It was late at night and Corlys had been writing letters nearly nonstop. Rhaenyra had a dozen or so lords pledged to her cause and the greatest of them was himself. She needed more men, and as quickly as possible. He had been working his way down the list of houses he had compiled back on Driftmark. The families who may have been willing to support Rhaenyra's claim. He had sent personalized messages to scores of houses already, and he was nowhere near finished.

He checked another house off for the initial round of messages and found he had reached House Roxton of the Ring. Corlys took a moment to remember what he knew of House Roxton. It was an old house of great honor. And of middling influence and power. Not a family on the same level of renown and strength as Tarly or Redwyne, but not a petty lord either. They'd be worth courting.

The Lord had died sometime back, he forgot how. But a young girl held it now, with an uncle as Regent. Corlys consulted the current edition of the lineage and histories of the Great Houses of Westeros. Apparently, Frados was the name. He didn't know much about Frados, and he didn't know how much love the family may have for the greens. But he could think of a few reasons for them to support Rhaenyra.

He began writing.

To the honorable Ser Frados Roxton, Regent of the Ring.

My lord, I am sure you are aware of the crisis our nation faces. Aegon Targaryen has usurped the Iron Throne from Rhaenyra. All men know that it is Rhaenyra whom our dear departed King Viserys meant to inherit the throne. Aegon's ascenscion is an insult and a betrayal to his memory, engineered by the duplicitious and rapacious Alicent Hightower and her father Ser Otto. It is a crown that was falsely won with betrayal and deception. This betrayal is also a slight against the rights of any woman to inherit, including your niece Lindsay. If Rhaenyra is deposed by her half-brother despite the will of the King, then all female rulers are so threatened. How can your niece serve a King that won his crown with lies?

I urge you to pledge your banners to Queen Rhaenyra, rightful Queen of the Six Kingdoms, and help us place her in her rightful seat. It need not come to war, but your support will help solidify Rhaenyra's claim.

- Corlys Velaryon, Lord of Driftmark, Hand of the Queen

Corlys rolled up the letter and poured the black wax to seal it. He pressed the stamp of his office on the letter and rang a bell. One of his great-grandnephews, his squire, came to take the letter and send it to Grand Maester Geradys for delivery. It'd reach the Ring within a few days, and hopefully Corlys would have an answer within a few weeks.

Onto the next letter.

Letters. It was always letters these days. Frados held the thin page in his hands with near contempt, thinking about the possibility of tightening his fingers and ripping the paper into nothingness. These past days, the ravens of many a house have been quite busy indeed, zipping back and forth across the kingdom, hopping castle to castle, laden to their beaks with letters. Lindsay was on edge today, that he knew. She was hesitant to talk, or even play games, prefering the company of herself in her chambers. She must know something he didn't. War was coming, that everyone knew. Already, the Ring's enemies are mobilizing their forces, and gazing hungrily at the rounded castle he held. He had to keep his options open, after all. Perhaps its time the Roxtons clawed themselves back up from their low standing. He took out a piece of paper and a quill, and began penning a response.

To whom it may concern, preferably the Lord Corlys Velaryon,

You honor both I and my house with your letter. Not many have the good grace to humble themselves to our level. We like to imagine ourselves in good relations with the mighty House Velaryon, if I could be so bold. A friendship I hope to continue, if the gods smile on us today.

However, your business, I'm sure, is of paramount importance. We here in the Reach can smell the blood of an impending war, as you well know. Your loyalty to your queen is admirable, but in the name of the Ring, I am slightly hesitant to put such faith in an unsure cause. If possible, I would like to speak to you away from these letters. Let us meet in face, where we may exchange information in a more civilized manner.

-Regent Lord Frados, House of Roxton, the Ring

Corlys went through the stack of replies. On days like these, he missed the open sea. He wished he could forget eveything, all of his responsibilities and his duties and sail away to far away lands and foreign shores. To drink and eat and fight and make love. The daring, brave youth he had been decades ago wouldn't recognize the old man he was now. Surrounded by letters and not salt water.

He sighed and reached down to a letter. He saw the golden rings of Roxton stamped into it and grunted in surprise. The reply had come quick. He tore the seal and read it. Better than feared, worse than he hoped. That seemed to be common these days. Frados was hedging his bets, like many of the lords. And he wanted a meeting.

Frankly it was impossible. He was needed here, at Dragonstone. There was simply too much to be done. He wouldn't leave to speak face to face with the Roxtons. They had men, but it was not his place to meet with them. He'd send someone else. Someone he could trust. It needed to be someone from his house. Someone who knew him well and who could speak in his voice.

But most of those who were the best qualified were also needed in either Dragonstone or Driftmark. Someone who could speak to other houses that might have been willing to pledge themselves. Daeron. It would be Daeron. He was young, a knight. Not an experienced diplomat, but earnest and honest. Corlys trusted him and knew he would do his best.

He would sail in the morning. And perhaps serve as an envoy to other houses as well. He just needed to prepare him. He rang the bell and told his grandnephew to send for Daeron.

(In no small part with @MrDidact . Thanks!)

Some weeks later, Daeron Velaryon arrived at the Ring. It was dangerous to travel with Velaryon colors, so the ship that had borne him to the mouth of the Mander had been a non-descript merchant galley that had been on it's way to Lannisport. From there Daeron and his companions had taken a river ferry to Tumbleton and then rode to the Ring. They bore no sigils or device, and wore no garments that signified house colors. To all of the world, they looked like a band of simple Hedge Knights.

With Daeron was a bastard kinsman named Aurion Waters and a serjeant in the Driftmark garrison known as Longjon and a few other men-at-arms. The seven of them saddled the horses they had brought with them from Dragonstone and the group made their ways to the Ring, riding hard and fast. War had not started in earnest yet, but tension was in the air and the roads were choked with smallfolk seeking refuge and soldiers mustering.

The group reached the gates of the Ring, riding slower through the castle town before appearing across from the portcullis and the moat. Daeron took off the helm that concealed his silver hair and violet eyes and called out, "We come to meet with Lord Frados Roxton. He has been anticipating this meeting for some time now. Tell him the Hand sends his regards."

The gates slowly opened with but a hint of creaking, barely wide enough to admit the party one at a time. Thick fog, uncommon to the area, had settled itself around the castle, hazy torches at the top of the wall the only indication of people being up there. The insides were also largely invaded by the fog, and the thickness of it was enough to choke some torches into darkness. A guard rushed into the room, and reported in a hushed whisper the admittance of the delegates. The quiet bickering between Arillos and Ser Haraway died down into quiet.

"Where is Keles?" Frados asked, tapping Maester Serran on his shoulder.

"Apologies, My Lord," came a drawl from the far end of the room. A side door opened, admitting the Salt Dornish, holding up a reassuring torch. "But I had to make a detour. I'm sure you'd understand." Lindsay nervously walked out from behind him, and rushed over to her uncle's side.

"What are you doing?" growled Frados, pulling Keles aside. "What is the meaning of this? I remember leaving rather specific instructions to keep my niece out of this. She's only young."

"I was hoping you'd understand," came Keles' response, accompanied by an impish smile. "I thought it best that our future liege lady have a bit of firsthand experience in governing her future domain. We all want what is best for Lady Roxton."

"And I had thought that making a decision too quickly would make ruin said domain," whispered Frados. "I had thought you of all people wouldn't stoop to -" his tirade was interrupted by the host at the door making its way into the main room, flanked on both sides by Roxton guards.

The party had already surrendered their weapons to the Roxton garrison. But they hadn't found Daeron's dagger, hidden in a boot. Not that it would help should the Roxtons decide to turn on them for whatever reason. But he'd be damned if he was going to be captured alive and handed over to the Hightowers.

But they had already partaken of the bread and salt as well, and Frados had a reputation of upholding his word. But it never paid to take too many chances. Daeron entered, this time with a Velaryon seahorse badge pinned to his dark cloak. He had hidden the badge but he needed the symbol to prove his status to any nobles they met with.

His men walked in in two ranks behind him and the the party stopped before the seat of the Roxtons in the great hall. Daeron smiled at Frados and inclined his head in respect, "My lord, thank you for receiving us." He noticed the girl in the hall and putting two and two together, bowed at the waist in a chivalrous gesture, a wide smile on his face, "My lady, I was not told you'd be receiving us. If I knew, I wouldn't have been dressed so shabbily. Please accept my apologies for my appearance, this is no way for a knight to greet a lady."

He addressed the hall as a whole, "I am Ser Daeron Velaryon, Knight of Driftmark. I come on behalf of my uncle, Lord Corlys. He regrets he cannot meet with you personally, as his position requires him to remain at court in Dragonstone to attend to a multitude of concerns. I come in his stead and speak in his voice."

Lindsay looked on in wonder and confusion at the situation before her. Keles had promised, as he led her down the darkened halls, that today she would take a bit of responsibility for her little lordship. She had hoped for something along the lines of managing the servants in the castle. This threw her completely out of her comfort.

"Uncle," she whispered, standing up on her toes and tugging at Frados' sleeve. "Who are these people? What do they want?"

"Merely fanatics of a faraway cause," he whispered back, tousling his niece's hair. "Since you're here, it's best you quietly watch the situation. It will be yours to handle by fall, if Maester Serran knows his weather." He stepped forward, and adressed the Velaryon host. "May I remind you who you're parlaying with," he said. Sometimes, situations required a firm beginning, especially ones as serious as this. "I thank you for coming, and ask humbly that you make your statement known."

Daeron nodded, standing tall before the knight, "To the point then. My lord, my lady, I come to ask House Roxton to pledge fealty to Queen Rhaenyra. The rightful Queen of Westeros. By now my kin have flown to all corners of the kingdom to treat with other houses, and I come to ask you to join us. Join your strength to ours so we can stand against the usurper, and right this grievious wrong."

"They make a good case," whispered Lindsay, a little louder than she intended. Frados quickly touched two fingers to his lips, a stern expression coloring his face. Lindsay knew well enough when it was best to leave her uncle be.

"I applaud you and your house for your diligence, I truly do." Frados said hastily, trying to bring the conversation back into his control. "But I have . . . reservations. Imagine, if you will, you stand in my place. You ask a small lord, one who can field no more than two thousand arms, to join them in a battle they have little stake in. While at the same time, their strongest neighbors, liege lord, and liege lord's neighbors all clamor to join the opposing sympathies. Do you understand my hesitance? If we swear to you, we would be surrounded by enemies. Can you promise the protection of our castle, like the Tyrells do?"

Daeron tried his best to remain as impassive as possible and not frown, and he believed he did a passable job of doing so. He wished someone else had been sent. He was no politician. But he would do his duty. Daeron replied, "I understand your concerns completely, my lord. I know the Hightowers have pledged for Aegon and many Reach houses have already followed. But I will remind you that while many of the bannermen are flocking to Aegon, House Tyrell still remains undeclared as yet. And you are hardly alone in the Reach. We have already made overtures to the Beesburys, the Rowans, and several others. Since news of Lord Lyman's death, I am confident Honey Holt will join us."

Daeron continued, remembering Corlys' advice as best as he could, "It is true that the Ring is far from Dragonstone. But I will remind you that we have more dragons than Aegon, and we are faithful to our friends. If the Ring is in need of aid, I am certain that aid will come quickly."

He nodded at Lindsay, "If you have concerns for the lady's safety, I am also prepared to offer that she be fostered at Dragonstone with the royal family for the duration of this conflict. It is a strong fortress, that has never been taken and can withstand even dragon fire. And this fortress is in a strong position, commanding the high ground and the approach for miles around. You are far from helpless, my lord."

"Furthermore, we do not require you publicly declare your allegiance. Just that if the time comes, you can stand with us. Either your political voice to forge peace or your soldiers to win in battle."

Frados stopped himself from letting out a sigh. This man, with all his vague promises of dragons and fortresses, asks too much for his liking. It seems, that on this particular side, there are more risks to be taken, but Frados thought again, trying to put as much favor into the white-haired man as he could. Imagine, imagine if this high gamble pays off. The Tyrells are marked traitors, and their Hightower puppeteers along with them. And to whom would these vast domains jump to, after those families are gone? Perhaps it would be best to play the field for a bit longer, and use this seniority to his advantage later. Nobody has to know. Not only that, but the thought of such a large payoff excited him, calling to a primordial part of his mind that he has never been able to squash.

"You make very good points, Ser Daeron . . . if I may call you such," Frados said. "We do have certain ties to the Beesburys and Rowans, after all. My old father, may the gods give him rest, always said that having a friend was the reward for having a friend. And friends we have many, especially now. Perhaps, today, I will at least consider your queen's cause."

Lindsay saw the conversation reaching its conclusion. If she was going to take responsibility, now would be the time to do so. She stepped forward, and brushed her uncle's hand aside when he reached for her shoulder.

"Let it be known, honorable Ser, that House Roxton considers your case, and deem it worth thought. While it may be much to ask our house to put a bit of hope in your place, I believe that in the spirit of good friendship, you would do no less for us." She concluded her outburst with a curtsy, and stepped back to her uncle's side. He coughed, and she can see the sweat running down his face. Had she done something wrong?

Daeron had felt a pang of defeat as Frados replied to him. The lord would be hedging his bets. It was the smart thing to do. The right thing to do really, when one considered he had a niece to protect. But it stung Daeron still. The best he could tell Corlys was that Frados would consider it. He did an admirable job of keeping his surprise and delight from his face when Lindsay spoke.

Daeron smiled again and once again bowed his head to the young lady, "You honor us with your kind words, my lady. Believe me when I say that House Velaryon also values the friendship of your old, storied house. All I can ask is that you at least consider our request. Even if you decide to remain netural, that would be of great help. And rest assured, that the Hand of the Queen will remember your friendship when Rhaenyra sits upon the Iron Throne."

"Yes . . . " mumbled Frados, dabbing his forehead with a hankerchief. "You have traveled a long time, and I'm sure you and your people want rest, not talk. The servants would be more than happy to guide you to the guest quarters." He then pulled one of the servants aside. "Watch them closely," he whispered. The man he pulled aside, Arillos, nodded with a smile.

"I will watch with harpy's eyes," he said, in broken Westerosi. He then walked over to Daeron's host, to invite them into the guest chambers.

Daeron inclined his head, "Thank you for your hospitality my lord. It has been a long journey and we would welcome a good night's rest." It was far from a yes, but they had made progress. More than Daeron had allowed himself to hope really. Ultimately it was truly up to Frados, but at least the seed had been planted. He had no doubt that the greens had sent someone to plead their case. But he had made a good impression on the lady, and that was a victory in itself. He followed the guards into his quarters, steps light and happy.

Snowfall, once again. It was happening more and more frequently, the white and ethereal droplets of an hourglass that only signaled the grim times. The ones that once held the Crown winter knew it the most, and as such, the motto of the Starks warned about the inexorability of Winter. Like an implacable foe that cut with a thousand swords of ice, and ten thousand arrows of cold winds. Who turned the living into stone with mere touches, and rob the very warmth of the soul. And according to the legends, capable of going even beyond that. Something that had gone beyond so far beyond comprehension of men, that the Wall had to have been built, in order for the icy miasmas called blizzards and frosts would not extinguish the titillating flames of life.

Outside the walls of Winterfell, a cadre of men were loading and unloading carts, drafted by hardy beasts who barely paid attention to the climate, content with eating whatever feed they had been offered. Among them, the Warden of the North was personally overseeing every bit of their industrious work, as they unloaded and loaded supplies from one cart to another. From quarry to quarry. The lord stood tall, strong and proud as he was. A young lord in the prime of life. Courageous and skilled. And yet, his face was devoid of joy, the ever perpetual grim shadow of a frown in his face. Even if it was autumn, it still felt like Winter already. His fingers were numb, and his lungs ached somewhat, possessed by a deep cold that permeated every fibre of his being. But it was not all due to the weather. In fact, it was because he was missing the flame of life of his wife. Only her comforting arms could shake the cold out of him. They said wolves mated for life, and Stark felt that maybe he had more in common with them that he found initially. But he had to shoulder on. He had to be strong. Winter was coming. He had to be there for Rickon, for his subjects, sometimes even friends, who looked up to him.

Cregan sighed, as he eyed the last of the carts being loaded. For the past weeks he had traded his sword with the quill, his mighty northern warriors by a cadre of scribes and maesters, dedicated to redistribute the stocks of all the harvests that were happening throughoutly his entire domain. Everything had to moved around, so the deaths by starvation would hopefully be few.

"See that Manderly shares some of the food surplus with Umber and Mormont." Stark said to his aide, a wiry scribe who jotted furiously. "In return, Manderly may draft some hands from Umber and Mormont to proceed with dock repairs and refurbishing of White Harbor." Cregan announced as he stroke his chin. "We're a bit behind schedule. There's not enough hands nor harvest as I'd like to." He said to the aide once more as he eyed the scenery once more.

"Sir, what about Skagos?" The clumsy aided dared to suggest, as he saw his lord's scowl be more exaggerated, as he mused.

"What indeed. Skagosi have never cared about Winterfell in these years, citing my ancestor time after time." He sighed, as he eyed the unforgiving sky. "But Winter makes all of us brethren, doesn't it? Send a raven to Skagos. Tell them we're swapping sea blubber and skins for vegetables and peat from the Neck. The blubber will be apprecited in the Neck, I am sure. But I won't have my hopes up, they will simply ignore it as they always do." Cregan gripped the pommel of his sword as he gritted his teeth.

Goodness, my Love. What kind of mad world I must raise our son in. Every single person will find a petty reason to start trouble... He became sunken in thought. The familiar beckoning of a female voice and the panting and heavy pounding on the snow awake him of his thoughts. The only other two members of his inner circle, besides Rickon, were there. Arsa Snow, the half-sister of his, her factions obscured by a warm cloak and grey clothes, yet the mischievous locks of hers poked from underneath. She was gripping a finely carved bow as she moved sharply, like the Stoat she was often called. To her side, much to his chagrin, was the Direwolf whom he had shared many moments with. The huge, black savage beast that was Marrow was following her rather playfully, his tail wagging and his tongue drooping like if he were just a young puppy not yet weaned from its bitch.

Damn you Marrow, I always knew you were a womanizer at heart. How come you two are so bloody close this fast? He mentally grumbled, a small cynical pang of jealousy assailing his heart.

"Brotheeer" She called in public. Well, this was the north. All hands were helping hands, and the taint of bastardry meant nothing if you could help against the winter. Cregan didn't mind either, after all she was constantly bringing him out of his foul moods."There's a problem."

"...okay. What is it." Lord Stark turned his back to the procedure, just as Marrow came back to his side, brushing against his left flank.

"Ravens, from the Targayens." Arsa said, nonchalantly as she eyed the rookery.

"Well, don't stay there. Bring me the message." He added, sternly.

"Which one?" She asked, confused.

It was then when Cregans' frown smashed in a hundred of pieces, before quickly recomposing. "What do you mean...Arsa?" He asked, the confusion of her sister being apparently contagious.

"There's two of them." The Snow replied, putting a hand to her well shaped but short frame. Cregan's hand moved swiftly and mercilessly.

The facepalm was heard even by the men who were by the carts. Cregan, without skipping a beat, commanded again. "What are you looking at! Get those carts sorted out!"

Old Gods of the Stream, Forest and Stone... I am surrounded by idiots. He muttered as he begun to pace back inside the walls of Winterfell.

(Collab with @EricRP)

The Explorer, the Mercenary, and the Cannibal

Dragonstone

A handful of voyages in a barely patched-up Ibbenese Whaler had scarce prepared the Lord of Deepdown for this wet hell. A fortnight of lashing rains, howling gales and bitter hails had made the voyage from Skagos to Dragonstone, albeit with a few days' respite in Braavos to collect the bulk of the Company of the Rose's levies, as miserable a journey as ever Kane Crowl had endured. His erstwhile companion and the Company Captain, Albus Norrey had remained chipper enough but his old friend's ceaseless positivity had rankled day by day until Kane had spent the past three nights confined to his cabin- hacking chunks of dried vomit from his, usually, lustrous beard.

The girl had only made things even more complicated. Marga Crowl was Kane's eight year old niece, a sombre and joyless little girl- the only product of his older brother, Kurrgan's marriage to Myrla Stane. She was supposed to be long leagues away back at the Crowl holdfast but had stowed away, bemoaning the notion of being left in the company of Old Corratt Crowl, her Great Uncle who stayed behind to act as Castellan. Kane loved his family well enough, he'd even taken Myrla to wife alongside his own bride, Lady Kendra after Kurrgan died but whilst the odd assortment of Crowls, Stanes and Magnars- all related by blood in half a hundred ways down the centuries- could merrily co-exist rattling around on Skagos, the confines of Norrey's vessel, "The Slattern's Lips" brought everybody into such close quarters that the sight of every single one of them sickened him.

But, he'd endured. Dragonstone- a speck on the horizon when first Norrey sent word of their approach now loomed like some terrific monolith from the turbulent, churning waters upon which they were borne. The likenesses of the carved dragons, too numerous to count, glared like malevolent phantoms at them through the damp sea-mist. He stood, groggily, beside Norrey at the prow as they rolled up sails and cruised gently into an approach, the company oarsmen guiding the ship like the nervous prick of a virgin lover towards their destination.

"M'Lord Commander!" called a voice. "The Sea Snake seeks permission to come aboard!" Kane huffed. Could they not go inside onto some solid ground for these formalities? But Norrey, as fucking usual, seemed delighted. "Aye, Perkins, tell Lord Corlyss I'll meet him in my cabin. Come on Kane. You big fuck. Best exchange pleasantries. Don't fucking throw up on this prick, eh?" He laughed but Kane just glared. He had no humour left in him and whilst adverse weather was the norm back home, rolling around like a cat in a barrel all the while was entirely new and entirely unwelcome. He stalked after Norrey and, for the umpteenth time, cracked his head on the low door to the Captain's cabin despite trying to duck. "Urghh Fuck!" He growled.

"Shush now, y'clumsy cunt! I should take t'price of a new lintel for my door out of your bloody pay! It hasn't closed proper for six nights!" He teased. Kane lumped down into a wide oaken chair and glowered. "Let's meet this shithouse already and we can fuck off indoors!" He checked if the knock had reopened the gash in his forehead. It hadn't and in some measure this left him even more disgruntled.

Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, Lord of the Tides, and Hand of the Queen entered the cabin with a polite smile. He was bedecked in a rich turqouise doublet made from carefully cured leather, a sea serpent pin holding his rich white and blue cloak in place while the chain of his office ran around his neck. A handsome sword with the Velaryon sea horse set into the pommel was at his hip. At his flank were his captain of the guard and nephew, the young handsome Valarr, and one of his grandnephews, the brooding and quiet Aemon. Both were in armor.

Corlys favored both of them with a smile and an inclination of his head, moving forward to shake hands in a firm grip, "Ah, Commander Norrey, you are a fine sight in these troubled times. You come with an excellent reputation. And you must be Lord Crowl, well met my lord. I've been to Skagos but once before and did not stay long, but I met your father. A fine man. A strong man. I was saddened to hear of his passing. I admit, I was surprised to hear that you accompanied the Company of the Rose. I had thought the Skagosi were unconcerned with our southern politics."

"Be welcome to Dragonstone, many of the royal family are presently away but I rule in Rhaenyra's name. There will be plenty of room for your ships to moor and your men to be quartered. I would be honored to feast you tonight as well." His squire, Baelon, his great-grandnephew, came with bread and salt and passed it around to all in the cabin, the Velaryons partaking quickly.

"You don't look much like a snake." Came a small voice. Kane wanted to seethe but he could only place his head in his palm and wait for the damnable child to be done. She'd evidently been hiding behind the curtain but here she was and no doubt intent upon embarrassing him.
"Mind you..." Marga continued in her precocious tone, "I never really saw a snake. We don't get them back home do we Uncle?" As if to make this insubordination worse, she had the nerve to curtsey to Lord Corlys. Albus seemed much amused by this but Kane paled whiter than he already had been.

The older Velaryons didn't skip a beat when Marga appeared, and the grandfatherly Corlys even favored the girl with a warm smile. His squire, Baelon, however blushed mightily and tried not to stare. Lord Corlys spoke, "I am called the Sea Snake for the name of my ship, which has seen me through many adventures. But perhaps one of my kin can show you a real sea snake at some point if you ever have a wish to explore."

"My apologies, Lord Snake.. I mean, Lord Corlys " He rose but had to stoop to cram his seven foot plus frame into the low cabin. "My niece was never much disciplined since her father passed." He put an acid edge into his words, "She lacks courtesy and manners alike. Commanded to remain at home yet she has stowed away like a rat and seems determined to irk me at every turn." It surprised Kane that he could speak so formally, Corlys' station and attire made him feel a common savage and he'd be past relieved when the fighting began and he could focus on something he was actually good at.

The Hand of the Queen laughed charitably, "It is no bother, my lord. She seems quite a bright and precious child. We would be glad to host her, several of the bannermen have brought their children to court and the royal children would be glad to have another playmate." Corlys mulled it over for a moment, brightening, when he retrieved a plainer sea snake pin from his belt and slid it into his cloak before handing his ornate brooch to the young Marga, "Here, not a real one but a handsome fellow all the same. If your uncle allows, consider this a gift. A reminder that there's always another adventure to be had. If one is smart and brave enough."

Kane was clenching his teeth so hard they might shatter. Marga never said 'Thank You' and this was like to be no exception. In all honesty, she rattled around the Keep back home making glib remarks and everyone had learned to pay her no heed. Now though, she'd be able to infect everyone with her gloomy countenance and utterly untempered retorts. She gazed at the brooch in wonderment and said,

"Children? There's scarce any children at home. Father wanted a son but Mummy never grew big with child after me. Mayhaps I broke her. She's Lady Crowl too now, you know? Aunt Kendra is Lady Crowl and Mummy is Lady Crowl again too because Uncle Kane has two wives. My betrothed is called Halys and he's eleven or twelve already. We're to be married when I'm flowered but I hope he doesn't want two wives. i don't like to share." Kane heard the whole dialogue in a kind of stunned horror.

Norrey put in. "My reputation is nought aside yours, Lord Corlys. I make no apologies for little Lady Crowl, she's sharp as a caltrop and thrice as savage. Lord Crowl has joined the forces of Skagos to our own in recognition of their friendship to our Company. He might stumble over his heirs and graces some but this man is as fearsome a warrior as ever I've seen and you'll count me a good judge o' character."

Corlys smiled at both of them, "I thank you, though I fear my warrior and adventurer days may be behind me. Now, I am old, and primarily I write letters. Such is life. Ah, the young lady Crowl reminds me of Rhaenyra in many ways, when she was her age. There is no need to be shameful of her. And Lord Crowl has been the picture of chivalry, his father's son indeed. I'm glad to make both of your acquaintance. If it comes to battle, I'm sure you and your men will be quite brilliant."

Kane felt he ought to say more.
"Lord Sna... Corlys." He had to stop doing that. "I thank you for your kind words about my father. He said you were an honourable man.. I wish..."
"You told me Grandad said "That Snake is a poxy Southern cunt!" Protested Marga. Kane felt like all the air had been sucked from the room. "Excuse me..." He said, he felt his white face boil red from shame and anger. He hoisted the child bodily into the air and stalked from the cabin, cracking his head upon the lintel and splintering the wood in twain. "Fuck's sake!" He bellowed and hurried away, wishing he could topple overboard and let the waves wash the shame from him.

Valarr had to fight to keep a smile from his face while Aemond smirked slightly. Baelon was quite embarassed but Corlys was the only one to seem nonplussed, making no movement or comment as the two Crowls had their disagreement. He coughed as Kane left and nodded at Norrey, "I can see the confines of this ship may be setting the Lord's nerves on edge. I invite everyone to join us ashore, I can give you a short tour and have you all settled into rooms if you wish. The luncheon meal would begin within a few hours and your officers and highborn are all invited."

Norrey had tears in his eyes when he responded. "Forgive me, Corlys, Kane was most wroth when the girl was discovered but I piss my pants laughing everytime she opens her mouth that one!" He chuckled heartily. "Kane, as you'll have guessed, is a Lord in name and status aye but he's no talent for diplomacy and loathes smalltalk. Speak to him tonight when he's on solid ground with ale in hand and a more entertaining fucker you'll never meet!" He finished his salted bread. "His sister's an odd one too, they barely speak but she runs his cavalry. Unicorns Corlys! Have you ever seen these fuckers on their unicorns? We've got 'em penned up separate in a great cog with t'other horses but they're a sight to behold. Only about a dozen but they'll rip an enemy line to bloody ruin." He felt bad for Kane, he worried Corlys might have a negative impression and worried that might jeopardise his confidence in the Company.

"You'll have to forgive some of their customs. The wives and the thralls and what have you. They're a wild people and they live as such. Aye, they've a castle but put a pig in a stable and you can't call it a horse..." He smiled faintly.

Corlys smiled back at Norrey, "There's nothing to fogive Commander Norrey. We all have our talents, and I'm sure Lord Kane's is of a more martial nature. I have great faith that your combined forces will be extremely effective as such."

"I may be a fancy lord now, but I spent my youth travelling the world. I grew up with sailors and soldiers and I've broke bread with Ibbenese and Dothraki and all manner of peoples. The difference in customs and temperment do not bother me, that you can count on. As for unicorns, well that is good news. Tales of their effectiveness in battle are widespread. I saw them, on my visit to Skagos. Awesome beasts. We have a half-dozen elephants in our army as well. Put together, they should be spectacular."

The Sea Snake said, "Rest assured, Lord Kane is as welcome here as any friend to my good daughter. None will want for comforts here. Once the Lord returns, mayhaps we can show you our facilities and speak about how we shall proceed."

Norrey needed no assurances from this man. "We'll do you proud. Aye, we're sellswords, we make no apologies to that end but we'll do t'job alright. Just tell me plainly as one old soldier to another, how rough is this'n like to get? We bring eight thou men and horse plus two thousand Skags but I've made it my custom to let my lads know exactly waht to expect. Then none of 'em can say as they were surprised. We don't stand for excuses. Once under hire we never tire!" He beamed, the little rhyme he'd coined himself and he loved to use it. "Come, let's get inside. I'm sick to death o' salt beef and we've only been asail a fortnight!" He laughed.

A sharp gust rocked the Slattern's Lips again and an echo of 'Fuck's sake' carried on the wind. Norrey laughed.

The Velaryons all rocked with the boat expertly and Corlys chuckled good-naturedly, gesturing for them all to leave the cabin and walk along the deck before heading down the gangplank to shore. They saw that well over a hundred dromonds, cogs, and carracks were at port, with the massive Sea Snake towering above them all. A few score more were just now mooring, with the striped sails and painted hulls proclaiming their Lysene origin.

They saw soldiers patrolling and levies being drilled, as Corlys spoke, "We've gathered just over twenty thousand men and horse from my own forces and those of the other loyalist Crownland houses, as well as sellswords and free riders from the mainland. With the Lyseni, mercenaries, that's a few thousand more fighters there. But I won't lie to you, it will be extremely difficult if it comes to war."

They passed an elephant, Rhaenyra's arms flowing from barding as it stomped past, "We're hoping to secure the aid of the North, the Iron Islands, the Vale, the Stormlands, and many more. I've sent ravens to every house in the kingdom that can be persuaded to help us. But the greens already have many more men than we do, even without those who are yet undeclared."

Corlys looked off to sea for a moment, "Word has it that Aegon is building up the Gold Cloaks, and has hired companies such as the Second Sons and others. The Second Sons alone have well over ten thousand men, closer to twenty if some tales are to be believed."

"And he already has the forces of the West at his call, one of the largest armies in the realm. With House Hightower and half of the Reach, he has even more men. We also fear he is sending to Dorne and the Triarchy for aid. He's well on his way to having a hundred thousand swords. More if the worst comes to pass. That's why we need the North. The Vale. And every house we can get our hands on, as well as the other free cities and more mercenaries. But we do have more ships at the moment. And more dragons." The statement was punctuated when one of the beasts flew overhead with a screech.

The Sea Snake smiled as a man in a flamboyant silken silver outfit with a ridiculously big black cap approached, rings on every finger and a gold medallion hanging from his neck, with a curved saber at his side. The man had long silver hair and lilac eyes and jauntuly swaggered over, "Ah, Commander Norrey, this is Captain Solaro Saan, I met him campaigning in the Stepstones, he was just a stripling no older than Aemon here then. Now he's as good a sellsail as you are a sellsword."

Solaro took off his cap and bowed with a flourish, "The Sea Snake is too kind. Pleased to meet you. I've heard many things about the Company of the Rose. Welcome to our little band."

Corlys smiled, "Shall we get you and your men settled?"

Norrey reciprocated Saan's greeting. He'd been impressed by the elephant and more so by the dragon, a dark shadow. Some of his men could tell you the names of all the known dragons but he'd never troubled himself to learn. It was a big 'un. That was all he knew. The news of how much support the Greens had garnered was sobering but he had no major misgivings over aught he heard. "A pleasure to meet you Captain Saan. I would be much obliged to get my arse ashore and have the animals..." A thought struck him. "Would the horses, unicorns and what have you be safe? Y'know... from these bastards?" As though on cue, another dragon he couldn't name screeched and lurched into the grey gusting skies.

Corlys nodded in understanding, "The horses and unicorns should be quite safe if they remain in stables or in the company of attendants. Our own dragons are trained to recognize our men and our war beasts. For the more.. free-spirited ones, we keep them well supplied in sheep, cows, pigs, and other labor beasts. There is plenty of fish as well. As long as they remain in numbers in stable or with soldiers nearby, they will be quite safe. Are there any other matters you wish to discuss?"

The Commader clasped Corlys' arm genially. "If aught occurs to me, Lord Corlys, I'll ask." He misliked the flavour in the salt tang that blustered across the walkway here. A metallic, steely texture. Quite what preyed on his mind in the midst of this great circus of teeming forests of masts, hulking throngs of animals, swarming multitudes of men and swooping shadows of the occasional dragon he could not say. It was intangible but he felt it nonetheless. "I'll rest and repair some, methinks and get meself spruced up in time for't feast. It'd be best..." He cautioned, glancing around at the maelstrom of churning war bubbling around them, "if we could take to't field sooner rather than later, M'Lord. Eh? But what do I know?" He fancied he might have been too forward but Albus Norrey had never been one to mince his words and that many people, ships, animals and all the rest of it cooped up around the rocky outcrop that formed the Targaryen ancestral seat was a kettle that'd soon boil unless some pressure was released. He'd watched his men and the Crowls spark tensions over nought in a fortnight cramped under one another's noses on the Slattern's Lips. This was like to be the same only magnified.

And on such details could campaigns be won or lost.

The Sea Snake looked around at the men and material gathering on the island. Already there were some tensions between mainlanders and the clawmen, and between the sellswords and the soldiers. Nothing serious, but having so many armed men on Dragonstone without any outlet could prove dangerous. Corlys kept the men busy training, patrolling, and helping build fortifications. There was no lack of gambling, women, drinking, and food either, but a way to relieve the pressure may be well-advised for the near future.

"I'll make sure all of the nobles and officers in your company find suitable accomodations to their station. There will be room in the stables for your mounts and in the barracks for your men as well."

Norrey offered a concilliatory wave in acknowledgement but had already begun his walk towards the steep, stony pathways that climbed in miles of zig-zags towards the entrance to the great keep. The stream of guards, squires, Knights, aides and the like traversing the climb in one direction or other was a dizzying sight; like ants marching hither and thither in an endless frenzy. He must have heard a half dozen different tongues each with another dozen accents and dialects during his climb. He was every inch a Northman but his boiled leathers and matted, torn furs were accessorized with oddments of plate or mail from half the known world. He would have stood out in any civilised gathering under the sun's reach yet not a single pair of eyes did anything other than pass expressionlessly over him before falling back to their task of picking out a route up or down the stony stairs.

Yet upon gaining the summit of his climb, a comely, silver-haired lad bowed to him and greeted him by name before escorting him down long torchlit corridors and under splendid archways, evidently carved by master stonemasons long centuries past because each keystone of every archway was shaped in the fashion of some heraldic beast. Aside from the usual dragons, he spotted growling manticores, thrashing krakens, fearsome hairy giants, a sharp-tusked yale and a prancing unicorn. "Is this Lord Crowl's rooms perchance lad?" He quipped to the silver-haired squire but the lad showed no comprehension of the joke and they continued. They came to a stop at length beneath an archway with the likeness of a direwolf carved into the keystone and Norrey shook his head in resignation. "It fucking had to be, eh?" He muttered but the lad only pressed the keys into his hands and scampered away again. They were a handsome suite of rooms; Norrey only needed a narrow cot or straw if no cot was to be had but Dragonstone had bequeathed him a lavish set of chambers with silken sheeted beds, ornate varnished furniture and drapes of Myrish lace. The carpets were of Essos but he couldn't quite discern their origin yet. Pentos, perhaps? He lit a fire in the hearth, taking in the quaintly painted tiles of the fireplace as he did; all the great houses' sigils were represented and nigh on every other Lordly or Knightly House that had ever been was represented somewhere. When he had time, he resolved, he'd make a point of locating the Norrey thistles and if he could not he'd declare for the Greens! Ha.

His idle fancy forestalled a huge yawn and he undressed and settled down upon the feather mattress; His breath caught as he sank into a luxurious comfort he'd scarce known. Softer than the embrace of a maiden... Sleep came swiftly.

"You're bastard lucky!" Laughed Ser Rolund Hardying at the Bloody Gate. "This past fortnight, the snows have made the climb near impossible." He was a squat, tan man of an age with Jon and seemed prone to chatter. Knight of the Bloody Gate was an honoured but probably exceedingly lonesome post, even with some three-dozen staff and hangers-on. Jon just laughed.
"It's snowed at Ninestars too Ser Rolly. Are you going to ask your bloody question or no?" He quipped. The shorter man made a pantomime of taking offense but grudgingly intoned the old words;
"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" He added a tremulous volume to his voice though Jon had passed into these Mountains a half dozen times before and Ser Rolund knew him well enough.
"Ser Jon Templeton- Knight of Ninestars, Knight of the Vale, Bannerman to Lady Jeyne Arryn- Warden of the East, Ser." He looked straight ahead, playing the stranger for this time-honoured, if tedious, ceremonial charade.
"And who, good Ser, goes with you?" Pressed Hardying, the red and white chequered surcoat of his House riffling in the strong autumnal breeze.

"My Squire, Harold Stone, my late brother's bastard son; my Master At Arms, Kennet Nash and a retinue of four-dozen Templeton men-at-arms and a score of cavalrymen besides." On cue, a horse whickered and got a sharp slap to the neck for its trouble.
"State your business, Ser" Rolund intoned, already bored of the chore now.
"I mean to pledge my strength to Lady Arryn in light of recent tidings from Kings Landing and Dragonstone alike." Jon spoke smoothly, tonelessly.

"Lady Arryn has called no banners." A taller man, cast in bronze mail, slipped from the shadows of the gatehouse.
Jon was surprised, then irritated. "My apologies, Ser Yorbert, but I speak to Ser Rolund presently. Yorbert Royce was nephew to Rhea Royce, named for his great uncle who had represented Lady Jeyne at the Great Council in 101AC, now his older brother held Runestone and Jon's older brother had died to put him there. The lanky lad had a habit for interruption and spoke more in a minute than he would stand to in a moon's turn.

Ser Rolund looked uncomfortable by this interjection but conceded, "Ser Yorbert must needs remember that I am Knight of the Gate and not he, yet he has the right of it. Lady Jeyne hasn't declared either way yet, much less called the banners." He smiled apologetically.
"What of that?" Chided Jon, "I'm a Knight of the Vale! Might I not pass into the Mountains of the Moon as I please? As my Lady's leal bannerman?"

"Steady now, Jon!" Rolund raised his palms in an attempt to pacify the normally easy-going Knight o' Ninestars. "Of course you may pass, but I can hardly let Seventy armed men and horse through unquestioned now, can I?" Jon bowed his head in apology.

"My force is but a token of what I would bring into my lady's service. They need not make the climb but can remain at the Gates of the Moon or I can have them camp here if it please you better, though I warn you, the men eat more than the horses and shit thrice as often!” He hoped the jest would be well received.

“That won’t be necessary, Ser Blackstar, the Seven protect you. I wish you safe passage.” The squat knight stood aside and Yorbert Royce scowled sullenly as the yellow and black clad column filed past.

“I thought the Knights of the Vale were all friends…” mused Harold once safely out of earshot of the gatekeeper and his disgruntled companion. The lad had the strength of a boar and his shoulders were thick knots of coiled muscle. He had little of the look of his father, Ronnel, though Jon’s older brother’s life had been marked by the childhood ailment that left him half a cripple. He was plainly garbed as was his wont and Kennet Nash, tall and with a thick grey beard rode beside him, his brow furrowed in thought.

“In theory, yes.” Jon explained. “In times of war the Knights fight together and are as fearsome a force as any in the known world, yet” He turned to the lad, “the rest of the time we’re like any other brothers, ruled by petty grievances and trivial envies…. Yorbert Royce back there, the bronze streak o’ piss, mislikes us because Uncle Gawayne unhorsed his father in some tilt and him and his brother have always claimed it was done by some underhand trick. Never actually had the truth of it. Never much cared for jousting since losing my father all those years back…” Jon shrugged, it was a painful memory but long years had numbed the hurt and it was done and gone now.

“Would Uncle Gawayne cheat to win a tilt?” Harold puzzled.
“Yes!” cried Jon, Harold and Kennet together. The old Master-at-Arms had grumbled that he was getting too old for these journeys but Jon had insisted. Nash had some ingenius weapon design that he thought might prove useful for any that may wish their keep defended from dragon-attack. There’d be plenty afeared of that, he worried.

The grey-green peaks of the Mountains of the Moon were capped with white still and the travellers were passing relieved to be off the High Road, not that Jon feared the Mountain Clans, they were sporadic and opportunistic but would have sense enough to know not to molest a party of armed men and horses of a landed Knight. The relief was at seeing the end of the journey before further snows swept in and made ascent to the Eyrie impossible. Overhead, a crow cawed as it sped past high above them; no doubt ferrying word of their arrival on to the Gates of the Moon. From there, they would continue as a trio to the waycastles Stone, Snow and Sky which garrisoned the narrow goat-track that proved the Eyrie’s only way in or out. It was the smallest castle of the Great Houses in the Seven Kingdoms but to assault it was unthinkable. Dragonback was the only feasible attack plan and once Kennet proposed his idea to Lady Jeyne, Greens and Blacks alike might think twice even of that option.

The smallfolk were busy in the valley, innumerable carts rumbled past in both directions during their half day’s ride towards the Gates of the Moon. The break in the snows had given them a chance of finishing collecting their harvests and swelling their stores. The promise of winter had been exacerbated by the threat of war and whilst there was scant probability of fighting between the two gatehouses here in the Vale, the smallfolk hurried this way and that to safeguard lest the worst did happen. Jon could scarce blame them, the markets outside Ninestars had tripled their trade in the days before they departed as people rushed to secure their families’ provisions for ought that was to come.

He’d left his Uncle, Gawayne in charge though he knew Ronnel’s widow would rule the roost in his absence as she practically did whether he was there or no. By day she frustrated and terrified him in equal measure, by night… the less said the better. Some addictions were harder to best. He was glad to be free of the place, he always felt better ahorse, sword at his side and in the company of fellow soldiers. Women always complicated things and whilst he held no proclivities for bedding men as oppose to women, he often fancied that to do so would certainly simplify things somewhat.

He kept those musings to himself. It was a relief too, to have Harold free of the castle. Too much time within those walls brought all kinds of private rivalries to bear and the lad’s affections for their young Sunderland ward was certainly getting the widow’s back up; Allayne Templeton, a Waxley by birth, had been mother to Birgitte Sunderland ever since Jon had brought her back from The Eyrie as a squalling babe some dozen years past. A scheming and bitter woman, she had, at least shown some real talent parenting Birgitte in lieu of a child of her own and had surprised some that she had capacity to love at all. But however strong her love for Birgitte grew, it was counterpoised by her disdain for Harold. It was scarce hard to blame her, Harold was shame for her made flesh; Ronnel’s bastard, sired on some camp slattern, one of Uncle Gawayne’s late wife’s handmaidens and he grew hardy and strong whilst the twisted and malformed Ronnel could scarce rouse himself to enter Allayne, despite her considerable charms.

Jon, to his eternal shame had come to know those charms only too well and still regularly received his brothers widow in his bed in the black of night. But he was free of her for now and felt better for it. Harold seemed happier too, having seemed to pine for Birgitte in the opening days of their cumbersome march. They’d had to come twice as far West to go back East, given Ninestars’ location on the Southernmost of the fingers upon Serpent’s Bay. They’d been received at Snakewood by the Lynderlys that first night and feasted again at Heart’s Home two nights later but largely they’d faced comfortless camps and scant, barren foothills for the bulk of their journey. Even their final reception at Strongsong, barely four days past seemed a distant memory after long days in the saddle.

Corbray, Lynderly and Belmore alike had all asked the same question; why not just take a ship? The Serpent’s Bay current was slow at this time but when he’d set out, Jon hadn’t been convinced the snows wouldn’t swell the Serpentine and jeopardise their safe passage; in truth, though he’d come the long way around to gauge the mood of his fellow Valemen. there was a tension everywhere they went, though and whilst there was little to no love in the Vale for Daemon, the Queen’s husband, he found none who spoke fondly of Aegon either. As the light dwindled in the West and finally left the valley, the stony crenellations of the Gates of the Moon stood etched like indigo shadows across the neck of the valley to guard the ascent to the Eyrie. Far off a shadowcat yowled and Jon smiled as Harold unconsciously shrugged his shaggy black cloak tighter around his shoulders at the sound.

“The echoes make them sound louder, lad.” Nash put in. “They’ll be long leagues off in truth and not like to attack a great host such as ours.” Harold harrumphed, “I’m no craven!” Which made Jon and Kennet chuckle. “Just make sure you leave bread beside you as you sleep and they’ll take the loaf and leave you be.” Kennet reassured him.
“They eat bread?” Harold frowned in doubt.

“Love it.” Jon added. “Some of the older cats bake their own” Kennet and the Blackstar erupted in peals of laughter.
“Fuck off!” Harold spat and spurred ahead as his uncle and the Master-at-Arms howled in mirth. They caught him up as Bronn Waynwood and a detail of some dozen knights stood to receive the party at the Gates. The Templeton levies were already unpacking to make camp to await the Knight’s return but Nash, Harold and Jon signalled their intention to make the climb by night. He wouldn’t risk further snows and committed to continue whilst the going was fair. After speaking with Lady Jeyne he knew they’d be bestowed every comfort the Eyrie had to offer.

And perhaps he could discover what his liege Lady’s intentions were where nobody else had.

(Collab with @EricRP and @NecroKnight)

Storm's End
The Gathering Storm

The next morning came, the clouds having not abated and covering the land in a grey murk. Rain still drizzled on the stone dome of Storm's End. Eventually all the visiting nobles gathered in the hall once more. The mood was quiet and somber, and all were on edge. Rhaenys entered the hall with a frown, taking a seat with thoughts as foreboding as the sky outside.

They had managed to make a commitment from Houses Toyne and Lonmouth to commit their troops and those of the lesser lords and landed knights sworn to them. Their families would all be sent to Dragonstone by way of Tarth, but the troops would help fortify the Sapphire Isle itself. The Evenstar was the greatest ally they had made, and his fleets and armies would be a huge boon. He controlled a significant portion of the Stormlands' naval strength, and with Tarth in their corner, they could control the sea passages on the eastern shores. The lords would most like attend Rhaenyra at Dragonstone as well, the Evenstar leaving the Tarth garrison to one of the younger Tarth scions.

But it was still far less then Rhaenys had hoped for. She had wished for all of the ships that Borros could command. The full might of his strong, vast army. Instead she would only get at best a third of the ships and a small fraction of the men. Unless her cousin finally came to his senses and joined them. A proposition that had seemed certain but now was a coinflip.

She sat down with Daemon, and with the other lords they had rallied to their cause. A handful, in the large hall. The Princess leaned in to her cousin, "With Borros' armies, we could have blocked the Dornish from crossing, should Aegon rouse them into action. We could have forced pressure on King's Landing. Now, they'll have an open path if Borros denies us."

Rhaenys looked around at the lords and knights who had come to their side, as few as they were, "I thank each and every one of you from the bottom of my heart. I swear that your loyalty will be remembered and repaid in full." They all nodded, the Evenstar smiling slightly at her.

Across from them Aemond walked in, with an assured smile on his face. He hailed both of them with a cocksure nod and took his place by the side of his potential bride to be. He seemed not to have a care in the world. In truth he was just as unsure as Rhaenys. He had the admiration of his daughter. The support of many of his strongest bannermen. But Borros would do what Borros wanted to do. Not even a Dragon could compel the Storm.

The Lord of Storm's End soon walked in, striding confidently into the hall. He sat down, took a drink and regarded everyone with a friendly smile. His voice boomed throughout the hall, "I thank our royal guests for being the picture of courtesy and grace for the duration of their stay here. You have been fine companions, and it was a pleasure to see my dear cousin again and make the acquantince of such fine princes." Rhaenys noted that Borros did not refer to Daemon as a king. How did that bode? Even she didn't know.

"These are troubling times, when a brother and a sister are at each other's throats. If I had my way, we'd all drink together and sally forth to do battle with our real enemies. That is my wish. But the time comes when a man must choose, and that time has come for me."

He looked at Rhaenys, "Cousin, I value your friendship and I swear to never raise arms against you by the love my father held for you. Daemon, you are a hell of an entertaining man. I regret we did not fight by each other's side."

"But I have chosen the Green. Aegon's offer is quite generous. And my daughter is enamored with the One-Eye Prince there. If I don't take this deal, I'd either have to contend with a bastard in my daughter's belly or a dead royal brother, and wouldn't that be a problem?" He smirked.

Rhaenys lowered her head for a moment in defeat, her heart dropping. Betrayed. With a smile on the traitor's face. Aemond on the other, hand, couldn't look more pleased. Borros continued, "You will both have peaceful leave from Storm's End, and any Stormlander who wishes to join you may go in peace. I hope to convince the Greens to parley with you in peace."

He snapped his fingers and several servants came bearing small chests, "Gifts in jewelry, coin, and other assorted treasures. Some choice wine. Silks for the princesses, daggers for the young princes. To let your Queen know that there are no hard feelings. In addition, my father's flagship, is being sailed to Tarth. You can take possession of it there and have it sent on to Dragonstone. I have my own ship, but perhaps my father can continue to aid you in some small way."

Rhaenys stood and bowed her head, forcing a smile to her face, "I regret that you chose King Aegon, cousin, but I thank you for your gifts and well wishes. You have been a gracious host. I share your hopes that this can all end bloodlessly and pray we can meet again as friends." She sat down, hoping Daemon wouldn't react too badly.

The fucking fool has wasted our time... Daemon seethed. The temptation to have Dark Sister slither from her scabbard and hack his way out was intense. Two envoys had been sent to Borros Baratheon to the Greens' one. Blood had counted for naught and his gifts were scant compensation for a decision that, Daemon feared, tipped the scales decidedy against his wife. The night had gone well enough since he last sat in the hall; after the Evenstar pledged his support, Penrose had followed which gave them control of both banks of the Straits of Tarth. He hadn't yet broken the news to Rhaenys but now it would seem but meagre consolation in the wake of Borros' declaration.

His throat tightened like a vice and his face felt like it was boiling, but he managed a porcelain smile of feigned courtesy and nodded to Lord Borros. "I regret your decision almost as much as I fear you will come to. I can only hope to persuade Queen Rhaenyra to be merciful come the end." He knew he ought to show more courtesy but even these poorly veiled threats were bile in his mouth. "I thank you for your hospitality, but Rhaenys and I have long leagues ahead of us which shall no doubt feel longer soured by such disappointment." He gestured to Rhaenys and rose as though to make an exit.

He spotted Helia Caron but she wasn't looking his way. They'd found all the friends here that they would, he knew. By now, Rhaenyra would have reached the Eyrie and if she'd fared as badly as he and their former mother-in-law had here then this 'War' was lost before it had even begun.

Rhaenys smiled sadly at Borros and bowed her head to leave. The lords who had declared for them rose and left as well, the Evenstar and the Knight of Skulls, walking out with Lord Toyne and Lord Penrose and all their retinues. The vast majortiy of the Storm Lords stayed seated and watched them all depart. The Princess hadn't felt such disappointment in some time. The Evenstar gestured for some of his men to take the gifts, clearly intending to have them delivered to Dragonstone when he came himself.

Aemond rose from his chair and called out to Daemon and Rhaenys, "Give my sister, my regards Uncle. I wish you safe travels and hope we can meet again soon." He still seethed at the insult Daemon had paid him the day before, despite the victory Borros had given him. He wanted to call Daemon for a duel, but knew it would be foolish. No, Aegon would know he was victorious here. Some bannermen may have gone over, but what of it? They wouldn't hold out for long. He stood and watched a man he once admired, a man he had wanted to be, walk out an enemy. He absently touched his sapphire eye and felt a surprising well of emotions spring up.

To give the lad credit, he could have goaded his uncle. Perhaps his kindly farewell hid a mote of sarcasm but Daemon merely regarded him briefly and said "I shall." He resigned himself to the knowledge the next time, if ever, he and Aemond met again there'd be no political positioning. He hated what Alicent and her brood had done but of the lot of them, Aemond was the one he recognised himself in. He looked at the sapphire gleaming in his eye-socket and recalled the day he'd filched it from a Tyroshi captain's purse after gutting him on his own deck. When Aemond had been injured, Daemon had made the lad a gift of it though knew the memory counted for nothing now. "Your young lady's comely enough. See that you treat her well." It was an odd parting remark but all he could muster in his state of bitter dismay.

Rhaenys bid farewell to the lords who had gone with them, wishing them well and her desire to see them at court in Dragonstone soon. Penrose was a fine surprise. He was one of the principal bannermen, with his coastal ships he could help blockade the Straits of Tarth, and the bannermen he commanded could fortify the Parchments. If nothing else, they had a positional advantage.

She saddled and hopped onto Meleys. Best to leave before the storm returned in full force. She called out to Daemon, with a regretful look on her face, "I'm sorry Daemon, I failed you and Rhaenyra. I only hope my failure does not cost our Queen too dearly." They began to lift off and bank towards Dragonstone and the long journey ahead, "Do you have any ideas on what our next move is? Once we return?"

The rains had mercifully abated but the wind howled with the despair the pair of envoys felt. Below, Penrose and the Evenstar were in deep discussion, no doubt plotting ways to thwart their liege lord at the first turn; Lord Toyne and the Knight of Skulls had already disappeared to the stables to mount up for their long rides ahead of yet longer journeys to meet them again on Dragonstone. It annoyed him to hear Rhaenys talk of failure. "I'll none of that talk! Borros did what he was always minded to do. You know better than most he isn't one to be talked round by any man, woman or the Father himself!" He had to shout above the gusts and the steady thrum of dragonwings. "Our coming here has secured a handful of Stormlords we couldn't have hoped to secure had we not left Dragonstone. Next, we report back to your husband and we see what tidings the others have."

He scanned the castle grounds to see where Vhagar was being kept. He hadn't seen the huge beast on their arrival but he'd scarce been able to see the end of his own nose in that abysmal squall. He reasoned Aemond had her garrisoned beyond the South wall somewhere. He'd half a mind to attack whilst Aemond celebrated inside but even Daemon had limits to the depths of his dishonour. Rhaenys would doubtless chide him gravely and he didn't want it said he killed the greatest Dragon yet living with a deplorable craven's trick.

Wheeling Caraxes about, he leaned forward and gave the dragon the wind.

Rhaenys nodded, taking heart in the small victory, "You speak truly Daemon. With the support we have, we can stop any fleets coming from the south almost cold. If Pentos and Braavos align with us, we can stop all crossings. With the seas and skies in our control, it matters little how many men Aegon can march." It was true, with the Straits of Tarth under their control, the Green fleets and the Triarchy fleets would be hard pressed to advance. Especially if Corlys did as Rhaenys suspected and sent some more ships to help. They still had a chance. But like her husband, Rhaenys hoped it wouldn't need to come to that. She followed Caraxes and the two dragons headed home, hopefully to better news.

Helia Caron with the majority of her bannermen - the many others looked both relieved and one or two of them, slightly saddened. Likely meaning they couldn't come after her - if she had gone with the Blacks after all.

Needless to say, she kept her allegiance a secret for the most part - Helia had sent a few of her own with them to Dragonstone. As precaution, namely cause she liked to keep all of her options open.

For now though, she was forced to bend knee and follow the Greens to wherever it might lead them. She just hoped that Borros Baratheon didn't plan on leading them straight into some of the fighting. Or if he did, then get himself killed atleast.

Aemond nodded at Helia, making eye contact with her and the Lords Dondarrion and Swann. With the Marchers and most of the high lords in their corner, the Stormlands were effectively theirs. If Aegon succeeded in Dorne, most of the South would be with them. Now all Daeron needed to do was tie up the Vale and the war would be theirs before it was even won.

Lord Borros drank and said, "We'll hold off the wedding until this business with your sister is concluded. But I'll come with my daughter and my bannermen to attend the King in the Red Keep, and to assume my seat on the Small Council. I'll start calling the banners as well. Fly home, One-Eye and tell the Gold King that I'm with him. As long as he holds up his end of the deal. I denied my own blood for his sake. He better make good on his promises. Lest the storm turn on him as well." His expression became serious, his previous jovialty gone.

The Prince managed to keep from gritting his teeth and said, "I will leave later today, I wouldn't want my uncle to ambush me on my way home, but I will tell him of your loyalty. By the will of the gods, I hope to call you father soon, my lord. By your leave." He bowed to Borros and kissed his fiance's hand before departing. He left the hall and watched Caraxes and Meleys fly off into the stormy horizon. If it had been one of them alone, perhaps he would have attacked. But he would have had no chance against both, even with Vhagar.

Aemond watched the two dragons go, wondering what would happen the next time he met his uncle. Whether they'd clash with words or blades.

Collab with @MrDidact @bloonewb @raknarion (thanks guys!)

Daughter, I've failed to secure House Roxton. The Ring is procrastinating and Ser Frados as the young Lady's castellan has lost much of late. I fear my efforts in the Reach would bear more fruit were the Hightower army to accompany me but it would lose my my advantage of anonymity.

That being said, House Shermer was more fruitful and their force gathers to march to Kings Landing with all their strength.

I have acquired the services of a Knight named Ser Roger Corne who pledges his sword to Aegon. A hedge Knight to be sure yet he claimes he's the surest sword in the Reach. He travels with us.

I must needs return to Kings Landing; I cannot be sure those with whom I have treated will not inform our enemies of my whereabouts. My last hope is to call in on the Footlys of Tumbleton or else take the Roseroad straight through the Kingswood, my tail between my legs. I can only hope our other envoys have had more success.

I hope to be home within the fortnight.

Father.

Alicent was grateful Ser Otto was making his way home, it had been noble to personally treat with a smattering of Reachmen but a vain hope if House Tyrell did not bestir itself. Perhaps Daeron would fare better. She was acting as Hand in Ser Otto's stead, eager to keep busy in these uncertain times. Her daughter, Helaena and the children were her chief companions but she'd be passing happy once everyone was safely back upon the three hills.

She was tired and this business with Aegon's coronation and the coming storm made her feel all of her years. A grandmother. When had that happened? What had become of her youth? All's you got's yer cunny, girl! The crone's voice came unbidden to her ears again. She'd used her womanhood when she'd had need and become Queen and now Queen Mother- acting as hand to her son, the King in her father's stead. There was scarce any higher she might rise yet all those trappings of power were threatened by her infernal stepdaughter and brother-in-law.

Daemon. It made her smile to think whatever Rhaenyra had; she'd had him first. Not that Viserys ever discovered that truth. Lucky he'd always been a sound sleeper, they'd woken half of King's Landing that night with her screams...

Now, though, she'd sooner have his head on a platter and her son safe in his office.

The open window of father's solar in the Red Keep let a chill in that told her summer was done. There'd even been frost on the rooftops across the city these past two mornings and she'd ordered the rushes changed in her bedchamber because they were half rotten with damp. She felt half eaten with mildew herself, the gardens had sprouted ugly patches of fungus and there was an earthy smell emanating from the Godswood that made her feel unclean when she passed.

She longed for a bath. Maybe she'd have Valanna arrange one for this evening. The Velaryon girl had become close to the Queen mother though there were those who urged caution as the girl's uncle was the first to throw in with the Blacks. Small surprise that had been. Alicent was less worried; Daemon had killed the girl's husband, Vaemond and she clearly despised him for it; besides, the girl would comb the Queen's hair - she was hardly privy to small council meetings and Alicent knew better than to discuss affairs of state with the staff.

"Val, sweetling? I'd like to wear the rich, green samite this morning. Lord Crakehall has come and I would recieve him swiftly." With esteemed Westermen rallying to our cause, it may encourage Houses of similar standing to follow suit. I would reward this man." She thought aloud. It would be a clear message to bestow some reward upon Crakehall who had traversed the continent to bend the knee...

The girl's face was a scarred horror and Alicent had mastered the art of looking past the girl rather than be seen to stare in mild disgust.

Valanna nodded, reaching for the dress and deftly changing the Queen Mother's current outfit and exchanging to the elegant gown. Her face had been branded by King Viserys, for her husband's so-called treason, marring what had once been a beautiful face with classic Valyrian features. Her voice however still flowed as smoothly and softly as it always had, "Of course, your grace."

Valanna stepped behind her, helping Alicent change and said, "It seemed likely the Westermen would rally to Aegon's cause. Lord Jason is a firm supporter of the crown, and the Lannisters have always held tight control over their bannermen. I believe we can rely on the Westermen to be united. That should swing some of the undecided Reach Lords, if both Oldtown and Casterly Rock support the King." Ever since she lost her beauty, she had had to adapt. And now Valanna was much more savvy than most thought.

"What do you think Lord Crakehall deserves?"

Alicent liked Val's directness. She'd spent all her adult life at court and she was glad of a break from heirs and graces where two women grown could speak plainly. "I think I shall judge that upon meeting the man. It is said he has ever misliked his wife but that's not uncommon!" It was true. For highborn folk, marriage was a contract and about land, money, power... Love could come later or no. So long as everyone did their duty... She'd done hers.

"Tell me of Vaemond, sweetling. Was he a kindly husband?" She took the girl's hands in her old, beginning to wrinkle ones. Valanna had never opened up to the Queen Mother about him, save describing her grief after Daemon slew him. Alicent felt she ought to learn more about her confidente.

Valanna looked down, reluctant to speak but she met Alicent's eyes. She didn't cry, the tears having long since been exhausted, "He was, your grace. He was kindly, and chivalrous, and brave." She didn't mention that he was also her brother, that was common knowledge as was the custom for the Valyrian houses. She continued, "Corlys wanted to marry Vaemond and I off to different houses to cement alliances. But he convinced our uncle to give his blessing to our union, for love. We went sailing many times, and every time he went off to campaign against pirates and sellswords, he brought back a gift. When he went to war with Daemon and Corlys in the Stepstones, he brought me back this necklace."

She indicated the necklace hanging around her neck, gold with a pearl hanging from it, she smiled as she remembered the lively man, "But he was foolish. And called Rhaenyra's sons bastards. He wanted to make me Lady of Driftmark. And Daemon and Rhaenyra killed him." She didn't remind Alicent of how her husband had branded her and cut out her brother Matarys' tongue and her brother Gaemon's hand, and all the other mutilations he visited upon their family for Vaemond's foolishness. That was common knowledge as well.

A faint smile played upon Alicent's lips. There's always so much she leaves unsaid she thought. "It's good to remember the man as he was, Val. I know my late husband dealt cruelly with you and your kin but when I think of him, I recall him reading stories to my children, feeding me fruit in the Kingswood... Our wedding day. You've lost much, but there are memories they cannot take from you." She ran her fingers across the unscarred cheek of her handmaiden and sighed. "Best not keep Lord Crakehall waiting any longer..." An odd thought came unbidden to her. "Tell me, Val, what do you know of House Farwynd?" It was past surprising that when flicking through her missives in her father's office, she'd had word from a House Farwynd of Lonely Light declaring for Aegon. She was sure that was some distant House of the Sunset Sea and couldn't decide whether the letter had been in jest.

Valanna walked at Alicen't flank as they went to the throne room, "Yes your grace. The king was a complicated man. But I understand what he did. Vaemond was warned. Rest assured, Matarys, Gaemon, and I all remain committed to the true king." When the question of House Farwynd came up, she quirked an eyebrow, "Farwynd... one of the Ironborn houses if I am correct. They have several branches throughout the islands, and they hold the westernmost castle in the country, the Lonely Light. A queer folk, even by Ironborn standards, isolated. And if they are considered queer by a race of raiders, robbers, and rapers, well then they must be quite strange. Other than that, I know little."

Eventually the two of them reached the throne room, most of the court already assembled in the gallery, the small council, what remained of it in the city, seated near the throne. Valanna bowed to Alicent and took her place off to the side of the dais, with the other royal attendents. Lord Crakehall awaited them.

Alicent laughed at the girl's description of House Farwynd. "Some offers are best ignored, I think!" She chuckled. "They'll be pledging Aegon swords in Yeen next!" She joked. Yeen was a place she'd heard existed but believed it a dead city in a far-off land. Crakehall awaited and she greeted the travel-weary Westerman with a cordial acknowledgement. "Lord Ralf, it is my very great pleasure to receive you. I trust you've had bread and salt? Kings Landing welcomes you and your men, I hope your journey has been without trouble?" She took her seat at the head of the table and bid Ralf to sit opposite. He was an older man, past the prime of his youth but not unhandsome for his travels. She thought him the sort of man who would serve Aegon well.

As the Queen and her Companion entered the room, Ralf was one of the first to stand at attention, bringing his right hand banging onto his chest and bows. Offering a glance towards his fellow Westerlands nobles, making sure that they paid their respects as well. As the bowing ends, he begins to speak with a voice far deeper and direct than the usual Westerland lord usually spoke. "My Queen, it is our pleasure to be given the honour of having an audience with you, and the court. King's Landing have spoilt us with more than bread and salt. The journey was long, aye, but the The Gold Road proved to be peaceful and filled with merry folk." As the Queen gestures him to sit, he offers a curtly nod and takes a seat at the opposite side of the table. "The Lords of the Westerlands are most eager to pledge our loyalty to the True King of Westeros, Aegon Targaryen, and are at his service. He needs only to say the word and we will be at his side." Ralf shoots another glance at his fellow lords, seeing that they nod and murmur in agreement.

Alicent was smiling despite herself, he seemed so eager and keen, his lustre carried to her. In the corner of her eye, Lord Banefort sat at the table's corner, his cowl hiding his expression. Doubtless he'd be edgy and distant as was his wont. "My son will be delighted to add your brave forces to our own. Whilst we hope for peace, we regrettably fear Rhaenyra and Daemon's tempestuous natures." She smiled at that. "We have the law of Westeros on our side as set out in the Great Council of 101AC and Gods be good, Aegon's wisdom to guide us through these uncertain times. I would be honoured if you would accept quarters in the Red Keep itself. We would offer you a seat on my son's, your King's War Council and the Title of 'Master At Arms' for your unwavering loyalty and immediate support of the true King." As she spoke the words, Lord Banefort's cowl inclined slightly as though he were becoming more brooding and edgy.

For a moment, Alicent could clearly see that Lord Ralf was taken by suprise by this sudden offer of authority, but he quickly recuperated and offered a reply. "My Queen, you and King Aegon are too kind, but I shall accept the offer gladly! To be able to Serve The King in such a compacity is an honour beyond a doubt." As Ralf accepted the offer, a choir of applause comes from the lords of the Westerlands, clearly pleased to see one of theirs being given a position of such power. The Lord Crakehall didn't offer them a third glance however. "I shall attend my duties at once when the audience are finished. I shan't fail either The King or you, 'tis I swear before The Seven!"

Had she been too bold? She wondered. Father would be back in half a moon's turn and what would he make of her new appointment? "Rest assured, Lord Crakehall, it is we who are honoured. Though whilst I make the offer, it is in my father's office. He is currently..." She thought a moment, "Away from the city, but upon his return it is he who you must convince of your credentials!" She smiled a disarming smile. "I would be honoured if once you and your men are rested, if you would join me as my personal guest at dinner this evening. I would hear your ideas for the organisation of our forces in defence of Aegon's throne?" She made it business but was sure it would be pleasure to receive Lord Crakehall in any capacity.

"I'll have words with your father when he returns, and I will assure him that a man of Crakehall is the one for the position." As the offer of dinner comes up, he begins to feel the hollow feeling that emitted from his stomach. Ralf had hardly eaten that day. "I'll scribble down some potential plans for the defence of King Aegon's throne and join you with an empty and a merry belly for dinner! " A smile appears upon Ralf's face as he accepts the dinner invitation.

The other Westermen spoke up, introducing themselves to the Queen Mother and making their presence known. All the great lords and renowned knights of the West were there, a fine company of chivalry. Lord Jason Lannister was not present at the moment, but his strength was well represented in his bannermen and retainers. There was one odd man out however, a man from the Reach, who had distanced himself from his own family. All eyes soon fell on this lone knight.

"Ser Jon, House of Roxton, at His Grace's service now and forever," he said, stepping out of the crowd and taking a knee. He stood, and drew his sword. It shone silver in the bright torchlight. "I am truly sorry I cannot offer the services of my rightful blade, Orphan-Maker. Unfortunately, it was not given to its rightful owner, but rather passed through deceit to my fiendish cousin. Rest assured, I am a trained knight, proficient in the arts of war, and do not require Valyrian steel to cut my mark into the enemies of the crown." He returned to his kneeling position, eyes positively glowing with zeal.

Valanna eyed the young knight with appreciation. The man was tall, muscled, and handsome. But a tad young for her taste. There were women at court who chased after the strapping young knights, but she was not among them. That didn't mean she couldn't appreciate him however. That was the best she could do for almost anyone after all, her face the way it was. He was definitely easier on the eyes than Lord Crakehall. Strong and tall as well, but uglier than sin, and as hairy as the boar on his sigil. All of this she kept to herself, and she continued to watch.

Roxton? What had her father's letter said of Roxton? Daughter, I've failed to secure House Roxton. The Ring is procrastinating and Ser Frados as the young Lady's castellan has lost much of late... This was no Frados, though. Jon Roxton was here despite the position of neutrality taken by his kin. That was bold. Mayhaps this man ought to be known as 'Bold Jon Roxton' she mused.

"Ser Jon, you honour your King with your presence. I would be much obliged if my daughter, Queen Helaena and my grandchildren had the service of a bold knight to shield them from any coming dangers... The sort of loyalty only the Reach can inspire." She smiled, the bird was limed.

"I thank you profusely. Such a privilege I cannot refuse. I swear by my blood I will defend them to their enemies' dying breath!" Jon said, nearly shouting. He looked up, and there was no doubt that a great anger lurked within him. "Let not my unfaithful cousin sour your opinion of House Roxton. He is weak, and when time comes, I would be more than happy to risk even the ire of the gods to honor His Grace by defeating that disease that plagues my rightful seat!" He bowed one last time and stepped back into the crowd.

Alicent was taken aback by this man's passion. He was howling about kinslaying when all she'd wanted was a cheap babysitter. "Ser Roxton, I vow that you shall always have a place at my home and at my table and that I shall ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the New." He might be somewhat rough around the edges but he'd doubtless fight like a terrier to protect her family and that was well and good.

Later, after Valanna had drawn her a bath, she felt the stresses and struggles of acting as Hand ebb away. She let her blonde hair, streaked with greys, loose of its tight braid and sank into the hot waters. The Westermen had cheered her, she felt safer and with Bold Jon, she had vouchsafed Helaena and the babes. Not that they were babes anymore in truth. But she was glad of their protection nontheless. As she let her weary eyes close, the image of Lord Crakehall's handsome, weathered face came unbidden to the forefront of her mind. He'd looked at her not as a subject ought to look upon a Queen, but how a man might look upon a maid. She hadn't had that look in long years but for her age, she wasn't uncomely herself. She decided Val might need to take especial care in dressing her again for dinner...

(A work done by @MrDidact and (I? Me?). Thanks buddy!)

The day began on a brighter note today, at least. The sun peered shyly over the curtain of mist, its rays attempting in vain to pierce through the dense fog. Frados found himself already awake, yet not entirely, half-listening to Arillos convey everything he knew about the guests and their behaviors. He slept light as of late, never knowing when he had to be ready for an invasion that outnumbered his garrison tens or hundreds to one. Still, for now, the visitors are not causing any trouble. He nodded as Arillos finished his report, then sent him away. It won't be long before Lindsay and the guests wake.

Daeron, being nobly born, was given a suite of his own while the rest of the men had to contend with shared quarters. Daeron was also the first to wake. He was anxious, wishing to quickly cement Frados' commitment to their cause, and not knowing if he could do so. The young lady seemed sympathethic to their side, but it was the old Lord Regent that he had to convince. He had to find some way to swing Frados to their side. The Roxtons were well-positioned, and would be able to help control travel between the Reach and the Crownlands. With them on their side, they could help stifle any march from either direction by Green forces. But the Greens already had some of the most powerful houses in the province on their side. It would take quite a bit to convince Roxton to risk himself in the face of that.

The young knight got dressed in clothes more suitable to formal meetings, though he still wore darker fabrics with no device or distinguishing color to them, the only adornment being his Velaryon pin. He checked his boot and made sure his holdout was still in place. He left the room and found his own men, almost all abed save Longjon, who nodded at him. Together they roused the rest and were ready and presentable. Doubtless their host would soon gather them to break their fast. This would be another chance to talk.

"Lords and Sers, to your meal," said Arillos, bowing low to the little party and gesturing down the corridors. He led them through to the dining hall, where Frados and Lindsay sat, their korzion board as always sitting between them. Frados looked up at the group as they entered.

"Good morn, I hope you've had a refreshing night," he said, turning back to the board.

"Could you help uncle with his play? Without it, he's going to lose in three moves," Lindsay giggled, under Frados' withering glare.

Daeron brightened, smiling, "Korizon? I didn't think the game was very popular outside of the Crownlands. My father taught me when I was very young. It's been a while since I played but..." He glanced over the the board, noting the positions of each piece and feeling the old strategems coming back to him, "Ah my dear lord Frados, the young lady has you in quite a pickle. However, Lady Lindsay is brilliant and bold in her moves, but doesn't have a more experienced player's caution. Look closely my lord."

Daeron traded glances with Lindsay and smiled at her, settling down to watch as the boys all sat at the table and made small talk.

Frados rested his head in his palm while Lindsay huffed. She was not inexperienced! Her skills with games such as these were unmatched in the castle! Then she stopped, and gave a sly grin, bordering on wicked. "Well, I have much to learn, Ser. If you would kindly sit down and teach me a few strategies, it would be valuable towards helping me grasp this game."

"Guest's move first," Frados chuckled. He'd seen this before. In his mind's eye, he saw a young Keles, so assured in his merchant ventures before being run out of Planky Town, sweating a storm under Lindsay's careful planning. So too did he remember Arillos, suffering a similar fate after spending his last silvers buying his freedom from the Fighting Pits and a charter to Westeros. Lindsay began resetting the pieces, and gestured to the opposite chair.

The young knight laughed, "Very well, who am I to deny my host. But I hope the young lady will be merciful, and offer quarter." He looked over the board, making eye contact with his even younger opponent and decided to play it safe. He would be prudent, advance methodically and safely. Most like the girl would prefer to move quickly, and may slip up. It was exactly the opposite of how he preferred to fight, but games resembled war very little, with their neat, ordered lines and luxurious pace. Not that Daeron had ever been in a true war, fighting sellswords and pirates in raids hardly counted.

But if there was one valuable lesson these games taught it was the psychology of battle. Daeron made his move, an unspectacular and safe tactic before letting his host continue. He spoke to Frados as he did, "I hope you've given some more thought to our proposition, my lord. I'm sure Ser Otto or one of his envoys came about to see you and try to persuade you to fall in line. But any coin or honors they can give you, we can match, I'm sure you know. The Sea Snake is the only man richer than the Hightowers and the Lannisters. And he can be quite generous to his friends."

Frados cut the knight off with a wave of his hand. "I've told Lindsay many times, and I'll tell you now. The table is no place for worries. Save those for the main hall. Outside of that, I must suggest you watch your left side." True enough, Lindsay was quickly advancing her pieces through, covering the left wall in an attempt to trap Daeron's stray outer pieces.

Daeron nodded, "Very well, your hall, your rules." He was right so far. Lindsay was bold, quick to pounce. He shored up his left side, as he should. But he left just enough of an opening to tempt an advance anyway. It may have seemed like innocent oversight from someone who had not played the game in some time. But it was something Corlys had taught him. Offer the enemy an oppurtunity, then turn it to your own advantage. He would see if Lindsay would take the bait. In the meantime, he kept advancing the rest of his formation of pieces methodically, with no hassle.

Lindsay could see what Daeron was up to. Ser Haraway had made the same move in the only game they played together. After, he had whimpered about how he was doing the chivalrous thing by letting the child win, then tended to make himself rather scarce when Lindsay showed up in a room, board in hand. She played a piece into the center, where she could catch the opening with a fork. Then, she faked a yawn, and pretended to be very interested in the glasswork behind Daeron's back. "You have two moves, Ser. Make the most of them," she said, acting as if she was very bored of him.

Hmm, not so foolhardy as she could have been. Interesting. Child players usually threw caution to the wind, the best managing to slaughter their way through the board before being taken out of play quickly. Daeron knew he had been so brash when he first started playing. Lindsay was different. Very well, then. He'd have to adjust.

Daeron moved to shore up the opening he had left. He had advanced slowly, but hadn't exposed himself. His lines were a tight, ordered cluster. The most likely thing would that Lindsay would chip away at him, or else try to force an opening at his flanks. She seemd confident at least. Daeron smiled, "Two moves? The lady is very assured of herself. I will strive to surprise."

He started to strike out on his right, heretofore mostly ignored, a cursory probe. He wanted to see how she would react. They went on for some time, trading moves, feints, and strikes as the sun continued to rise, Daeron finding himself surprisngly hard-pressed to contain his opponent. Until . . .

"Perhaps the battlefield would be more suited to your talents, Ser," Lindsay said, moving her center to capture Daeron's last triarch piece. "Let us play again sometime. You're far better than Ser Haraway, that I'm sure." She laughed, seeing Daeron's confused face. "But enough for now. Breakfast!" Servants sidled through the door, laying out many breads and cheeses.

The Velaryon knight smiled good-naturedly, "I gave as good as I got, but I must conceed victory to your ladyship." Lindsay was far better than he had thought a mainlander, a mainlander child even would be. He had come close, but he had been defeated with style, "A battlefield, a real battlefield is much different from a game, a soldier's instincts aren't as well served. Particularly against an opponent as formidable as yourself."

The boys dug in eagerly to the food, Daeron eating politely while making small-talk, "The tales of Reachman grain and cheeses are true. Surely, your lands are the richest in the kingdom in such matters. But perhaps, Lady Lindsay could some day experience the fare of Dirftmark or Dragonstone. On the islands, we have all the treasures of the sea at our disposal. And recipes dating back all the way before the Doom of Valyria. Seafood to best any other in Westeros or Essos, I assure you. Dining with the crash of the seas and the roaring of dragons to accompany it? Nothing quite tops that, in my humble opinion."

Lindsay's mind was afire with romantic images of soaring cliffs, dragons roosting at the top like majestic kings. "I would love nothing more," she said, mouth full of bread. An admonishing look from Frados made her quickly close her mouth back up with a sheepish look.

"That sounds lovely indeed, my good Ser Daeron," Frados said. He ate nothing of the meal. His stomach was already filled with stress. "But unfortunately, the two of us cannot stray too far from the castle. If there is no Roxton present to keep the Ring in check, I fear we may return to a less appealing home. You, as a leader of armies would understand best. Your captains work best when you are watching over them." There, unfortunately, was no diplomatic way to put off the starry-eyed knight, and he felt that dancing around the subject like he was would not get the point across to Ser Daeron.

Daeron nodded, "I understand that, Lord Frados. But should you enter the war, you most like would need to send Lady Lindsay away to a safer refuge, whether you choose Green or Black. Dragonstone is one of the most formidable fortresses in these lands, that is a fact. Should you declare for us, I swear on my honor as a knight and as a member of House Velaryon that no harm would befall her. Likewise, I can assure you that your friendship to the Queen and her Hand will be remembered and rewarded. My uncle has quite a bit of influence. Friends throughout the kingdom and the Free Cities. He can do great things for House Roxton."

Frados felt trapped. The walls, once keeping the room at an airy, open space, now seemed so much closer than before. "Erm . . . " he groaned, stumbling over his words. Lindsay said nothing, but her gaze told him everything. She wanted, no doubt, for him to take Daeron's offer. She is but young, and doesn't yet understand that honor, while all well and good, is not the primary deciding factor in war. "Yes, I think in time, both Lady Roxton and I would be able to visit the coveted spires of Dragonstone. In time, of course." Twenty, perhaps thirty years would do the trick nicely. "I think you have said your part, and said it well. You should be off to visit our neighbors soon. In due time, I shall send a raven to your Hand, Lord Corlys, stating my descision. Now, if you are of good heart, you would allow an old man his thoughts."

The young knight managed to keep his disappointment from his face. If Frados wasn't willing to commit now, the more likely it became over time that he would simply say no. He would fail. To the young man, such a prospect was incredibly disheartening but he soldiered on with a polite nod, "And you have been a very gracious host, my lord. And young Lady Lindsay has been the picture of charm and courtesy. I'm sure that when the time comes, she will be a great beauty and an excellent ruler."

He finished his food, standing up with a knightly bow to Lindsay and Frados, "No matter your decison, I'm glad to have come and made your acquantince. But I would be remiss if I didn't say that you have plenty of time to make a choice. House Tyrell has thus so far elected to remain neutral. So can you. If you do not wish to join us, I urge you to defend your lands and nothing more. I'm sure the Tyrells would be willing to foster Lady Lindsay if you wished to ensure her safety. Hopefully for all our sakes, brother and sister can find peace. If not, I believe neutrality is the best choice for your house, until you can consolidate your position."

Daeron looked at Lindsay then, "I cannot speak for my uncle, nor my king or queen. Not even the other members of my house. But on my honor, no matter your decison, I vow to not raise arms against the Ring or House Roxton, for the hospitality and friendship you have offered me. I swear it by all the gods, old and new, as well as the gods of my ancestors in Valyria." He bowed his head and left the room, his men following in step behind him.

This can't be the end already! Lindsay knew she had to speak to the fascinating knight one last time before he leaves. So when the party was assembling their supplies, ready to make way back to their islands, Lindsay, finding an opportune time when her uncle was well occupied, paid a last visit to the guest chambers. She tapped the door with a knuckle, and when a soldier came to open it, she smiled and curtsied best she could, and spoke. "I've come to bid you and the Ser a good voyage."

Aurion nodded to Lindsay, bowing low as befitted their respective stations and beckoning Daeron to come forward. They were all ready for the road, in their high-quality but undecorated and unassuming armor with dark travelling cloaks and hoods. Their weapons had been returned to them and Daeron wore his sword on his hip.

Daeron saw Lindsay and he smiled earnestly at her, bowing in turn to her, "Lindsay, your presence was a bright spot in these serious matters. I hope with all my heart that our paths will cross again, and that I can show you the wonders of my home." Daeron thought that in another life, Lindsay could have been a sister to him. But in another life, this war would not be approaching at all.

He knelt to be on the same level as her and said, "I wish you and your uncle the best, and that the gods will go with you. We have a long journey ahead of us. Before we go, I would ask the lady for her favor. The favor of such a cunning and lovely young lady would surely offer great protection to a humble knight such as myself." It was a somewhat foolish notion, wrapping some garment of hers around his armor. She wasn't his bride to be or any such thing. But Daeron had no woman he loved, yet. No mother or sister to offer him theirs. But perhaps this brilliant, charming girl could offer her protection. A foolish notion, but he had never been accussed of having a surplus of good sense.

There was one thing Lindsay felt, would make a good gift. She had no scarf on her, but one thing she never went anywhere without. She grabbed his hand and turned the palm up, then pressed a small steel object into it. A round disc, in the center carved a Valyrian rune. The third Triarch, the goal required to win a game of korzion. "Don't lose it. I'll be wanting to win it back," she said, grinning ear to ear. "Uncle might be getting worried soon. I hope then, that I may visit you soon, and we can play as friends, like today."

Daeron's smile mirrored hers, "I would like that very much, my lady. I'm sure you'll trounce me, as before. But I'll practice, and I promise to put up a good fight. When you come to the island, I can take you sailing. I don't think you've ever sailed before have you?" Daeron just had to make sure that Rhaenyra won the war first. And for that, they needed to meet with some of the Riverlanders now. They had made their pleas to the Reach Lords they could speak to. Now their path would take them through the Trident and on to Maidenpool before home.

The Knight decided to give his own gift. His hair was pinned back behind his head in a Volantene warrior's knot. But Daeron took out the knife at his hip, and cut the braid, letting his long white hair fall back straight. He could always get it redone later. He sheathed the dagger and offered braid and weapon to Lindsay, "Something for you to remember me by, should the worst happen. And something to defend yourself with. Should we see each other again, I'll trade you for an even better one. But this was my first knife, the one I had as a squire when I sailed with the Sea Snake to put some pirates to Justice and earned my knighthood. Hopefully you won't need it, but you should learn, just in case. Treat it with respect and practice at it, and it will serve you well." The steel was plain but high-quality, and Valyrian etchings were worked into the hilt, translating to the Velaryon words, which he recited, "The Old, The True, The Brave"

"Those are the words of my family, Lindsay. May you be true and brave as well." He offered one last smile and stood to leave, walking off with his men behind men.

The blade glittered in the sunlight, at last breaking through the wall of water between. It was as if it broke through at just the right time to strike the steel at its center, giving it the impression of being alight in a warm glow. With its humble, bright air, the dagger was almost a hopeful antithesis to the brooding pride inherent in Orphan-Maker. The braid rested in her other hand, as silver and reflective as the steel. She would remember Ser Daeron, she promised herself, clutching her gifts tight. She would have her Triarch back.

Just as Lord Ormund had predicted, another raven eventually arrived at the Hightower, once again with news from King's Landing. Upon being led to the rookery, Daeron quickly noted that it was the largest raven that he had ever saw, though he couldn't exactly be sure since he wasn't exactly familiar with ravens. It did look like it could fly farther and for longer than a normal raven, but he didn't know why he would be worthy of such special treatment. Half the small council now consisted of close family members, so he ultimately came to the conclusion that he should stop being surprised over such things. Maester Trebayn proceeded to read aloud the letter, which proved to be both short and blunt. By the end Lord Ormund was grinding his teeth and Daeron only wished that it had been longer and more personal. Nothing that asked about his wellbeing, nor being recalled back to King's Landing for his father's funeral... just a royal missive for him to go to the Eyrie to court the Arryns to join his brother's cause, and that was it. He could only frown when the words finally came to an end.

Lord Ormund began to rub his temples as he turned towards Daeron. "I had hoped that the small council would have seen the value of keeping you here under my protection, instead of flinging you off to the other side of Westeros aimlessly."

"My lord," Maester Trebayn began as he directly addressed Lord Ormund, "if I may?" As the maester finished his question, Daeron couldn't help but to recognize the interesting dichotomy between both of the older men. The prince didn't exactly know how tall Ormund was, but it had to be well over six feet if he had to guess. The maester on the other hand was smaller than even Daeron, who was already significantly shorter than either of his brothers. The chain around his neck hung nearly to his waist, forged from countless different metal links, and it was a common enough rumor in the Hightower that Trebayn had once been a candidate for the position of Grand Maester, though the reasons as to why he was passed over was likely unknown to all, other than the maester himself. Though both the lord and the maester were generally both men of few words, it was clear that whenever Trebayn spoke, it was to give wise counsel, wisdom, or advice. As for Lord Ormund, he just disliked ever having to repeat himself, and despite always heeding the words of those subordinate to him, once he got set on a path, he'd see it through to the end. In this capacity, Daeron realized, the two suited one another quite well.

As Lord Ormund gave his consent, the maester continued. "You prepare for war... which is the sensible thing to do in these... times. However, you must remember that such tides have yet to wash over Westeros. Is it not wiser for the rightful king to make as many friends, as many allies as possible, to hopefully dissaude Princess Rhaenyra from taking up arms against King Aegon? And Daeron would surely be honored to have such an opportunity to potentially usher in peace." Daeron's head jerked towards the maester upon hearing those last few words, and his gaze was met with a smile, even though he had a sinking feeling that Trebayn wasn't entirely interested in looking out for his wellbeing.

"You don't know Rhaenyra and Daemon very well do you?" Ormund sighed. "But aye, you have much of the right of it. We have to push as many houses onto our side as possible, either with force or by words, if only to lessen the advantages that the other side already holds. Still, I do wish the small council would honor me for once by not making things needlessly more difficult." He turned towards Daeron, who had yet to speak. "Tell us your thoughts on this, as it will be your burden if you plan to follow through with this."

Although he seemed to be presented with a choice, Daeron truly knew that it was a falsehood, as there was no way he could defy his brother, even if he wasn't King... he had gained enough scars by learning that. "I don't want war, no more than anyone else, and if I can do anything to help... then I have to push forward without hesitation."

Ormund only gave Daeron a glance, as if he had something in particular to say to his squire, only to ultimately keep it to himself. "If it had been up to me, I would have sent you for Highgarden, to prod the Tyrells into action. I can give you half a dozen good men and horse to get you started for the Eyrie as soon as possible."

"There's no need," Daeron said firmly. "I was planning to ride Tessarion there." There was no faster way to travel than by dragon, and this was a matter of expedience, should Rhaenyra and her council come to the same conclusion. Though, in honesty, it had been far too long since Daeron had the last opportunity to ride Tessarion for an extended period, and he certainly didn't want to pass that over. He hadn't been apart from Tessarion since they truly bonded, and what was a Targaryen worth without his dragon?

Ormund gave him a piercing look that made Daeron feel like a child who spoke out of turn. Noise grew amongst the ravens as if they could feel the same pressure that was emanating from the towering lord of Oldtown. "I would highly advise against that," Ormund put simply. "If I remember correctly, Lady Jeyne and Princess Rhaenyra were inseparable as girls. Those feelings for one another likely still exist, and if you were to go there alone... your safety may be in question."

"The Arryns are an honorable house, are they not?" Daeron argued. "I don't think they would strike against any guest of theirs, no matter who they may be."

"Wouldn't stop her from throwing you in one of their sky cells and formally declare for her childhood friend. You'd be a valuable hostage."

Maester Trebayn then cut into the conversation, as if he had been a part of it all along. "If I remind you, my lord, but Lady Jeyne Arryn has yet to declare for either side. Why is that?"

"Prince Daemon," Ormund said without hesitation. "The man has an unnatural talent for burning bridges, sometimes literally... especially during peacetime. War is what he was truly made for, and that is what frightens me."

"More the reason to try to prevent war." Maester Trebayn added.

"Even if I can't get her on Aegon's side, perhaps I can still convince her to sit out the war. Not all of Westeros have to bleed for the Iron Throne." He knew that speaking to Lady Jeyne alone would be a uphill battle, but he had always gotten along well with other people, even if most still saw him as a boy. Who else could they have sent? Aemond? He was far too confrontational. Negotations would end before they even began, assuming he didn't fall into one of his moods and threaten to burn down the entire castle. No, it had to be him, he couldn't imagine anyone else.

"Very well. You'll need provisions for the journey, even if it's upon dragonback. Leave by the morrow, it does sound like you're in a hurry." With that, he turned and left the rookery, descending down the stairs, but he gave Daeron one final glance. "Oh, and once you're finished at the Eyrie, return here. You're still my squire, and that's a fact that even the new king needs to acknowledge." Then he disappeared completely, with the maester soon scuttling after him. This left Daeron alone, his only company being that that of the sqawking ravens, who grew noisier by the second.
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Daeron didn't speak again with Ormund again prior to his departure, though he did actively work in getting Daeron ready for his diplomatic mission. Even if he was going upon a dragon, he didn't want to push Tessarion so hard... he'd take an easy pace and arrive within a few days. He had no intention of stopping to rest at an inn, and seeking shelter with a noble lord was entirely out of the question, as it was nearly impossible to exactly determine who was on each side at this point. Besides, he had grown up hearing tales of Larys Clubfoot's massive spy network, and he couldn't risk whether or not his half-sister didn't already have a master of whispers that was his equal. With the necessary supplies filling his sizeable pack, he made sure to fasten a sword to his belt. It was the one given to him by his father right before he left for Oldtown, and though he doubted he would have use for it, it still was comforting to have a memento of his father with him for this journey. He knew he could find additional courage if his father was watching over him.

The clothes that he would be wearing weren't any elaborate or grand- even if the way to the Eyrie was greatly expediated by flight, he still valued being comfortable for the journey over looking nice. Besides, he doubted Lady Jeyne would care much for how he looked, even if that very thought made both of Daeron's cheeks redden a bit. He would be wearing little more than a leather jerkin, worn over a longsleeved linen shirt, along with trousers of sturdy material, and leather boots. He also had gloves and a travel cloak, as it does get frightenly cold when one flies high enough, though the heat that emanates from a dragon's scales does much to mitigate some of it.

By this time, he had already descended the stairs to the courtyard where Tessarion was often kept. She was unchained, courtesy of the servants, and he would have loved to see their attempts at getting her chains off. She wasn't very aggressive generally, but she was still a dragon. And once again, she knew that he was coming. Daeron didn't know if it was because she could smell him, sense him, or if it was some kind of magic unknown to all except for dragons. Whatever the case may be, she watched him attentively, keeping an eye on his every step as he got closer and closer. She greeted him as she often did, nuzzling her nose into him to the point where he was nearly pushed to the ground, but like so many times before, he managed to stay on his feet, if only barely. Her body, of course, was warm to the touch, partly due to the sun that was hanging in the sky high above them, but also due to the fires that raged within. Cold winds were blowing, both figuratively and literally, and Daeron was glad that he would have Tessarion at his side for the coming days.

He securely fastened anything important so that it wouldn't come flying off when they took off, and looked at the dragon with a wide grin on his face. "You ready, Tess?" The blue dragon gave an affirmative roar, which probably terrified anyone who had the misfortune of being within earshot. Despite Daeron being at the Hightower these past two years, nearly everyone was still wary of Tessarion, though he supposed he couldn't truly blame them- one needed the blood of Old Valyria to truly understand. Aemond would probably call them sheep, though Daeron was far less harsh when it came to non-dragon riders. Before he got on Tessarion, Daeron had one last fleeting thought towards the Hightower itself. He thought back on the last two years that he had spent there, and though not every memory was necessarily pleasant, it all contributed to shaping him into what he was now- nearly a man grown. He had every intention of following through with Lord Ormund's intentions... except that Daeron intended to stop at King's Landing before heading back to Oldtown. There was really no question in his mind that he had to do that. He wanted to pray in front of his father's resting place, he still had such a right to do so, didn't he? And more importantly, he wanted to see his family. He had so many unanswered questions swirling around in his head, things that he didn't know that he rightfully should. So much had changed in such a short amount of time... he feared that he would see nothing but strangers in his brothers. He gave a sigh before finally getting on Tessarion- he couldn't let himself be dragged down when he still had a greater mission to achieve.

If Tessarion was truly the Blue Queen, then her domain must be the skies themselves. She took off from the ground below with such a smoothness and quickness, that it should be clear to all that she was the nimblest of all the dragons, with only a few exceptions. As they got higher, the buildings of Oldtown became smaller, and the people grew into ants before disappearing completely. The Hightower was aptly named, and it would be something that he'd look back on for miles... until he couldn't, and that would be when he would know that it would only be him and Tessarion from there on out. He took care to fly high and away from heavily used roads. This was far from some kind of stealth mission, but he preferred to take such precautions. Anyone spotting a dragon flying over head wouldn't be quick to forget, and he didn't want to potentially jeopardize his safety or anyone else's. Flying at such an altitude was deathly cold to Daeron, and he had to make Tessarion dip much lower every so often so that he didn't end up freezing to death. Tessarion didn't seem to mind either way- the cold winds didn't really seem to affect the dragon.

The trip ended up largely uneventful, in which Daeron was perfectly content with. His greatest fear was a confrontation. Risking his own life was one thing, but also putting Tessarion in danger? He just wasn't ready to make that choice, and hoped that he'd never need to, either. When needing to rest, they did so in the remote countryside, far away from any roads or pockets of civilization. He allowed Tessarion to hunt to feed herself, and she often brought back something for him as well, which usually beat the pack of salted beef that he had brought with him. Travelling alone with Tessarion seemed like the fulfillment of his wildest dreams, and it took much of his resolve to not abandon his mission entirely. What he wouldn't give to have the ability to travel the world with his dragon to see all the wonders of man, of great cities only heard of in story tales... but he knew better. He had so many people relying on him and he couldn't fail them. He had learned from his father that a man has nothing without their family. In that, he wholeheartedly believed in, even if it meant coming into conflict with his half-sister.

By the time he had reached the mountains of the Vale, he had begun to fly noticeably lower. Concealing his presence was quickly becoming a moot point, and the air had become far colder than Daeron was used to after two years in Oldtown. He didn't know if it was the air or the beauty of the mountains themselves, but every so often, he could feel his breath catch in his throat as he admired all the scenery that was seemingly engulfing him. It pained him that he wouldn't be afforded the opportunity to fully enjoy them while he was here, as the pressure of his monumental task was only beginning to weigh on him. As he followed the mountain road, he soon noticed the heavy snows that had already fallen. Winter is soon upon us, Daeron thought to himself, even if it has yet to be felt fully in the south.

The snow would have slowed him to a crawl if he had chosen conventional means of travel, if the fearsome mountain clans didn't pick him off before then. He would have had to travel in a large party, and even that wouldn't guarantee his safety. Before long, he entered a narrow pass that fed into a massive gate, watched over by twin towers. Daeron had heard the stories of countless armies smashing themselves against the Bloody Gate to no avail, but he had a dragon and could just fly above it if he wished to. But why should he entitle himself to a different standard just because he happened to be a dragon rider? He was better than no other man who had come to the gate before, and should be received as the same. Tessarion descended swiftly to the the ground below and made a loud crunch in the snow once she made contact. All was silent and still before him, not so much as a sign of life could be detected, but Daeron knew the gate was manned by dozens of knights. Were they baffled that he had not just flown over instead? Or was this the first time that they had ever seen a dragon and were scared at what he could potentially unleash upon them all? Tessarion, growing impatient, let out a deafening roar, only growing louder as it echoed into the mountains.

At that, an answer was finally returned. A booming voice that showed no signs of fear or hesitation, putting forward a simple question. "Who would pass the Bloody Gate?"

The reality of the situation hit Daeron upon hearing those few words. After coming from such a distance, he was practically a stone's throw away from the Eyrie itself. He felt so very small when compared to the gate iself, to the mountains, to everything. However, he knew that he hadn't come all this way to be seen trembling with fear or cold. He sat up straight, but remained on his dragon, figuring it was a wiser course of action to associate himself with a large, fire-breathing beast.

"I am Prince Daeron Targaryen, third living son of the late King Viserys Targaryen, the First of His Name. I come before you under a banner of peace and friendship, as an envoy of the one rightful king of these lands, Aegon Targaryen, the Second of His Name. I humbly beseech upon you the right to enter further into your lands so I may find audience with your liege lady, Jeyne Arryn. Insofar that we may discuss the dangers that the future holds for all of Westeros and how we may ably face them, together."

Silence. Then a man appeared, as did others, but this one had red and white diamonds upon his surcoat. This must be the Knight of the Bloody Gate, Daeron thought to himself. "And who goes with you?"

For a moment, Daeron's breath once again caught in his throat. "None other than the dragon Tessarion, who is as magestic and beautiful of a beast than has ever lived before." At that Tessarion gave Daeron an angry look at the mention of the word 'beast'. He'd have to thoroughly apologize to her later.

Then began a discussion among all the knights, far out of earshot of Daeron, though he strained the best that he could to hear even a snippet of a word. When they finally came to a consensus, the Knight of the Bloody Gate turned back to face Daeron. "A raven shall be sent to the Eyrie, and you may pass through these gates, but you may go no farther than the Gates of the Moon until you receive blessing from Lady Jeyne herself to head up to the Eyrie itself. Is that understood?"

Daeron nodded. "I appreciate the kindness-"

"No kindness," the knight grunted. "Too many bloody dragons flying about. Keeping you grounded will give everyone peace of mind."

Dragons? Did he mean that there was more than one dragon now in the Vale? Or was it just a figure of speech? Before Daeron could inquire further all the knights present stood aside as massive gate came screeching open, allowing Daeron entry into the Mountains of the Moon. Daeron looked back upon the knight, but he clearly wasn't interested in an interrogation. He kept silent, steadying himself on his dragon, and went on, ready for the trials and tribulations that would soon come before him.

A Collab with @Ezekiel (He did the bulk of the work!)

Eyes shut against the world, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms clung to the harness binding her to her mount and companion, Syrax. The methodical beat of her heavy wings drowned out all sensation as Rhaneyra focused on it. It was that, or acknowledge the harshness of the wind and cold around her, of the pain in her body and the sapping of her strength. She had forsaken her Hand's idea of flying with a maester, even the weight of one more person would delay Syrax, even if only by a little. It was not as if the man could have looked to her ills mid-air, and no matter what had come between them, she doubted her oldest friend would deny her the service of the Eyrie's own, even if that was all she gave her.

Syrax was not a swift dragon, but she was so vast as to be implaceable, while smaller dragons would have to flow with the harsh gale of the building mountain storms, Syrax bludgeoned her way through gust and gale. Behind her neck, Rhaenyra was sheltered from the worst of the wind and rain when they travelled, but she had not been in a fit state to do so when they had begun, and the journey had not been easy.

When Syrax finally began to approach the Eyrie, cresting over the mountains of the vale, Rhaenyra was barely aware, but she did not allow herself to slip into unconciousness. She was not sure if she would awaken, and she would not have the weather do her half-brother's dirty business for him. Through barely open eyes, she saw glimmers of the Eyrie as Syrax dropped low, heard shouts of alarm from below, although they were barely more than a whisper to her. With an impact that must have been titanic, but she could just about feel, Syrax landed in the mountain keep's main courtyard, giving out something of a roar of confirmation.

The Queen reeled in her harness, her travelling cloak pulled over her, and the riding leathers she wore beneath, she appeared more the adventurous teenager of her youth, in spirit, if not quite in form. Now, however, she fought to remain awake, her head lolling backwards as she almost instinctively removed herself from the harness, half dismounting, half falling, from the dragon, to the courtyard below, barely aware of the many figures rushing towards her.

"A dragon, m'lady!" Aya had called. The stewardess had been sitting cross-legged in the window-seat of Jeyne's solar whilst the Maiden of the Vale read through replies from her bannermen to her call to ready themselves for the possibility of war. Some were incredulous that she gave no sign of declaring one way or other and others even thought to try to persuade her themselves. House Sunderland was minded to declare for Aegon rather than face the wrath of the King and had even petitioned the rest of the Sisters to do likewise. Adrian Redfort had already gone to Dragonstone to pledge his sword to Rhaenyra. It was hopeless. She knew that for good or ill the Vale could scarce hope to avoid the coming storm any more than they could hope to avoid the coming winter. Mercifully the past week had seen an easing of the snows yet the wind was sharp and cold as a blade. Aya's cry gave her pause.

"Green or Black?" Jeyne rose and crossed to the window. Aya oftimes claimed she saw a dragon reflected in the mists of Alyssa's Tears, a wisp of the shadow of a ghost but she'd ever been a dreamer and the magical held a special fascination for her. Jeyne tightened her lips as she made out the familiar silhouette of Syrax growing larger in the grey skies. She'd made up her mind that her courtesy would be icy cold until whomever courted her support made their plea, but her breath was all relief that Rhaenyra approached rather than Aegon or one of his brothers.

She didn't bestir herself to go to the courtyard, a fire blazed in the Crescent Chamber and Jeyne took hr seat upon a high chair, the throne of the Old Arryn Kings on a raised dais of black marble. Aya stood, slender as a spear at her right hand as Lorn Lynderly and Emmon Corbray ventured out to receive Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone and some would have it, rightful Queen of Westeros. A squire, a wiry lad named Loras Lipps, scurried after them with bread and salt but Jeyne called him back. He sullenly took up position to her left and the traditional guest right was forestalled.

Across the blue satin of her gown she lay the blade Falconclaw, not Valyrian Steel to be sure but the naked steel was message enough for Rhaenyra upon her entrance. Her heart panged to do it, but she'd resolved whomever made visit to her, they'd be treated with suspicion in the outset. This was their war, if it came to it, not hers and until they stated their motives for bringing a dragon to her doors, then she must needs defend herself. For who else would?

The first courtier of the Eyrie to approach Rhaenyra, or was it a guard? Her vision still swam and she couldn't make out the details, had the misfortune of coming face to face with the protective maw of Syrax, letting out another fortress-shaking roar in defence of her clearly stricken rider.

By the time more picked up the courage to approach, Rhaneyra had calmed the huge beast, patting its side gently as her sense returned. Still the chill and pain remained rooted in her centre, but her faculties had returned. In short order, she pulled down her hood, revealing who she was, if there was any doubt, the crown of her father placed atop a man of Valyrian silver. While tussled and made rogue by the storm, her look was still an impressive one, although more in line with the reputation of her husband, the rogue prince, than the Realm's Delight.

"Take me to....take me to your lady." The Queen spoke to the nearest courtier, who nodded before leading the way, Rhaneyra turning briefly to calm Syrax once more at the thought of being apart from her wounded companion. The short distance was not easy for Rhaenyra, but she fought to keep that from being obvious. Her travelling cloak was cast aside, the riding leathers beneath, black with red trime, was fine enough in its make to suffice for a formal meeting at pressing notice. Thankfully, the swelling of her miscarried womb had retreated, and so the Queen was willing to be seen as such, even if the slender figure of her youth had been replaced with the buxom sign of motherhood.

When she was finally brought before Jeyne Arryn, she was wounded, if not surprised, to see her prepared in a manner that was aggressive in its coldness, Falconclaw at the ready. She couldn't help but smirk a little at that, Jeyne would be so bold as to prepare to fight a dragon with a ceremonial blade.

Rhaenyra paused only for formal introductions to be made, her violet eyes not wavering from Jeyne's, something of a powerful sight, the stormswept heir of Valyria, before she herself spoke; "Lady Arryn, you must have heard of the-" It was as far as the Queen managed before the pain of her travels finally overcame her, a sharp pain within her, like a knife to her stomach, marring the concentration of her faith, the Queen extending one arm to catch herself on something, but nothing was to hand, instead she stumbled, to a collective gasp of the room. When she straightened herself once more, the pain kept her silent, clenching her teeth against the limits of her body.

Falconclaw rang every stone wall as it slid from Jeyne's lap and clattered uselessly to the uncarpeted marble. She'd steeled herself for the meeting but had scarce thought to behold her lifelong friend in such a state of ill-health. She hissed at Lynderly and Corbray, "Help her! For pity's sake! My chambers. Make haste. Aya?" She whirled around but the Lyseni was already halfway to the door. "I shall bring Maester Cowley at once." She curtseyed deftly and disappeared. Jeyne seized Rhaenyra's hand. Warm. It was always warm. "Have you lost leave of your senses, Rhae? You're not near fit to fly!" She hadn't meant to scold her dearest friend and, as her heart told her- rightful queen but to see her brought low by the travails of the birthing bed had shocked her to her core.

By the time the knights of the Vale had helped her to Jeyne's own bedchamber, Aya and Maester Cowley were already in attendance. Jeyne's Stewardess had lit candles and poured fresh water in a crystal jug at the bedside. The Maester had tinctures, powders, potions and salves in a clever wooden holdall that opened into many compartmented shelves via a system of levers and catches. Hot towels and cool moistened cloths were readied. After Rhaenyra was abed, Jeyne apologised for speaking sharply to the two knights and gave them leave, sullen Loras Lipps, who had followed in befuddlement still clutching his tray of bread and salt was bid to leave it on the writing bureau and to see to it that Falconclaw was returned to its place above the great hearth and that the cooks supplied meat for Syrax. "A couple of goats should serve. I doubt she's still partial to lemoncakes." She smiled and mopped Rhaenyra's brow with one of the damp cloths. "I am truly sorry, my friend... about the babe." She frowned but couldn't meet her friend's eye.

"I have prepared milk of the poppy." Whispered Maester Cowley, his eyes glittering and kind. She needs rest but there are no outward signs of lasting injury. Over-exertion is the cause of this malady. A decent sleep and a decent meal are the best remedies. Fish would be best... given the blood loss." His smile was tight and sad. "Thank you, Maester. Thank you Aya. If we might entreat some time alone?" She received nods from both and they slipped away in silence. The draft of milk of the poppy was left at the bedside next to the jug of water, beads of cool moisture cascading down the contours of the crystal like swollen jewels.

For the time it took for Rhaenyra to be abed, she was queen no longer, nor Jeyne Lady of the Eyrie, she was simply thankful for the aid of a friend, purpose flying in the face of troublesome pain. She, along with every ache and pain of her body, more than welcomed the comforting embrace of a bed. The first one she had lay in since the false-birth of her stillborn child, a thought that arose unbidden from the depths of her mind, before she could focus on the matters at hand. For now, she waved off the milk of the poppy, a sigh escaping her lips as the Queen sunk into the pillows of her impromptu bed.

"You were right, flying was not wise, but I had little choice, recent times have taken away most of my choices." The violet eyes that looked up to meet Jeyne's were vulnerable in a way that Rhaenyra was not often, even as a young girl, she had met most of the great challenges of life with iron walls of character about her. Only a few would ever see through that, Jeyne could be counted among them. For now, Rhaenyra chose not to mention that Jeyne's decision not to declare for her immediately was the principle reason for such a rash move by the Queen, bridges were not mended through blame.

Her hand clasped Jeyne's as she spoke of her lost child, she did not seek to force her to hold her gaze, simply squeezing her hand; "A daughter...my first, she would have been, born in to this world far too soon." The last few days, of trial and travel, had kept her mind from the crushing thoughts of her grief, swallowed up by rage, but now that the fire within her was dying, if just for a moment, her sorrow, a far worse pain than of her ails.

"I should change, my ancestors and husband may have made a habit of ruling as warriors alone, but I doubt many expect the first Queen of Westeros to look like a wild hunter." She chuckled, even if her laugh, all her laughs, were hollow these days.

Seeing her this way was hard. Jeyne had sorely missed her childhood friend but had to make a point of refusing to acknowledge Rhaenyra's marriage to Daemon. Daemon was poison; her Aunt Rhea had died childless and shunned because the Prince cruelly chose to forsake her and had made a point of sullying the good name of the Vale to any who would hear him. It would not do. Finally, he'd brought war upon Runestone and whilst the Knights of the Vale had ensured his claim remained fruitless, a score of loyal bannermen had needlessly perished. She had doubts how Royce, Redfort or Templeton might take her declaring for the very man, albeit through his wife, whom had cost them so much.

But that could wait. Not long, she knew, but for now. She squeezed the Queen's hand. "I'm so sorry I thought to greet you like that... I couldn't be sure it were you or one of Aegon's party and I'd resolved to treat any dragons at my door with steel." It sounded petty to say it aloud. "Gods... It's pathetic really, but your mention of your 'warrior husband' only reminds me what that man has cost the Vale." She sighed. "He remains an exile in these lands, and when you disregarded my advice to wed him... It hurt, Rhae. It showed me how little regard you had left for our friendship. I love you well but him?" She turned away. "You put me in an impossible position Your Grace..."

In the several sconces, the candles flickered. A raven beat its wings by the window and on towards Maester Cowley's rookery. Dark Wings. Dark Words she feared. Of late correspondnce had stepped up a notch, various Houses seeking Jeyne to give some indication of her intent. Most implored her to declare for Rhaenyra and their counsel was the counsel of her heart in truth. Yet there was a point to be made and she would make it. If her leal bannermen would risk their lives, let their Queen make her offer. To have lost the baby was a pain Jeyne had wept to hear but War was separate from personal matters and she doubted the might of the East would march into dragonflame because a babe had died and it was a bit of a shame.

She allowed Rhaenyra to digest her words as she compressed a cool cloth to her fevered brow.

For the moment, Rhaenyra allowed Jeyne her grievances. It had been a driving wedge between them, her marriage to Daemon, but it had never been something she was willing to compromise on, even to those closest to her. In truth, losing her childhood friend had cost her much, and not just the assured loyalty of one of Seven Kingdoms.

"As my friend, I understand, and I am sorry for the actions of my husband." Another pause, with her violet stare settling on the Lady of the Vale; "But I am not just your friend, I am your Queen, you know this to be true, you knew my father and his wishes. Whether or not you approve of my husband, the position you are in is the same for all lords and ladies of the realm, loyalty, or treason." She sat straighter in the bed as she spoke, even though she longed to remain as still as possible, for now, no longer holding Jeyne's hand.

"Loyalty is rewarded, but I should not have had to question yours."

It was heavy for Jeyne to hear; she was ever the Targaryen- Fire and Bluster. "Oh Rhae, don't play the high and mighty with me here, under my roof. In mine own bed!" She laughed, rising from the bedside and beginning to pace; "We're too old for petty squabbles. I just wanted you to ask my aid and not presume to ignore me for years then hope I'll come running in your hour of need..." She kept her expression soft, human but there was an edge to some of her words that betrayed the hurt beneath them that was genuine. "Of course I know your claim is right. I know what Viserys wished and I know Aegon and his lackeys have conspired to cheat you of your birthright." A tear slid down her cheek. When had she last wept? She'd wept when she heard of the babe... All her tears were for Rhaenyra of late. But should it come to war the realm will weep...

"In my heart, my friend, I am yours. Always. But my duty is to my people. Nobody understands that better than you." She stopped pacing and returned to her seat by Rhaenyra's pillow. "Daemon affronted the whole Vale and in that blasted business with Runestone he cost the families of some of my bannermen dear." Her eyes were downcast, she cuffed away the tears. "It would be remiss of me to push them into a war behind a man they despise, no matter to whom he's wed this time..."

For now, the Queen, abed in the Eyrie, decided not to push the issue that Jeyne's desire for gratification might have ended her reign before it had even begun, after all, no one had exactly forced her onto Syrax, but it took a brief pause to pass over the thought, before a weak smile graced her lips.

"I am glad, I would not want to have lost yet another joy so soon." Her smile persisted towards the Lady of the Eyrie for some time,even as they turned back to more serious, specific matters. The Queen retained her upright position, not wishing to come across as overly casual.

"I understand, they will not be happy to commit to a war they see in aid of my husband, but you will fight for me, not Daemon, although I doubt that will comfort them much. In stead of that, I have the backing of Driftmark, and much of the realm's fleets beside, Aegon may promise much, but even as war begins, for your bannermen so affronted, coastal as they are, great boons can be made for the Eyrie. My husband may still wound your soul, but prosperity, over poverty, can go much to fixing what he has done to the people of the Eyrie."

It sent a sorrowful pang to hear the rightful Queen trying to barter for her service with another's coin, yet it made sense with Winter drawing closer that those that would pledge their swords might receive recompense for those they left behind to see them through the cold years. "The snows have been dread of late." That was true, until the past few days the Eyrie was utterly cut off from the rest of the Vale. There had been Winters, Jeyne knew, when the Arryn Kings of old had spent years atop the Giant's Lance and no soul had been able to enter or leave again. She might even be better served sending her bannermen to Rhaenyra's cause by sea should it come to it and she was about to say as much...

The knock was familiar, welcome. "Maester Cowley? What news?" She bid the friendly maester enter. "Queen Rhaenyra, I implore you to try to sleep." He tried again, ever putting the care of his patient before the trifles of the realm. He turned to Jeyne; "The Blackstar approaches. Some seventy men & horse. He's cleared the Bloody Gate though I wonder that he takes such a bemusing route." Jeyne frowned. She liked Jon Templeton well enough but she'd pointedly not called the banners and wondered at the meaning of him bringing a reserve the long way round to her door unbidden.

"Forgive me your Grace, it seems we're to have more visitors during your stay with us..." She had a grave look as she sat in contemplation. "Ser Jon Templeton's a case in point Your Grace." She offered. "As loyal a bannerman as I could have hoped for. It was his brother I called upon to foster a Sunderland babe to assure their ongoing fealty long years past now. Jon came to collect her, Ronnel was ever half a cripple." She could scarce believe how the years had slipped through her slender fingers. "But when I had to call the banners when Daemon tried to sieze Runestone... Well, Daemon himself slew Ronnel and Jon's never forgiven it.

"My brother is Kennelmaster at Ninestars..." Maester Cowley put in. "Jon is honourable to a fault. Were the Queen wed to the Night King himself, he'd fight for her should Lady Jeyne bid it." He smiled placidly.

"I won't sleep while I have matters to attend to, at least for now." The Queen responded in terms that were certain but not unkind, sitting up straight in the bed provided for her, the bed clothes still wrapped around her form.

"If he is truly so loyal, then I should speak with him, it should not be seen that I am unkind, or rude, towards those who would set aside such things, though I will need to change before I see anyone else, I should gather." She mused seriously, before laughing, and smirking a little at the Lady of the Arryn; "While your lady may be accustom to her Queen dragged through the dirt in leathers, I feel most vassals are not."

Jeyne had Aya summoned to see that the Queen had fresh clothes, though Jeyne's own wardrobe boasted little black and crimson, the Lyseni stewardess presented some dark blue dresses or a deep red velvet gown that she doubted Lady Jeyne even knew she owned. Aya didn't look the Queen in the eye and was resolved only to speak if spoken to. She had spent the time since leaving the chambers looking at the dragon in wonder from the safe distance of the Courtyard gates. She was humbled to be in the company of a queen but in Syrax, felt she had witnessed true majesty.

Aya dreamed of dragons her whole life. Only Jeyne knew and she found it endearing, she often sat in the window seat in her Lady's chambers and watched the mists of Alyssa's Tears evaporating before they reached the valley's floor and fancied she could sometimes see a grey shape flirting through the distant spray. Jeyne had said she saw it too from time to time but Aya could never tell if she was just humouring her. There was no doubting Syrax's reality though and this Queen was lucky enough to have bonded with her for life. Small wonder she couldn't find the words to address Rhaenyra.

The Queen examined the offered clothing for only a little time, swiftly deciding upon the dark blue, for the current setting. Rhaenyra had always found it rather easy to read others, or at least, she thought so. It wouldn't take much of a genius to pause over the presence of a foreign handmaiden at the Court of the Eyrie, it was not as if the Falcon's Keep was a common port of call for travellers. Rhaenyra had known the girl, or at least her face, from time spent with Jeyne. She could not remember how she had come to be in the service of House Arryn, but it was clear Jeyne relied on her more than one might any other servant.

"You, and your...Aya? was it?" The Queen raised an eyebrow as she stood and spoke, a recalled distant memory, the bed clothes falling away from her, only a slight wince marring her features from the movement after her much needed, if short burst, of rest. Despite the presence of servants, having dismissed all but one, Rhaenyra set to work on the clasps and bindings of her leather garb, simple, even if expensive, and was no issue for the Queen to undress herself.

In her youth, back in the days that Jeyne and her's friendship had been cemented, Rhaenyra had been a slender, if womanly, beauty of the Targaryen line. Now, years gone by, and the Queen was no less fair of feature, but children and life at court had reshaped her, instead of a slender maid, Rhaenyra's form was buxom and maternal, a change that was more than obvious even under the loose small clothes that still covered her. The Queen's own eyes flicked from Jeyne to herself, before laughing, only a brief moment of childish amusment. "I do hope your gown has a little give." Gowns, unlike riding leathers, would need some amount of assistance from the handmaiden, even as Rhaenyra addressed Jeyne;

"I am sure there is more of note you have not told me of your realm? How does the Eyrie fair, in full."

As Aya manouvered the gown into position as flatteringly as she could, Jeyne remembered there was an old suit of plate and mail that might go around the Queen if all else failed. Though she decided she would keep that thought to herself. Having no issue of her own, who was she to pass judgement on her friend who had borne six children in these intervening years? "The Eyrie is peacful and prosperous. My smallfolk have the stores to see them through this next winter and since Runestone, war is something we do not speak of. At least not until recent tidings..."

Aya loosened the lace in the bodice and the Queen seemed more comfortable. "I think your dragon is beautiful, Your Grace." Aya spoke softly. "A beautiful creature for a beautiful woman." She smiled, fixing Rhaenyra's hair; beaten silver interwoven with gold.

The gown fitting was more than a slight wiggle, but once in place, and a loosening of the lace, the Queen was once again herself, as the Realm knew her, resplendent in courtly glory, especially as her hair, turned wild from the wind, was treated back into shape. She chuckled slightly at Aya's words; "Well, I do see why you have her serving you so loyally, Jeyne," Compliments, even subserviant ones, were always welcome when it came to Rhaenyra. "Yes, Syrax is quite the wonder, as are most of the dragons we ride."

"I am sorry then, that these matters should bring war to a peaceful realm, know that I wish it were not the case, I do not take lightly a conflict with my own blood." She sighed sadly to Jeyne, turning slightly to examine how she looked, nodding with swift approval. While that may have made her words seem flippant, in the company of friends, the barriers of formality were laid low.

"Ser Templeton will doubtless make his climb overnight." Jeyne knew, The Bloody Gate was a half days' ride from the Gates of the Moon and from there it was another half day's ascent to the castle. More treacherous by night, Jon Templeton was experienced enough to move through the dark and he'd have the sure-footed garrons of the guides to vouchsafe swift passage. Mercifully, the snows had abated but Rhaenyra's presence only pressured Jeyne into feeling she needed to make a declaration before she was ready.

"Your Grace," She began, courteously. "You must believe me when I say I would never declare for your enemies but at the same time if there is a course open that better secures the safety of my bannermen then I must pursue it." She sighed, knowing it was not the show of solidarity and sisterhood Rhaenyra would have hoped for. "I promise you this; should any parley or interim negotiation fail utterly, then my will and the Knights of the Vale are yours." She held the Queen's hand once more. "It's no easy thing. If I send my strength to Dragonstone, the Clans will have wind of it within a moon's turn and..."

"Lady Jeyne?" It was the Maester once more. "I apologise for any intrusion once more but another Raven... There's word of a youth and his Dragon at the Bloody Gate. I thought it prudent you were made aware. Daeron Targaryen approaches the Gates of the moon..."

The beast looked attentively, its eyes locked in its prey. It snarled, its black fur bristling as it got ready to pounce. Its prey laid there, unattended, without making a movement. Fiercest of all wolves, the direwolf Marrow pounced upon the small creature.

Only to make a rather comical snarl while he thrashed around with the rabbit plush, much to Arsa's delight. "Good boy!" The diminutive northwoman clasped her hand, as she moved to exploit the direwolf's weakness. Being rubbed in the belly.

"What are you Marrow, a common dog now?" Lord Stark bristled, as he eyed the direwolf. He was sitting on his lordly seat, with a small child on his lap, who clapped excitedly at the spectacle. "Wof!" The young Rickon claimed, giddy. "Wof! Pay wof!" He clapped as he jumped outside Lord Stark's lap, and fearlessly towards the beast.

Of course any normal parent would have also jumped out, trying to avoid their progeny from jumping into the maws of a wild beast. Not Stark. Marrow... had always been surprisingly accepting of his blood. He never protested around Rickon, the child subjecting him to the abuse any other man would have his throat ripped off with his mighty jaws.

He didn't even need to get used to Arsa either. The beast somehow who she was. Or maybe the fact Arsa was a self-confessed warg had something to do with it.


Stark unfocused his sight from the playing trio, and centered once again in the messages and the crows. The Greens and the Blacks. Two people for the same throne and crown. Family against family. The accursed act of kinslaying would be bound to happen. As if the winter wasn't enough.

But while one side only asked to bend the knee, the other was more...coercing. At the very least, Stark had to give it to the Blacks, they pretended they -cared- about the North. He rubbed his beard thoughtfully. In any case, he had to recall the armies of the North. The war had danger of spilling into the North aswell. And with harsh winters, also a second threat came. Those who lived beyond the Wall would try again to breach it. The brothers of the Night Watch weren't strangers to calling for help to the Northmen.

If anything they were among the few people who truly still tried to help them the best they could. All others were using the wall as the dumping ground of their rejects. Cregan sighed as he pinched his nosebridge, thoughtfully. Even if he had sent word to recall his bannermen, manpower was needed elsewhere. He made sure to only call those who had no family to support and would rather be a mouth less to feed in the winter. But it would take time, travelling was not easy in the North at all, even for a dragon.

Speaking of which... another Raven had arrived. There was a prince supposed to come, wasn't it?

"Pa!" The young Stark pup raised his arms in Cregan's face, waking the lord from his stupor. "Alright little lord, time to put you to bed." Arsa smiled, lifting the infant with the deceptive strength of the crannogmen and exiting, Marrow eyeing the couple as the Snow left the young Rickon in the hands of their caretakers.

"Hmm, call for the cooks, Arsa. We need to think how to hold a feast for a prince with... turnips and salted meat. Or something like that. We cannot spend lavishly." Cregan said, as Arsa Snow waltzed in front of him.

"Well, we could use fresh meat."

"Those cattle are for Rickon's birthday, Arsa." Lord Cregan puffed in indignation.

"Oh, I can get a couple of stags. No problem, my lord." The impetous woman said, as she did a mock curtsy. "I am still one of the better hunters of Winterfell with bow. Plus, I might be able to see if a Targayen prince actually pisses fire or something."

"ARSA!" Cregan raised his voice, snapping, while the woman, wild as she was, raised the skirt of her tunic and ran, laughing heartily. Laughter that seemed to be contagious, as the servants did so aswell. Even the ...wolf seemed to yip. Lord Cregan Stark, Warden of the North just stared incredously.

---------

(with @Ezekiel)

Amidst the snowflakes, she deftly paced, the scarlet droplets of her quarry tipping her off of his last moments. It was a beatiful stag, worth of a Prince's feast. Arsa smiled at her luck as she eyed her surroundings and drew forth a knife from her belt. She wore now the clothes and attire of a hunter, a fair contrast with the skirts and accessories she usually wore in the throne room. A quiver and a bow rested in her back, the tools which had helped her fell the beast, alongside another one that was resting not too far away.

As she muttered an apology and put the deer out of her misery, Arsa could not help but notice a rise on the back of her hair. She was being watched. Clenching the knife tightly, she put it away as she unslug the bow. Amidst the snowfall, growls of beasts could be hear.

"Figures huh, even wolves are starting to get antsy with the upcoming winter." The huntress said as she readied her bow. Had it been another occassion, she would have just leave the meat for the beasts, and she would probably escape with only hurt pride. But a Prince was coming. She had to put up a fight this time.

Still it was easier said than done. A whole pack of wolves could prove tricky. If they all charged her at the same she would not be able to fend all of them off. Her gift of skinchanging would also leave her wide open. Stubbornly, she readied her bow. "I am sorry, but this meat is for a Prince." She cursed under her breath as she prepared herself to fight.

As the wolves circled around their intended target, an ear-splitting roar crashed through the wilds of the North, animals of all ilk terrified for miles around, not least of all the wolves most direct to the noise. A moment later and Vermax plummeted from the sky, great claws punching into the earth as the dragon landed direct from flight.

Prince and Dragon had been flying low on their approach to Winterfell, Jace not entirely familiar with the North, at least not enough to fly from memory, without tracing across the Kingsroad and nearby wilds, slowing down so that the young prince might navigate the vastness of the cold North. It was for this reason that Jace had caught sight of the conforntation down below, the figure of a lone hunter against a pack of wolves. Despite his better nature, he had decided to intervene.

Before the wolves could react with more than a whine, Vermax's maw lunged forwards, the crack of bone beneath fang and jaw signaled a fast death. Another roar from the tremendous monster, and the pack was sent running, bounding off into the thicker woods. Once they were gone, Jace unbound himself from his riding harness, approaching the hunter.

"Are you hurt?"

"Gods of the forest..." Arsa muttered in awe, the bow loosening the arrow she had strung against a tree, her eyes gazing at the figure before her eyes in shock for a while. A dragon, a real dragon in the flesh before her eyes. She had thought of many things happening, a dragonrider was the least of them.

"uh...eh." She stuttered eyeing the prince, before hurringly doing the best of her curtsies. "I am fine, my Prince! I just...did not expect you to grace this humble huntress with your assistance." She added, not even making eye contact. This was probably the prince his brother was waiting. Well, it had truly impressed her. Almost made her lose control of her bowels, at that!

Jace smiled at her response, chuckling lightly; "Ah, I suppose the dragon does rather give me away." The young prince, while not Valyrian of look, certainly had the bearing of a young statesman about him, coupled with a build that was bordering on brawny, despite his young age. As he spoke, he patted Vermax's snout.

"But, it seems you have me at a disadvantage then, as I do not know with whom I speak, does this humble huntress have a name?" His tone remained good humoured, after the long ride North, human contact was something of a relief.

Arsa looked at the Prince, her eyes meeting his for first time. He did look regal and handsome, but also young. Probably of the same age as her brother. "Arsa." She said. "Arsa Snow, personal servant of Lord Stark at your service, my Prince" She said. It was half true the part being a servant. Bastards were often treated like that in the Kingdoms, but she would never dare claim he was her brother, that was Cregan's right to do so. She eyed the creature, this time with curiosity, as she dangerously and fearlessly close the gap.

"And you are?" She asked the dragon, confident that the beast body language told it was subsumed and not really aggressive against her. She pulled one of her dried meat bits she used to keep herself well fed in the long hunts and offered it to the beast.

The dull-gold of the dragon's scales shimered as it's vast head snapped around to gaze directly at the approaching Northener, a low growl rumbling through his throat, but not building into even the faintest roar. One huge green eye blinked once, before the growl died, and Vermax snapped the barest front of its jaws to take the piece of meat, swallowing in one bite.

"Brave, as well as humble." Jace smiled, moving back towards the dragon, placing a hand on the heated snout of the dragon. "Vermax, he hatched when I was very young."

"Nice to meet you Vermax. I hope we can be friends. I do not want to end up as your lunch." Arsa said, as she eyed the dragon with a friendly smile, before turning her sights into the prince once more. "Well my Prince, you have my most heartfelt thanks for the assistance. Winterfell is now at a stone's throw of your reach. I will make sure that the best cuts of these deer are served on your plate." She pointed at the two fallen carcasses, before bowing out once more and unslung ropes from her equipment to carry the dead stags around. She pulled with deceptive strength one of the corpses before tying it to the other, and placing them in a makeshift sledge.

"Heave ho!" She said, her factions straining as she struggled to pull. Surely, it would be much easier if the dragon could give her a lift, but she couldn't ask a Prince to help with menial tasks. It would be just wrong.

"A hunter brave enough to feed a dragon, must surely want to ride one?" Jace laughed slightly, immediately moving to halt her dragging the dead prey. "And even if not, I am sure, no matter how experienced a hunter you are, Vermax will have an easier time of it." At the sound of its own name, Vermax rose upright, the beasts' long reptillian neck extending, the dragon almost appearing to double in size simply by stretching out.

"So, may we be of aid?"

"Princes shan't be making chores of servants...but if you insist, my Prince, I cannot simply refuse to mount a beast of legends." Arsa smiled back, as she dropped the sledge, as she began to walk towards the Prince. "Besides, you do need to be shown the way, do you not?" She paused. "You are just waiting to show off, don't you, Vermax?" She also quipped back to the dragon, a hand in her hip.

The dragon, as if on queue, blasted the Northern huntress with a snort of hot air, before crouching low enough to be ridden, Jace waving a hand towards the harness, now only at head's height to the two humans.

"If you would do me the honour, climb up first and stay forwards, I'll have to ride behind to bind us to him." There was only the barest hint of mischief in the Prince's tone, it was, after all, the only way to harness two into the saddle.

Arsa smiled as she deftly climbed in a single jump, the blood of the crannogmen of the Neck being more evident than ever in her lithe but nimble frame, as she sat on the fore of the harness, getting ready for the lift. "Be sure to pick the deer, my prince." She reminded as she eyed the Prince once more, her smile beaming beyond her hood. One of her eyes closed thoughtfully. "Even though you might have other appetites now." She jabbed back, the joke on getting the prince on her back not being lost on her.

The Prince laughed, shaking his head at the fast-moving huntress; "You wound me, my suggestions are quite singular in purpose, nothing untoward." His slight grin would have suggested otherwise, even if speaking more of good humour. With that, the Prince climbed on to the dragon, allowing the movement of Vermax's muscles, as the dragon stood, to push him up towards the harness, swinging a leg over, behind the Northern girl. It took only a few moments for the Prince to bind them both in place, the chord wrapping around their waists, then linked to the saddle.

"I'm sure Vermax will remember for me." Jace spoke, before clicking his tongue, the dull-gold beast exploding into the air with the push of two vast wings, Vermax's lower claws wrapping around the dead deer as the dragon powered itself into the air. As with any draconic take off from standing, it took a few moments of forceful wing-beats, before Vermax could take to flight proper, soaring low over the Northern wilds, slow enough for his riders to pick out the detail of the land around them.

"This is such a majestic view. Ravens have nothing in comparison to this." said Arsa cryptically, as she enjoyed the view, pointing the direction of Winterfell almost without effort, as if she somehow knew how the lands were at bird's view. "I am flattered my prince. And so I shall help you. Lord Cregan is right now in the middle of a dark humour, and he will probably not be very helpful, but I can help you with that. Just wait and see, my Prince." She finished her expression as she braced herself and enjoyed the rest of the trip.

----

(with @Ezekiel)

Cregan stood by the main Gate, gripping a sheathed Ice tightly. His breath was running fast, as the maddened expression of his direwolf, Marrow, was torn between frenzied defense or running away. He could feel the beast incoming. Cregan's watchmen had spotted it from afar. What he did not expect however, was Arsa, his own half-sister, brazenly sharing the ride with the Prince Jacaerys of the Blacks. Now it would be much harder to drive the points he wanted to give. He bit his lip, as he glared the figures descending, a breeze ruffling his coat slightly over his armor.

Vermax bellowed another roar as he approached Winterfell, not a cry of battle, although it could be mistaken for one, but a trumpet of his arrival, circling the Northern Keep below, gliding, to expand momentum, swirling in the air above the castle, eventually landing gently before the gate. Vermax paused at full height for more than a few seconds, green eyes gazing across the battlements and those asembled, before eventually crouching down, allowing Jace to unbind himself and Arsa, allowing her to dismount first, before he could slide down the scales of his mount.

"My Lord Stark! It appears I found one of your hunters on route, a small trouble with wolves." He chuckled, one hand on his sword belt. "A shame more complex matters have drawn me North."

Marrow seemed on the frenzy of jumping, his fur all bristled and his fangs clearly showing upon its targets, but a couple of taps in the ground with the hilt of Ice made the direwolf comply. Stark was gripping the sword certainly tightly, as he eyed the entourage. "I am aware, Prince Jacaerys. Welcome to the North. It has been a long way and you must be tired." His words were polite, but there was nothing but cold in his tone and inflections, perhaps even hiding subsumed rage. "You have found Arsa, for that I thank you." He added, before eyeing the woman who just descended from the dragon and began walking towards Cregan.

"He found me when I was carrying the stags m'lord." The smile on Arsa was exuberant. "He offered a ride and I-" Arsa said no more, as the hand of Cregan moved swiftly, slapping her across her face so loudly, even Marrow turned its head from the Prince and the dragon and looked at his master in confusion.

"It is the last time you do something this reckless, Arsa. I will have no more from you. Now unto your room!" He said sternly, as he glared at the shocked woman who then scrambled outside his sight uttering a curse under his breath.

"I apologize for her behaviour, my Prince. My late father made a mistake, and she was borne out of it." He said curtly, not wanting to dwell into the subject.

The Prince stood in shock for a moment, although it could not be read across his face, already a master of concealing his innate reaction, Jace remained still, hand in place on the pommel of his blade, the other hand loose by his side. Before Arsa had even be lead away, he replied to Lord Stark;

"I am sorry if I have committed any offence Lord Stark, I simply trying to aid a stranger in trouble." The Prince bowed his head as way of an apology, before he would continue; "Of all things, I have not come this way to upset House Stark." His eyes flittered to Arsa as she was lead away at that, a brief questioning look, before his focus was on Cregan once more.

"You have committed none, no need to apologize my Prince." Cregan mused as he gripped his sword. "Please raise your head." His voice became sombre as he eyed both. "I know your true purpose. But these matters hardly are discussed outside. Salt and bread will await you inside, my Prince." He stood aside, Marrow mimicking his gesture as he indicated to go in.

"Hospitality is due to the saviour of my sister, however the circumstances are." He added as he went in himself, the cold edge on his words not disappearing entirely.

"Of course, I was hoping you'd say as such, the ride North has not been the easiest." Jace chuckled slightly, his good humour returning, if only as a diplomatic device. He was quickly striding behind Lord Stark and his wolf, patting Vermax's snout before doing so, calming the beast to remain in place.

"A pair of deer, for your kitchens, consider that further salve." The young Prince smiled, evidently more positive in his bearing than the Northman.

"Mmh." Stark emmitted a sound of acceptance before leading the Prince to the throne room, having the servants take care of the deer and help feed the dragon aswell. He took silent, somber strides before leading him into his audience room after exchanging salt and bread, Marrow hurrying its pace along the Lord, always ware of the Prince. Lord Stark sat on the throne, and with a long sigh, he formally addressed the prince.

"The Iron Throne wants my men just before winter, is it not? But no longer there is a single unified Targayen head. Ones call themselves Greens, and others call themselves Blacks." Stark glared at the Prince. "Such folly. Have the wits abandoned the Crownlands? Surely you probably heard from the Citadel. This winter will be unlike the last one, and we had better prepare for it. What good does a civil war bring to the Kingdom?" Lord Stark huffed as he waved the letters that had been sent to him. "Tell me, o messenger of Rhaenyra."

"Queen."

For the moment Jace did not continue, allowing the silence to hang in the air of Lord Stark's hall, the young Prince unflinching in his stare, standing with the ease of someone already well used to politics and confrontation.

"Queen Rhaenyra, and this war that is coming is not a matter I, nor my family, take any joy in." Jace could not help but think of his great-uncle, and stepfather, Daemon at that. The Rogue Prince, now King, probably relished the challenge.

"My Uncle has thrown the realm into chaos to sate his, or more precisely, his mother's, ambition, my mother seeks only to claim what is rightfully her's, and not risk the realm upon the pyre of Hightower fancy. I admit, supporting our cause asks much of the North, but tell me, my Lord, how many riders have come from the Greens to seek you out? They do not do so, because the have nothing but contempt for the North, they see you as a lesser realm, and both of my uncles feel no loyalty to the rights of this Kingdom, and the house that rules it." Jace was determined without being imperious, the houses of the North had long enjoyed their isolation from the grand politics of the South, it would do well to address them more as willing allies, than compelled vassals.

"What happens when House Lannister, Hightower, Tyrell, demand something of them that might harm the North? Do you feel they would even pause in their decision to place their allies above those they did not even try to seek council, let alone aid? Aiding my mother is the only way to ensure the North, and your house, are secure." Jace believed what he said, in full, and it required little in the terms of fantasy for him to speak so, Aemond was a cruel and capricious master, he might burn Northern townships for the slight of not siding with his brother by default.

"However, while that may be the case, the Queen does understand that the North, worst of all, will feel the effects of a war before Winter, and so, if they aid us, the armies of the North will be permitted to return with what spoils they wish from the lands of the traitors, to help account for the loss of men working the fields." Jace paused again before he continued the offer, something far more personal; "And, in return for your personal sacrifiece, as the head of a household, not just a realm, if you would wish it, the Queen would bind our houses together, there are Princes and Princesses both, without spouses or issue, that might be joined with House Stark."

"Queen, whose throne was stolen from under her skirt. She will only be a true queen should she triumph over her foes." Cregan Stark's eyes narrowed in answer to Jace. "Just like the Green one. Still, I shall extend an apology for my slight in that regard. Pardon me." Cregan added, as his fingers gripped the seat, his own direwolf looking at him with concern..His eyes relaxed, asn he took a breath after the tense moment, sighing slightly afterwards.

"Indeed you are informed. The Greens have not sought us, yet." Stark confessed as he let go of the chair, and stroke his chin. "And it is true that the war may spill into the North regardless of my allegiance towards the matter. For that, I have begun to recall the armies to defend what was entrusted to me. Lions, Towers and Roses, they shall not be unscathed if they come to this land uninvited. That much I can say. Staying neutral does not mean staying idle, in any case." His hand went onto scratching the head of his Direwolf, a fidgetting gesture.

"Truth to be told, there is no truly secure option at all. As the Warden of the North, I must ponder what is best for my people, and by my loyalty to the Iron Throne, what is best for the Seven Kingdoms." He paused, a long drawn out silence, as he eyed the Prince.

"Your offer of blood and plunder is rather...intriguing. The royal family intermingling with House Stark would indeed bring prestige to the North and help secure prosperity. However, the plunder, while generous would be a temporal solution. I would rather have other kind of arrangements. Several parts of the North require resources and attention, such as Moat Caitlin, or our sea trade. Plus there is the matter of the Wall and the New Gift.The throne's aid in sanctioning a deal with the Brothers of the Black will be a boon. The Night's Watch is a shade of what it used to be, and that territory cannot go unmanned."

While Jace had been given fairly precise instruction as to what he could offer the Lord of the North, it was within his jurisdiction, as Prince, to improvise a little, and so soon the royal was nodding along to Cregan's requests; "Once the war against the traitors is won, the Crown will be more than happy to assit the North in securing their lands, from both weather and attack." He did not question the need to resupply the Night's Watch, even if the idea did amuse him somewhat.

"I am sure there will be no shortage of traitors taking the Black in the months to come." The young Prince smirked slightly as he continued, a clear jest, an effort to control the tone of the meeting, and simply general amusement at the thought.

"Prince Jacaerys." He began to heavily weight his words. "A friend of mine says all the time... the North remembers." Cregan stark smiles. "And so I remember my ancestors aswell. There was once an attempt who spurned a Queen, and the Sea Serpent aswell. It was a sad affair. I have always thought that men are, most often than not, as senseless as women. And I also think, that the will of a King is binding to their last breath, no matter what circumstances. It is both the boon and the curse of a ruler. It was Viserys' will that Rhaenyra should be queen. The North does remember, Prince." He said as he got up from the throne.

"But again, I owe myself to the North as Warden, and I would rather build than destroy." Cregan said as he himself placed himself in front of the prince."I cannot fathom a world where kinslaying is taken lightly. It is a most despicable crime. Please be merciful, my prince. Please ask your queen to be merciful aswell."

He finished. "The north shall rally under the Blacks. I will make sure of it." Cregan added. "Two thousand already are itching to fight under your banner, so I shall send them after you." He paused. "As for me... I shall gather more. Give me more time. I shall get you an army of wolves, ready to descend beyond the neck. I shall rouse them to be ferocious and fearless. And I shall spare no efforts to pay my due." Cregan finished.

"So that future generations shall not commit such a folly ever again." He added somberly. "Now, i believe a feast awaits, my prince."

(Collab with @agentmanatee, we have reached the mountaintop!)

; To Qoren, Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear,
we hope this letter will find you in good health. This message has been sent forth to give you fair warning. In light of the coming chaos that may engulf Westeros, King Aegon of House Targaryen, second of his name, King of the Andals and the First men, Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm seeks to treat with you. He will arrive in Sunspear on Dragon back less than a fortnight following this letter. Please, make all necassary preparation.

Grand Maester Orwyle

----

The North
(With @AtomicNut )

The dishes and japes alternated throughout the hall as a reduced but very vocal host attended the dinner in the keep. Truth to be told, there had been little to no need to actually send off ravens or make the gossip spread the news. Everyone from the surroundings had seen the dragon, and had acted accordingly to the news that a Prince had visited Winterfell. Even the bards who were playing during the dinner were making an extra effort to show their talent, albeit the North was often far too cold for the throat and the fingers played. Lord Cregan, seeing the display, decided to actually dedicate more servants and food to the banquet, although only the Lords and the Prince would eat the freshly hunted Venison, cooked in generous spices. And yet, even cooked vegetables and salted meat were appreciated by the retinues of the men, who sometimes could get ahold of freshly baked bread and pies that were passed around. The wine however, was far mor generous. After all, men could live without wine, as long as water existed, so the stock for the winter was a no concern regarding that.

Cregan, as his condition of host, had decided that it was the Prince the one honored to seat in the best seat next to himself as honored guest. He was wearing fine, yet rather simple clothes and pelts, and sometimes he took a bite or two off the food, eating it in a steady fashion, which showed neither apathy nor ravenous hunger. He however, was sometimes dedicating frowns and stares to the improptu cupbearer that was serving them.

In the end, even lord Cregan Stark could not keep his sister secluded in the room, and he had decided, after pondering that it would be better if she had some part in the banquet. After all, Cregan feared, there would be a long time until the next big event. Arsa was dressed in her finest embroidery, and even she had spared some time to let her hair combed and wear some sparse accessories. Even if she was just a bastard cupbearer, she did look more like the noble sister of Lord Cregan than a Snow at this point.

Not far from there, an Umber and a Mormont were arm-wrestling for a pork meat pie, while a disenchanted Manderly shook his head, sipping some fine Reach winery. On their side, Ser Mors Bolton shifted around, surprisingly armed with a quill and a pen, drawing what-knows-bodypart of his food, while he carefully poked at it with the knife. A Reed woman was explaining the size of her latest capture to a taciturn Karstark. What was more surprising is that the tables were a gradual transition with no clear segregation. High Nobles, Low nobles and even sometimes rank and file and bastards feasted and talked as one, exchanging japes and food.

The wild abandone, at least in comparison to the South, of the Northern feast brought something of a permanent grin to the young Prince's features. He sat, in his place beside Lord Stark, in a doublet of black, trimmed with red, and the sigil of his house sown into the torso. With the hearths roaring, it was almost possible to forget the chill of the North. At least, as a Dragonrider, the Prince was used to biting chill and wind in comparison to most of the Southern lords.

The Prince sipped from wine, and took odd bites from the food, as he watched the events of the hall unfold, pausing for a few long moments to evaluate the much-watched arm wrestle, his smirk extending for a moment, before he turned back towards Lord Stark to speak;

"My thanks again, for this welcome to the North." He paused as he sipped again from his wine, stiring the goblet in his hand, before placing it down. "I must admit, while there may be less...planned, entertainment, the guests are certainly more lively." He chuckled, stealing a quick smile to the rather finely dressed cup-bearer at her brother's behest.

"Tell me, my lord, where would you hold this parlay that so many of us want?"

Cregan scratched his chin, as he took a sip of his cup. He eyed the rest of his guests with bemusment. "In the North, hospitality is a matter of life and death. We might not be the most warm folk, but each and everyone of us is a brother and sister before the dangers of cold and winter." The Wolf said eminently, as he eyed the prince, before formulating an answer.

Only to be interrupted by a coarse shout. "MORS, STOP PLAYING WITH YOUR FOOD!" The Umber wrestler cajoled to the Bolton Knight. "FIND A WOMAN!" He continued. His opponent, the Mormont, did not miss a heartbeat.

"OR TWO!" Racuous laughter deafened the halls for a brief moment, even lord Cregan indulging in making a chortle that looked like the yelps of a drowned puppy. " A place, huh?" He added after the jape.

"Oh, I bet he would say King's Landing godswood!" Arsa piped in as she refilled both of their cups. "Nothing like an old fashioned oath by the old gods!" She chimed, beaming. Cregan simply shook his head and eyed the prince.

"Harrenhal." He stated. "So that we may never forget what could have been of the Seven Kingdoms if we went to war."

Jace chuckled along with the Lord of the North at the outburst of the two Northern lords, as much from the absurdity of it all, as genuine amusement. He laughed again at the exchange between true-born lord and bastard sister, shaking his head slightly.

"It seems your brother is less conservative than you believe, huntress." He smirked a little more, before replying to Cregan; "Mhm, central too, even for those from the far corners of the Kingdoms, ships can travel along the Trident. A fitting location, if any." No better option could show the full might of dragons brought to wrath than Harrenhall, and there would be plenty of that, should the war prove unavoidable.

"But, I suppose we can wait to discuss wars and their making till after we are done being jolly."

"Dorne is another good option." A mellow voice snuck from Jace's back, the mumblings of lanky Mors Bolton almost a gutural whisper, as he shifted his sight almost like if he was some kind of owl towards the prince. "Also, blood from the heart is bright red and the one that returns to it is more faded.Did you know that, prince?"

Cregan eyed Mors Bolton, choosing to ignore the latter...out of place rant he had. "Well, that is a fair point Mors." He looked at the Prince, with a complicity stare. Apparently he said things like this all the time.

"I suppose we can discuss wars after the feast." He asserted, as he eyed Arsa's hip swaying who was being pretty exaggerate now. He nursed his head. He probably was going to have a problem of teenage love in the making. And there she was, leaning towards the prince to talk in accomplice words.

"He is just a grumpy wolf who would rather put a scary face so that everyone is in peace. He is a softie at heart, believe me. He spoils Rickon rotten, and he does the same with me." She whispered in the prince's ear.

"I did, actually, I've spent a good while studying with the Maesters, and that did come up." The Prince managed a somewhat awkward smile in response to Mors Bolton's somewhat out of place statement, before he replied to the more relevant suggestion; "While Dorne may be quite the setting in of itself, I doubt they can be trusted to not use it as an opportunity to rid the world of my good-father." He chuckled slightly, Daemon had certainly earned himself a number of foes, something that was coming back to haunt them all the sooner.

The Prince titlted his head, ever so slightly, away from Cregan as he responded to the Northern maid suddenly whispering in his ear, not so obvious as to dramatically offend a host, but enough to keep their conversation between them; "I cannot imagine he is alone for wanting to spoil one such as you, for different reasons no doubt," His grin did not leave his face, even as he continued on a more serious tone; "Mhm, one should seek the council of grumpy old wolves, with winter on the way."

"I will say it now." Cregan sighed, deciding to take a more direct approach. "Your life and maidenhead is your own problem. But what you are doing is not advisable, Arsa. Stop bothering the Prince." Cregan spat, simply turning off any kind of pretension of diplomacy, before fetching the pitcher from her hands and serving his wine himself. He grumbled afterwards, looking under the table. The snout of Marrow was there, crunching bones from the deer as he licked the marrow, his favorite meal. He decided to toss the Direwolf another bone. Arsa stood there, her mouth agape. She did not believe what Cregan had just said. It would take several moments to even process his words.

"But yes, Dorne could feel too ...tempted for such a thing. And they are the only kingdom with the honor of being dragonslayers." He added as a concern.

Jace's outward response was little more than a raised eyebrow, his eyes flickering between the two Northerners, before releasing a breath, carrying on with the latter line of conversation as if the former had not occured. Diplomacy, after all, was the most pressing cause of his visit.

"Mhm, although, I wouldn't mind a brief trip to Dorne, I hear the beaches are quite lovely. " He chuckled faintly, before continuing; "But yes, poor connotations for my family at the moment. The Eyrie usually remains aloof from outside politics, but with Lady Jeyne being a childhood friend of my mother, I highly doubt the Greens would accept that. Harrenhall, or another riverlander seat, seems to make the most sense, without involving foreign soil." He sipped his wine, calming himself further, even if his gaze momentarily searching for Arsa and her reaction, slow as it was.

Arsa simply recomposed herself, and smiled and bowed politely, subdued like a servant more. That is, until she grabbed another pitcher of wine, and offered it to Lord Stark. All over his head.

The party went silent, all eyes went wide. Umber, who had won the wrestling match, stood there, the pie falling from his mouth. Mormont's wine cup clang to the ground silently. Reed and Karstark both decided to distance themselves. Manderly was livid, trying to rein in his nerves as he shook visiblely. The bards stopping singing.

Underneath the table, Marrow let a loud whine. Cregan stark barely reacted, wiping himself out of the wine, and stood up, his icy eyes overseeing the scene, before eyeing Arsa. Fury was visiblely seen in his factions.

Arsa's eyes shifted from fury to dread, after realizing what she had done. Lord Stark's nostrils flared, as his voice, thin and crackling as new ice, spoke.

"You know, Arsa Snow." He said, before grabbing yet another pitcher. "You are a very clumsy cupbearer." This time, the red tide splashed her. "Look at how your dress is ruined now."

It was Mors the first to laugh, and soon others followed. And then from the underside the table, Marrow came out, and tried to lick Cregan's face to no avail. Only for the now drunken dire wolf to trip Arsa directly into the Prince's lap.

Mors reaction sold it all. "Oh dear, my parchment got soaked."

And the laughter of Northmen roared. Before long, Arsa had joined the laugh aswell, and Cregan did, in his own peculiar way.

What was a flurry of motion and wine, was equally tempestuous within the mind of the Targaryen Prince, from cold dread at the initial 'spill' unto Lord Stark, Jace had been wondering how his first official act of diplomacy had gone so very wrong. He had stifled a laugh at Cregan's reaction, in case it was simply part of a much more serious punishment. Then, when the room had erupted at the comments of the unusual Bolton, Jace had joined in with the boisterous laughter.

It was in the midst of this that a rather damp Arsa landed in his lap, almost spilling them both over, but Jace was not so slight as many princelings, and so held them both from tipping, his eyes catching those of the woman now sat atop him.

"Well then, found yourself in another spot of trouble?"

"At least I get to die in a prince's arms." Arsa flirted back as she readjusted herself with surprising dexterity, as if she was a cat in Jace's lap. "Oh, but I got your garments ruined, my prince! How can I ever repay you?" She said, as she eyed Cregan standing up after fending off his own drunk direwolf.

"Please excuse this poor of a half-sister, my Prince." He said, quickly bouncing back to being somber and worrying more that Arsa's mess had spilled unto the Prince. "Arsa, go get a change of clothes." He said in a rather brotherly coaxing. "And apologize."

"Well, I am dreadfully sorry, Prince Jacaerys. This humble servant will accept any kind of punishment." She said, as she finally got up from his lap with the same dexterity she had positioned herself.

"...and bring me another parchment." Mors voice was heard in the background, before Mormont roared. "AND WINE!"

The Prince, as a young man, had already become acustom to the advances of women, in some form, but this was a rather different ordeal. With the feline grace of Arsa shifting in his lap, Jace was moved to a restrained silence, at least for the moment. When she moved away, it was a mixture of relief and frustration for the Prince, although he quickly recovered into a laugh and smile.

"It is no matter, black and red doublets are hardly a rarity in my family." He smirked, waving a hand as if to cast aside all worry. " I am...ah...sure, that your own dowsing has quiet evenend the score." He just about managed, diplomatically, at the girl's final words, before she disappeared with her lists of demands, a strained sigh escaping the Prince.

"The North may remember, but I doubt I will be forgetting it, either."

Arsa bowed down graciously, as she went in a rush to get changed and supply the demands of those present. Cregan still on his condition as host, sat once again, and stroke his chin, he was obviously thinking on something, probably the events that had happened. He was murmuring something. "Old Gods, Cregan, you really have a tough choice here." He paused and pondered.

"Tell me, Prince. What shall I do with her?" He rubbed his temples. "She has brought considerable distress to you." He said to his guest.

"More so to yourself, I wager, than to me." The Prince responded, leaning back in his chair as he spoke, his clothing barely damp in comparison to either of the Stark-born. "On my account, I'd have you do nothing, but, I suppose, a cupbearer cannot be allowed to douse her lord in wine." Jace chuckled. While the North was not so different from the South when it came to such things, he found it difficult to seriously advise in the matter, when he may not know quite how seriously matters were taken.

"Perhaps take away her priviledge, if only for a short while." He offered, genuinely and honestly, before a slightly more devious thought crossed his mind; "Of course, Southern courts are stricter, she may learn how best to serve you, my lord, among halls that will gasp, not laugh, at her antics."

"South, huh." Stark sighed. "I dont think anything short of dragonfire will temper her. She is wild as the north, prince. A true northwoman at heart." He paused. "But she should serve you well." He said, as he scratched Marrow behind the ear. "In the end, it works for me. The people here expect at least a token punishment, and to show my love for my kin. I can do both that way." He said in a low voice. "Please try to return her alive after all is said and done." He finished. Even if you two end up in bed. "We shall meet after the feast to sort out the details."

"Tame, perhaps not, but the ability to control herself, can only benefit both yourself, and her, in the long run." Jace mused quietly, his thoughts quite elsewhere, on the subject of their conversation, rather than hall itself. He paused before answering Cregan's more personal line of questioning; "I promise, no harm to her, and that was not my intention...with the suggestion." It was a half truth, Jace would have never been so bold as to openly act so, he was not his uncles, but the wildness of the North was infectious, but not so much as to make him obvious.

"Details a plenty, my lord, not merely may matters of your kin, but my own, and the people across these Kingdoms."

(Another collab with @MrDidact . What a pal, amirite?)

(Collab with @bloonewb, cheers!)

(with @Ezekiel)

Whatever the Three Sisters 'were' famous for, it certainly wasn't architecture. The small tarven that Jace found himself in, some distance from Sisterton on the isle of Sweetsister, was little more than an elongated hut, the strawed flood badly need changing, and by the smell of some of the locals, they probably did as well. That said, he was finding the whole experience rather fun.

Of course, it was hard to approach an island incognito while riding a dragon, but Vermax was not yet so vast as to be picked out in foul sea weather, and so it had been simple enough to land in the sea-swell that often engulfed the three sisters, some distance from prying eyes, then making their way to the nearest place that provided both shelter and sustenance.

So now, Prince Jace, so far unrecognised, sat, his new Northern companion close by, with a tankard of ale and a rather large bowl of 'Sister's Stew' a white soup made from a variety of sea-food. Whatever it was, it beat trail rations, and with good company, life on the road, or, wing, as it was, proved not so bad.

Arsa Snow poked carefully her stew with a spoon, inspecting the ingredients as she looked at the flecks of steam that rose from it. Unlike Jace, she never had any need of not going unrecognized. Nobody besides Winterfell and a few Northerners knew of her existence. Her small stature and hunting clothes, also contributed to her modest travelling look, perhaps only broken by the existence of her bow, but nonetheless, they probably would never expected she had been on Dragonback all the way from Winterfell. She had become intoxicated with the views. For hours and hours, with none of the usual warging problems she had to face to pay for such views.

"Hmm, looks tasty." She grabbed a spoonful in her mouth. And then another one, as she ate greedily. "Salty, but pretty tasty, boss." She added as she looked at Jace. "Ideal after a journey."

"Mhm, certainly beats dried beef." He smiled at the Northern girl as he too began to eat away at his soup, washing it down with the odd gulp of ale. "It may not be a Winterfell feast, but hopefully less people will be doused in wine." He smirked. The Stew contained a hearty amount of sea-food, and it was quickly doing much to ease the hunger-pangs of earnest travel. He hoped Vermax had found similarly enjoyable prey.

"Recovered from flying yet? It can take some getting used to."

"I'm fine. I am used to it." Arsa replied, almost absent with the warm stew making wonders in her stomach. She quickly realized her folly, though, as she switched words soon afterwards. "I mean, I am getting used to it quickly." She chastised herself for her slip of the word. This was not Winterfell, already. She could not avoid making even the slightless offhand remark that the peculariarities of the blood of the First Men could sometimes bring in people of certain lineages, like Stark or Reed. Besides, while eager and adventurous, even a Prince...would probably frown at the mystic skills she had been blessed with.

The Prince raised an eyebrow at that, while it was true it had been her second flight upon dragonback, that would hardly be enough time to grow used to it. It struck him as yet another wild boast from the Northern girl, something he'd seen was something of a trend. He chuckled slightly; "As you say. I, however, enjoy resting my legs from the saddle." He smirked before taking another gulp of ale. Looking around the tavern, it seemed to have started to fill out slightly, as the night grew later. "Should be interesting." He murmered.

Arsa eyed the Prince. "Islander antics seem interesting to you?" She said lowering her voice as she smirked."Living in the Red Keep must be much more stressing than Winterfell, surely, moreso when you have a reputation to uphold in your name." The teenager said coyly as she swiped Jacaerys' ale and took a sip on her own. "Your legs must be really cold, aren't they, boss?" She said as she squirmed once more to sit in his lap. "Maybe this can help."

"It's certainly a relief to be out here for a while.." He managed before she both stole his drink, and placed herself upon him, a slight mock-frown turning into a laugh the next moment. "Not one to complain, but I certainly won't fault your effort." He smirked, an arm wrapping around the Northener.

"Better already."

"Well, boss." Arsa said as she snuggled to share some body warmth. "I can share that feeling with you. To be fair, Winterfell was kinda choking me a little aswell. Cregan, bless his soul, he tries his best for everyone, but he is too overbearing at times. Like a wolf parent tending his pups." She paused. "I am surprised though, I was hoping to spend quite a long time in my room for my spat with him. How did you manage to get me released?" She put a finger in her chin, waiting for an answer.

"Oh, simple really." Jace chuckled at the memory, and at the thought of sharing it with her. "I told him a Southern court might be able to teach you some manners." His eyes were full of mischief as he taunted her, all the while holding her tight to him.

"Southern lady manners, huh." Arsa said, as she looked at Jace, and without warning, pushed her aware with mock insult. "M'lord, what are you doing! It is improper!" She jested as she returned to her seat. "I know the manners, I just do not see the point of employing it them for the time being." She paused. "This isn't a court, as you know. Personally, I find more useful in these circumstances the fact I can hit targets at a hundred of paces. How many ladies in your court can claim to do that?" She added, finishing her soup.

Her sudden 'outburst' only made the Prince laugh further, but drew a few odd looks from around the room. A lord, of any bearing, was rare among the isolated rural folk, outside of Sisterton and other such places of importance upon the isles. Still, Jace merely carried on.

"Hmm, my cousins, for one, the pair of them no doubt. But no many others, I'll grant you that, aye, a little more useful, here and on the road." He nodded, before speaking again; "Mayhaps you do know, but your brother seemed not to think so." He chuckled.

"My brother is in a difficult position. I doubt he would make a fuss out of our little spat if it was in private, but I got myself carried away in public. He simply settled it in a way he does not have to hit me once more." She paused. "Plus, I do think I know he wants me as guarantee of blood, since he cannot offer young Rickon." She paused for a second."And not many opportunities for a bastard to rise and do well." She added, her voice lowered. "Even mistress is seen as a good chance by some. I am sure brother even pondered that much." She added, playing with her spoon.

"In the Capital, noble bastards tend to be given postings around the city, I think half the Goldcloaks are bastards by lords." Jace mused, before turning more serious in his response to Arsa; "You're not here to be a Misstress, truly, I offered your brother an opporunity to solve the situation, I would not want to make you feel trapped by it."

"No, you are right." Arsa added. "But I would not mind." She answered back. "Not with a man who has shown me the wonders of this world on dragonback, at any time." She giggled, as she smiled back at Jacaerys. "Speaking of which." She paused, something clicked in her mind. "Is there something wrong with your...mount?" She asked. "She seems... a bit spaced out as of late." She added, having perceived a certain lack of focus in the beast's eyes during the flights.

Jace pondered that for a long moment; "Not that I could think of, maladies that is, Vermax is reaching the age where she might lay a clutch, that could be something do with it. My mother used to say Syrax was slower to respond before she was to lay eggs." The young Prince mused allowed, still holding her to him.

Arsa let herself lulled by the prince, until something in her mind clicked. "We're in deep trouble...boss." She said, the blood draining quickly from her face. "If your mount has the same roosting instinct as large predator birds, we are in a pickle. She might not even respond to your orders and might attack anything near enough." She said, almost in a hushed whisper. "We must take her somewhere else, before its too late."

"Dragons are not the same as birds." Jace laughed a little at the thought, before stopping himself mid thought; "Although they can become more...hostile, to those they are not used, best to keep her in the wilds until this is resolved." The Prince mused, whispering back; "You should be careful around her, dragons are hardly tame." He grinned, a little fire in his words.

"More careful than the one who knew she could roost anytime yet chose to travel? That is not a high bar, boss." Arsa replied before disengaging from the prince. "Besides people would want to grab those eggs for their own ends." She added, a noticeable frown across her factions.

"Eggs are a lot less valuable for those who are not born of my blood." Jace responded before she pulled away, still speaking at a whisper, before she was too far to hear. "Baubels, nothing more." He continued, before his eyes were drawn away by some commotion. A pair of men arguing over a serving wench, it was not long before the men were throwing punches at each other. "I think I prefer Winterfell."

"Still, I do not think it would be safe. What if they end up in those who are borne of your blood... but are not on your side?" Arsa leant forward one last time, before eyeing the two drunkyards."We should find a safe place for that, but Wintefell is the one i know the most." She paused as she eyed the prince.

"To fly back to Winterfell would take almost as much time as the whole journey back to Dragonstone, we could find isolation on these Isles, or in the Mountains" He replied, the Vale was only a few league South of the Sisters after all.

"Then we shall have to take good care of her, and them." He mused, stroking his chin, watching his companion, and the increasingly rowdy room.

"Boss, do you want to join in the fight? If not,we should go now." Arsa added looking at the bar brawl in the making. She bit her lip. Leaving a clutch unatended. It could be tricky. She did not know truly how strong a dragon's attachment would be to roosting, nor she did not know even if her skills would work on a draconic creature. "I really hope she is not the type to be overly protective and picky."

"Hmm, no, best we make our exit." He responded quietly, ducking to narrowly avoid the first thrown mug of cheap ale. The tavern was quickly descending into the usual chaos, although the Prince was well versed in agility, albeit for a very different cause.

"If you would care to accompany me." He offered her a hand and a quick smirk, before they were off, dodging through angry, violent and drunk sistermen, and extra few coins thrown one of the servant's ways for their trouble.

The Dragon and the Kraken

(With @Ezekiel)

Iron Isles Collab

For the first time in generations, a Targaryen would set foot on the Iron Islands. And the Ironborn were ready. Longships were gathered around the shores of Pyke, the most ever seen in one place since the days of the Iron Kings. Hundreds of ships, flying practically every sigil and device of the Grey King's numerous descendants. Harlaw, Stonehouse, Merlyn, Sunderly, Botley, Goodbrother, Wynch, Tawney. Even the Farwynds and Codds. And of course, the Greyjoys. The thousands of men gathered could be seen on the decks of their longships and on the stony beaches, hundreds of campfires trailing smoke into the cloudy, grey sky.

They were a loud, buzzing mass of cutthroats and reavers. They drank, they ate, they played cards, and dice, performed the finger dance or wrestled and scrapped to the roars of their comrades. They were undisciplined, aggressive, brutal, rapacious, crude, and often cruel and sadistic. But they were good at killing and burning. Something which Queen Rhaenyra would like as not, find useful in the near future.

And so Dalton Greyjoy, the Red Kraken, Lord of the Iron Islands, Lord Reaper of Pyke, waited for the royals. The longhall of Pyke was crowded with his bannermen, drinking and laughing as he sat on the Seastone Chair of his ancestors, the sword Nightfall resting in it's sheath against his seat. A tankard of mead was in one hand, a knife that he idly flicked in another. He drank and smirked at the sight of his men having their fun. Their blood was up, reaching a boiling point. Sooner or later, they'd need to unleash it. Black or Green, there would be blood. It was just a question of whose they would spill and for what.

He pondered burning the Lannister's Gold Fleet, sacking Lannisport, the Arbor, and Oldtown. Putting market villages to the torch and bringing back gold and thralls to Pyke as maids shouted his name. A fine vision.

Suddenly, the doors to the longhall opened and a reaver came in, shouting, "Lord Greyjoy! Dragons! Two of them! Coming in from the East!"

Dalton smiled widely, "Ah. The royal family. Better make them welcome. Make sure the archers and scorpions are at the ready. Just to let them know we mean business."

The Red Kraken stood, shoving away the thrall girl who had been sucking him off and pulling his breeches closed, she stood to leave and he said, "Stay right there, I might need you again soon. The boys definitely will. Have at her boys." Some of the feasting men laughed and took her immediately, carrying her off to the tables.

Dalton stood and belted Nightfall, walking outside whistling an old Ironborn shanty as he spread his arms and another thrall draped him in his leather coat. His personal guard fell in line, the best killers in the Iron Islands, men with bloody krakens on their armor. Dalton pushed open the doors and walked out, inhaling the salty air with a sigh and stepping up to the battlements. Archers and scorpions stood at the ready, scores of men. They stared at the dragons in awe and fright, while Dalton held his hands on his hips and waited for the dragons to come.

Arrax and Moondancer raced towards the Iron isles with all the grace of apex predators, diving between thermals and clouds in the practiced dance of flight. Arrax was larger, each beat of its wings carrying it further, but Moondancer had an elegant speed of flight that was not matched by any living dragon, despite her small size.

The very sight of the two dragons might have suggested something of dire importance was driving them forwards, in the grand scheme of things that was indeed the case, but this sudden burst of speed was something far more innocent.

"Last one there stinks worse than a Wildling" Baela had shouted, over the storm, bringing Moondancer 'just' close enough to Arrax for Lucerys to hear, before darting away. The sudden challenge had snaped Luke out of his pensive thoughts, worrying about the realm, his mother, and more pressingly, his own role in securing the Iron Islands, he had laughed, before spurring Arrax to race after the smaller dragon.

Thus, when the two dragons came within sight of the massed Iron Born, they did so at the peak of their primal ability, not for any show of force, some display of majesty, but a game, devised by two adolsecents born into the world's most powerful dynsasty. They swooped in the air, well above even the greatest range of the Scorpions below, circling the Ironborn, both dragons bellowing roars, Moondancer's higher and quieter, but no less draconic. Then, they swooped low, twin dragons, over the ships and beach, low enough to ruffle sails and banners, mildly displacing some of the smaller boats as they turned about, eventually deftly landing high on the beach, a spot with enough space to land without crushing any of the hard-bitten warriors they hoped to win over.

Both Baela and Luke were laughing as they dismounted. Much as Daemon rode the Red Wyrm boldy, Baela was barely strapped on more so than a horse's saddle, swinging off Moondance swiftly. Luke was only a moment behind, his more traditonal harness coming with a few more buckles to hold him in place.

"Fear not, good-sister, Moondancer will soon be the faster, a close one." Luke chuckled, even as the Ironborn surrounded them.

"Second is only the first loser, my Prince, the victory is yours." Baela bowed, somewhat mockingly, towards the young Prince, before straightening up to face the oncoming raiders. "So, which of you is Dalton Greyjoy?" Her tone was whimsical, she looked at them, this murdering horde of rapers and warriors, as if they were nothing more than a King's Landing crowd. In Baela the world saw the beginnings of a female Daemon, something that only made Luke smile as he strode to stand beside her.

Most of the Ironborn, hardened warriors and reavers as they were, still shrank away for the most part as the dragons landed on the shores of Pyke. They didn't shiver in fright, but neither did they move forward or let their hands stray far from their weapons. Perhaps one in a thousand of them had ever glimpsed a dragon before, and even that one man had a firm grip on his sword hilt. Every boy in the Iron Islands grew up hearing the tale of the fall of Harren the Black and his whole house, at the hands of dragonfire. None were eager to see such a fate befall them. And so all kept their distance as they surrounded the two royals.

All save the Red Kraken. Instead he came forward with a wide grin, sauntering toward the pair of dragonriders with confidence. Dalton was only a few years older than the two royal youths, but was tall, with a lean, hardened build. His black hair was cut short, showing them both a scar that traced vertically over one of his dark blue eyes. Dalton was handsome, with sharp cheekbones and a strong jaw, but his eyes gave a hint of the wildness that was within him. Even still, with his valyrian steel sword, dark leather coat, and retinue of killers, he cut a striking figure.

He stood before the two and said, "That would be I, princess. I hadn't any idea that one of Rhaenyra's envoys would be so beautiful. You must be the Rogue Prince's daughter, Princess Baela." He bowed his head to her and took her hand in one of his black leather gloved hands, giving her a chivalrous kiss on the hand before withdrawing.

Dalton gave Prince Lucerys a once over and cracked a smile, looking over his shoulder to his brother Veron and the other Ironborn, "This one doesn't look very Strong does he?" There was a wave of chuckles and sneers.

Lord Greyjoy kept smiling, "Look at this men, Rhaenyra sends us two dragon riders! Two envoys for a Greyjoy, when most only get one! They must think we're important!" The Ironborn roared their approval in a rowdy cheer, their courage rising back with their lord's bravado.

Dalton turned back to them, as the cheer died down, sweeping his hand over the sea, "Well, you sent two riders to this meeting. I gathered every longship I could get my hands on. You must have seen the masts from miles away. They could be an island unto themselves. The Iron Fleet. The largest, deadliest Ironborn armada in generations. Under my command."

His smile turned whimsical, "I assume it's what you came for yes? Unless you brought the fair Princess here to propose a marriage. In which case, I have a few salt wives already. But maybe it's time, I had a rock wife, and someone made an honest man out of me." The Ironborn laughed again, Dalton's lust being almost as legendary as his skill at killing.

There was the barest noise of steel being drawn as Dalton Greyjoy turned around, the young Lord of the Iron isles met, almost to his face, the point of Baela Targaryen's blade. It was an elegant weapon, but with a savage curve. It would look pretty on a wall, but would leave a horrible mess of anyone who had the misfortune of it being buried within them.

"The last man who mocked the Prince so, lost an eye, how will you pay my lord?" The Princess had something of a smirk on her lips, even as the throng of Ironborn reacted to her motion, several moments behind. The clatter of weapons as they were readied, shouts of alarm and much fouler things. Despite her jovial expression, Baela's eyes were fierce, and 'just' mad enough to maybe even consider it.

Every Ironborn within range had drawn steel or strung their bows, Dalton's honor guard tensed to spring into action. The snarls of the dragons stopped all the other reavers from advancing beyond a few steps. Except for the Red Kraken. He stepped forward, letting the point of Baela's blade poke his cheek as he smiled widely, showing his surprisingly white teeth. Dalton spread his arms, holding his hands open.

"Beautiful steel. Elegant. Exotic. Swift. And deadly. Just like its owner." Dalton stared right into Baela's eyes and didn't even try to obscure the lust and desire that danced in them. As well as other, darker drives and visions. Dalton's hands curled into fists. His voice was low, both subtly menacing and even vaguely wistful, "I see the fire that burned Harren black and brought our people to their knees in you, Princess. If you had been born Ironborn, during the age of the Reaver, you would have been a Queen."

He pressed even closer, letting the blade prick his skin and blood began to trickle down the side of his face as his smile turned mischevious "I give any piece of me you desire, Princess. Voluntarily and with all vigor. Though I have a particular piece in mind, and would prefer to do so in a more private setting. Otherwise, I'm afraid we might all die here. And wouldn't that put a damper on negotiations?"

"Enough, Baela, let the man keep his appendages." When Luke spoke it was with the voice of one well beyond his brief years. All three of Rhaenyra's Velaryon sons were well built and mature for their age, but a life as princes in chaotic times had only pushed them further. Baela watched Dalton for a moment longer, before the blade withdrew, flipped in her hand, before returning to her belt, hopping a step back. It was not quite enough to calm the surrounding Ironborn, but it prevented them from immediately rushing her. That, and two dragons.

Dalton laughed and waved to his men, motioning them to lower their weapons, "Keep the offer in mind Princess. Our children would conquer the world."

"My children will, have no doubt." Baela retorted with a grin as she strode away from the Greyjoy. It was playful enough to not be a rebuke, but hardly confirmation of the dark things she had seen in his eyes.

"Yes, we want your fleet and your warriors. We want them turned on the traitors, and on those who sit and do nothing." Lucerys spoke plainly, the Ironborn were not akin to the lords that the rest of his family, on both sides of the conflict, were treating with. Spinning praise and such would only hinder them. "There are titles we can offer, but I am sure they mean little and less. Instead, Queen Rhaenyra would simply restore your old rights, to plunder and ravage. The Iron Fleet can take what it wishes from those who would deny their rightful Queen. How that is achieved, would be left to yourself, your captains, whoever, so long as it is done." While it pained Luke to sign away the lives and freedoms of those who simply had the misfortune to have lived under the rule of traitors, the Iron Fleet was too great an advantage to not press. He did not allow his misgivings to rise to the surface, instead presenting the image of a young prince, cold as iron.

"Assuming you are up to that challenge."

The Red Kraken smirked, "Perhaps there is some fire in you as well Prince. You are your Mother's son, at least."

He crossed his arms, the mirth leaving, and said, "Up to the challenge? I am a Greyjoy of Pyke. My ancestors have been reaving, burning, and raping for thousands of years. Iron, salt, and the blood of the Grey King runs in my veins. I killed my first man while you were playing with wooden swords and eating lemoncakes with tea. I've fought in twice as many battles as years you've been alive. Claimed twice as many women."

Dalton pulled Nightfall from its' sheath, leveling the sword at the Prince's chest, ignoring Baela and the dragons, "This is Nightfall. Valyrian steel. I claimed her when I was your age. But not the way you greenlanders do, with your birth rites and blood claims. I didn't get this sword because I had any right to it. I paid the Iron Price for her, Prince. Because for me the Old Way was never the old way, it's the only way. Everything I have, I won by blood and death. Like your ancestors. Except, I don't need a dragon to do it."

He stabbed Nightfall down into the sand, walked up to Lucerys and glared down at him, "Don't question me again about reaving and I won't question your parentage, Prince. Because I won't need Nightfall to put you in the ground, warrior princess and dragons be damned."

The beach had fallen into total silence, the Ironborn reaching their hands to their weapons. Seeing the Prince's lack of reaction, Dalton laughed long and loud, until his men began to join in. This continued for a few moments until Dalton smiled and said, "I think you and I will get along just fine, Prince."

He stepped back, smiling at Baela and pulled Nightfall from the ground, sheathing the sword, "Your offer is certainly interesting. I've always wanted to sit on Lord Jason's seat, drink his wine, and piss on his wife. But I'm sure you know that I've gotten an offer from your uncle as well."

Dalton produced the letter the council had sent, "He'd give me a seat on the Small Council. Make a Greyjoy, master of ships. And he'd give me leave to plunder and pillage Driftmark. I could take your grandfather's gold. His ships. His treasures. His women." He smirked at Baela once more.

"He's even richer than the Lannisters and the Hightowers, uppity cunts." He spat on the ground at the mention of them.

"With the Sea Snake's fleet and riches, I can grow the Iron Fleet even bigger. As a councillor, I can do great things for the Ironborn. We can write our names in blood and iron across the fourteen seas. And all with royal warrant. I could sack the Throne's enemies. Like the Stepstones. Be the first Ironborn to raid the Sunspear and the Three Whores." It was a glorious thought, to immortalize himself by taking riches and spoils from the Martell Palace or the cities of Lys, Myr, and Tyrosh. The Red Kraken, was evidentally, unaware of Aegon's entreaties to both of those nations.

Dalton cocked his head curiously, spreading his arms open in a questioning gesture, "I like you Prince, Princess. But give me one good reason why I should choose black over green, and fight Rhaenyra's enemies for her. Raiding is raiding after all. And one dragon seems much like the other to my mind. Either way, I get what I want. Why should I declare for your mother?"

In truth, Dalton was loathe to put in with the Lannisters and their Reachman compatriots. Any ambivalence he had for the Targaryens was more than outweighed by his scorn for the Lords of Casterly Rock and Oldtown. He was even more distasteful of managing Aegon's ships for him. And he had a certain respect for the Sea Snake. There was a sailor. There was a man who earned his power and riches. But damned if he'd roll over immediately for some princeling, even if he wanted to bed said princeling's cousin. Might as well see how much he could get out of the Prince. And it'd be useful to get the measure of him further.

The Prince had remained stoic throughout the Greyjoy's intial outburst, while Baela paced back and forth, some distance from the two young men. It was true that Dalton had fought more battles, certainly had more women, then the Prince, but Luke was not shy of him in size, the difference small enough to make keeping his cool easy enough. If he could land in the middle of the Iron Host, he could take any amount of raving from its lord.

"You can accept my uncle's offer, if that is your wish." Luke's eyes remained fixed on Dalton's as he spoke, his tone as unwavering as the Prince himself. "Take his titles, sit on his council, sip from his cup, write his letters and try your hand at besting the Sea Snake." He paused after speaking, his hand resting on his sword belt, but not straying near to the blade itself. "Would you have paid the Iron prince for those?"

Dalton met Lucerys' gaze and he smirked at the Prince, faint approval in his eyes, "No, and that's one of the reasons I won't take your uncle's offer. The others being the fact that I will be damned if Aegon expects me to build and maintain his fleets, while I lick his boot. And that I have wanted to knock the Lannisters and Hightowers down a peg all my life, and now I have a chance to do so. So no, I will not be declaring for the Greens. Not with their current offer."

He straightened, "But that still doesn't mean I should declare for the Blacks. I could just as well take this chance to raid every shore I see fit while you royals squabble over your iron chair. If you want me to pass up the chance to win the Sea Snake's loot, and that of all of your various present and future allies, we'll need to discuss terms."

The Red Kraken jerked his head to his squire and the lad scampered off to return with bread and salt. Dalton eyed both of the royals, taking the coarse bread and dabbing it in the saltwater that was the traditional substitute for plain salt that adherents of the Drowned God used. Not overly common anymore, but today was a day to proudly display their culture. Dalton took the sodden bread and popped it in his mouth, not reacting at all to the taste as the squire held the plate to the two Targaryens. Dalton cocked a brow, "Shall we?"

Both Prince and Princess partook in the somewhat odd tradition, quickly swallowing bites of the stodgy mix of salt water and bread. Luke was expresionless, while Baela raised something of a curious eyebrow at the tradition.

"You can see why this isn't a tradition elsewhere." The Princess mused, although offered no other complaint, verbal or physical, to the damp bread. She waved a hand at the vast crowd of Ironborn, before offering a somewhat chirpy; "Does this make us all friends now?"

The Red Kraken smirked, "Because you greenlanders aren't of the sea. We are," then he chuckled, "I wouldn't say no to your friendship, Princess Baela."

Despite the distraction of his cousin, Luke continued only in response to Dalton; "You can refrain from declaring to either side, if you wish, and enjoy several weeks, months, maybe even years of raiding across the lands and seas of Westeros, maybe further. I am sure you will be a very rich, succesful man, iron price or not. One side will win, however, whoever that is, will still have dragons, and your ships are still made of wood, and none of your keeps are so grand as Harranhall." As before, the Prince was calm as he spoke, allowing no taint of emotion to his words, despite the matters he described.

"Side with us, not because we offer you baubels, or because we will allow you to raid. Side with us because afterwards, we will allow you to live."

Dalton kept smirking at Lucerys, turning to his men, "Allowing us to live? Hear that boys? The Prince is very generous." There were chuckles, catcalls, jeers, and sneers aplenty. He faced the prince again, with a friendly smile, "You may not have the look but you are a true Targaryen. Fire in your blood for sure. I wonder what would happen if we chained you down and waited for the waves to take you." More laughs.

He leaned in and whispered, still smiling, "You're lucky you're a guest. Because you'll be the first to survive threatening me. But don't push your luck, Prince." On some level he approved of the Prince's attitude, it was the most fun he had speaking with a greenlander in some time.

Dalton straightened, "I am surprised by this attitude. By all counts, the Sea Snake is an honorable man." He chuckled at that, "I wonder what he thinks of you wanting me to attack neutral houses. Or does he not know? Or maybe you want the threat of Ironborn attack to get some families to make a decison, is that it?" Not that Dalton truly cared. These southorn political games bored him. He was curious how the young Prince truly felt however. Was he as ruthless as he played at? Or was there a gentler soul within?

He crossed his arms, "Say I fight for the Rhaenyra. I take our fleets and attack the Greens for you. I keep the spoils. I also don't want to have to deal with any greenlander coastal lords that are on your side, tripping over me. No, if I do this, I want to be given command of all the western fleets that fight for the Blacks. From the North to the Reach. There's not a man more experienced in naval combat on this side of the continent. If you want those ships to be put to good use, there can be no question who's in charge." He may have hated the idea of building and overseeing fleets for some rich mainlander, but it amused him greatly to think that those same nobles would have to listen to him. Especially those damned Mallisters.

And there was another, even more amusing boon, "As such, this befits a title. The Lannisters are traitors in the eyes of your Queen. And with the Iron Fleet, I am the greatest other military power on the west coast. For the duration of the war, until you get those golden lions to bend the knee again, I want to be recognized as such."

He smirked and spread his arms, "Until your mother wins, I wish to be named the Warden of the West. That should anger the Lannisters nicely." Dalton didn't believe for a second that the Blacks would give him control of all the loyalist western armies as the title implied. The fleets were another matter. But it would send all those dead Lannisters rolling in their graves if they knew that the the very people that their coveted military title had been created to defend against would now hold it, at least nominally. It was simply too delicious to pass up. His men all cheered at the suggestion.

Dalton continued, "Once the West is subdued, I will give up the position so your Queen can name whoever she wishes, whether it's the Lannisters or some other greenlander. But I do want a seat at your table. I do not want to run your fleets for you once this is done, but I do want the Iron Islands to have a say. As such, I desire that we be granted to right to name an advisor to your Queen on her small council, whether it be myself or someone I trust, for the duration of the war and afterwards."

A few might frown and think this not of the Old Way, but those dumb cunts weren't ruling. Dalton would win the Iron Islands a position of power to keep their interests in mind. And they wouldn't have to run errands for the dragons to do it.

"Lastly, I hear there are murmurings of peace." There was another round of jeering at that, and Dalton smirked, "Your greenlander politics are up to you, and I will swear to abide by the provisions of peace so long as an Ironborn voice is there to speak for us. We will not reave the mainlander coasts if there is no war and will swear our allegiance to whoever wins the crown in case of this." There were some grumbles in the crowd but Dalton smiled widely.

"But if we will not go to war against the Greens, I will see blood in other ways. I will take the Iron Fleet to the Stepstones. I will take the fleet to Lys, to Myr, to Tyrosh and all the lands under their control. And I will be the first Ironborn commander in history to sack their cities and carry away their gold and women. Your stepfather and all the other greenlanders are welcome to join us. As long as you don't stop us. And I will lay a mutual enemy of ours low. If there is war, I will raid the Three Whores after we win." There was another round of cheering, the loudest and rowdiest rumble of approval yet. The Sea Snake may have been richer than the Lannisters and Hightowers. But the Three Whores were even richer. And no matter what, those riches would be his.

Dalton smiled at Lucerys and extended his hand, "Do we have an accord?"

The jeers and cursing of the Ironborn washed over the Prince wise ease, while Baela paced behind him. It seemed to affect her in some way, but more as a lion with prey dangling just out of reached, her hand straying to the hilt of her blade. Once more, Luke did not merit the Greyjoy's quieter words with a response, although his silence was not a protest in of itself, he understood he had pushed as far as the Ironborn would accept and had no desire to teeter on that edge.

"Warden and Marshall of the West it shall be then." The Prince nodded, he had been granted leave to provide any titles that Dalton might seek, short of King. The Prince surveyed those around him, the warriors and fleet of the Iron Isles. It was an easy trade, a little pomp and circumstance for such a tacical boon.

"My Uncle and the Sea-Snake will no doubt celebrate the destruction of the Daughters, there will be no opposition, and likely support, for such an action." He added. Unspoken was the suggestion that the Three Daughters may very well decide to aid the Greens, if that was the case, then it may come sooner than later.

"So, we have an accord?"

Dalton grinned widely and said, "Aye, it seems that we do." His gloved hand reached out to grasp the Prince's and he stood next to Lucerys, roaring at the crowd of Ironborn, his voice booming across the beach.

"Let all men of the Islands know that the Red Kraken stands with the Dragon! Our foes will wash away before us like pebbles before the sea! There will be blood, men, that I promise you! We will write our names in fire and death, and the world will remember the fear they felt whenever they sighted our sails! With the Kraken and Dragon united, none will stand against us! Their gold, their ships, their women will be ours! If you lot are strong enough, are you?"

Every man roared in answer, a unified war cry from thousands of throats.

Dalton pulled out Nightfall from his sheath and held it above him, "What is dead may never die!"

Swords, axes, and fists were raised into the air as warhorns sounded, and thousands of reavers and killers spoke with one voice, "WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"

The discordant mass chorus drew out into one prolonged roar of unbridled adrenaline and raw savagery, and the dragons roared with them.

(with @MrDidact)

In the Great Hall of the ancient citadel of House Targaryen, Lord Corlys Velaryon held court. Queen Rhaenyra and King Daemon were both still away, along with most of the royal family including his wife, and as Hand of the Queen, it was Corlys' duty to hear petitions, settle disputes, and dispense justice as needed. Most of the week was embroiled in meetings with bannermen and dispatching envoys and missives to potential allies and vassals. Negotiations with the Iron Bank's representatives alone had taken several days, but Corlys managed to secure the wealth of House Velaryon and Targaryen and gain a line of credit with very forigivng terms. If there was no war, Corlys could give the money back with no trouble.

He had help in the rest of the Black Council of course, but with the Queen gone, Corlys didn't want to name any official position-holders to Small Council titles. He didn't even fill out the Queensguard, besides naming Ser Steffon the Lord Commander. Such were matters that Rhaenyra had to consult with him upon her return, and he hoped that was soon. They needed Jeyne's support, because at this point, Corlys had hit something of a brick wall in finding more houses to swear for them. The Greens had the Lannisters and the Hightowers, and if word was to be believed, the Princes of Dorne as well. Corlys needed some Great Houses to step forward if there was any chance of swaying undecided lords and knights.

He had received word from Daeron of his failure to get commitment from House Roxton, but thankfully his efforts with families such as the Beesburys were more promising, and he was now making his way through the Riverlands. His last stop before Dragonstone would be Maidenpool. Corlys hoped that word of the declaration of Jeyne Arryn, Borros Baratheon, Cregan Stark, or even Dalton Greyjoy would add weight to Daeron's entreaties.

Corlys knew that Lord Tully was a staunch Green supporter, but Corlys also knew his grandson, Elmo. Corlys couldn't send a missive without being discovered and it would have been too risky for Daeron to step foot there with the Clubfoot's spies everywhere, but Corlys hoped that Elmo was pleading with his grandsire on their behalf.

Thankfully their armies and fleets were much stouter than they had been a few weeks ago with the addition of every hedge knight, sellsword, freerider, and sellsail Corlys was able to get his hands on. He had even sent out word to those men who had fought with Daemon and himself in the past. Their army of second sons, cutthroats, adventurers, and mercenaries. The word had been that the Stepstone Kingdom was destroyed but those men were still handy in a fight. Corlys hoped they could come fight for them once more.

The word from Aerion, his nephew and master-at-arms, was that the Driftmark fleet had blockaded the Gullet and stopped all trade and traffic in and out of Blackwater Bay. With the ships from Captain Saan and their other bannermen, they had more than enough, considering that Corlys had been in possession of the majority of the royal fleet. King's Landing's merchants would be feeling the loss of sea custom keenly, and mayhaps the King would as well. It wouldn't be enough to get them to capitulate however. For that they needed more allies.

As for the Tyrells, they had taken no action beyond calling their swords and fortifying Highgarden and it's domains. They seemed content so far to let their bannermen choose a side, and many had gone Black or Green while others remained just as neutral or answered the Tyrells' calls. At least they hadn't declared for King Aegon but they had not answered any of Corlys' missives. Perhaps he could wite another letter, asking them to endorse a peace summit. That would be something at least. He resolved to do so once the petitions were done.

His grandnephew and steward Baelor was in command at High Tide and would be hearing petitions in Corlys' name, but Corlys would have to hear from matters originating both on Dragonstone and throughout their growing Queendom. So far there hadn't been too many complaints, but he had never enjoyed the duty as a young man and liked it even less now. But he was resolved to grin and bear it. For his good-daughter, the mother of his grandsons, and his Queen.

Seeing as open war was on the horizon, Corlys was dressed as a warrior. His days of fighting with longsword and dagger or with bow and arrow may have passed, but he knew that if the fighting started he would still command ships in battle. He had to look the part. And so he had worn armor. Elegant, exquisite gilded steel plate with sea green scales and white enamel with sea serpent heads for pauldrons. Beautiful and functional. A white cape with a turqouise border draped over his shoulder, pinned in place by his badge of office, the pin of the Hand of the Queen. His Valyrian steel dagger, Mermaid's Kiss, with it's dragonbone hilt carved in the shape of a curvaceous mermaid, was sheathed at his belt, which bore a teal Velaryon sea horse buckle.

Corlys sat on the carved Dragon Throne of the Targaryens, a formidable if uncomfortable and unfamiliar seat compared to his own Driftwood Throne. It had been shaped with Valyrian magic and fire and despite it's hard black stone doing no favors for his old back, it was an imposing seat nonetheless. Despite his age, he looked every inch the Lord of the Tides, the Sea Snake, and the greatest captain of the fourteen seas.

Ser Aemon, his grandnephew,, stood at attention with the Velaryon Honor Guard at the walls of the dragon-shaped great hall, while Lord Commander Steffon stood at his right side in his immaculate white armor and cloak. The other Queensguard and Ser Valarr were watching Princess Rhaena, and the young princes Aegon and Viserys. The boy Baelon, his squire and great-grandnephew, stood proudly at his left side. Mushroom, the bulbous-headed dwarf and court fool, was dressed in motley and sat on a special stool with a wicked smile on his face.

Various lords, ladies, knights, and sundry courtiers were aligned along the galleries and whispered amongst themselves as the herald called the next petitioner. The man banged his staff and cried, "Serjeant Gerald of the Dragonstone Garrison!"

The man in question, a grizzled old war horse who had served in the Dragonstone garrison for decades stepped forward, slapping his fist to his chest, before bending the knee, "M'lord Corlys."

Corlys smiled, gesturing for him to rise, "No need to stand on formaility, Serjeant, we've known each other for years. What have you come to say?"

The Serjeant stood with his arms crossed behind his back, "I came to say sir that Lieutenant Lyle has well, returned from his mission."

Corlys arched a brow. The Lieutenant had been a known dragonseed and longtime loyal follower of Daemon's. He had volunteered to try claiming one of the dragons on the island, "Well?"

Gerald winced and said, "Silverwing did not take to him and he was burned over half of his body m'lord. His men managed to stave the flames and drag him back to the garrison. They don't know if he will survive the night."

Corlys sighed. At least he wasn't dead yet. Or eaten. None of the seeds so far had managed to tame a dragon, though quite a few military men had volunteered. Corlys had forbidden any of the non-Valyrian noblemen from trying and though most managed to escape with their lives, a few had not been so lucky, and the bloody failures had put off the Celtigars and Sunglasses who had wished to try their hand. Even Valarr and Aemon were reluctant to volunteer.

The Sea Snake spoke, "I'll have the Grand Maester sent to his bed to try his best to save him. And the Septon shall pray for him as well. However if the worst comes to pass, I will see to it that a weregild is paid and that his family will be taken care of. In the meantime, have your captain promote a worthy replacement. And suspend the other volunteers from trying for the moment."

Gerald nodded, "Your will be done m'lord."

Corlys nodded, "Thank you Serjeant, dismissed."

Gerald saluted Corlys and turned to leave.

Mushroom said aloud, "Luckily enough, I believe cremation was Lyle's preference." There were chuckles and snorts throughout the hall and Corlys managed to keep from grimacing. He gestured to the herald.

The man nodded and banged his staff, "The Hand of the Queen will take a momentary repreive from the petitions. All petitioners are welcome to remain waiting and enjoy refreshment and entertainment before petitions resume."

He banged his staff once more and the dozen or so petitioners nodded in acceptance and the courtiers broke into conversation as servants began passing around food and drink. The larders were full, fishing was plentiful, and they received all the trade that King's Landing couldn't. For the forseeable future, Dragonstone could afford to be generous.

The herald called, "Presenting Black Val the bard!"

It was the moment, Val thought and he inhaled. The travel had been harrying and tiresome, and he had lost many a friend he could no longer mourn. Truth to be told he wanted to crawl in his cot and bask in solitude from morning to evening, but his was the trade of entertainament. What use would be a moping and sad bard to the Lords and Ladies? Still, for Corlys Velaryon, he made the effort. His saviour would have his best songs, bought on a debt a life could not fulfill. He was dressing in his finest black and white suit, and he had to play the part. He eyed the only other survivor of the diminished troupe, Al. Somber and dressed in brown, but with a flute in her hands. He whispered something in Valyrian to the young teenager, which nodded and rested the flute in her mouth.

"Ladies and lords, I myself must apologize that my troupe is so diminished. This was not planned nor intentional. But fear not! I shall entertain for five!" He cheered, fake encouraging words that sounded true. "So, any song petitions? Or shall my humble self choose the repertoire?" He said in his calid voice, rapping the cords of his Lute in a quick succession.

There were multiple calls from the courtiers, including such mainstays as Florian and Jonquil, the Bear and the Maiden Fair, the Dornishman's Wife and even some requests for reigious hymns and homilies while others called for recounts of the adventures of the Rogue Prince or the Sea Snake their host. Several called for even bawdier works than the Bear and Maiden Fair.

Val eyed the different petitions. Certainly, the sombre ambience yelled for some levity, but he found distasteful to start with the Bear and Maiden Fair all of sudden. That was better reserved for parties where everyone had more than three cups of wine. Luckily, one offered a reasonable escape. The Sea Snake, his host needed also be cheered, so he decided on that one. Nodding to his child, he indicated her to start playing her part with the flute, as he began to drive his lute to life.

And he sang, the embellished life of his gracious Host, Corlys Velaryon. Peerless Lord, sailor and adventurer. Tales of exotic lands and plunder rolled from his tongue as he kept spinning around the room, reenacting the wandering of the Sea Snake himself. Moreso, in the more saucy parts, he even drew perhaps a little too close to a fair maiden or two, before retreating with the agility of a cat as he resumed his play and dance. He even confessed he added even a part or two, detailing an embellished tale of his rescue, or as his song said. "This poor wandering soul searching for music, love and fortune." As he finished, he motioned for a servant to bring him a pitcher of drink as he decided on a second song. He had hoped that acting had caught their attention.

The song was a resounding success. There was plentiful clapping and applause, and more than a few maidens had nearly swooned. Even Mushroom seemed to crack an appreciative smile. Baelon stood even prouder and beamed at his uncle and every Velaryon man in the hall stood tall with head high. Corlys smiled at Val, recalling younger days. They seemed so much brighter in contrast to these present storms, but the Sea Snake knew it hadn't all been gold, glory, girls, and battle like the song. It had been sweat, tears, blood, and death as well. He wondered if they would still sing songs of him once this was all said and done. Corlys put the thoughts out of his head and applauded as gamely as any man, raising his wine glass in an appreciative gesture.

"A fine song, from an even finer singer. I've had the tales recounted to me countless times but this performance puts them all to shame. Masterful playing from you both. Although, you left out some of the bits involving Lys." He laughed and the court laughed with him and they all applauded once more, calling for another song.

"Well, my lord, it shames me, but my memory sometimes is spotty in these kinds of songs. But fear not! I surely will remember those bits in a private session...but only for the fair ladies." He added making a rogue wink at the female part of the gathering.

"FUUUIT" The flute of Al's came to life in a strident noise, a cue of one of their numbers.

"What do you mean I can't sing love songs, Al?"

"FUIIIT" The flute resounded again.

"Yeah, I know you are half Lyseni. But I bet you I can do much better than this!" Val said acting flawlessly on the uptake. These had been a number they had been preparing for a while, and to be told... it was probably the only duet number they could play at any time. "Watch me! I shall do the duet of Jonquil and Florian."

"Fuiifufit." The flute sounded again, this time as if it was a snappy remark.

"I know a good person to play that part. You!" Val pointed as Al negated, making some gestures that Val, perhaps was more or less not entirely right in the head.

"Ah! That is where you are wrong!" The bard said. "I shall make you a fine Jonquil!" He added as he closed the gap between the two."With my musical hand, such a thing is possible!" He said, as he yanked the cap out of Al's head.

All of a sudden, the silver-golden hair of a young girl cascaded all over her shoulders, the face and the purple eyes of Alysanne fully revealed, as Val wasted little time in stripping the layer of obscuring brown cloth, revealing the white dancing dress and the brass jewelry underneath. He waited for a second, letting people recover, as he began to sing his part, that of the Fool Florian. Alysanne for her part, just cleared her throat, and without the smallest hint of hesitation in her voice, began singing Jonquil's part when needed.

Corlys raised an eyebrow as several in the court gasped in surprise. They would have begun whispering and murmuring until the melodic singing of the man and girl enraptured them, rooting them to their seats as they watched and listened. There were laughs, there were smiles, and there were sighs as maidens eyed Val and young boys blushed at the silver-haired girl. Corlys for his part was pensive.

If the girl had silver hair, then she had Valyrian blood. A Lysene mother perhaps? Most like the daughter of some prostitute that Val visisted at one point. And yet now Corlys had to wonder. He watched Val sing and dance, looking at his night black hair, and tried to get a better view of his eyes. The song continued.

Val kept playing for quite a while, eyeing the movements of his daughter with a keen eye. Obviously, the girl was doing it well, although she was running short of breath quite quickly due to her inexperience. A couple of times he considered stopping her in fear she would stutter or stammer due to the effort, but she managed to pull through. Val smiled this time, in a more frank manner as he addressed the audience with a hint of paternal pride.

"Ladies and Lords, my daughter, Alysanne. Today was her debut. I hope you enjoyed her song. As a father and teacher I know I did!" He said, prompting the round of applause as both singers caught their breath. Val grasped the brown cloth and hat, and put them back on Alysanne to shield her from the drafts. Dragonstone was far from a warm castle, and he could not afford a cold breaking her voice. <<"You did well. Go get some honeylemon.">> He said to the girl in Valyrian as he patted her shoulders, turning once back to the lords and ladies, ready for their questions and answers. Specially Corlys, he had been staring him a lot. Well, he had used his best number on him, as a reward for saving him. He had hoped he had appreciated it.

There was a standing ovation as the lords and laides applauded the duet, and ladies and lords alike threw scraps of silk and flowers on the striking pair, gold coins landing at their feet as the crowd shouted to their praises. Corlys stood from his throne and clapped as well, raising a glass, "A toast to the magnificent Val and his beautiful daughter Alysanne. You best keep close watch on her Val, you have a beauty on your hands." The guests raised their glasses and drank to the two singers as a nearby knight offered his cloak to the young Alysanne.

Mushroom clapped before shouting with a smirk, "Daughter? You lie, Val, the girl is far too fair to come from your loins."

Corlys drew Val's eye and whispered to Baelon who came to Val and said, "Lord Corlys desires an audience after the peitions are done." Baelon blushed when he saw Alysanne and averted his eyes, passing Val a coin pouch, "The lord's compliments." He withdrew as servants came forward to them with refreshment to rest their voices.

Eventually the applause died down and the pair bowed out. The herald came and resumed order, calling the petitioners back in and Corlys resumed settling disputes and hearing entreaties, looking at Val out of the corner of his eye as the petitioners began to trickle away.

Val bowed graciously, accepting the compliments as he picked up the assorted gifts that fell at his feet, specially the coins. His visage twisted for a second, upon hearing the fool's japes. "Well, If I have been made a cuckold, I am no less glad for it. She is quite the fair beauty!" Val added, taking the hit with stride and fixing a rose upon his daughter's hair, who had politely declined the knight's cape. He could notice her grip on his clothes as a small voice whispered to him. "Too many stares." Val sighed as he begun to shield Alysanne from the public, all while he listened to Baelon. "He shall have it, lord Baelon. Fear not." He whispered back, as he took his timid a daughter to a more private space. It always happened like that. Alysanne had good discipline and she could act before the crowds, but at a personal level... far too many disappointments in her life for someone so young. He sipped the wine he was offered graciously, as he let the people thin out.

What was the Sea Snake up to?

Corlys resumed listening to pleas and complaints, settling matters as efficiently but justly as possible and maintaining grace. It was not easy to bear whinging and wheedling in silence and poise but he had long practice of doing so and the last batch of petitioners were soon dealt with to the best of his ability.

The herald came forward and said, "That concludes petitions for the day, Lord Corlys will now retire." The last of the petitioners left and some of the courtiers started to file out of the great hall as Corlys stood and started walking to his private office as Hand, near his own quarters. Once he arrived, Baelon helped him put his armor back on the stand and change into his silk doublet before the squire was dimissed.

Corlys hung up Mermaid's Kiss on a rack near his desk and got two glasses, pouring wine into one while he waited for his guest to arrive.

"Such a pity, I bet there were three... no, four...fair maidens who would have shared their bed with me tonight." Val whispered to himself as he trudged towards Lord Corlys' quarters, only being silenced by an spiteful stare of his own daughter. "Act like the man you are supposed to be, father." She whispered in her small voice as she pushed the bard towards his goal. Val groaned a fair bit, before being reigned in the inevitable and arriving at Corlys quarters. He announced himself with a pronounced bow, and so did his daughter.

"You called, my lord, and so I shall answer to the one who I owe my life. What do you wish from this poor bard?" Val said solemny, still a bit stung he had obligations and could not chase the right amount of skirts to sate the thirst these days.

Corlys gestured at Val to come closer, "Join me for a drink, Val. As for you Alysanne, I hope you like lemon cakes." He gestured to a plate of the scrumptious desserts nearby and poured her a glass of cider before pouring some wine for Val.

Waiting until the bard was seated, he raised a glass, "Two beautiful daughters. I lost mine far too soon, Val. But I pray the gods are kinder to you and yours."

He drank, draining the glass as he thought of Laena before saying, "Your daughter really is striking. I would say almost familiar looking." He looked into his eyes, "And so are you, I would say."

Val nodded. Well, that kind of thirst could be sated aswell. His stare then went for Alysanne, who silently nodded to lord Corlys. He wished she was more vocal in front of strangers when not performing, but under his stare, the young girl caved in. "I...thankyou." She stuttered in almost a whisper, cluttering the words together "mlord." She bowed herself out and began eating the cakes thoughtfully, as Val and Corlys talked.

"Lord Corlys. I owe you my life. If you need to know who I am, I will gladly tell." Val said, as he breathed deep. "It's about time she also knows." He added, glancing sideways to Alysanne. "Have you heard the sad tale of the Winter Child of the Old King?"

Corlys filled his cup again, "Of course. Gael Targaryen was my kinswoman. I know my history. The Old King's sweet but simple daughter, born in the winter. The Good Queen's favorite. Seduced and used by a singer and left with child." He paused, "By all reports, she died before she gave birth."

"Well. Tales about that are spotty in any circumstances. Turns out... I was the last person who saw her alive and sound. And I can assure the last bit, is debatable." He paused as he raised his cup slowly."She only said a single word, when her eyes and mine met. At least what the other people say. I can't really remember that part so well." He added, as instead of gulping, the beverage fell on the crown of his hair, washing away part of the dye and bringing forth his true hair color.

"She said. Valerion." Val said with no small amount of sadness. "And gave me to a passing troupe. I found out much later. Valerion Waters. The ugly child of the sin that killed Gael, drove the Good Queen Alysanne to madness and withered away the Wise King." He took a deep breath, as he eyed Corlys deep into his eyes. "With such claim, I would rather have hidden my inheritage than show it." He declared, as he rummaged through his clothes, producing a ruby and gold pendant that used to belong to his birth mother, and slid it towards Corlys.

It was then when Alysanne was wracked with cough, as she nearly choked on one of the Lemon Cakes. "R-royal blood? I have...royal blood??" She said, her voice genuinely raised in surprise as her eyes went wide.

Corlys managed to hide his shock well, but his eyes were still widened and he was at a momentary loss for words. He examined the necklace, the craftsmanship. The immaculate gem. And the inscription, signed with love from the Good Queen. He would have a jeweler examine it later to be sure. But in his heart he knew it to be real.

And he was around the right age. Corlys finally regained his voice, "...I was but a young man when this all happened. I experienced it. We looked for you. The King, Gael's brothers. Myself. The whole family searched for your mother and any hint of her child. I don't know how many nights I spent on a pole boat in the Blackwater looking."

Corlys grasped Val by the face and looked into his violet eyes, seeing features he remembered from the Wise King, from the Good Queen. The resemblance was uncanny. Corlys withdrew his hand slowly, and said, "We thought you dead. After all this time..."

Tears began to form in Corlys' eyes, as memories of family long dead and a time long past came back, "I found you." Almost in a whisper he said, "I kept my promise."

He managed to say, "You always had a place with us, Valerion. We would have kept you safe. And given you the best." His mind was racing. The probability of his finding Gael's child staggered him. And he had no idea what Daemon and Rhaenyra would think. But he knew what he would do.

"We'll keep you safe now. I swear it."

Val's expression became a puzzle when he saw the old man's hand reach for his face, only to break into tears. He wanted to get away of the situation, but alas, he could not. His own daughter seemed to have had her thoughts frozen to an halt as she kept whispering inaudible words in her native valyrian dialect. Her hands seemed to move with their own will as she frantically kept trying to reign in what she had just heard. He sighed as he took another generous refill on his cup, and eyed Corlys.

"Deep down I knew, but I could not face you people. Not after realizing how my mother died because I even existed. Valerion Waters is better off dead... I am only the bard known as Black Val, and I serve lord Corlys, my saviour." He took a sip, as he eyed his daughter. "The only thing I would want my blood links for is for my daughter to be safe. She is the one who suffered the most. My trickery is running out of options, and I am not getting any younger." He offered a bitter, tired smile, like someone letting go of a heavy weight upon his soul.

Corlys got a hold of himself and said, "If you had, perhaps much sorrow could have been avoided." The death of Queen Alysanne, the decline of the Wise King, the succession crisis that followed. It was impossible to say and he wouldn't blame Valerion for such things. But an old man had to imagine.

"Your daughter will be taken care of the rest of her life. I'll make sure of it. She will have only the best. She will rejoin her family. And you must know that once the rest of the family returns... I have to tell them. This is simply not possible for me to keep secret from Rhaenys, Daemon, or Rhaenyra."

"The Wise King died when i was seven. Nothing much could have been done, for back then i could only follow my foster parents and had not known the truth yet. Afterwards... the point was moot." Val sighed. "Well, lord Corlys, If I have told you is because you owe my life now. You saved me and her from the pirates. Do what you want with the secret I confided you. I will not oppose it." Val added. "But one thing, I hate being called by my birthname. Bad memories." The bard said, finally relenting.

It was then when a lemoncake landed on his face. "WHAT DO YOU MEAN MOOT!?" Alysanne screamed like a fury, in an uncharacteristic outburst. "YOU DRESSED ME LIKE A BOY WHEN I COULD HAVE HAD PRINCESS CLOTHES! YOU ARE A FOOL, FATHER! MORE THAN MUSHROOM!".

Corlys muttered, "Well she has the Targaryen rage," under his breath and to himself with more than a hint of affection to it. And rose to stop Alysanne from throwing any more cakes, "Do not blame your father sweetling. Life takes many strange turns and we can never know how they would turn out. With the recent troubles with the Greens, perhaps it is for the better that Alicent Hightower never knew you existed."

He came down to a knee and held her hand, "But you're with family now. You will be a princess, Alysanne. Just like your grandmother. You will be a friend to the other children, and you will have only the best in life. You have come home at last."

Corlys moved to embrace the child and he looked at Val, "The Queen will feel the same way I am sure. And I will abide by your wish, though I hope one day you can embrace your name. Gael Targaryen was a good woman. I will do everything I can to do what I couldn't do before."

Targaryen rage? More like she became her mother for a second over there Val thought as he grimace, wiping the lemon cake out of his face. At least she had used something soft and not a leatherbound book like last time.

Alysanne, unused to being embraced by other people other than her own father, went initially very stiff, only to relax significantly seeing as Corlys did not have any kind of ill intentions. "I..know." She answered."But that manchild needs to be chastised for his own stupidity sometimes." Alysanne clenched Corlys' arms as a pronounced scowl was formed. "My own mother dumped me on him when i was three after she extorted three gold dragons out of him. It's all I have." The last part of her speech had lowered down to a whisper. "Forgive my outburst, my lord." She added, before parting from Corlys embrace, as she shook her head. In the small voice of hers, she eyed the old man.

"Cease tormenting yourself, lord Corlys. You did everything you could, and then some. No one will hold it against you. You must learn to forgive yourself." She stated in a soft, but easily understandable voice."A good Hand must keep the peace in their minds for a clear judgement. Don't worry much about me. I am easy to please. Some dresses,some books, a good tree to lean against..." She eyed the confectioneries once more. "...and lemoncakes."

Val for the most part, was aghast. He had rarely seen Alysanne talk for that long to another person who wasn't of her closer circle. She probably was right. Her place was not with a flute on the roads, but at court. "Heh, that is my daughter for you, Lord Corlys. I don't know how she ended up like that, despite the meager teachings I gave her."

Corlys smiled widely at the child, beaming with tears threatening to overtake him once more though he managed to hold them at bay this time. She reminded him of Rhaenys, of Rhaenyra, of Laena at the same age. And aye of her grandmother too. He nodded with a laugh, "Well, your father may have made some mistakes. But I'm sure you'll keep him out of too much trouble."

The Sea Snake stood and said, "You will have all you desire and more, Alysanne. You will have coin, dresses, books, and everything you can desire. And I will see to it that you will have a fine betrothal as well to a worthy young suitor when the time comes."

Corlys smiled at Val and said, "She is the Good Queen's great-granddaughter, she is a Targaryen in blood. Such is second nature to her, my bard. I cannot wait to give the King and the Queen the news when they return. Tonight, let us sup in private Val, Alysanne. Myself, my family here on Dragonstone, and you as the guests of honor. What do you say?"

Val scratched the back of the head, sighing. "I cannot say no to such a request." He said, as he eyed Alysanne who gave her father a quick nod. "We shall attend. I rarely have ever seen Alysanne talk so much like today." Val thought. "Plus I rarely get to eat the food of Lords and Kings."

It was when Alysanne simply frowned at Val, her eyes throwing daggers at him. He eyed her back. "What? You did enjoy the lemoncakes too. Don't lie to me." The bard snorted as Alysanne just muttered something under her breath about having no brain but his gut and his loins. "It will be a pleasure, lord Corlys." She said in a faint whisper.

Corlys nodded happily, "Good good. I will make sure that only the best will be served at table. I'll introduce you to Princess Rhaena and the young boy princes as well. It will be marvelous. In fact...."

He pulled a cord hanging next to the door and moments later a chambermaid appeared, Corlys said, "Summon the court tailor and tell him to have some of his spare garments assembled. We need some suitable dresses for my dinner guests tonight." He turned to Alysanne with a smile, "Alysanne would you like to accompany her to see some dresses and pick some out? I can have a jeweler present some oddments as well."

Alysanne looked at Corlys, and then at Val. She instinctively drew backwards from Corlys, her reluctance and shyness making it so she could not fully trust the man. "A.." She tried to say something, before she clenched her fists and tried to get ahold of herself."Allright." She answered back, forcing herself to not run away. So many people, so much attention lately outside the play. She cursed her father under her breath. Why did he had brought the attention upon her? These stares hurt. And there would be more at the dinner. But, she knew better than to snub Corlys. She had seen his eyes. Brimming with regret and tears, begging for something to quench the sorrow of past failures. Her shyness could wait. And even if she was stiff as a board, and somewhat shaking, attempted to follow the Sea Snake's chambermaid.

Corlys smiled and waited until they were past for the Sea Snake to close the door, "A fair maiden. Shy, but perhaps being around other children and having protectors and family around will change that."

He turned back to Val and sighed, sitting down, suddenly feeling weary as he got his own lemoncake. He may have been old but he wasn't dead, and those treats were delicious. Corlys took a bite, then said, "What do you envision for your future and hers, Val?"

"Future huh? Dying in a fair maiden's tits when I am too old to keep travelling the roads and captivating hearts. That was my original idea." Val answered bluntly to Corlys. "That little one changed everything ever since. And I have been heavy on the improvisation lately. I probably don't know now. Maybe for her to become a fine woman and live the life she deserves, despite being the daughter of a prostitute. You should have seen her when that harpy of mother of hers dumped her on me. She was three, and full of bruises." Val said as he shrugged.

Corlys replied, "You're with House Targaryen once more. You have a future here. And for yourself it can be anything you desire. You won't have to tramp through the roads in squalor any longer. You can have the best for your shows if you wish to keep performing." Corlys poured Val some wine and said, "We can rise far in life. Far beyond where we started. Your daughter isn't a prostitute's get. She is a princess' granddaughter. That's what matters."

The Sea Snake sipped his wine and said, "She is still a child, but she has a bright future ahead of her. I will discuss with her what she envisions. Perhaps once Rhaenyra wins, she will be a Septa. If not, eventually she should be wed. Your daughter cut a striking figure today at court. In a few years she will be a woman, and the knights and lordlings will vie for her favor."

Corlys looked at Val, "But I will not have her end the same way as her grandmother. I will not allow it. If she wishes to remain a lady of the court, I believe she should have a fine husband to suit her. We need not worry now, but once the time comes, I can arrange a suitable match for her."

Val's stare decided to wander towards the cup. "I owe you my life. So I will do whatever you tell me to do. If you wish me to parade around my Targaryen blood and do backflips for the glory of the House, then so be it. But I would rather live on my own name than my family. Too many responsibilities. As for Alysanne, fear not, lord Corlys. She will not end up like my own mother. That child has seen far more harsh truths than grown men in their entire lives. But your offer is greatly appreciated, nevertheless. I always found myself lacking and undeserving of her true talents, and all I could cobble together was a way for her to strike out on her own if need be."

Corlys nodded, "Perhaps someday you will embrace your blood, but it is your destiny. Regardless, you have choices now. You can afford to not have to worry about survival. And your daugher can thrive now. Reach her full potential."

The old man sat back and said, "These are concerns for a future day. But this has been a light in the past dark times. You may take your leave now, Val, I will see you later tonight. I will be here a while."

Val nodded, deciding it was futile to dwell on the issue too much. He took Alysanne's cap to hide his silver hair, and he left after performing a corteous bow, towards his room. There would be time to think later, after he readied himself for the meal with Corlys and his family.

The Eyrie
(With Lots of People)



They'd little and less time to prepare. Darkness gathered in the Mountains of the Moon- The Knight o' Ninestars was making the perilous climb but Daeron Targaryen; youngest brother of this usurper King would be there quicker on dragonback. From the wording in the message from the Bloody Gate, Daeron had consented to wait at the Gates of the Moon when he reached them until given leave to approach. Jeyne was grateful he'd extended such courtesy but she was horrified to see how Rhaenyra would react.

"Your Grace" She tried to form some words. "I have made no invitation to any emissary from the Greens. Should you require it, I can request he remains below until you depart?" Though there was a chance here. She meant to take it. "Although..." She smiled. "Mayhaps I can make some plea for diplomacy here. Is Daeron not the mildest of Alicent's brood? Scarce like to make threats nor act rashly..." She felt the threads of a spiderweb knitting in her mind. "This might be an opportunity to get your enemies to show their hand..."

Maester Cowley put in. "No harm shall befall the Lady's guests under this roof. For what my humble word is worth, to flee before your half-brother arrives might give the wrong message. Why run if you've done nought wrong?" He smiled but Jeyne looked momentarily disgruntled. He'd never spent so long popping in and out of her chambers until the Queen showed up.

"Maester Cowley, see that a bird goes to Dragonstone to alert them of Rhaenyra's safe arrival." The maester bowed and made his latest exit. "Your Grace, I would declare for you without question if I thought you'd have ever come to visit me were it not for your need of my armies." Her hurt was plain. "I would like to hear what offer you have for me?" She smiled. "Surely, you have your own emmisaries treating with the other Great Houses? Promises of titles? Lands? Alliances and coin? Yet, am I to roll over and throw the lives of mine own bannermen to the winds because you used to be my friend?" She was to save this little speech for when the Queen was rested but the approach of Daeron had accelerated the matter.

"I came to you know because the dire situation I have been placed in required me to seek out my closest of friends, including friends I have not seen for years because under their own will they banished a member of my family, who would become my husband. I am not here to bargain, Jeyne, are you a traitor or not?" In truth, as the Queen had mentioned before, there was plenty she had come to offer the Vale in turn for alliegance, but the tone, self-serving, that Jeyne had taken with the Queen had awakened the more notorious side of Rhaenyra's persona, that on unquenching, if controlled, anger. Loyalty may be rewarded, but it was not bought.

Traitor? Jeyne composed her face and remembered the blade across her lap when the Queen was carried into the reception Hall. Perhaps she deserved that. "I hope your other emmisaries are equipped with better diplomacy, truly." She smiled. "All I ask of you is you take my Stewardess with you back to Dragonstone." Her eyes welled to hear the request voiced aloud. Aya was her everything but it wouldn't do to show that here. "It's not good for her to linger here. There are questions... Questions she must ask that I have no answers for. Did Daemon ever tell you that it was he who brought her here to foster with me as a child?" She wondered how secretive the Rogue Prince had been about the child. She had suspected Aya may have been his get but there was little of the Targaryen look about her. Indeed, it had troubled her to wonder why he'd taken so much trouble for a "Refugee of the War in the Stepstones", which, aside from her name, was all the information Jeyne had ever had of Aya.

Now, with war looming, Jeyne was resigned to the need to take a husband and provide a male heir to save her infernal cousins and nephews from squabbling over the title in the same way these Targaryens now did for their throne. Aya wouldn't like that so Jeyne had broken her own heart by making the decision to send her to court... If the Queen would have it. There were answers Daemon owed the girl, besides and Jeyne was hardly of a mind to invite him to the Eyrie.

"So, the matter that holds you back is not one of realm, but of heart." Rhaenyra left it at that, rather than expand on the matter. She had been friends with Jeyne, of varying degrees, for most of their lives, there were certain things one could not help but notice. Daemon's 'adventures' had once wounded her pride, before they had married, but now, so long as they remained in the past, she was quite comfortable with them. She could survive one more foreign bastard.

"The girl may accompany me, she seems fascinated enough with Syrax." Rhaenyra had no desire to await any other form of transport, despite her own health, even if it required her to pause in the Eyrie, Jeyne's steward would have to join her. It was the, that she finally turned her thoughts to the most pressing of Jeyne's requests.

"Daeron, true enough, suffers few of the flaws that so plague his older brothers, and young enough to be naieve. I will talk with my brother, we shall see how one of them justifies themselves to me." Some more of her fire returned at that, a burning anger that had began with the death of her daughter, and simmered ever since. For now, she refrained to clarify on the concessions she planned to provide the Vale, as focused as she was on this latter matter.

She sighed in relief but the room seemed to spin witht he weight of all she had let go. "Then, I suppose we have a prince to meet." She bowed her head in deference and escorted the Queen from the chambers in anticipation of Daeron's arrival. "Send the message Prince Daeron may approach from the Gates of the Moon..." She told Loras Lipps, a squire who was clumsy as a drunken bear. "Actually, make sure Maester Cowley sends it... you'll only scare the birds!" He scurried off without a word.

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"Blacker than a bastard up here!" Kennet Nash growled. It was a common turn of phrase he'd used and Harold, an actual bastard although scarcely black, paid him no mind. It was true, though. Since leaving Stone- the first waycastle on the climb up to the Eyrie, the track had wended its way through narrow passes and much of the time the moon and sky were obscured by towering fingers of dark stone. "I've made this climb a half-dozen times but it's always been daylight." Jon admitted. "It's seldom looked so dark."

"Bugger the dark! It's cold! Harold moaned into his bunched up cloak. He'd been quiet thus far, choosing to wrap his cloak over his mouth so his own warm breath kept the chill off his lips. Steam rose in spiralling columns each time the sure-footed garrons exhaled. Before the moon disappeared behind rock, it had illuminated the frost so that the very surface of the mountain shone like a thousand stars. Now they were as good as blind, save for their guide's meagre lamplight.

"It's sometimes better to close your eyes for these bits." Came the soothing voice of their guide, "We're making such good progress, though. At this rate, you'll have time for a nap before breaking your fast!" The girl was just a cooper's daughter from near Redfort. Earlier in the trek, she'd been talking of gossip from Wickenden Market and Jon had listened keenly; The Widow o Ninestars, his sister-in law, was a Waxley by birth but there'd been nothing noteworthy to speak of. Wickenden was for the Blacks and wanted Lady Jeyne to declare for Rhaenyra quickly. Redfort was to rise at last to Protector of the Vale; Lord Steffon was to wed the Maiden within a moon's turn. Again? Jon thought. He'd lost count of the number of times it was said Steffon Redfort had seen his advances rebuffed by Lady Jeyne.

Jon tried to close his eyes and apart from feeling quite spooked that he couldn't really tell the difference, opted to leave them open. As much to ward against falling asleep in the saddle and toppling off the mountain as anything else.

"Shit!" Cursed Harold, signifying he'd tried the same thing and nearly done exactly that.

"Tell us your name young maiden." Jon asked instead, feeling the question remiss having been in the girl's company for over two hours now.

"I am called Farla." She spoke mildly, her speech was eloquent, like a highborn girl, but she'd said only that her father was a barrelmaker and little else. "A pretty name." Jon lied. He thought the girl pleasant but her name was really shit. "How did you come to know these mountains so well, child?" He pressed on, the smalltalk was keeping everyone's mind off the blind ascent which he thought only for the good.

"I trained as a guide here on the ascent to the Eyrie and once apprenticed I had learned the way..." Jon was lost for words; it was the most boring answer he'd ever heard and he wondered if previous visitors had thrown themselves into the eternal darkness rather than talk with Farla. He tried to remember her face from their introduction at the waycastle but she'd made as much impression upon him there as her words had since. He frantically fought for some event that could keep he and his companions awake when the beating of wings shook him from his reverie. Up ahead, a thin finger of silvery moonlight betrayed a gap in the stone towards which he spurred his garron.

Harold followed and finally Kennet. Through the gap they could see out for long leagues across the Vale, its streams and fields bathed in the celestial light, the beating sound of buffeting air continued and a black shadow whisked across their stunned faces. A dragon. A dragon crawled through the ink-black night, silhoutted by the moonbeams higher and higher towards the Eyrie. Which dragon it was and why it shared a common destination with them, Jon feared to guess. Kicking the garrons on, the trio followed Farla keely, eager to see the beast up close and to meet with its owner.

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

The raven had come down from the Eyrie much more quickly than Daeron had originally thought that it would, though he still had to spend considerable time at the Gates of the Moon waiting. He waited within the main keep of the fortification, where the knights stationed there joked amongst themselves about dragons, though Daeron could still hear some trepidation in the sound of their voices. Many of them came up to him personally to say that it was about time that the true king had sent someone to steel Lady Jeyne into action, but Daeron did spy a few soldiers that were keeping to themselves, staring at him in silence. Supporters of my sister, Daeron thought to himself. Even he had heard the tales of his uncle's actions in the Vale, but he had no idea that the animosity still existed and was so strong.

He did have the chance to get something to eat, in which he thanked all the knights within earshot graciously. It had been some some time since he had last ate, as he had wanted to make as much time as possible in the final stretch of his journey, so getting anything at all was much appreciated. It wasn't anything special, little more than a hunk of some kind of meat smothered in gravy with baked potatoes at the side. He had no complaints, and was hardly in any kind of position to do so, but it was filling, and that was all he cared about at this point. Being in a hearth-warmed keep with something warm to put inside his belly... already a far cry from what he had to experience during these last few days since he left Oldtown.

Daeron had been seated at the high table, though he had at first refused such an honor, Ser Bronn Waynwood, the commander of the garrison, would have none of it. He was both a stern and serious man, to the point that he reminded Daeron a lot of Ormund Hightower, and that at least made him feel much more comfortable in this unfamiliar setting. They talked as they ate, and during the whole time, Daeron couldn't pin whether or not the knight supported his brother or his sister, though his loyalty to the Lady of the Eyrie was clearly not to be questioned. Daeron didn't wish to push any further, as he was still only a guest in these lands, when it all boiled down to it, and it wouldn't do well for anyone involved if it seemed he was trying to court a sworn knight independently of their liege.

Soon enough, a serving boy appeared before them both, with a letter in his hands, to which he bequeathed into Ser Bronn's possession. He scanned the message quickly and thoroughly, all without a true change of expression. "So the Lady now awaits you, it seems."

At that, the familiar feeling in his stomach returned, and the food and ale that he just consumed did little to settle it. This was it. Once again, he offered a thousand thanks for the hospitality that he had received, in which Ser Bronn accepted as any other dutiful knight would have. He finally made his leave, as he began down the the great hall, passing tables of laughter that grew silent as the men grew aware that he was leaving. It was all foreboding, with a great weight beginning to sit on his shoulders, but he knew that he had to carry it. He couldn't fail his brothers... or war would be inevitable. He had sometimes wondered in these past few weeks if they actually wanted war, but knew that couldn't be true. What could they gain them that they already didn't have, whether it was attained through honorable means or not?

He missed the warm keep the second that he stepped outside, quickly placing the hood over his silver hair and pulling his cloak tight against him. He looked for Tessarion and found her perched atop one of the many towers, watching. For what, Daeron couldn't be exactly sure, but it still have him a much needed peace of mind. The blue dragon made her way to the ground before Daeron with the same grace that he always expected of her, and bowed her head and wings so that he could get on. She always knew when it was time to take flight.

To the skies they soared, and the the cold winds buffetted both dragon and prince. Daeron could truly say, without exception, that this was the coldest he had ever been in his entire life, no other memory even came close. It had grown dark, so it was even colder than it had before, even if Daeron didn't think it was possible. Still, Tessarion was always sure of of wing, and he didn't have to ever fear whilst he was atop of her back. Even in the darkness, he could spy the sparkling mountain streams due to the moonlight, and knew that it had to be the cleanest water in the Seven Kingdoms. But then out of the corner of his eye, surprising even himself, he could see movement on the mountain pass that winded around the mountain up to the Eyrie. He had once considered taking it himself, but there was the matter of expedience and urgency to think of, as well as it would be foolish of him to leave Tessarion behind, for any lengthy period. His curiosity pulled him to get closer to make out who exactly they were, but he knew better. He didn't want to risk startling them to such an extent that they could lose their footing. Daeron had no idea how safe those trails were. However, despite all of his feelings, Tessarion still made a defiant roar as they moved up to the Eyrie itself.

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

In the High Hall of the Eyrie, one man stood in the long, austere chamber. He was tall, blonde of hair, and blue of eye. The falcon and crescent of House Arryn was blazoned on the back of his light blue cloak, draping his white and blue doublet. A falcon-pommeled longsword was strapped to his belt, next to a richly made dirk. Ser Eddison Arryn, one of numerous Arryn cousins from cadet branches spread throughout the Vale, contemplated the Weirwood throne of the Maiden of the Vale.

He was alone, the wind howling against the marble of the castle as the torch light played against the sharp countours of his cheeks and jaw. He stared at the throne for a long while, before eventually breaking the gaze and turning as he heard someone approach.

Aya was bedecked in her customary thin, muslin shift. Her tan legs exposed beneath the white fabric; her light-blue painted toenails visible in her leather sandals. She was ever the plainest dressed girl since childhood but even rising to the position of stewardess hadn't motivated the Lysene refugee to garb herself in any other way. Lady Jeyne made no complaint and everybody had grown used to it now. She had the tendency to move around the castle's environs as lithe as a cat and twice as quiet. Her golden hair a stark shock of brightness against her distinctly un-Lysene dark skin. Aya. Three letters was all she was. Not Aya Stone because she was not of the Vale, nor was she even a confirmed bastard. She answered to any surname from Arryn to Stone because it didn't matter to her. Tonight, Aya was filled with wonder. A queen was one thing but a dragon! Aya had dreamt of dragons her entire life so the visit of Rhaenyra and Syrax had made her feel half a girl again.

It had grown dark, though and despite visiting Syrax again after helping the Queen dress, it had grown dark and she'd had to come inside at long length. Eight and ten years ago, she'd been brought to Dragonstone by the Sea Snake and delivered into the care of Daemon Targaryen himself; the Rogue Prince. She'd spent those precious days gazing out across Blackwater Bay, marvelling at the magnificent creatures beating their wings out across the water. Some days, when she felt tired, sad or wan; she could swear she could see a dragon toying in the waters of Alyssa's Tears. A slim, beautiful shadow the colour of watery grey mist. Jeyne always laughed to hear it.

As she approached the Hall, silently as usual, she let out an audible sigh which gave her away to Ser Eddison. A cousin of Lady Jeyne and ever a serious character. For all their long years in service here, they'd only really spoken a dozen times. Her excitement had won her over, though and she gushed; "Oh Ser Eddison! Have you seen the Dragon!? Such beauty I scarce thought there existed in the world!" She beamed, before feeling abashed that she'd disrupted his thoughts so crudely.

Eddison smiled and bowed his head to Aya as approached. How does that woman stay warm up here in that whore's getup? he thought to himself, but he stood and said, "Oh indeed I did, my lady Aya. I was one of the first to approach the Queen when she fist landed. Her dragon is surely a wonder of the world. Though, a nightmare to some as well surely." Edd had always wondered what it'd be like to fly, like the falcon on his sigil. Seeing that dragon land in the courtyard confirmed what he already knew. That those who ruled the sky, ruled the world.

The Arryn knight said, "Are you not cold, Aya? I can offer you my cloak. More appropriate to these temperatures, and it will only get colder as the months go on." Though Edd was sure, Jeyne liked her whore just that way.

"What brings you to the High Hall? Do my cousin and the Queen fare well? If the gossip is to believed, we have more visitors incoming." Ser Jon Templeton, and Prince Daeron Targaryen. Both men that he had to speak to. And mayhaps, make a friend.

Aya scarce heard a question more oft than the question of whether she was cold. Though she often wondered if Ser Eddison's line of questioning wasn't more to do with her naked legs making him feel uncomfortable. Knights and their honour was a source of constant mirth. "I have come inside to escape the chill of the courtyard, Ser." She lied. "I had hoped the fires in the hall might warm me some. Keep your cloak though, I shall soon thaw!" She giggled girlishly. "To be sure." She perched on one of the varnished wooden chairs of the High Table, crossing her slender legs demurely. "I heard of the approach of Ser Jon and the Prince when Maester Cowley broke the news to our Lady..." She smirked at that. Jeyne saw to it that Aya had any news concerning the castle's affairs more swiftly than most.

"It's a conundrum, is it not?" She asked playfully. "I mean," Her deft fingers played with her hair thoughtfully. "The Queen and Lady Jeyne have always been such firm friends... Yet..." an exasperated sigh as though all the unavailing quarrels of the realm lay upon her nimble shoulders. "She's left us in the cold all these long years but thinks to come scrounging for aid now somebody's deigned to knock the golden goblet from her grasp..." She was mischievous as an imp, baiting the idle question well; Edd would scarce be able to respond without signifying some preference or other, though would he pick up the words of his cousin in the voice of her Stewardess?

Edd played the role as the dutiful kinsman and knight, "Mayhaps the lady would do well to wear more substantial clothing then. The latest Vale fashion is both stylish and functional, as my sister tells it. I myself would prefer to avoid fire as much as possible. It seems to me we may be facing an excess of it in the near future."

He absorbed Aya's words, and pondered them quickly. She was Jeyne's stewardess, as galling as that was. And Edd knew his cousin. Aya could be saying anything to get some kind of information out of him, but it was likely she spoke for Jeyne. Edd had been a squire when Daemon had ravaged the Vale, and he had grown up witnessing the frustration the Rogue Prince caused to the knights and lords around him, despite the love they may have had for Viserys and the Realm's Delight.

All of which was only interesting to him in so far as he could use it. Edd replied, "Certainly, the issue is complex and multi-faceted. Surely the Vale and its leader have hard choices before them. But I am just a humble knight, and servant of Jeyne. Whatever direction she takes is the path that must be followed." Unless there was a better option of course.

"If I may be so bold, what would you advise our lady? As her trusted companion and advisor, you have her ear. I suspect her decison will be influenced as such." Something which, many of the knights of the Vale aren't pleased with . Good for him.

I have a lot more than Jeyne's ear, truth be told Aya knew. "Far be it for me, Ser Eddison, to think to school our Lady in the ways of diplomacy." Her face was a pantomime of innocence. "She was born into such matters whereas I... I can say little of my own birth." She had enjoyed this altercation in the outset but was beginning to remember why the two of them had scarce spoken before. He's less warmth than the tip of the Giant's Lance, this one.

As though on cue; a commotion could be heard from behind them, in the direction from which Aya had entered. The Courtyard. Her eyes betrayed the exhilerating delight she felt at the notion of beholding a second dragon in a single day and night. There were shouts and the faint beating of wings from without. THe doors and walls ought to have obscured the furore but in the still of night it was the only motion detectable and without bidding even a goodbye, Aya dashed back the way she had come, still with no more clothing to shield her from the elements.

Edd smirked as she left. Lowborn whore though she was, she did have a nice arse. He pulled on the gloves as she left and followed the "lady", and stepped out into the light snow. Mayhaps the gods would do him a favor and have her freeze to death in the courtyard. It would save him the trouble of having to arrange an accident later.

It was time to see what this Prince Daeron was made of.

And from the dark skies above, a she-dragon descended, resplendent in blue scales with a cobalt underbelly. While other dragons were ferocious, she was nimble, landing in the courtyard with far less noise than any dragon rightly should have. It was deathly cold. Daeron could feel it even more up here, in the Eyrie. Fortunately, the warmth coming from Tessarion was helping him through it, as he realized that he should have brought much warmer clothing. It was too late for that now. His father often said that Targaryens had the blood of dragons, and stayed warmer than others in the cold. He wasn't entirely sure if that was true or not, but with the light snow beginning to stick to his clothes, he didn't want to stay out here to find out. His boots crunched in the snow as he jumped off of Tessrion to the ground below.

It was well into the night by this point, so it would have been difficult to see much of anything if it wasn't for the torches, lamps, and other sources of light that surrounded the courtyard itself. Even under the glow of artificial light, everything seemed to be so gray and dreary. The Arryn kings of old had once ruled everything below from this very mountaintop, Daeron had learned, but even they had to bow to the might of dragons. Still, he had other solemn thoughts to fill his head. He hadn't forgotten the words of the Knight of the Bloody Gate, and if true, that meant he wouldn't be the only dragonrider at the Eyrie.

He didn't have to venture far before he saw a dragon of yellow scales. Syrax. It was certainly a large dragon, but nothing when compared to either Vhagar or Caraxes. She was bigger than Tessarion, there was no question about that, though the yellow dragon had clearly grown fat over the years. He had heard personally heard much mocking that Syrax had grown as fat as Rhaenyra, though Daeron had never spent any time partaking in those kind of jests. Daeron took a single step towards the other dragon before a large blue wing swept infront of him, shielding him from any potential danger. With half a smile, he looked up to see Tessarion standing over him, staring intently at the other dragon, ready to pounce at any sudden movement. He removed his thick leather gloves and tucked them into his belt, so he could truly feel the worth of her scales upon his bare skin.

"There is nothing here for us to fear."

At that, Tessarion backed down, and Daeron resumed his advance towards Syrax. By this time, the dragon was well aware of the company that she had, now staring at the young prince and following his every movement. He raised his arms, and to an outward observer, it was probably impossible to tell whether he was trying to offer the dragon a loving embrace or to challenge her directly. In truth, it was neither, yet it didn't stop him from shouting a single word at the top of his lungs.

"Syrax!"

With unimaginable speed, the yellow dragon came for Daeron, half in flight and half in an thundering run towards him. It would be a wonder if this display didn't wake up any who were already asleep, but it didn't matter to Daeron in the slightest, he was in the moment. Syrax stopped before Daeron, her own face only an inch away from his own, snarling and gnashing her teeth at him. Daeron wasn't scared, no. What kind of Targaryen would he if he was frightened of a dragon? He knew their destructive potential and was well aware of why others would be so wary of them, but he had grown up amongst them, and counted many as great friends. He gave the she-dragon a sincere smile as he spoke in the High Valyrian that he had learned as a child.

"I bear Rhaenyra no ill will. You know that to be true." With that he reached out and touched the side of Syrax's muzzle, and realized for a moment, that she was warmer than Tessarion. Syrax only huffed some hot air at Daeron, which melted most of the snow that had accumulated on his clothing. The dragon then turned her back to him, and returned to where she had been resting, seemingly content that he no longer posed any danger.

"I expect the two of you to play nice... and with any luck, the same may be true of Rhaenyra and me." Daeron grinned as he looked up towards Tessarion, who only gave him a look that seemed to imply that she'd love to do nothing else but knock him off the mountain. Still, if anything, this encounter meant that Rhaenyra was still here, and that he'd have to confront her, for better or for worse. Was he truly ready? It didn't matter. He was past the time where he could doubt himself.

"I've seen many things in my life, but I don't think I've seen a man pet a dragon as if it were a horse."

Edd stood with a torch in hand and a friendly smile on his face, "I know you likely grew up with them. But still.. quite a bit of bravery to approach a dragon bonded to one's rival. Mayhaps they should call you Daeron the Daring."

The knight bowed his head low, clasping his fist to his chest, and said, "Ser Eddison Arryn, of the Snakewood. Sworn Sword of Lady Jeyne, of the Vale. This is Lady Aya, Stewardess to Lady Jeyne. Welcome to the Eyrie, Prince Daeron. It is my honor to greet you. Shall we enter the Hall? You may be unsused to the climate of our land, and I would be remiss in my duties if I allowed a Prince to catch cold. There is warm food and fine drink waiting for you, as well as my lady."

Aya raised an eyebrow at Ser Eddison's queer introductions but merely smiled and curtseyed a welcome. When Daeron's features caught the torchlight she noted his face was young and handsome, but swiftly her gaze returned to the new Dragon. Hard to admire properly in this dark but beautiful beyond doubt. She had an urge to run and pet the creature but was able to restrain herself. She'd been too impetuous by far tonight and had to remember she had been a woman grown ten years now. Those beasts made her half a girl again!

Daeron nearly jumped at the sudden voice that came from the darkness, but managed to restrain himself enough to not look completely childish or foolish. It would have likely been an odd sight indeed, after facing down a dragon before. He could make out two figures that were approaching him, and he could make most of their features out, since one of them was carrying a torch with him. The first was clearly a Knight of the Vale, tall, blonde, and blue of eye. Almost as if he was cut from a story or a song, Daeron thought to himself. The other was a woman, dark of skin and light of hair, seemingly wearing as little clothing as she could manage. It made Daeron wonder if she was aware of where exactly she was, or perhaps she didn't care at all.

He lowered his hood, revealing his silver hair to all. He gave both a slight bow. "I deeply apologize for any noise that I may have senselessly caused. I swear that it was not my intention."

Daeron wondered if it had been Lady Jeyne who had sent the both of them here to receive him, or if they had come of their own voalition. He supposed that in the end, it didn't really matter. He regarded the knight's words slowly and carefully, and he would have smiled at many of them, but he was nothing but reserved in this different setting. "I would not recommend for you to try to the same."

"Daring?" Daeron did frown at that. "I should hope that doesn't stick, else Aemond would never let me forget of such a stutter."

Sworn knight and stewardess... both were lofty positions if Daeron had to guess. Both likely were closely associated with Lady Jeyne herself, and were probably noting his every move, if only to possibly use it against him later. They were still their own people, and certainly had their own ambitions, opinions, and desires. What they could be, Daeron couldn't guess.

"I am humbled to meet both of you. But yes, I would be appreciative of any courtesies that you may think I am worthy of receiving. It is cold out here, if nothing else."

He smiled gallantly at the Prince once more, "There is nothing to forgive, Prince Daeron. I've never seen a dragon before, much less two. Or met a Prince. This is a moment, I shall be glad to tell my grandchildren of."

Edd laughed, "I would not presume to do so. I rather like not being another's lunch. But, I must admit, I envy your bond to so impressive a companion. It must be a wonder to fly."

Aya smiled sweetly and asked with momentary genuine concern. "I trust your flight wasn't too treacherous, Prince Daeron? Please if you'd care to follow inside, you may partake of our Bread and Salt. My Lady and Queen Rhaenyra are within." She stated as though it weren't obvious.
-----------

By morning, the Templeton trio had arrived though a return of snow flurries had delayed them long enough that they'd scarce had time to break their fasts before their leader shambled wearily into the Arryn's impressive High hall for a meeting Jon doubted he had a place at. Harold and Kennet Nash, at least had retired to rest but the Knight of Ninestars, the Blackstar, had been permitted, indeed compelled to attend this meeting. The snows had yet to abate again and Jon feared he'd be marooned up here for the war's duration unless he could commandeer a dragon!

Jeyne greeted the familiar face cordially. He's not slept yet he's thought to shave she noted. The Knight was all courtesy, or maybe he was out to impress... The light was bleak without and filtered bleakly in through the high-arched windows. Aya stood at Jeyne's side rather than take a seat but was slightly more formally garbed in a blue tunic and a light, flowing gown of spun cotton. She still looks like she should be cold, though. Thought Jeyne. Ser Eddison had been tasked with escorting Prince Daeron to the Hall as he had seemed to strike up a rapport with the visitor from Oldtown. Jeyne wasn't sure what to make of that but had more pressing concerns.

Loras Lipps was bid awaken the Queen and Jeyne shuddered to think what dreadful calamity the imbecile squire might make of the endeavour. In truth, she ought to have kept him close by but his presence was a source of constant irritation. With Aya bound for Dragonstone, Jeyne feared, she'd have to endure the lad even more frequently.

Daeron had been prepared to be summoned immediately upon his arrival, so he had been more than glad to be taken to his own sleeping chambers instead, to wait for the morning. He was more than tired, but already knew that he would be getting much sleep. There were far too many things on his mind. At least with a hot bath, he'd be somewhat presentable to the Lady of the Vale. They did call her the Maiden of the Vale, so Daeron wasn't entirely sure if that also meant that she was some kind of beauty to behold, or the exact opposite. He supposed that he would find out soon enough.

As he lay in the bed, trying to find the sleep that refused to come to him, all he could think of was his half-sister. He had entertained the possibility that the Blacks would have their own envoy to the Eyrie, as well as the chance that he could run into them... but to think it was Rhaenyra herself... The last that he knew, she was with child, and she must have already gone through childbirth by this time. To think she recovered so quickly- or worse, she greatly risked her life just to fly here. And would she have left a newborn infant behind just to come here herself? That truly made Daeron think of the worst.

In the end, Daeron did manage some sleep, even if it only felt like it lasted a second before he awoke again. The room was warm, even if the hearth had been reduced to cinders, and upon a look outside, he knew that it had become morning. Fortunately, he had brought a change of clothes, which consisted of a red and black doublet with fine trousers. It would seem that he would at least look like a prince when he was called before Lady Jeyne. Before long, he heard three distinct knocks on the door, which was Ser Eddison coming to escort him to the High Hall. Before he had retired to his chambers the night before, he had talked with the knight at great length, over a variety of different matters. He liked him just fine, but the reason as to why he was here was still weighing upon him, and prevented the young prince from becoming too comfortable.

Before leaving with the knight, he made sure to fasten his sheathed sword to his belt, the same one that he had brought with him from Oldtown. He had to admit that he had a few daydreams about the talks souring and him enforcing his his will with nothing but his sword, as well as fighting off all the Knights of the Vale in the process. Of course, that was hardly going to happen. He rested his hand upon the hilt of his blade regardless, and followed Ser Eddison out of the room.

Ser Eddison was dressed differently from when he first met the Prince. Now he wore armor, silvery plate that was handsomely forged with falcons as the pauldrons and a crescent moon worked onto the breastplate. A light blue cloak, with snow-white gyrfalcon feathers on the hem, draped from his shoulders and he wore his sword, only his head was bare. It was ceremonial certainly, but there was little doubt it would also serve well in battle.

Eddison inclined his head, "Good morning, Prince Daeron. I trust you slept well." He gestured the Targaryen scion to follow him down the elegant but austere marble halls of the Eyrie's guest apartments, on their way to the High Hall. "Do you require any food or drink before you meet with our Lady and her other guest? I know Rhaenyra only by reputation, but you may wish to partake, as I fear this may be a long, ardous affair." Of which Edd would be watching every moment.

The knight smiled slightly, "Many blessings you have, Prince Daeron, but I do not envy you in this."

His companion looked every inch a true knight in the armor that wore, and made Daeron wish that he had his own, if only to make him look more bold, older, and more confident. In the end, he knew that it didn't really matter what he wore, as it would not change his words. The hall that they walked down was as fine as any in the Red Keep, he was certain of that. Was he truly worthy of such treatment, just because he happened to be the son of a king and brother to another? He quickly discarded such thoughts from his head. If there was any time in his life for him to act like a prince, it was now.

"There were cold biscuits and cheese set beside my bed. I had a few, but I can't say that I'm terribly hungry." That much was true, though he was at the same time blessed to have eaten a hearty meal at the Gates of the Moon before his ascent to the Eyrie. He wasn't sure if Lady Jeyne was going to bring both siblings into the same room as one another, but Ser Eddison's words seemed to confirm just that. He didn't know if he'd rather have a full or empty stomach when he faced his sister, but he doubted it would make much of a difference.

"I did not wish to bring our familial dispute to your doorstep, yet I fear it may be inevitable. I hold no disdain for my sister, but I do not know if she holds similar feelings for me. We were... never close."

Perhaps that was his greatest fault... not doing more to bridge the gap between his brothers and his sister. Could he have been that single missing link that would have made all the difference? He didn't know. His mother... brothers... cousins... had always been set against against each other for as long as he could remember. He just went along with it, being too young to understand... and here they were, on the brink of a civil war, all because they couldn't get along.

He only gave a faint smile. "At least you have a front row seat to view the whole thing, eh?"

Their footsteps echoed on the marble floors as they passed room after room. Quite a few of the bannermen, lordlings, and assorted knights of the Vale had been gathering in the Eyrie to take counsel with Lady Jeyne, and many of them would be in the High Hall to witness the talks. They would be among the last to arrive. As such, the guest halls they walked down were quiet and tranquil, "Understandable, I wouldn't have much of an appetite either."

He smiled good-naturedly, "It is no fault of yours, Prince Daeron. The Eyrie was always fated to be a party to whatever strife may occur among the royal family. Jeyne and your sister are cousins and friends. And your uncle is infamous in our province. Even without either of you here, the lords and knights of the Vale have been content to take up the dispute on their own." A situation that Edd could certainly benefit from.

Edd shook his head ruefully, "Family, they can be both a man's strength and his weakness. My own house has suffered its fair number of struggles. After Lady Aemma's death, and Jeyne's... reluctance to wed, a fair number of the Arryn men have been arguing about who should be heir. It is sad to see power cause such rifts between those who should be closest. I am glad to take no part. Serving my cousin with pride and honor is enough." For the moment, but not much longer.

They exited the guest halls and then began winding their ways to the High Hall, where they were being awaited by Jeyne and Rhaenyra. The Eyrie may have been the smallest of the palaces and fortresses that any Great House of Westeros possessed, but it was still a mighty hall, and one could still get lost. But Edd lead Daeron through the passages quickly and efficiently, passing many understated but elegant and tasteful decorations such as marble statues, paintings, and windows that offered fantastic views of the Vale below.

The knight shook his head with a laugh, "Believe me, Prince Daeron, if duty did not compel me so, I would rather not attend. I have little taste for these court intrigues if truth be told, and the dishonesty and trickery that comes with them." He glanced at Daeron with a wry smirk, "I would also hate to get burned in the crossfire. When dragons dance, everything on the earth must be wary of fire." And when dragons danced, oppurtunities arose, brave or smart enough to avoid their flames.

Edd continued to speak to him as they walked, "A word of advice if I may, Prince Daeron. Lady Jeyne is the picture of a noble lady, but she is strong of will and heart and brooks little foolishness. I would recommend that you comport yourself as properly and confidently as possible, no matter how much your sister may rattle you."

On their approach, Daeron did take the time to admire the decorations and architecture, as he did not know when he'd have another opportunity to visit the Eyrie, if ever. It was all a bit unsettling really, to imagine that the High Hall would be nearly full by the time they reached it, which meant that the most important people in the Vale would all be gathered, waiting on him. What exactly would they all expect out of him? Maybe they figured he was a lot like his brothers, or they could be set against him before he even enters the room. Daeron was hardly adept at the intricate politics that dictated the Vale itself, but he knew enough that he could use to his advantage, if he needed to. He had no pleasure in hearing the stories of his uncle's rampage in these lands, and he knew the terrible misfortunes it had wrought on the countless numbers of people. However, if he could use any of the fervor to prevent the coming war, then he knew that it would be worth it.

How long his sister had been at the Eyrie for, he couldn't possibly know. It was certainly possible that she had already made her case and already won the hearts and minds of Lady Jeyne and her lords. Even if there was only a small chance of him being able to sway the Lady of the Vale, he was obligated to try. Else, so many would die over his family's mistakes and he truly did not want to see that happen. This was greater than himself, or his brothers, or even Rhaenyra herself. There were so many egos that constantly collided with each other... the realm was at its breaking point.

"My father always upheld the idea of family above everything else. I wonder if that stopped him from pushing too hard when it came to the matter of succession. It was never anything I had ever wished to think upon, and I'm sure the same could have been said of him."

His hand gripped the pommel of his sword more tightly, as it was the same one that had been given to him by his father those two years ago. Indeed, his father may very well be watching over this meeting between him and his sister, and it only worried him that his father would wish for his sister to prevail over him. If his father ended up turning in his grave, then so be it.

"My sister will not rattle me, ser. Any past transgressions that she may think were committed against her were not done by my hand, and if she wishes to press the issue, she'll likely only end up embarrassing herself."

Daeron was well aware of the temper that could sometimes consume his half-sister, and it may prove a good tactic to provoke her. He didn't want to go there, nor to cause a scene, as it certainly would not help his cause any if he did. They paused right before the entrance to the High Hall itself, the sound of voices seeping out from the doors, proving that those inside had been there for awhile. He wasn't sure if he could completely trust Ser Eddison, but if nothing else, the man was a knight, so he surely followed some kind of code of honor. He just hoped he wouldn't need to rely on anyone else during this confrontation with his sister.

He turned to Ser Eddison, likely utilizing one of the final smiles that would be afforded to him for quite awhile. "Perhaps your lady will even find me a little charming?"

Edd nodded in sympathethic understanding, "I could never know your kingly father as much as you, but I imagine it is a great burden to bear either children or a crown, much less both. I couldn't imagine being in such a position, it is no wonder he never pushed the issue further. Choosing one child over another? With a kingdom on the line? A great and unenviable dilemma." And one that Viserys should have made a clear choice in, else this whole mess would never have happened. Not that Edd was complaining. He could turn Viserys' foolishness to his benefit.

"I'm glad to hear it Prince Daeron. The Knights of the Vale will follow our lady, of that there is little doubt. But your brother has his sympathizers in these halls. It would do you only well, to present yourself as best as possible to Lady Jeyne and her bannermen." It was very likely Jeyne had already sworn herself to her friend Rhaenyra in private. And the Lords of the Vale were too honorable and insular to offer much overt dissension. But even so, not everybody in the Vale would be happy about it. A situation that Daeron, and especially Edd, could find oppurtunities in. Which is why Edd made certain to ask a few, key personages, to attend.

Edd didn't disappoint and favored the Prince with a warm smile, "I suspect she may, and all for the good. No matter what may transpire, Prince Daeron, I wish you good fortune." He extended his hand for a firm handshake before knocking on the doors.

They were opened by Lorn Lynderley and Emmon Corbray and Ser Eddison lead Prince Daeron into the High Hall. The chivalry and nobility of the Vale were well represented. The gallery was standing room only, as lords and ladies and knights from all the major houses and families from Gulltown to the Three Sisters stood and talked among one another. Edd found the eyes of a knight in gilded bronze armor, a young man with a long, solemn face and dark hair and eyes. They traded a look and a slight nod, one that would be unnoticed in the hubbub of the gathering.

Ser Rohls Royce, cousin to the Lord of Runestone. One of those key personages, Edd had brought to this meeting. Edd also espied Ser Jon Templeton, the Blackstar, and one of the most powerful men in the Vale. Another important man, even if he himself didn't know it. Soon the chatter died down as they all turned to face Ser Eddison and the Prince.

Upon the weirwood throne sat Lady Jeyne Arryn, the Maiden of the Vale, as elegant and beautiful as ever, but Edd knew he would look better on that seat. Her whore, Aya, the High Stewardess of the Vale, an appointment that had angered and galled many among the proud families of the Vale, stood by her side with that clumsy Lipps squire. Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, Queen of Dragonstone at least, stood out from every other face.

She was still a pleasant sight, even after her multiple pregnancies. Some men preferred their women slight, but Edd did not discriminate. Beauty was beauty. And she represented some interesting oppurtunities. Edd knew he would have to exchange some words with her before this was all over. And now he would know more about her while she had her little talk with her brother.

He turned to Daeron and nodded minutely before addressing the court, in a strong, clear voice "My lady, your grace, lords and ladies of the Vale, Prince Daeron Targaryen." He bowed his head and pressed his gauntleted fist against his breastplate in Jeyne and Rhaenyra's direction, before taking his place among the Arryn Honor Guard at one of the pillars in the High Hall. Now it was time to watch the show, and plant the seeds afterwards.

Truly, the High Hall itself was overwhelming, and if Daeron hadn't been already prepared, he likely would have looked like a small child before near all the lords of the Vale. Instead, Prince Daeron Targaryen stood tall in this room of great lords, and likely, amongst the oldest of them, he appeared much like the bold, young Prince Viserys during the Great Council of 101 AC, where he was chosen to be the heir to old King Jaehaerys by a vote of twenty to one. That, along with his silver hair and dark purple eyes, made the young dragon prince quite the striking image when compared to many of the others that had stood in the room in the past. By the time he had gone far enough in the room, Ser Eddison separated from him to take up his own posting by some other knights, signifying that Daeron was now on his own.

As he looked upon the woman that sat upon the throne that was made of weirwood, Daeron was partially relieved that she was pleasing to look upon, but more perplexed that she had never married. He briefly wondered why she had chosen such a path, though he knew it was ultimately her own decision. Maybe she thinks it best to not allow any power-hungry lord to push his authority onto her, Daeron thought to himself. And then to the Lysene stewardess that he had only just met, wearing only a little more clothing. It wouldn't surprise Daeron in the slightest if she was someone's spy, though he was sure that Lady Jeyne was astute enough to uncover such a scheme.

He looked directly at the Maiden of the Vale, completely unwavering. "My lady, it would be unbecoming of me if I didn't give my thanks for your hospitality and giving me the privilege to come before you in these trying times. I hope we may join together to weather the storms that are about to blow over all of Westeros." At that, he did notice some nods among those gathered, but everything remained mostly silent.

Jeyne rose to receive the Prince. Courtesy was courtesy and to tell truth, Oldtown bragged of him to be a virtuous and well-governed youth. She would not for all the wealth in the Kingdoms, here in her house, do him disparagement. "Prince Daeron, I trust your accommodation was up to the standards of Lord Hightower's own." She smiled. "Please take a seat. We have much to discuss." He was a comely young lad. A real heartbreaker, this one.

"A warm bed and good food was all I needed. Everything else was far more than even I could ever deserve."

Daeron then turned to his sister, who wouldn't mind seeing his head on a spike, he didn't doubt. She was ever so stunning, despite her plumpness, yet he did spy dark bags under her eyes. Whether this was from her recent pregnancy, worry about things that have recently come to pass, or a combination of both, Daeron was unsure. She was likely the visage of Queen Visenya herself, though he was glad she wasn't a warrior like her. My uncle is more than terrifying enough on a battlefield to make up the difference.

He looked upon her, his face warming into a gentle smile. "Rhaenyra... it's good to see you. It's been such a long time."

The young Prince lacked none of the striking beauty that ran in the blood of Valyria. He was not so different, if a little less plump, than her distant memories of her father before he was named Prince and King. She held on to that thought for now, reminding herself of the connection they shared would be one way to control her emotions, while not forgetting the man who's final will they wished to usurp.

"I trust your flight was a safe one, Prince Daeron?" She asked as if this was no more than a family reunion, although without forgetting the boy's title in such a formal gathering. She did not know what his older brothers had taken to calling her, but simply because his brother pretended to be a King, did not strip the younger of his Princeship. Not yet. Of course, thoughts of his own flight, stirred memories of her own, how dangerous an affair it had been.

"But, I have my doubts it is really I, who you are here to see."

Ser Jon Templeton watched the exchange with interest. Prince Daeron looked vibrant and healthy; his half-sister careworn and tired- yet clinging to her former beauty notwithstanding. Ser Eddison's body language piqued his interest. What was that Arryn lickspittle up to now? He couldn't guess but Jon guessed his interests would be singular and self-serving. Ser Edd was well-liked but struck Jon as a man of little warmth. Ronnel would have liked him. Ronnel had liked everyone.

Aya stood still as a spear, beside the throne upon the dais. A fair assembly. Loras Lipps was on the other side of Lady Jeyne's throne and the Queen had the seat of honour to her right hand. Daeron was assigned a seat to the left but his chair was notably further from the throne than Rhaenyra's place. Games thought Aya. Forming the circle was The Knight o Ninestars, clean shaven and handsome with close-cropped dark hair and laughing eyes. Ser Emmon Corbray and Ser Lorn Lynderley who were the chiefest members of Jeyne's Personal Guard sat beside Ninestars. Ser Rohls Royce glowered from his seat; a beast in Bronze mail. Ser Eddison Arryn had a seat close to Prince Daeron but Maester Cowley had the seat in between them; his counsel ever welcome to Jeyne these past few years.

Kevan Sunderland of Sisterton was beside Ser Eddison and Aya noted the aging Sisterman was fidgeting restlessly and wouldn't meet Ser Jon Templeton's gaze. Artur Grafton came next, dressed in so much mail one might have thought he was heading into battle; the burning tower of his sigil flashed upon a red and black tunic.

Alongside Ser Grafton was his squire; Rolly Arryn of Gulltown. His sigil was the Arryn Falcon with a fat salmon in its talons. Absurdly he held a dead salmon in his lap and had eyes that looked in different directions. Lady Jeyne hadn't even troubled herself to acknowledge him when she'd bade Ser Artur welcome.

Then there were more blackstars. No they're starfish! she realised. This was Robett Ruthermont; Aya couldn't remember where he was from. Somewhere on the Fingers she guessed. Finally came newly knighted Ser Aron Donniger, his resplendent arms a blazing red sunset on a yellow field sinking into an iron-grey sea, and Lady Gemella Upcliff of Witch Isle in a flowing gown of turquoise and black velvet. For her two and forty years, she was not uncomely.

And there were many and more, crowding the hall and looking on at the table. Not every lord or lady had been able to make the journey in the short time, but by now surely the Gates of the Moon were hosting a great many more noble guests; and practically every house of any note was represented by one of its members in the hall. Edd managed to stop from sneering in disgust when he noticed one of his young second cousins Rolly at the table. Thankfully his dead salmon wasn't quite rotting yet but it was getting close.

Why he had such proximity to the dignataries and why such a simpleton was a squire, the world may never know. Perhaps the gods were showing him signs of how he must hurry to save the Vale from Jeyne's inadequacy and the ill portents and omens it sent through the realm. If so, Edd got the message. The knight made a mental note to quietly end Rolly's life at some point so he didn't keep muddying the Arryn name any further. Or at least persuade Ser Grafton to have him shipped off to the Sisters instead. The fishmen would find him a paragon of elegance and wit.

Edd kept his silence, looking at all of the speakers discreetly, watching the way they moved and listening carefully to the tone of their voice. Jeyne was polite as ever, but there was a clear undercurrent of tension barely restrained by protocol between the siblings, more so from the queenly sister. He had to stop from smiling. It would be entertaining to see how this developed.

He didn't know what he had expected from his sister. A countless number of different things had all run their course through his mind during his flight here from Oldtown. Even so, they all were created fantasies, trying to predict the actions of a relative that he knew so little. He had hoped that she'd be more personal, yet she felt so distant. He was sure that he was receiving a warmer reception from her than either of his brothers would have gotten, but it still felt cold. This was the great game that they were about to play, and even if he had little interest in playing it, he really had no choice in the matter. To favor a brother over a sister, why in seven hells was he forced to make such a condemning decision?

As he sat in his assigned seat, he should have been comfortable, but he wasn't. It felt like he was sitting upon the Iron Throne itself, in which he was more than glad that he was far removed from ever having to assume such a responsibility. It was still more than fitting. He didn't tend to rest easy while he was here, such complacency wouldn't get Lady Jeyne on his side. There were likely a thousand reasons for her to support his sister over his brother, and that was fine. He only needed a single reason to convince her otherwise.

"I was fortunate to arrive here whole, healthy, and unscathed." He made eye contact with his sister, as that was what he felt was appropriate for the situation. "The last I heard, you were abed with child. Surely you did not leave a newborn behind only to chat with an old friend?"

And risk you own life in the process. Do you truly desire the crown and throne so much?

"When I spotted Syrax in the courtyard, I must admit I was surprised. The fact that we happen to be here together is a strange coincidence, and one that we shouldn't just forget." If anything, Daeron knew, they should take this as a sign. This could potentially be the chance for them to start the process that could reconcile the grievances that both sides of their families had with one another. Perhaps he was being overly naive, or maybe he just saw things more clearly than any of his other relatives?

"I am uncertain if a proper funeral was held for our father. If not, then I do not hold my brothers or mother in contempt. It has been hard for everyone during these last several weeks." Still, it would be a lie if he didn't have some anger towards his family for leaving him out of everything for so long. Their hunger for power may even eclipse Rhaenyra's, though it may not be fair of him to assume all of his sister's intentions.

"Whatever the truth of the matter may be, I intend to hold a memorial service for father once I return to King's Landing. I do not know exactly what you are feeling right now, but you have every right to be there as well, along with our entire family." And if the gods had any mercy, his brothers and Rhaenyra may be granted a chance to put all this nonsense behind them, regardless of how the talks with Lady Jeyne go.

"My daughter died." The words that escaped Rhaenyra's lips were almost blunt in nature, but behind the cold fact roared an ocean of grief and rage, one that was escaping in rivers of malice. Her eyes turned once more on her younger half-brother, an inkling of the distaste she felt towards the elder members of Alicent's brood forcing itself to the surface of her gaze.

"Do you know why this was?" She did not pause long enough for him to answer before she continued.

"My father, were it possible for him to be at ease, has not be laid to rest, he likely spent days rotting in the Red Keep before his death was even announced to the wider world." She spoke with increasing passion and fire, the imperious charisma of the Realm's Delight pushing past the facade of the wounded Princess.

"Do you know why this is?" She added again, once more moving immeditately to speak of another connection to such events.

"I cannot come to King's Landing, to see the body of my father, to walk the halls of my own family, to put to rest the memory of a great man." Grief once more, she was almost drowned in it, these past days.

"All these things and more are because your brother decided to have himself crowned king. He and your mother allowed 'our' father to decay in his bed while they plotted, while they removed rivals from the Red Keep, many by sword. They did so in full contradiction to the will of 'our' father who now lies dead, shunning his memory. And when I heard of this, days later, when your brother had himself crowned by traitors and sycophants, my child died, before she could even live." It was perhaps more honest that the honeyed words expected of a diplomat, but it was no black rage that Rhaenyra could at times be known for, it was a surge of calculated rage, in contrast to the well-meaning, but naeive efforts of the young prince.

"I am... sorry." The words that escaped from his lips were barely above a whisper, but they were loud enough for Rhaenyra to hear them, at least. He hadn't even guessed for a moment that there was a possibility that her child may have been stillborn. Not even giving herself a single moment to mourn before she saddled Syrax to come all the way to the Eyrie... without even taken the time to recover physically. He couldn't possibly imagine what the pain of losing a child could be like, and fully expected that he wouldn't until he had children of his own, if he ever was so blessed. And just for a moment, as their eyes finally met, purple against purple, Daeron finally saw the hatred, disdain, and anger that she felt for his entire family.

He knew that no words would be suitable to alleviate the pain that his sister was clearly going through, and with how the conversation had already headed, perhaps it was best not to say more. Rhaenyra's words against his family... he couldn't completely believe in them. Despite all their flaws, whatever preconceived notions that so many others had placed on them, he knew that they were good people. Or at least, he hoped that they were. He had heard the rumors of what had happened after his father's death, and they must be the same ones that Rhaenyra had heard herself. Was she privy to some information that he was not? He did not think so. But to blame his family for so many of her woes... did the hatred run so deep? Or was just merely a byproduct of all the pain and grieving that she had gone through in such a small amount of time?

Was she so deluded, seeing snakes in the grass, believing that nearly everyone was against her? To blame his brother for the death of her child, that only seemed like insanity to Daeron, no matter what weak reasoning that she used to justify it. Was his dream of peace impossible to achieve? Daeron didn't want it to be so. He didn't want to see people die when it could all be easily avoided, at least in his opinion. But Rhaenyra seemed to be set on her path, legitimized by all the slights that she believed have been made against her through all these years, even before Daeron was born. His family wasn't completely innocent in this regard, he knew, but it seemed that this way of thinking was so shallow, especially when you painted the other side with such a wide brush. In the end, where would it get all of them? He knew, even when he wished that he didn't. It would be nothing but fire and blood.

Was she somone that truly deserved to be queen? It was well known that his father had chosen her to be heir, but things had likely been different all those years ago. What he looked at before him was not someone who he'd be proud to bend his knee to, at least based on what she had said so far. He had his own issues with his brother, to be sure, but he could be reasoned with. He would actually listen. Was the same true for Rhaenyra? He was beginning to have his doubts.

"I do think that no one would dispute that you are the elder, while I am the younger." He wasn't pressing his claim to the Iron Throne, and in its simplest terms, this was a dispute between Aegon and Rhaenyra. As their brother, he had to do what he thought was right. He didn't want to have to betray either sibling, if there was a viable alternative that meant everyone could finally get along.

"Despite all of this, if true, what would you have me do?" Whatever Rhaenyra said next, Daeron didn't want hear any lies or falsehoods. No veiled promises or otherwise. Nothing but the truth would suffice and show him how she actually saw things. And in that, he would, if only a bit, get to know his sister a little better.

Edd was as surprised as Daeron. Surprised at the shocking news that was just revealed to be sure. But also surprised at the vehemence that surged out of the queen to be at her own half-brother, a youth who was either as good a liar as Edd or was truly honest and honorable. He could only imagine the hatred that Rhaenyra would surely feel for her one time stepmother, or Daeron's older brothers, the infamously cruel Aemond and the hedonistic Aegon. Rhaenyra kept her anger focused and controlled. But the knight could tell that the dragon queen was capable of far greater rage. The legendary kind of black anger that could drive one to do unimaginable things.

Excellent. For it was the kind of rage that lead to war, and chaos. And those presented many oppurtunities.

Edd didn't allow himself to smile but his eyes widened in surprise at the news of Rhaenyra's miscarriage, blending in with the other nobles who all had similar reactions, women covering their mouths to stifle gasps or knights leaning in to each other to whisper.

This was the most excitement the Vale had seen in quite some time. A potentially continent-shaping family squabble playing out right in front of them. And Edd was enjoying every second of it. He watched Jeyne out of the corner of his eye to observe her own reactions for a moment before turning back to the fiery spectacle. Every other pair of eyes was engrossed as well.

Though one couldn't tell in Rolly's case.

For now Rhaenyra's anger was controlled, but Edd was curious to see how well and how long the Queen could do so. And if there were a limit to Daeron's congeanility and chivalry. He had little doubt now that the young prince truly was an honorable sort, but he might still have the famous Targaryen ember in him.

Her personal anger for the younger Targaryen blunted at his words, while an apology in such a situation would have usually made her incredulous, she was not yet so set in crusade against the Hightower-get that she would ignore what seemed to be honest. She would take no joy in setting herself against Daeron, he did not deserve his siblings. She remained silent for the moment, allowing the anger to drain out of her voice, before she responded to his reply in full;

"Your niece was not long for the world, young brother, but she deserved a place in our crypts." She almost choked at that, by the time she left the Vale, she would ask the young Prince to take the ashes with him, back to King's Landing, of all of them, he was the most likely to accept, but she did not think she would remain composed while she did so. "Your words do mean much, even if they mean less than action, I could ask that you support the will of our departed father, to uphold what was deemed the just succession, before his will was subverted only after his death, but I do not believe you will clash with your own brothers, for reasons far more just than I believe can be said of them. All that I may ask, if that you return to them, and council them away from war in the pursuit of their false claim."

When her friend spoke of the babe she'd lost, it was all Jeyne could do not to clasp her hand in comfort but she had to maintain the illusion of impartiality. Truly, there could be none who would envy Daeron's position. Clearly sent to the Vale in the vain hope something could be achieved, Jeyne knew his words were wind in this hall if she declared for Rhaenyra. The Upcliff widow dabbed at her eyes sadly with a turquoise handkerchief at hearing of the babe's demise and Rolly Arryn seemed to clutch that absurd fish closer to his chest at the sorrowful tidings.

Ser Jon Templeton puffed out his cheeks as though the news were a heavy blow. Young Loras Lipps seemed to quiver nervously from his station just over her left shoulder. Jeyne prayed he'd keep his composure. Daeron spoke earnestly and it was a pity the handsome Prince had made his visit in such a tumultuous circumstance. She surveyed the thronging masses filling the hall and pondered whether these several bannermen were here in a show of solidarity or if any of them were operating with their own agendas. She could hardly expect Ser Rohls Royce, for instance, to pledge his sword to fight alongside Daemon Targaryen. Yet if he took up arms against the Vale? There could scarce be forgiveness for such dubious loyalty.

"That had always been my intention." He had many questions for his brothers, and some of which were more demands than anything else. However, he feared that they had long ago passed the point of no return, and he'd likely be forced to jump from the same cliff as them. Under different circumstances he might have seen himself opposing them, but that wasn't the man that he wished to become. He couldn't betray his brothers, no matter what they may be accused of. He didn't truly believe them to be in the wrong, he knew they had good reason for what they did, even if it jeopardized the peace that they could have had. And though he appreciated these last words that his sister had given him, if she didn't have any flexibility when it came to his brothers, could he expect them to not do the same? She would not step in King's Landing again until she sat the Iron Throne, and Aegon would never give it up willingly. He still wished for peace, but it seemed it would be a forgone conclusion, with only words alone.

His thoughts did steel him for the task ahead. If Lady Jeyne declared for Rhaenyra's claim, it would be disastrous if any rational discourse were to occur in the future. The greater a disadvantage that his sister saw herself in, the greater the chance for her to seek terms. Peace was still attainable through those means, by showing her that it would be foolish to drag this into a true conflict. Anything less than that, and Rhaenyra would be just as unforgiving and unyielding as she appeared before him now. Blood would run over Westeros, and he'd be caught in the midst of it.

Daeron rose to his feet, and to those gathered in the hall, it may have seemed rather sudden. To the young prince, it wasn't at all, and ever since he had known that he'd have to come to the Eyrie to speak to Lady Jeyne Arryn, he had known what words that he wanted to speak. Perhaps they were not the ones that his brothers would want him to say, but they had entrusted him with this task, so they should not be surprised at how he decided to handle it. The lords and ladies assembled had begun to truly take notice of him now, though many were still reacting from the news of Rhaenyra's unborn daughter. He couldn't blame them, yet he didn't believe that such a tragedy should be used to legitimize going to war. Whatever she may have become, that could only sully the memory of a child who was never given a chance to live.

And now here he was, about to make a plea before a lady of a great house, who had in all likelihood had already given his sister her support in private. Until you spoke the words aloud for all others to hear, however, nothing was binding. At least, he hoped that would be the case, as that seemed to be his only chance to steer Lady Jeyne from nearly inevitable war. In spite of his feelings from before, it was probably better for his cause to be surrounded by so many lords and ladies. They may end up getting Lady Jeyne to see things differently than she would have otherwise.

"My lords and ladies," he began by speaking directly to all those within the room, "it is no secret that I have come before you all on the behest of King Aegon Targaryen." A point that everyone already knew, but it did allow the prince to briefly see the differing reactions from everyone who was here, both good and bad. "Whether or not you believe him to be the rightful king or if his claim is just... it is not my place you tell you what to think. Look into your own hearts and come upon your own conclusions, whatever they may be." Others in his place may have told them of their duty, their oaths to the crown, or the crimes of Daemon Targaryen... but he did not to include himself in this insane cycle of telling others what to do, often using fear as a motivator.

"I have not come to offer you gold, titles, offices, or other half-hearted promises that will be forgotten within a summer. To what kind of bribes could I possibly give to make someone raise their hand against their dearest friend?" As he said that, he turned away from everyone else so that he could look at the Maiden of the Vale herself. He wondered what she had expected of him. To make her a thousand and one promises within a single breath? He was a stranger to her, and this was the first time they had ever met. In what world would he have been able to tear two friends from another? He was no fool, or, at least not one who would think Lady Jeyne would ever march her armies against Dragonstone.

"You need not concern yourself with my family's failings. Not a single Valeman needs to die just because my father did not want to cause strife with daughter or wife. If we manage peace instead of swords being drawn, then nothing is lost. If not, then you save so much by not being dragged into our insanity." He meant those words, almost with every fiber of his being. So many others were willing to kill each other over this, and if he was able to keep the Vale out of the coming war, how many lives could he potentially save? To him, this was the only sensible option.

"And when the dust is settled, know that you betrayed no one, and did so to preserve the peace and security of your people. You have my word and honor that no repercussion will be pursued against you if you maintain neutrality. I am confident that my brothers would feel the same as me. War is not their goal, only what they believe is best for all of Westeros." The lure of the crown was likely a motivating factor in their decision as well, and he did not know how many were whispering half-truths into their ears.

"I can only ask that you consider my words, and I hope that you can rise above where so many others have fallen." He glanced at his sister, not with contempt, but with disappointment. With war being the normal state of affairs, was following his heart a folly?

Jeyne heard the young Prince's plea. He was in earnest, she had to concede, but words were wind and one look at the fire in Rhaenyra's eyes was proof enough that this desperate peace Daeron spoke so passionately was as likely as a midsummer snow in Dorne. She bore this lad no enmity, however, and spoke kindly. "You speak well, Young Prince, and do your family credit with your courtesy in visiting the Eyrie." She smiled,, "Would that you were Alicent's eldest and we might make one another's acquaintance in happier circumstance..." She tossed her tousled raven tresses languidly across her shoulder. "You should know my heart is ever with your sister, though. What say you of Daeron's comments Your Grace?"

"It is tempting indeed to believe the words of the Prince, he may even truly do so himself, but I would remind you, lords and ladies, of the character of his brothers." Rhaenyra was quick to respond, although not desperately so. While her emotion from earlier may have won some to her cause, lords would always worry about the 'fickle emotions of women
' in a ruler, and so, for now, she reamined calm and precise.

"Daeron loves his brothers, but can you ever trust a man who would forsake the will of his father the moment he is dead? What is more, can you trust him to restrain his brother?" She paused just long enough for those who knew Aemond to picture him, the heartless one-eyed monster who had prowled the royal courts they may have visited. "Aemond has never forgiven a slight, and to a man such as he, not acting will be deemed as nothing less. Vengeance may not come now, it may not come for many years, and it may not be direct, but you will feel it's sting, the whole Vale will do so, if you do not stand with the traitors."

"Or, you can aid me, and with victory, ensure that the Vale will rise, High as Honour, for your children, and their children, such as it always has." She had promises enough for the Vale, should they follow the true Queen, but such matters could wait, let the sit with the visions of Aemond's fury.

Jeyne winced at the cheap quoting of her House words but smiled a thin accord as Daeron moved to retort.

"I would think that I know the character of my brothers better than you ever could. I grew up with them." Daeron was more annoyed than angry at the words of his sister, as if to imply that she knew her siblings so well when she had practically disowned them so long ago. He had gone out of his way to avoid any personal attacks, but it seemed nothing of the sort was holding Rhaenyra back. He could have sat back and told them all about the past actions of his uncle, and to startling effect... but was that really the path forward that he wanted to pursue? It wasn't, and that would likely put him at a severe disadvantage to someone who seemed to love nothing but to declare the flaws of his brothers aloud.

"And now you seem so comfortable in being able to speak for me, after so many years of unending vitriol for my mother and brothers." He wasn't sure how she truly felt about him. Did she not care at all, or just lump him in with the rest of his family? That only made him grimace at the thought of it all. His own family was hardly innocent in this entire ordeal, but where did it all end? "Should I be blamed for supporting the brothers that I know over the sister that I don't?" Daeron was not frightened to be driven by his emotions, and that was possibly one of his greatest flaws.

"Aemond has his own faults, but who doesn't?" That was putting lightly, and Daeron had many issues with his brother, many of them being personal. He had his doubts that Aemond would ever listen to him on any issue, but if he could get Aegon on his side, he wouldn't go against the both of them. "He is harsh towards his enemies, aye, but only to those who would raise armies against him. Neutrality will be respected, I swear to that."

"Half the realm denies your right to the throne. Have you ever stopped to consider their opinion when it comes to the succession?" As he said the words, he eyed nodding heads among the throng. "Our father won the right to the become king by the lords of the realm. Why can we not do the same now, instead of war? Present your claim and Aegon can present his. The realm can decide this matter, and no blood has to spilled for it." He had no idea if Aegon would even want to agree to a great council, but if Rhaenyra was in favor of it, Daeron saw no reason why his brother would refuse.

"Help me settle this between you and Aegon. We need not rip ourselves to shreds when there's still time to avoid it all. Let history speak of this as the time where we came together... not apart." If Rhaenyra refused him, he could only hope that Lady Jeyne saw reason in what he said. If not, the realm would bleed... and for what? So that one arse could sit the Iron Throne instead of another? He walked over to where Rhaenyra sat, and stood before her, his eyes searching for any remaing warmth that was within her. It had to be there, he told himself, so he stretched out his hand, offering it to her. "Rhaenyra... you can trust me."

Jeyne felt a pang of sorrow for Daeron then. He made his empassioned plea and when he spoke of a parley she could see the sense in his words too. In an ideal world, the realm could decide and a Great Council could pass a decree dictating which of these imminently warring siblings ought to succeed the late Viserys. But an ideal world this had never been and neither Aegon, she guessed, or Rhaenyra, she knew, would budge a yard on their respective claims- let alone trust their birthrights to diplomacy. But it was the Queen he addressed so Jeyne kept her own politic silence awhile longer.

"You speak speak of such an outcome while you yourself offer your intimacy with your brothers as justification for your own support? Our father was chosen, because Jaehaerys the Wise chose no new heir after the death of his beloved son, should the claim of all those who usurp the crown be respected? Shall beggars in the Streets declare themselves King and be given fair platform to argue their case? If the will of Kings can be ignored, then what a trifle it will be to ignore the will of lords, of nobles. Aegon has shown that he does not even respect the word and will of his own father, the man that raised him, that loved him, for all his days. How then, do you trust that man to rule you?"

Rhaenyra spoke as much to the room as she did Daeron. How close they might have been, her own sons, and the boy who now played at Prince. A closeness that was snubbed out so quickly. Aemond, if her father had been sterner with him, if that fight on Dragonstone had not taken place, then perhaps all this, could have been avoided. Or perhaps not, the Hightowers had been plotting for this since Alicent had been carer for the Wise King. If only her mother had lived. Her eyes settled on the Prince before her, at last, as he came before her. Emotion swam within her, they shared blood, something of her father was reborn within him, just as it was her. It was enough to soften her somewhat, but only furthered her resolve. This was the same father they denounced and cursed through their grasp for power.

"If your brother abandons his treason, then indeed, no blood will be spilt, of that, you can trust me. But I do not forget my father so easily."

Daeron withdrew his hand, while letting out an exasperated sigh. Why must Rhaenyra be so unyielding? She knew that Aegon was just as stubborn as herself, and yet she only offered him ultimatums that he couldn't deliver upon. The woman wanted the crown, yet Daeron wouldn't mind giving it to a beggar on the street instead. They definitely would have more humility than what he was seeing before him. This was becoming akin to bashing his head against a wall, and there was little he could expect to achieve against a sister who believed that she was right no matter the counter-argument. "Not even kings are infallible, but I did love our father, the same as you. Yet the more you speak, the more I balk at seeing you as Queen." He was blunt, and didn't mean to sound so severe, but he may as well offer his true feelings. There was no need to hide them any longer.

He slowly began to walk back towards his seat, more than happy to leave his sister in her thoughts for a few moments longer. He knew not what the lords assembled were beginning to think by this interval, but it was likely a mixed reaction. That hadn't been what he intended when he came here, as he had hoped that they could possibly unite together in solidarity. He was naive. He looked back upon his sister, unsure of how she was feeling by this point, but it was beginning to no longer concern him. She sat there, so confident that she was in the right and that anyone who even rose the question was nothing but a traitor. And yes, perhaps she had that right. She had grown up her entire life believing that she was rightful heir, and yet made so many choices that would do nothing but make so many doubt in her capabilities. She was likely her worse enemy.

"If my brothers' path is treason, then allow me to come before you as a traitor as well, your grace." With that, he took his seat.

Edd listened and learned, having gained quite a bit of insight into the character of each royal. Rhaenyra was proud, unbending. But time would tell whether she was iron or steel. And he detected a slight note of sympathy when her brother came to her, but nothing more than a note. Daeron had more fire in him than Edd had initially thought. No shrinking violet then But still honorable. If he had been born a Valemen, he surely would have become a praised knight. But mayhaps he was a tad more daring than was wise. His last outburst had surprised Edd, and he was far from alone.

None at the table spoke initially, but the gallery behind them erupted into frenzied chatter. One man stood and said, "He admits treason by his own words! My lady, my queen, by your leave I would demand satisfaction on your behalf! To first blood!"

"Nay, clap him in irons! To the Sky Cells with him!"

"Throw the traitor out the Moon Door!"

The Queen's supporters all either expressed their displeasure with murmurs and disdainful chatter while a few stood up with the prior men and called for all manner of punishment to befall the young prince, with some volunteers to duel Daeron. Then some stood up to oppose them. Most of either side were young, bold, and did not possess the same refinement or manner as the older noble lords and ladies in the hall. Men who had been born in summer and had just tasted knighthood.

"He speaks courageously. No man should be punished for that!"

"The Prince has been only courteous and chivalrous!"

"Daeron is a guest of Lady Jeyne, no harm should befall him as long as he has guest rite!"

A dozen or so youthful knights in all were arguing. Soon the two sides began to shout loudly at each other, while more men, largely their elders or superiors, experienced and hardy men and exemplars of knightly virtue, stood to seperate the belligerents and quiet them down, citing the nobility and sanctity of the hall. The chivalry and courtesy expected of them. The majority of the remaining gathered nobles, began whispering and debating amongst themselves about everything that had been discussed so far, clashing in a far more restrained but no less spirited manner than the knights of summer who were butting heads now.

Edd saw that Ser Rohls was growing tense, visibly having to calm himself as the shouting continued. He smiled internally at that. Then he saw that a few of the young knights even began putting hands on the hilts of their swords, even as others sought to calm them. They were not so uncouth as to draw steel or throw a punch, but conflicts of loyalty that had been bubbling in the Vale for years were now coming to a head as two symbols of that conflict, Rhaenyra and Daeron, themselves clashed. The Knights of the Vale were a force to be reckoned with when united. But just as solidarity was their strength in battle, disharmony harmed them greatly. But it provided oppurtunities for Ser Eddison.

Which was why Edd had those young knights cause the ruckus in the first place. They had been ninthborn sons, scions of minor lordlings, or poor squires. Edd had helped them all become knights, become attached to powerful lords and influential courts, quietly and subtly, and now they were his. This display would likely be excused as youthful folly, but it would serve to at worst to further water the seeds of argument, and at best show the bannermen an example of Jeyne's mismanagement of the Eyrie.

If Jeyne didn't lay down the law and assert her control right now, it would only grow more and more difficult to stamp out the dissent. The lords would follow Jeyne no matter what, as their honor commanded, of that Edd had little doubt. But every Knight of the Vale was taught to be loyal. Jeyne had to assert who their primary loyalties were to. Or else the rank and file knights may begin to decide their loyalties to a King may outweigh their loyalty to her. And if the lords' confidence in their liege was undermined, it was only to his own benefit. Edd stood from the table, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ostensibly waiting for his lady's command. Most of the knights had calmed, but two youths who had evaded their elders were right on the edge of calling a duel as guardsmen stepped forward to restrain them.

What would his cousin do?

Daeron did regret the last words that had come out of his mouth only moments before, but not for the disorder that had transpired throughout the entire hall, though that was also unintentional. It had been both overly harsh and childish, and even if he was still only a boy, he didn't want to appear as such before all the assembled lords of the Vale, especially not before Lady Jeyne Arryn herself. He had only wished to issue words that would sting Rhaenyra just as much as her words had him. That didn't mean that he necessarily wished that he hadn't said those very words, he still truly valued the loyalty that he held for his brothers, even if it sometimes didn't do him any favors. His hand briefly brushed against the hilt of his sword, making him remember all the lessons that were taught to him by his father, most notably the ones about supporting the family. He had always believed that sticking close to his brothers was the best way to follow his father's advice. Rhaenyra's interpretation was the exact opposite- with him bending his knee before her for all the Vale to see. Now, with son against daughter, would their father be disappointed?

He wished to ponder further. but the noise erupting within the room prevented him from doing so. Daeron had never intended to divide the room into sides, if anything, he had wanted to do the opposite, but he only proved to be far too idealistic. Through all the posturing, threats, challenges, and many declarations of support, he kept silent. It was fortunate for all those involved that it was him here, rather than that of Aemond. That's not to say that Daeron wasn't slightly unnerved at the fact that so many were wishing death upon him. It was quite the new experience for him, as well as something that he'd do his best to avoid in the near future. In the end they were the passionate words of men barely older than him, and it wasn't exactly his place to further add fuel to the flames at this point. He was disappointed in himself for being a willful contributor in making this mess, and knew it would be best to allow Lady Jeyne to handle the situation and finally declare which side she truly favored.

Jeyne grew weary of this unseemly clamour and raised a hand to quell the dissenters. "Enough of this bawdy disruption!" She bellowed in a voice as fearsome as any man's. Order was restored but there were still grumblings and scowls aplenty.

She deemed it meet to speak her mind and declare her position. She rose to address the assembly. "I thank Queen Rhaenyra and Prince Daeron for their visits here today. Would that we'd had the opportunity to gather here in happier times." She smoothed the silk of her dress as she spoke. "Daeron speaks well of the sense in a parley or a Great Council in which the realm decides the destiny of the crown but I fear matters have progressed too far for that. Viserys was clear in his wishes his entire life and the only reason Aegon has support is from those who deem a woman unworthy to rule." She let the slow understanding sink in. Even Daeron could scarce deny that to not support Rhaenyra would be to weaken her own position. "I'm fortunate enough to be amongst friends here today who will no doubt attest to the merits of a female figurehead." She joked but the masses murmured their support. Ser Edd curiously failed to meet her eye but mayhaps he was pondering how best to organise his own forces in the broil to come.

"No, I'm afraid I must act in accordance with my heart in this. My Queen, My friend my swords and ships are yours as and when you require them. Prince Daeron, I urge you to appeal to your brother to set aside his ludicrous claim as soon as you next meet." She eyed him with the compassion gone from her doe-brown eyes. "To my leal bannermen, my family and my Knights of the Vale, it is my express wish that you lend me and Queen Rhaenyra your support in this. I will give orders for our assembled strength to form up shortly" She was'nt about to reveal their movements in front of Daeron.

"My Prince, I shall give you until noon tomorrow to take your leave of us and will see that you and your mount are sufficiently provisioned for your onward journey.

The room grew silent as the Lady of the Vale began to speak, something in which Daeron was appreciative of, but as her words continued, he quickly found little reason to celebrate them. He always knew that he would have to overcome a near insurmountable challenge when it came to ask Jeyne to support Aegon. That was why he had espoused the benefits of neutrality instead. Clearly, even that was too much to ask. He wondered what promises Rhaenyra had whispered in Jeyne's ear before his own arrival to the Eyrie. Daeron shook such paranoid thoughts out of his head as soon as he thought of them- he was better than that. It was their friendship that had allowed them to stick together even under such extreme circumstances. He could almost envy them...

...If he didn't pity them instead. Jeyne cast aside the potential for peace with hardly a second thought, as if it was some impossible task. Unimaginably difficult, to be sure, but still attainable, and he didn't care if others saw him as naive for believing so. As well as reducing the cause of the dispute into its simplest terms, ignoring the issues that many had with Rhaenyra that was much more than the fact that she happened to be a woman. If she believed that her position would be jeopardy if she didn't support Rhaenyra, then she was entitled to the line of thinking, even if Daeron happened to wholeheartedly disagree with it. The decision had been hers to make, and now they were all past the juncture in which Daeron had any hope to convince her otherwise.

As Lady Jeyne finished, Daeron arose and he could feel everyone's eyes upon him, even if he didn't stop to regard any of them. With nothing but a short sigh, he only smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothing that he had accrued from sitting, and began to descend to the level below, walking near to the sealed moon door, where so many had fallen to their deaths. He had soared through the air many times before upon Tessarion, yet he couldn't fathom the fear that would consume him if he fell without a dragon underneath him. "Once again," Daeron spoke loud enough for all to hear him, "I'd like to thank Lady Jeyne for all the hospitalities that were provided for me ever since my arrival." His back was turned to Jeyne, Rhaenyra, Aya, and several others as he began to unfasten the belt that held his sword against his hip. "If there has ever been a time for me to speak honestly and truthfully, then I believe it is now, with you having made your support for my sister clear to all."

The sword and scabbard that he held above his head for all to see was clearly extremely well made, with different colored dragons running up and down the scabbard itself, ending with the hilt being that of a dragon head carved in dragonbone with sapphire eyes. "This sword was given to me by my father before I was sent off to Oldtown as a squire. I brought it with me here not as a sword on my belt, but as a memento of my father... so that I could..." He trailed off, fighting back the tears as he began to speak more intimately about his father.

"So that I could believe that he might be watching over me during my time here." Daeron knew that it was probably foolish of him to think that. Why would his father be watching over him when he was opposing his own flesh and blood? If anything, the opposite could be true. He was the third son and youngest child- an afterthought, something in which his own brothers always found time to remind him of when they were all small children. Still, it had given him the strength when he needed it the most, and his resolve had never been stronger.

He turned to face his sister, the sheathed sword still in his hand, and a smile on his face. "When I was a child, I dreamt of being a king just like our father, dispensing justice to the wicked, ensuring that good would prevail over evil, and sowing peace and prosperity all across the realm." That brought him back to the precious few memories that he had of his father, with him seated on his father's lap, listening to stories over a whole manner of different things. Those would be something that he'd remember for the rest of his life, and he was thankful for that. "I saw our father as being larger than life, and I always wanted to be just like him."

"In the end, I'll never be like him. I'll never be a king, and I'll never sit the Iron Throne. And I've come to understand long ago that I don't ever want to have such a burden." He'd likely never understand why either Rhaenyra or Aegon pursued the throne with such unbridled desire, but at the end of the day, the only person that he truly knew was himself. "I've come to understand that I can't be some inferior version of my father... I have to true to myself and become my own man."

"Please understand that I have not forgotten about our father... not for a single day. I will not deny that he would have wanted you as Queen and standing against you would be in open defiance of his wishes." He looked down at the sheathed sword that he held in his hand and squeezed it hard, searching for the next words that he would say. Whether it was his father or some other force, he found the resolve that he needed and looked back up at Rhaenyra with unflinching determination. "I stand before you as my own person, and I find it impossible to act against the brothers that I grew up with... and yet you would have me to support you; the sister that I barely know. If that tarnishes the memory of our father... then so be it."

Daeron then turned to face Lady Jeyne herself, with his demeanor not shifting in the slightest. "I accept your decision to support Rhaenyra so long as you're aware of what will happen to you, your house, and the Vale should you lose." He held no intentions to elaborate further on such matters, nor to make any threats or demands. All those assembled in the High Hall could come to their own conclusions. "If a dusty old tome should ever speak of what transpired here, then let it say that you came to your decision without a single doubt in your mind."

"As you said yourself, this conflict has progressed to such a point that it would be no more sensible for me to ask Aegon to set aside his claim than it would be to ask Rhaenyra. It pains me to say as much, but I will make the same appeals that I made to you to my brothers once I return to King's Landing; They will not listen." Daeron truly wished that they would, as would any other sensible person, but he knew his brothers better than anyone else alive. In addition, he had no misgivings about announcing that he had ever intention of heading to King's Landing from here. He had nothing to fear. "I had hoped that if I came here, I could single handedly make peace on my own. Now I know that I was naive and foolish for believing so. If anything, I am thankful for the lesson that was taught to me today."

As he spoke next, he regarded both the women that sat before him. "I'm sure that you see me as a traitor standing before you... yet I could say the same about the two of you." He stretched out his arm before him, clenching the sword and scabbard in his hand. He threw it to the floor, and it clattered before him until it hit the steps leading up to where both Jeyne and Rhaenyra was seated above. "I do not say this lightly... this will be the last sheathed sword I will ever offer you."

"And one final thing," Daeron began as he turned to once again address only his sister. "You may keep the sword. I'm sure Jace, Luke, or Joff will find use out of it. Think of it as my last parting gift as their uncle... and your brother."

Daeron then offered one final formal bow and said, to no one in particular: "I wish you all good fortune in the wars to come."

Edd had left his hand on the hilt of his sword, as a bodyguard should when his liege was potentially in danger. He hadn't expected Jeyne to let the situation grow too out of control, even he had to admit that she was too savvy for that, but it had been worth the attempt at any rate. The rowdy young men had all calmed and the room then turned it's attention to Daeron.

The Arryn knight watched with keen interest, as the young dragon prince made his impassioned speech. Daeron continued to surprise with his verve and daring, and in him Edd saw the makings of someone who could be a knight they'd sing of for generations. That was provided the youth survived the coming fire. Brave, heroic, young warriors died as often as they grew into great men.

The lords of the Vale watched as well, and though many seemed dismissive of the prince they saw as a foolhardy boy, others also saw the seeds of greatness. Aegon the Elder may have cut an uninspiring figure. And Aemond One-Eye may have begat more fear than love. But in Daeron, some of the Valemen saw a man who could have been king in a different life. Someone worth following.

It was not enough to sway the high lords and great knights of the Vale to abandon their liege lady. But it was enough to move at least one man. The one man that Edd needed to be moved. Ser Rohls Royce, stood from the table and Edd suppressed a smile.

Ser Rohls, with his fierce grey eyes, black hair, and sharp cheekbones, encased in his runic bronze gilded armor, raised his voice, "Prince Daeron shames us all with his courage and conviction. He speaks nobly and truly. My lordly cousin may be content to side with the woman whose husband brought fire and death to our home, but I am not! I will not brook such dishonor!"

Rohls marched over to Daeron's side, parting with all the other Valemen nobles. He turned to face Lady Arryn and Queen Rhaenyra, "My lady, I have served loyally for all my life. But I must to my own honor be true. And I must avenge the death of my father, my father who died fighting the so-called King Daemon."

Rohls raised his bronze gauntleted fist in the air and shouted so that all in the High Hall could not miss his words, "I will not follow the Rogue Prince! I will not follow Queen Rhaenyra! I will follow Prince Daeron, and his brother, King Aegon! All men of the Vale who would seek justice done should join us!"

The bronze knight turned to Daeron and said, "My prince, I will leave immediately and I will gather every sword I can to fight on behalf of your brother's claim, we shall attend you in King's Landing within the month," he turned back to the other nobles, "I join the Prince in my hope for peace, and I would beseech you Lady Arryn to pursue it, so that brother need not spill the blood of brother and the Knights of the Vale not war amongst themselves. But I will be likewise prepared to fight, even if it means my death!"

Edd stepped forward now, "You speak treasonous words, Ser Rohls. It is you who would divide us, and it is you who would bring dishonor to us all. The Knights of the Vale owe their allegiance to Lady Jeyne Arryn, and all true and honorable Valemen will abide by her word. We fight not for our own vendettas or our own glory, but for the honor of all the Vale. And our honor means nothing if we would break faith with our rightful liege."

His voice turned to steel, "You are lucky you are a guest Ser Rohls. Prince Daeron does what he thinks to be right, but you are forswearing your lady. Such would be grounds for death. I would instead advise you to leave this very moment." Rohls' grimaced at Edd, and the Arryn knight couldn't be more pleased.

The subsequent outbursts had caused a great chorus as the lords and ladies of the Vale turned to each other and began to hotly debate on what must be done. Some called for peace, some called for loyalty to Jeyne and Rhaenyra, while others called for justice against Daemon and hailed the courage of Daeron.

Rohls' declaration had been a surprise. No longer was it just an outsider prince, now one of their own had very publically and passionately called to support Aegon's claim. Perhaps it had not outright convinced any of the bannermen, but Edd could see them all mulling what to do as the household knights and younger sons once again began shouting at each other.

At the very least Edd knew Rohls could round up a large amount of hedge knights, secondary heirs, freeriders, adventurers, and sellswords to his cause. A few thousand swords, most of them mounted, and all for Aegon. A drop in the bucket of the Vale's military power, but enough to make a difference in a battle. Especially if it inspired even more men to declare for Aegon as well.

Edd stared down Rohls, immensely pleased with the direction of the talks. Queen Rhaenyra had to respond, to state her case to the other noblemen and why they should stay true to Jeyne and follow her. Or else she risked even more of the Vale's fighting men answering Ser Rohl's call to arms and the rebellious host swelling. And if she called for Rohls' death, it would only serve to make a matyr of him and men would still be driven to Aegon.

No, the Realm's Delight must instead use words and not fire and blood, if she wanted to mitigate the damage caused by Ser Rohls' call. Edd wondered if she was up to the task, and what she would offer to placate the Valemen if she was.

As the room erupted into yet further bawdy chaos, at least by the standards of the Vale's nobility, Rhaenyra stood, gently rising to her feet and moving towards the immediately rebellious lord. She did without drawing great attention to herself, the room only responding to her as she made her way off the dias, the skirts of her gown trailing behind her. Standing before Rohls, she lacked the height advantage the trapping of rule would usually give those of prestige in Westeros, the Queen was as striking as any of her blood line, and her presence still held firm. When she spoke, her voice was loud enough for the room to hear, but still seemed to only address the noble before her in person.

"Ser, I know mere words are beyond fixing what my husband has broken, only my own actions, henceforth, as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms might one day, in part, remedy these mistakes. I understand your rage, believe me, to have been hurt and betrayed by those you would call family, be it through blood or marriage. You may declare for my brother and I would think no less of you, but the principles that your noble house has lived by exceed far more than those expectations." She paused before she continued, almost daringly close to Rohls, if the man had truly wished to end her claim to the throne here and now, no doubt he could have struck her down before any could intervene, but she had higher regard than that to the Knights of the Vale, and her own ability to disarm with charm and force of personality alone.

"When Jonos the Kingslayer rebelled against the rule of my kinsman, King Aenys, it was House Royce of Runestone that led the loyal forces of the Vale against him, that penned the traitor in the Eyrie. Aenys was weak, and Maegor cruel, but House Royce stood beside them, the rightful Kings of Westeros, in turn, to defeat the traitor. Your house has always done what was right, the will of their King, despite the difficulty of doing so. I would remind you of this, ser, before you ride out, and throw the lives of your men at Aegon's feet." Her hand briefly brushed the Knight's arm, a sad smile on her lips, before moving away from him, the final finishing touches on a call to the man's honour and heritage.

"The Lords, and Ladies, of the Vale, will have their loyalty to their King, and his true heir, rewarded. The loyalty and honour of the Vale is without question, and for those who fly as High as Honour, it has long been its own reward." Once more she waited for her initial point to sink across the room, a momentary reminder of the presitge that sat in this hall, and the memory of great lines that they bore. "But, as your Queen, I promise you more than such expecations, as generations of loyalty deserves. Wealth shall flow through your ports, your shores shall be protected by the full might of the Sea Snake and the Vale shall prosper beyond what you could hope for." She did not add that the expected favouritism they might win from Braavos would only strengthen this promise, not in the presence of Daeron, should Aegon seek the loyalty of The Three Daughters. "While past deeds may not be forgotten, their consequences will be swept away, it is that, or burn on the Pyre of my brothers' ambitions, the man who usurped his father's wish, and his one-eyed brother, who can only claim to be crueler." Her eyes met all the promiment lords' as she addressed the room, turning slowly so that all might feel as if she spoke to them alone. "And in gratitude for her true friendship, Lady Jeyne may name one of you, as she chooses, to sit on my Small Council, and the Knights of the Vale shall ever be prominent in the reign of your first Queen."

She stopped speaking only to regard the sword her half-brother had left, for her sons as it were. Rhaenyra moved to pick it up herself, turning the sheathed blade over in her hands, before her gaze followed the retreating form of her brother. She spoke softly, not even knowing if Daeron would be able to hear "Seven watch over you brother."

The whispering lords and ladies and bickering knights all fell silent as Rhaenyra spoke, and Rohls Royce met Rhaenyra's eyes with great difficulty, making no move to his sword, though several of Lady Jeyne's guards had stepped forward. He and every other Valemen in the High Hall listened intently to Queen Rhaenyra's words. Ser Eddison, standing nearby, watched the Queen speak, looked at his fellow Vale knights, and knew that Rhaenyra was just as influential as her brother if not more so. She may not have been the same girl that the realm had adored years past, but she cut a strong and formidable figure all the same, projecting the confidence and charisma that made a natural leader.

Even the knights who had seemed partial to Daeron were obviously in contemplation, and no man was so conflicted as Ser Rohls Royce. Edd knew he could do nothing but watch at the moment, and see how the bronze knight would respond. Eventually after Rhaenyra finished her entreaty, Rohls, who was visibly shaken bowed his head and said, "Your grace speaks just as well and nobly as your princely brother, and I find myself as a knight in a rare moment where the path ahead of me is unclear. I wish no harm towards your grace, and indeed I believe you would be a fine ruler of the kingdoms. I would have been honored to serve you as well."

The knight of Royce looked back up, "And yet I still have a duty to my blood, as you point out. I can blame no man here for staying true to Jeyne and you. But I cannot allow your husband to escape without any consequence." Rohls smiled sadly at the Queen, clenching a bronze gaunleted fist to his breastplate and said, "I will do everything I can to ensure peace. I will try to convince your half-brother to meet with you or set aside his claim, so that we may conclude this without fire and blood. And I will swear on my honor and the memory of my father, to raise no arms or do no harm to yourself or any member of your family, save the one whom I truly have a grievance with. And that should it come to battle, we will abide by all the laws of combat and treat any sworn man of yours with honor, Valemen or no. I will tell all the Vale of what you and your brother have said, and any men who still follow me, I will have them swear the same oath. If King Aegon does not accept this, then he shall not have my swords, should the worst come to pass."

Rohls looked into Rhaenyra's eyes, "It is my enduring hope that brother and sister need not fight. And I hope that if we see each other again, we shall see amity return to the realm. But even if peace comes to pass.... I swore on my father's grave that I would see justice done. Please give King Daemon my regard as a knight. But tell him that war or peace, I intend to face him with my blade." He bowed his head to Rhaenyra, to Jeyne, and left the High Hall and all the other nobles and knights behind.

Ser Eddison watched Rohls leave and turned to Rhaenyra, "My lady and my kinswoman swore to serve you, and for the love I bore your father and the honor of House Arryn, I will swear the same. Let all men of the Vale declare their loyalty now or leave as Ser Royce has." Edd knelt to Rhaenyra, drawing his sword and bowing his head, "Long live the Queen!"

Two more men stepped forward, Lord Desmond and Ser Willum of House Royce, Rohls' cousins and the Lord of Runestone and wielder of the Valyrian steel sword Lamentation respectively. Desmond, a comely if somewhat slender man declared, "House Royce will not break faith with House Targaryen, even if a wayward son does. Runestone swears to defend the rights of Queen Rhaenyra and to see her sit the Iron Throne, with swords if necessary." Desmond drew his sword, with a hilt of bronze gilded steel and runes along the blade while his brother Willum took the dark mystical blade out of its' sheathe and they both knelt, saying simultaneously, "Long live the Queen!"

None stepped forward to leave after Prince Daeron and Ser Rohls, though Edd did not doubt that Rohls would find his supporters elsewhere in the Vale. But for those gathered in the High Hall, their loyalties seemed clear. More lords and knights stepped forward, drawing their swords and kneeling to the standing Rhaenyra, both great lords and humble sworn swords, their voices echoing in the High Hall in a righteous chorus of, "Long live the Queen!"

Ser Eddison looked up at Rhaenyra, "The Knights of the Vale stand with our lady and you, my queen. If you lead us to the Seventh Hell itself, we will follow."

Rhaenyra was sorry to see Ser Rohls leave, she had hoped she might convince him, but the concessions he made to her was a worthy enough sign of the doubt she had fostered within him. Doubt among the allies of her brother were almost as useful as direct allies of her own. She allowed more emotion than she truly felt to show on her face as he left, close enough to sorrow. In reality, there were few among those whom would declare for her half-brother that she would be sorry to see burn.

As the declarations of loyalty echoed through the room, she allowed the cries of the Lords and Knights of the Vale to wash over her, smiling, if solemnly, at their support, with the addition of Ser Eddison's words, she raised one hand, giving the room pause to allow her to speak once more.

"Your words move me Ser." She smiled directly to the Arryn knight, before addressing the room as a whole; "As does the continued honour of the Lords of the Vale. To mark this day, I would declare the creation of a new knightly order. The chivalry of the Dragon and the Falcon shall come together as the Brotherhood of the Sky. My Lady Jeyne and I will be hinoured to bestow our blessing and favour upon those selected to ride in this new Order." With that, Rhaenyra drew the blade that Daeron had left, the elegant weapon sliding clean and free in the hands of the Queen. She may have been a woman, but the stock of Valyria had both fire and blood in their veins, and she was not stranger to steel.

"Step forwards, Ser Eddison." It was a simple, but formal, process to redub a knight the member of a new order, but given the circumstance, it had far more weight to it, as the Knight of Arryn knelt before his Queen before the nobility and strength of the Vale.

Edd stepped forward, his head bowed, and was the first man of the Vale to be dubbed by Rhaenyra's blade, the lords and ladies of the Vale applauding as he was made the first member of the new Brotherhood of the Sky. Edd hadn't been expecting the honor, but the smile on his face was genuine, as he kept his head bowed.

"Arise Ser, and with this new order, and the might of dragonfire, the Crown and Vale shall crush its enemies, be they the traitors in King's Landing, or the savages that still plague your mountains." She allowed her words to sink in, a murmer of agreement passing throgh the room. "Before I leave the Vale, Syrax shall burn their raiders, cast them into ash, and with your homes safe, the might of the Vale shall be free to support the Crown, in war or peace, whatever the future may hold."

Eddison arose, and Rhaenyra's creation of this new order, with her pledge to put an end to the raiders of the clans had an immediate effect on the gathered lords and knights. They all cheered and applauded the Queen, many of the younger knights already champing at the bit to ride out with their Queen and burn out the wildlings. All were eager to be similarly honored and join this new, glorious brotherhood. Edd raised his sword and shook it in the air, calling out, "As High as Honor! Fire and Blood!"

The knights raised their swords with him and shouted their own words, and the Targaryen creed echoed throughout the High Hall, and the Eyrie itself. In the days that came later, many would claim that from Gates of the Moon to holdfasts and villages miles away, men could hear the calls for Fire and Blood.

He eyed the sword once more, admiring its sheen after a good cleaning. The wolf sighed as he rested his shoulders against the rugous and ancient roots of the Heart Tree in Winterfell's Godswood. So many preparations on top of preparations. Not only winter, but war. The halls felt a little emptier, and what kind of father would Rickon think he had once he grew up and learnt that his father had helped a war while preparing for winter. Arsa...was also missing, in a fit of a rebellious age.

He could feel it. Kinslaying could stain the war forever, yet. It would leave none of the Kingdoms untouched, and he had agreed upon that, for the honor of his predecessors, and the fairness and glory of the Stewards of the North. He stood there, as a messenger bore news of his newest developments.

"Easy, lad. Do speak clear." He said, as he allowed the youth to regain his breath after running searching for his lord. "I trust the orders have been executed?"

"Aye, Lord Stark. We are moving the most restless under Lord Roderick Dustin towards the Neck. They should fortify it and await orders, the two thousand of them."

Stark nodded, as he eyed the assorted scribbled parchments that the messenger had to read. "The harvest is going as planned. Lord Benjen is also leading the timber expedition towards Dragonstone."

Stark made a quick nod. Timber expedition was a term he had coined. In truth, it hurt not to be too careful. Given the despodent attitude of the Greens, chances are they would never look past the Neck in terms of activity and planning. And Cregan had no incentive to call their attention just yet. So he had sent his men for timber, of the human kind. Having sailed from White Harbor towards Dragonstone as yet another token of his loyalty to the Blacks. But there were simply not enough men to have said he had fully roused the north, yet.

"Bear island also reports that they have seen Dragons towards the Iron Islands." Cregan narrowed his eyes. The Iron Men were drawn to war just like maggots to rotten meat. He made a mental note to ask the Mormonts if they could identify the faction of said riders. If they had by, any chance been swayed to the greens, he would have yet another front to fight.

"You may go." He dismissed the messenger as soon as he was done, as he kept thinking. THe cogs of war slowly but surely were turning to a grim prospect. And yet, parlay could not be denied up until the last moment. Kinslaying was more than probable. Cregan knew that it was his duty to include someone if said talks would take place. The Night's Watch was to be informed of the fate of the Kingdoms, even if they would never take part in such a civil war.

He eyed the Heart Tree's face, covered in dry red sap that resembled tears of blood, uttered a last murmur, and left the sacred place in silence.