While this attack continued, hinging on whether it drew away the royal fleet, the main bulk of the rebel fleet and marine forces would land and assault Torturer’s Deep. The rebel military would assault the walls, forcing it to capitulate and take high value prisoners as a means of bartering a full withdrawal of all Crown sanctioned forces from the Stepstones. The attack itself would also be supplemented with auxiliary units provided by the Merling King. Aerion could not help but admire the bold audacity of the plan, yet feared that they were not being fully read into the full extent of the diversionary attack. A dark inkling of fear told Aerion that those in the false attack were to be considered expendable by the higher ups.

This feeling was further confirmed to Aerion when the Crown Prince, disguised as Draxos, was assigned to the diversionary attack force. Perhaps it was cynical thinking, but Aerion had a feeling that ‘Draxos’ being assigned to the false attack fleet was not due to the pirates needing a competent leader among them, but because they didn’t trust ‘Draxos’. That was the hinderance of these rebels and pirates, a constant lack of trust amongst one another, and who could blame them, all the times sellsword company’s switched banners. Aerion rolled his eyes and remained silent, watching and taking in everything around him. Eventually, the time for talk was finally done, as the gathered captains and officers grew board of just speaking, of just moving their jaws rather than their sword arms.

The Scorpion King’s right hand nodded in agreement, and issued the order to begin departure and dispersal of the rebel/pirate fleet. Crown Prince Aemon would be taking the Silver Serpent with the diversionary forces, while Captain Serona would be among the main fleet bound to strike a devastating blow against the royal forces in the region. It became clear that they would be splitting up soon, and only the Seven knew what would happen next. Aerion looked at all those around him, from the Crown Prince and his kin, to the others in the group, taking time to remember their faces, should they never be seen again so that he might remember them alive and well. These rebels planned to fight to the bitter end, no matter the cost it would exact upon both sides.

As the gathered crews began to cluster and talk amongst themselves, preparing for their imminent departure, Aerion and the rest were rallied over to Crown Prince Aemon, who in a muffled voice relayed his orders to her and the rest of the party in attendance. Captain Serona was to do as ordered by the Scorpion King, along with having royalist members amongst her crew to keep not only an eye on the rebels, but a close eye on her. Black Visenya would oversee the royalists, while Aemon would do what he could to break away from the diversion forces, warn the royal forces, and then link back up with Serona either immediately before or during the attack on Torturer’s Deep. Aerion volunteered to be part of the royalist forces attached to the Maiden’s Men, feeling duty and honor bound to ensure Captain Serona’s loyalty. He passed word to one of the party heading back to the Silver Serpent to have his sword sent ashore for him, know that it would undoubtedly be needed in the coming days.

As Aerion turned back around, he was greeted with the sight of Serona locking lips with the Crown Prince himself, who couldn’t look more surprised by the sudden gesture. Rolling his eyes, Aerion didn’t bother to listen in to what the two spoke, instead heading back towards the beach and the skiff, to collect his gear and make ready for the coming storm, both above, and in the battles of men. Not to say Aerion was hurt by this gesture, but rather, found it disconcerting, but again, perhaps it was all part of a facade, a part played to lull the rebels into complacency. Aerion waited for the rest of the loyalists to catch up, relaying to them he was collect some gear, and would be remaining with the Maiden’s Men once done. He dutifully bowed before the Crown Prince, wishing him good luck and the blessings of the Seven, before being transferred back to the shoreline with the rest of those assigned to the Maiden’s Men.

As the pirates drank and reveled, Aerion kept to himself, a small fire burning before him as he looked out over the dark waves, smelling the salty ocean air. Across his lap lay Poison, the Valyrian steel sword he had plundered from its previous owner many a year ago. He silently sharpened it, eyeing the burning flames and embers of his campfire. Deep down inside a fierce hunger burned, a desire to bring justice and order to the world around him. He chuckled softly, knowing such a notion was beyond even the wildest delusions of the most devout Sparrow, but still, it was something to work towards, to hope to achieve, even if it were only in a small corner of the world at a time. The sounds of merriment and general tom foolery could be heard off to Aerion’s shoulder, back towards the main encampment.

Yet for Aerion, it was another sound that drew him in, that filled his ears. The stifled tones and voices of sailors, the whispers of drunken man and clever wench, the sigh of forgotten times, all these floated around, but above them all, was the gentle lapping of the water, the splash of waves upon rocks and sand. Out there, Aerion looked on with studious curiosity, swam beings of legend and myth, of family sigils and sculptures, not flesh and blood. The mermaid princess, in all her regal glory, and other attributes, sang a darker tune, a sad tragic melody that warned others of the coming folly. Aerion shook his head, trying to push to unease away from him, focusing back on his fire and sword that he sharpened. These sea creatures could be killed, but that was on land… how much more of an advantage did they have atop the waves, let alone beneath them.

Aerion’s thoughts began to wander again, this time to something entirely different than usual. He thought of the future, not in some vague manner, but in a solid and comprehendible manner. He ran his mind from three people, three ladies, all of whom were different in their own ways, special, unique, yet similar in an intangible way. Lady Amber Redwyne of the Arbor, so young, so innocent, so pure. Hair of auburn and eyes of golden green. Nobility as old as time its self. She was the fourth born child of Lord Redwyne, owner of one of the strongest fleets in Westeros, not to mention a great vintner as well. Such a match would perhaps be very suitable and likely, should Aerion succeed. Then, there was Black Visenya, royal bastard of both House Baratheon and Targaryen. She was rough about the edges, strong, charismatic, a renowned fighter and leader of royal forces. Her dark hair and purple eyes, striking, dramatic, as though from an old painting. She was ever as wild though as her father’s lineage. Proud as well. Aerion laughed at the idea of her holding a babe, being a mother, but shook his head.

Last, was Captain Serona Drennys, a bastard as he, like Visenya, but not of nobility nor of Westeros. She was different, in her own ways, not just her striking blonde hair or blue eyes, no it was more than that. She had a personality of ice atop a lake, when one ventures almost too far out, and the ice cracks and spiderwebs beneath your feet. That feeling of danger, at being on the edge of calamity, and still being alive. She had something deep within, a woman she once knew and was, that had to be hidden away to survive in the chaos that was and still is, the Stepstones. But would she, like Visenya make a good mother, make a good wife? That was when Aerion laughed aloud in purest amusement, a rogue thought popping into his head like a startled pheasant. ‘Why not marry all three, in the fashion of old Valyria. I am the blood of the Dragon, of Valyria, surely it could be done.’ His mind asked aloud, though Aerion, smiling, shook his head and bent back down to his work.

“Such things could probably never happen again. The Faith of the Seven forbids such things, and who am I to be such a fool to grasp for the unreachable. A trodden down sellsword like me will be damned lucky to even earn a stout wooden home with a warm fireplace and good land to farm, let alone those three lovely thoughts.” *Sigh* “The old ways are long since forgotten, lest I risk the wrath of not only the faith, but the gods themselves. Maybe I’m doomed to walk the lands alone, or perhaps fly across them… listen to me, talking aloud like some crazy old coot.” *Sigh* “Well, I guess it could be worse, I am no fool to believe I will be allowed an honor and privilege such as that.” Aerion had spoken aloud to himself, in a pleasant, if almost amused tone. The stray though had such a derailing effect that he had spoken loud enough for any curious onlookers, or a happenstance passerby to overhear his inner musings and perhaps confront Aerion on what he had spoken about.

King's Landing

The evening light shone through the window, the night on it's way in the capital, and soon on the horizon. The cup raised a little, the brass and steel in her hand tight, as she walked to the high window. It revealed Alerie, sitting in a very different dress to her usual green and gold. The dress was an almost wine and cherry red in colour, a rather fetching dress given that it was totally different to what she would usually wear. It wasn't just that some were being dried or washed, of course, but sometimes a little change was needed. It was relatively revealing, lightly tied about her upper back and not around shoulders, her red hair allowed to flow long in their curls down to the dress. This wasn't a dress she would wear to any formal or informal meeting with family or her new friends, it felt a little liberating and well...she wasn't exactly doing much of the former this evening.

Alerie had been waiting on Amber once again, as the girl came back, knocking on her door.
"Come in." Alerie turned, sitting in

"I did you asked." Amber said, as Alerie looked on. Good.
"And?"
"They agreed to it. Sounds like if it came from Lady Alerie Tyrell, it must be important, he said." Amber had used her name, and Alerie wasn't suprised. She was silly enough to do that, but given they had no idea exactly where the ship was going, that was no need.
"Good. Then that means a few friends of mine may have their help then. You did well Amber. Redeemed yourself. Now it is only fair that I as another Lady of the Reach, find you a suitor. I've got a few that I think I should send some letters to. A few even in this capital."
"I think I already have one. I mean...I don't know if....."

Alerie leaned in, chirping with a smirk.
"Oh?"
"It's Aerion. I can't...I can't get him out of my mind." She replied, as Alerie leant back, sighing, her mind whiring and whizzing the reality away. She knew it was that way. Of course she did, she always did. But now....now it made sense.

"I knew it'd be that way. See, I think you are afraid. You didn't do this because you thought I would give you the benefit of my connections, no you were better than that. It was so I could give you an illusion to your family and maybe just to you. It's because you're lying to yourself, Amber. Allow me to remind you how this works. Your father sees you as a fourthborn, and only a marriage pawn. Trust me, Alys is the same in our family. Just a very big one in this game of Chess, not between little mercenatile groups, but at the highest stakes and at the end of the day, that is how our society works. If you think I'm a horrible Lady to serve, I'm not. I will tell you how it is because whilst it may hurt, it will be real, and I have seen it all before. Your father wants you married, and put you into my service because he saw that as his best way to get what he wanted, given he didn't see how else from an island in the Sunset Sea he would do it, perhaps you'd find a Lannister or a Baratheon and find a marriage yourself and then he would be very pleased. You're the daughter of a vassal Lord, so it worked out for both of us, it seems. And because you can't tell me straight, you still don't know if you can cut out Lord Redwyne." Alerie was thorny, yet didn't speak a lie. This was real, and as horrid as it was, Alerie had realised the strands of Amber Redywne were coming undone, like a ball of string thrown down a bannister.

"But....I don't know. Surely we can come to some arrangement?"

"You want to be a runaway again. There isn't an arrangement in that. Stroll into the night sky with Aerion, the blood of a dragon. Perhaps he wants you to leave me, in fact, I bet he has. Promises the world, promises everything for you, and that I will only keep you caged. Word of advice, it's exiting at first, then you see past it, and then get killed. He could die in the next couple of weeks in that campaign after all... he isn't a Lord, he's a mercenary for hire and the people he deals with...are not pleasant. At the end of the day, there's no money in that, and they go only where the money is, that and ties to real power. You'd be exposed to that, my sweet. But you know that when you do, you're going to have to abandon your family. So here's what I'll do. I will let you decide."

"And what if I want that?"

"Well, you wouldn't be in my service anymore. And when Lord Redwyne comes to the dinner table, I'm afraid I'll have to tell him you were a lovely girl before you ran away. He wouldn't be very happy, see that would be a bit of a dent in everyone's honour, mine, your family's, your friends. Most of all, yours too, at least men can duel for that privilege, Ladies don't have the option. You understand now that actions have consequences, and you nearly dying....well, that is what happens. I will not be able to shelter you or protect you from that big bad world, only Aerion will and if he leads the life he does, you won't have much of your luxury. If you want to leave, then you are free to leave. I'm not keeping you here against your will. But I suggest you go and speak with your father, before he leaves King's Landing. That should help clear your mind." Alerie said, as she stood, her red dress blooming, not tight and sleek but more of a gown really around her petite frame, as she looked out of the window, into the night sky.

"You did a good job, either way. Thank you. You are dismissed for now, Amber Redwyne. I won't need any of your service this evening." Alerie said, as she sighed, watching as her handmaiden looked over, nodding, yet holding back tears that wanted to just flow.
"I will, my Lady. Thank you." She could barely contain her tears, as she headed out of the room, standing as Alerie looked on, sighing. It was never fun to do that, but it had to be done. No doubt Lord Redwyne would have some more interesting words to say when she told him she was looking at a mercenary Captain for a husband with no land, loyalty or ties. At this point, Alerie didn't care, because she had gotten her need and now, Amber would be soon moving on to something that wasn't her service.

A few minutes of looking down at the harbour had passed, the door left open as Megga walked in. On time, Alerie mused, as Alerie turned from the window, brooding.
"My Lady? What's going on with Amber?" She asked, knowing she'd seen what she saw as she had walked past the other handmaiden, Megga a little confused and unaware of the situation.
"She's fine. She perhaps doesn't know what she wants right now, so I had to have a word with her. She isn't thinking straight and I know she's probably still a little traumatised after...well, you heard what happened. Poor girl. Hardly deserves what she got, but it is a reminder to us all, the outside is dangerous and especially in these times for Ladies like us. Do not worry yourself with it, my sweet apple. How are you feeling, Megga?"
"I'm feeling well, thank you. I've done your clothing for the week. Is there anything you need, my Lady?" She asked, as Alerie nodded, knowing
"Excellent. I do, actually. I have neatened myself up for now. I have a meeting to attend down at the Harbour later this evening, and I would like you to come. I don't want you to be alarmed, but it's a rather large figure that serves House Tyrell. I'd like you learn a little about them...as their services are rather useful to me as of now."
"That sounds interesting, my Lady. What are they like?"
"Let's leave that a surprise."

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

The Skull - Red Mountains

Collab with @MrDidact and @Monochromatic Rainbow

Garlan Tyrell was a man of command, and even despite the events that had taken grip in the last few days, he had to keep his mind sane. A little wine kept that intact, but not too much. A little control, a little thought, and the fact that there was more waycastles down beneath them in the valleys haunted him. What had happened to Mirren haunted him. He wanted to do right by her at least, and get her to some sort of safety after all this was over, to some work that wasn't as violent or as mad as this. Get her back into the close protection work she did best, not soldiering and recon. And whilst she had proven herself as an unorthodox option, the ace in the hole for Garlan, this wasn't going to be a chain of luck. Not like she had much, what she had now was keeping her alive. From what Garland had mustered from the rushing Maesters and other Priests, they seemed to suggest she was in some sort of weird dream, that whilst her heart did beat, she was not all with it. Such things frightened Garlan, the fear more than being killed by such a beast.

Sitting up in his tented quarters, he made his final observation of the map, looking across to one Dickon Tarly, the General weathered in affairs of war, just like his father had been. It felt strange, they had both been the same age and grown old together, but that made them no less soldiering than they had been before. He had been in half plate, his chestplate on, but legs, gauntlets, helm and the rest not yet on. He was weary, and his decaying hair was a mess even still, his chin gently catching more hair, his skin tanning in the intense sun.

"Now we have the keep of The Skull, we need to think about our next move. I understand that Gendry has allowed more troops to slowly filter in. I don't like how many men we're taking. It weakens the Reach as a whole, it'll leave us depleted if another conflict breaks out in the Seven Kingdoms, one closer to us than some hellhole mountains. Our specialists need to rest too, so I imagine that the griffins and the other fire priests will need to take a step back from the frontlines until they are needed once more. I don't understand their entirely...but I know that we let them run, not be destroyed." Garlan added, looking down at the map, Dickon nodding in agreement.

"We couldn't do anything. The fighting up to here has been hell. There's no way we can carry the morale of the men to continue on. Even dragons couldn't lift the spirits of men now. Telling them to keep on marching in this heat, it's crippling them." Dickon replied, knowing that he'd heard the morale from the other Lieutenants and men inside the army.

"The right one could. And now you do mention that....well, perhaps that is where our strategy falters. Whenever we fight in that arid heat, in the mid-day or afternoon, we are losing our edge. The pressure seems to be so high that the archers can't even get a good shot on for distance. That does make me think, Dickon, something isn't right about it all."

"You're thinking we don't fight in the day, and instead we take on these monsters and beasts in the darkest of night." Dickon was flat in his reply, as Garlan shook his head.

"Not exactly. Early morning raids seemed to be effective, and they worked for us. Deployments in looser formations too, given how much fire they've thrown at us would at least reduce casualties. And the men may not like it, but if we still have discipline, not morale, then that will work in our favour. The enemy aren't as ready, and even if they know that information, it puts us back into a little favour to better fight this conflict." Garlan suggested, as Dickon nodded, looking at the map once more.

"Casualties do need to be reduced. And we could use it in the next few fights. The army needs a breath before we carry on. Your idea is worth trying, but it's not exactly conventional wisdom to tell a group of men with swords, shields and plate to be ready before even the break of dawn. But as you say." Dickon looked at the ridgeline, and in particular, the far side that had also been taken and kept in control.
"How many realistic ways are there off the ridge, Garlan?"

"There's about a handful, one back the way we came, one down the other side, but it's even steeper and impossible to assault. A third down the southern slopes, but that takes you into a very deep valley that would expose you to every attack from any angle until you got to the port of Wyl and past Vulture's Roost, and a fourth to the north into the Dornish Marches, but it requires ropes, ladders and wouldn't suit any horses or heavy armour." Garlan said, knowing the plans as an astute siege engineer would have said themselves, Garlan aware of the proceedures that it took in not only artificial but natural battlements.

"My thought is that they may try and outflank us on that north. We've seen what they're capable of, even with ladders and ropes, they could try it on us. And what happens when they decide that this mountainside isn't worth it and they try and breach out?"
"They'd need to fight a reinforced garrison of Stormlanders and Reachmen. Beyond that is Summerhall, that's the biggest castle in their way. That in it's own right has a Targaryen force, given the status of that castle. Even if they were stupid enough to try it, they wouldn't survive. But....you do make a point. If they took Summerhall, they would hit the Seven Kingdoms in it's lungs. It may not be of the Dornish Marches, but it is a target." Garlan thought about it, looking at particular in the way his troops were filtering in.

"The men at the bottom don't entirely understand what we faced to take this castle. They have numbers and equipment, flat land and enough keeps in their way to slow them down, so that is the only thing in their favour. Plus, we'd be able to come down and crush them...if we gave the mountainside up. So it would be daring if they tried it. And is more than likely to lead to their forces being destroyed. So that leaves...well, the southern end. Vulture's Roost has fallen. But the Prince's Pass remains. And theoretically, if you had enough water and enough dispersal, you could scatter like dust into the deserts of Dorne. Out of the mountains entirely. You'd die if you didn't take an oasis, or a town or castle with a well. Then moved on, and got to the coast and followed it. Again, the Dornish military would know that. So that leaves their third option. Find another mountainside. And repeat this shit to us." Garlan shook his head, as Dickon nodded, looking over at the commander.

"Other than that, there's Hellgate Hall. And their cave networks around it. We may have barely scratched the surface here in destroying their caves beneath the Spine. That is their most likely redoubt. But they know what is at stake. If we could make them starve, we'd wither most of them out quickly. But it appears we want a swift end to this war. So that isn't happening." Garlan added, as Dickon listened attentively.
"Aye, there are options. And they can't do all three. Well, not all of them very well. With their capacity, that is still frightening." Dickon replied, as Garlan nodded, interuptted as one of the Reach bannermen came in, his green and gold armour distinct, as Garlan turned toward the soldier.
"My Lord. I have news on Mirren Sand. She's awake." The man said, rather hurredly and exitedly, as Garlan smiled, one of his rare smiles coming out.

"By the Seven, that's great news." The Tyrell Commander replied, as he followed the bannerman, to Mirren's tent.

Garlan exited to find Gendry standing in front of the tent in his armor, with his sword strapped to his belt. The Baratheon commander rarely went anywhere in plain clothes and never without a weapon. He nodded at Garlan and led the way to the rooms that had been set up as a field hospital for the wounded.

"I just received the news myself. Intend to say goodbye before we leave? Did you and Dickon come to any conclusions in there?" Gendry walked through the old fort as they neared Mirren's sickbed and said, "I just received word from the capital. The King is marshalling reinforcements from the Crownlands to help us in our march on Hellgate Hall."

Gendry turned to Garlan and said, "And the King intends to fly down on Rhaegal himself. He'll help us assault the castle with with Lord Aegon and Viserion. With two dragons, the above-ground fortifications should fall shortly. But knowing Jon, he'll want to descend into the caves with us as well."

The Baratheon knight seemed troubled. He had fought by Jon's side since they were youths in the War for the Dawn, and had come to be one of the King's closest companions. One might expect him to be happy at news of Jon's arrival. But that was clearly not the case.

"I don't like that. It's a big risk. A morale booster, but Jon is taking a big risk. Espcially with what our enemy is capable of, who knows what this could mean. As for strategy...we can discuss it later at the table. Me and Dickon have some conclusions to make, some simple analysis of our tactics and what has worked." Garlan simply replied, just taking it in. It was a big deal, hearing of King Jon coming to this fight, it meant business and would have some severe repercussions. This was a statement of intent, Jon was taking this personally and fighting a fight he could have left his men, or other family members to. But Jon, being the brave King that he was, sometimes a little too brave, would come and fight the good fight. And Garlan, even as open as he could be, knew that it came with it's own hazards.

The conversation drew to a close as they reached the improvised hospice and a guardsman opened the door for Gendry and Garlan. They entered to find several highborn, knights, and officers being tended to on beds surrounded by maesters, nurses, and more than a few priests of different creeds.

Gendry nodded to the surgeon in charge who came over to them and bowed his head. Gendry asked, "How does our champion fare?"

The maester replied, "She is recovering from her bout. The trauma she received was quite nearly life-threatening but the danger is behind her. It will be quite some time before she is well enough to be moved however, and even longer for a recovery. But thanks to the efforts of well your other healers, she was brought out of her coma and we managed to treat the poison and staunch the rest of her wounds. She should be well enough to speak if you wish, but I would caution not to do so for too long, the patient still needs her rest."

The Baratheon general nodded, "Thank you maester." Gendry gestured to Garlan and the two came to Mirren's bedside, Gendry staying silent for the moment as he looked over Mirren's bandages and let Garlan have the first word.

Mirren looked up at the two, eyebrow raised. "My my, two ravishing studs come to visit me by my bedside. I got the memo that I didn't get kisses from the pretty noblewomen - just a slap on the cheek for my troubles - but nobody told me they'd switched it completely and the revered noblemen gave the dashing young adventuress kisses." After a moment, she inclined her head towards Garlan, and then towards Gendry. "I would give a more sweeping bow, but the fellows in rags make a fuss if I try to do much. Won't even let me go to the privy without assistance." She shook her head, narrowing her eyes at one of the maesters attending to another patient before returning her attention to the two men before her. "So what brings you to my hopefully clean bedside?"

"We came to see you, Mirren. Seven hells....that is a wound and a half. I heard what you went through. It's not what anyone wants. No man I know could endure that. Suppose you'll wisecrack that anyway." Garlan said, gentle in his tone, as he took a seat on a small stool by Mirren's bed, looking at her wounds. It wasn't pretty, to say the least.

"We want you to know we're incredibly greatful for what you did. I know you're a servant to coin and I can hardly blame you, given what you've told me. But you served us more honorably than any other soldier in the rank, you gave us an edge where we did not have one. Rest assured, I have something for you, and I imagine so too does the Crown for your loyal service." Garlan said to her, a smile on his face.

"When I first met you, I did not know what to expect. But I know that Willas delievered me a fine warrior, someone who would not play by the rules of any enemy. And you have fought well in this campaign. So I have a proposition. If you want more of this war, you are welcome to stay here, and wait until you are recovered to lead the fight. I will have a suit of plate made for you especially, with whatever design you want. Another horse brought up, and there is a particular brand of light cavalry that is missing it's Lieutenant after the last fight, that if you were willing to take up, would put you on an officer's comission from my brother's coffers, on top of a paid wage by me. There is another option, however."

"Alternatively, you can leave when you are better to travel, and they'll take you to the Reach for something special indeed. There's a good patch of land on the Mander between Highgarden and Manderford, close to the coast in amongst the last hills before the Sunset Sea, with mostly whites planted.It's currently left as a winery and estate to the family under my demesne, but I'd like you to have it. Even if your taste is not to grow wine, it may make a small keep for you and your ambitions in the Reach with some work, with peasants and a few soldiers under your command, and the abillity to acrue the white gold of the wine that is grown there. You'd be a Lady for all intents and purposes of a piece of Tyrell Lordland. You could serve as a bodyguard to Willas and the family in King's Landing with rotation, with all the priviliges that come of being a landowner." Garlan said, knowing she couldn't speak much, but let it sink in for her, as he knew Gendry wouldn't entirely understand.

"I know you are a mercenary by trade.The other option of course, is to remain in a contract with my family for the foreseeable future, as a bodyguard in the Reach nonetheless to Willas Tyrell and the rest of my family, or training with the Knights of the Green Hand. A rolling contract of course, and we know that a Lady of your talents does not deserved to be chained down by the ordinary if that is what you desire most. If there is anything you particularly desire, Mirren Sand, we are able to return the favour. We may not be Lannisters but we have honour to our trusted allies, and friends. And you have held your honour admirably. I wish to return that deed." Garlan looked at her once more, looking at her wounds.

"If it's a bit too much, don't worry. Just know that we are grateful."

Mirren raised an eyebrow, needing a moment to take the magnitude of the offer in. After a moment, she let out a dry laugh, "If we're offering me a piece of land for avoiding our trident slinging friend - why not wait it out and let me pull down the spikes and severed heads from the Vulture King's castle?" She let out another laugh, a hoarse cough cutting her off.

"You're utterly lionhearted, Mirren. That would be to Gendry to decide I am afraid, but it would be worthy. I'm thankful we have your courage on our side." Garlan chuckled, Mirren someone who felt like a friend, something he didn't often get with soldiers underneath him. Of course, it was professional, nothing more than that. But a friend indeed she was, and her nature even in times like this to shine through the way it did make Garlan chuickle a little internally. She gave few fucks inded.

Letting out another dry laugh, Mirren grinned at the man. "I'll hold out hope for the grand jewel - besides, if I were to hold land in the Reach, I'd get waterlogged within a year. Strange enough to visit the Reach or the Crownlands and see grass everywhere - stranger still to actually live right on them. Can you imagine, a Dornish bastard ruling over Reachmen?" She raised an eyebrow, "It'd be a contest between your own bannermen and the Dornish lords over who'd be more indignant." She shook her head, but stopped after a moment, "That does raise the question of bastardy, I suppose. Were I to indeed hold lands in anyone's name, this would potentially pose some issue."

"It would be a fresh lease. Your name would be legitimised, if you wished. It is an offer at the least. And well, it wouldn't be totally alien. Former Northmen rule in the Reach, as do stranger people indeed." Garlan replied, chuckling.
"It is your choice, after all Mirren."

Gendry listened in silence, examining Mirren's wounds and after Garlan's entreaty came to a close, his mouth quirked up and he said, "Your bedside is as clean as can be expected, but I'm sorry to disappoint you. What Garlan does it up to him, but I'm afraid I only have one woman in my life. Fidelity is actually quite simple when one knows that their spouse has a legion of spies and assassins at their command."

The Master of War said, "I'll see to it that the Crown rewards you. You've done a great service for the Kingdom, and I'll make sure the debt is repaid. A knighthood is in order at the very least. I doubt I could have fared any better. But thanks to you, we took this mountain without any further loss of life. And the rest of the rebellious lands are now quickly coming to heel."

"Garlan and I will be leaving soon, with most of the officers. We'll be taking the great part of our host to root out the Vulture King for good and all. But we need someone to make sure this mountain stays in our hands, elsewise this entire mountain range is up for grabs once more. Someone needs to coordinate our reserves with the garrisons at the Vulture's Roost, the other holdfasts and castles under our banner, and the bands that are scouring the tunnel systems these rats hide in. That duty, I intend to leave to you. You may not be able to fight, but you'll be able to lead. I'll make sure you have good knights to aid you. And once you're able to travel, I'll make sure someone can send you on to Blackhaven and back to the capital, if you so wish."

Gendry looked Mirren in the eye, "Do you accept this responsibility? None could blame you if you do not."

Mirren allowed herself a wry grin. "I almost regret that I can't come with you. Maybe I'd get a shot at fighting his big brother - would make for a great story, wouldn't it? Dashing warrior woman vanquishes the infernal rebel king after slaying his brother through skill and grit in the face of superhuman strength and nefarious otherworldly powers. Perhaps at the end I'd find a Valyrian steel blade and so on and so forth." She shook her head, "I can help organize, my lords, though I can't promise much. I've had schooling in the area, but little hands on practice."

She took a deep breath, leaning back into the bed, "I mean no offense, my lords, but I wish to wait out this campaign before taking any oaths or anything else. Ser Gendry, I appreciate your offer, but..." She hesitated for a moment, sighing. "I must confess, knighthood has never held my admiration like it does for many others. I will accept it if you do wish, however."

The seasoned general nodded at Mirren and said, "Once the King has arrived it will be up to him to honor you as the Crown sees fit. I won't claim to speak for him, so it will be Jon who you may speak with when the moment comes." He crossed his arms, leaning against a nearby wall before continuing, "You did well with our men in the tunnels. I can count on you to keep the pressure on the guerillas hiding out in those networks, and keep an eye on those prisoners we have. And the knights and officers we do leave behind can manage the day to day and advise you. Our new forward base in this mountain will be in good hands, and I expect Garlan to receive regular reports."

"As for the Vulture King, you did well with his brother. The soldiers talk of it endlessly. But if I know Jon, he'll want to take on this rebel King himself. And we'll be by his side. There will be plenty of songs and honors for everyone once this is done." Gendry stood straight and nodded to Mirren, "Well, rest easy. I'll see to it your new captains are informed of their duties. Upon our return, the drinks are on me. Garlan, I'll see you soon." Gendry turned to go and as he did so, turned his head back with a smirk, "And once you feel better, I'll see to it that someone be on hand to, personally attend you. Best of luck, Mirren Sand." With that, the Master of War left.

Mirren's eyes widened, the rest of Gendry's words registering with her, but barely. "Forgive me, my lord, I have not been in Westeros for any real length of time for nearly a decade, but..." She looked over at Garlan, unsure of what to think. "Is it really permissible for the king of the realm to attempt to defeat the Vulture King - who I can only assume is a stronger opponent than his brother - and risk the stability of the realm? I know the king is an adept swordsman - but he is no longer as young as some, and with some exceptions, age weakens us all. I'm merely a bastard and a sellsword - if I die, it is no real loss, hire another. A king..." She trailed off, "With all this turmoil, the death of the king to a rebel claiming to be a king in his own right could well plunge the realm into chaos. We do not want another War of Five Kings."

A moment passed, and she was concerned she might have overstepped her position in questioning what Gendry expected the King would want.

Garlan nodded, letting Gendry talk, as he knew that she had a point.
"If we could stop Jon from coming ,we would. He is a brave man to fight the war on his terms. There is a clear line of succession besides, far more than that war. I imagine he'll take it steady." Garlan replied, as he saw Gendry leave, giving a nod, before turning back.

"Though I do agree with you, Mirren. I imagine he won't go and fight that beast after he finds out what it did to you. He'll keep behind a sturdy metal wall of steel if we can help it. I'm an old bastard anyway. Better me than him. I'm not going to rule Highgarden anytime soon." Garlan mused, rather pessemistic of course, almost having a little understanding that whilst what he was saying was little cynical, it did have some reality.

Mirren let out another dry laugh. "Well at least we get something other than my bragging rights out of this mess. I still worry though - a king willing to put himself at risk is good. But with the realm facing threats on this many fronts..." She trailed off, "Forgive me, if I speak out of place, my lord, but I have spent many years in Essos. No matter how solid the line of succession may seem, should there be but the slightest hardship, the faintest hit of opportunity, and those who see themselves as the stronger will take it." She sighed, "But I shall cease digging my own grave, was there anything else, my lord?"

"Nothing for now, Mirren. I hired you because you speak your opinion and not like a lackey, and you wouldn't be wrong. But in these times, men such as myself answer to that system, while you are outside. Perhaps don't take that tone with him or anyone close to him, but be careful. Anyway, I'm thankful that you rose up to that. The stakes are high here, and you delivered when it counted." Garlan replied, as he looked outside once again, sighing.

"If you need me, let me know. It seems we'll be preparing soon. You take it easy now, Mirren." Garlan added, as he nodded to her, before turning and leaving the tent.

William didn't trust this woman. She knew more than she was letting on, he was sure of it. More importantly, he didn't believe a single word she said. "You must be drunk, mad, or something worse," he said, upending a full goblet. "I had hoped my reputation preceded me, but perhaps I will have to explain to every single horsebreeder in the North that I am not stupid. Do you seriously expect me to just eat up whatever nonsense you toss at me?"

"I expect you to eat the truth," said Cathay, with a cold stare. This was her brother, that she knew, but she couldn't quite understand how. This was the rightful heir of the Dreadfort? He looked the part, but was as far from the majesty of their common fathers as it got. He was drunk and deranged, and couldn't tell his sister apart from any other woman in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms. She never knew her father, but she had read the old records of the Bolton family, stories of conquest and pragmatism, and neither of those words seem to apply to this last of the flayed men.

"If I may, brother, I am of the belief that this woman is who she claims. More than that, if she proves not, what have we to lose?" Arak chimed in. Cathay's steely gaze passed over to him. Another disappointment to the family, it seems. She had approached this one, in the hopes that he was more easily persuaded. Apparently, he was. In five minutes, she had Arak occasionally referring to her as 'sister'. Then there was his endless love for the enemy in Winterfell.

"I'll make the decisions here," William huffed, looking down at his cup. It was empty, because of course it was. There never seemed to be enough. He angrily slammed the goblet down on the table before him, trying to ignore the infuriating tag-team his twit brother seems to have made with the stranger. "I'll tell you exactly what we could lose, and exactly what is happening here. So let's say we let just about anyone into the family. Perhaps we think another claimant is not a problem here. She will stick around our castle, spending our reserves on frivolous pursuits, and then one day she'll find 'unfortunate' proof that her family doesn't include us. So she ambles off with all our money on her back, up to the Karstarks or Umbers or whoever else is up there, repeat process until rich!"

"I am Cathay Snow, daughter of Ramsay!" she shouted, standing up. "I am above such things! My fathers and their fathers are above such things!"

"Perhaps it would be best if we all rested a night before coming to a conclusion," Arak said, interrupting the two before they got physical. "Milady, allow me." Cathay shot one last glare at William, who was checking his cup again in case by some miracle he found it has filled itself up. Then she exhaled, and allowed Arak to lead her to the guest chambers. "Not to worry, sister. I'm sure I can talk him into the truth," he said, and left her alone. Cathay resisted the urge to throw one of the empty vases at the wall. A guest in her own home!

(@Almost completely written by @Abefroeman who is an amazing collaborator and partner.)

King's Landing

My name is Maester Elwyn, a humble recorder of history. It has fallen unto me and my apprentices to retell the events of the past two years, the moments of joy and happiness, as well as the less sorid and ideal events. This retelling, as to the best of my memory, evidence, and fellow review of the Citadel, is the true summary of the following events: the Stepstones Rebellion, the return of The Vulture King, The Reynes and The Gardners, the Sparrows and the Faith Militant, the Hill Tribes of the Vale, and union of the Dragon and the Lion, the marriage of Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen to the fair maiden, Lady Myrcella Lannister.

To truly understand the aftermath of the rebellious movements that wrecked so much havoc upon the realm, one must look back to the events preceding these violent uprisings against the Iron Throne. The Stepstones had long been a haven for malcontents and criminals, pirates, slavers, warlords large and small. So, to no surprise, when these quarelsome islands were annexed by decree and order of King Aegon "Jon" Targaryen and Queen Danaerys Targaryen, they immediately began to chafe beneath what they saw as a foreign oppressor. For years there were small uprisings, a lord here, a small flotilla of pirates, peseants there, sellswords wreaking havoc, and so on. To the benefit of the Iron Throne, these isolated and scattered acts of defiance, were little more than a nuisance that was left to the oversight of the Lord Paramount of the Stepstones, Aurane Velaryon. Yet, it was this festering unrest that culminated in the rise of the man dubbing himself the Scorpion King.

As of this moment we do not know his true name, nor his origins. Some say he is a scion of the overthrown House Vunatis, an infamous bloodline of pirate lords. Others say he is a corsair's bastard who rose to build his own fleet. What can be known for sure is that this man rallied and cobbled together a massive coalition of rebel lords, pirate captains, sellsword companies, and anti-Targaryen sentimentals to pose a grave danger to the Crown. The Scorpion King bided his time for three years, coordinating small isolated pockets of malcontent to draw attention away from the true threat, keeping Lord Velaryon and his peace-keeping forces constantly running from one end of the Stepstones to the other. This tactic allowed the Scorpion King to strike when the realm least suspected it, on the night of Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen's wedding to Lady Myrcella Lannister.

At the same time, in the rugged mountains that separated Dorne and the Stormlands, arose no less of a threat, another Vulture King. This Stone Dornishman raised a sizeable rebel army in open defiance of the Crown. No longer would he or his people pay taxes or kneel before the Iron Throne. Numbering thousands strong, if not tens of thousands, The Vulture King raided and attacked regions sorrounding the mountains of his rebel kingdom. Perhaps he thought himself safe in the treachorous mountain passes and tops, or he believed he could truly secure independence, all the same, he ellicited a response from the Iron Throne that would ultimately spell his doom.

However, these two rebel kings were not the only threats to the Crown. At first we believed the isolated and sporadic attacks in the Westerlands and the Reach to be the typical petty banditry, outlaws and brigands mere steps ahead of the law. Much to the suprise of many, two long though extinct Houses arouse from their ashes, or so they claimed. House Gardner, the former Kings of the Reach, and House Reyne, once powerful lords of Castemere, each claimant leading well organized, equipped, and trained forces seeking to reclaim their lost lands and titles. More interestingly, was the stark contrast between these rebels and those of the Stepstones and the Dornish Mountains. Lords Reyne and Gardner led almost an honorable force of bandits or rebels. They killed only in combat, only when forced to, they raided supply trains and military payrolls, even some reports stating them helping the smallfolk, and above all else, treated any prisoners with respect and dignity. Theses rebels, much to the irritation of House Tyrell, House Lannister, and the Iron Throne, still roam free and uncaptured. This is speculation, but I believe there to be House within each region who are sympathetic to the causes of these two resurgent Houses.

Sadly, this is not the end of the troubles of the realm. Much to the ire of many among the Faith of the Seven upon Queen Danareys ascension to the Iron Throne, she allowed the practice of the foreign faiths from across the Narrow Sea in open earnest. With our most benevolent Queen, came tens of thousands of refugees and followers from Essos, most if not all of whom worshiped gods other than the Divine Seven. Even with the signing of the Defenders of Sacred Grounds edicts by the Iron Throne, which ensured the Iron Throne's protection of holy sites, septs, and pilgrims with the creation of the Order of Knights Paladin, tensions remained a sore point of contention in more rural regions of the Realm. The Riverlands in particular, among a few other outlying counties and expanses of land, has seen violence between fanatical Sparrows and Essosi settlers, grisly massacres committed in the name of the Seven. House Tully has been charged to end the unrest, but thus far, even after two years of searching, the fanatics still hary the realm.

All these events came to a head on a what was meant to be a most joyous celebration. The Scorpion King sent his regards to the king and queen, which from what can be collaborated, was the severed head of an envoy the Crown had sent to the Stepstones. The Scorpion King's messanger would lose his own head that day, for they say King Aegon drew his blade moments later to relieve the pirate of his head in retaliation. And all the while, the true threat crept closer. After the days festivities were completed, the Crown Prince and new princess had retired for the night, a sinister surprise attack was launched upon King's Landing. Spearheaded by what reports call horribly mutilated, abominations, and all sorts of criminal filth, the Scorpion King tried to assasinate the Crown Prince and the princess. The attack lasted over two hours, and left hundreds dead. War... war had finally broken out, and there would be no going back.

It took three weeks to rally the armies of the Iron Throne, in that time, the Stepstones burned, the Dornish Mountains bled, and the Crown gathered its strength to once and for all crush those that would dare oppose it. Lords and knights, great and small, along with tens of thousands of men-at-arms, began a long arduous campaign of justice and bloodshed. The Royal forces were split in two, some 20,000 placed under the command of Ser Gendry Baratheon, Master of War, and Lord Commander Garlan Tyrell of the Order of the Green Hand, charged with routing the Vulture King in the Mountains of Dorne. Another 35,000 under the command of Crown Prince Aemon sailed for the Stepstones to end the threat of the Scorpion King once and for all. These two campaigns would bleed the realm, leaving behind devestation and death.

The first campaign to end was that of Crown Prince Aemon's, lasting little over seven months. Of the 35,000 sent to retake the Stepstones, 10,000 never returned, a testament of the threat a determined for like the Scorpion King presented. Entire islands were devestated, sometimes their entire population dead or having fled. The sheer brutality of this rebel uprising unlike any seen since that of Maelys the Monstorous, or perhaps that of Maegor the Cruel. What can be said with certainty is that over 25,000 rebels perished fighting the Royal army, with the Scorpion King himself slain in the final battle, yet not before he personally slew Lord Monterys Velaryon, Lord Aurane's nephew and Lord of the Tides and a host of noble knights and lordlings perished in the fighting. Perhaps it is poetic justice that this great despoiler and criminal was slain by none other than Crown Prince Aemon himself. With the death of the Scorpion King, in that final battle, the rebel fleet and ground forces soon into chaos, scattering, sinking, dying, turning from what seemed like a rebel victory to an all out rout. Though, even this victory may not be absolute, for the exiled Dagon Pyke, the Black Kracken slipped away during the chaos with a sizable force, fleeing further into the Eastern Seas, and, from multiple accounts, a female of great beauty, a princess some say, also managed to escape with her own fleet, disappearing into a storm raging north of the battle. It took another month to force the surrender of the few remaining holdouts, but few can say that the Iron Throne did not crush the rebels and ensure its dominion over the Stepstones.

The campaign in the Dornish mountains was no less arduous than that of the Stepstones. Of the 20,000 men marched into those dry, arid rocky mountains, 7,500 would not return. Those who experienced the campaign firsthand tell of fanatical resistance, a hostile environment that killed its own share of men, and horrific beasts used by the Vulture King's forces. The battles, excluding sporadic skirmishes, numbered nine major conflicts, before the final tenth battle, in which the Vulture King was captured during the rout of his remaining forces at the battered ruins he had chosen to shelter in. Of the dead among the Royal forces, Ser Terrance Thorne of the Kingsguard died, along with Ser Merrel Florent of the Green Hand and other noble heroes. This victory, however, was nearly complete and absolute, none escaping the justice of the Iron Throne other than the Vulture King's sister, said to be a black-hearted sorceress. From start to finish, the Dornish Mountains were retaken in little over six months, granting peace to both Dorne and the Stormlands.

Yet, during these rebellions, all was not bleak for the realm. Lord Tyrion Lannister, Hand of the King, and Ser Mychel Arryn, Heir to the Vale, were able to achieve what no man or king before them ever could, winning the fealty of the Mountain Clans in the Vale of Arryn. Together through shrewd negotiation and no small amount of luck, the Mountain Clans now answer to Lord Robin Arryn, and through him, the Iron Thone, thus ending thousands of years of constant fear of raiding and violence. Furthermore, while this was underway, the Tully's in Riverrun made several important strides in defeating the renegade Sparrows who had so long plagued the Riverlands. At least two major safe havens for the Sparrow fanatics were found and cleansed of those vile murderers.

And thus, we are brought to the present. By Royal decree, a memorial and celebratory tournament has been announced, in honor of all who fought the enemies of the realm, those who survived, and for those that now forevermore serve the Seven. Lords and ladies, the great and small, gather before King's Landing, as one unified Kingdom, to celebrate their victory's, to honor the fallen and victorious dead, and in order to hail the first name day for Crown Prince Aemon and Princess Myrcella's first child, Prince Aegon Targaryen. The crowds roar and cheer on the fights and spectacles, they lavish love and happiness unto the Royal family, and above all, they relish the return to normalcy and prosperity that peace has brought.

The levy's have been sent home, no more do tax collectors hungrily roam the realm to collect funding for the war, fathers and mothers and children smile, and on this day, the sun shines bright and warm, a gentle breeze cooling all with a delicately gentle touch. Yet, in the shadows of this great day, this celebration of victory, still fester the blight and evil of Westeros. The Reyne and Gardner claimants, with their guerilla forces, still plague the Westerlands and the Reach respectively. Far to the North, words speak of a resurgent wildling King-beyond-the-Wall, rallying all those who forsook the protection of House Stark and the Iron Throne to his bloody cause. The militant Sparrows still clash with followers of foreign gods and the Freemen Brotherhood continue to rob and raid, troubling landed knights and small lords alike. Men, women, and children still disappear in the dark of night in the vastness of the countryside without a trace. In the east, wars have erupted between various factions in the name of conquest and plunder. And lastly, perhaps darkest and foulest of all, the growing rumors of a schsim within the Royal family, a rift that could even possibly spark another Dance of Dragons.

Only time will tell if House Targaryen and the Kingdoms of Westeros will continue to weather the storms that beset them, but at least for now the future of King Aegon and Queen Daenerys' line seems secure. And for those who have supported them in the past, their loyalties and fortunes will also doubtlessly be tested.

*

@MrDidact@Abefroeman@AtomicNut@Monochromatic Rainbow Collabs.

The morning sun was piercing into the red stone and into the room, the wind gently blowing through the window, as the girl that was now firmly a woman breathed out, looking into the infinity of the horizon.

Lady Alerie Tyrell, daughter of Lord Willas Tyrell, sat with her betrothed within the quarters that they had come to in King's Landing, a room ornately furnished and home to her, given she was in an official capacity here as a guest of the Princess, alongside her father to return to here and be here for the nameday. The past year had been tumulous, no doubt, and her plan had yielded limited return, not the exact thing she was looking for, but something of note did come of it. That was something for another day, however, as she wanted to unwind and enjoy herself.

Gently brushing a stray lock of hair into her bun, she gently adjusted the lace tie on her dress's back, taking a sip of Arbor from the table, as she looked into the mirror, and saw what she saw. The Rose of Highgarden. The Lady of Thorns. And the woman who would unite House Lannister and House Tyrell. A wry smile cracked across her cherry red lips, her golden-brown eyes looking into the depths of herself.

What she saw was a youthful face with fiery dark red hair, a golden dress with green interwoven patterns of roses and fleur-de-lises that wrapped to her slender and gentile form, and her hair brushed in the manner that many would expect of a Lady in King's Landing, Aleire applied her face with a light powder, finalising her little makup routine, before standing up once more, and looking across to Ser Tommen Lannister, Tom for short. He was still quite the magnificence that she had found, far more...well, lionhearted than even some of the Targaryens. He did not ride a dragon, but what he lacked in a firebreathing beast, he made up for with talent in a sword and a charm that gave Alerie a rush, a challenge, a....well, partnership. He may have been a Lannister, but he was nothing like his father, a tall and powerful figure that had only found sparring with. And she loved him for it, despite the advances of others, it was the right thing to be with him, here and now.

"How do I look, my little lion man?" Alerie's grin spread, as she offered her long, thin and green-gold nailed hand, looking to Tom.
"We need to get going, my love. Lest we be late. My brother is fighting in the melee, and I imagine I should also introduce you to my sister."

Tom smirked, sheathing the ornate blade he had been polishing back into its elegant scabbard. The sun glinted off of his golden hair and his green eyes, flecked with gold, mirrored his betrothed's painted nails. He was close to his lady's age but was tall and broad-shouldered, with sleek musculature and a leonine grace, evidenced by the way he crossed the room to slide his hand under hers and raise it to his lips for a kiss.

"Perfect, Alerie. Absolutely perfect. My golden rose." He chuckled then and stood to grasp her hand firmly and twirl her around before wrapping his arm around her waist and pressing her back to his chest, "But surely I cannot be called a 'little' lion any longer."

Tom smiled and kissed Alerie before saying, "Oh I'm sure Ellion is doing just fine without us. He's never lonely." He smirked once more at that and said, "Ah yes, your sister. She's to be wed as well isn't she? To your dear childhood friend. I suppose I should offer my condolences." There was little love lost between the Young Lion and the Black Fox, and the rivalry between the two had only magnified after Lord Alester beat Tom in a bout.

"Just promise me we'll keep my interactions with that man to a minimum. It's bad enough he's invited to our wedding."

Alerie nodded, holding his hand as tightly as he held hers.

"Don't worry. I hate the prick as well." Alerie was rarely cursive, as she shook her head, knowing she did agree with Tom, deep down, albeit it was a little excessive. "Childhood friend" was a force for show, and both of them knew as well as each other that they didn't like each other. Alerie knew that he was made of stern stuff, and he was cunning, but almost too much for his own good. Beyond Tom, she just didn't like Alester, and didn't entirely trust him to an entire degree.

"Welll, maybe hate is a strong word but....these thing happen because they need to. His family are dead from the wars of past, so he's just a bitter apple to be the lone survivor of it all, and the only reason he's the way he is. Nothing more, nothing less. Just focus on us, and the good we have. We're rekindling the western Kingdoms, undoing the mistakes of the past. Not living in bitterness. Besides...Alys is a lovely girl. I think you'll get on well with her. She falls head over heels for any brave Knight." Alerie chuckled, as she shook her head.

"And well, I suppose you aren't little now....but still." Alerie hugged him, looking out of the window, then back into his eyes.

Tommen looked back into Alerie's golden gaze and said, "I'm sure she is lovely. But nobody can compare to you. You outshine them all." He traced her cheekbone delicately and kissed her again, deeply. Any other moment, it would have been the kind of kiss that would have led to something more. But there were people to meet and things to do.

The kiss eventually ended and Tom rested his forehead against Alerie's, "You've made me the happiest man in the kingdoms. I love you, Alerie. Our wedding can't come soon enough. They celebrate my sister's child nameday, but soon they will do so for ours. The first of many. Strong, brave, cunning, fair, and ambitious. The heirs to the West, and you as the Lady of Casterly Rock." Tom held Alerie close again and his gaze turned to the window, to the sea under the light of the sun, and even further past. To the future. First the wedding. Then the children. Then his lordhood. Then the world.

Alerie giggled with delight, as she nodded.
"Aye, and they will tell the tales of the Rose and the Lion." She smiled, as she looked back at his warm face, nodding.
"Anyway...shall we go?"

Tom smiled back at her and nodded. The two walked out of the chamber, hands held tightly, as they walked out to greet the rest of the court. Together.

--------

Ser Ellion Tyrell, or the Bravethorn wouldn't be himself if he didn't have a sword in his hand, and his plate armour over his athletic form, the Tyrell standing in the tourney field, gently spinning the longsword in his hand, a trick he'd learned in the campaign out in the Stepstones, albeit he was yet to get good. His brown hair billowed in the wind, his green-golden eyes much like his sister's, but that was where the comparisons ended.

The armour he wore was as beautiful as ever, if not a little more scratched, and Ellion had become a martial presence to witness. If the image of a tourneyman had once been the staple of the second son, it was now of someone who was weathered, worn by war. His talent with a blade had become greater and he had become far more serious at times, a little matured even, given what he'd felt and seen. A few serious wounds put right to that, as he had fought well and proven his place in that war as a valuable soldier, to the least. His face had a couple of minor scars and bruises, but if anything, it took away from his childish presence into one of a young man's, and reinforced a steely grit and detirmination that lay beneath, the sword that he wielded tight in his gauntleted right hand, picking up the helm in his left. With a gentle slide, he put the sword on a wooden post and gently secured his helm, before picking it up once more and twirling it in his hand again.

The Bravethorn was a well-earned name, his fighting prowess in the Stepstones mostly unknown, apart from those who fought with him. It had grown exponentionally from there, and there was no denying that he had a proven record now, he was a fighter and not to be messed with. After all, his raiding on The Skull itself was remarkable, ravaging through beacons before joining the rest of the party in the harbour, followed by the naval war that followed after. Ellion was not the man at the front, but he was in the picture, and he did not back down from a fight, remembering the time fondly. It was bloody, brutal, and horrifying, the things that he saw and the things that he witnessed happening to people, it was lucky not to have killed him, but his talent had grown from it. Upon return, it had been a rather boring year, but training, sparring, jousting, screwing and drinking had filled his time. Ellion Tyrell had been a rogue, seen the world beyond home and his rose gardens and tourney fields.

He had been rough when he was out in the Stepstones, his well-looked after long curls and beautiful face could be covered by grit, a long beard and sea salt to leave a man scruffy and almost unrecognizable, putting him in the same vein as any commoner with the abillity to fight. Ellion Tyrell was not a man of understated nature- he clearly wanted to succeed, and whilst understanding he wasn't the sharpest tool at politics and scheming, his mind was set on war, strategy, killing people with a pointy implement he happened to be talented with and the spoils of it that came afterward.

So a tourney felt like a comfortable prospect, one to unwind, and perhaps even prove a little to himself. Looking across to the group, he had his own thoughts, all of which felt mingling and strange.

To Ellion at least, Alerie was a girl with unrelenting ambition, and could have pulled strings to do deeds that no man of honor could easily conconct. She wasn't suspicious, not at least to what he knew, she was kind and charitable, the kind of girl that looked out for people and did the best to be a good lady in waiting, thorny but gentle. She had settled into life here well, and her courting of Tom had made the two of the Bravethorn and the Young Lion good friends, the fact that Ellion was pretty much able to square up to anyone but her still the case now. She still made him blush, and there was definitely a connection between the two of them, almost like best friends, and yet like protectors of one another. Made each other laugh, and while she often played with his mind, and his hair and his sense of duty, he would always know she was a doting social butterfly and catching herself in the web of King's Landing, and could find something on that. Sometimes. It was strange, because she contrasted to his youngest, Alys.

A girl that he remembered as shy, quiet, had now grown under Alester, perhaps a little more courting and wifely, polite and tame. She acted the way she had to, not the way that would be out of touch or out of order, she was simply who she was, and aware of her position. Willas had loved her very much, almost quite similarly to Merlin's brother. What Merlin was to the Bravethorn altogether was stranger, given that the two hadn't seen each other in a very long time, and while trusting each other, it felt awkward, being so diametrically different. Merlin was a stout man, large enough to hold himself together in a fight but he wasn't a warrior, he wasn't a charmer, he was an administrator and a paper-pusher in Highgarden, who ran things in an orderly fashion and looked after his family. His children were growing up so fast, little Leo, Margaery and Merion all beautiful and typically Tyrell-like, with Leo already left for Oldtown and Merion being taught how to fight.

It was a beautiful thing indeed to know, and the family was going to be strong, given it's branches and strength in numbers. There was a certain unity from within, perhaps alomst halfway between the Northern reliance in a family, to the Lannister need to protect it against anyone else, almost no matter the cost. Somewhere in that, House Tyrell struck a balance. And that was still the case, very much now. Seeing Alys with Alester was just a part of that balance, Alerie with Tommen, and himself being now cast as a whitecloak, it felt a little strange and difficult to fathom. This was what any young boy would have dreamed of, the whitecloak, the nobility, the honour of the position, to serve loyally and to be respected as someone worthy of praise, or else.The Kingsguard and Queensguard were now respected, not like they were when Willas had told him of the corruption and the disdain that had led to it's collapse, of Knights unworthy in service; they were now led and formed as intended by their Targaryen creators, rightly in their place again.

And to Ellion, sitting here in the beautiful silvery, green-imbued plate, he had to think that it was a life of honor and service he would accept. Gallavanting around would have to stop, and while he knew he had it was on him, he would keep his honour, not be a man of two words. It was a part of his oath, a part of his service. And he would do that right, if he was going to. Be nothing, or be honest. Right now, he still felt like he was inbetween that, between Viserys and his wife. Which was rather funny, given that it had ironed over the awkwardness of the events of last year with some good, perhaps.

Stepping up to the field, he clashed with his opponent, catching a hard attack from the other Knight, as he parried and kicked back, turning the blade aback, Ellion rushing the man with pure aggression and yet a certain precision, landing numerous blows against his armour, smashing the plate hard and winding the man. The fight was a good one, not the best you'd ever see, but it lasted well and Ellion seemed to be always on the upper hand, reading his opponent like a book. It was drawn out more than he wanted, but it was ended quick, Ellion twirling as he took the counter, wearing him out while he retained his strength.

The other man was tiring fast, as Ellion did not stop his onslaught, the noise of metal on metal hard as he hit the man hard in the arm, before slamming the blade into plate once more. The man crumpled, as Ellion pushed the visor up on his own visor, looking down at the man, putting it to his neckbrace, the blade against his neck, cold steel with a lukewarm ending on his throat.

"Yield."

The man gargled, as Ellion heard the word.
"I yield....fuck me, you're a right bastard in this arena." The man replied, with a distinctly Riverman accent, as Ellion shook his head.
"If you're the best that your House can give, you try a war." Ellion was stonefaced for a moment, before chuckling, pulling the blade back as he gave him a hand, to the sound of the audience cheering. He patted the Knight on the back, nodding, knowing the spectacle had been witnessed by the crowds, peasant and landed, watching what the Tyrell could do in an arena.

There was a mighty cheer, with many Reachmen nobles clapping for Willas Tyrell's younger son. Several other young knights and ladies of King Aegon's court did the same, including those known to the world as the Prince's Men, those friends and companions of Aemon the Snow Prince and the children of King Aegon's comrades and allies in the wars of past. Most enthusiastic was Princess Shaena, Aegon and Daenerys' second daughter, who had taken quite a liking to the knight in shining armor and had even given Ellion her favor, a silken scarf that looked like a wreath of gossamer-like flame.

But even more than Ellion's noble peers, the smallfolk roared their approval for Ellion Bravethorn as loud as a shrieking army. The young Tyrell knight had already won much favor by winning the joust at the last great tourney, and his legend had only grown in the wake of the Stepstones campaign. His dashing good looks, his charming manner, and his handsome silver armor coupled with his skill made Ellion Tyrell a favorite of the commons.

The King and Queen sat at the royal box with the rest of their family. Daenerys with her newest grandson on her lap, a strong child with hair of silver-gold and lilac eyes. Aegon cooed as his hatchling, a beautiful dragon with golden scales named Sunfyre the Second, flapped its tiny wings and licked Aegon's face. She grinned at Ellion while even her stoic husband cracked a smile, the great direwolf Ghost at his side. The Queen-to-be Myrcella, also favored Ellion with a white smile as well as the Princesses Daenora, Rhaenys, and the Prince Jaeherys.

Only Viserys, the Prince of Summerhall, seemed less than impressed though he clapped. Ellion and Viserys had always had something of a friendly rivalry ever since the Bravethorn had beaten the Merry Prince in a tilt and it had only continued after Viserys saved Ellion's life in the Stepstones. Some even whispered that the two had shared the Prince's wife, who was the free-spirited daughter of House Baratheon. The Crown Prince and the Bold Dragon were absent however, they themselves preparing to compete as well.

Ellion raised his blade to the cheers as he faced the audience, before turning to the King and Queen, looking on with a steely look, as he took three steps, and knelt, bowing his head.

King Aegon the Sixth, the White Wolf, known to his friends as Jon, stood and said, "A fine display of swordsmanship, Ser Ellion. Bravethorn is more than an apt name for you, and my decision to name you as Master-at-arms of the Red Keep has only been valdiated by this most recent of your feats of which there are many. I must also congratulate Ser Malrik Towers, who also fought bravely and skillfully. With such fine young knights as you serving the realm, the people of Westeros can surely sleep well. I wish you good fortune in the duels to come Ser Ellion. And you may have need of it, with my sons competing as well." Jon smiled softly again and there was a wave of lighthearted laughter, "You do your House great honor today, ser. Go forth with your head held high."

Ellion nodded, as he stood, smiling.
"Thank you, my King. I shall fight honorably and nobly. I shall serve the realm as best as my bones shall allow me." Ellion beamed, as he kept his blade by his side, yet before he left, he gently took the scarf and colours on his plate out, Shaena's scarf, peeling the fabric out with his hands, gently pulling it loose. Looking towards the crowd, he threw the cloth scarf out, with the noise of the crowd aiming to pick it up as they screamed, Ellion grinning as he walked toward the exit of the tourney field, feeling only a teeny bit full of himself. Helmet off and in his left hand, he headed back towards the Knights' Tent, for some mead and a seat. Ellion Tyrell had proven his worth in that fight, and he knew that while it was one of many, it was thankful to know at least that didn't run the risk of killing him.

In the Knight's tent were a variety of puissant warriors of the kingdom, many of them Prince's Men like Ser Jaime of Tarth the Sapphire Knight; Ser Robb Baratheon the Stormbull; Ser Red Randyll Tarly, and many others. They all came cheering and clapping Ellion on the back, and a tankard of mead was thrust into his hands by Ser Petyr the Pup. From the press emerged Prince Aemon with his draconic helm under his arm and Blackfyre resting at his side. The sunlight glinted off of his black scaled steel, contrasting starkly with his fair skin and silver hair. Aemon had a scar now, one running across his eye to match his father's, a blow incurred during the climactic naval battle between the royalist forces and the separatists at Torturer's Deep. By his side was the young Prince Rhaegar, champion of the last grand melee and the wielder of Dark Sister.

Aemon reached out his gaunleted arm to grasp Ellion's and smiled, "A fine bout, Ellion. Keep up these displays and that white cloak may very well be a reality. Father would most like prefer that to the alternative." He clapped his brother on the back affectionately. There had been an opening in the Kingsguard since the death of one of the White Brothers at Hellgate Hall, fighting by King Aegon's side against the Vulture King. And it was widely known that the youngest dragon prince desired a cloak. But it was also widely known that the King was displeased by the notion and wished for Rhaegar to marry. Aegon had yet to name a new sworn brother, and there was much speculation on who would be asked to take up the cloak, but many believed the Bravethorn would be named.

The Snow Prince continued, "Either way, I would be my honor to cross blades on the field if the tourney goes as such. You would make more than a worthy opponent ser."

Ellion chuckled, nodding.
"Thank you, Aemon. I gave him a hiding. Nothing like a good spar. And I shall need to think about it." Ellion humbly replied, as he knew Aemon had a good point to make, about the cloak. Yet it made him feel strange, to live up to that duty. Indeed, he'd been more sexually active than usual, minus the diseases that usually followed, luckily enough, and giving that up...felt weird. It was a family responsibility and even Alerie had asked him to think about it, yet to him, he didn't know. He felt conflicted, and part of him felt like he was a warrior of glory, not just a servant to King Jon. That was his confusion about it all, but he took it on the chin, burying the concern in his mind.

"I would be most honored to fight you sometime, Aemon. Test our steel." Ellion replied fevently, as he sipped down mead, chuckling as he the others were preparing themselves for their own fights, or other affairs in and around the tourney field. Taking a seat, he breathed out, taking a moment to get back his composure.

"Word that I would like some Tears of Lys right now." The sarcastic comment of Seran the Seastar was heard in a raspy voice, as he patted his armor, and did some test movements on it. He still could not get used to the knightly fare. On top of that, his sister had convinced him to take part on the tourney on a dare. Well, there were a lot of deadbeat knights to make the bulk of the show and eat dirt. Better than a sword in the guts, that was it. He was wearing a scheme reminiscent of the Targaryens, but not completely similar.

"Ser, chin up." said a voice to the left, clad in a blackened armor, whose only highlights were a Fox surrounded by blue flowers, as well as a fox pelt draped around the shoulders. The tall, gaunt figure of Alester Florent shifted. "It would do no good should my opponent appear craven and unskilled."

"I know my limits." Seran sighed as he put his helmet on, obscuring his Valyrian effeminate features.

"Limits exist to be surpassed, ser." said the knight, and patted him to go outside, growing tired of waiting.

Ellion saw the two Knights, the blackened plate either a Targaryen, or Alester Florent, the man marrying his sister. He headed on over, watched as the two chatted, as he leant on the wooden post by their side, watching them prepare.
"Have yourself a good one, Ser Alester. If I was a betting man, I'd put my dragons on you. Although, Seran, you could prove me wrong. The man's a tough nail." Ellion commented, looking to them both.

"Thank you, ser." said Alester, in a dry, almost mechanical tone, before Seran let a good sigh. "All men must die." He said in response to Ellion's words. Both figures walked into the middle of the plaza, as the criers announced both knights. Seran the Seastar, versus the Fox Lord. And the fray started slowly in intensity, both opponents sizing eachother with thrusts and parries at first, but picking up pace faster as the hums of people died out. Eventually, it was revealed that as nimble as the Seastar was, his sword arm was not as talented as the Fox Lord.

Alester Florent decided he had enough of playing around, and switched to the offensive, confident on having assessed his opponent's skill. Seran began to lose ground almost immediately, as the attack became more furious and relentless. And then something happened, which made the crowds gasp. Seran's lack of skill also amounted to suiting up in armor, as his garb began to fall to pieces, making one hell of a ruckus as the strikes went by.

"You're done for." the Florent Lord announced.

But, as the Fox lord aimed to disarm Seran something happened. The discarded pieces scrambled up his footwork, and had he not been fast enough, his shield would not have parried the strike towards his face. He cursed under his breath. So that was his objective all along!? The Fox Lord quickly switched to the defensive, as an emboldened and light Seran began striking back, his thrusts mean and vicious, and his attacks not limited to the sword. His sword arm also kept changing. His footwork was even a form of offense, trying to trip the now clumsier footlord as he became a lightning bolt of silver hair,lean meat and stylish trousers. He even japed.

"Feeling the heat my lord? Tis nothing compared to Mereen!" The Seastar mocked as the audience gasped at the sheer audacity and recklessness of Seran. For while he had lost his armor, the Fox Lord had not even managed to drive a single scratch on him. He kept diving in and running in circles around the hampered knight. Indeed, a full plate was not the best cloth in the blistering heat...

The Fox Lord however, gripped his sword and smiled. "Well..limits exist to be surpassed. Good show, Seastar..." He muttered under his breath as he inhaled, and switched to full offensive. The armored knight's speed burst was surprising, as he sprang forth towards Seran, who could barely dodge in time. This furious speed was the real deal, the one that had allowed the Fox Lord to break free from pikes and footmen, and capture the foes in the war. Eventually, the silver-haired combatant's sword flew out of his hand, and flew a feet feet away.

"Yield..." Seran said, his eyes wide. There was simply no chance. This kingdom was full of monsters.

The Fox Lord panted, before being declared victor, and patting the dragonseed in the shoulder amicably. "Tricky one, mayhaps you should be a mummer, ser." He said before heading back for the so much needed refreshment, before he fell due to the impeding heatstroke.

"I am told that all the time, my lord." Seran said, as he began to gracefully pick up the bits and pieces of his armor. There were some japes and laughs as he collected the pieces, but cheers aswell. And then someone started "Sea Star!". And everyone followed. Much to the Fox Lord's chagrin, Seran got the most most outstanding ovation, even if half of it was japes and laughter.

Alester just groaned as he sat in a seat, chugging ale like water, his brow crowned by pearls of sweat. "...trust the people to love the fools." He muttered under his breath, as Seran entered, with his armor in pieces.

"I swear to the Lady I can hear my sister's laughter from here." Seran said, a nervous smile in his face. "Sers.." He added, while excusing himself to fix his armor.

----

In the audience, Alerie and Tom watched on, as the audience ooed and ahhed, watching the spectacle that were the two fights. And the rather comedic ending that was the last one, as Alys and Willas cheered for Alester, lower down in the stands before they made their way up to the Tyrell box.

"That was quite something....what a strange way to fight." Alerie commented, looking to tom, wondering if there was anything he had to say.

Tom shook his head with a grin, "The Seastar is a strange man. And a dangerous one, if this duel is anything to go by, as well as the fact he survived the Stepstones when more notable warriors did not. But he's also a fool to be sure. Though I must admit it's quite amusing to see them cheer the fool more than they cheer our dear Lord Alester."

The Young Lion drank some wine and said, "Perhaps I should enter the lists. I could get my second shot at Lord Alester. And it would be he who is humbled. What do you think, my love? Uncle Jaime is sitting out this tourney. And I believe the realm should see what a Lannister can do."

"Hmm...I think you could give it a go. Try your hand at it. I'll be calling your name." Alerie giggled, smiling at him as she nodded, looking on at the empty field, before then back at Tom.
"But don't let it be the wine that steers you. Go show them your teeth." She giggled further, kissing him on the cheek gently, as she sat back against his shoulder for a moment.

Tommen grinned and kissed her back, "I'm unlike my father in that regard. I have teeth and claws aplenty. And Lord Alester and all these others will know it. I shall ask father to bear Brightroar in the field today. The realm will see the future Lord Lannister with our familial sword. I will make you proud, Alerie, I swear it. As soon as I'm finished greeting my future in-laws."

Sitting in their box above the commoners was pleasant, as the Tyrell's father and younger sister approached, late to the tourney but here nonetheless to join. Alys had grown since Alerie remembered her last, as she ran up hugging her, Alys around the same sort of height unlike Alerie's taller spouse. Her brown hair was almost characteristically Tyrell, a light and sunkissed colour, with a fair face and a plain green dress, as she smiled. Her green eyes, and her soft voice made her a rather understated girl, shy and polite, just nice to be with and a comforting presence. She didn't seem to have Alerie's fire or ambition, her scheming and driven inteligence, she was content and had simpler things on her mind, yet was by no means a silly girl.

"Alys, it's good to see you!" With a sisterly kiss, Alerie smiled, looking back to Tom.

"This is Alys, my sister. Alys, this is Tommen Lannister, my betrothed lion." She said, Alys shy to talk, as she put out her hand, a smile on her face, breaking her silence. Willas stood to the side, letting the young love sort it out, standing by Tommen, cane in hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ser Tommen. My sister told me about you in dispatches...wow, it is an honour."

Tommen rose to greet her, his head held high and his posture perfect. He looked every inch the handsome and dashing southron knight and he bowed his head to kiss Alys' hand, "The pleasure and honor is all mine, Lady Alys. Hopefully your fair sister has only had good things to say about me like she has of you. I see that beauty and grace run strongly in your family. One day soon, I myself will call you sister, and joyfully. It is my wish that you too can think of me as a brother."

Alys smiled, red in her rosy cheeks, as she nodded respectfully.
"Thank you, Ser Tommen. Indeed she has, glad to make your aquaintance." Alys replied, as Willas looked over, particularly toward Tommen.
"My future son in law. Enjoying the melee?" Willas asked, polite in his tone, almost similarly respecful to his youngest, albeit with a little more respect given back. The man was still on the small council, and whilst his brown hair had been shortening, it was still there and with only a few grey hairs. Safe to say, it must have been the wine keeping his body going, as his leg wasn't getting any better.

Tom bowed his head to his future goodfather and said, "Indeed I am, Lord Willas. But soon enough I intend to enjoy it up close and personal. My uncle's golden armor, his lion helm, and our family sword will be mine to wield. Mayhaps, I might even cross blades with Ellion. He is one of the finest knights I know, and I would be honored to test my mettle against him."

The young Lannister's expression was one of confidence, exuding strength. He truly was the best of both the Kingslayer and the Imp. A grandson that Tywin Lannister would have been proud of. And hopefully, a goodson that Lord Willas would approve of.

And indeed, Willas respected him for it. Willing to be brave as a lion, yet not stupid and thickheaded in the process. If he would see him become Lord one day, it was no doubt he would be excellent at the job, and in Willas's mind, it seemed sensible to keep the two families together. The past had been the past, and the marriage, whilst incredibly contreverisal, would at least give both parties a little control over each other's respective standings for a better good, not of conflict but of co-operation. He was sometimes cocky, but understood well that a man like that, so young and so capable, would of course be cocky. His own son was just that too, Ellion Tyrell a man that Willas wasn't always understanding of, but proud nonetheless, a man who had his rough edges but brought honour and fame to the name Tyrell. There had been none since perhaps Loras, and even Ellion's talent was surpassing that now, given the wars that had raged in the past few months, and no doubt something would change in the coming years to make him a little more mature, more understanding and less....well, reckless. As for Tom, Willas thought, there was always Alerie to keep him in bay and no doubt she would be wise to make sure he didn't push too many buttons, and the same for her. A symbiosis, not a rivalry was what would make the Kingdoms of the Rock and the Kingdom of the Reach a formidable alliance.

"Indeed, your exploits I've heard are making you known. You'll prove yourself a masterful Lord of the Westerlands, and the burdens and responsibilities will be one that you shall handle well if you keep this course, with my daughter by your side. You know, if I wasn't such a cripple, I'd have kept going with this tourney business. I was never too good with a sword, you know, but on a horse with a lance, I always felt a connection with it all. Just don't let it cut you down in your prime, my son." Willas spoke wisely and with a certain caution, as he looked out to the tent in the distant, another melee beginning between another pair of Knights.

"I think you should go ask him, Tommen. I think me, Alerie and Alys shall carry on watching." Willas added, looking to Alerie, who nodded.
"Let me come with you for a moment, Tom. I know it's not a Lady's place to be, but I think my brother hasn't seen me for a little while since I left for home."

Tom smiled at Willas and nodded, "I shall heed your words, goodfather. I intend to live a long, fruitful life, with Alerie by my side. We have a great future ahead of us I am sure." As they spoke, the Hand of the King, Tom's father Tyrion happened to make his appearance. The short, squat Lord Lannister was silver-haired now but his eyes were just as bright and lively as they had been in his youth. At his side was his lady wife, Jeyne Westerling, who had once been Robb Stark's Queen in the North.

Tom went to embrace his mother and shook his father's hand. Tyrion grinned and said, "Ah, Willas. Good to see you. The lady Alerie, charmed as always. And you must be Alys. Hard to believe that so many fine flowers can sprout from such a modest pot but then one could say the same of this lion and his cubs." He laughed at that and said, "Have you met my wife yet? The lady Jeyne, one of the only women who could love such a man that I am."

Lady Jeyne curtseyed to Willas and smiled at the younger Tyrell ladies. Her other children, the younger cubs of the Lannister pride were with her, including the golden twins Tywin and Tygett and the fair young Joanna. Perhaps most impressively, was Tom's uncle Jaime and his wife Brienne of Tarth, both legendary fighters.

After a round of introductions and some pleasentries, Tom said, "Father, I have decided to join the games today. I know my cousin Martyn is competing today, but I believe it is only right that the son of the Lion Lord should compete himself. The realm must see the Lannister name in all its glory."

Tyrion and Jaime traded a knowing look and Jaime said, "We figured you would say such a thing, dear nephew. I had my old armor set up in a pavillion on the field. With Brightroar nearby. It's all yours today Tom. Consider it an early wedding gift."

For once the young Lannister was at a loss for words, but only for a moment. Then he smiled and grasped his uncle's hand tightly then hugged his father, "Thank you uncle, father. I shall make you both proud today."

Tyrion smiled, "You always have son. Now go, let us old folk talk of boring things while you youths make history."

Tom took Alerie's hand and turned to Alys, "Do you wish to join us, my future goodsister? Have you ever seen a duel from up close?"

Alys nodded, as she was a little overwhelmed. Tyrion, Jamie and Tommen Lannister in front of her...this felt strange, to be in such highly known company.
"No, not like this...of course, I'd like to see that." She replied, almost a little shyed as Alerie took Tom's hand, nodding.
"Well, sounds like you have yourself a treat to take a look at. I imagine you'll look rather fetching in Ser Jaime's armour. You and Ellion, the gold and silver of this realm." Alerie added, chuckling, as Willas nodded, as he looked to the others of the group, looking on.

"Aye, I think us old people should do boring talk. You three should get going, Tom, you should join Ellion and get yourself into the lists before they keep going." Willas replied, as they headed back towards their box, while Alerie, Alys and Tom headed to the Knights' tent.

The young Tyrells and Lannisters scampered off, Tom and Alerie leading their siblings down to the Knight's tent as Tyrion and Jeyne found a seat, beckoning Willas to join them as did Jaime and Brienne. Tyrion poured everyone some of his signature wine from his own private vineyard, the Imp's Delight, and Tyrion raised a cup, "To young roses and lions. May they bloom and grow better than us."

They drank and Tyrion said, "Have you given any further thought to where you'd like the ceremony to be held, my lord? Casterly Rock and Lannisport would hold revels that the West hasn't seen in decades. And I'm sure the same could be said of Highgarden. But we could always have it in King's Landing as well, seeing as we are both members of the Small Council, and with close friendships to the royal family. That way, both of our houses can share in the glory."

Willas nodded, as he took a seat, sipping the Imp's Delight, remembering the last time at a tourney they had sat and drank his wine, similarly to how it was now.
"Such an affair of this scale is a splendid one, and many would want to see it. I agree that King's Landing would be a splendid location, for all the Kingdoms to see, and a forging of our partnership. We will provide for it to be lavish, and soon, I imagine. An event that will be a show of our Houses resilience, and our hope to the future." He added, Willas sipping down a little more wine, relatively optimistic for a coinman.

"We rode out the storm I think, Lord Tyrion. Last time I sat here in the stands watching my son fight, we were debating the future of the realm's stability. The wars in the Stepstones, and in Dorne. And here we are, still standing. I don't mean to make a negative charm, but things may be rather good, for the now." Willas noted, as he sipped a little wine, a little changing in his thought.
"Although, that does lead one to think....surely something else has to replace it. Beyond an inserrection in our lands, Essos is a cauldron with an ember only required to light the wildfire. That doesn't bode well if the tigers rise and the elephants are drowned out."

Tyrion nodded, "I shall take it up with Jon and Daenerys then. We can begin planning, and have the ceremony officially begin within the month while the crowds are still in the city. A season of revels and festivals too delight all the country."

"But you are right indeed. In no small part due to my brother here and others like him, we have prevailed. But the Reynes and the Gardeners and their ilk still lurk in the realm. They say another King Beyond the Wall rises, that the Black Kraken licks his wounds to strike once more, and that the Archon seeks to make a New Valyrian Empire. For now his sights are set on consolidating his power. But Essos has already begun to bleed and will only keep doing so as Dothraki clash in the grass sea and the Three Daughters war with Braavos. Should the Bay of Dragons be threatened, we would be motivated to act."

Tyrion frowned, "And besides all of that, I fear other conflicts stir. We all may smile and wave, but I know that old hatreds die hard. And there are many of them that have been simmering for decades. All over the realm. Between the faithful and the foreigners. The Northmen and the wildlings. Between my people and everyone else. Jon and Daenerys have kept us from trouble. But one wrong move and this can all turn into another war. Especially with the children of the Black Dragon about." Tyrion was referring to the the false Aegon's children, who were themselves dragon riders and legitimate princes and princesses of the realm all of them.

"I know Jon and Daenerys wanted to let bygones be bygones and accept the Blackfyres back into the family. But the rivalry between the Crown Prince and Prince Matarys is fast turning into true hatred. If it hasn't already. If we're not careful, we could see dragons dance once more. We must keep on the lookout, Willas."

Willas nodded, just only thinking this could be a nightmare, if left untapped.
"We'll need to mull things over, one way or another. War amongst dragon riders could be hellish. The nature of any war is always destructive, but when the farmlands burn, the flames of those dragons will kill far more than the flames touch." He commented, shaking his head.
"I think we both know we are with the King and Queen, irrespective of what happens. But we need to make sure our own Kingdoms are able to be prepared, whatever the outcome. Diplomacy will be critical to stop any potential outbreaks of war. Enemies of our Kingdoms would want war for their own benefits, and that simply cannot happen. There are plenty, it doesn't take a Master of Whispers to figure that out. Whatever rivalry there is, doing the right thing by our Kingdoms, and the realm will need to be resolved. And who can say what that means."

Tyrion drank, mullings his words in silence and Jaime spoke up to broke the tension, "That is true my lord. And we must remain vigilant. But I believe we are more than capable for the task. Despite everything the future is bright. We have only to look at our children for proof of that." His voice turned hard, "And any who would seek to harm them will be corrected swiftly."

"Aye, indeed. My daughters and sons, it felt like only so recently they were so young, so innocent. And here they are. Almost all married off, apart from Ellion. I hear they are thinking of considering him for the new position of a Whitecloak. I do wonder if my boy will adapt, but he's got the talent and honour for it." Willas replied, as he looked on at his short friend, someone he trusted and knew he would have trust in return. He had his flaws, and his trouble sometimes, Tyrion wasn't always of perfect judgement

Tyrion smiled, "My oldest are both going to be married as well. Soon enough all my cubs will be. Same for Jaime here. Soon all we'll have to do is talk in meetings and drink. Not that we don't mostly do that already."

"As for Ellion, he would a fine White Knight. Another Knight of Flowers. And I'm sure the King would prefer to name Ellion, rather than Prince Rhegar. Perhaps we could bring it up with the King and Queen later tonight."

"I can live with that. Watching our Kingdoms carry on as they do. Drinking wine, and keeping the peace." Willas nodded, sipping his wine as they discussed Ellion.
"That would be excellent. I know that while he's undecided, I'd rather let him have the chance. It may never come again, and he's proven himself a masterful warrior. There's no shortage of warfighters in the Reach so while he could be involved as a leader of men, he'd serve the King and Queen far better. Martyn, Garlan's son is already a budding soldier. So no loss there." Willan thought, musing it over.

"He'd miss the other elements of it. The tourneys, the jousting, the travelling, the adventures. Even as his father, I know that's what he enjoys. As any man his age would. From a young age, that was how he became the swordsman he is, how he learned and it still stays with him. He's still finding out what he can do and while he would serve excellently, an exemplary Whitecloak, I hope it's with his heart that he will take it. In this system I may tell him to do as I command, but even I respect that a man of his kind wouldn't hesitate to burn everything behind him if he wanted his own freedoms." Willas added, a little complicated, as he sipped wine to think it over better.

"To put it this way, if your son was told that he'd be named as a Kingsguard and he wanted to joust for the next decade of his life, because that was what he did and would get better than anyone else in the realm, the choice is going to be conflicting. Perhaps not to some, but you may see why." Willas was uncertain, it wasn't often he wasn't this unclear, or unsure, but he was honest in saying that, and he knew it was the truth.

Jaime replied, "Oh I understand very well, my lord. I was in the same position myself. A young man, high on glory and fame, and with a whole life of adventure ahead of me. And then the white cloak. But for your son, it needn't be a burden. He can still ride in tourney. He can still fight. He can still adventure. But it would be at the side of the Princes."

Tyrion smirked, "And he could still wench. But you are right. It is his choice. But I do believe he has the makings of a great Kingsguard knight in him. But then again, so does Rhaegar."

Willas nodded, the nod turning to a shake almost, as he ummed and arghed, knowing Jaime had been one before, and spoke from experience.
"Under the King's banner.. I see. I suppose you still left your mark, Ser Jaime. Served honorably and with noble convictions, to make choices no man would. The book that records their name will have yours as a notable one. I respect that. My son would need to be of the same stock. To be chivalrous, to hold that nobility means to do right, and that's something I know he has to understand."

Jaime smiled, "I believe your son is of the same stock. He has great potential. Raw skill and drive that could be honed into something truly magnificent. I'd be honored to train him if nothing else."

Willas nodded approvingly, taking approval to that suggestion. Perhaps it would be something that would interest his son; and it felt strange, given that even Willas could see the similarities between his own son and Loras, and the conflicts that had been between Jaime and the Tyrell.
"That is a proposition I find most interesting, Ser Jaime. He'd appreciate that. He may need something to straighten him out, a mentor. He's never really had anything apart from his uncle, and he outstripped him quite fast. I know he looks up to your experience, from what he told me of the Stepstones." Willas remarked,

Jaime seemed to think the same as Willas, "I remember your brother. He was one of the finest young knights I ever saw. He reminded me quite a bit of myself. And your son reminds me of him. I couldn't help Loras, but I can help steer Ellion down a path to avoid making the same mistakes I did. It's up to him ultimately, and there's not much I can teach him with regards to fundamentals. But knighthood is more than learning to fight. And there are tricks you learn fighting with only one hand after all."

"Poor Loras. I did love my brother, deeply. He did himself no favours but found himself in the wrong place, with the wrong people. But it is in the past. There can be no regrets, and we cannot curse the things we didn't do or did. I imagine Ellion will like that. He's got the right senses, he was Knighted with good reason, and he has his chivalry and his values. Yet he will need that guiding vision, Jaime. Give that to him and he will serve loyally." Willas replied, as he looked across at Jaime's hand, a still reminder that Jaime Lannister fought very differently to many of those in Westeros, given it was the device that allowed him to be so renowned as a fighter in the past.

"Perhaps then it shall happen, Tyrion. Rhaegar would serve well, but I agree, he may not take the position as well, not be...as appopropriate. Anyway, I imagine they'll be starting soon. I think you'll agree with my Tyrion, but I think we need more wine, and scratchings of pork. The mind can let go for now at least. We've worked hard for that."

Tyrion grinned, "We are both agreed then. More wine! And the beautiful Jeyne can regale us with some of her talent with the high harp if she is so inclined." And so the group settled in, wine and appetizers passed around as Jeyne Westerling strung her harp and sang beautifully while the old acquantinces remembered bygone days and departed loved ones.

Willas nodded, as they continued to chat, before being interupted by the arrival of another pair of Tyrells, two that Willas had been awaiting. Garlan and Merlin Tyrell, his brother and son respectively, the two people that were almost mired in the affairs of the Reach, yet the opportunity to visit the rest of the family was not one they would pass up.

Garlan was still the same as he was after the campaign in the Stepstones, a couple of scars running down his arm from a cut he recived in fighting, but nonetheless, he still retained his baldening look and stern appearance. The original "gallant" Tyrell was not a man often leaving the Reach, given his commitments to the Knights of the Green Hand, a number of their number arriving around the stands, faceless almost in their armour as Garlan walked up the stand, followed by Merlin. The man was similarly unchanged to the year, a stalwart and respectable Steward, not a brave and couragous looking Knight like his younger brother, but just what you would appear to see of a Tyrell of his kind.

Both noticed Tyrion and the others, Jeyne and Jaime here too, as Garlan respectfully nodded to the latter.
"Garlan, Merlin! Good to see you both. Long journey from home?" Willas asked, as Garlan nodded, chuckling.

"Never gets any shorter. Good to see you again." Garlan replied heartily, as he sat down by his side, hugging his older brother, chuckling.
"You're still a man of duty, serving here, doing the Crown's business."
"And you still have a knack for fighting. We really don't change." Willas replied, as he poured his brother a cup of wine, passing it to him, pouring another for Merlin.

"And yourself Merlin, how are you?"
"Things are fine. The Kingdom isn't as stable as anyone would like, and it does me no end. There's Gardener militias popping up and they aren't easy to subdue." Merlin replied, straight to buisness, as Willas sighed.
"A problem we do face indeed. Get a cup of Arbor down you, lad. For now, we need to enjoy this. Tyrion, I assume you've met my brother, Garlan. This is my son, Merlin. Future Lord of Highgarden." Willas said, announcing him to Tyrion and the group.

Tyrion nodded, inclining his head, "Indeed, I have. We met many years past, when my nephew sat on the Iron Throne. He was one of the only ones to speak for me when I was accused of his murder." Tyrion's mouth seemed to curl in a smirk at that. It had been a long-running tale that the Queen of Thorns had been the one to lay King Joffrey low, and that Tyrion and Sansa had been framed for it. The truth of the matter was of course not widely known, but it would not have been impossible for Tyrion to know it. But if he did, he did not show it and seemed more than happy to see Garlan.

"It is good to meet you once more Lord Commander. And with my new wife, the fair Lady Jeyne. You of course know my equally pretty brother and Lady Brienne." Jaime smiled and nodded at Garlan while Brienne bowed her head and Jeyne curtseyed. Tyrion stuck out his hand to shake Garlan's and then Merlin's, "We've finally gotten you out of Highgarden eh? Just like your father. He didn't come to the capital until he was a man either. You just missed my own children. And your sisters. They went to rub shoulders with all the knights. Someday, you must meet your future goodbrother, who will also be your colleague as Lord of the West."

Garlan and Merlin shook Tyrion's hand, the former nodding in agreement. It was a strange time, a weird one almost that he had been so vouchful for Tyrion, and he got on well with him, much like his brother did. It had been a long time ago, but it was still something he remembered doing, and had a lot of respect for the vertically-challenged Lannister Lord, someone who had done nothing wrong and had become caught up in a very messy affair indeed.

"Pleasure to meet you, Lady Jeyne." Garlan nodded, courteous in his response.

"I shall have to meet Tom, Lord Tyrion. I've heard nothing but adoration from my sister. Says the world about him, and that he's been sparring all day with Ellion." Merlin said, ever gregarious in a new crowd, as they all took a seat, overlooking the ground.
"Speaking of which, I assume he's out there?" Merlin asked, predominantly to Willas, who nodded.

"He's doing well. Seems like he's finally channeled that rebellious nature into something, at last." Willas said, Garlan looking over.
"I told you he'd get himself together. He's young, pretty and good with a blade. I told him it'd keep him on the straight and narrow. It'll be interesting to see him fight." Garlan replied, Merlin catching the conversation tail.

"Well....how much is what we'll have to see, of course. Feels like I haven't seen him in years. Always at a tourney, or here." The steward mused, as Willas sipped at his wine, nodding to them both.
"Alerie and Alys are with him too, looking at all the Knights. They'll come back soon. And then we can chat about things. Unless Garlan, you want to fight?"

"I don't do melees. It's....not my scene. You don't want to see an old man dicing a blade with a bunch of youngsters. Let them show themselves for the world." Garlan dryly commented, chuckling.
"Anyway, it'd just be awkward to show up some young Knight who wants to please some maiden. That's how these things can be." Garlan chuckled, as Merlin nodded, sipping the Arbor himself.

"Aye, I recall it from my time. It's a chance to prove a little. And they are doing just that." Willas commented, as he looked across to Jamie, Jeyne and Tyrion, nodding.
"It's good to have us all here. Rare that we get the chance, in such troubled times." Willas added, as the other Tyrells settled down, to watch the fighting ahead.

Jaime and Brienne both agreed with the Tyrell brothers. The Lady of Tarth said, "Those in our generation are more than capable of fighting. You and I both know that Garlan, from our time together in the Red Mountains. But these events are for the children of summer as our children are. These days are theirs, let that be so. It is their time to win glory and renown. The Young Lion, the Bravethorn, the Sapphire Knight. These are the names that must grow now. And I am more than happy to watch them do so."

The Kingslayer smiled ruefully, "My wife has the right of it, as she often does. And I find I have much less taste for tourneys in my older condition." Jaime lifted his golden hand for a moment and smirked. Tyrion said, "Well, I for one am much used to being a spectator. It has much of its own rewards. My lords Tyrell, why don't I conduct you to the royal box? I can introduce to some notables of the court, even the King and Queen themselves. I'm sure they would be gladened. I believe once upon a time, the young Merlin had taken a bit of a shine to the Princess Daenora if I recall correctly. You might want to see her as well."

Willas nodded, sipping a little wine as he listened, looking to Merlin and Garlan respectively.
"That sounds like a good idea. We'll come on up." Willas nodded, finishing his cup and standing, his weakened leg still able to hold him as he took his cane, pivoting his weight gently onto it as he followed Tyrion and Jaime up, Merlin and Garlan following behind.
"It's been a while since I saw Daenora, I recall. If Evelyn was here, she'd love all of this. She's still at home with the children." Merlin said, Willas nodding.
"How are they? They're little rascals, but turning out well." Wilas asked, as Merlin agreed, knowing it was nice to disclose.
"Merion is a good lad, he's wise, not like Leo but a good fighter and a good scholar nonetheless. He'll do us proud. Says he looks up to Ellion a lot." Willas chuckled in reply, as did Garlan, knowing while Ellion was a role-model, his uncle was...well, questionable.

"He's maybe got the right idea of some of what his uncle does. But as for the rest, perhaps not." Garlan mused, as they followed on, going up the steps to the Royal Box.

------

Alerie, Alys and Tom wondered into the tent, the bustling sight of Knights and other men-at-arms that were hovering and moving about, as they headed towards the smell of gentle flowers, Ellion wiping his face with a wet cloth, breathing through as he saw his squire finish with his sword. Duncan was older now, almost 15 years of age, and a brave man indeed. He'd killed a man after he sent him, on his own to home to run a message for Ellion, killing a Gardener archer with his blade. Duncan had the sword cut to prove it, and the man's message too. An impressive piece of work, for a squire- Ellion now letting him run errands to help him out. Duncan was a boy of chivalry, a Knight to be and the Tyrell Knight was no doubt going to be able to Knight him sometime into the future, when he was of age and ready for it. He had his mettle proven and would no doubt be willing to learn how to joust and grit his teeth for war and tourneys.

Ellion chuckled, seeing Tom and the two Tyrell girls that were his sisters wonder over. The Tyrell itching his gentle stubble, light in colour from it's shortness, wrapping like a lion's mane around his chin. The metal glinted in the sunlight, the intricacy the same as it had been when he first recieved

"Didn't expect you to come visit, sisters. Tom, it's good to see you. Glad to see you and Alerie together.." He stood, his plate lusterous and well fitting, a Tyrell scarf wrapped around his upper torso, where Shaena's had been. He had to say, Alys was doing well for herself, and she seemed rather opened up now she had become betrothed to Alester.

"You look very fancy. I hear my betrothed has been allowed to use a suit of armour that might be just more shiny than you. From a certain Lannister." Alerie knew that she was pushing his buttons, as Ellion shook his head, looking to Tom.
"No way...Jamie left you his?" Ellion replied, a little amused yet curious, as he knew it was the only armour she could have been describing.

Tom nodded, smiling proudly, as already his squire whom was one of his second cousins already began wheeling out the iconic armor on its stand. The Kingslayer's golden armor was legendary and as they began fitting it onto Tommen's crimson leather tunic, they saw it fit him well. Nearby was a golden lion-helm with a roaring maw where the visor normally would be. A great-cloak made of a lion skin waited to be drapped onto the armor and Tom's squire brought forth the final touch. The sword.

The young future Lord Lannister drew Brightroar from its sheath and he held the Valyrian steel greatsword in both hands, which remained steady despite the fact that Tom almost lost his composure at the sight of his ancestral blade. He had dreamed of holding it in his hands ever since he was a boy. Now his wish had come true. Tom twirled it in his arms experimentally and already it began to feel like an extension of his body.

He sheathed it again and smiled at Alerie, "Truly I am the luckiest man in the Kingdoms. This sword will be ours son's one day, my love. And his son's after him. And on and on, for all time." Tom grinned and turned to Ellion, "And if we're lucky, this sword will test itself against one of the finest knights in the nation."

Ellion shook his head.
"You're such a lucky bastard." He chuckled, observing the blade that Tom twirled, adjusting the scarf that he'd wrapped ,around his arm and across his upper chest, as he stood, the greatsword large in his hands and the Valyrian steel impressive to the sight.

"That thing will go through bone like butter. It's a heck of a thing to wield it. But I think you're here with my two sisters because you want to...well, that armour isn't going to remain without new scratches of it's own, if I am correct in saying?" Ellion added, as he stood, walking over towards a bucket by the rest of his things, pulling out a bright red rose. Sticking it's stalk against the cloth, he pierced it through and plushed it on his shoulder, the armour itself smelling fine, not of sweat even despite his last bout, but of a strange rose-oil that seemed to emminate. If a stereotype was real of the Bravethorn, it was that indeed, he was elegant indeed as he brushed his curly hair aside with one hand, finishing his own preperation as he took his helm. He was only two years older than Tom, but the experience of war and his

"You are such a Lannister." Ellion sarkily remarked, as Alerie giggled, shaking his head.
"And you smell like a Tyrell's farts from a mile away, Ellion!" Alerie chuckled, as Alys gently joined in, albeit a little quieter.
"What are we but the emodyment of what the Lords and Ladies, smallfolk and scholars, Maesters and monks all wish to see." Ellion poetically replied, standing side by side with Tom, nodding, taking a good look around. He was going to say something stupid, beyond his moment of intelectual thought.

"We're what our houses stand for. It's publicity. Armour that functions, but makes our Great Houses what they are, the physical embodiment, if I recall what my father said when he gave this to me. No Great House would want it's finest elite to smell of pigshit and leather, would they. Though...no, that might be the Starks!" Ellion laughed, aware of his remark, and being careful not to be too loud.

"It fits you well, Tom. Like your uncle. You'll do him proud. Now, how say I show you how to swing that big bloody sword out on the field? Clearly, everyone seems to want us to both have at each other. Just like that spar, only with a few hundred watching your every move." Ellion remarked, brushing another stray bit of curled hair to his back, a distinct Ellion-Tyrell esque grin on his face.

Tom grinned right back at the slightly older knight, whom he considered a friend. Their families may have had a rivalry, but Tom had always gotten on well with Ellion, and of course his sister. Tom unbuckled Brightroar from it's strap around his back and handed it to the Tyrell, "Here, Ellion. You can know how it feels to wield a proper lordly blade. But I would be honored to receive some pointers from the Master-at-arms himself."

Ellion chuckled, taking the blade and spinning it in his hand, holding it high above his head, looking along the blade.
"By the Seven....." He chuckled, the blade heavier, which had it's own pros and cons. He didn't like such a heavy longsword, not unless he was using a shield in combination, for a tourney that wasn't right and hence his current choice of blade.

And enough of that thought, he added. Holding the pommel tight, he looked back at Tom with a gaze.
"It's a wonderful thing. I've heard things about Valyrian Steel. The Reach has a few, but they don't get use often. Not like this one did." Ellion commented, as he looked to Tom, nodding.

"A blade like this will go through anything like it's nothing. But if you get complacent, it'll take one enemy with good steel that it won't go through. Don't swing it aimlessly trusting it, don't treat it any different to a normal blade. For all you know, and all I know, this is just like any other sword. Just that this one cuts a little more." Ellion added, as he took it in both hands, passing it with care to Tom.

Tom took it back and tested it a bit more, nodding, "Oh I don't intend to use this weapon as a crutch. No, we should work together. As man and blade should. And I plan to do so for a long, long time. I'll hold this until they call me the Old Lion."

"Aye, I think I'll try and be an old man. But it seems dull. Drinking wine all day. I prefer the thrill of the chase, don't you?"

Tom smirked at that, "Oh I do. But half of the chase is contemplation and observation. Planning, before you leap in for the kill. Perhaps the older I get, the more I will have to think. But I will still bite just as lethally when I leap."

Ellion chuckled, nodding, almost rekindling his outpost raids in the Stepstones.
"Aye, patience is useful. Usually lets you figure out just how many you can kill before they even realise you're on your own."

-----
Meanwhile, as the lads talked swords, Alys had veered off, through the Knights' Tent and towards Alester, victorious from his bout, as she walked on over.
"Well done, my fox, you gave it to him! That man was a fool...so don't listen to the crowd. You fought well." Alys was reassuring, almost like a gentle breeze of cool air, as she sat by his side, resting her hand on his warm armour, the black absorbing the heat. Tyrell women always had a charming influence, always, but perhaps that was true of just about any Lady of the Reach.

"My father thought you did well too. He knows you've got talent, he knows when he sees it." She added, pecking him on the forehead, chuckling.
"You know, it's not going to be long now. I overheard my parents talking about my sister's wedding, made me think, you know....we might need to think about where we hold it."

"Fool, my Lady?" Alester sighed, as he used a cloth to dry his sweat, his helmet down and his expression a frown. "One could say that, but it is actually true that should it had been a battlefield instead of a bout, that man would have had the upper hand. Seastar is dangerous like the last person who bore that namesake." He shrugged. "And he is probably way prettier than half of the ladies of King's landing to boot."

"HEY!" The voice of Seastar could be heard half across the tent, but only before the laughter of several knights muffled him.

The Florent Lord shrugged. "Perhaps this was a poor choice of armor, my usual battlefield fare might do me little good. Regardless, you're a balm to sore eyes, my lady." Alester said corteously as he put an arm over the waist of his fiancee. "Lavish? Hm. I must admit lavish is not my usual fare...but It could not hurt for such an ocassion. I trust your tastes in that regard."

Alys cooed, shrugging.
"Hmm...well, I suppose Highgarden would be as good a place as any. Perhaps...you can pick a place for our time afterwards. Before we come back to the world of Lordships, perhaps." Alys mentioned, as she wrapped up close, rubbing her finger along his cheek.

"You're the Lord of Brightwater Keep, Alester. You may as well for such an occasion. It'll boost your prestige a little among the other Lords. From what I recall my mother said, at least." She added, as she took the cloth from his hands, gently wiping the dirt from his brow, before looking across to Alerie, Tom and Ellion.

Alester pondered for a bit."Alys, you're the loveliest flower. Don't let others tell you otherwise. And should I win, as unlikely that may be, you shall be Queen of Beauty. That much is to be expected." Alester said, as he looked at her, and then the people who...did not relish their company as much.

"If you win, Alester. I mean...I believe in your talent, but Ellion is capable, as is Tom, and Aemon. I've heard they're all highly tipped." She replied, smiling.
"But I appreciate the gesture. You're always my lionhearted King, Alester." She hugged him, giggling, as she shook her head, just thinking that ever since this betrothal had come through, she'd grown to love him, even despite his strangeness sometimes, she had opened her up and she felt at ease with him, totally calm and more able to talk.

"So, who are you up against next? I think Ellion and Tom are going to have a bout soon."

"One of the squires I knighted last month. Jon. He apparently is a teenager smitten in love and wants to win some fair maiden's heart by challenging his Lord. " Alester sighed."Well, I will congratulate him in his bravery, and then beat some sense into him." He announced, rolling his eyes.

"Well, don't beat him into a pulp. I'm sure he'll know why they know your talent with a blade." She replied, smiling, letting him make the choice on this one, as this wasn't a Lady's place to be.

Alester raised an eyebrow at Alys, but before he could reply, a servant boy approached him and whispered something in his ear. His frown deepened as he thanked the boy and then rubbed his temple, facing Alys again. "He forfeited. Apparently someone made him see sense. One less contender I guess." He paused as he looked at the trio of people who made him the most uncomfortable, barring Garlan Tyrell. "Hm, seems like your sister's Lannister finally got some interesting equipment on his own. Do you want to go there and see it?" He added, getting up from his seat.

Alys nodded, smiling, knowing full well what it was.
"It's a beautiful suit of armour. It's just like my sister always said, boys and their costumes." She shot him a smile, keeping her hand against his steel gauntlet, as they walked on over.

Ellion and Alerie turned to see Alys and Alester, the black-coloured plate distinctive of Alester, as the pair looked on at the betrothed couple.
"Alester, good to see you again. You fought well in that last bout. Irrespective of whatever happened out there, you held your own." Ellion commented, as Alerie nodded ,taking in Alys before looking to Alester.
"Indeed, though it was quite funny when all of Seran's armour decided not to be worn. A little bizzare. But the tourney and these festivities would be nothing without the strange, of course." Alerie chuckled, as Ellion gave out a hand, to shake the hand of his future brother in law.

Alester hesitated, as he looked at them both, his tense factions offering a corteous but fake as a wooden Dragon smile. Well, he had to try before his fiancee, right? He took Ellion's hand, perhaps squeezing a little too hard. "You're too kind. Using brute force to prevail can hardly be called of fighting well." He paused, as he eyed both of them. "Still, my next opponent seems to have forfeited because of such, so there is that." He added, before withdrawing his hand.

"So, I shall see a bout between the offspring of Lords Paramount now, I gather?" Alester announced as he looked at Alys, and then both siblings.

"Perhaps you shall, Lord Alester. A little show doesn't go amiss for the commoners." Ellion replied, chuckling, as Alys nodded.
"That'll be exiting. The Young Lion and the Bravethorn. I imagine it'll be a fine bout indeed." Alys commented, breaking a little tension, as she smiled to Tom and Alester.

Tom to his credit didn't seem visually displeased by Alester and stuck out his own hand to shake the Fox Lord's, "I have to congratulate you as well. But hopefully your next opponent is a bit more traditional. This whole business is about demonstrating skill to the realm after all and you are a worthy knight indeed. Of that there is no question. I hope that once you can call me brother, we can put any past arguments behind us."

The lion lordling clapped Ellion's back, "It would be a fine contest, but we shall see how the lots are drawn. But any man here would be a fine opponent as well. Ser Robb. Ser Petyr. And my goodbrothers of course. Aemon and Rhaegar are both skilled. And Viserys may even choose to stir himself."

Aemon laughed, "If I know my brother, he'll enter the competition soon enough. Especially the jousts. Riding was always his passion. Jahaerys might even surprise us and join as well. In that case, I'll have stiff competition if I intend to crown Myrcella the Queen of Love and Beauty."

The Prince of Dragonstone looked at all of the knights gathered, his companions and friends, and said, "Gentlemen, may the best knight win. But whatever happens, it is my honor to compete next to such puissant and chivalrous men and women."

Alester extended his hand mechanically, in the same polite manner as he did with Ellion. He didn't squeeze the Lannister's hand as hard though. "It cannot be helped if my opponents forfeit before facing me." He said, doing his best to ignore the jab of the Lannister cub, there were illustrious invitees in front of him and a exchange of wits might not be the best idea. His eyes drifted to the Crown Prince. "My thanks, my Prince. Likewise." He added, with a formulaic nod.

Ellion looked across, nodding, a smirk on his face as he knew this would be a little fun, indeed, to prove himself here and showcase what he learnt, win or lose, it would be an experience and he had what it took to play with those who were undoubtedly more experienced and had a far greater tally of stories to tell than Ellion.

Alester Florent, the Fox may have been a Lord from a noble house, and marrying his sister, a smart man, but Ellion didn't like him for how he did these things, or just spoke. It felt strange, it felt like he couldn't trust the man, perhaps from youth. They were good friends, until Ellion showed him why....well, you don't duel a talented swordsman for honour, that of his sister, and he recalled that it had been a fight that Alester had never been able to get over. Perhaps he had a chip on his shoulder, and even Ellion could tell that it was what drove his sister the same way. One of the few things he agreed upon with her, in fact, and it almost drove Alerie to become the political and scheming animal she now was.

"Aye. Let this be an honorable fight." Ellion replied, with his gentle smirk still on his face, as he nodded to Aemon and Tom.

----

After meeting with the other two, Ellion headed back to a seat, and began checking over his blade, as well as a few straps on his armour, aware that the draw was going to commence shortly.

Mirren entered the room wordlessly, though not silently. Her armor clanked with an audible racket, and the large sword hung across her back bumped against the doorframe.

She stepped up to him, raising an eyebrow. "Your father has sent me in to say hello, good sir." She declared with mock severity and formality. "I see thou art preparing for yet another bout in the field?"

Turning his head, Ellion smiled, seeing Mirren Sand, the mercenary that had been in House Tyrell's service, come to visit. To say that the two were chums was legitimate, given her talent with a sword. A good foil to him, and whilst she had been away for a long time.

"Mirren! It's good to have you back." Standing up, Ellion left the sword by his side, as he walked up, hugging her and sharing a soft kiss, strongly embracing her through the plate, as he looked at her sword.

"They...seven hells, they managed to craft the blade? That's a fine piece." Ellion was aware of the Trident from dispatches sent by Garlan to him, and Ellion had met Mirren in King's Landing before she had sailed to the east, to have the barbaric weapon reforged. It was an impressive two-hander, a brutal weapon in the right hands, no doubt.

Mirren grinned, "Aye, that they did. Arrived on the ship back from Qohor yesterday evening, in fact. Swore me to 13 oathes of secrecy about how they went about it, but they managed it alright." She returned the embrace, and stepped back, undoing the clasp holding the blade in place at her back. "Sharp as a razor, hard as a coffin nail. Like the hells below decided they needed a counter to the Valyrians and their steel." She nodded, handing the blade over to him, "Your family decided to finance that expedition, I figure I owe it to you to let you take a look for yourself, at the very least."

Ellion weighted it in his hand, looking along it's surface, something strange, almost mystical about it, it felt hellish and imbued with some weird spirit. Like that of what he saw in the Stepstones.
"It's a....heck of a thing." He simply remarked, nodding as he looked to Mirren, smiling.
"Feels almost...well, I can't describe it. I'm glad you got it, Mirren." He added, offering it back to her.

"It'll serve you well. Has it got a name?" Ellion questioned, knowing she'd perhaps give a sarcastic response and he was risking that, but he would ask anyway.

"I'm no great shakes at naming, I'm afraid if I did give the blade a name it'd be something awful." She confessed, raising an eyebrow. "That, and I don't think a blade deserves a name until it's done something of note. Give me another Bezel to kill, then we'll talk naming conventions of sharpened metal. That, and this piece feels almost sinister - might be bad luck to give it some ominous name. Perhaps it needs a more peaceful name, hmm?" She winked, "When nations war with each other, they say you let slip the dogs of war. What say we name this blade the puppy of peace?"

She grinned, "So, for which fair maiden are you fighting with the hope of ravishing today, hmm?"

Ellion chuckled, shaking his head, knowing full well Mirren knew how to make him laugh, a similar sort of sarcasm running through both of them.
"Ha, and what a name that would be. A humilating way to die. Perhaps you are right, it shall earn it's name." He replied, as he looked out to the field, before back at Mirren once more.
"You know, I'm not sure. I think there may be a girl in the crowd who may catch my eye. Or one of the Targaryen daughters. Who knows what the Bravethorn might do." He was rather simple to suggest it and a little fiery in his reply given he'd just done the universally-accepted, ultra-twattish thing of refering on his own nickname in the third person, though he had more on his mind, brushing his brown locks away from his face. It was mostly sarcasm, perhaps he already knew his stature, and didn't entirely deny that it was what it was now, something much bigger than the Tyrell himself.

"As for ravishing, though....I don't think there's a fair maiden quite as exiting as you." Ellion giggled, almost playing with her, as he stood tall, grabbing another wooden stool, dragging it over to let her sit by his side,before he took a seat of his own.
"What about you? You'll have to name a fair...man, if you win?"

Mirren raised an eyebrow, "I'm hardly in opposition to ravishing a fair maiden myself, though one of the downsides of maidens is they do tend to lack for experience, an unfortunate side effect, I must say. Not much desireable in a ragdoll who knows nothing, to be frank." She grinned, "Though I must say, I'd be more inclined to name a barrel of some aged Arbor Gold, myself."

Ellion chuckled, nodding.
"Aye....I agree. A girl who knows how to make you feel special....they usually know what they're doing." Ellion laughed, as he looked across, nodding to her comment on Arbor.
"They brought quite a bit of the wine. If you're in the melee, I'd save on the courage." He commented, the hustle and bustle of the tent now picking up as one of the fights was over, and another couple of Knights headed out.

"So now you're back...I suppose my father would like you to continue in his personal guard, and the family. That and other work they need of you. I find that strange, a girl of your talent just standing by people and killing anyone that tries to kill them. You're a far more venomous woman, more capable. Strong enough to make you more than a passive fighter, I am amazed you don't go on jousting tilts or fighting more. Still, I suppose me and you can catch up a little. Spar a bit, and indulge in this dirty capital of a city we have."

"No wine until after I give a few hedge knights some good bruises to nurse tomorrow." She shot back, "After that, well, I guess we'll have to wait and see. Maybe some wine will saunter up after the next bout, blushing and asking my name? Who knows." She slung her arm through the loop on the sword again, giving herself a shake to readjust everything. "As far as jousting goes, it's never been my forte. Give me a sword or a bow any day, but I'll leave the jousting for the highborn lads with little else to do but ride and ride - both horses and whores. I'll take a good tussle in the dirty any day. As far as why I've not been prolific..." she trailed off, folding her arms. "I haven't been in Westeros for a year, and before that for several more. There's been precious little opportunity, truth be told. This is the first in Westeros I'll be partaking in, matter of fact."

"Hmm....and you wonder why I'm so good at both. It'll be a tough tourney, Aemon is a good jouster, as is Viserys. There are others that are talented, but I think I have what it takes, so long as I stay true. " Ellion cooed, nodding in agreement.

"Then perhaps you'll get a chance. A few opportunities to...shall we say, refresh your skills. I'm sure you can do that." Ellion added, as he thought of the very idea of Mirren on a horse, alike how Garlan told the story to him of her slaying that beast in the Red Mountains, was not one to be underestimated. She had to have some talent, at the very least to take on someone who wasn't seemingly very mortal.

"You'll build up your talent, Mirren. Many know you as the person that danced with the devil and survived. I couldn't do such a thing, nor imagine it. And I've fought beasts."

Mirren grinned, "The trick is not to underestimate them. It was a hard fight, no doubt about it. Were I a man, it might have been easier, but then I might have overestimated my own skill against his." She shook her head, "I don't know what stories have been spread around, but that fucker left me bedridden for a whole season. He kept moving after I cut his tendons, and nearly killed me with a dagger in his neck."

She shuddered, "It was like fighting a man with thrice the strengthof a smith, and thrice the agility of a runner. If you want me opinion, I won only because he underestimated me, as many others did him. But if nothing else, random hedge knights and plucky highborn sons are a much more comfortable foe these days."

Ellion nodded, listening intently.
"Seven Hells." He only had that to say, as he chuckled at her last comment.
"Garlan had good faith in you. My father does. As do I, Mirren. You speak from wisdom. And well...it got you a rather fine blade. One like no other." Ellion added, chuckling as he listened to what she had to say.

She nodded, "If nothing else, I've learned not to overestimate myself. I can't often rely on naught but brute force, and it's worked well so far." She grinned, tapping the handle of the sword. "Indeed. It's..." She trailed off for a moment, at a loss for words. "It's definitely unique."

After a moment, she shrugged, "Still, 'tis good to see you again. Perhaps we'll meet down there in the melee, it's about time I got to see your proper sword in action."

Ellion giggled at her little innendo, sighing as he leaned back against the barrel by the side of his stool.
"Aye, that'd be good. I think I need to get going soon, Mirren. You too. They'll call the lists soon. And hey, if we end up paired together by random chance, don't go easy on me just because my dad pays your coin." Ellion chuckled, shrugging his shoulders, clearing the air even as awkward as it was.

Mirren nodded, "It's a deal, then."

A friendly collab with @AtomicNut@kingkonrad

Duels in and out of the Arena of Combat

Lord Aerion idly sat in the stands, mildly interested in the fights that were taking place on the field below. He rolled his eyes at the pompous braggart Ser Ellion, the knight looking more like a castle decoration than a formidable foe to be feared. Aerion nodded to Lady Seronna, his friend and Castellan. She smiled and gripped Aerion's shoulder in a friendly manner, before returning to watch the current duel taking place.

"That little idiot looks like a mirror frame. Does he plan to blind his enemies with his shiny armor? What a tosh." Seronna spoke in a playful tone to Aerion. She shook her head and returned to eating some roasted nuts.

"Let him strut around like a peacock, his personality is black and foul, no amount of rose water can hide that. Besides, I say lets see what the Grand Melee holds in store. These little duels are fine and dandy, but they are no true test of a man." Aerion replied happily, letting out a sigh before stretching his back.

He scratched absent mindedly at his collar, pulling the fabric away from his neck to readjust it. Aerion reached down to straighten his attire, the embroidered Gold Dragon upon his chest looked rather dashing in contrast with the deep white color of the sorrounding fabric. These clothes suited his role as a Lord, yet they still would take time to get used to. Odd, he thought, to have gotten used to leathers and common linen clothing that such finery seemed foreign.

As the current duelists clashed below, Aerion cast a gazing glance towards Lady Amber Redwyne, marveling at her beauty. To be so close yet still so far away. Apparently, Lady Amber had been traded away to some prick lord, another lickspittle of the Tyrell's looking for favour. No doubt it had been Lady Alerie who arranged the pairing to gain power over that twit Lord. Aerion tore his gaze away, gritting his teeth before taking a deep calming breath. He would find a way to win the hand of Lady Amber, come Dragonfyre or high water.

Aerion shook his head, banishing such thoughts to the corners of his mind. Instead, he undid his braided hair letting it fall loose about the shaved sides of his head, before meticuliously rebraiding the now shoulder length hair. The sides of his head were shorn clean, his skin well tanned before being hidden by a fiercesome beard, another thing he had kept since the war. The running joke was he looked like a wildling, one Aerion seemed to amused by himself.

"Seronna, what say you to the idea of me joining these festivities upon the field?" Aerion quietly asked the former mercenary.

"If you are bored, go ahead... My lord" she replied in a mocking tone. "It'd be good to see something exciting rather than these strutting cocks in heat." Seronna flashed a toothy grin before beckoning back to the field.

A man-at-arms spoke aloud, one of Aerions retinue of guards, "Ten silver on the Black Fox to win the tourney by days end. And another five on the Lannister to trample that flower knight." The man grinned, starting a flurry of betting from the other guards and even Seronna.

Aerion rolled his eyes and focused on the fight. He took a swig of water from his water skin, before focusing on the Tyrell and Lannister combatants.

It was then when Aerion's lips were denied from any further sipping, as a pair of deft hands extracted the wineskin from his hands. Draped in fine Essosi silks and long flowing silver-gold hair, the voluptuous figure of Lysara snuck from behind the Goldfyre. "That won't do my Lord... Such a person will not drink mere peasant fare in my presence." She said, while procuring a familiar Lysene red wine, mulled with spices and chilled. "I recall this one was one of your favorites. Either or Seran a liar..." The singsong accent of the younger of the Lyseni struck in Aerion's ears like a gentle breeze, as she made her way to sit next to Aerion. "I hope you do not mind that I sit here my lord. I've had enough of Valyrian...strutting cocks, as your castellan wisely indicated." It appeared that the year at court had been gentle on Lysara. Besides the scar of the incident, she had grown healthier, as she now did sleep among ladies and not in a mercenary camp.

Aerion smirked as his water skin was so deftly pulled from his hands. The front of his clothes became lightly damp from the scattering water. He cast his eyes upwards and to the side from where Lysara stood. Her form was exceptionally pleasing, her clothing adding to her overall beauty. Aerion bowed his head and smiled as he spoke to Seran's lovely sister.

"Now how did you manage to get your hands on a drink this fine, that even the nobles of Lys covet it? My Lady Lysara, your brother told no lie, and I find myself now in your debt for such a fine and exceedingly special gift of not only thos drink, but your presence as well." Aerion's voice sounded out in reply, deeply masculaine hinted with the exotic accents of the disputed lands. He enjoyed listening to Lysara speak, her voice seeming to have an otherworldly nature to it, almost like magic.

Aerion stood up, properly bowing to Lysara. "Please, I would be thrilled to enjoy your company and the fine gift of drink and talk." He offered his right hand to help Lysara to a seat, while responding to her final statement, "Yes, the select few seem to behave like they are in some sort of pagent, glittering like birds in rut." He smiled once more, noticing the scar on Lysara's neck, and then paying no more attention to the band of pale scar tissue.

Lysara smirked, as she took Aerion's hand. "Wine merchant daughters have their ways, my Lord. I mulled the wine myself. Purchasing the base ingredients was easier." The Lyseni said, as she took a seat. "Consider it a present. For letting a certain someone arrive with all four limbs and his head intact from the Stepstones." She said in a rare moment of sincerity. Her head coyly tilted as she smiled. "Yes...stale and drole. Not even my brother and his oddities can make up for that." She added as she leant forward.

<<"Now you have wine and fine company... what's cracking a few skulls to you now? Do you think... you could fight flame against flame? I bet you and Aemon would be entertaining, after you trample that Flower Knight addicted to taking maidenheads.">> Lysara whispered in Valyrian, her eyes staring intently with an inkling of impish delight.

Raising his eyebrows in surprise, Aerion grinned softly before listrning intently to Lysara. She certainly was rather unique, singularly so, in a way that could be considered intoxicating. Her words floated across the distance softly yet with careful determination. "I would have been remiss in my duty as a friend if I had let Seran get into more trouble than he could handle. I'm glad he made it back too, hell of an amusement to watch him fight." Aerion leaned back a little as Lysara tilted her head, looking at her with an inquisitive gaze.

<<"Wine and fine company indeed, yet you long for something more? You are very intriguing Lady Seastar." He paused, looking to the field and the current duel. "I think you are trying to bribe me to fight these knights and show them the pride of Lys? If I agree, might I fight with your favour, so that our two Houses may rise above all these other... How did you put it, stale and drole cocks. Lady Lysara, consider me properly bribed.">> Aerion smiled back, before winking mischeviously.

<<"The Prince Rhaegar could get jealous should he find me giving my favor to another man. But on the other hand, if you vye for Shaena's favour... I think you might get it. In any case...">> Lysara added, then stared at the floor, her voice eerily calm. <<"Sooner or later the Dragons will Dance again">> She added.

Aerion stretched in a carefree manner, the way a cat might stretch when wakingnup from a nap. Smiling he leaned in a smidge closer to Lysara before responding. <<"Prince, Lord, King, titles of men. Let him be jealous, perhaps if you seek him, it will only serve to fan the flames of his desire for you. For the princess, I am but a newly minted lord. I aim not for the unobtainable...">> Aerion stood upright casting an amused look at Lysara, <<"Let us hope that such dances are for the ballroom floor and not the skies above our homes. My lady.">>

"I have to go enter myself on the roster." Aerion said with a flourish.

As Aerion exited the stands, making his way through the milling crowds towards the tents for the tourney combatants, there stood Ser Ellion Tyrell readying for his own fight on the fields of glory. Aerion cursed silently to himself, 'Of all the luck, I run into this idiot.'

"Ser Ellion..." Aerion spoke aloud in a cold tone, "Always a privelige to cross paths with you."

The Bravethorn finished polishing the blade, smirking as he saw Aerion, nodding. He had his hair brushed aback, ready to place a helm on his head,
"Aerion. Good to see you again. Long time since the Stepstones." He added, as he twirled the blade, keeping it on the barrel by his side, as he stood.
"You seem like you're readying yourself for the roster. Going to take a shot?"

Inside his head, Aerion thought darkly of Ellion, before responding in turn to Ellion. "Yes, that it has been, you were among the many to leave once the main hostilities ended." Aerion edged about a squire running by.

"Ever astute though, I find myself growing bored of watching, so I will join alongside in theses tests of skill. I see you look decorative as ever, quite different from real combat not so long ago." Aerion's tone borderlined on a mixture of disdain and thinly vieled courtesy.

Ellion smiled, nodding, as he looked to the rest of the Knights, then back at Aerion.
"I'm a Master at Arms in King's Landing. I did my part, killed a fair few, earned my name. And besides, it's not all just about pure martial abillity today, perhaps something more. We are merely actors, dancers in a very impressive spectacle. A Great House does not go unrepresented and in a poor fashion. Not one of my father's prowess in the realm. The people want to know that there is chivalry in this world. And none better than a Knight of the Reach in all Seven Kingdoms as the trope." He mused, looking over the blonde-haired bastard, respecting the man but being acutely aware there was a little beef between the two. His tone, his general mannerisms just suggested that to Ellion, so he didn't want to make an ass of himself.

"What would the people think if we didn't have something up our sleeves. It's the romance, the thrill of the chase, Aerion." Ellion chuckled, leaning on the barrel, shaking his head, standing close to him, looking into his purple eyes with a distinct beam.

"We give them what they desire, their fantasies of nobility. But the fighting is real, and it'll be an opportunity to prove myself. It'll be an honor to face you, if it comes to it, Ser Aerion. I imagine me and you will have a rather good bout." Ellion replied, as he took the blade once more, gently lifting it by the pommel, gathering his helm in his left hand, awaiting Aerion's reply.

Aerion stood gazing at Ser Ellion with his dark amethyst colored eyes. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, knowing deep down the gilded knight of the Reachbtruly believed such fanciful things. 'No doubt the result of growing up pampered and away from any real danger... ' Aerion thought to himself. He clenched his jaw for a moment, before speaking in return.

"Master of Arms? Congratulations on your new station. No small feat indeed. I can only hope those you train will be as skilled with a blade as you are with the art of personal appearances. Killing, maiming, and the like, a word of caution, dont grow to enjoy it Ser Ellion, I hate for such an esteemed performer to become little more than a mad dog, or in your particular case, a wilted and blighted rose. At least that is what certain women say." Aerion smiled in a disdainful manner,bfor he heard much of Ellion's indiscretions.

"These hard working men and women want to see us batter each other to pieces, not some pagentry show. To them, this is a break from the everday lives they toil away at, romance is a fanciful thing that the powerful toy with, stealing it away as it pleases them, Ser Ellion. You should be more than aware of that. If we cross blades, I wont fight you out of honor or romance, bah, it'll be out of spite for what your..." Aerion venemously spat, before stopping, taking a breath, and smiling.

"May the Seven watch over you." Aerion end cooly. "Its Lord now, Lord of the Aegonfort."

Ellion chuckled lightly, shaking his head, as he looked to the crowd, and then back at Aerion.
"Well, Lord Aerion. You seem to believe rumours an awful lot. Almost like you'd like to know what that would be like to live that life. I mean, you speak from a....wanting perspective. Like you like the thing you hate." Ellion span the sword, picking a piece of dirt off the end, chuckling, not even taken aback, merely letting it flow into his stride. He respected Aerion, but that was a little...harsh. The man was well travelled, and a weathered soldier, but he never seemed to disenage, it seemed.

"You've clearly never been to a melee or a tourney of Westeros, if you don't know the reason why a Reachman espouses that value, nor any Knight. I'll batter a man with a blade, or a woman, no lesser for it. You say they don't want it, but I know they relish it. Listen to them. You give them what they want. I've not seen the world the way you have, and I agree. It is fanciful, silly to an outsider. But in demand no less, much like a phallic end would be to a Qarthian merchant, a thing of culture. What lays beneath this plate has earnt that right to hold my family's honour, and did not earn my name by pure idiocy. I don't think I shall stop any time soon, and I am learning more of this business, seeing more things, doing more. I've seen what it's like to stalk in something that isn't shiny and murder in cold blood for the greater good. I know how it is to keep a heart and keep a soft, bodily touch with someone close to you after you've turned a man inside out like a fucking animal. Don't think that I don't understand that this life is troubled. I serve my House, just as like how you served coin once, and now both of us, the realm. I have a brother who sits at home and will rule a Kingdom with his wife and children, and I desire no Lordship, Lord Aerion. I have nothing to lose if I die because I'm nigh twice removed from the line of succession, nearly thrice."

Standing tall, as he placed his sword down gently, placing his helmet on, screwing it tightly into the mount of the curiass, visor up.
"I imagine we will batter each other to pieces, as you say. Let's agree on that. But I know right know, exactly what I'm going to do. Best of luck, Lord Aerion."

"Glad you are making friends, Ellion." Alester deadpanned after rising from his seated position, checking what was the ruffling of feathers he was seeing. To his surprise it was not the usual drole droning of the lion cub with way too much manhood to prove, but one of the dragonseed retainers of the Crown. He wondered if these people came in bulk like the birds. And why did it seemed like he wouldn't be surprised if this one knew Seran too?. "Don't you have to fight right now?" He tried his best to defuse the situation and avoid more pandering and ruffling. While he disliked Ellion, Alester was a man of curt words and unusual for a Reachman, was an advocate of simpler being better.

Ellion didn't respond to either, with only a nod to Alester to indicate he didn't care for his sarcasm. It was a fair point to make nonetheless as the Tyrell had his longsword in hand once more, gently tilting his visor down, twirling the blade in his hand elgantly. He exhaled as he stood tall, a couple inches taller than the other two Knights, walking out into the field with a strong step in his feet, the golden-green scarf wrapped tight around the cuirass and the silvery plate shining in the light, a little dulled to make it not overbearing but nonetheless, bright. Words weren't needed now to reply to the other two. There was a fight to have.

Facing across from him was Petyr Hill, the bastard of the Hound, a man of formidable stature, taller than even himself. Ellion knew the man was taught by his bastard father, which meant that he had a lot of fucking violence to give with the two-hander in his hands, a tool he'd no doubt use to his advantage. Looking across, he swung his own sword, almost as to taunt, opening himself to Petyr. The signal was given, as Ellion only took a few steps forward, letting Petyr take the initative.

And that he did, with a fast and hard-hitting sideswipe, Ellion having to almost duck and parry the blade, moving himself out of the way, given the amount of strength behind the blade, rolling out. This wasn't gonna be easy, that much he could tell. But it had taken a nice bite out of Petyr's endurance.
"Come on then!" Ellion yelled, as Petyr charged once again. His old man didn't teach him discipline, and many did see Ellion as being too young, too cocky and too fervent in a fight. He knew what to watch, and no doubt, he imagined Petyr saw him as someone too lanky to hold himself together in a fight against a two-hander. Yet Ellion saw this differently. The man was big, and tiring every time he went in, despite his youth, and each hit felt like being hit by a sledgehammer, as Ellion parried.

Swords clanged ,as he righted himself, pivoting on his foot as he pushed the sword away with a glance, pushing forward and directly at Petyr, aware he'd just made a very good attempt, and it had nearly pushed him over. He was fatigued himself from this onslaught, but every time Petyr had struck, he'd held more energy than his opponent. Now, he could punish him for it. The longsword was far more versatile and pivotal than the two-hander, as Ellion pushed forwards,chuckling under his visor, going low as he smashed Petyr's lower plate on his cuirass, knocking the wind from his gut as he almost effortlessly glided into the man, sword now slamming into the top of his plate. It knocked him aback, as Ellion didn't stop, landing hit after hit with the blade, capitalising on the confusion, and managing to finally expose his guard with the two hander, blade to his neck.

It had been a tough fight, and he was seeing colours, knowing it had been only his technical abillity that had saved him there. If Petyr wanted to kill him, and was better in a melee, Ellion knew he'd be better running. He knew what worked and what didn't if an opponent didn't need to be knocked down, not killed, and Petyr, with that zweihander and more rage than a melee, would be someone that would need a very long time to draw down. For now at least, Ellion had won the fight, as he exhaled hard, nodding.
"Yield."

Petyr nodded ,as he muttered, swearing, Ellion nodding as the crowd cheered, Ellion taking a moment to stand right by him, close enough to speak without the crowd drowning out.
"You're a good opponent, Ser. I wouldn't want to face you in a battlefield. You'd kill me if you did, you're relentless." Ellion said, close to Petyr, breathing hard from fatigue, tired and glad to make it through the onslaught.

Petyr, young and brash, but newly knighted managed to bite down on the famous Clegane anger for a moment, "Aye ser. You're no prancing fop either. This just means I have to train harder." Petyr inclined his head to Ellion. In his black plate, standing next to Ellion, many were reminded of the Knight of Flowers and the Hound shoulder to shoulder a generation past. Many cheered on the young knights equally for the display. Even Petyr's father could be seen cracking a small smile as the Pup shook Ellion's hand and marched off of the field.

Ellion shook his hand, keeping humble, as he nodded with a smile to him. Visor up, he headed off the field, no longer swinging the sword in his hand, as it felt like his hand was seized almost solid, the adrenalin now dropping away as he felt heavier, direly in need of a drink, direly in need of a seat, and a breather.

And that was what he found, as Duncan, his squire ran up, bringing a pale of water, Ellion taking his helm off and dunking his head in. The boy knew exactly what he'd seen, the Tyrell had trained his squire well to understand that some fights were not always pleasurable, or easy. That wasn't.
"Seven Hells...." Ellion mumbled, breathing out, his face and hair soaked, Duncan bringing a cloth to bear as he passed it to his teacher.

"Ser Clegane was tough. That man is younger than me, but he's still tough as nails." He said, as Duncan nodded, agreeing with no doubt as Ellion exhaled, now coming back to his senses.

"Aye, Ser Ellion. You fought well with him. Do you think you will be feeling well for the next round?" Duncan asked, as Ellion nodded, a little stream of water running still from his hair down his face, as he brushed it all back out of his sight.
"I think I'll be fine. Thank you, Duncan. Get my blade polished again, please." He added, passing him the sword, still panting a little as he chuckled.
"Okay....focus, Ellion." He mumbled to himself, looking back on at the tourney field in a gaze.

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

Aerion let his breath out slowly, the air hissing out from between his teeth quietly. Tensing up, Aerion slowed his breathing before working to calm down. It was clear that the two men would not agree, and Aerion chose to let it go. His anger and distaste for Ellion, and the hidden burning hate for Allerie could wait.

"May the Seven allow us to meet on the field of battle and test one another... Allow me to hinder your pagentry no more, Ser Ellion, enjoy your theatrical production." Aerion dipped his head, now turning to gaze upon the newcomer.

He watched the man talk down to Ser Ellion, idly amused that another appeared to find Ellion in the same vein of distaste as he did. Aerion inclined his head to the man, who seemed to carry the air of a lord himself.

"Honored to meet you, My lord?" Aerion ended the statement with a questioning tone.

"Just call me Les." Alester Florent stated bluntly. "It's faster, and you probably know my titles and whatnot, Lord Aerion." He paused. "Likewise." Sighing he took a deep breath. "We ought to try and hide it better, don't we? Specially when that...person is going to be my goodbrother. Don't really dislike my fiancee tho, Alys is unlike him or her...sister." He said, almost tempted to draw out the pause more than he did.

"Wait a second, you're the one chasing the Redwyne girl, aren't you My Lord?" He added, a comment springing on the back on his mind. "That or Seran's sister. But you don't look like a lady. Unlike him." He smirked.

"HEY! Now you're doing it on purpose!" Seran's voice could be heard from a distance.

Aerion made a formal half bow, before speaking in an amused manner. "Les? Fair enough then, for the sake of brevity. As for our shared distaste, agreed, at least in the public eye. I am glad that not all Roses are alike, the Seven must have blessed your betrothed." Aerion finished, offering a friendly smile.

Aerion sighed, nodding his head and rubbing his eyes. "Seems that everyone knows of my plight and unsuccessful quest for Lady Amber's hand." Aerion then switched to Lyseni Valyrian, mumbling lowly, <<"No thanks to that scheming bitch.">>

Aerion shook his head. "Lady Lysara has her heart set for a higher station and place at the table. I seek not to try and interfere in her heart's desire. She is a beautiful woman, but I am not the 'Dragon' she fancies." Aerion smiled, looking towards the direction of Seran's voice.

"Ser Seran's looks are not the measure of his character. He is more a man than a certain rose prone to blight upon its thorn. You fought well, Les, Seran can be a tricky foe."

"That one...she may be a pretty dragonseed, but I pity the man she sets her sights on." Alester sighed too. "I may be young but I also know a little about that kind of thing." He paused. Did he really hear that he wanted a ham sandwich in Valyrian? It didn't sound really nice. "I tried to chase the eldest sister. And after she laughed me, i tried to beat the brother. A 15 year old would not have much chances."

"And let's be honest, my chances are better now, but I don't think they are enough." He waved his hand. "On the other hand, you seem, fresh and roused, and definitely someone who could give the Crown Prince a run for his dragons." The Fox Lord pondered. "So here is a suggestion. We speak with the tourney manager, you replace the knight that forfeited on me and you don't have to fight the rabble to get to the important bits."

"Problem being, you would have to fight me." He shrugged.

"We are but servants to the yearning of our hearts. Be glad you have found the younger sister to be a better match. Yet, this is today, and your offer at hand. A bold man, an overly confident fighter would jump at this chance. I must refuse normally, Les. Honor has its place, but time is short and pressing. We both yearn to put that pompous rose in his place. I'll bite. I assume you'll give me a fight to remember?" Aerion smiled through his beard, offering his right hand to shake on it.

Alester smirked, as he shook Aerion's vigorously. "It'd do you a disservice as warrior otherwise. We only grow by testing our limits. And a tourney is one of the few places recklessness won't get you killed. Be sure to bring your Valyrian steel." He finished before letting know.

"The jousts can help me to recover face, anyway. I wish to see a certain someone crowned Queen of Beauty. Now, let us arrange this with the Tourney Master, aye?"

"Please, lead the way Les. I'll see to it that you will have no push over opponent. If fate favors one or the other, I still wish you luck in the lists." Aerion stepped back, to allow Alester lead the way.