"I warned him..." The youth spoke aloud to the frozen knight, his teeth chattering from the cold wind blowing off the ocean. Deep violet eyes peered out from sunken sockets, their gaze cruel and vicious as they rifled through the dead man's affects. "Ahhh... tsk tsk Ser, keeping such tithes from the Royal Blood is tantamount to treason. Yet, I suppose I can forgive you..." He kicked at the shield, breaking a thin layer of ice from the front, revealing a duly colored sigil of pily grey and black. The youth took two long swigs from the skin, relishing the sweet flavors of the Arbor. "Your taxes are duly appreciated... but alas, you are a drab and cold companion for conversation. I must be off, places to be, women to bed, a kingdom to rule..." The youth's boot kicked at the knight's face, a dull thud and crack resonating out, before being replaced by the crashing of waves again.

"I warned him... and the daft fool didn't heed me..." The youth muttered again, as he stalked off further inland.
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As the sun sets, the Master of Ravens within the Red Keep unleashes a massive murder of Ravens, each black bird carrying a royal invitation to a most joyous and celebratory occasion. Roughly two fortnights from the date of sending, or rather, coinciding with the end of summer, House Targaryen would be hosting the wedding of Maegelle Targaryen to Pickard Arryn, and the celebration of the year's Summer Fair. To mark this occasion, the King had decreed a massive feast, tournament of arms, and of course, the wedding celebration itself. The festivities would be taking place across from King's Landing, in a newly constructed pavilion by the Blackwater Rush and the Kingswood. Soon, word would be out all across the Seven Kingdoms, and with that, a massive influx of people all coming to drink, eat, fight, wench, and celebrate. Far below, in the Small Council chamber, Lord Royce Coldwater looked over a pile of documents, shaking his head.

"Easy enough to command me to keep the peace, when he's not bloody here," The man hissed aloud, as he took stock of the Gold Cloaks strength and roster. "I need more men to keep the peace, more money to pay the men, and more thrice cursed hay to feed all the horses for mounted patrols." Lord Coldwater leaned back in his chair, relishing a long sip of Dornish Red, before taking another bite of the summer sausage on his plate. He looked down at an open letter from the King, having been sent fifteen days ago now from Braavos, telling the Small Council that he expected to be home soon, and that things had gone better than even the Seven could have ordained. Trouble was, they should have had word by now from the King, who would have made port at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Perhaps a storm had slowed him, or the damned bird had died. Not much use in worrying over things he could not control. All that could be done was draft up a funding request to the Master of Coin, and implore the westerman Lord Gawen Payne of the need for all that he was putting down to paper. "I swear by the Gods, if he bloody refuses to grant the funding for more men, he can use his own personal guard to help us keep the peace." He took another swig of wine, before continuing to write. Beside him, the aged Grand Maester slept quietly, have drifted off a little while ago. "At least one of us can sleep..."

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In the royal apartments, the twin babes Daemon and Daenora slept peacefully, snuggled next to their mother, Princess Brella. She smiled at them both, planting a tender kiss upon their heads, as she sunk deeper into the bed with them. "My little ones, you are destined for greatness, your father, he is a great man, blood of Valyria and the Iron Isles. You two... I love you both so dearly. I can't wait for your father to come home and see you both again, and how much you've grown." Brella spoke aloud, ever so softly, as to not wake the sleeping babes. Her sea green eyes looked down at her babes, before they closed, and she too drifted off to sleep. A gray cat slunk into the bed, before curling up between Brella's legs, and she too, falling asleep, purring aloud.

A griffon! A griffon!

This was by far the largest tournament he has ever partaken in. Every knight from every house in all seven kingdoms would be congregating in King’s Landing in celebration between the Arryns and the Targaryens. If there was no better opportunity for Caryll Connington to gain prestige to his house and name, this was it. The competition would be fierce but if he won this tournament, eternal glory was all but guaranteed in his family history. The Lord of Griffon Roost never felt this energetic before since gaining his knighthood as he practices in the field with his lance. Although dummies made of straw and wood were no substitute for opponents as skill as he is, he relieved their presence prevent his aim from getting worse. After a dozen broken wooden lances and punctured targets, Caryll finally retired back to his keep while his sisters and cousins waited for him although the more free-spirited ones eagerly watched him practice.

On top of the cliffs facing Shipwrecker Bay, the sunset bathe Griffon’s Roost in gorgeous orange and red hues of light. Even the Targaryens agreed that such a sight was worth the trip to visit if only to see the beauty of the landscape surrounding the castle. After Caryll has given his mount to the stableboys, he was in the middle of being stripped of his armor when Lady Laisa Connington, his twin sister, stepped in. Even when there was no need for formality, she always wears in her fine dresses and jewelry.

“Hello, sister!” Caryll greeted, feeling awfully joyous after his daily practice on horseback. “What a productive day it was today!”

“Quite…” she replied, not feeling as enthusiastic as her brother but still equally amused. “Already seeing yourself the victor?”

“I pray to the Seven for strength and fortitude!” he smiled as he was freed from the last bits of his armor. “I have no doubt I would win if I give it my all.”

“Good,” Laisa raised an eyebrow at his unwavering confidence, “Get bathe and join us for supper. I couldn’t tell the difference between my brother and a pigpen if the Others took my eyes.”

“Oh, don’t remind.” Caryll growled sarcastically, “I was going to do it regardless.”

Once the Young Griffon has cleaned himself and changed into more comfortable clothes, he navigated his way towards the dining hall where the rest of the Conningtons were gathered. It seemed he was the last one to arrive as his sisters and cousins were already beginning to eat their meals.

Laisa, sitting on the right was in deep discussion with Cathelyne, the youngest daughter and only child of Uncle Robert, possibly about marriage or other lady duties. Enith, Cira, and Alara were busy gossiping on rumors about the tournament in King’s Landing. That only left Soniya, Celia, and Graycie to greet Caryll with bright smiles on their faces. Upon closer inspection, he noticed that Soniya was wearing her armor at the dining hall. A hint of regret cropped upon his face as it reminded him of unpleasant memories of having to explain to the other Stormlander lords about Soniya’s ambition whenever they cast their gaze upon her. It was only a matter of time when his cousins Celia and Graycie start pestering him to knight them as well.

After he sat down and grabbed a piece of bread, Caryll found himself the center of attention as the rest of his family turned their attention towards him. Many a lord or knight would kill to be in the Young Griffon’s position right now being surrounded by many beautiful maidens but Caryll only felt minor annoyance. At last, Laisa finally spoke with mild disapproval in her voice.

“Soniya wants to know the rules of the tournament…”

The Lord of Griffon’s Roost nodded along as he looked at his cousin who smiled smugly in return.

“And a warhorse.”

With that, Caryll nearly choked on his bread as he realized what direction this conversation would be going.

snipers.

---

---

Little stirred in the lush, dense Rainwood. Distant birds called but there was little else to grace the ears of men this morning. The short storm the night before left much evidence of its passing with felled trees and disturbed underbrush, and still, fog hung to the canopy of pines and blanketed the ground like the wispy, thin veil of a maiden. Through this did Lord Barristan's footfalls make for an unexpected breaking of the silence of the wood.

Having some days ago departed from Storms End with ample retainers and companions to attend the royal wedding Barristan had insisted on stopping near the end of the Rainwood for a boar hunt. The hunt had begun hours ago and eventually, the large party of noble companions had split up in order to cover more ground and stand a better chance at making a kill. Brus had taken off with his young and rowdy fellow knights, many other Lords and Knights had formed smaller hunting parties including Lord Caryll Connington. Barristan however had by far the smallest party comprising only himself and his squire and son Selwyn. It had been a few hours now since they had slipped his other retainers and made off into the wood at Barristans urging, their voices long since replaced by only Barristans own.

"Every feast I've ever been to since I was a man, I've eaten a kill of my own! Royal wedding or not I won't break that tradition now! We'll show up to Kings Landing with a nice fat boar I put my spear through, or I'll wear a dress to the tourney!", his coarse laugh rumbled through the trees, seeming to shake their branches as he boasted to his son. "I hope to find one as big as that which I ate at my fifteenth name-day! A real monster it was! Took three spears to bring him down! Think the boar who killed King Robert was as big?!", he turned to his son with his beaming smile.

Selwyn smirked at his fathers urging, "As fat as I've heard tell he was it'd have to be or its tusks wouldn't breach his fat.", eliciting a deep laugh from Barristan in response, who responded quickly, "Sharp boy, sharp indeed! Gods a boar! Selwyn if a boar kills me, you have my permission to toss me into the sea for being such a fool.", Selwyn chuckled at his father's joke, ensuring Barristan retained his sunny attitude. "I hope you get one too Selwyn, and your brother! Imagine it three Baratheons and three great spitted boars! We'll have provided half the main course! I'll have to charge King Aegon when he gets back! Can't have such fine hunter for free!", At the mention of his brother Selwyn seemed to darken, much to Barristans chagrin.

Brothers may bicker often, but sometimes Barristan thought his sons may want to kill each other in recent months... maybe for years now. Barristan was only just back to himself he felt, the last two years being given back to him by the grace of the seven and Maester Davos' medicines. During that time he'd watched his sons at each other's throats, relentlessly in competition. Perhaps he could finally put an end to it at Kings Landing...

Barristan cleared his throat after a surprising silence, "You'll meet your bride in Kings Landing." Selwyn stopped at that, consternation writ heavy upon his face, "Father I-", Barristan rounded on his rounded on Selwyn, looming over his son darkly, "I'll not hear it! You are to marry a woman I choose as is my right as your father and Lord, and you will do as you're told as an obedient son! You're at the right age and I've managed a fine match, a Princess of Dorne, and you will marry her! If nothing else it shall put a stop to the rumors and lies that my bannermen bandy about! Is that understood?", Selwyn glowered at his father's scalding and Barristan met his gaze hardily.

Selwyn, although younger than his brother, was as much Barristans son and a Baratheon. Already broad of shoulder and tall at fourteen name days and still growing no one could deny Selwyn's blood but that was not Barristan's concern. "Yes.", was all the squire managed, his eyes burning circles of hot blue flame. With that Barristan turned, father and son now stalking through the Rainwood in uncomfortable silence.

It felt like many more hours as they stalked through the misty morning, slower than Barristan would like but he had little choice. He could not move as he once had in younger days before his injuries, wounds that now haunted his every step with pain often running up his right leg if he went too fast or rested too long or simply moved incorrectly and a growing concern of gout was less than welcome. The cool air seemed to help, his body obeying him for once without the need for heavy drink to dull himself though a slight ache would always remain. It hurt more the longer they went however and Barristan's patience began to run thin as he followed the signs of a boar. It had been years since he'd done any hunting without dogs and more men, perhaps they should turn back for a better chance he thought, but was halted in his thoughts abruptly as he spotted prey and crouched low to avoid its sight.

He had been tracking no boar but had mistakenly come upon a stags tracks it seemed. A noble, no kingly stag stood scraping its antlers upon a great pine tree. The beasts rack was magnificent and bloodied from its scraping, giving it a disturbing visage as blood dripped down its head to stead its dark brown fur. The loud scratching must have covered the pair of hunters approach and Barristan smiled eagerly at Selwyn. While hunting deer was easier with a bow they were close enough they could fell this stag with their spears. Barristan loomed low to the ground as he turned his spear around, its haft passing over his shoulder and its point just near his ear. He exhaled quietly to calm his aim and then drew up to throw. The stag's eyes caught him just as he drew back, stepped, and tumbled with a shout.

In his haste, Barristan had poorly placed his bad leg forwards and caught it on a root, and a shock of intense pain sprinted up his body. The Lord of Storms End doubled in pain, his spear clattering to the ground, and could only watch as the stag leaped between a pair of trees, seemingly now free to escape!
Just as a second spear sailed over Barristan's head and struck the stag in the neck. Selwyn's aim was true, and the magnificent beast toppled with a gurgled attempt at a scream. Head over hoof the stags great strength turned against it, flinging its body against a tree from its failed attempt at flight. It came to rest some distance from Barristan who gave a pained laugh as Selwyn rushed to his side.

"A fine throw Selwyn! That will be a fine meal I say! Here, set me down.", Selwyn had helped his father to hobble over to sit next to the kill. The Stag was still breathing raggedly, but blood was pooling around the creature quickly with the spear lodged deeply in its neck. "Go and get the men! We'll carry this out, maybe your brothers bagged a boar by now as well. Seems I won't get one myself for once! Though I'll happily take the lions share of your kill!"

Selwyn left to bring the rest of their hunting party to help retrieve the kill, leaving Barristan with the dying stag. Barristan watched the noble creature expire, crimson seeping into the grass around its kingly antlers and a ring of dark blood around its neck.

---

A powerful gust of wind blew through the air as the city of Kings Landing filled with its usual commotion. Such noise was not strange to the young Lord Hightower as he walked silently towards the steps towards the Red Keep. The raven which had arrived in Oldtown did not direct him here, but rather to a splendid site near Blackwater Rush which was not far from the great metropolis. While the capitol of Westeros paled in refinement to the fabled Oldtown the city had its own beauty to it. The eye-catching seven towers which sprawled from its fearsome walls, Lord Jorgon wondered if all seven of them stacked on top of each other would even compare to the Hightower. He stepped carefully forward, as a commoner clad in rags nearly knocked him over. He narrowed his brows at the man then shook his head as his gaze returned back towards the glorious Red Keep before him. A smile slipped onto his lips as he imagined the throne room, all of the ancient blades the great Aegon the Conquerer had gathered to form his throne. A thousand blades taken from beaten, vanquished souls at the hands of the proud first dragon-king. Burnt in the flames of the legendary Balerion the Black Dread. The throne which would one day be his. Far above the wretched, wear Tyrells and the other 'great' houses.

Whilst the headstrong young lord had no fearsome dragon to tame the land he would wear a crown like the Conqueror did. Perhaps he would craft one of his own, to signify his own significance. A crown befitting one with the blood of the dragon and the blood of the proudest house in the Reach. A unity between Westeros' grandest cities and a sign the entire realm would gaze upon with awe. The Reach lord turned from the Keep as he gingerly moved through the never-ending crowds in bustling streets of the city. He stepped to the side with another longing gaze as the Great Sept of Baelor was in his view. Jorgon stared at it with a power lust, perhaps it would be where he was crowned. With the Father's blessing as the High Septon placed the breathtaking diadem on his head, the smallfolk would be even more awestruck. Then perhaps his first issue a ruler would be to send Alesander Tyrell to the wall, a proper place for the twisted Knight of the Golden Rose to freeze. But that was not how a proper king ruled, not through retribution. Still the thought brought a smile to his face. He was the furthest person Jorgon could think should be the

He had no doubt he'd encounter the conceited knight at this tournament, fate had a strange way of connecting rivals like that. Jorgon would have to keep his witts about himself as the most powerful lords and ladies from across the realm would be in attendance. The lord of Oldtown also didn't doubt the half-witted Tyrell's sister wouldn't be far. Beautiful Elinor. One day Jorgon would rid her from his thoughts, she was below his ambitions. He hadn't seen her since their betrothal was shattered by her craven brother. The Hightower lord took a deep breath to calm his being as he'd felt that familiar anger seethe underneath his handsome exterior. The Tyrells weren't worth occupying his mind in such a way. He'd shut his eyes momentarily as he could practically see the crown placed upon his head, the fanciful raucous cheers of all the lords and ladies filling his ears. Then the ambitious lord was pulled from his vision as words were spoken to him.

"M'lord, are you alright? The festival is going to begin soon." A familiar voice inquired, as Jorgon rolled his eyes before turning to reply.

"Of course I am, Ser Landor. I haven't been here since I was a young boy. Its barely changed." The young lord stated as he glanced at the master-at-arms of Oldtown, Ser Landor Beesbury. The middle aged knight was one of the most veteran swordsman in the Reach and had served in his current position under Jorgon's father as long as the lord could remember. Even as his hair and beard had grayed his sword was still quick.

"I like Oldtown more, m'lord. Smells a lot less like shit." Landor replied which drew an honest smirk from Jorgon.

"Where's Markas?" The Hightower lord asked as he glanced around at the passing crowds near them, two young women in it making flirtatious eye contact with Jorgon before smirking at each other and continuing along in the crowds. The handsome lord had honestly grown accustom to such things.

"He's around here somewhere, I found him like you before. The young lord was talking to some street musicians. Had to make sure he didn't end up getting snatched off the streets." The elder knight said back as he crossed his arms, already sick of the sprawling metropolis of King's Landing.

"That's about where I'd expect him. No one's going to trouble him, none of these people know who you, him or I even are. We're just some fancy looking nobles to them." Jorgon stated back then walked past Ser Landor, the bulkier veteran swordsman following behind him. One day these smallfolk would know of him as their unquestioned ruler and practically worship his every step.

"Still m'lord, should have someone watching his back. You know how much crime there is here, isn't like Oldtown." Landor said as he walked alongside his lord. He looked more cautiously at the crowds around them but did not expect anyone to try anything so close the Red Keep. The Gold Cloaks were most concentrated here.

"I'm surprised he's not in the slums trying to help beggars. I think thats where are the gold in the Oldtown would go if I were to die and he become lord." Jorgon joked as the two men walked back towards where they were staying, an expensive inn not far from the Keep. Landor had several guards watching it their entire stay here.

As they walked with the crowds the young lord felt strange, he rarely embedded himself like this with the smallfolk of Oldtown. While he did frequently wonder the grand city he didn't walk alongside them like he was some common tailor or blacksmith. He was the most powerful lord in the whole damn city. But Ser Landor was correct, here he was just another face in the crowd until some even grander lord acknowledged him publicly. This revelation annoyed him but it was for the best, he didn't want one of the filthy smallfolk to try anything. The hallowed Valyrian steel sword Vigilance did still sit in scabbard on his belt, offsetting his noble attire. As the duo returned to the inn Jorgon lead the way inside of the building then up the stairs towards their rooms. As he moved through the quaint inn the Hightower men inside stood proudly as their lord passed by them. Upon reaching Markas' room he knocked twice, then waited silently, Ser Landor behind him.

"Who is it?" A teenaged voice exclaimed from behind the wooden door.

"Your brother, and Ser Landor," Jorgon replied then before he could continue the door came open and his younger brother was there, a wide smile on his face. "Are you ready for today?"

"It's all everyone's been talking about. I wonder if I'll see Willemina, you think she'll be there?" Markas asked hopefully, Jorgon well aware of the frequent correspondence between his brother and his elegant red haired cousin. Though the older Hightower's opinion of her was more subdued and complicated. Such as they frequently were between powerful lords and ladies of the Reach.

"She will be, so will be everyone else in the damn kingdom. The Tyrells, the Lannisters, Martells, everyone whose important will be there," Jorgon said back as he stepped inside of the room while Landor headed back downstairs. "I'm sure Willemina will be ecstatic to see you and all the lord and ladies will be so eager to meet you."

"I don't know how well I'll do there Jorgon. A lot of people to impress, I think I'd rather just read and watch the sea." Markas said reluctantly, far more nervous about the festival than his elder brother was.

"Nonsense. Don't even think of them as nobles, they're just like you and me. Just follow my lead." The lord of Oldtown said confidently, then patted Markas on the shoulder.

"What about when you get knocked off the horse? Am I going to have to get you out of the mud?" Markas asked jokingly drawing a genuine laugh from Jorgon.

"That won't happen because I'm going to win the whole fucking tournament." The elder brother stated with a near certainty. He wouldn't end up in the dirt, it was not befitting of someone of his ability. Lord Jorgon Hightower was going to make a name for himself on this blessed day.

"Lost... I am lost." The twisted and angered voice speaks aloud to no one in particular. The male covers his eyes, gazing off upon the endless cracked leagues of ice and snow. He hisses between his teeth, before taking a drink of the rapidly dwindling wine skin. "I was once a prince... no... no... I was the Crown Prince, I was the heir to a kingdom." He kicks at the frozen remains of a long dead seal. His eyes narrow hatefully, full of barely contained madness and malevolence. He takes a few more steps, before falling to his knees in the snow, the soft crunch and cracking sounds echoing off the valley walls to either side. "I was son to the most powerful man in the world once...I was destined to become... so much more." He slumps back onto his haunches, licking the cold and cracked lips that had once been the delight and desire of an entire realm.

"That old man took everything from me... he cheated me of my destiny. Of my birthright." He licked his lips once more, before forcing himself back up to his feet. "Trapped like a rat, on the ass end of the world, with nothing but the dead and dying to keep me company... and..." He turned, looking back to a ruined tower-house... "Well, much and more." He squinted his eyes venomously at the sun above, before turning and stalking back to the tower-house, muttering to himself lower than before. "Sun will be setting soon... soon it will be dark... cold... and then they will come... oh yes... howling and chittering in their harsh barbaric language. But we both know... a dragon eats any and all, it doesn't shy away from meat..."

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Prince Corlys sat upon a worn chair, slowly and methodically sharpening his blade. Dark violet eyes peered out from a weather worn face, scanning the snapping banners and creaking hulls of the hundreds of ships rocking back and forth. The rhythmic scraping and grinding echoing out across the bay, the only noise that the Targaryen Prince heard. The world seemed to ebb and flow around the chair and man, his breathing slow, measured, paced with each precise movement of stone against steel. The muscled hands gripped each tool without fear, without hesitation, moving mechanically as the man's mind thought inwards, looking upon a world all his own.

'A royal wedding and feast, tournament and festivities. All for my dear cousin Maegelle... and some lofty Arryn. No doubt some contrite pretense for Aerys to garner glory for his beloved boy... what a waste. Had only the sickness taken a few more... had a woman proven barren...' He looked up from his work, now focused intently upon the glory of the Red Keep. It had a cruel beauty to it, a might that was wrought in blood and fire, pain and misery, triumph and achievement. A seat befitting a warrior king, a conqueror, rather than the asses of timid men who had come after. How he had longed to sit the Iron Throne as a youth, now for such a dream to be taboo, even then deep within his heart, that wanton desire burned with the kindled fury of Wildfyre. Closing his eyes, he set aside the blade, stone, and oil cloth, to free himself from his thoughts and musings, and rose to his feet.

"The wedding will be soon, and soon, the King will return, with all his glory and majesty, let us not disappoint him. Make way for the harbor, let us be done with this leisurely pace, and find some warm food, wine, and women..." He smiled, as he turned to his squire, handing the youth the blade. "You might even win yourself some acclaim... now hurry along Wensington, your mother insisted I take you as my squire, and thus far, she was good in that judgement as she is in bed." He spoke curtly, striding as a man with the intent purpose of being done with the business of the day, so that he might retire to endeavors more enjoyable to his own tastes. Soon, Prince Corlys "The Black" would be walking the streets and thoroughfares of Kings Landing.

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"So this is where Lord Tyrion hid his lady love... the woman he threw away his life for." The youthful prince spoke aloud to his companions. His silver blonde hair shown brightly in the flickering torchlight of the tavern. "She would appear to be ungrateful... to have been given all of this, a Lord and Hand's love and affection, and to throw it back in his face. A pity... yet, they say love is fickle, and that it blinds even the greatest of us." He mused mirthfully, before breaking into a sweet bit of song from the False and the Fair.

"The lord he came a-riding upon a rainy day, hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey...
The lady sat a-sewing upon a rainy day, hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey.
Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey.
The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay,hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey..."

"Oh end your singing, you keep that up, my prince, and all the women in this tavern will be too interested to take notice of the rest of us." Ser Willem Frey of Darry said playfully, pushing the Prince on his right arm. "You have a delightfully beautiful wife as well, no need to be greedy now." He laughed cheerfully among the rest of the party, as they found themselves seated at a large oaken table.

"Yes, our noble Prince Gaemon, patron of song and dance and music, stay thine tongue and hand, so that we may enjoy what King's Landing has to offer in entertainment, both of the voice and of the flesh..." A hulking ox of a man bellowed out from behind a massive mustache. "You keep your pretty eyes and tongue to yourself, or I be having words with you. Us common knights need to have some love too, you know." He smiled brightly, before taking a swig of ale for himself.

"Ser Lyle Bracken, King's Landing has women to offer, not horses. If you wish to rut about like a beast in heat, you need only head to the Royal Stables..." Prince Gaemon jested back, pointing his fork at the hulking knight. "Unless, you want to risk crushing these dainty women beneath your mammoth body." The party laughed brightly, watching as Ser Lyle rolled his eyes and turned red from both amusement and embarrassment. Soon enough, serving women had made their way over to the tables occupied by the Prince and his retinue, much to their delight.

Gaemon watched his noble knights and friends enjoy themselves, after riding hard for King's Landing. They had dallied at a few castles and halls along the way, enjoying the weather, the outdoors, and of course, being away from their duties back home. Tired and road weary, it had been Gaemon himself who had suggested they enjoy some revelry outside of the Red Keep, and the tourney grounds, before preparing for the wedding, tournament, and all that entailed. The King was still gone of course, but, knowing Aerys, he'd arrive last minute as always, no doubt with some surprise wedding gift for his niece Maegelle. Ever since her father died, Aerys had been their for her and her siblings, doing all he could to be a father figure.

A happy sigh escaped the prince's lips, as he leaned back in his chair, content to let his friends drink, wench, and feast themselves for today and into tonight. There was no need to rush, no need to concern oneself over what may happen, when here and now, well, there is just so much more to live for. "My friends, gather round, and enjoy another round of drinks on me, for all who drink in the Hands of Gold are welcome to a refreshment on this fine day. To the King!"

"TO THE KING!!!" The tavern shouted back.

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Hard seasoned hands gripped the stoneworks of the garden walls, his eyes scanning across Blackwater bay for something that he was not seeing. His leather attire bore the passage of hard work and use, yet retained an air of elegance and regal defining. The cool breeze slowly made its way up to where he and three others were currently occupied, food and refreshment sitting upon the oaken table the others gathered around. Central on the table, lay an old worn map, beautifully illuminated upon leather. Turning away from the bay, Prince Maelor strode back to his seat, standing above it as his eyes studied the map intently, its markings, both his own, and those of maesters of old, and what they all meant to him. At long last, a beautiful feminine voice broke the silence which had engulfed Prince Maelor's world.

"My love, my darling dragon, sit down and breathe. This is not Dragonstone, this is not a problem that looming over as Balerion did can solve. You need to eat, refresh your mind and body. All you've done is add more wear to the bottom of your boots, and fret over that which you can't control. We are here for our dear Princess Maegelle's wedding. Let us enjoy that first and foremost. Cousin Aerys and his untimely delay are of concern, but you must eat first, then we may speak of other things." She smiled ever so sweetly at her husband, gripping his hand tightly, before guiding him into his chair, putting before him a plate of spiced boar and potatoes. Lastly, she poured him a tall mug of Dornish Red, mulled in spices to add flavor. "There, my love, enjoy your food as I speak with our dear brother and friend. A moment of rest will do you good, and allow your mind to think more properly." She planted an alluring kiss upon Prince Maelor's lips, before turning to face the other two men at the table.

Princess Vaella smiled at the other two men, taking a small sip of her lemon flavored water, before conversing with them. "Lord Coldwater, we certainly appreciate you taking time out of your busy schedule in order to attend our lunch, and speak with us on such close terms and matters regarding what we all are curious about. You are accounted as a most loyal and faithful retainer of the King, and we must all serve loyal to our ruler." She smiled again, this time more mischievously, before speaking again. "But of course, you were not taking time to come here and hear the endless prattle of courtly indulgence. No, we are all here, because something is wrong, something does not add up." She turned at looked at the other man sitting down, garbed in his fine whites and raiment of office, a member of the Kingsguard.

"Ser Viserys, brother and knight, you suspect it as well, don't you. We are here because just as all of you have surmised, the king is still... late." She spoke the last word with a refined sense of intensity. "Ser Viserys, you saw the king off, as did Lord Coldwater, and both of you have pointed out one enduring fact that may speak of some blindness in our ruler. He left behind the Lord Commander, purposely, as we all know that the old man and the Crown Prince did not get along... not that I blame Lord Commander Guyard Lonmouth, Prince Maekar was a... trying lad to be around." She placed her glass down, turning to her Lord and husband.

"Lord Coldwater, you and I are men of the sea, we've both done our fair share of sailing, plying the waves of the Narrow Sea. This is not in Aery's character to not have written to us of his travels, his whereabouts. The voyage from Braavos should have taken at best, fifteen days, give or take two. At worst, with storms perhaps twenty... maybe twenty-five. Its going on thirty-five now, with nothing from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. I have only heard word of a few short summer squalls, of which only one may have given them any trouble. Did the King tell you why he had to leave in such short order... though, I doubt it matters now, as he is very much so beyond what one would consider late." He ate his food slowly, methodically ensuring none would fall onto him or smear upon his face. He placed the fork and knife down, before looking at his brother.

"Ser Viserys, blood of my blood, knight and sworn protector of the King... blood of the King, what say you? And nothing fanciful neither. I've heard the droll rumors of this being Corlys work, the work of the Others, some rogue dragon rider from New Valyria... what, if anything did you hear from our King. All anyone knows is that he had left with all due haste for across the Narrow Sea, and one arriving, that destination was Braavos. What would pull him away from home like this, especially so close to his niece's wedding?" Maelor looked at the map again, pointing out what everyone had known for some time.

"New Valyria had expanded ever since the conquest of Slaver's Bay. She took Meereen as her capital, then Yunkai, and then Astapor, butchering the slavers and their families. Later, she conquered Tolos, Elyria, and New Ghis, cutting down all who stood in her way. With so many lambs in her flock, she colonized Bhorash, and wrestled control of the entire region solely for herself and her dragonspawn. The Dothraki fear her, the Qarthian pay tribute to her to keep her from burning them again, all the people of Hesh, Kosrak, and Lhazosh do her fealty as their Queen. They've grown unchallenged by means of their dragons, save only for the fact that their enemies now only fight at sea, using storms and winter weather to their advantages. However, they've never flown further West than Volantis... and yet..." Maelor stopped, letting a servant refill the party's beverages, and waited till the servants had all backed away once again.

"Two dragon riders spotted over Lys, making north by northwest. Flying high, as though they were searching for something." Lord Coldwater spoke this time, knowing what Prince Maelor was referring to. He too had heard the rumors that had made their way up from the docks of Kingslanding, all those weeks ago. Even more so, he had reason to believe that the Prince knew more than the rumor mongers did. "Tell me, Prince Maelor, what makes you bring all this up... what do you know that even the Lord of Whispers may not know?"

"I know only what makes sense... Lord Coldwater, that the Dragons of the East are looking for something or someone. The king, the prince, no. Something else, more valuable that any one king, prince, lord, or triarch could ever hope to posses. Whatever it may be, it has riled them enough to send their prized war beasts flying far and wide. The pirates and traders of the East muse many things, but what I can say with certainty, is that the Emperor of New Valyria burned an entire island to ashes and cinders... not for mere defiance, no, because they played a role of some sort. Rebellion perhaps, but this..." Prince Maelor pointed to the map, "This is the reason why our King went to Braavos. The Braavosi are shrewd business dealers, and better bankers. They invited the King, they asked for him to come. We need the King to return to find out why." Prince Maelor finished, sitting back in his chair as he drank his wine. His face lost in introspection, he frowned and looked back out to sea.

"Lord Coldwater, Prince Viserys... I believe it is best that we keep what has been said here a secret. Furthermore, we must speak with the Lord Hand. He must prepare for the worst... should our King still be missing. Word has been sent to Eastwatch, has it not, to send out vessels to search for our King. Why haven't we heard anything from them yet?" Princess Vaella looked at the knight and small council member. "Surely the Night's Watch has..."

"They have Princess, and they say that they can not search right now due to storms bracketing the region. Maester Gorman says that they should be able to search again within a week. That letter arrived four days ago. The Watch hasn't forgotten what your family has done for it, and they will do all they can to find the king..." Lord Coldwater answered quickly, though a sense of nervous tension colored his voice. He looked to Prince Viserys, nodding his head. "Prince Viserys was there when we received the raven. We all know the point in which the King made to visit the Night's Watch at least once a year to give thanks to all those who died... so long ago."

Sighing, Prince Maelor stood up, looking at those seated at the table with a resigned look. "Lord Coldwater, pass along my invitation to Lord Florian Tyrell. I believe it is best we speak with him with all due haste. I fear something is amiss in our king's absence, and there are those who would seek to capitalize upon a... vacancy upon the Iron Throne." Prince Maelor shook Lord Coldwater's hand politely, before walking with him away from the table, leaving Princess Vaella and Prince Viserys.

As the two men walked out of sight, the Princess beckoned the kingsguard knight over, both now standing at the balcony overlooking the bay. "Sister... " Viserys started to say, before he was silence by a hug and a gentle kiss upon his cheek.

"Viserys... Maelor may seem hard to understand at times, but he does not like the wind coming off from the sea. He says something ill is brewing in the waters, something that seeks to upend the peace we find ourselves living in. Call it a sailors intuition. Whatever it is, brother, protect Daemon. There will be those who seek to manipulate the child, others seeking to kill him. You mustn't let any harm come to that innocent child." Her voice was cold and distant, as she looked at the bay, taking note of Prince Corlys personal ship, along with many other banners proudly flying in the bay.