[IC] Game of Thrones : The Pact of Ice and Fire (Always Open)

[MrDidact]

King's Landing

The next day, after her meeting with the dragon prince, Lysarra heard a knocking on her door. She opened it to see a figure dressed sedately in simple a simple brown tunic and traveling cloak. Despite the humble attire, Alys Tarth somehow managed to make the garments seem immodest. She had another bundle in her arms that she offered to the woman. Alys Tarth inclined her head at Lysarra, "Don't worry, I'm not looking for a fight. Our mutual friend sent me. If we're going to be poking around the Faith, things could get dangerous. That's why I'm coming with you. We're going to pay a call on the Grand Sept. I'm Brienne of Tarth's daughter, you're the Princesses handmaiden. We'll see if we can talk to anyone there, and if not, well, there are other ways of gathering information. We'll get an interview with the High Septon himself first, you can handle the talking. Come." Alys urged Lysarra along and together the two of them made their way through the keep and to the stables, where they then rode to Visenya's Hill where the new Grand Sept stood. They slipped in past the Warrior's Sons with all of the other pilgrims and entered to the sound of chanting and the smell of incense. Alys discreetly approached a lay brother and whispered in his ear. The brother's eyes widened and he escorted them to a hall and a room where they were seated with some fruits and drinks.

Eventually, the High Septon of the Faith of the Seven, the voice of the Seven Gods who were One, appeared through the door, leaving his escort of Warrior's Sons at the entrance. Alys stood and bowed to the man. The High Septon was a comely man of forty, with grey just starting to color his dark hair and bright blue eyes. He was one of House Hightower, and had been the Septon at the Starry Sept in Oldtown before assuming the position of High Septon. The man radiated quiet dignity and aristocratic grace. Alys, arrogant and hot-headed, still bent to kiss his ring as the man smiled at them.

The High Septon spoke in a strong, sonorous voice, "Alysanne Tarth. I baptized you myself when you were born. And Lysarra of Lys, the Princess Baella's newest handmaiden. I welcome you both, to what do I owe the pleasure of your noble company?"

Alyssane replied, "We came on a most confidential and sensitive matter. I would prefer this discussion to be kept private." The High Septon nodded and snapped a finger at the men outside the door, who closed it with a thud. The High Septon took a seat while Alys said, "We came to inquire about Jonquil Celtigar, and her claims that she is carrying the child of the Crown Prince, my friend Aemon."

The High Septon didn't seem surprised at all, "Ah yes, I was expecting this. Jahaerys sent you no doubt, I've already had visits from quite a few parties. That is to be expected after all. What would you like to know in particular?"

--

After, Tom lay blissfully next to Alerie, tangled together in the aftermath of their love. Tom kissed Alerie and said, "Well father, can hardly say no now. I daresay that his grandchild is well on the way." He grinned at his future wife and kissed her again, his happiness plain and untainted. Tom wrapped an arm around her and said, "We have to make some plans now Alerie. How we'll announce our engagement, where we plan to be wed. The hatching ceremony will be soon, a great chance for an announcement to my mind. And we can hold the ceremony on the same week that our men arrive back home from the Stepstones."

Already his mind was turning, the wheels spinning as he laid out ideas for their future, "But after that... you'll be the Lady of Casterly Rock. We'll have one of the most powerful financial, military, and political blocs in the Seven Kingdoms. The question is, my love, what shall we do with it?" He stared into her eyes, the gold in his own glinting at her, as he waited to hear what Alerie's plans were for their future.

--

Cathay later received a visitor at her room, an unsmiling, unassuming man who had no distinguishing gestures at all about him. The only adornment he wore was a catspaw pin that he wore on his grey doublet. The man nodded, "Lady Cathay. The Mistress of Whispers desires a report on your progress. She wonders if you have found out anything further on the matter of Jonquil Celtigar's child?" The man also added, "She suggests that if you need further direction in your investigation, you can pay a call to the King's Gate. Ardrian Celtigar is the Captain of the Gold Cloaks garrison there and is Jonquil's brother. Perhaps he knows something of this matter. Alternatively, you may want to speak with Gaemon Celtigar, who captains the Dauntless of the royal fleet. His ship is moored at port and he is the nephew of Lord Celtigar. Either may have information." There were many Celtigars in King's Landing, but Ardrian and Gaemon each had some influence as high officers in the royal forces. If there was some plot, they were the most likely to be involved.

Red Mountains

Ser Andrew frowned but eventually nodded, "Very well, I'll not waste the lives of those lost to impatience. I'll send runners for reinforcements, we can have another company here within the hour. You'll take two score men and follow through on your plan while we assault the walls at the same time, operation to commence two hours from now. Go quickly, while we have the cover of night." Ser Andrew delegated several of the Dornishmen to Ser Uther's command and left them to enact his plan, while Andrew waited for another company of royalists to reinforce them. Night soon fell and the time for attack would be upon them.

--

Mirren sat silently for a few minutes, weighing the options she had. It was obvious this supply point would need to be neutralized - there was no doubt of that. But of enemy numbers within, she knew little, and unlike her foes the tunnels were foreign soil to her - if she sounded the attack, she might call down the full fury of the defenders upon her and be surrounded. She was keenly aware that this supply point held more than the handful of men currently visible, and ordering a frontal assault could well be suicide. But what other choice did she have? It wasn't as if she could sneak in, she was an unknown to these men, it would be difficult at best for her to bluff her way inside - and once in, then what? Would she sound an attack whilst surrounded on all sides, or try to bluff her way back out? She was outnumbered and potentially surrounded if the din of battle reached the ears of any other foes within.

Turning to the man who had been assigned as her lieutenant, she pulled him aside, "Tell me, what would you advise doing in this situation? We're outnumbered, even a blind fool can see that, but if we do not neutralize this point, the assault topside might well fail in its entirety."

Her Lieutenant, a Stony Dornishman with a scar running down over an eye said, "Yes. If we don't take this resupply base, the Vultures will have a means of continual supply and escape. It will make a siege impossible and will make taking the waycastles and the summit much harder. We need to take it. I think we can disguise ourselves as Vultures and approach the men. We present ourselves as escaping rebels, then overwhelm the guards, kill them all before they sound an alarm. Then we split up and clean out this base. If we do it quickly and brutally enough, they'll be too disorganized to counter an attack, then we can signal for reinforcements. We take this base and make our way up the mountain, saving ourselves to push on the summit with our allies. That's what I believe."

Mirren nodded after a moment, looking back over to the base in qeustion, frowning as she contemplated the situation further. "Surprise is certainly a powerful element - but I fear you might be overly optimistic in your estimation of how quickly we can deal with three times our number, even if we do have surprise on our side. For sure, a volley of arrows will thin their ranks if we can get our shots off in time - but what of the tunnels themselves? It would take but one of them to slip away. Unless we can somehow cover all exits, I fear all we would achieve is surrounding ourselves and giving away our knowledge of the tunnels." She narrowed her eyes, watching the enemy position intently, "Who are your ten fastest men? I think I may send them to call for reinforcements - men enough to storm the position outright. Time is of the essence, obviously, but this is not somewhere we can afford to be reckless."

The Dornishman looked like he wasn't too happy to wait but he nodded, "I can pick ten other guides and have them run to the castle at the base of the mountain, and then send word to the other waycastles we have taken. We can converge men on several entrances and strike all at once, quickly and overwhelmingly."

Mirren frowned at him, "I don't like waiting any more than you do, but for heaven's sake, man, we're sorely outnumbered. We can't do anybody any good if we're dead, now can we?" She nodded to the man, "Send your men, and we'll reposition for a better attack."

The Lieutenant did not disagree and quickly called together several men to run off with a message. They needed reinforcements at the tunnels near the base of the mountain and they needed to converge on the other tunnels. This would require them to wait until the main ground forces had actually taken the other waycastles, but it would certainly shore up the success prospects of the mission.

After the Royalists took most of the waycastles over the following day, Mirren had the reinforcements she needed to launch a multi-pronged attack from the castle at the base of the mountain, two of the three waycastles, and the secret tunnel she had discovered. She also now had firm orders from Gendry to no longer delay and to attack immediately. Her Lieutenant approached her again, "We have the men, we have the advantage. We should attack now, rush them from multiple sides and take their supplies and escape routes. Otherwise that last waycastle and their summit base will not fall easily, if at all."

--

As Garlan's men marched on the last waycastle, and Red Ronnet's griffons scouted overhead, the unthinkable occurred. A lance of fire launched from the battlements on the castle and struck one of Ronnet's scouts. The creature was engulfed in hellish flame, and rider and mount screamed both as they fell burning to the ground. Ronnet's men scattered as more fire attacks launched from the battlements, flames that appeared seemingly out of thin air to harass the griffons. Then the flames started crashing among the men, burning steel and flesh as the men came under massive attack. A chorus of unworldly howls, screeches, and roars split the air and a gates of the waycastle opened to admit a horde of nightmares. Giant slithering serpents, skittering scorpions, manticores and chimeras, giant mountain lions and hounds with eyes of fire, monsters and beasts of all description poured out of the castle gates and at the royal forces. Giant vultures with riders upon them rose from the castle to clash with the griffon riders, and demonic warriors with cruelly curved weapons, many of them with horns or forked tails and cloven hooves, descended on the army with the monsters. The rumors were true, the Vultures had made bonds with demons and sorcerers. And now wave after wave of them crashed on the unsuspecting men, many of whom turned tail from the tide while others were slaughtered. All the while fire launched down on the men, indiscriminately killing soldier and monster alike. Many of the demons rode mounts of twisted horses, and rode down those who retreated. Ned Dayne, in the vanguard, parried a blow from one of the riders with Dawn and whirled, launching him from the seat and splitting him in half, black blood like bile filling the air.

Golden Tooth

Martyn was doubtless expecting more passive-aggressive verbal games and was visibly surprised when Lorimer did not engage. He recovered quickly however and nodded, "You honor me, my lord. If you insist, I believe it is best that we deal with the outlaws first. We cannot allow bandits and rogue knights to gain any further strength and sap our men if we are to face these Reynes. My cousin Tyrion has called the banners and we can soon march on Tarbeck Hall and Castamere. But I believe we should led a sortie to deal with the outlaw camps and all the other sparrows and bandits in the region. I can take fifty men and have them all cleared out in a week, while we gather your levies here at the Golden Tooth and prepare to march on the Reynes. Do you agree with this course of action my lord?" This time, Martyn said the honorific much more respectfully, regarding Lorimer with new eyes. Not quite friendship, but a start to something less combative.

Stepstones

Eventually, Goldbeard's men were beaten, killed while the rest lay bleeding to death on the deck. They had lost several sailors and men-at-arms, even a few Dragon's Teeth, but the rest of the company were nothing more than bloodied or bruised. William and Visenya had managed to pull off the deception, and Seran was taken as a captive, under the identity of Aemon Targaryen. Meanwhile Aemon retrieved Blackfyre and gathered the men together, "Thanks to Layali, we know there are several score men in that hideaway and that they have Arak Snow in a cell in the back. Layali, you'll lead us to the hideout and we'll burst in, Rhaegar leading the rear team to find Arak while I attack from the front. We kill or capture Big Cap and then we can proceed with our mission."

Meanwhile, William and Visenya approached Big Cap with Seran before them, his wrists bound, though they had slipped him a knife beforehand. Big Cap reclined on her throne and said, "And how did your errand go?"

Visenya grinned, "Killed some of the traitors. Bagged ourselves a prince. Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen." She shoved the so-called Prince roughly to the floor. In his Targaryen regalia, with his silver hair, he made a convincing figure. Big Cap's eyes boggled and she cursed in excitement, "By the gods, the Dragonstone Ghost himself. You know how much the Scorpion King wants this twat? You made me a very happy woman, you two, you proved yourselves. Consider yourselves members of the club. We can regroup with the others at Blackguard Bay and get to finally kicking Aurane out of these aisles. With this hostage in our hands, it'll be easy."

Visenya smiled, "Just what I wanted to hear." In a swift motion, she drew her dagger and cut Seran's bonds, twirling to send it flying into a man's face and drawing her sword as the front door burst in and Aemon rushed in with Viserys and several other men, cutting and slashing their way through as Big Cap and her men drew their blades. In the back, Rhaegar with directions from Layali burst in on the unsuspecting pirates, slaying the first few guards easily and on the lookout for their captured friend.

[bloonewb]

William cursed and went for his sword. This was not part of the plan! Not what he knew of it, anyway. To be fair, when they were going over the fine details, he was halfway drunk. Mead, admittedly, was a siren that called far louder than any woman. More often, though, Visenya had a nasty habit of keeping him in the dark about everything. She thought her pranks were funny, like when they "ran away" from the Red Keep, and she goaded him into a bear cave she "checked" and "found empty". Neither of them were hurt, but they ran right back, not stopping till the outer walls were behind their backs. Perhaps the drink had stayed with him longer than he thought, because his fingers couldn't quite grasp themselves around the handle. Little time to think when all around was a bloody melee, and a particularly ugly fellow was barreling toward one, shouting curses. William backpedaled a few paces and ducked under the first slash. It glanced off the wall behind him. A second quickly followed, coming straight downwards. William groaned, and gave up on drawing the sword, instead pulling the entire scabbard with it to block the next strike.

"Hol' thar an' let me cut ya!" shouted the pirate, bringing down the blade yet again.

"Shut up. It's bad enough having to look at your face," William spat, jumping left and thrusting with the sword, scabbard and all. It felt a little top heavy, but the added weight meant that striking the chest would hurt more. The pirate stumbled back, letting the scabbard slide off on its own. "Here we go . . ." muttered William, returning previous courtesies with a slash of his own. If he was drunk, the pirate was drunker, and his arm didn't twitch upwards to block the edge until after it ran through his torso. William grimaced. He may have to have a few unkind words with Visenya when all this is done.
___________________________
"Oi! On yer feet!" shouted the warden, taking a pailful of sea spray and dumping it unceremoniously on his prisoner's head. The pitiful figure on the ground sat up, coughing up salt. "Funneh tale, tha Big Boss wants ta see ya. Says somethin' 'bout youse knights would know somethin' 'bout hittin' castles hard."

"Good fellow, I keep saying thus, yet you ignore me at every turn. I have not been kni-"

"Yeh, yeh, not knighted. Whateveh. Boss wants ta see ya, Boss is gonna see ya. Now get up." He bent down and hauled the little prisoner up to his feet. Then, the distant sound of shouting and crossing swords made its way to the depths of the dungeon. The warden cursed, and drew his curved blade. "Stays here. We's gonna cuts yer knight friends up," he barked, and ran off to reinforce his employer on the surface.

Arak stood there, not sure of what happened, until the blood rushed to his head. He had an odd policy of elevation strictly enforced upon him during the past few . . . hours? Days? Point is, if he stood up, he would get beat with a stick. He quickly learned to act otherwise. Now that he was standing, the blood rushed to his head in painful beats, and his legs threatened to give way under him. He leaned on the wall, and tried to think dry thoughts. To appear with vomit on him when rescued by knights would be unseemly. He, with the aid of the walls, stumbled out of the cell and began making his way, step after painful step, towards those blessed stairs of escape.

"Hey! Backs ta yer cell!" shouted a voice behind him. Arak turned, groaning, to find a large man, armed with a thick staff, striding towards him.

"No, you don't underst-" He began, but the pirate began pushing him inexorably back, shouting curses and threats.

"I doesn't care! Backs ta yer-" That was as far as he got before he learned the hard way the few advantages of being short. Arak's foot had made its way from the ground to the delicate portions between the larger man's legs. He keeled over, and was out. Arak quickly took the staff, turned his head away, and brought it down on his skull until there was nothing left but red mush. He knew from hard experience that concussed foes never stayed down upwards of a minute. Now taking the bloody staff, he hobbled up the steps. The knights upstairs need to be assisted!

[TyrannosaursRex]

Deleted

[FourtyTwo]

(Crap post- I'm very far behind with Ellion and wasn't in the mood for Red Mountain stuff, but the other sections should make up for it, I hope.)

@MrDidact

King's Landing

Alerie lay in bed, nude to her gentle skin, beneath the cosy golden green quilt, and still held a hand around Tom. She felt her take an arm around her, as she cooed like a dove, not wanting to entirely admit that it had only been perhaps her first time, for real. Some before, but nothing quite as vivid as that. And it was a lot to take in. At least she'd slept well with him by her side, as she listened to what he said. He sounded so....dreamy, albeit Alerie knew this was real to some extent.

"You worry far too much. Don't worry about those things. Your father and mine know best....on the what, when, and where. Mostly....I suppose. For now, just worry about us." She said, kissing him on the cheek, reassuringly, a trait that Alerie definitely had to offer. She seemed to offer warmth in her very presence, as she pulled him close, as best as she could, snuggling up against his shoulder. And what would they do with their wealth? Alerie knew the answer, well, sort of.

"I suppose your father could say no, and leave me a mother of a bastard. But I think Lord Tyrion wouldn't do that. I wouldn't let that happen, anyway....you and I won't be prised apart so long as I breathe. And as for being Lady of Casterly Rock, the Lady Tyrell married to Lord Tommen Lannister....oh, I have many ideas. There have been many marriages between our houses, but nothing along primary bloodlines on this scale. The most powerful bloc in Westeros.....perhaps we shall show the Targaryens it is not fire and blood that rules, but the lions and roses that grow strong and play a part in their Kingdoms, too. That is only the beginning, my sweet lion. So long as I'm by your side and you're by mine, I don't think we can be stopped." She chuckled, sleeping in a little more with him, knowing if there were any ravens that had come, she would meet father about it later.

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

Highgarden

Merlin read the letter, sighing. It was better news than before, just about.

"We have help on the way, at least." Merlin turned to Eve, who stood by his side, looking over the small quilting room, where Alys sat with her tutor, learning how to knit at the moment, a finely taught skill that any Lady of the Reach would need. It was theraputic to watch almost from Eve's point of view, but to Alys, it looked a little daunting, and clumsy. Merlin on the other hand knew that a simular clumsy came in some of the ways they'd tried to hunt down the beasts lately in the Reach, and that the arrival of the Inquisitor would surely spell well. Given the influence of Gardener pretenders, it was something that had to be laid down.

Beyond bounties for the false Gardners to be brought before the court of Lord Merlin Tyrell, Steward of Highgarden, not much had been done, and it was of no doubt to him that the Realm wanted it's stability in one of it's kingdoms, and was sending someone from on high to get it done.
"What kind?" Eve asked, looking up to Merlin, as Alys worked away, managing to finish the stitch on the top of the quilt, a lovely fabric cloth with a golden Rose in the middle. Even part of Eve did wonder...she really should have started knitting something else at this point. Perhaps a deer, or a lion, or something, Eve loved her sister in law's handcrafted gifts but it seemed excessive.
"The Inquisitor is on their way. That, and I have that cranky old man Oldtower kept telling me to bring in. And a Florent to serve as a administrator, or at least an offer to discuss some matters. Someone I might need to help with this Florent buisness."
@AtomicNut

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

Bloodstone

Ellion had taken a bit of a backseat to some of what had gone down, given he had taken a few wounds. Paid attention to the plan, and played his role in it, the mess that was his hair and face adding to the effect, though his height and fighting style did give him away a little bit at times. Even brushing off Lyvia and Aerion's comments, disregarding them a little. His part in the plan had worked out well, and he had been quiet, pretty speechless compared to his usual. Disregarding Miri even, he hadn't actually spoken with her in a while, well, not intimately. It had been business ahead of pleasure here, as lovely as she was, he had to keep his head on his shoulders and he knew she was doing exactly the same. After all of this, no doubt they'd talk. Right here though, in pouncing on Big Cap, he was a little more active. The blur that had been this confusing plan had begun to fade, and his thoughts on really holding back here were out of the window. Rhaegar had taken them the right way, and from here on out, he knew what he had to do.

Stabbing the first pirate he met, it was a simple push off the blade as he slashed it into another man charging him from the flank, brutally cutting open his abdomen, dropping to the floor in screaming agony, as Ellion walked past, following close as he watched Malrik face down Big Cap, following by his side as he kept his blade heightened, taking another approach.
"C'mon then."

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

The Spine

The unthinkable happening was something Garlan only could lay witness too, as he yelled the command.
"Fall back and reassemble the line! Get the fucking vanguard back in!" The command was conveyed fast, though slower than usual, as he looked across at the various points of the line, the number of men falling staggering. Garlan hadn't pushed all his men into the middle, of course. The supply of the vanguard was crushed, and Ned Dayne was going to follow. He had to pull whatever was left back, and the rest of the men around Garlan were setting up spear walls and emboldening their defence, given that the casualties were going to mount. Holding an assault was insane. This was going to be survival, as Garlan looked around, taking in the men he had from the tactical position on the ridge that he held, from his horseback, looking across to one of the runners to the frontline.
"Get the warlocks into the middle! We'll need to fight fire with fire..."

[Abefroeman]

Rivers that lead to the Vulture’s Roost, Ser Uther’s Mission

Ser Uther crouched by the edge of the slow-moving river, testing it with his hands. “Well, it’s going to be a bit of a swim, but we can manage it… that is if you all know how to swim that is.” Ser Uther paused, then looked back to the twenty men gathered with him. “Right, lets hop to it. Ditch your armor and anything that will weigh you down, that means shield too. Swords across your backs, and if you are not the best swimmer, boots off too. You can leave them, or tie them around your waist.” Ser Uther finished speaking, sitting down to remove his chainmail armor, neatly piling it atop his shield along with any excess clothing he had on. The men with him followed suit, removing tunics and bulking armor in order to prevent them from drowning when then did attempt to swim the River Wyl into the lower levels of the Vulture’s Roost. Uther moved away from his allies, and knelt down by a clutch of large rocks, studying the lay of the river itself, and the gaping maw the formed the cave’s entrance.

Too dark to truly see anything, yet dark enough for Uther to notice the faint flicker of torches deep within the cavern before him and his allies. The warm night air felt like a hot kiss against his face, while the coolness of the lapping waters on the shoreline where he stood felt soothing and inviting. Another time, this would be a fine night for some fishing and swimming for leisure, though tonight, he had a mission to accomplish, and a time table to keep. Turning from the cavern’s mouth, he addressed the two score men assigned to him. All good Dornish fighters, a few knights, the rest men at arms, local levies that knew how to fight and follow orders. “Ser Andrew has given us the honor to assail the Vulture’s Roost in secret, and the privilege of being a bunch of sneaky bastards who will cause havoc and mayhem from within the enemy lines. Plus, we get to open gates and invite our friends in to join the fray.” Ser Uther waded partway into the water, looking back at the men with him.

“Stick close, watch your corners, and keep to the shadows. One way or another, Vulture’s Roost is falling tonight. Move out.” With Ser Uther in the lead, twenty one men silently waded into the water, sticking towards the shallows and Northern shore, slowly making their way upstream towards the cavern’s entrance. The men held low conversations, readying themselves for whatever Vulture’s Roost and the Vultures themselves had in store for the loyalist forces. A knight asked Ser Uther what he knew of this ruin, and how he knew about it. “Ser Uther… how do you know so much about this ruin? I never heard of it until we were dispatched this way. What can we expect from these rebels?” The knight swam quietly forward, dunking his head underwater for a moment to cool his face. Uther spoke a low foreboding tone, “My family, from way back when Dorne was apart from the Iron Throne, were sworn to the Vulture King. We fought alongside the first Vulture King, before we were defeated and bent the knee to another king. We stayed loyal, my half of the family. The other half, rose up in rebellion during the second Vulture King. Ever since, my kin and I have been banished for refusing to rise up for our rightful ruler, or so they say. This castle is told in our family stories, from father to son. I know of it only from campfire stories told by my father and his. As for what we will see, Ser Taner, your guess is as good as mine. They are men like us, they bleed like us, and they probably think like us as well. If we’re lucky, they will not expect anyone to attack from down here, and have a few guards who’ve grown lax and lazy. If not, well, we will have one hell of a fight. The Seven will decide our fates now. Alright, cut the chatter, we are nearing the cavern… good luck everyone.”

A full hour had passed since the men had entered the water, the going slow due to the river’s current, and the darkness enveloping everything. Ser Uther clutched tightly to a rocky outcrop further in the river, pulling himself away from the muddy river bottom towards the cavern’s mouth. He dunked his head underwater, letting the cool flowing river refresh him for the coming chaos that was sure to happen, even if they were lucky. Keeping the cavern wall to his right, Uther resurfaced, taking in a fresh breath of air. He let his eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, while waiting for more of his party to group up within the cavern’s mouth. He nodded to Ser Taner, the young knight he had spoken to earlier, before swimming forward again. There was no turning back now.

The twenty men pressed onwards with their mission, navigating the near pitch blackness of the cavern, fighting the river’s current, and doing all they could to remain as quiet as possible. Soon enough, all eyes could spy the telltale flicker of torches and braziers, their ruddy light a bright sun in contrast to the oppressive darkness of the cavern. The men could slowly begin to make out the shapes of guards, Vultures assigned to guard the underground entrance to the Vulture’s Roost, and perhaps one of the main sources of supplies for the rebels. Uther was the first to feel the smooth and worn carved stones of the cavern’s docks and landings. The stones lay underwater to provide a sure depth for incoming boats and barges, a firm foundation on which to build the rest of this underground shipping and receiving area. Smiling, Uther swam into the dark shadows of disused section of the docks, and waited for the rest of the men to rally up with him.

Ser Uther counted the heads twice to make sure that everyone that had set out with him was there. Thankfully, by the watchful eye of the Seven, no one had drowned, been swept downstream, or spotted. Uther counted the small blessing, before surveying the scene before him to take better stock of what he was going to face down here. In the dim light of the docks torches and braziers, he saw the rusted portcullis that once guarded the entrance to the docks, hopefully rusted stuck in the open position. A smattering of guards, perhaps no more than a dozen at best, and by the looks of them, they were somewhat lax in their patrols and duties. He spied the open postern gate that no doubt led upwards into the castle proper, while a set of chains and pullies denoted the possibility of an elevator for carrying supplies up into the castle as well. But these were all minor things, superficial and unimportant to the mission at hand, what mattered was the habits and patrol routes of the guards, or rather, lack thereof.

The guards sat in four groups of three, each lazily watching a swathe of the docks before them. This led to both fields of vision overlaps, and better yet, blind spots, parts of the docks which clearly sat unused, and unthought of. Ser Uther beckoned all those with him to take stock of the situation with their own eyes, to see what he had seen, to formulate their own plans and course of action. Together, the loyalist forces slithered out of the water, crouching behind broken crates and barrels, slowly and quietly readying their weapons. Ser Uther whispered to Ser Taner, “Tell the archers with us to take out the six closest to the postern gate. We will creep up on the other six, and dispatch them as quiet as possible. You will signal them when to fire, since you have a bow yourself. Just make sure we are in position before you fire, and not before. Seven guide your arrows. If the alarm goes up, well, let’s just say it’s going to be a really bad evening for us all.”

“I’ll make it so Ser Uther. Good luck to you.” Ser Taner responded, before slinking off to gather the other five archers to him. As Ser Taner and his fellow archers set themselves up to take out the six guards closest to the postern gate, Ser Uther and the rest of the men crept forward, sometimes crawling on their stomachs as they approached the six guards further away from the gate. The Vulture rebels had no idea what lay in wait mere feet from them, in the darkened recesses of the docks. Uther slowly drew his blade, holding it tightly in his right hand as he took one last deep breath, steeling his nerves to the coming fight, even if it was hopefully going to be short. In unison, the melee forces rose as the twang of bowstrings reverberate in the cavern. Of the six men closest to the postern gate, four died instantly, arrows protruding from their chests, causing them to fall over. The fifth let out a startled cry of anguish, before tumbling into the waters beside him, while the sixth moaned in pain on the floor next to his dead comrades. The other six men fell quickly, with only two loyalist soldiers dying in the ambush. Ser Uther helped kill one of the Vultures that had cut down the first loyalist to charge, and thus, the fight was over.

As Uther turned to find the sole surviving member of the cavern guards, he heard the cry of pain, followed by the splashing of water and body meeting together. The man had crawled to the docks edge, and rather than be caught, rolled himself off into the dark waters, having himself be carried away by the current. Three arrows were loosed at him, though none found their mark, and soon enough, the lone guard was out of sight and range. “Forget him. Quick, hide these bodies, and see if they have any keys on them. There might be another gate further up that could be locked. It must have been two hours already. No doubt the fight is commencing above us as we sit here dawdling. Ser Taner, keep one archer, and six other men, hold these docks if you can, should we fail, and must retreat, we will need somewhere to safely exit this ruin. The rest of you, with me. Let’s see about opening some gates for our friends outside.”

Ser Uther left the docks to Ser Taner’s command, and led the rest of the men to the postern gate, all slowly moving through its open doorway into the room beyond. Shaking his head, and taking a deep breath, Uther readied himself for the countless flights of stairs that wound their way above him. Thankfully, they all seemed to be hewn out of the stone itself, rather than made of wood, which was prone to rotting and becoming rickety, not to mention louder than hell itself banging a drum. As the others filed past him, Uther fumbled for the key ring he had taken from one of the dead guards. It held a few keys, some old, some new, big and small. No doubt they opened some of the cells down on the docks, but one looked different than the rest, older and larger than all the others. Climbing the stairs, for what seemed like many minutes, Uther came walking into the back of one of his party members. A wrought iron gate bared further progress up the stairs, with what looked like a lock made for the very key Uther held. Pushing forward, he unlocked the gate himself, slowly pushing it open and allowing his allies to press on.

Far above, the sounds of combat and conflict could be heard, signaling that the siege had begun. Attaching the key ring back to his person, Uther surged forth to keep up with the rest of the men. Together, they all silently and unnoticed ascended from the deep reaches of the Vulture’s Roost to the ground floor, which as fate would have it, had them joining battle with a few lone sentries. Always late to the fight it seemed, Uther split the party in two, dragging the dead sentries, and two fallen loyalists into the stairwell, closing the door behind them. By the sounds coming from the castle, the yells of men, the crashing of siege equipment, or perhaps a tower collapsing in flame, the bulk of the fighting was towards the North-Eastern section of the castle, well on the other side of the deserted courtyard, save for some horses and goats. Uther quickly dispatched a passing Vulture, before speaking to the men one last time before the two parties split up. “We’re in the belly of the beast now. I doubt we’ll be able to open the main gate, but there are two postern gates that we can surely open for our allies outside. You six, take the Western postern, the rest of you, with me to the Eastern postern gate. Good luck.”

Ser Uther and the five other Dornishmen in his party fought their way through corridors and hallways, cutting down five more Vultures in their rush for their target. Uther hoped and prayed that the other party would be able to accomplish their mission, though such thoughts were soon pushed from mind to focus on a pitched fight with three Vultures who guarded the postern gate. Already one loyalist had fallen to the ferocity of the Vulture guards. Uther fought with the four remaining loyalists, trying to wear down these rebels, to vanquish them so they could bring about the defeat of this accursed ruin. As Uther dodged and parried the incoming thrusts of a halberd, he spun about, disarming the Vulture, only to see another loyalist be caught upon the deadly blade of the halberd of another Vulture. With a ferocious slash, and a bit of luck, Uther dispatched the Vulture he had disarmed, the man still clutching his sword in its scabbard as he fell to the floor. The six men fought, two against one each, trying to find an opening in their defense, to kill their enemy, loyalists and rebel alike.

The blood pooled across the floor as six men lay dead, their eyes forever closed to this world. Four loyalists, and two rebels, with the remaining Vulture fighting ferociously, blocking and parrying any attack levied against him by Ser Uther and another knight whose name he did not recall. Together they pressed the attack against this lone Vulture, lashing, swinging, hacking, damn near everything they had ever learned and been taught with sword fighting, trying to vanquish their foe. Uther himself had acquired several painful wounds, while none life threatening, they did slow the knight down more than he would have like, the blood oozing from the cuts staining his clothes and dripping unto the floor. At last though, an opening occurred, though such came at the expense of Uther’s ally. As the Vulture parried the other knights blade away, he thrust his blade forward to impale the loyalist, killing the man near instantly. But, as the knight fell and away, the Vulture’s blade came with him, caught in the dead knight’s ribs, pulling the Vulture forward and off balance. Uther lamented the loss of his ally, but took his fallen ally’s death for the opportunity it provided.

A soft thud resonated out as the final Vulture collapsed to the ground, his chest rent open, from neck to hip, dead as all the other corpses about Ser Uther. Wiping the blood from his brow, along with sweat, Ser Uther spoke a quick prayer over the fallen, both ally and foe alike, before straining to lift the drop bar over the postern gate. He hefted the heavy slab of wood free, letting it fall and clatter to the ground, still mindful of the nearby sounds of battle that came from outside the gate. Uther pulled the gate open, letting it swing soundlessly on its hinges, before jamming it in place with the weapons of the fallen around him. Uther, now sure that he gate was open, grabbed a torch from the wall within the little gatehouse, and then waved it up and down, signaling that he had accomplished his mission in part, to open one of the postern gates that lead into the Vulture’s Roost. As loyalist forces surged forth to make their way through the opened gateway, Uther sat back upon a wooden bench, and collected his wits. The battle was only beginning, but he had helped sway the fight in their favor. Hopefully, this boon would not go to waste.

[bloonewb]

(May be a bit early for me to post again, but I'm really proud of this one. Thanks @MrDidact!)

"Oh!" exclaimed Cathay, already assuming a false character. She had never met the mistress of whisperers, yet already that woman was breathing down her neck every half-second. Perhaps she could throw this emissary of hers off a bit, and buy a bit of time for herself. "I'm just one of Lady Cathay's maidservants. Didn't . . . didn't my lady inform you? She has left the castle sometime in past days, to visit her ailing family in Whitehoof Castle. If you would like to leave a message for her, you can do so through me." She gave one of her most innocent smiles at the intruder. He didn't look too convinced, but looks can be decieving, after all.

The emissary made no visible reaction to the news at first, "Strange. I had thought we the Mistress was kept appraised on all the movements of the courtiers. It is not often that we miss someone." He stared at her, seemingly appraising her for a moment before saying, with a slight smile, "I suppose nothing can be done for it however. I'm afraid I cannot pass sensitive intelligence onto anyone outside of this investigation, and if our primary investigator is absent... perhaps their Graces would benefit from another investigator. Tell your lady, we will begin working on selecting her replacement. Good day." He turned to go.

Cathay huffed. Just like lap-dogs of the Starks to intrude on the fine machinations of a working mind.

"A report then. Time is of the essence, especially when royal blood is on the line. I am aware of who and where the Celtigars are within the city, thank you very much. They do enjoy . . . making themselves known. I think I've sent a maidservant to speak to . . . Daemon, was it? I'll pay a visit myself to Ardrian. Could you pass me that wig?" she asked, pointing to a small pile of red hairs sitting on the end of her little table. She turned to the mirror at the end of the room and began applying a bit of makeup. Carefully, she inspected herself. Not too great. She was never the sort to change faces. But it was enough, hopefully, to distract one as low as a goldcloak.

The agent smirked, passing the wig to her, "Gaemon. There are many of the brood in the city, but those two are among the most influential in the Kingsmen. Most of the others are strutting courtiers, handmaidens, and tourney knights. And Lord Celtigar had already returned to Claw Isle to raise his levies for the invasion, and a raven isn't due back for a few days at least." He looked at her, readying herself, "What do you plan to do?"

"Obviously, Lord Ardrian and I have much to discuss," Cathay mumbled, grabbing the wig and setting it on her head. Occasionally, one of her own black tangles would poke out, and she would have to correct it, annoying her to no end. "There. Do I look the part of a sooty aleserve?" she asked, when she felt her head looked orange enough.

"Captain Ardrian," The emissary corrected before nodding, "It'll serve. The Mistress wants results, and fast. Otherwise, we might just need another agent in this matter. If you need assistance, relay a message to the Mistress' office. If there's nothing else, I will depart." The man turned to leave again.

The stench of cheap wine and piss could be smelled from two streets away. This, of course, would be the Evening Sword, a tavern that goldcloaks have an odd tendency to flock to. Cathay stood outside the door for a few seconds, then decided to stop torturing herself. The quicker she finishes, the quicker she can leave. She sucked in a deep breath, and forced herself into the side door. As its name suggests, the place was especially full during the evening hours. Aleserves ran this way and that, too numerous to count, bringing heaping tankards to the equally countless goldcloaks lounging around. At least half of them were passed out in their own vomit. Cathay rushed to the back of the room and picked up one of the tankards. Nobody could tell the difference between her and the regular workers. Then, a shout for more ale sounded from the center table. Sitting there were a smattering of the officers, and as one of her loyal eyes told her, one Captain Ardrian Celtigar. This was her chance.

Ardrian Celtigar was as comely as his sister was beautiful. His eyes were pale lilac, framed by hair as pure white as snow with a strong jaw and high cheekbones. He was a young man, barely a nameday or two above twenty. The only indication of his status as a veteran guardsman was the scar running horizontally across his cheek. Even at table he wore his armor, gilded plate with his gold cloak draped over one shoulder. A longsword and dagger were at his belt and he held up his tankard, "Another round for the boys and I!"

Cathay scurried over, and passed around the cups. She found she couldn't move quite as quickly as the girls around her, they being far more experienced with such matters. She began pouring the ale, getting more on the table than in the cups. Most of the officers, fortunately, seemed too drunk to care. She especially took her time with Ardrian, letting the ale practically drip into his cup.

"So, big Ser Goldcloak, off to defend the city?" she teased, in her best King's Landing accent.

The young Captain gave the apparent serving wench a smile, showing off perfect white teeth, "Indeed. After the chaos a few weeks ago, every garrison is on high alert. And within the week we're to chase down a band of Freemen, apparently some were sighted in the Kingswood. So I thought, I'd reward the men for their hard work." He took a drink and said, "I don't recognize you, you must be new. Barkeep treating you well?"

"You got me," Cathay giggled. The smell was getting to her, but she had to keep her head clear. Her standing at court depended on it. "That all sounds very dangerous work. I'm glad that big, brave men like you are keeping the streets safe. So, are there any stories you could part with to a poor little girl like me? Any goings-on at the big castle?" This man was like putty in her hands. The drink almost made it too easy.

Captain Ardrian smiled again, "Why don't you have a seat? Old Pate won't mind." The Gold Cloak pulled Cathay down to his lap and poured her another tankard, handing it to her as he rubbed his chin in thought, "Let's see. I could tell you all about the time I went with Prince Aemon on a raid against a band of Stepstoner Pirates. Or the time I found and hung the leader of a band of Sparrows. Or of the dozens of monsters I fought when the fishmen attacked the city. I don't know if a delicate maiden could handle such stories though." Like most soldiers, when a pretty woman asked for a story, he immediately thought of war stories. Extracting gossip or rumors from him might take a bit more effort.

Cathay couldn't say anything, but her temper was running short. He wasn't quite getting to the point she wanted, and there was no direct way she could direct him to the more relevant information. Was he drunk enough to let her take the risk?

"Oh, we folk down here are not entirely in the dark. A friend of mine is handmaiden to a Celtigar lady, and she had quite a tale to tell. A prince's bastard, tucked away in a septa's belly! Can you imagine that?" Nervously, she took a sip of the ale. Sitting here, with Ardrian's hand on her shoulder like that made escape . . . a little tricky, to say the least.

The Captain smiled again, though this time it seemed a shade brittle, "I see the gossip travels very fast indeed. A friend of yours you say? I bet it's my cousin Velanna she heard it from. She's always letting things slip. Perhaps she needs new handmaidens." He drank again, and slammed the tankard down with a bit more force than needed, "Velanna, I love her, but it's a blessing she is pretty, for wits were never her gift. It's a good thing she doesn't know very much. That septa you speak of, well let's just say I know her as well. And that that bastard in her belly is the best thing to happen to her. A gift from the Seven, I say. The worst thing to happen to her was becoming a Septa. Now she will be free of it," He drank again, his expression clouding over as he seemed to brood over something.

"It sounds like you know a little something about this bastard baby," Cathay cooed, while at the same time trying to slowly escape the bounds of his lap, inch by inch. "Is the father really the king-to-be, the prince Aemon himself?" Alcohol was thick on his breath, and he seemed far more slumped than but a few minutes earlier. It can't be too long before his head gives out from all the drink.

Ardrian laughed, more bitterness than mirth in the sound, "Our High Septon proclaimed it so, surely it must be true shouldn't it? The bastard." He cursed under his breath, "All Jonquil needed was a Prince. Even-" His eyes suddenly came into focus, his drunken mind belatedly realizing something, "Who sent you?" Suspicion appeared on his face and his hand began to tighten on his shoulder as his hand wandered to his belt, his reactions somewhat slowed by drink. The other Gold Cloaks at the table, those of whom that weren't too drunk to even raise their heads from the table, sensed their Captain's mood and all began to stand, reaching for dirks or cudgels. "Who sent you!" The Captain demanded.

The situation was quickly turning away from Cathay's favor. She had to get out! The knowledge in her head will soon have a bounty on it, and the Celtigars were not above bribes and assassinations. She took the tankard in both hands and brought it down on Ardrian's nose.

"I'm not that sort of lass!" she shrieked, and bolted for the side door. Fortunately, she was able to outpace the greatly inebriated goldcloak officers. The moment she stepped outside and slammed the door behind her, she tore off the red wig and threw it into a gutter. Then, she wiped all the makeup off with her sleeve, and dove into a crowd just as goldcloaks burst out of the Evening Sword and began making their way through the mob, interrogating passers-by.

Ardrian ran out of the taven, blood running down his nose and staining his cloak as he swept it out of the way and drew his sword, eyes scanning the crowd. He ran to the post right next to the tavern and hopped onto his horse and began trotting through the press, frantically searching for the spy as his men followed suit. By chance Adriran started riding in Cathay's direction, not finding her, but wading closer and closer to her by the moment.

Ardrian caught a glance of Cathay and rode towards her, pointing his sword at her, missing her face for the moment, "Did a redhaired woman pass by you a few moments ago? A Kingslander?" Even as he asked the question, his brow knitted in concentration, and he would likely recognize her in a few moments if she dawdled any further.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Cathay spat, in the faux-noble accent of the Reach. "And shouldn't you be out there, protecting the people, instead of drinking in taverns?" She turned on her heels and strode away, muttering "I swear, it's like we can't leave our homes at night anymore," just loud enough for Ardrian to hear.

It all suddenly clicked for Ardrian, "You! Stop!" He tried to urge his horse forward, but the crowd quickly thickened and it was like wading through a river against the current. His steed moved forward at an agonizingly slow pace, as the crowd jostled all around and frustrated, Ardrian had his men begin shoving through the crowd with pikes and clubs. Finally he began riding through at a decent speed, intent on finding Cathay.

Cathay was already gone. She had slipped out of the crowd and was dashing toward the Red Keep as fast as her legs could take her. 'All Jonquil needed was a prince'. Those words played themselves over and over in her head. What did they mean? Was the child the son of the prince? Was he even royal? Whatever the truth, she knew she could not leave her rooms while the trial took place, and perhaps long after. Who knows who in her employ is loyal to her anymore? How many of them would hand her over without a second thought to the angry and vengeful Celtigar family?

[NecroKnight]

Stepstones
(Pardon if it's short, I don't know how to post anything else)
@kingkonrad@MrDidact

Merebelle Gray kept watch onboard the ships, that the Crown' party had arrived upon - it was the only thing she could do at the current moment. She had taken a nasty blow to the head, back when they had fending of the pirates that had attacked their ships. Not to mention her right arm had been bandaged up - after she had blocked a rather wild swing with nothing but her plated mail. Suffice to say, she had gotten her first beat-down in her duty as a knight.

As such, she had delegated to guarding their ships alongside several others - if these were lost, they might as well be stranded in this almost foreign land. While her main hand was out she could use her left hand, while not as strong - she had taken the time, to train herself in using both her hands. Since her right hand would be out of use, for a good week - and since she had time to train, she had been practicing with her left hand. It was hard work, but she had time.

Miri eventually sighed, as she looked over the railing and the city - wondering how Ellion and the others were doing. So many things could go wrong, and she didn't want him returning in a bloody mess. She did want him back here - she was starting to slowly miss him and wanting to hold him - but not in such a way, that would leave him injured for months at that.

With a low sigh, she decided to go check on the others - namely the other injured, whom had to be left behind. It was a dull but important task. One she did without much complaint.

[Abefroeman]

Golden Mountains and Golden Lions, The rebuilding of House Lefford

Lord Lorimer bowed his head in respect towards his able bodied and minded commander. Ser Martyn Lannister was a smart man, that much was certain, along with his cool and calculated take on the current situation with rebels that seemed to be plaguing the Westerlands at large. Lorimer beckoned Ser Martyn to step closer to his own side, a sort of disarming and friendly gesture to entreat a more personal conversation. “Ser Martyn, you are a wise and valuable military commander, and I count myself lucky to not only be sworn in service to House Lannister once again, but to have you as my ally, and perhaps one day, as a friend, here in the Golden Tooth. House Lefford did our service without question to your forebear for many years, even when the tides were against us. I wish to once again prove my family’s loyalty and usefulness not only to your House in general, but to good and able-bodied men like you.” Lord Lorimer paused, examining the map table more closely, before speaking again with earnest. “Ser Martyn, if you would allow such, would you take seventy five men rather than fifty. I know it may seem over precautionary, but I rather not risk you and those with you being outnumbered or in a situation that would desire more soldiers than what you have. These bandits, and perhaps by divine chance, true descendants of the Reyne family, cannot be allowed to so freely run amok. I give my blessing and agreeance with your plan of action, root out the scattered encampments of these criminals and oath-breakers. That should hopefully clear the region for your cousin to march unharrased on both Castamere and Tarbeck Hall.” Pausing again, Lorimer turned to face Ser Martyn, and offered out his hand, speaking with a smile on his face, “Ser Martyn, I will take care of all the bothersome paperwork and dispatches, you focus on making it back here in one piece, so that you may enjoy a feast with your men and the stodgy paper pushers like me.” Lord Lorimer said with a wry smile.

After Ser Martyn had said his piece, and with hope, shaken Lord Lorimer’s hand in friendship, both men would go their separate ways. Lorimer watched Ser Martyn leave the room, saying a silent prayer for both the Lannister Knight and the men that would be going with him. The room now stood empty aside from Lord Lorimer himself, as he stared intently at the map that dominated the table. He gazed at Casterly Rock, Lannisport, The Crag, Castamere, and so on, from castles big and small, all the lands under the domain of House Lannister, who they themselves had nearly been ruined by Queen Cersei Lannister. But, fate and the noble deeds of Tyrion Lannister that saved them from a fate that would probably have seen them stripped of their paramountcy and titles. His own house had hardly fared better, and only now was it hopefully starting to recover as well. War, war is hell and sees many a man and woman dead.

Lorimer turned and stalked from the room, his feet hitting the stone floor lightly as he made his way to the disused gardens that were once a shining beacon of the castle. He passed through rooms and hallways, some having been converted into billets for soldiers, others were storerooms, and others say full of half-forgotten furniture and items from times past. A heavy sigh emanated from Lorimer’s body, his gaze locking in on a sad looking patch of dead flowers, memories drifting back to bed time tales of the Golden Tooth before it was sieged, before it was sacked and burned. He turned away from the pale reminders of a better time, or at least a time when the gardens were maintained and looked after, and wandered further out into the gardens, towards the Western edge of the castle ground and the gardens themselves. It was here, where Lorimer spied two very beautiful things, one, that being his lovely wife Lady Myrielle, and two, the overgrown with ivy and plants fountain of his family’s crest. “Now, what do we have here? Such a lovely young lady, in my gardens, my, she must be up to no good. Announce yourself, my lady, who are you and what have you done with my heart, for surely it has been taken by your sorcery.” Lorimer said with a smile.

Myrielle slowly stood back from what she had been doing, looking towards her lordly husband, smiling happily as she sauntered over to him with the grace of a lioness herself. “My Lord Lorimer, your lordship, I am but your humble wife, do your eyes fail you already in the radiance of your beautiful wife? My, I must lament the loss of your sight, for now how will you be able to see the arduous work I am investing into the beautiful gardens of your ancestral home?” Lady Myrielle said in a loving tone, a toothy grin playing across her sensuous lips. Rolling her eyes, she covered the rest of the distance to leap into her husband’s arms, causing both to tumble to the overgrown grass behind Lorimer. She smiled, and laid many a kiss atop Lorimer’s head and even more upon his lips. Lorimer let loose a peel of joyous laughter, returning Myrielle’s kisses with earnest, as he lay back on the grass, allowing his wife’s hair to fall across his face and chest. Lorimer moved in to place another kiss upon Myrielle’s lips, but a lone finger connected to a dainty hand, with a smiling face looking back at him.

“Patience my love, patience. We will have plenty of time for kisses and rolling about the lawns and covers, but first, I want to show you something that I think will bring heart and spirit back to you. Now lets help you up my love.” Myrielle rose slowly up to her feet, with the help of Lorimer, and after she fixed her dress, she reached down to help Lorimer himself up. She smiled, and took Lorimer’s right hand, half dragging him back towards the fountain. Together, they knelt by the marble edge of the fountain, which was now apparent to Lorimer since Myrielle had begun cleaning and pruning the plants and debris away. She let out a childish peel of laughter, before stepping into the murky water, and dragging back a huge brace of vines, revealing a beautiful mosaic beneath. “ My love, it looks like a few things escaped destruction, and this is one of them. It’s old, but no less beautiful. I wanted you to see that some of your home still held the former beauty it always had… this is a piece of your history… and well… I wanted to tell you something else as well… my beloved Lord Lorimer.”

Lorimer stared in disbelief. The vines were pulled away to reveal a truly beautiful and unique mosaic of his family’s crest and more. It was crafted from precious gems, metals, and polished stones that were certainly old, perhaps one of the older parts of the castle itself. He couldn’t believe such a wonderful thing had survived the chaos of war, of the castle being sacked. He turned his gaze back to his wife, to his love, and responded in loving kind, “Our history my love… what is mine, is yours. You are my family now, we are joined together, Lefford and Lannister, a golden marriage to last the ages, my sweet Myrielle. This is our home, and one day, our children’s home. We will rebuild it together, and make it the way we both want it to be. You are a Lefford now, we shall take pride in our home and family my dear. Now… what is it that has your tongue tied, other than my own at times?” Lorimer said with a roguish grin and a loving tone.

Myrielle moved out of the fountain, from the murky water to the yellowed grass and dirt covered stone pathways. She smiled, looking at her husband as she took both his hands in hers, looking upwards at his dreamy eyes. In a fluid motion, she moved his hands to rest atop her belly, reaching up on her tippy toes to plant a kiss on his nose. She let him stand there, a look of perplexion across his face, before she spoke in earnest and love. “Well, my lovely husband, it has been a few weeks now, since the last time I bled my love. I am with our child my love… you are going to be a father.” Myrielle smiled, letting her husband process what she had told him. The poor man took a good few moments, before letting out a shout of joy and embracing his wife. They were going to be parents, he was going to be a dad. Myrielle smiled, she was going to be a mom, a parent, and above all, a part of a family.

Lady Cerenna Lefford, Private thoughts and worries

Cerenna sat in her room, or rather, laid atop her bed staring at the ceiling. She let out a sigh as she was left alone to her thoughts. Now that her brother was Lord of their ancestral home, The Golden Tooth, it did raise a certain troubling conundrum. While it probably wasn’t at the forefront of her brother’s mind, she would need to find a suitable marriage. She rolled onto her stomach, burying her head into the pillow, letting loose a small nervous laugh. “I am such a fool. If only fate would allow such things that the heart desires. Ser Aerion, he is the perfect man to be a wife to. But his path and my own are so different, not to mention my brother… he must think for our family now. Damn Aerion for being so bloody honorable. Just once… one time would be all I would wish for. By the Seven, look at me pining away, smitten over a man who I could never be with.”

Cerenna sat back up, and then leaned back against the wall which her bed resided against. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, nor something to really fret over. She let out a sigh, and focused on more pressing, or perhaps more realistic matters. She let her mind clear itself, forcing it from the wandering path to a more directed and controlled manner. Her brother was a good man, perhaps better than she gave him credit for. He would certainly let her have some say in who she married, furthermore, he would not just pick some match just for the sake of an alliance. Most likely Lorimer would pick a man close to her age, a knight at the very least, or a minor lord. She took a deep breath, and let it out. “Well, I better go bother Lorimer, and see what he has planned for the future for our family, and my fate.”

[Abefroeman]

The Stepstones Deception, from Pirates to Royal Soldiers, Fighting the Maiden’s Men
Ser Aerion and Lady Lyvia had enjoyed their dinner, along with chatting with some of the crew onboard the ship. The clam chowder was tasty, and after both Aerion and Lyvia had their fill, with a bit of convincing from Lyvia, Aerion shared the remainder of the pot with whoever wanted some. Together, the two went above decks, gathering with the rest of the crew to hear the plan of attack from the Crown Prince himself, Aemon Targaryen. The Crown Prince spoke his part, along with his other officers, namely Prince Viserys and Lady Visenya, both of who would be playing integral roles in the operation. The first part of the operation would call for a staged attack upon the Silver Serpent, involving primarily members of the royalist crew, and due to an earlier brawl at the brothel, fighting members of another pirate captain’s crew, who would no doubt be seeking retribution for their captain’s capture. Simple enough, and the crux of it all, was for Seran of Lys to play the role of the prisoner, but no mere prisoner, but the Crown Prince himself.

Aerion and Lyvia were delegated their specific duties, with their own set of orders to follow and see completed. ‘That explains why Seran was so quiet earlier…’ Aerion thought to himself, as Lyvia and himself made their way back to their post. Still, Aerion made his way over to say hello to Seran, and say a few things. << Lyseni bastard Valyrian, represented with >> “Seran, I promise not to take too much of your time. I wish you good luck and Godspeed, you are very brave in what you are volunteering to do. << ‘If there is anything I can do to help you, let me know my friend. Don’t feel like you are alone in this.’>> I will see you again once the operation is in full swing. Take care.” Aerion bowed his head politely to Seran, waiting for a response if there was one, before moving back towards his assigned position upon the Silver Serpent.

The shell game was to begin in an hour, the false “prince” was being dressed up in some of Crown Prince Aemon’s finery, while the rest of the crew prepared themselves for the coming skirmish, and resulting ambush to happen later at the Maiden’s Men base of operation. During that lull, Ser Aerion, surrounded by Lady Lyvia and two dozen or so fellow royalists, the question was brought up by a Dragon’s Tooth archer. “Ser Aerion, we’ve all noticed you don’t really like Ser Ellion… what’s up with your distaste for him. He is a nice guy, plus a fun person to drink and gamble with. He is also a knight like you, not to mention a competent swordsman… tell us, why do you not like the man?” This question was followed by a number of mumbled “Yes’s and Tell us.” Aerion set aside his sword that he was honing to a razor sharp edge, and spoke softly, as not to be heard outside of the circle of troops about him, or so he hoped. “I will leave it at this, he walks a path that brings dishonor to his name. If any of you are bastards, then you may understand. He’s a womanizer, a man whore. No other way to put it. No doubt some of you have heard the rumors about the man, but I for one find such actions unbecoming of a knight and the son of a noble lord. Call it a personal disgust for those who would risk bringing children into the world without regard for them or the women they slept with. Let us talk of happier things now, less personal matters, shall we?” Aerion finished, smiling disarmingly to those about him, before returning to sharpening his sword.

For the remaining hour, Aerion let the others talk, while he focused his mind and body for what was to come. His sword was sharp and ready, while his mind and was now at peace, prepared for the conflict that was sure to take the lives of both rebel and loyalist alike. Thus, the ship’s bell was sounded, and the first phase of the operation began. True to his word, Crown Prince Aemon had predicted the retaliatory strike of Goldbeard’s crew, the pirates swarming in to attack and try to seek revenge for their captain. The fight was brutal but short, the pirates soon falling back and fleeing once they realized the tide of battle had clearly turned against them. More than half of these men now lay unconscious, dead, or dying, but their defeat serving its purpose for Lady Visenya’s mission to gain the trust of the Captain of the Maiden’s Men. Aerion took a small cut to his right cheek, but other than that, he was unscathed. The same could not be said for the sailors and men-at-arms who lost their lives in the melee. All Aerion could do was pray that the Seven would watch over their souls and guide them on their next journey.

Aerion felt sorry for Seran, who was now bruised up and bloodied, having to look the part of a captive prince who put up a fight. He would certainly have a black eye, plus a swollen lip for a number of days, if not a few weeks. Both Aerion and Lyvia walked over to see Seran off, as well as Lady Visenya and Lord Bolton. “Seran, take care, and do your sister proud. Perhaps you can get lucky and earn a home for the both of you. Lady Visenya, I wish you luck and the protection of the Seven. We will be backing you up in the next battle, mayhaps our swords shall defend one another my lady. Good luck.” Aerion paused, and then looked to Lord Bolton, “I hope you find your brother Lord Bolton. Good luck.” Lady Lyvia spoke her part too, smiling at Seran and the others who would be going in under the guise of sellswords, “You all make sure not to take all the glory and fighting, some of us are itching to settle old debts.” Lyvia bowed her head, before backing away to rally up with Crown Prince Aermon’s party. Ser Aerion fancied one last look back, waving goodbye to Lady Visenya and Seran, before too making his way to Crown Prince Aemon.

The Crown Prince spoke to his attack party, briefing them all on the situation that they would be entering. Thanks in part to an inside contact, a woman named Layali, enemy troop numbers were known, with both the main entrance as well as a disused rear entrance that would serve as their means of breaching and attacking the enemy. The party upon entering the enemy hideout would be split in two, with Prince Rhaegar leading a party to the rear of the building and also searching for Arak Snow, bastard brother of Lord Bolton, while Prince Aemon himself would lead the assault onto the hideout from the front, where Lady Visenya would already be in position. The main part of the plan was to capture, or kill the leader of the Maiden’s Men. Aerion was curious about the necessity of outright killing everyone in there, as to him, they were sellswords, mercenaries, and not true rebels. They fought for money, not for king and realm. Hopefully, Aerion thought, they would offer surrender to their foes, and perhaps learn what they could from the living, rather than the dead.

Crown Prince Aemon finished all he had to say, wishing the troops good luck, before dismissing them from formation and ordering the go ahead to begin the operation. Ser Aerion and Lady Lyvia found themselves in the company assigned with Crown Prince Aemon, along with the likes of Lady Taria Greyjoy. Aerion himself had never really spoken with her aside from a hello or a polite nod, but seeing as the two were in close formation together as the party made its way to the Maiden’s Men hideout, Aerion decide to try and strike up some conversation with the young woman. “Lady Greyjoy, we’ve never been properly introduced, but now seems like a good of a time as any. I am Ser Aerion Goldfyre. It’s a pleasure to meet you, my lady. Seems like we are going to be marching into a tight and hectic fight. I wish you good luck and safety when we join combat. Myself and Lady Lyvia will be fighting together, if you wish to fight alongside us. No sense in rushing into combat by oneself.” Ser Aerion paused, as the party rounded a corner, drawing ever closer to their destination, then continued speaking in a friendly yet quiet tone. “Anyhow, I don’t doubt you know how to fight and look after yourself, but, we are all fighting for the same cause and crown, might as well team up, see what we can do together that might be difficult alone. If we make it through this, I’d be honored for you to join Lady Lyvia and myself for a victory feast, if time permits such. Take care Lady Greyjoy, may your Drowned God watch over you, and if you allow it, may the Seven look after you as well.” Aerion smiled at Lady Greyjoy, listening to what she had to say, if anything, before nodding his head and refocusing back to the mission, the party was almost to the hideout.

The loyalist forces rounded the final corner of the dilapidated rows of buildings, finding themselves staring at a far better maintained building, what looked to be a warehouse at one time, with a residence built atop it for whoever once owned it. From here, the party split in two, Crown Prince Aemon leading his troops to the front, and Prince Rhaegar taking his party to the rear. The building was fortified, but not impregnable. At long last, swords were drawn, arrows knocked, and spears readied, all in anticipation for the coming battle between sellswords and loyalists. Aerion and Lyvia followed the Crown Prince, who once in position, held his right hand aloft, then let it fall in a fast cutting motion, to which the Dragon’s Teeth archers fired their arrows, taking out the five guards who were moments ago guarding the front entrance. The men-at-arms rushed the door, finishing off any survivors, before preparing for the front door to be bashed down and allow the loyalists to swarm in. Aerion and Lyvia shared a looked with one another, clasped hands together in a show on camaraderie, before they too crossed the threshold into the hideout of the Maiden’s Men.

Things progressed quickly, with Crown Prince Aemon’s party spilling into the cavernous front room of the building, where a fight had already broken out between the Maiden’s Men and Lady Visenya’s party. The initial shock and surprise of the attack had worn off, only for it to be reignited with the arrival of Prince Rhaegar’s party, who cut down a few sellswords unawares. All around Aerion and Lyvia, the fighting began to disintegrate from an organized defense to a chaotic fight for both survival and escape for the sellswords. Aerion locked swords with a grizzled looking veteran sellsword, fighting him back for a few moments, before Lady Greyjoy cut the man down, and perhaps saving Aerion’s life. But there was little time for thanks, Aerion nodding quickly, before pressing the attack once more against another group of sellswords, whose numbers were slowly dwindling. Lady Lyvia cut down two men, before join Aerion at his left side, helping to drive back the wavering sellswords.

Aerion ended up finding himself alongside Lady Visenya as she fought two sellswords, to which he helped her defeat, giving the men clean deaths, before smiling at her and quickly saying a few words, “You look rather beautiful as a dashing pirate captain my lady… I can only wonder what you look like in a ball gown. Maybe one day I can be so lucky as to dance with you.” Aerion quickly dodged sideways, and was drawn away with combat, another sellsword trying to cut his way to freedom. Aerion lept backwards, the man driven back, searching for another way out, only for him to be cut down by Ser Malik Towers, clearing a path to the Captain of the Maiden’s Men for Ser Malik. From across the room, came a string of curses from Lord Bolton, which drew Aerion’s attention for a few moments. Lord Bolton was apparently drunk, due to his trouble trying to free his weapon from its scabbard. Perhaps by the Light of the Seven, Lord Bolton pulled his whole scabbard and sword free, blocking the sellsword’s attack, before being lost from sight in the melee.

Aerion took the moment of being unburdened from combat to take stock of the unfolding events. The sellswords had been pushed back into two shaky shield formations, each one barely holding back the tide of the loyalist forces that had surprised them. Those caught out in the open were either being cut down quickly, trying to fight their way to their comrades, or had thrown down their weapons in the hopes of surrender. The Captain of the Maiden’s Men herself had been cornered herself, with only two personal guards slightly behind her, her other retinue lying dead on the floor between her and Ser Malik and Ser Ellion. Aerion felt a pang of regret for this woman, as she stood there, nervously gripping her drawn sword. The fear on her eyes and face was visible for those that cared to look, her eyes dark and foreboding, while her blonde hair was starting to become undone from the fighting she had participated in. This felt wrong, just the wholesale slaughter of these mercenaries, of sellswords that Aerion himself had once been, only a few months ago.

Perhaps it was the Father’s guiding hand, or that of the Mother, but Aerion felt the internal presence of both mercy and justice at the same time, and quickly darted across the room to stand shoulder to shoulder with both Ser Malik and Ser Ellion. Aerion spoke quickly and pleadingly to the two fellow knights, “Ser Malik, Ser Ellion, pray by the Seven, and stay your hands, if only for a moment. You both are anointed knights, sworn to the same vows, the same beliefs and tenants, stay your hands and offer mercy to these sellswords. Give them a chance to surrender, to yield honorably rather than they be cut down. Allow me to ask for their surrender, for her surrender.” Aerion hoped that these two knights would at least delay their intentions to cut down their enemy, for Ser Ellion to look past Ser Aerion’s disdain for him, for them to just listen, yet if they did not, Aerion still spoke the next part, loud and clear, no malice, no anger, a tone of polite but firm intent.

“Captain, your men have fought honorably, as have you, but you cannot win this fight. Spare the bloodshed, for your men and our own, and yield. There is no sense in dying for some money and coin, for the rebel side. You are a sellsword, a professional soldier for hire. You can see this is a lost cause, a battle you need not die for. I may not know you, nor you know me, but I swear to you, even if you have your doubts and reservations, that by my vows as a knight, my time as a former sellsword, that should you yield, should you surrender honorably, no harm will come to you or your men. Please, my lady Captain, save yourself and the Maiden’s Men for another fight, and another time. Yield, and live another day. I swear it to you, no harm will come to you, or by the Seven, I will avenge any injustice done here today. Captain, you are not a rebel, and should not face the punishment of a rebel, lay down your arms, and tell your men to do the same… or, should you wish to fight and die, I will pray for your soul and give you your last rites.” With that, Aerion had said all he wished to, and hoped that his fellow loyalists would hold back long enough to receive an answer, and that the Maiden’s Men and their captain would yield.

[Greenie]

Here we go again. Taria had decided to follow Aemon's group, her sword drawn as they entered. Once again she was at awe of the rest of the fighters. They all looked like scumbags at the moments; how were they able to differentiate from ally to enemy?

She'd had half a mind of staying behind, perhaps returning to the ship, one fight being enough for the day. However, it had not seem quite the Greyjoy thing to do, and besides that, she didn't want to be labeled the coward who stayed behind, especially when she had no injuries, unlike Ellion. Not just that, she did owe Arak for saving her life all those days back on the ship during the pirate attack. This was a lost battle for the pirates anyway; the least she could do was show her face there, sword in hand, even if it didn't exactly gut anyone... right?

Those weren't the sole reasons she had come along though. Her thoughts returned to a little while earlier, when Ser Aerion Goldfyre had spoken to her. It had been the first time they had actually had a proper conversation; she put herself at fault for that, being the loner wallflower type. In any case, remembering his words caused the doubt filled thoughts in her mind to absolve. These people here, her comrades... they believed she could fight and they were willing to fight beside her.

Lady Greyjoy... Perhaps it was that title that spur her on even more. There was pride in a name but there was burden as well, just like her father had told her, yet he and her Aunt Asha had lived up to their name. Be it a fight on a ship, in a field, against soldiers or pirates, they had upheld the Greyjoy name, and the Drowned God had kept them safe and protected.

She had accepted Aerion's kind words with a thanks, bowing her head slightly as she had listened to the rest of what he had to say. She had also decided that it'd do best to fight with two skilled fighters by her side rather than skulking in the corners.

Hands gripping her sword tightly, she too had jumped into the fray. Once more the battle fever came upon the Greyjoy, a smile on her face as she realized she was indeed better than she thought. Not as good as her companions by any means, but unless the Drowned God forsook her, she would not be dying today. At one point she caught sight of Ser Aerion in a fight with a rather skilled sword wielding opponent. She cussed under her breath; it seemed the other man was getting the better of her comrade. Filled with resolve, she rushed forward, plunging her sword into his side.

From there onward, things were a blur as Taria turned from one enemy to the next, a slight grin on her face as she cut down her foe. Perhaps the Ironborn blood in her veins was coming to life after a lifetime of purposefully keeping away from conflict. Her hand stilled, however, when she heard the knight speak, calling for them to allowed the pirates and mercenaries to surrender. She wasn't sure if she agreed with such action. These people were the same sort who wouldn't spare a woman or child if it meant coin. More often than not, mercy simply meant scum like those being asked to yield would return to their misdeeds.

Still, Taria remained silent. Even if she was legitimized now, she did not believe she had a say in such matters.

[AtomicNut]

Highgarden (with @kingkonrad)

Highgarden, Or as a certain person he knew, that lair of those rosy-farted bastards. As much as he found the description... rather catchy, the young man dared not to ever mention that in public. In a world as shifting as this, the wrong spin on someone's words could ruin your plans, much very like a dagger in one's own entrails. It was still a beatiful place, worthy of someone who claimed relationship to the Gardeners.

Well, there was the old matter that his own house -too- claimed such ancestry, and from a closer link. Such was the Florent reason to ironically, be a thorn at times to a house reputed by them. However, many things had changed since the war, and right now, the country was once again trembling.

He was glad he wasn't. If he had shown to be a weak heir, no doubt the japes would revive the fires of old vendettas amidst the two houses. But here he was, in his most presentable regalia. Yesterday's heir... today the Lord of Brightwater. Alester Florent. He ruffled his cape once more, as he waited for the guards to announce his presence to his liege.

Highgarden was a beautiful castle to arrive to, the rose-lined avenues and even the lower parts of the mount that it sat on were clean, tidy, not sprawling like King's Landing. Traders were spaced and carefully placed, almost as if there was order yet the greenery surrounded the whole place. Vines and flower beds lay everywhere, and it never felt too claustrophobic. This was an organized garden, a garden of traders, soldiers and rulers.

That one was Merlin Tyrell, Steward of the Reach, the Heir to the Kingdom. And standing with his bird, Scarlet on his shoulder, he could take in the sight of the convoy that was Lord Alester Florent. Merlin was a stout man, not fat by any standard, he was tall yet stern, but no fighter or warrior. Letting Scarlet fly from his reach, he headed to the gates, hearing the clacking of hooves head towards the inner keep. Alekayne's death had been informed to him, and meeting Alester was interesting.

The gate rose, as the convoy entered, as per Merlin's instruction.
"My Lord. It's Lord Alester Florent, Lord of Brightwater Keep, here to see you." One of the Tyrell guards said, looking across to Merlin.

Alester's gaze squinted for a bit, his factions scrutinizing the Tyrell from afar, as he unseated from his horse, his arms crosed as he eyed the perspective of the gardens for a brief seconds, before his eyes wandered to the Rose Steward. He let out a tired smiled as he begun to talk, his voice somewhat soft but gaining in volume as the words went by.

"Lord Merlin. Well met." Alester added. "It feels like a fine day to do politics, do you not think so?" He finished as he waited the Tyrell's response.

Merlin walked up to Alester, offering a hand.
"Likewise, Lord Alester. It is good to meet you at last. Condolences for your father's passing. Alekyne was a formidable man, and it is sad to hear of his passing." Merlin replied, Alester a little younger than himself, yet the new heir of the Lordship that he now ruled. And Merlin wanted this to be a fresh start, or at least, a new chapter in some relation. That said though, there was far more than just that to discuss. Politics never was simple, and he knew not all Alester or himmelf were looking for would be resolved today.

"Formidable." Alester repeated, a hint of bittereness on his voice. "It is a nice way to put it." He added, cutting himself short of adding an untimely retort, as he eyed the Tyrell. "Some among us would disagree." He put it mildly. "It is never easy to be the heir and hearing of one's father's demise. You don't even have time to miss nor mourn, for ruling your own lands waits for no one." He finished. "Rest assured though, that I do not intend to unravel what he did. After all, I am but what remains of himself in this world." He finished as he shook Merlin's hand somberly.

"I suppose that you could offer some privacy and refreshments, as well as a little of your time, m'lord. The state of the Reach...could benefit from I might be about to say." He finished.

"I am open to hearing it, Lord Alester. Highgarden has quarters for just that purpose. No need for grandeur. I assume neither of us is interested right now." Merlin simply retorted, as he turned, noting for him to walk alongside. The guards flanked but stayed far, knowing they didn't need to pry.
"I suggest we get some Arbor brought to us and discuss matters then. I didn't just ask for you to come here for a few administrative purposes. The Reach itself does suffer a great number of issues. The peasants are happy and see us as chivalric, noble and careful entities. But we have to protect them from the horrors of the world. Or else it will not end well." He added, as they walked in towards the Keep, and in particular, towards a set of stairs. He wanted Alester to follow him to a small quarter, a meeting room of sorts, one that did not befit that was located higher up in one of the keep's towers.

"Just a second." Alester raised one of his hands, before heading for his horse, and taking a large bound book, similar to what Maesters used to carry anytime. "A book of parchments. It'll help." He curtly added, as he clutched the device close to his chest, before heading after Merlin Tyrell, with swift, graceful steps. He walked alongside Merlin.

"Horrors... well, if only things were that easy. Horrors can be slain. But not all our problems." He replied as he entered the small quarter. "Please drop the formalities and call me Les. It's much faster to talk this way. We both know I am lord of Brightwater." He eyed his surroundings, ensuring he was in private.

Merlin nodded, knowing he had his own quill and parchment already up at the room. Taking a seat, he chuckled hearing what Alester had to say, nodding approvingly. It was an easier way to adress him, after all, Merlin sighing as he sat up.
"That you are then, Les. So, I have a few things to adress with you. Firstly, all this business with being here, if you want to stay, I'm willing to offer you a position as an adviser, to me. I need allies in my Kingdom, not those who allay to something else. As with anything in the past, I am not concerned with squabbles between families, especially ours. Garlan is, I'm not. I do things by the numbers and in order, and you seem like you already fit that image." Merlin said, as he poured some of the wine for Alester, then himself, from the same jug before taking a sip.

Alester took his cup as he opened the book, carefully examining the pages. He swirled his cup a few times, before taking a sip. "I am frankly disappointed, m'lord. I was expecting more reticence and doubting from a Tyrell. And I had come with my book of parchments full of rethorics to mollify even Garlan." He added. "But i actually prefer this way, in a sense. I'll be frank. My father drained his own life, teaching me that ruling also meant to built and repair, not just swing your sword and say a couple of spirited words." He paused. "Much needs to be done, though... we went from war to war... and another is looming." He added.

"Plus there's the whole Gardener thing. Us Florents also have a claim of the house Gardener, and those rumours hurt us as much as you Tyrells." He said, while alternating his eyes besides the entries of the book and Merlin. "And now you claim you need advisers because you're shortstaffed." He shook his head. "I'd rather fight a dragon than rule Brightwater at this point, but can't be helped." He said, sipping half of the cup in one go.

Merlin looked on, a single chuckle leaving his lips as he heard what he had to say. Interesting view, that Lord had, he thought to himself.
"They'll want to take Brightwater Keep too....so you're here then. That makes us common in our understanding. And as for fighting dragons....I think the last people who did wouldn't say it's an experience to be repeated." Merlin quipped wisely, as he drank the wine slow and sure.

"Rhetoric isn't needed. I need action. I'm sitting in this castle watching as these horrors overwhelm. The Iron Throne sent the Knight Inquisitor here. And I thought those fools in the Vale had it bad....it's a devolved network, Alester. And all kinds of arkane madness. Not the sort that can be found and easily destroyed." He sighed, drinking a little more.
"Whatever claims it may be, for our sakes and the commoners, we must stop this. Our armies and navies are at work, in the mountains of Dorne and the seas of the Stepstone. But here at home is something far deeper that wants us gone. That cannot be allowed to happen." Merlin added, his hand a fist around his goblet, as he looked across to Alester.

"This is no war our fathers ever imagined."

"Alekyne did. He knew the ghost of war would eventually come back." Alester replied. "He gave me some groundwork, and thankfully, I could make use of it. This last year before his death, I picked up the lack of slack because he was so drained he could not even decide for himself." Alester added, as he flicked through the parchments. "The good news about the Reach is that our fields are relatively unscathed by war, so famine won't happen anytime soon. I've also commited a lot of men with Garlan and the second best sword of the Florents with him. Our venture with er... the wrong faction also filled the numbers of House Florent with Blood of the First Men and Fire Priests, useful for battling magic, in their own way." He added. "But I intend to make something that will free up a lot of resources from both our houses."

He paused.

"I'm calling the feud off." Alester added. "And I'll make it stick."

Merlin nodded, listening to it.
"That would help us out a little. Shall we not worry about it." Merlin added with a wry writ, as he sipped a little wine, putting it down as he brought up his parchment, the scribbles he'd put down earlier something that brought what Alester had just brought up.

"Aye, they're safe. Harvest will come in and we'll have a good crop. I administer things with no check left untouched. My father personally invited a man from the Iron Bank to tutor me in matters of finance when I was little, and I never forgot how money is spent. I was a reckless little shit when I was young, fucking and drinking...but it did stick with me well. My father is also simularly when he knows who pays what to the coffers our Kingdom, and in turn, the Iron Throne." Merlin retorted, a little beyond his usual gregaorious approach, that of a fiscal calculator that kept in mind concerns of state, as well as people.

If he wasn't a fighter, or entirely a great, conquerering Lord of some kind, he was someone who kept things ticking over. Evelyn, or Eve on the other hand, was good at the rest. At cultvating, and running the things that Merlin could not. And she was tremendous at it, a mother and a Lady who guiled the local politics far better than sometimes Merlin did. Yet Merlin was comfortable here, discussing terms and knew that it was simple to put these particular issues on the table.

"As for those Priests and.....men, that would be useful. They can be turned to perhaps hunt for us. Bounties can be provided, to those who can help. Where our men cannot go, they may perhaps be able, and rewarded in kind for their efforts."

"I know what you mean. I may need to hire someone to dedicate his undivided attention on the finances. It was fine ruling them when there was a surplus in these past years, but with so many armies running around eating up resources, we might need to consider loans and bonds again."Alester sighed, as he scrolled through the parchments. "Well, as they say, magic is a sword without a hilt. There's no safe way of grasping it. I would use them judiciously. They're fanatics, more than the Sparrows. And if you embolden them too much... Well. Suffice to say that i'm glad a lot of them are in Dorne in Garlan's campaign. I might need to recall a few, but I dare not, that campaign is hard. Hmm..." He pondered as he scrolled through the parchments, eyeing up facts and numbers.

"Tell me, m'lord. How does one get rid of a bad weed?". He asked curiously.

"You pull up the entirety of it. You rip it out, spray not only poison onto it's leaves, but take it from the root and burn it." Merlin retorted, as he sat up, the Tyrell fully aware.
"I don't intend to go as far as burning these men. But for commoners, they want justice, and to be safe. I love the people that I serve, and they love their ruling family. So we will rid it of that evil."

"Evil is a too strong word, m'lord. In their eyes, they're the good ones. However, even a diffuse network needs to sap nutrients from roots. You've guessed as much, smallfolk couldn't possibly be concerned this much with whose banner rules as long as he is fair. There are some backers, wealthy and educated." Alester added. "And as such, it's probably that several of them have their vices and frustrations. And when a man is frustrated he turns to this". He pointed at the jug. "Or houses of ill repute." He added.

"Did you know that bards and prostitutes make excellent spies?" Alester mumbled as he kept checking his parchments.

"Tax collectors are easier at that, in my experience. My sister, or my wife however...they would be curious to listen to that. I do not pay much to intrigue. But when a Kingdom is threatened with usurpers, I make a note." Merlin mused, as he finished checking his own, sighing.

"And whatever they may hide, we will find. Wealthy or not. They will not affect a house that has ruled this land for the last three hundred years....or yours, for that matter. Perhaps I will treat them with mercy, but if the smallfolk know we do not punish, what kinds of Lords are we?" Merlin added, knowing it was a fair judgement, a reasonable thing to say.

"Maybe it's a matter of smallfolk knowing. If everyone was well-educated, I am sure usurpers would be ousted out by their peers for the sake of peace. But that dream is just that. We don't have enough money or time to make everyone cultured." Alester said, as he checked the record. "I shall think on my own ways to contribute, but the matter at hand is that since both our houses are threatened in their legitimacy we have to fortify the bonds. That is why I wish to call off our differences." Alester pondered.

"What started with blood, it shall end with blood. That is my idea." Alester added. "But not of blood spilled, as we would repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. I am speaking of mixing blood." Alester smirked as he made a sign twirling both his index fingers around eachother. "I am currently unmarried. And you have sisters. Would not that be an ellegant solution for both sides?"

Merlin listened carefully, and nodded, hearing what he had to say.
"Alerie has her own machinations. Trying to tame her would be difficult, even when she comes back from King's Landing. She chooses who she pleases. My youngest, Alys, however....she's a girl, Les. She knows the prospect of being married shall happen, someday. But for me to approve is one thing, for my father, brother and Alerie to do so, is another. Us Tyrells value our petals very much. And whilst we may look to climb the ladder or help others, we do so carefully. I saw something in Eve that no part of me regrets, the firstborn daughter of Lord Beesbury. If I recall, your neighbors, actually." Merlin said, as he knew better how to reply to it, perhaps.

"Alys knows she'll marry someday. And whilst I'd support it, to better tie our houses, I'm afraid I've only known you for the best part of a few minutes. So I would suggest a betrothal, or a weak suggestion of marriage when Alys is older and ready to be a suitable Lady of Brightwater, rather than throwing her so fast too young, but that would be subject to scrutiny from my house, and yours. Blood to be tied requires far more than just mere words and courage. Both parties must know what will come of things, and know it's the right thing to do. Irrespective of just politics alone....I want the best for my sister. You can understand that, at least. For your sake, too." Merlin mused, letting Alester draw his conclusion.

"You're a proper brother. Nobody would like his sister being used as sacrifice in a blood pact for a political peace." Alester stated bluntly. "I never said my suggestion would be easy. Resistance and scrutiny would be at every corner. But i do think it would be worth trying." Alester added as he set his goblet aside and began closing the parchment. "I will entrust you a little secret, so you may know me better. Where I hid the first sword of the Florents. Just because you're a reasonable man." Alester added as he packed up.

Merlin nodded at the gesture, a wry smile on his face.
"All things are. But it is a lot to consider. A lot on my plate. You strike me as the kind of man who isn't rash in his decisions. Who thinks and takes time, who calculates his moves but acts swiftly when he has to." Merlin stood, as he looked out the window, then back at Alester.
"Feel free to stay in Highgarden, even if the journey home is short. We will get you some quarters to stay the night, as well as for your men. It appears to me that you're perhaps of far greater capacity than I previously thought of yourself, Alester. Able to see this new world for what it is."

Alester smirked upon hearing the reply. "Well, I do admit I may have pushed a lot of the agenda in such a short notice, so feel free to ponder. However m'lord I must warn that if you want me to stay tonight, I might need to impose on you for a female lady's quarters. My sister really wanted to see his elder brother performing his lordly act, you see." Alester chuckled at the thought, some levity was perhaps needed. "And as liege lord you're entitled to know what I am fully capable of. But I do not like to attract the wrong sort of attention." The Florent added, as he grabbed the book. "Even if I'm the best sword of my House."

"Best sword of your house, amongst many great swords. A talent I neglect myself. My brother would happily take you up on that, and his reputation I hope preludes him. Feel free to spar with the Master of Arms we have here, but I'm afraid that is the best we have, given the recent campaigns to the Stepstones and Dorne. The best fighting men are leaders too, and they're out there doing what they do. I believe Garlan was working with Merrell, if I recall. As for those quarters, we can accomodate for those too."

"I would wish nothing but to be an errant knight in search of challenges and love, but..." He tapped his book of ledgers. "This is the role I was entrusted. My sword has to carry justice, not win tournaments. We should be thankful for that because If i had not been the Lord, I would have been in either of those now. As it might be, I might just end up reinforcing these aswell at some point." He admitted bitterly. "I will tell the little kit. Just be aware, she likens herself to be the most audacious 10 year old explorer."

Merlin chuckled, upon hearing that.
"I know it with my own sons and daughter. Little rascals, but it gives them their spirit and kindness. So long as they live and learn, they'll come out well." He picked up the goblet and finished the rest, putting it down with a clink on the marble table.
"So do I, Alester. Welcome to being a Lord. We look after the world, and serve not only our families, but the people we have living."

"I want a throne of fox fur. Iron throne's taken, unfortunately." Alester smirked as he nodded in thanks, picking his book, before opening the door and deferring to Lord Merlin to exit the room.

[Applo]

The Eel’s sails flapped gently in wind the as it made it slowly made it's way along the Bloodstone coast. It had been a short while since the little craft had passed the island's main harbour and now Tamsyn was looking for the little cove that she used as a mooring whenever she visited the island. It was a near perfect little spot for Tamsyn’s needs, close enough to the town that she wouldn't have to spend all night walking back and forth but secluded enough that no one would stumble across it.

The only problem was even when you knew what to look for it was damn’d hard to spot from the sea, a task not made any easier by the layer of clouds that blocked out most of the moon’s light. A couple of times Tamsyn thought she had found her destination only to change her mind once she had looped back around to have a second look. On the third attempt a slight gap in the clouds illuminated the rock face enough for Tamsyn to be sure that the inlet she was looking at was the right one, and after a moment's private celebration she pushed on the tiller and gently nosed The Eel into it’s private little mooring.

It was near two hours later before Tamsyn reached the outskirts of the port and began making her way to the tavern where she would meet her contact. Unloading cargo and this cargo in particular was pretty much the only time she regretted sailing on her own. Getting the boxes of castle forged weapons ashore and stashing them in a suitable cave had left her sweaty and sore and that was before she’d even begun to tread the long winding path that lead to Devil’s Rest.

Had Tamsyn been meeting a different buyer she would have left the cargo aboard the The Eel but she preferred to keep the pirate cutthroats and rebels that were her buyers tonight away from her home. The life of a smuggler wasn't exactly one overflowing with virtue, honour or particularly nice people but the Scorpions and their associates were the type vicious backstabbing arseholes that she would’ve normally avoided like the grey plague if they weren't paying over twice what she could make selling to anyone else. Even with the prospect of a heavy purse, Tamsyn had to push aside a wave of doubt as she approached the tavern where she would meet her contact. the drinks here were good at least.

The thing that struck Tamsyn as she pushed open the door was how calm the place was. The previous times she’d visited the tavern, the building had hummed with drunken debauchery, now apart from a handful drunks in varying stages of consciousness and the occasional serving girl the place was strangely subdued. Taking a seat where she could watch the door Tamsyn unhooked the sword she’d brought with her as proof of her cargo, placing it on the table and waved for a drink, exchanging a few pleasantries with the waif that brought it before sending the girl on her way with a generous tip. Tamsyn’s business here meant she could afford a little generosity and the thought of what the poor wretch had to do in this place made her skin crawl.

When the seat across from her was still unoccupied by the time she finished her drink Tamsyn kicked her feet up onto the chair, waved for another drink, and settled down to wait; clearly she was going to be here a while. Bloody pirates.

[MrDidact]

King's Landing

Tom smiled at his love, his smile positively leonine as he sketched out what he wanted out of their future. He held her hand, caressing her skin with his fingers and said, "Even if he says no, we shall elope and marry anyway. It wouldn't be the first time a Lannister has done so, and he would accept it in time. But it won't have to come to that." He ran his other hand over Alerie's soft stomach, thinking about the child that they might have. He rested his head back on the pillows, "The Targaryen cause is our cause, I must remind you. My sister will be Queen. My future nephew will be the future king. I will never see harm done to the royal family. But as long as we must hitch our horse to the dragon, it should be of profit to us."

"I will be Hand of the King. That is my desire, as my father and grandfather were before me. Doubtless the other dragon princelings will desire such honor for themselves, but it is I who will be my brother-in-law's right hand. And with you by my side, both of our lands will prosper. Your brother will be Warden of the South, I will be Warden of the West. Together, we should build the Golden Fleet of Lannisport and the rose fleets of the Reach into true naval powerhouses. Our armies will be the envy of even the Knights of the Vale. I will build a Gold Bank to finally wrest our country away under the thumb of the Braavosi, I shall raise cities and build a sept to rival the Starry Sept or the Great Sept. And I will make it my mission to wrest the chaotic forces of magic under our control and use them to our advantage. The crown has their dragons and their sorcerers, it is time for our families to have an edge as well. All this and more I envision for our reign. Once I am Hand, I have designs for this kingdom. Aemon is a strong man, he will be a good king. But he is not an ambitious man. I can urge him onto heights that will endure through time immemorial. And with you by my side, it shall all be done."

In that moment Tom subtly began to transform, his youthful voice gaining in firmness and conviction as the charming and chivalrous young man began to transform into the man he was destined to be. A man of boundless ambition and iron will. A man with the blood of the wolf and the lion. Someone bound for either greatness or infamy.

-

After she returned to her room, Cathay heard another knock on the door. A note was slipped under the door. If Cathay opened the door, she would have seen nothing but an empty hallway. The note said, "Meet in the dungeons, where the skulls of the dragons were once kept. We must discuss the matter of the babe. Come at sundown. Come alone." There was no insignia or markings to distinguish who the note came from, but the message had been written in an elegant, somewhat feminine hand. It was likely that the note came from the Mistress of Whispers, and that Arya Stark desired a private meeting free from prying ears. The knowledge Cathay held was dangerous and probably not the kind that Arya would have trusted to a messenger or a note. But there was no way to be sure completely. Cathay needed to decide if the potential rewards of giving over the information to Arya were worth the risks if the sender turned out to be some other party, even the Celtigars, who might have heard that Cathay Whitehoof had been selected as the crown's agent. She had a choice to make.

The Golden Tooth

Ser Martyn smiled back at Lord Lorimer, inclining his head with more respect than he had had for Lorimer moments before, taking his hand in a firm handshake, "You honor me, my lord. I shall do as you command. Five and seventy of my best swords, and we will put these bandits in either chains or graves. Then we can focus on these red lions. Good fortune, Lord Lorimer. The seven be with you." Martyn nodded at Lorimer and took his leave.

Shortly later, Martyn strolled down from his own chambers, his golden helm held under one arm and his crimson and gold cloak flowing from his the roaring lions of his shoulder plates. The armor of the Gold Knights was not like most Westerosi plate, instead evoking much more exotic, even eastern images with the design of the plating. But it was magnificent all the same and it was in this armor that he crossed paths with Lady Cerenna Lefford.

Ser Martyn favored Cerenna with the famous Lannister smile and bowed his head, taking Cerenna's hand and kissing it, "My lady. We have not properly met. I am Ser Martyn Lannister, son of Ser Kevan, Knight-Captain of the Golden Knights. You must be Lord Lorimer's sister. Charmed." Ser Martyn, stood up again, "It is a great shame, I must to the field before we were properly acquainted. Perhaps once I return, and we toast our victory, we shall see each other again? I hope so, for it would be rank cruelty to never behold beauty such as yours again."

It was difficult to tell whether Martyn was sincere in his flirtation or whether it was the chivalrous compliment of a knight and highborn lordling, but he was charming and comely all the same and only a few years older than Cerenna. Martyn smiled once more, "Alas, I must leave, but before I go. I ask for the lady's favor. We may not know each other well, but the favor of a beautiful woman always bodes well for a man who must fight. I humbly ask this boon of you, to grant me luck in the battles to come. And I would henceforth vow to bring you back a gift worthy of your beauty. Will you grant me this, my lady?"

Whether or not she accepted, Martyn favored her with another bow and another smile, and a pleasant farewell before taking his leave, walking away with his head high. Moments later, six and seventy men rode out from the Golden Tooth, flying the sun and gold of House Lefford, the golden lion of House Lannister, and the golden crossed swords of the Gold Knights on their banners. With Ser Martyn Lannister at their lead, the bandits and outlaws infesting the land had their days numbered.

Later that day as the rest of the castle readied to feast in celebration of the homecoming of House Lefford, more guests arrived. It was a score of men, nothing more, not nearly enough to stage even a small attack on the formidable fortress. They flew the hog banner of House Vikary, a house of landed knights sworn to Casterly Rock and House Lannister. One of the men rode ahead, and called out to the gate, "Let Lorimer of House Lefford, Lord of the Golden Tooth know that Ser Leon of House Vikary has arrived to celebrate the return of his home and his marriage to Lady Myrielle of House Lannister. House Vikary have been long friends of both House Lannister and House Lefford, and it is our wish to renew this friendship and break bread with you and yours. The Westerlands are not as safe as they once were, and we also desire a night's rest free of the threat of bandits and monsters. Ser Leon and all members of his party will also pledge their word of honor to abide by the laws of guest right and will surrender our weapons to you, should you suspect some bandit trick. What say you?"

-

Highgarden

Similarly, as the Florents and Tyrells readied for the night, they received another visitor. Fifty men rode to Highgarden from a recently arrived river ferry, bearing the royal dragon banner in addition to the golden scales of the Knights Inquisitor as well as the wolf banner, the lion banner, and all manner of other knightly devices. They were lead by a tall figure with the golden scales emblazoned on his shoulder, opposite the white bow of House Glenmore, one of the few northern houses with close ties to both the Tyrells and the Starks.

The knight wore gilded armor of a copper sheen and a bow strapped to his back. Ser Arthur Glenmore, a lean youth of twenty years with a strong jaw, piercing blue eyes, and bright brown hair was allowed in the gates of Highgarden, and as his men had their horses seen to, he sought out the young lords Alester and Merlin immediately. Arthur bowed to both of the men and said, "I do not think you would know me, my lord Merlin, but the Glenmores have been friends of the Tyrells for generations. Lady Sansa thought it appropriate to send a northerner with such ties to work with House Tyrell to see to the threats to your control of the region. I humbly ask for lodgings for my men, and our request that we may join you for supper to discuss what your lordship would wish to be done. I may a Knight Inquisitor, but I was told to defer to your lordship in this matter and to simply lead the men in direct action and coordinate with you." Arthur nodded at the Florent lord as well, "King Jon sends his regards and his condolences on the death of your father, and thanks you for your contribution to the war effort in the Red Mountains. He has high hopes that House Florent will continue to be a friend of the crown, as it was under your father's leadership."

Pleasantries accounted for, Ser Arthur said, "Shall I see you at dinner, my lords?"

-

The Red Mountains

Ned Dayne did the impossible. On his white horse, he managed to lead the vanguard in an orderly withdrawal, holding the rear with a company of men as the troops fell back into line. Many troops were trampled under monsters or sliced with evil blades, or else burned by spellfire or picked up shrieking by a ravenous giant vulture. But still Ned Dayne held, and allowed his men to retreat, killing every creature and demon that crossed swords with him. Dawn shone with starlight as it crossed with the monstrous swords and while many royalists died, the greater part of the vanguard managed to withdraw behind the spear and shield line. Ned deflected a black arrow with the sword and was the last to withdraw behind the line, though he slumped from his mount, cursing the wound he had received to his shoulder. Ronnet's griffons continued to clash with the vultures overhead and the Rhoynish Water Mages scrambled to erect a vaporous water shield that blocked the spellflame from falling on the army, as the Fire Priests readied to fire back with their own salvo and the young Dondarrion knight cracked his fists, purple lightning beginning to spark along his sword and the air around him.

The shield stopped the fire, but the monsters were able to advance, crashing against the shield wall that the royalists had hastily erected. The advance had been completely stalled and soon Ronnet's scouts were forced to withdraw behind the shield as well, the Vultures circling the watery dome as the creatures below tried to overwhelm the royal army. A few men were beginning to succumb, falling to the stings of a giant scorpion or the teeth of a manticore, or any number of grisly fates. The line held, but for how much longer, it was uncertain. Garlan had to make a choice on how to proceed and quickly.

-

The loyalists surged through the gate that Uther had opened clashing blades with the Vulture garrison and allowing the men on the ladders and grapples to ascend the walls and fight on the battlements. Soon scores of men began streaming into the castle. Ser Andrew led them, followed by the young Alchemist with his sword flaming with green fire. Uther saw one of the Vulture Knights retrieve a small cruelly curved knife and grab one of his own comrades by the hair, the man serenely sat still as the blade drew across his neck, blood bursting onto the ground. As one Vulture died, the other yelled in agony to the heavens, twisting and contorting as his limbs grew, his skin grew red, and horns and a forked tail sprouted from his body. The demon had claws as sharp as daggers and just as long, and a mouth full of razor sharp teeth. One of the royalists gawped in terror and surprise as the demon crunched its jaws around his neck and ripped his head off, his comrade following in death as the former Vulture swiped its claws and spilled the man's guts to the floor. Another tried to run, before the forked tail wrapped around his throat and cracked his neck swiftly. The demon howled in fury and bloodlust, bat wings unfurling from its back as it lifted its fiery yellow eyes to Uther and leaped at him from across the courtyard, flying at him with murder on its mind.

-

Bloodstone

Arak was soon discovered by Rhaegar and his men, who hurriedly formed a shield around the man and tried to bring him to safety. When it became clear that he would not be deterred from combat however, they joined him and hit the Maiden's Men from the other side as their compatriots made their forward assault. The sellswords were no match for the skilled fighters that the loyalist company boasted. Perhaps a handful of their men went down in the fighting, but ten Maiden's Men were killed or maimed for every man lost. Eventually however, seeing Aerion's attempt to de-escalate the confrontation, Aemon raised his hand to stay the blades of his teammates.

Aerion's words rang clear and convincing, and looking upon the blood of her dead men and how she was surrounded on all sides, the Big Cap relented. She dropped her sword in defeat and soon the rest of her men followed, "Aye. You've beaten us." Aemon stepped forward, bloody sword in hand and her eyes widened in fear. Aemon had killed many pirates as the Prince of Dragonstone and Blackfyre had tasted the blood of dozens of captains before her. Aemon said, "Fear not. I will abide by my man's vow. You will not die. But if you wish to avoid a cell, you have a choice. Bend the knee and enter the service of the Iron Throne, or spend the rest of your life in captivity. I can think of no worse fate for one who loves the sea."

Big Cap gave it a moment's thought and nodded. She took off her cap, revealing her golden hair bound under her red bandanna, and bent the knee, her men doing the same. Big Cap, swallowed her pride and said, "What would you have us do, my prince?" Just a hint of sarcasm on the honorific. Aemon ignored it and said, "You will give us whatever information you have on the Scorpions. Starting with the purpose of this meeting at Blackguard Bay."

The mercenary captain nodded and said, "The Scorpion managed to get every pirate and corsair you haven't killed or press-ganged already to join him. Along with mercenaries from the Free Cities, Dragon's Bay, and the Basilisk Isles. They have hundreds of ships, thousands of men, they've been avoiding your dragons. And they're planning some kind of assault on Aurane Velaryon. I don't know the details, they were to be revealed at a summit of all the captains at Blackguard Bay."

Aemon nodded, "That'll do for now. And you can be our ticket there. We'll take you to Blackguard Bay and you'll help a few of us infiltrate this meeting. You can sail on your own ship, with your own men. But with my ship accompanying you, and a team of my men watching you on your ship. We leave in the morning. You're Kingsmen now. After the war is won, I'll see you are compensated for your efforts. Do we have an accord?"

Big Cap stared at Aemon, who stared right back. Finally, she sighed and said, "Yes, we do."

"Good. Visenya, gather your little tavern friend and her friend, we'll take them with us as promised. I need volunteers to watch the Maiden's Men on their ship. Gather supplies, gold, and weapons. Then get some rest, we leave in the morning."

As he turned, Big Cap said, "One more bit of information that may be immediately useful to you."

Aemon turned back, "Go ahead."

"We were to meet a smuggler at the tavern. She would supply us with castle forged steel and other equipment, which we would have ferried to the Scorpions. Having those supplies in hand would smooth things over considerably."

Aemon rubbed his jaw in thought, "I see. Tell me what this smuggler looks like." They conversed briefly as the loyalists had the opportunity to take a moment's rest and salvage what they could, before heading to their assignments or their rest for the night.

The prince had Big Cap and her men escorted away to their ship and Aemon told Visenya to return to the ship. He clapped Rhaegar on the back, "Good job brother."

Then he approached Taria Greyjoy, "Taria, will you watch my back? Let's go talk to this smuggler. Perhaps we can make an arrangement."

Later, the two of them plus a few other comrades entered the tavern. Aemon found the smuggler per Big Cap's description and casually approached her, his hands in clear sight as he sat at her table and said, "I heard you had goods to sell."

[Celeste]

Gates of the Moon

The skies above the ancient castle had been filled with the cries of ravens since the arrival of the Hand of the King and the new Knight Herald. The Belmores and Tollets had answered Mychel's call, as had the clans long acquainted with Lord Tyrion, yet the Black Falcon had not ceased his labour. Many more messages went and came before the feast, as the heir to the Vale tried to pull as many distant strings as he could before his true quest began. Even with the many delegates and knights that now filled the castle's great hall, probably just enough to make their stance in the coming conflict, he did not allow himself to rest. Any quick resolution to the old question of the Mountain Clans would suffice, and a bloodless peace would be even better... but Mychel found in himself a growing lust for something else: a resounding, powerful diplomatic victory that would reshape the realm in ways both massive and subtle. And for that, he would have to muster every bit of influence available to him, every owed favor, every piece of leverage.

As he strolled through the hall, pale blue eyes watching every lord and lady present intently, mouth producing warm pleasantries with ease, Mychel's mind juggled a dozen ideas. Dressed once more in finery, his black hair washed and perfumed, he pondered his near and far futures, the strategies of history's great diplomats, the taste of the wine on his tongue, and the lingering, though considerably numbed pain in his wrist. And he worried... and yet he also yearned. With every step he took as a Knight Herald, by the Hand's side, his taste for this, for the diligent work of a strategist, a peacemaker, a seducer of the powerful, grew more and more.

He returned to his seat beside Lord Tyrion feeling the pleasure of having made a handful of Vale lords smile and nod at his words with either sincerity or thinly veiled opportunism. Either way, he was making gains. The constant comments about their unmarried daughters, however, had not escaped his notice. And neither had they escaped Lord Tyrion's, if the look in his mismatched eyes was anything to go by.

"My dear cousin wants a military victory," Mychel said, biting on a piece of food to conceal the changing expressions of his mouth. "I fear that, even if we succeed, he will continue to undermine the peace."

And me. He thought to himself. And as long as he has father's ear, this entire effort will be in peril... as will be my position.

For a flickering moment, his thoughts turned dark and violent. A bloody image crossed his mind and vanished as soon as it appeared. He quickly took a sip of wine to hide the involuntary grin it produced.

"I do, however, thank you for the compliment, my lord," he said as his cup clanked with the Hands.

He took another sip, longer now, and stared at the remaining contents with a strange look in his face.

"As for marriage..."

He was silent for a moment, and none of his early enthusiasm showed in his features. But there was something else, something colder.

"A union with a fellow Arryn might spare me some grief, but it would ultimately be another step towards my house cannibalizing itself," he almost whispered. His voice sounded distant, its concern less emotional and more calculated. "The last two generations of my house left us on the brink of the main line disappearing entirely. And though we still stand now... what are we, the Arryns? What is our purpose? What is my father's purpose? What use is he to Westeros?"

His eyes turned to his father, sitting at the top of the dais, his mother beside him. "There he sits, the Lord Paramount, my father. In the seventeen years I've been alive, how many important, world-changing decisions has he made? The knights of the Vale have won many glorious victories, true. But what has he done? And what did my grandfather do, other than be Robert Baratheon's enabler, and becoming, with his assassination, the first of the many sparks that set the Baratheon dynasty ablaze?"

He drank the last remaining wine in his cup, the mild burning on the back of his throat almost wonderful.

"I would very much rather marry outside of the Vale. Any gains I could make marrying a lady of these lands would be short-term, and our house has isolated itself enough already."

He refilled his cup and Lord Tyrion's, and a warm smile returned to his face.

"But there might be some lords in this hall that could be further persuaded to see things our way, and disregard whatever my father or Ser Harrold may think, without having to make their daughters Lady Paramount."

With that said and done, he stood up, cup in hand, and walked towards a middle-aged man dressed in the colours of House Corbray.

"Ser Lyn, it is most strange to see you without Lady Forlorn in hand, ready to defend the Vale's honor," he said to the Corbray knight with laughter in his voice and a wide smirk on his comely face. The knight only slightly turned his head towards the young Arryn at first, his smiling eyes belying the stern shape of his mouth. The rest of his body seemed more interested in the Waxley squire sitting beside him.

"Why? Are you looking for a duel between Valyrian blades, falcon boy?" Ser Lyn Corbray asked, prompting a chuckle from the squire and Mychel.

"It depends. Am I expected to be undressed for it, ser?" Mychel asked in a lowered voice, arching an eyebrow and placing his hand on the knight's shoulder. "I remember how enthusiastic you were about that manner of confrontation during the tourney at Heart's Home."

The older knight did not blush, but his immediate discomfort was clear to see, as was that of the Waxley squire. It took Ser Lyn a moment to regain his composure, and even when he did, there was a fear in his eyes as he rose to his feet and bowed his head to Mychel. Taking a step forward, he leaned in to whisper into the young Arryn's ear.

"What is the meaning of this... my lord?" He asked, his shaky breath ghosting over Mychel's pale skin. It did not smell like he had drunk too much wine. That was good. Mychel wanted him lucid.

"Before you inconspicuously take the Waxley lad to your chambers, I would like to share a word with you and Lady Forlorn," said Mychel, whispering as well, his gloved hand lightly resting on the man's arm. He took a small sip of his wine before he continued. "I fear I might need you, your steel and your passion in the coming negotiations."

Ser Lyn was silent for a short time, his armored feet shifting on the stone floor.

"...you want me to play the diplomat for you? To help you appease those savages?"

"Oh no, my good and handsome Ser Lyn..." Said Mychel, leaning closer, his lips almost touching the man's neck and jaw as he slowly moved up, towards his ears. "I am offering you the chance to make me forget one lurid, potentially scandalous memory I have of you, in exchange for your public support, some Corbray knights, and Lady Forlorn herself if needed."

Had I a bag of golden dragons, I would rather bribe him. I loathe using his secrets against him, specially when his tastes are not truly secret. Mychel thought, sighing internally as he drank more of his wine and stepped back. And my memories aren't truly that scandalous, save for that last one... but he thinks they all are, and that is good enough for this.

The Corbray knight stared at him, thoughtful, dubitative, but the flash of fear in his eyes told Mychel that he had made his decision. He had won.

"Will my lord also want me to speak to my brother and gain his support?" He asked, a fake smile on his face. There was something of an angry hunger in his look as he bowed again. Ser Lyn could be hot-tempered, but Mychel had learned once that that quality sometimes manifested in more positive ways, specially towards himself.

The Black Falcon nodded. "That would be wonderful, Ser Lyn. I would be most grateful... and I will be happy to talk with Lord Nestor about arranging for more private accomodations for you and your good friend there."

He glanced at the Waxley squire, who sat still at the table, oblivious to their conversation. Ser Lyn looked back with a small grin, before turning to Mychel.

"Would my lord care to join us for a private game of cyvasse after the feast?" Asked Ser Lyn with not even the pretense of subtlety in either his voice or look. Mychel's smile did not falter, but his eyes turned cold.

"My apologies, but no. I thought I'd made myself clear on this matter."

Ser Lyn's quiet, humilliated concession was enough. Mychel left him there without a second thought, half-empty cup in hand. He exchanged a little triumphant look with Lord Tyrion as he approached their seats again.

The Belmores, Tollets, Royces, Waynwoods and Corbrays were all on their side now, and with a few more words he would have the Lynderlys and Hunters. Not quite a majority of the houses of the Vale, but enough to render mostly toothless whatever attempts Ser Harrold and his father made to undermine their work. Mychel now had a coalition of his own, lords and ladies at the service of the Hand and the Knight Herald, rather than the Lord Paramount and his armoured puppeteer.

[bloonewb]

(Couldn't have been done without @MrDidact and @AtomicNut. Thanks!)

William could see through the flimsy lies of the Stepstone drunkard's guild. Perhaps the Targaryens and Starks are gullible enough to actually accept this surrender joke, but he knew better. When the battle was over, he ran over to catch Visenya's attention.

"Get your twits in line," he growled, shooting a steely glare at one of the pirates. All he saw was a reflection of his own expression. "This isn't a peasant revolt. They won't 'see the light'. I think you'll find that they have been killing their whole lives, and today was just more of the same. Any commander with any brains at all would call for their execution, starting with blondie in the middle. Allow me to demonstrate." He tightened his grip on his sword and chose a near prisoner at random. "You! Best start praying."

Visenya caught Will's arm in a viselike grip before he could do anything and she said calmly, "I understand your concerns. I understand you are angry with these men for taking Arak. But your brother is safe now. And don't worry, I won't trust these cutthroats. But we made a vow. And we shall abide by it. Besides, they are mercenaries. They have no loyalty to anything but coin and their own lives. They are no diehard fanatics. Still all the same, that is why we will have our men watching them, ready to kill at the first sign of betrayal." She glared at one of the Maiden's Men with her steely violet eyes and the man looked away fearfully.

"Aerion will make sure they behave. Now, can I let your arm go or are we going to need to talk further?" Visenya cooly waited for her friend to respond.

"Every man set on watching for the inevitable is less fodder for the enemy bow," William spat. "Look at that one. I'll wager you a dragon he's got two knives in his boots, one for each of us, no matter how much we pay. Know that the less money we have in the reserves of the kingdom, the less we have on public works for the smallfolk to frolick in or whatever it is they do in their nonexistant spare time. That means more rebellion. We can't fight everyone forever. I should know." He chose not to reveal exactly what he knew about peasant rebellions.

Visenya smiled minutely, "Perhaps you are right Will. They may have hidden weapons, I suppose the only thing to do is start checking. " She released his arm and said, "Better get them down to their smallclothes, just to be sure. Shall we begin?" She flashed him a mirthful glance.

Seran eyed both left and right both nobles bickering, himself following at a tired pace. After all, even if it had been for the sake of theatrics, he had accepted to take a beating for the crown's plan, and he ached everywhere. Perhaps that is why his patience waned for the time being, huffing exasperation. "Not to mention that some people don't even need weapons to kill a man, Lord Bolton." He added, his headache making his inflection bitter. "To make sure we should break their bones and cut their tendons aswell." Seran added. "I think it'd be better if we count our blessing. The Stranger, as some say, doesn't accept the coin of mere mortals."

William turned, angrily, to meet the new voice.

"I don't recall you being part of this conversation. Don't interrupt your betters, whitehead. Don't you have elderly captains to attend to?" he said, making a rude gesture with his free hand implying self-pleasure.

Visenya chuckled, "Peace Will. Seran here risked his life to save your brother. It would do you only good to show him some respect, even friendship. And it wouldn't kill you to say thank you either."

"I prefer northmen lords like you, Lord Bolton. You're exceedingly attractive." Seran added, his patience reaching zero thanks to the dull pain, but he forced himself to make a kissy face, even with his bloated face. "That's why I could not help myself..." He added. "Jokes aside, if they cause problem, just give the word. I'll gladly gut them. They'd do the same to me if our roles were reversed." Seran said clenching his teeth "Vows and annointed knights be damned. If it gets us alive out of here, I'll do it."

William said nothing, but the tingle in his hand let him know how tightly now he was gripping the handle of his sword. He mentally added a note to himself to not employ Essosi mercenaries for upwards of five years. Instead of retorting, like he usually would, he sheathed his sword and nodded to Seran. Then, he remembered the seemingly ever-present hand on his arm.

"You can let go of me now," he said, returning to his old self. "Courts across the kingdom might be abuzz of whispers if word gets out that a scion of the illustrious Targaryens can't keep her hands off of some lesser lord from the North."

Visenya scoffed, "I'm a bastard of King Robert, grand-daughter of the Mad King. Leader of a band of warriors. Rumors abound around me already. Now can I trust you two to act as allies should? To shake hands in friendship?"

William chose not to offer his hand. Instead, he gently shoved Visenya's hand off of his shoulder. "If you'll excuse me, I have a relative to scold," he said.

[Greenie]

(Collab with @AtomicNut)

Layali was relieved when the fighting was finally over. She was no coward and she could defend herself... if she had actual a weapon on her. Seeing as she only had her sling, she made the wise decision of staying outside the hideout, partially hidden in the shadows, partially behind some empty and broken barrels that stunk of alcohol. Thankfully the wait wasn't too long before Visenya and others exited the hideout and headed for the ship, Layali following along. It seemed like forever since she had been at sea, even though realistically she knew it was no more than a year, perhaps even less.

The docks and ships were a lovelier sight than she had ever seen before, and she couldn't help the grin on her face.

Seran leant against the edge of the ship's board, sighing. His face still throbbing and swollen, fruit of his idea and endeavour still hurted. They said that it'd go back to normal in time, but would it truly? Nevertheless, it had probably been worth it. The deception had saved the poor acting of others during the mission. And the assault on the Maiden's Men had been a success. Even if he did not fight to his best of ability, merely content with scrambling to defend himself after the princess cut his ropes.

He had that pirate captain on his sights, all that he needed was a blow to crush that scoundrel's throat, but no less than two others had ventured to claim such a prize. Seran wisely decided to stay out of greedy thoughts, and let Aerion have his share. He, well, he had used gentle words when talking to him. And he was a man of word and a good sword. Sir Aerion deserved to also be content.

Even if personally, he would have twisted that harlot's neck. Better not to leavy any stray ends to drag one's down. Aemon had sanctioned the Essossi knight's actions, leaving no shadow of doubt. Oh well, the less fighting the better. He grimaced, exhausted as he eyed one of the two ladies they also "recruited". That friend of her acquaintance, Layali. He wondered if by the end of the tale they'd have enough room to pick up all the strays in the ship.

"Looks like you punched something with your face." Layali had caught one of Visenya's men look her way and took the opportunity to intergrate herself with the rest of the group, even if for now it was only one person. She walked over to where the man stood, recognizing him as the one her friend had been rather chatty and affectionate with.

"I'm Layali," she added in as an introduction of herself. She thought back to Lira's words, grinning a littl when she remembered what this man's name was. "And you're the one called Seran, right?" She also remembered the other girl mentioning he had a soft spot for her. Not that it made a difference to Layali.

Seran eyed the cheeky woman with suspicion, but with his face in his sorry state it was hard to judge if he was frowning or not. He gripped the ship's rail hard, and opened his mouth, one blue eye that still struggled to be open piercing her with a stare.

"Tits." The magpie said nonchalantly, perching by surprise on Seran's shoulder.

"Oh for the love of.the lady... I though a pirate had eaten you!" Seran uttered before quickly cursing in Lyseni. The bird tilted its head slightly, before attempting to reply something.

"Tits!". It cawed, before the vexed swordsman batted his pet in annoyance. "Tits! Tits, tits!"

"...one word it learns... and..." He grumbled, trying to compose himself and ignoring the bird's display for the time being. "I am indeed the one called Seran, and looks like you're really desperate for conversation, Layali." He retorted back.

It took a moment for the young Meereenese to return her focus on the man, the bird being so much funnier with its one word vocabulary. "Truly you know the finer things in life," she said to the magpie, a laugh escaping her. "Or your master has been around many brothels and women."

That said she looked back at Seran, raising her shoulders in a shrug. "Desperate? Not exactly. I simply feel I should become acquainted with those I'll be journeying with." She put her hands on the railing, leaning forward and taking a deep breath. "Besides, you don't look like the type who'll want favours, at least not at the moment."

She stepped back, a lingering smile on her face. "However, if conversation's not something you wish for, I will take my leave, truly." She hardly wanted to impose herself on anyone who didn't wish her company.

"Do as you please, I have no power over you." Seran huffed and grumbled, still flayed with the dull ache of the wounds he had sustained in the past hours. He stared at the cheeky woman for a few moments, pondering. "But there are far better people to get acquainted with. Like what Lira's doing. But I doubt you... have the talents required for that." He shrugged as he grabbed a sponge of vinegar besides him and applied it to his wounds.

"Oh, there's no reason to doubt that," Layali replied with a chuckle, once again shrugging her shoulders. "She has all the talents I don't have and don't want." She let out a breath, shaking her head a little before distracting herself with the sight of the magpie. Being in that brothel had been the worst time of her life, and if she had been bad at what she had been forced to do there, she was perfectly fine with that.

"Maybe you should take something to dull the pain," she suggested after a moment. "There's no reason to suffer. I'm sure a drink or two may help."

"No thank you. It'll dull my senses. And I'd rather be alert here." Seran added. "This is no place for relaxing. Last time I was warring war here, we lost one fifth of our company to wounds and one fifth to maladies. And that's not counting that half of these new recruits don't have even sea legs." The mercenary sombered, as his eyes darted to one of Layali's hands.

There was something simply off with that hand, as he snatched the woman's hand swiftly to examine it. Those calluses were suspicious. "I'll be damned. So I wasn't seeing things." He muttered, before awkwardly letting loose of the hand.

"What weapon?". He asked, ponderous.

For a moment Layali tensed, everything in her being telling her to pull her hand back. Thankfully a year's worth of whoring kicked in and she kept quite calm, looking at her hand as well. "Heh... well I had always wanted it to be a sword, but my father wasn't in favour of that. I learned how to use a bow... I was decent enough at it. Lost it when the pirates attacked the ship I was on. I have this for now." She reached under her tunic for her belt, pulling out the makeshift sling she had made days ago in the tavern.

"I'll try to get you a bow. Every bit helps." Seran added mentally, as he applied yet another dose of vinegar and cleaning salves to his face. "That way you can use that damned bird as target practice." Seran clenched his teeth, as his pet innocently stared at them. "Although i am afraid the bows we have here are a bit too... powerful for you." He muttered under his breath. "Dragonbone. A stupid amount of them. They're property of others though." He finished as he eyed the sea.

"Thanks for the offer." Layali was surprised by what Seran said, not having expected him to say that. It was something nice though, and she appreciated that. "I'm sure when the time's right I should be able to buy my own and return any bow I've borrowed." Visenya had promised her a bag of silver with her freedom, after all.

"Dragonbone though, never held a bow, or anything made by that." She blinked and tilted her head to the side, a little unsure. "Uh, that's why they're called that, right? Or some other reason or something?" She laughed sheepishly before shrugging. "I'm good with a normal weapon anyway."

"They're supposed to be made of dragon bones. Hence the name. I've never seen any up close before either, nor in such quantity. I can't recall a single company based in Essos who had more than one of them. And even so, it's just because we've got elite archers with us. They'd probably not hand that kind of thing to a nobody. That's how long the shadow of our backers is." The mercenary rocked forwards. "It'll have to be battle spoils bows. You don't mind, right?". Seran began to walk near some cache of weapons, piled like garbage, and he began fiddling with the assorted junk, until he produced a bow.

It still had some blood and bits of its former owner but was serviceable. Seran didn't want to risk discouraging a potential recruit so he cleaned the shaft convincingly before handing it out to the woman. "Just remember to shoot the pirates. Not us." He added, approvingly as he handed the shortbow to her. Probably the scurvy fool who claimed ownership of that piece was about the size and build of the woman.

The shadow of their backers... the crown, right? Layali kept the thought to herself, watching Seran walk for a moment before following after him, curiosity getting the better of her. She paused in her step, looking at the weapons, eyes brightening when she saw him pull out the bow.

"Oh, don't worry about that," she replied with a grin, taking hold of the bow. It felt good to finally hold the weapon in her hand. She had been afraid she would forget the feel of it, but it seemed she was wrong. "I'm sure when you're all cleaned up you won't look much like the pirates do." Even now it was easy enough for someone with sharp eyes to tell these men and women were no mere pirates or mercenaries.

She positioned herself away from Seran, lifting the bow and pulling back the bowstring. She had no arrow of course, but it was nice to simply stand like this... for a moment. She relaxed her hold, bringing the bow back down to her side. "This is good," she said. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it. If you have fangs to begin with it, use them. I'm doing this so I can focus on protecting myself more." Seran duly noted as he shuffled towards the rail, gazing once more into the sea. "Plus your expression. You're a survivor. You want to bite back. Same as someone I know." He shrugged..

Layali nodded, her grin lessening a little as she was hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia. She supposed she should have expected it, but the bittersweet pain of times that had already past stung the same. "The same could be said for you," she replied. She was quiet for a moment before bowing her head a little. "It was nice to talk to you, Seran. I'll leave you in peace now." She figured he could use the rest from conversation, what with his injuries. And she too could use a little time sorting her own thoughts.

With that said, she gave a small wave and headed somewhere more secluded.

[FourtyTwo]

@MrDidact@AtomicNut (collabs)

The Spine, Red Mountains

The fight was turning into a mess, and losses were mounting, fast. Garlan didn't sometimes have the mentality or pace to keep up with the supernatural, given how much of it was happening. He was a capable tactician, but this was escaping his mind now, this was far more surreal and difficult to understand entirely. He watched the clash, keeping to the back, knowing he'd have to go forward. They were seriously screwed, and Garlan knew that they would need something more than just this. Ronnel's Griffons wouldn't help. And losing ground was a horrid idea. It would lead to losses. But so would holding a terrible position. And Garlan knew only one thing would turn the tide. It had to be sent now, as he walked amongst his Knights, finding the runner in his small troop of men, a young Squire by the name of Haydon. A scared and terrified man, but at this point in time, Garlan didn't see much change.

"Get one of your ravens to fly a message, to Aegon's last reported position. We need him here, now, or we're going to be dead in the coming hour." Garlan said, as the young squire nodded, running, the bag that he carried containing a pair of ravens, a rather strange thing to carry indeed, but Garlan had it as a last line of communication. The distances weren't huge, and the raven perhaps would go unspotted in the chaos of war. Make it in time to Aegon and get him to come here, and provide dragonfire, to burn the earth to it's core. Fighting fire with fire. It would be able to go back, given they they weren't surrounded, as Garlan took in the immediate tactical need. They were getting swarmed, and it was getting bloody. He continued to move towards the front, followed by his own troop, yelling the orders.
"Get the fire to the front, get us a wall of flame and draw back to the next ridgeline!"

The tactic was simple- the ridge had dents in it, and slowly dragging out the pullout would force the enemy to try and mop up every time. It would not be without casualties, but it would be better than anything else anyone would suggest. It would allow the line to reform, hold, then pull back. The flames would play a role in that, until something more came. If they fell back too far, Garlan knew the army would be broken, and they'd have no more capacity left to continue. It felt like right there, right then, the campaign was unravelling. Every gain, all of this, for absolutely nothing. No, he said to himself. Seeing Haydon run into the distance, he let the raven fly from his hands, and into the distance, as he ran forwards, clashing swords with some weird beast of some kind, hacking through, clearing it's head clean off, before being knocked back, taking it as a signal to move back. No cowardice here....it was a mass of bodies and parts of the line had already sunk back, the flames rising on the front, and horses and chaos unravelling everywhere, like a pure hell of some kind, as they knew that if they didn't make it back to reform, they'd all surely die.

Merrell eyed the battlefield from his horse, gripping the reins in concern. This wasn't...going so well. He had expected the last castle to be defended tooth and nail. But this mass assault of demonic creatures. Well, it was reasonable that few, if any strategists would have anticipated it. His eyes looked at his own men. Unlike many, they weren't throwing the weapons and trying to retreat. Indeed a sizable portion was chanting.

"Praise the Lord of Light." The fire priests resonated in unison as their zeal and fanatism allowed them to stand tall amidst the gore and confusion. The flames manipulated by their strange arts seemed to land on the enemy beasts, scorching them as soon as they entered range, and twarthing the magical fires that seized their army. However, it was evident that the army was about to collapse.

He eyed some of his mounted knights, and troops. He licked his lips. He was parched already. Still, Merrell's voice didn't crackle even once, merely gaining enough impetus to be heard in the battlefield. "Mella Florent. Send a Flare and retreat with a score of your priest, supporting the bulk of your troops."

"Why! We can win this!" The grating femine voice was obviously a bit too deluded and drunk in power to acquiesce, but a second shout from Merrell managed to do the trick. She had to be preserved. For good or bad, she was the most capable and the leader of the priests. His sight crossed with Garlan, who was speeding towards the vanguard.

"I'll handle this. You told me to reinforce the Vanguard." Merrell florent said, in his usual placid tone, as he sized up the beasts. "Men. Who wishes to court death today with me?" He said to his knights. Several of them answered with greetings.

"Alright. You heard the commander. Torch those beasts and hellions!" He commanded the rest of the fire priests. "And as for the rest...whoever has still wits to fight... "

He waited. A window of opportunity. As the beasts rampaged, their numbers thinned and strengthened. They were far from an united front.

"Wait for it. Priests FIRE OVER THERE!" Merrell pointed with the sword to a certain spot. "MY KNIGHTS! CHARGE!" He added, running exactly after the fire's wake, using its brightness to conceal the charge to the stunned creatures. Knight lances followed the flame, and a gruesome sound of splintered wood and ravaged flesh followed. Merrel himself broke his lance, impaling one of the larger beasts through an eye, and continued to point at the sword, telling the priests to carve a path for his knights to follow. There were few, but hopefully this would help Garlan's army to hold a bit more in their hasty retreat.

As the fire priests rained mystical blows on the enemy, the Alchemists launched bombs and grenades of their alchemical substances, flaring up explosions of green fire and fury that added to the din as the water mages opened up the dome to allow the bombardment. The lightning knight punched out with his fist and purple lightning crackled among the enemy, sizzling and scorching beasts and men alike to death, as the water mages called up a blistering hailstorm that bludgeoned monsters and Vultures into the dirt.

The enemy offensive was stopped cold for the moment and the surprise counter-attack took the enemy by complete surprise. The Florent Knights cut a bloody swath through the enemy, riding down scores of enemies or impaling them with their spears and swords. Dickon Tarly and the archers unleashed a volley over the charge and into the ranks of the enemy, and several other mounted knights followed the Florents into the charge; attempting to make back the ground that had been lost.

The bold move was going well, until out of the demonic throng, a beast out of nightmare lept at Merrel Florent. It had a lion's body, bull's horns, and large batlike wings with a scorpion's tail. But worst of all, it had a man's head and it snarled to reveal three rows of razor sharp teeth. The Manticore, an elder member of it's species, unfurled it's wings and stabbed the tail out at Merrel's mount, while opening it's maw and attempting to chew off Merrel's head. Near the Florent, one man was impaled on the end of a black spear while another was dragged into the claws of a giant vulture, horse and all. If they didn't get help soon, the bold charge would turn into a suicide move.

And Garlan saw it coming, stopping his own retreat, watching the manticore stab into Merrell's mount, as he ran over, his own horse frightened away, as he kept his sword raised high, watching the manticore leap onto Merrell, as he ran over. Yelling loudly, it was a loud beast, and it was distracted for a moment, as Garlan swung, the blade catching it's arm, as he kicked it off, knowing it was stupid. But Merrell was going to die if he didn't, and that was a clear decision.
"Fucking run!" Garlan yelled, as he turned to the Manticore, screaming out, looking it in the eye. Yet the arrival of a horse slamming into it's side was almost anti-climatic, as he shook his head, turning and following in the rest that were running back, the noise of arrows whistling into the breach, and somewhere Garlan did not want to be.

Merrell eyed the beast, as it savaged his horse. It was decidedly scary and ugly. Well. That settles it. You ran out of luck, Merrell. At least give a good show. He thought to himself as he gripped his sword arm. He thought of jabbing the beast with his sword inside its mouth, sword arm be damned. It reeked, so it would probably kill him aswell with the malaise of the wound. But he was...oddly serene. He had been ready to die in that charge just to win Garlan some time.

And then the fool came to his aid, telling him to run. "You fool!" He muttered, as he smashed the creature's face with his blade and slipped from the remains of his horse, his legs pumping as much speed as he could. "Seven hells Garlan, get behind the fucking line! You're the commander!" He yelled back, as he gripped his sword and ran towards the lines of the Tyrell forces.

I need a horse! Damn beasts! My beatiful Madeleine! They will pay for this! The seasoned knight cursed, life being breathed again in his deathly intention.

And they ran, and it was not anything glorious. It was hellish, fire and all sorts of insanity was going on, Garlan was amazed to think he actually still had his head screwed on, given that none of this shit made any sense. Dragonfire was one thing, this was something altogether, as they ran back towards the line. Spears and pikes relined, the men tired and bloodied, the weak collapsing at the rear and Sargants picking up stragglers, as Garlan looked back at the enemy again, wiping the blood and guts from his face, his visor back down again, as he looked on at the chaos unfolding, Garlan in silence for just a moment, the gears turning in his mind. This really was as bad as it could be.

As the two nobles fell back, the rest of the vanguard fell back with them, at least those that could. Others were killed, dragged screaming from the saddle or beset by monsters. Of the men who ran out with Merrel in their mad dash, almost half of them had fallen to the monsters and the blades of the Vultures. Two passing mounted knights offered both lords helping hands to mount the saddle behind them and they made a beelin for the shield wall. Ned Dayne urged the men forward to their aid, but the going was agonozingly slow even with mystical fire support.

Then the worst happened, the Manticore who had felled Merrel's horse, bruised and bloodied but not dead, flew over the retreating cavalry and snarled, making the lead horses rear back in fear. Vultures and twisted monstrosities started surrounding the knights, isolating them from the main army. "Protect your lord! Protect your lord!" shouted one of the Green Hand knights, the calvalrymen forming a circle around Garlan, Merrel, and the other highborn as they stabbed down with swords and spears at the giant scorpions, carnivorous rats, shrieking goblins, monstrous cobras and all manner of foes. The Manticore flew over the protective circle and stamped one lion claw into the sand, facing the two knights on foot as it prepared to pounce once more. All around them, the knights fought for their lives, a fight they seemed to be doomed to lose.

"Goodness Garlan. Look what you did. You should've me let me lead my last charge and save your men." Merrell grumbled as he drew his sword once more, jumping out of the mount."Let me handle this."

"Don't be a cunt, and hold your ground! Or it won't matter what any of us did!" Garlan watched the other monstrosities come, as he clashed with one, slashing it through the head as he was knocked back, dragging one with him as he slashed it across it's upper body, yelling, the Tyrell back at it as the blood began to spill all around, war at it's horror, Knights clashing in swords, and all shit hitting the fan. But the Manticore didn't care. It wanted the two in the middle. And it was coming, thick and thin. The Manticore howled, as Garlan turned, dodging it's tail and it's charge, slashing but missing the point, as he looked on.
"Have at it, you winged fucker!" Garlan yelled, as the Manticore yelled, as it ran forward at Garlan once more.

Merrell, on his side of things grumbled as he tumbled out of the way of the monstrous creature. So you don't like that i messed up your face. He thought grimly. They were losing a lot of forces, but he wasn't going to let his life be cheap. The whistling of the tail's creature made him sidestep just in time.

"Garlan. Be nice with our guests." Merrell said, his face finally contorted in anger, as he drew...his wineskin. "Offer them Arbor Gold!" He said, as he splashed the monster's face with the remainder of the concoction, blinding the creature hopefully. Given the wine and the many wounds, it would sting, to say the least. His blade readied, he took the window of oportunity to flank and stab the creature in one of their sides.

Garlan managed to bloody the tail, drawing a line of green blood as Merrel's wine sunk into it's wounds and made it screech. It dove for Merrel, driving him to the ground under one leonine paw and snarling its spit into his visor as it reared up it's scorpion tail to stab the knight, the wounds that Merrel had dealt it making it favor the paw it placed on his shoulder.

And Garlan managed to come close, and take advantage of just that. The screeching Manticore was not something Garlan was going to miss, not at this range, and whilst an elder and wise beast, it had picked the wrong one of the two nobles to target. He yelled, and did the only thing that seemed perfectly reasonable, at this point-blank range.

The blade entered it's neck, the tall creature roaring out as he withdrew the blade, the manticore screaming in agony as it loosened it's hold on Merrell, before sliding the blade across it's chest, leaving a deep cut, a deep wound that pulled some muscle and gut out, pouring out bloodily as he felt it claw away, Garlan drawing his sword and stabbing it once more, clean through the head. It roared, as it fell dead, falling right by Merrell's side as it dramatically took the hit, Garlan utterly exausted in doing so.
"Get the fuck up, and don't die on me here." Garlan knew it was easier said than done, as he looked around, other beasts and madness closing in, though the death of the manticore had bought them a little time.

Merrell clenched his teeth as he was pinned to the ground, his body tossed like a ragdoll by the manticore's paw. The creature was readying its stinger once more, and the knight knew that it might be the last attack he could ever resist. Gripping his sword, he tried to aim at the creature's heart, located just under the forepaw that had him gripped...

...Or that's what he would have done, had Garlan not intervened. Merrell simply rolled out of the way, as he stood up with difficulty once more, checking his side. Maybe there was something broken in there, but he could check that later. He eyed Garlan as he yelled his orders. "I'll try not to, thanks. But circumstances might make that difficult."

The Manticore dead still twitched occasionally, it's vile blood bubbling on the sand. All around them, the cluster of knights growing tighter and tighter as they were forced back by the press of their enemies. Dickon shouted from his saddle, the army pressing closer and closer to rescue their beleaguered officers, but too slow. Far too slow. The knights on their horses managed to drive back the monsters and beasts for the most part, but gaps were left in their line, which the mortal Vultures exploited. They charged headlong for the two knights, Dornish screamers with axe, sword, dagger, or spear, perhaps a dozen or more seeking to end Garlan and Merrel.

Merrell sprung to action once more, this time jumping next to the tail of the manticore. With the accuracy of an expert swordsman, drew his sword and soaked it in the vile creature's poison, the blade now glistening with the deadly liquid. He swung his sword, droplets of poison being launched into the score of men, each one with lethal potential. "Thanks for the manticore poison for our weapons. We appreciate it." He said as he went on with his sword, deftly aiming to cut the flesh and poison his opponents. Of course, it was a risky maneuver, given that the poison could as well get into his own wounds, but they were hardpressed.

And Garlan had to join in, entering into the breach once again, the Knights of the Green Hand up against it here, and trying to hold back whatever was coming their way, and they were many. It was difficult, as swords were swung, and Garlan tried to fell as many as he could, though he knew it would never stop the entirety from coming their way. There was still just far too many, and they were now prying their gaps, charging away.

Merrel's move surprised the Vultures, a few of whom shrank back in fear at the droplets of poison. Any man he stabbed soon became wracked by the toxic blood, shrieking in agony. Garlan came right behind him and the Vultures tried to surround them, forcing the two knights to fight back to back. The two men were heavily armed and armored, whereas most of the Vultures were in light armor and many fell to the experienced warriors. But more kept coming, heedless of the dead or dying at the knights' feet.

It seemed they would be mobbed by the rebels, their men overwhelmed by the monsters. Until the air split apart in a thunderous roar and an entire section of the cliff path was engulfed in flame. Ser Aegon Targaryen, riding Viserion rode in, spewing dragonfire on the monsters and men below. Hundreds were killed instantly, and many more screamed and cried as they were surrounded or engulfed by fire. Ronnet's griffons followed on Aegon's heels and many of the giant vultures were slaughtered by the griffins as Aegon kept raining fire below. The enemy lost heart, the vast majority of them turning tail and running, even the monsters while the royalist army cheered and ran forward.

The enemy ran back to their castle with the army on their heels, and it was their chance to take the castle now while confusion and disorder reigned.

The blood had hit hard in the ranks of the army, but the fire that engulfed the field turned much to ash, the sight a hellish fever dream, and nothing Garlan could entirely embrace or accept. It was the nuclear option, and turned the red dirt into black, fire burning any scrub or trees on the ridge, the monsters burning alive as Garlan yelled, blood covering his plate as he charged forwards, in front of the men, sword held high, yelling at those who were left. The losses were heavy, ridiculous, but if they didn't take this castle, he knew it would be for exactly nought. They had to have revenge, and the dragon had effectively leveled the playing field.
"Come on then! Chaaarge!"

Men sprawled forward, the lieutenants and sargeant-at-arms picking up soldiers, Dornish spears and Knights of the Reach, levies and pikes moving into the ash and smoke, feeling relieved and uplifted in their morale, aware that they knew these monsters could burn, and burn they would. Garlan made his chance to go back towards his steed, fallen back to the rear line, where a few of the Green Hand squires had kept them, safe at the rear where they had planned to forestall the enemy. That was not happening now, as he took a breather, finding his own steed.

Clambering on, he kicked hard with his ankle, the horse braying as he put up his visor, feeling the heat burn through proper now , as he let his own men assemble, looking on at the castle in the distance. He rode towards Ned Dayne's troop, finding the Dornishman also overlooking the situation, recovering and preparing to advance again.
"We can't just cower inside, or take it as a trap. We have to seize it. Drive them into a total rout, scare them. Our horses aren't going to stop with a little flames. They'll have little left to throw right now, and let's keep it that way." Garlan said to him, knowing it was a worthwhile point to make- if they didn't strike now, they would lose the advantage, even with the losses that they had taken, it wouldn't be worth anything at all. And Garlan did not plan on letting Gendry watch this any further. This stopped now.

"I want the castle burned, so get a flare sent by the door, and Viserion will take the bait and burn it to the ground. The rest of the army will entrap and seal the routes down. No running away for them. You'll find it easy to clean out the inside from there on out, you take the vanguard and kill anything that stands in your way. Spare anyone left who surrenders, but don't make it a priority. These beasts don't know peace....not of any normal kind, not what I just saw. Whatever that captured man said, seems like we're risking the opposite if I order it, but they broke the rules here. I may be oathbreaking to our captured man if I am wrong, but I am not letting more Reachmen, Dornishmen and Stormlanders die for nothing. There's only going to be a lot more blood and then we won't have a campaign at all. That would be a coward's way. This is no noble fight anymore. This is the lowest circle of hell." Garlan said, the ash blowing across his plate and his horse, scaring it a little, the sight of piles of ash and dust actually blocking the sunlight a little, the flesh so cooked and burned it transended it's mere fire, just into total incineration. A dragon's breath burned so hot after all, it created steam naturally on a summer night, let alone when it poured fire onto the field. And it was a hellscape, as

"To yours, Ned. I'm a little sick of nearly dying, and I don't want you to get yourself killed either if we're going to keep our morale high. Let's finish this." Garlan added, nodding to the Dayne, letting him get a thought in.

Ned nodded grimly, obviously displeased with the notion but not afraid to follow his orders, "We can take the castle without such means. And Gendry may be displeased by the loss of a strongly fortified final position. But I understand, and it will be done. You can count on me Garlan, and I will stand with you should our general be wroth. You earned it today, with your bravery and honor on the battlefield." Ned rode off to enact his orders.

"By the Seven. That was a close one." Merrell muttered somewhat in awe, as he saw what he thought was going to be his end suddenly erupt in the equally terrifying dragonfire of the Targayen. At least these monsters are on our side. He thought as he used the window of opportunity present with the reinforcement to reunite with his troops. Luckily, there was a spare horse there. Although not for the good reasons. Florent blood had paved the road to this upset, as he grimly thought. They had been good fearless men, and he had asked to court death alongside him. And only him, the Stranger found fit to spare. It was a crushing feeling.

He looked at the eyes of his men, and nodded. Garlan had decided to go all out with the army into the castle. Like an enraged beast, he only thought of destroying right now. Perhaps that manticore could've been a better commander of the army at this point.

"Sir?" One of the knights asked, noticing Merrell's hesitation.

Merrell clenched his teeth. "We advance, like the commander said." He signaled for the charge. "But carefully. I don't want to lose more Florent Blood today. Let others have the glory of the last charge." The Fox Knight uttered as he ordered the remainder of his priests and Knights to move forward. "Also, send a runner for our healers. We're going to need lots of them."

By this point, Mirren Sand and her men would have already captured the tunnel passes inside the mountain, and as the army went to cut down the fleeing stragglers and surround the castle; there would be no escape for the garrison inside. Many of the enemy fled before the encirclement was complete, perhaps a few hundred, frantically rushing up the mountain path to the summit of the Spine, where the Vulture's last stronghold on the mountain remained. But the rest of them were trapped.

The Alchemists rolled their trebuchets loaded with wildfire projectiles forward and as they crashed onto the castle, Viserion strafed the castle with a blast of fire. The screams from the stronghold of the men and monsters trapped inside could be heard all the way at the bottom of the mountain. In the opening moments of the salvo, several more men jumped from the battlements or rushed through postern gates to try and surrender, a few of them already enflamed as green and white fire played over the castle. It burned for hours.

Finally, after the flames somewhat abated, Ned Dayne led the vanguard into the castle. After a half hour, the Dragon banner flew over the waycastle, at least the burned remnants of it; as well as the colors of all the great houses who were involved in the attack flying beneath it. The gates were opened and Ned Dayne marched a small line of survivors to them. Perhaps a few score men had survived the burning, no more. And a small number of creatures had been captured, chained or placed in cages and led by armed men, fated for study by the Citadel.

The beleagured advance regiments were allowed some rest and relaxation as Gendry rode in to the castle with his retainers and calvary, dismounting and searching for Garlan. He noted the destruction with grim acceptance and found the two Reachman knights sitting with other Green Hands.

Gendry clapped them all on the back, handing Garlan a wineskin, "Good work today Garlan. Good work. Bloody, but necessary methinks. I would have made the same call if those monsters had savaged my men. Our enemies needed a reminder of the power we wield. It's been years since a dragon has been used in battle in earnest. They'll see the ashes all over the Red Mountains. Let that remind them."

He looked around and said, "Shame the castle is in such bad shape. But we'll make do. This will be our new forward operating base. I want tents and pavillions set up behind the castle for our men. The heavy infantry and siege weapons will be sent forward and the sappers will dig trenches and stakes there. I'll send Brienne to oversee them. She's a hard bastard, and itching for a fight. We'll siege them throughout the night and rest easy. The majority of the officers will bed here for the night. The sappers will rebuild the fortifications as best as they can, should we be attacked in the night." Visierion alighted on the nearest tower and roared, "Somehow, I doubt it."

"We'll set up hospital bedding in the supply tunnels for the wounded, send the prisoners down to the base along with the creatures. The Maesters or the Lothsons will want them for study. Maybe even Samwell. For the dead, we shall send the nobles back to Blackhaven, and to their keeps. The soldiers will be buried on this mountain. The enemy, burned. If there is anything left to burn. Save for the monsters, Sam will want those remains. Tonight, let's let those Vulture bastards hear us drink and feast. And in the morning, they'll see our dragon and our army in front of them. You'll join me for supper Garlan, you too Florent. Damn fine job."

Garlan nodded, taking the wineskin, taking a gentle sip, to sap his thirst. The place still felt boiling, the ash was piled, and bodies were scattered, though most had been burnt into oblivion, swords and shields barely recognizable. It was not a pretty place, the castle had been turned dark with the fire, the heat from the dragon even felt from here, it's breath capable of rendering what it did to this place still something that Garlan would never forget. The smell had faded, but the feeling of ash against plate was a reminder of what had been done here. It was not glorious. It was just an means to an end.

"I wouldn't expect anything less. They'll harass us, try and drag our line. They inflicted some severe losses there, Gendry. We'll set up a perimeter but we can't move by tomorrow, not with our vanguard like this. Never mind momentum, everyone's going to fucking die at this rate." Garlan said, as he took his helm off, exhaling with a pant, wiping the ash and dirt from his face.
"We can't keep going like this. It's fucking madness. The men saw what they saw. They're going to be going through some serious shock. I've seen it myself....that would mess up any man's head. That dragon may have raised spirits, but I saw it with my own eyes. This isn't a war like any we've fought." Garlan added, as frank as he could be with a harsh and bitter tone in his voice, looking straight into Gendry's eyes, with a distinct shell shock, of sorts.

"Our forefathers did, though, sers." Merrel's voice was subtle but heard clearly amidst the interlocution. He was staring at a couple of bloody banners, representing the brothers Imry and Selmy. They had been fine knights. Gallant and Brave. And they had given their lives for this victory. His gaze was lowered and contrite. "We can do as much. We just need to take hold of our bonds and loved ones. If we break down, who will fight for them?" Merrell added, as he eyed his wineskin... and decided not to take a sip.

"I'd rather not have another victory like this one. Because we could lose the entire army, lord Gendry. Still, we have to move on." The Florent knight said.

"Have to....not exactly. We're running our line too thin. The men are going to break if you send them forward again. We need replacement, rest, recovery. Let the enemy build their momentum, they are bottlenecked and trapped on a mountaintop, and if the caves are secure, then we have nothing to worry about, if the information is true. If it isn't, it's a better risk than losing a huge number of forces and routing down the Spine. If they go to that last castle and lose, they'll come back broken or dead, and then we have a problem on our hands when the Vulture King decides he has a mountainside to run down." Garlan took a strong swig of the wine, spitting a little, clearing his throat, dramatic in his tone, hardly understating it, his voice holding strong.

"Men will only go so far, money will only make them do so much, pride and glory, only so much too. The next time we see any beasts like those, and if the line folded from any panic at any point upon seeing it, everyone will die. We came close then. We were lucky, not glorious." Garlan mused, shaking his head, knowing all he'd done so far had led to this. What he had done had to be done, and it had won the fight. But it had done nothing to win the campaign, if anything, it was ground gained for heavy losses, and that didn't add up in the Tyrell commander's head.

"I seriously suggest you give us time. King Jon and Queen Danaerys may feel inconvenienced that their insergency in the Red Mountains is not dead yet when you write to them again. But I assure you, Gendry. That's hardly a fucking inconvenience compared to the levies, mercenaries and Knights of the Reach, Stormlands and Dorne who are very much dead and mangled into bits and have families who won't have their brothers, fathers and sons coming home, or in a destroyed state of themselves." Garlan did not mince words, his voice almost holding completely in venom, his anger not at Gendry, but a fury that seemed to just direct itself at the sheer madness of warfare that they had just enacted right there and then.

Gendry listened to Garlan and Merrel in respectful silence. Dickon Tarly and Ned Dayne, along with Ronald Storm, Andrew Estermont, Donnel Swann, Prince Oberyn Martell, Rolland Caron, Harmen Dondarrion, and Aegon Targaryen had found their way to the gathering as Garlan's speech built up steam. As they listened, Lady Brienne on her blue barded horse rode by with a large number of heavy infantrymen from the stormlands and a great number of siege weapons. Elephants that had been transported long ago by the Golden Company rode by as well; kept in the reserve until this moment.

Finally Gendry nodded, "Indeed. You may be right. All of us here earned our spurs in the War for the Dawn. That was the battle of our lives. And we survived it together. But most of our boys are knights of summer. Unaccustomed to facing monsters and seeing dragonfire."

He turned to Ronnet, "How many did we lose?"

"Nearly a thousand of our own, all told. More wounded. And a third of my griffon corps."

Dickon spoke up, "Aye but for every one we lost, we felled five of them."

Gendry said, "Your vanguard will be allowed to rest Garlan. Tarth is commanding the vanguard for now. His troops are fresh. But you are right, an attack now could go wrong if we are beset by these beasts again."

Aegon spoke for the first time, "Let me go and burn the castle. We will end this in an hour."

The Storm Bull shook his head, "Nay. We need that castle. With it intact we control this mountain, this mountain range. We already have control of the Prince's Pass, the Boneway. The Torrentine and the Wyl. All of the castles are holding steady. We have the Tower of Joy, I'm told the Vulture's Roost will fall swiftly. And we are starting to clear out the tunnel network, though this will take much longer. With the Spine under our control, we will dominate the theater of war. Only Hellgate Hall and their rat tunnels will be left to oppose us. It cannot be risked that we have an attack fail and be turned into a rout. Not with these losses."

He contemplated it for a few moments, "Reinforcements are marching to us as we speak, they'll be here extremely soon. Ronald, we don't need your scouts here. Fly back to assist the other divisions and you can personally inform the King of our progress by flying to Blackhaven and sending a raven. The Skull has only one approach by the cliff side, but Mirren holds the tunnels. There is no escape. With Brienne beseiging the only path, we can afford to wait. We'll let the siege weapons get into position and we'll let your men rest. Myself and the rest of you will ride out under a peace banner at midday tomorrow. Aegon will accompany us on his dragon. We will offer them their lives if they surrender immediately and throw down their weapons. If not, we can start lobbing rocks at them, soften them up. Have Dondarrion call in his lightning and the Rhoynish call down their hailstones and water needles."

"By now they'll know that the tunnels are comprimised. No hope of a sneak attack there. If they still haven't given up by the morning after tomorrow, then I will personally lead the first attack with my own troops. I'll go with the ram, Caron with the siege tower. Mirren will penetrate at the same time with her covert teams. Garlan you'll have control of the center, with your personal men holding this castle here. The reinforcements should be all here by the day after tomorrow and it's not enough time to rest, but I'm not giving those bastards too much time to prepare something clever. Are we all agreed?" Most of the lords said aye. Save for Oberyn, who obviously wanted to stick to the original plan. Aegon nodded minutely, clearly wanting to burn the castle down and have done. They all turned to Garlan and Merrel.

"Aye." Garlan nodded, looking around.
"Glad to hear it, Gendry. The men will need rest here, and if you have reinforcements and fresh men, that will help if we're carrying out an assault. They cannot leave the tunnels either....so I would suggest if it cannot be helped, we potentially destroy any exit routes, force them to stay put, and weaken them through a lack of food, water and medical supplies. An immediate assault will certainly take their attention, however. From a perspective of a siege engineer, I would suggest you are careful about that sorcery on these mountains. Rain could destabilize the cliff we are assaulting, so I wouldn't suggest it for too long." The Tyrell commented, his history in sieges and warfare from the wars past coming to mind, a saying that helped him understand the lay of the land a little better and Gendry's plan.

"We can take that castle. They will fight harder than ever before, and throw far worse at us than just that. But if we do, they will be losing, and losing hard. If we burned the place to the ground, we'd just force them to scurry like rats and be victors of ashes. We need them to capitulate more losses than they can afford, before we do." Garlan added, a comment to make on Gendry's plan, knowing full well the extent of the fighting would continue.

Gendry nodded, "Choose someone you trust to oversee this castle. This is the fallback point if the worst happens, but we will not fall back any further than this point. Your men can hold this castle with arrows, catapults, scorpions, boiling oil and thousands of men right behind them on the cliffs. And if my ass needs saving, then you come and help me with the centre troops. Seems we are all agreed."

"Understood. I can take control of that. It'll give you a buffer." Garlan's reply was simple, sharp, and to the point. He had it in him, but knew at least he'd convinced Gendry to push relentlessly and like a raging Stag, with all the forces, all the way up the mountain. The men that had suffered the worst would at least get some rest, or at least, would be expected to be able to do so. He'd made his point clear enough, and knew that he would even himself have to take a moment to just unwind his head. After all, being in the vanguard and nearly getting killed by a fucking human-faced lion with wings that spat poison from it's tail was only a couple hours prior, and fully fresh in his memory. Some water, a wash and some rest would help, for the moment at least.

Merrell silently listened to the words his commanders exchanged. To his opinion, Aegon was wisest of the lot. Why try to defend a charred ruin so much? Better finish the job that had been started with the fight. And yet another battle awaited. So little time to rest, so much to do. Merrell was rather glad his cautiouness had held back his knights in the last assault, having the unwanted but welcomed effect of his troops being slightly less spent. Every single bit helped.

What it was clear is that now, the most painstaking part of the campaign would happen. Root out the last desperate remnants out of their last hole. Already, this was gaining eerie and sinister tints of a last stand. The strategies proposed were drawn out, but were sensible. He pondered how hard this fight was going to be. There was another way of tipping the odds towards their favour, but he didn't want to be overly reliant on sorcery.

"There's another way." A female voice, who had not been invited coyly beckoned from behind Merrell. And the unthinkable happened. Merrell, the semblance of serenity and calmness threw an absolutely venomous glare to the offender. Dressed in rich clothes, with the colors of the Lord of light, Mella Florent stood before the gathering. She coyly looked at each and one of the commanders with one of her haunting green eyes, the other one hidden beneath a luscious lock of purely fiery hair, which was only broken by the tips of her ears poking out the long hair. Even if the Florents had big ears, they didn't detract much beauty from this one. She kept a hand in her voluptuous hip, as she swayed ever so slightly, the folds of her robe letting sometimes see a hint of a well shaped leg.

"Us priests of R'hllor can see through the flames. No matter how small. We will be able to see what they do at each moment." The Florent priestess added. "Unless they live in total darkness. If they so wish to use their unclean sorceries on us once again... we shall purify them with our fire." The woman said assertively.

Merrell Florent was fuming. "Please excuse my cousin. She has seen too much today she might have taken leave of her senses." He said between his teeth as he gripped his pommel hard.

Gendry regarded the woman cooly, though most of the commanders, including the young Prince of Dorne glanced at her too long for it to be chivalrous. Only Ned seemed entirely uninterested, and even Dickon seemed to shift uncomfortably with the seductive woman so close. Harmen Dondarrion stared at the woman with a mysterious expression.

Gendry replied, inclining his head in courtly respect, "Thank you for the offer, my lady. And I am also grateful for the aid that you and yours offered my men on this day. But I won't rely entirely on flames and prophecies. My family has been laid astray by flames before, may I remind you. If you can show us something, that will be helpful, but I won't make it a crutch. Visions are dangerous, as they say. And often they are not literal."

"Agreed...it's not exactly perfect. There's been enough flames for the day, I think." Garlan mused, shaking his head as he looked up at the mountainside, then back at Gendry.
"Though I imagine the dragon will help us turn the tables. We can't rely on that as a crutch either, I would say. Or else we won't have anything left to hold at all" The Tyrell added, the distant summit visible in the distance.

Gendry spoke again, "But we can talk about the intricacies of strategy another time. My lady, I would be honored if you would join the commanders for supper. Tonight, we'll reward the men." Caravans of medicine and food supplies had been delivered to the men who were resting around them, septons and septas were ministering to them, but a chorus of cheers and applause rang out through the castle as the whores arrived. Hundreds of them, girls of every description, laughing and flashing their wares to the soldiers and knights as they were lead into the castle on the backs of elephants, the drivers smirking and waving down.

Gendry laughed, "It's been too long since our boys have seen any women besides nurses, silent sisters, and sellswords. I thought they might relish the chance. Some of you might too. I had them brought in from all over the Marches and Dorne."

He shouted loud enough for all to hear, "Have at them boys! It's on me!" The cheers renewed and the soldiers chanted the names of their lords and their house words as Gendry laughed again, clapping Garlan on the back, "I'll be in the great hall, need to plan out the disposition of our men. See you at dinner."

"I'll see you then. I feel like shit, so that food best be good." He chuckled with a light remark, tired and a little too overwhelmed perhaps at this point, as he saw the convoy roll in. He could only shake his head inconspicuously, not showing disdain or disaproval but disagreement internally, perhaps. This was Gendry Baratheon alright. A man of fear yet who would happily bring a brothel and a half to the top of a mountain. Seven unholy fucking hells, the Tyrell could only think.

Even if he didn't partake, it didn't sit entirely right in Garlan's mind. If Ellion was on this campaign, he'd probably tire himself out, but Garlan was a married man, his own honour was to his own, to Leonette. Some men had questionable choices of honour, but he had it firmly. It wasn't something he exactly approved of. The whores would bring pleasure, but to broken men, throwing whores at the problem wouldn't solve everything. Neither would alcohol, as he found out himself in the wars of his younger years. It just created distraction, and whilst it was a relief, it wasn't something Garlan personally approved of anyway. He didn't sometimes like the way that his nephew acted, Ellion's debauchery was but one man, but this was different. Just not right, somewhat.

The whores could have been left and supplies brought instead, at this haste. Whores couldn't fight. Whores couldn't be drunk or ate, unless you were a fucking Thenn. Garlan was a pragmatist, and whilst the supplies had come, the whores didn't need to be fed or taken. The resources could have been used to supply other forces, or to backup the other castles as a reserve. Sometimes a morale booster was needed, but when the world was as black as it could be, escapism did not bode well, Garlan mused.

And when this castle would come under attack again, he was not arming an army of paid women of the night, he thought to himself. It felt like Gendry was too arrogant, too soon. Maybe he was wrong....Gendry was a master logistical planner, and he had already planned the entire offensive, faster and quicker in his mind than Garlan could know himself to be able. Maybe he had the confidence to be right and know what was coming, that when they hit the summit, it would be barren and full of afraid men. But something seemd askew. Nearly dying from some beast and then coming to this just seemed completely surreal. The sight of Viseryon in the distance, sitting on the tower, it's eyes looking onto the horizon, gently and deeply roaring, only fuelled the juxtoposition.

But what the hell, he reminded himself. They had "won" this fight. And yet in his mind, he felt Mirren's words reverberate, what she said to him. Like an insight that somebody was too scared to say, Garlan felt it sink in. These men needed sleep, not sex. And nothing he would say would change that. It was just a commander's opinion, not Gendry's. So he had to let it go, as he himself took the rest of his gauntlets off, walking back towards the armoury, where a few of the other Green Hand were dusting down, treating minor wounds, and cleaning bloody and ash-ridden plate.

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

Highgarden

Merlin had accordingly arranged for that dinner, greeting Ser Arthur, pleasantries accounted for, and well, everything setup. The administrator had dealt with each thing in turn, and through his, and Eve's niceties, they had sorted things out.

And the table was set, Merlin at the helm, food laid out for himself, Arthur and Alester, a meeting that had been awaited. A true chance to get into some meaty business, including the lamb on the table, which he had began to slowly eat, after some initial introductions. But nothing of note. Everyone was hungry, or so Merlin hoped.

Alester looked at the meal thoughtfully, his bound book of parchments close by, as he took a small, but meticulous sip of the Arbor wine. It was a nice taste, full of fruity hints, and with a fragant aroma. However, he wasn't much of a wine lover, and as such, he could only moderatedly enjoy the taste, as his hand reached for his plate, serving himself the barely minimum of meat to be polite and not offend his host.

He wasn't having much appetite now, what with the state of affairs. Truthfully, the inquisitor was a mixed blessing. The crown's aid on the Gardener issue would prove invaluable, but for a man as thoughtful as Alester, he fully knew that the man only answered to the crown, and ultimately, would only benefit the Justice of the King. Nevertheless, as long as he behaved - and he prayed- the melting pot of his followers stood in line, the investigation would go like a smooth sail.

Besides, his goals and that of both men on the table besides him were coincident right now. He looked at both men in the eyes, while looking at the full plate, waiting for the others to start the conversation.

Arthur, unlike Alester ate with gusto. He may have been more refined, more cultured than many other Northmen, but a Northman he still was and a hungry one. It had been a long journey and he maintain only as much restraint as protocol neccisitated, otherwise drinking and eating his fill.

After several moments of this, Arthur finished the latest bite of lamb, "My compliments to your cook my lord. You do set a fine table indeed. Everything in the Reach is just so damn well fed."

"I came straight here from King's Landing, and Lady Sansa sends her compliments and regards as well. She hopes that this partnership will be very fruitful. Indeed, your aunt was a dear friend of mine. I hope that the same may hold true for us."

"I see to it, Arthur. I am glad to hear, thank you. Our lands are the breadbasket of the Realm, so we see to it we look after our people upon it." Merlin took a bite, knowing that Alester seemed quiet.
"Your presence here is helpful to us, at the very least. I am humble to admit when I see an issue we cannot resolve, and believe me, we have invested much into routing the cause of this issue. I know that even the Maesters of Oldtown seem confused about it all, and when the smartest men of the Realm are coming up blank, it is good to know someone has the audacity to give it a go. That said, Oldtown have sent a man that is arriving tomorrow, a bit of a loose cannon, but he seems like he knows these mysteries well and is willing to help us." He added, taking a gentle bite, looking across to Alester.
"Lord Alester here also seems to agree. The threat is not to just my family, but to his if these Gardeners are a real threat."

"Indeed I do." Alester seemed to raise a hint of a voice, just tenous enough to be heard as he ate his portion thoughtfully, and not without abundant small sips, like a small predator would nibble the carcass of a fallen prey. He eyed the gleam of the wine under the light of the candles. "Gardeners, the ancestors of both houses, who thought to have perished under the fire, and now... are making a return. Too... much of a tall tale to be true. Anyone with greenblood in his lineage, who has done their best to...rebuild their life after the Targayens ended the Gardeners in the Field of Fire would be infuriated. This country needs not to repeat history, but learn from it." Alester words were somber. "The Seven Kingdoms still bear the scars of recent wars." He added. "It is our duty to mend the wounds that our forebearers inflicted in the kingdoms, after all. I will pool also my resources in this matter."

He added, thoughtfully."The timing is too ...suspicious to not be concerned."

Arthur nodded, sobering from his usual flippancy, "Indeed. The Crown thinks this all is connected. The prevailing theory is that all or some of the different insurgencies and rebellions are connected. We believe that the Scorpions of the Stepstones, the Vultures, the Reynes, the Gardeners, the Fishers, and the Black Kracken are all in league with each other. The Sparrows and Freemen might have a hand as well. And with the emergence of eldritch beasts in our lands once more, well.. these are darkening times indeed. And winter is fast approaching."

Arthur reached into his travel pack, "We chanced upon this as we travelled." He laid the severed head of a monster on the table. The size of the head made one remember the Mountain that Rides, but if the Mountain had had sickly yellow skin and monstrous horns and batlike ears. "An Ogre the smallfolk were calling it. More than seven feet tall, and had come every night to carry off someone for dinner. We put a stop to it after losing nearly a dozen men. And that was just one creature. And not even a full grown one if the stories are to believed. These rebels appearing while these beasts terrorize the country? Dire times."

"Seven Hells." He held his throat back, as he shook his head.
"If this spreads....we won't stop it. None of our armies, no matter our number, are going to be able to contain it. We have to stop this madness. It's a frightening thing." Merlin added, resting his fist on the table, shaking his head. It was the first he'd properly seen of such a thing, a shock to the system indeed.

"Whatever you need, Arthur. The Reach isn't a breadbastket alone. There's thousands of soldiers at our behest. And whilst many are not called, they can be raised to isolate islands and pockets of activity. A large land, so you won't be able to travel all of it, and may depend on Lieutenants to go where they come. The men I've had at work have had little luck, but you have brought the first proof to my door, not tales or rumours like some. So I put that confidence into you. I will do whatever it takes to take my Kingdom back, and I shall place that faith into your hands."

Alester's reaction was blinking at first, then checking out twice the creature. Had it been another wine, he would have sprayed half the table with his cup's contents, but, summoning all of his willpower, and taking a page of the one who taught him in the ways of the sword, Merrell Florent, adopted a placid expression while he chugged down the beverage greedily, somehow achieving a more mellow attitude after seeing...that thing.

"A poor choice of seconds, Ser Arthur. I liked the lamb more." He said, impassively, his emotions restrained as he scrunched up in his thought. A flash seemed to came to his mind, his squinted eyes becoming wide.

"That shan't do, Lord Merlin." Alester announced. "If these creatures are sighted. And if the rebellions are connected... Garlan and Merrell might be facing these in the Vulture roost as we speak. We cannot blindly lash out at this new threat... " Alester announced pensive.

"In a sense this is funny." He finally said, a comment so out of place that stuck out more than the decapitated beast.

Arthur nodded grimly, though his grimness didn't preclude him taking another bite of lamb before speaking, "Indeed. After the attack on the Red Keep, it can no longer be denied. Dark powers have returned to our country, perhaps they never left. And it seems our enemies have at least some connection to them. This is only one variety of monster, there are many more of it's kind and more kinds of monsters. All the tales that our wetnurses and mothers told us about. "

"And the worst part is, some of them seem to be intelligent. That beast there cursed us in the common tongue. A mangled accent of it. But that monster called all manner of curses and expressions of hate or pain as we struck at it with swords and pincushioned it with arrows. Just one of these beasts is worth a score of soldiers."

"And if true be told, we would have done for it eventually, but with much more dead. My lieutenant stupidly went in with his men, without waiting for backup and suffered for it. Nearly got the whole unit killed. Until he stepped in. Come in."

What entered the room looked like a man, but a nightmarish distortion of one. His skin was sickly white, even paler than the average Valyrian, and he walked like a shadowcat or mountain lion, a hunter. A predator. He was clothed in black, contrasting with the white hair that flowed from his shoulders. But unlike the violet eyes of a Targaryen, his were truly a dragon's. They were fiery red, with the reptillian pupils of a dragon. They glowed in the torchlight and seemed to bore into the soul.

"His name's Kovold. The first experiment from our eccentric friends in Harrenhal. They took an orphan boy and over the years twisted him into.. this, what they call a mutant. He is stronger, faster, tougher, more agile than any man. He is a killer through and through. Would be monster-hunters, normal men, have been trying to face these beasts for the past several years. Sometimes they succeed but with great cost. The Witch of Harrenhal thought that the best way to fight a monster was to make one of our own. He is the one who killed the Ogre and he has killed many other beasts since he first started operating. The Crown is well pleased with his performance."

Kovold stood impassively, showing almost no hint of emotion other than faint lazy hungry boredom as he stood at attention, "We can't fight both rebels and monsters at the same time. It is thought that the fighting men of the land should focus on bandits and traitors. And that we need another class of men entirely to fight the monsters. Let Kovold handle some of your issues here in the Reach. And if he continues to do well... perhaps it will be time to expand the program. Thoughts, questions my lords? I'm sure you have many."

"Those who take the war beyond mortals we cannot fight with mortals alone. I fully understand, Ser Arthur. A man from the witches. A witcher of kind, to fight our monsters." Merlin seemed to suggest, in thought, looking up at the man.
"What does he need to do his tasks? I assume food, water, and a bed. All three we can provide. Any perculiarities, I would be interested to know as of now, before he begins his work proper."

Alester just chuckled to himself, as he eyed the man. He however stopped for a brief moment to offer some courtesy food and a drink for the newly appoint guest. "So that's your solution. One man. Even if he were the finest soldier to walk the earth incarnate, he's but one." The fox lord stood ponderous. "The thing is...you are wrong, Sir Arthur. We are already fighting monsters and bandits at the same time. At least from what I infer in the Dorne campaign, we will have to." Alester added as he served some cup of wine more as he gulped.

"Fortunately, the Crown is not the only one with access to such... things." Alester swirled the wine in his cup." I can offer my own troops. Florents. But before you call me insane, hear me out. These are no normal Florents. They're what was left of Stannis wake, who survived the bitter cold and the war in the North. And who possess the power of the followers of the light." Alester added. "I was afraid to reveal this card, because of past...less than fortunate associations, but chances are, they are probably fighting the monsters of the Vulture's roost as we speak. Should they be successful, they'll be the speartip against this new menace."

"And of course, they'd be for the Crown to command. They're vying for a second oportunity aswell. I suppose this will ease your concerns a little." Alester added as he began to look through his book of parchments.

Arthur dipped his head to Merlin, "He has all the same needs as a man, but needs less of it to function. An optimal ranger to survive for long periods of time without needing daily food nor rest. If he is hurt, he will recover faster from it than an ordinary man. But I cannot say how he was changed, that is a secret that Lady Lothson has been keeping to herself. In fact, this whole project had been something of a secret until she came forward to the Crown with it after the sea creatures attacked us. I will say that once he is in battle, he is... nothing short of a nightmare."

He turned to Alester, and Kovold remained standing, though he accepted the food and drink with a nod of his head and a grunt, "I do not claim for this to be some final solution. Merely a test run. A proof of concept. There are hundreds, perhaps even thousands of monstrosities hiding in the Reach alone. And they breed. But they aren't an organized threat, simply a hazard. Partner him with some men, and see if he can make good headway into keeping the population safe. If he does, Lady Lothson will start to make more."

"But the point is to free up our troops to fight our true enemies, our political rivals who wish to undermine our power. Terrible as they may be, these monsters are not a threat to our dominion of the country, simply the welfare of the people. The use of such.. assets allows us to focus our attention on more important matters of state."

"I admit that the method may have been less than savory, but the boy had no one else. As a serf, Lothson was well within her rights. The King's Laws have not caught up to such developments after all. But we will use every tool we can get our hands on. The Maesters have their artificers, the Northerners have wargs and green men. We need every bit of arcane power to counter our rivals, who are using similar weapons. You are correct that our men in Dorne are facing some such forces. All the more reason for us to develop counter measures. That's why the Citadel bred Griffins, that's why the Dornish gave us Water Mages."

"As for your Fire Priests.. certainly, they can be useful. We are just worried letting fanatics handle so many problems will breed more strife. I hear rumors from the Citadel that they have found some young men and women who can help with this as well. So, give Kovold the job of handling the monsters. I can handle the Gardeners. We won't have to worry about too many problems at once and we can focus on what really threatens us."

With a nod from Arthur, Kovold took the ogre head and left the room, causing the guards to shift unsteadily as he walked by, "Give him some Green Hand Knights and they should do well. Now, for the real reason we're all here, I believe I found some information on House Gardener."

"There are no abandoned keeps like in the West that they could be hiding, so one of the prevailing suspicions is that they either have some new hidden base, or are being harbored by some lord. We are fairly confident that this new House Gardener is descended from House Oldflowers, the bastards of the bloodline."

"I want to hear it, Arthur. Tell me more." Merlin asked, hearing his suggestion.
"A great number of Knights of the Green Hand are with Garlan in the Red Mountains right now. But we have some spare, if you want them." He added, listening to his suggestion.
"I imagine it shall be interesting to see if they are harboured. Most Houses of the Reach are loyal, overwhelmingly so. There are few internal enemies to House Tyrell. What ones there are, bend the knee quick. So it may be difficult to sift through them, but a task that can be put to mind." Merlin added, his analytical mind spinning a little, as he looked over at Arthur in particular.

"The Reach is mostly flat, but the rolling hills, vinyards and forests can hide men. Small numbers, bandits and such. But it can hide men, where you look carefully enough. Further inland, towards the Red Mountains, there are more caves and hide-holes, so any threat could plausibly come from the south-east, in the Dornish Marches. That would be a respectable base of rest. If not there, then diffuse and across the lands, scattered like seeds in a flowerbed."

"My best men were committed to those mountains aswell. I can only spare very few" Alester said, crossing his arms and flicking through his ledger. "I cannot lend you the first sword of the Florent either." He kept rereading his observations and assets."What I do have though... is some former spearwives." He added. "As a northman you may know how they can be used. They're mostly retired and being wives and helpers in my house. But one word and they'll help you. Plus, they're more unconspicious than knights." Alester said, as he kept browsing through the pages.

"I do recall that Mella can see through the flames. But she's in the Dorne campaign. Hm." Alester pondered. "Plus she loves to be the center of attention. No good for this case." He paused."You'll have to do with my ledgers and spearwives I am afraid. I suppose I can hire a few... bards to help you, and maybe even offer you the first sword of the Florents for a limited amount of time.

"Spearwives you say? Indeed. They would be useful. Expert trackers, forresters, hunters. The perfect scouts. They'll be put to good use. As for your cousin, I had heard that fire priests can communicate with each other over great distances through their flames. Perhaps if you have one in Brightwater, they can coordinate with them? A seer would be a great help in trying to find the Gardeners, though I understand that their visions and prophecies can be somewhat.. open to interpretation."

"We can use the knights for official inquests, give the air of authority. But the spearwives can be our unofficial eyes and ears. I thank you. But on my end, I can start asking questions, go around to the different families. If either of you know anyone who might have sympathies for the Gardener regime, that would be most helpful. And meanwhile, I will hunt down the Gardener soldiers tramping over the Reach. They like to harass food shipments to the capital. Perhaps a trap can be set for them. If I take some prisoners, it could help us find out more."

"They sent a strong message at the Stoney Sept with their endorsement of the massacre of the smallfolk there. We must answer in kind, wipe out one of their dens. And I fear they may seek to target House Tyrell next. Their claim rests on ousting yours. This gives me an idea on how we could set a trap for them."

"Go on, Arthur." Merlin did not say much, for he wanted to listen. After all, he had little additional insight- the Inquisitor was bringing a lot to the table, of matters beyond his control of a large part of the realm.
"If they harrass the food, more men will be required to guard it. A problem to the finances of my house. I don't intend to lose more gold in committing to that, so it seems sensible to entrap them, frighten them from going for it." Merlin mused, looking back to Arthur.

"Mmh. It is worth a try. I am aware of their power... but they're a reserved lot. They'd expect me to hand out some concessions for that use. But I can try." Alester added, as he went through his book. "Guarding and finances... Hm, that would be a bit of a conundrum. I am afraid I am in the same situation, and as things stand, I cannot spare some money for Tyrells without invoking the ire of my house. If we were tied..." Alester added as he mused to himself, before addressing Arthur. "I mean, there are several ways to bypass the problem but none seems straightforward. So ser knight, what is your idea?"

"You are my vassal, Alester. Ties aren't needed to ask for more money. You may not like that, and in fact, you have a right to tell me where to stick my request, in concert with other Lords, by the rights of the realm. But it's the same right I hold as Steward of Highgarden that allows me to send the ravens to call your men to war from any given vassal, to ask for your additional support in that. I haven't asked House Florent for a great deal of men, and many Houses are bearing the brunt, Houses that aren't even in the Southern Reach or close to the conflict in the Red Mountains. Be careful with what words you use in front of me, Alester. We need to deal with the matter at hand before we talk about those matters, besides." Merlin barbed back at Alester, a slight remark that had to be made to just bring him back. Alester was clearly capable, Merlin could tell that, but a little rightedness, even implied, had to have a concequence.

"The point is to reduce the number of rebels, m'lord. Not raise them. I have no right to oppose a formal request for funds, and that is one of the options which you could use to bypass the problem. However, it is no secret that old wounds can reopen under strain. I appeal to your wisdom in that regard." Alester said, bowing down to Merlin. "When that happens, I can kiss goodbye to my head, and the one after me, might not be so palatable."

"Welcome to being a Lord. Plenty of time to do unpopular of things, and given my problem also seems to be yours, it seems unfair that I alone will be forced to bear that cost. That is a matter for another day. Arthur, as you were saying?" Merlin retorted, looking back across from Alester.

Arthur regarded the whole matter with faint embarassment at watching the small spat, but barreled on, "Peace my lords. There is no need for such strife. I can appeal to the Crown to send more men here and ease the burden on the Lords of the Reach if the situation gets more advanced. But we can stop it before it heads that way."

"I have an idea. Organize a major caravan to the capital, say it's part of the Tyrell contributions to the upcoming hatching ceremony that the royal family will hold in celebration. And the expected victory celebrations of course. Let it leak that members of noble houses will be accompanying the procession, especially Tyrells. They will take the bait. And we can take prisoners, and extract more information there. For their upstart rebellion, such a target is simply too irresistible. They'll know that many of the men are engaged in the Red Mountains, and as such they won't expect stiff resistance. But myself and many others can disguise ourselves as simple workers bringing the food to the capital. We can catch them off guard."

"Then we can see if any of them know where the Gardeners are hiding. If not, we will strike a blow all the same, and yours houses can get money from the trading of those goods at market and in the Red Keep. An elegant solution to my mind. And of course, no nobles will be truly in harms way, just dressed up servants if need be. Thoughts?"

"A risk. A considerable one, that could go completely to shit." Merlin bluntly said, as he chuckled, taking a bite of lamb straight after, nodding in approval.
"But one I am on board with. The only problem is, you'd need an actual Tyrell to follow that convoy. Or a real noble, that they see leaving the castle, or even this very Keep. They can have watchers and whilst our plan is watertight now, the moment it goes to the men, it can change and diffuse. So it has to be real...or the illusion won't work. In the armories, your men can disguise and be relatively unrecognizeable, walk out, and if they are in this castle, watching our moves, then they will get away with it. That is not the same with any noble. They will have an eye, and any slip of detail or character, that will ring alarm bells about the rest of it. Make it no longer worth attempting, and futile." Merlin suggested, as he took the goblet of wine on the table, gently shaking the Arbor Gold.

"So you'd need real bait. I wouldn't go, that's suicide. I have the nerve and know it'd be the best thing, but if I die, it'd be a huge bloody inconvenicence, and leave the castle without anyone able to administer it. Can't rule if I'm dead. If Ellion was here, he'd take this for all he could. There is one lad, but you'd need to promise me I'm not going to send him to die." Merlin added, looking across at Arthur, leaning in.
"Garlan's son, Martyn, was out there swinging his sword and his father told him not go to on the campaign with him. He isn't good enough a fighter yet for what they are up against. But I know he wants a little glory. My nephew can do that for us. It makes sense, giving him a role and responsibility in that chaos. Add a couple of others, and it may work."

"I'll do it." Alester said, as he closed his book, sighing. "No need for lads."

Merlin looked across, nodding. It was an impressive thing, a step up.
"Very well. If you're willing to take that risk. You're the Lord of your House, and if you go, you need to know what the concequences are." Merlin mused, positive about the affair, not wanting to stir anything up, but just to raise an awareness, clarity even, that he was impressed.
"Alright then, Arthur. It seems it can be done. We can pull it off, and the strings can be arranged rather naturally. I needed a convoy sent in the next week, after all, something larger anyway."

Arthur nodded, "Yes. This will do very well. The Lord of Brightwater Keep will be a prime target. And the emnity between your two houses is well known. The Gardeners could see Alester's capture as an opportunity to convince him to the cause as well. And I am confident that Lord Alester and all of our men, including myself can pull this off."

"We can ask the Tarlys to send a few others to make it even more attractive, Samwell and Dickon are friends of the Crown as well. With the wagons of food and goods, we can hide soldiers in their own wagons. I believe this will be a gambit that can finally give us one over on the Gardeners. I brought some members of my houses' elite guard along. Master archers and swordsmen all. Together, we should have little trouble."

"That could work." Merlin commented, hearing what Arthur suggested, as he nodded in agreement.
"Alright then. We'll make it so then. A simple trap can go sour fast, but if it is the option we have, then we use it to pull them into the open."

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

King's Landing

Alerie could see she was already having an effect on Tom, the fire in his voice was rising a little. Tyrells were like that, a rose to embolden their other seemed to resonate, like an aura somewhat, as she kissed him.

"Certainly. Neither of us wants harm to the Targaryens. But we want our own houses to prosper. All you say shall happen, and we will find resistance, enemies who will stop us, inside, outside of our Houses, or the Realm. They don't matter. It's going to happen." She added, her voice like thorns wrapping up his spine, runny like wine yet like a rose's sharpened embrace.

"My brother as Lord of the Reach....hmmm. I think whilst he's so good with his sums and his administration, he's too much like my father and suited to be nothing more than just average. A good Lord, good at all that needs to be done, but no more. And Ellion could never rule....he can only fuck and fight, and as good as he is at both, that doesn't help us really. You know what they say about Ladies of the Reach though. We are the real matriarchs of our House. That is a fact that most don't think is true. But....I'll tell you now...." Alerie added with a grin, as she locked tongues with him, atop Tom, smirking as she brushed his blonde hair out of the way.

"We're quite good at it." She giggled, continuing to lay atop him, sighing as she looked into Tom's golden-green eyes with her own golden-brown.

"We will find our edge, me and you. You will be Hand and I will be by your side to help you." Alerie, lying atop Tom Lannister, knew that whilst he had changed, she had not. She had changed him, and her own thorny rose was able to work to that advantage. She always knew the ladder had to be climbed, that whilst Tom would be the face that ruled, she would be by his side and retain her family's influence in a position of power. Tom would have his way, but she would be inside him on a further level, and it started from now, the Rose knowing her seed had been touched by the Lion's, but much in the same way as it had physically occured, she had mentally done it the other way around, perhaps time would tell what that seed would grow into and become, as Alerie Tyrell knew it could be decades till the fruits of her choices would be beared.

Tom stared into her eyes, instantly excited and aroused by her gaze and her words, knowing on some level that this woman would either help him reach great heights or contribute to his destruction, and not caring. He knew he loved her then, fiercely and truly. Whatever happened in the future, whatever strife their union may cause, whatever enemies rose to oppose them, even if they were his own family, Tom knew he would have her by his side through it all. And to hell with the rest.

He kissed her then, and the kiss turned into much more.

It was a while till the two had done, and other things had come up in her quarters, namely the knocking that had come at the door. Alerie rolled the sheet onto him and put her finger on her lips to indicate to keep quiet, as she took her own nightgown, the sun raising outside the window, as she headed to the door. She opened it, keeping close to the door, the sight of a Tyrell guard, dressed in a relatively pleasant green-cloth embroidered plate, and a simple open helm, that covered his head- even the Tyrell guards smelled a tiny bit of Rose Oil, which was rather strange to observe.

"My Lady. Lord Willas would like to see you in his quarters." He said, as Alerie chuckled, her head mostly peeking the door, as she nodded, a little red.
"Certainly. Tell him I'm coming along in a few minutes. I still need to dress...and my handmaidens aren't needed. Let them get a little rest." She said to him, as the guard nodded, before stepping away, a little clatter in his armour, as she shut the door, sighing.

"Sorry. Looks like I need to go. And I imagine your father probably will want you later too. We shouldn't make this fully clear. Not yet. Imply it at most, Tom." She seemed to have a certain accent that neither was too harsh or too soft in her voice, as she began to pick up her dress, the green and golden garb a little more casual rather than overtly formal, slowly dressing herself.

Tommen smiled, rising from the bed and kissing her before beginning to dress himself, though in a much plainer and more discreet outfit than the usual red or gold velvet. It wouldn't do for some coal boy to see him walk out of the Tyrell quarters at such an hour. It took a bit longer to dress than it should have, every few moments the young lion went out of the way to playfully prod his rose. But in the end they managed to and Tom said, "Not to worry, all Lannisters are masterful liars after all. In fact, he may even bring up the notion himself today, he and Willas have been awfully friendly lately."

He held her by the waist for the moment, "When can I see you next?"

Alerie turned, as she did the last fastner of her dress, her red hair brushing a little against her skin, a distinct grin on her face as she felt Tom's embrace.

"I have a funny feeling you won't wait long, then you won't ever have to ask again. This is only the beginning of things to come when you're with me. I shall see you soon, Ser Tom." And with it, she pecked him gently on the cheek with a giggle and a grin, Lady Alerie smelling of roses quite literally as she left Tom's hands, walking out of the room, walking through the corridors of the Keep and towards the Master of Coin's quarters, or her father's home away from home.

Tom smiled after her and let several minutes pass before slipping out of the room himself and making himself scarce. His hair wasn't combed, dressed in servant's rags, with a less confident gait akin to a peasant, he wasn't recognized at all. He returned to his own quarters in the Tower of the Hand, and changed to a relaxed Lannister outfit as a page arrived and informed him that his Lord Father desired his presence. Tom entered the Hand's office and found Tyrion sitting at his desk. Tyrion smiled at him, "Come, Tom, I wanted to discuss some small matters with you. You are nearly a man grown after all. It's time you started the game."

And Alerie did the same, albeit not looking like a peasant as she headed to her father. She looked like Lady Alerie Tyrell would, nothing really out of the ordinary, as she walked into Willas's quarters. He sat at the desk, quill in hand, looking across at his daughter.
"You're looking well. How's King's Landing treating my daughter? I thought you'd find this city a little too noisy."
"Good, thanks. I think I'm enjoying it here...outside of the noise. Got plenty of things to do."
"Glad to hear it. I have a few things to discuss too, a few things you could help me with and attend. You may not have a financial nous, but the men of Braavos do business and trades with our Kingdoms that I think you should at least see in my line of work. A little book keeping that'll help you when you eventually find a Lord to marry, I am sure."

[Nightwing95]

(A collab with@AtomicNut)

Seran's thoughts were somewhat bitter. It had been a most fruitful day, and he was alive after several life-risking moments, but the bruises on his face were a sore reminder that it had not gone without cost. It had not been a smooth teamwork either. Holier than thou lords had rubbed him the wrong way, and at times it seemed like the mission could fall apart. But it didn't, and now he was standing in contemplation what to do while waiting in the lull of this entire operation.

What could he do to kill time? He had already chatted with the skinny prostitute and made her reveal her somewhat buried skill, and his old acquaintance, Lira... well, that was perhaps too awkward. She had blossomed greatly, she seemed to have a bit of a fancy for him, and right now she was the plaything of Prince Viserys. 

Thinking on Lyseni and Princes, a thought came to his mind. There was the matter of his sister's fancies, and how she had apparently conceded to be courted by a Targayen prince. And who wouldn't? It was a step up to merely garner the attention of one, and may a highborn lady would kill for Lysara's place. He didn't want to meddle in the affair himself...however, if he didn't at least show a token of concern and feign a little protective jealousy, he would look out of place.

Even if he knew full well that any man who threatened Lysara would die horribly from a wine cup, if his sword wasn't faster. So, hobbling towards under the deck, he procured himself some wine, finally relenting to the advice of numbing his pain, and sought Rhaegar.

"Fancy a little wine, my Prince?" Seran added, wine and cups in hand.

The cloth in his hands nearly floated over the rare steel, gathering at its path the crimson traces of lifeblood. Rhaegar cleaned his sword with extreme care and efficiency, something he sought to learn and was quick to understand even a day after his father granted him the blade. And the Dark Sister had indeed served the Prince well..

With Aemon out in the port town, seeking dealings and Viserys chasing skirts, he was for the first time truly alone in the spacious cabin. The trip ended with an ambush, and planning filled most of his time until their most recent battle. Rhaegar himself received a proud pat in the back by his oldest brother for leading the rear-guard and rescuing Arak, and while to some it might resembled little, to a fourthborn son this was like a mount of gold to a filthy pauper. But amongst the meditative silence, his mind was riddled his thoughts, yet they were suddenly cut when he heard a familiar voice.

"Seran, do come in..." Rhaegar said, flawlessly recognizing Lysaras brother. He even tried to put up a charming smile for him, following instructions on how to be a more affable Prince "Pretending to be my brother was a bold move...yet surprisingly effective. I don't think I had the chance to congratulate for sticking your neck out to the blades of the enemy."

Seran poured wine in the two cups, his good eye sizing the prince up. Goodness, Lysara, are we cradle robbing now? He's just but a lad He thought to himself, as he stretched one of the cups towards the prince.

"If things had gone as planned, that would had not be necessary. I had an idea. I took the risk, and it paid off. And don't thank me yet. This campaign is far from over." The eldest of the lyseni siblings shrugged. "After all the best lies contain a bit of truth in them." Seran mused.

"Is that so ser...?" Rhaegars bemused look had changed to one of slight question. That last comment didn't just fly over his head, and being suspicious as ever, the young Prince thought that Seran hid an insult towards the line of Dragonkings. Yet his features relaxed soon after, with even an audible chuckle escaping him "Oh but you must mean your quite peculiar ancestry. If my memory serves me well, your sister mentioned your descendance from the Triarchs...or was it the Rogares?" he questioned before taking the cup from his companions outstretched hand.
 
"My sister said that much, huh." Seran added, while swirling his own cup. He was actually referring to the fact the prince was there, but not who the pirates had thought. However this ancestry talk had him intrigued. Lysara... she must've invested a bit on this prince. And, he could see why. Nevertheless that kind of personality had obvious shortcomings, so he decided to put the whole issue to a little test. 

"You do not know half of it, my prince."  The elder Lyseni sibling mused. "True, our mother was a Rogare." Seran said. "But we've acquired better proof of our lineage recently. I always thought poor mother was deluded in that regard, as she always claimed we had Targayen blood as well." Seran eyed the prince.

"But we have proof of it now. Even if we're sons of a Rogare... we should be called Seastar, instead." He added, gulping the cup in one go. The seed was planted. It was up to Rhaegar to decide whether he could be trusted with his sister or not. If he could stomach such tainted blood, then things could go well.

"We didn't have much time together, only a short week, but she was always a welcome companion. And then our departure was at such a haste..." this time the Prince decided to keep his tongue a bit more guarded, seeing as his attempt at an outgoing streak almost made him seem like a fool to the Lyseni. He avoided to inform Seran that he actively sought out his sister, and retreated into a more passive stance, simply sipping on his cup while hearing what his companion had to say regarding his lineage. A part of him was indeed curious to hear the things Lysara missed...and then he was thankful that the last piece in his theory didn't catch in the middle of a sip.

Rhaegar had to plant his feet firmly to the ground, lest he leaped up like a spring in his surprise. And while he wasn't as voracious a reader as Jaehaerys, he recognized the name Seastar "If I may say so Seran...you make quite the hefty claim. Words are like arrows, and once loosened they cannot come back."

"And that is why... I loosened them right in the middle of nowhere, with anyone but us, and several days of travel between us and the Iron Throne, o prince. Surely the Master of Whispers' ears don't reach that far." He put his hand in the table as he refilled the cup once more. "You will be the first to know who she really is, prince. And if you still want her, I will not ever interfere." Seran added, looking at the wine."This is how I judge the suitors of my sister."

Rhaegar indeed left his seat once Seran brought his aunt into the conversation. His patience had depleted rather quickly, and indeed, he felt dumb for allowing himself to be cornered like that. So what if Lysara was carried the blood of Shiera Seastar?

His eyes fell to Dark Sister, resting near his bedside, before crossing with Serans glint. Under the dim lighting of the Cabin, the dark violet orbs of the Prince took the dark shade of newly minted Dragonglass "Then judge my words Seran of Lys...I sought out your sister regardless of blood or name. Still, what justification do you have to this claim, what proof. I don't need to be a Maester to know that Shiera Seastar never married."

"My sister possesses a ring that once belonged to Aegon IV. Which she passed to Serenei of Lys, Shiera Seastar, and finally her descendants and my sister." Seran crossed his arms, satisfied with the answer, as he finally conceded and gave a faint smile. "You're a good man, prince. I have to act like the jealous older brother at times." He added.

"Let me be the first to applaud your act then. Ever thought of laying down your sword and becoming a mummer?" Rhaegars questioned was followed by a mirthful chuckle. First with his act as Aemon and now this, the young Prince found it wise to false mock the Lyseni instead of lashing out in anger. And they said war made men out of boys...

"I will have to thank you for your wine and the company..." he said before downing every last drop of red from his cup "But I believe your friends updeck might be sorely missing it." and then showing him the door as cordially as possible

"Not a bad profession, if I must say my Prince. I'd gladly become one, or a wine merchant, like my late father. But staking my life at swordpoint was the only real option to give my sister the life she deserves. I only wished I had half as talent as you and your family." Seran said, as he bowed with difficulty and made himself scarce.

[Abefroeman]

((A collaboration with these comrades in arms: @MrDidact@AtomicNut@Greenie@NecroKnight))

The Castle of Golden Tooth, departures and new arrivals.

Lady Cerenna found herself being stopped in the hallways of Golden Tooth by none other than Ser Martyn of House Lannister himself. The noble knight certainly cut a dashing figure, his well kept armor adding the overall dazzling affect he had. Cerenna couldn't help by find the energetic knight to be both very dashing and attractive. Remembering her manners and courtly etiquite, after scanning over Ser Martyn once more, Cerenna curtsied low to the knight who was charged with rooting out the vile rebels that had now begun to infest the Westerlands. Cerenna made good measure to flare out her dress in a show of womanly beauty for the knight of gold and red.

"The honor is all mine, Ser Martyn Lannister. Knight-Captain of the famous Golden Knights, and you have certainly charmed me. Duty calls us all, noble knight, and once you have attained victory in the field of battle, I would be thrilled share a meal with you. To better get to know the honorable man who is in charge of defending the Westerlands from evil and vile foes." Cerenna smiled, finishing with another curtsy, before listening to Ser Martyn continue his charming discourse. Perhaps he was being just courteous and nice, or perhaps again he was true in his words and found Cerenna to be a fair flower in its prime. Pushing those thoughts aside, Cerenna refocused on Ser Martyn once more.

"Well, such a humble request on your part must be answered without hesitation." Cerenna revealed a thin blade from beneath her gowns, using it to cut a strip of cloth from her garments, and with Ser Martyn's permission, tying it about his left arm by the bicep. She smiled, stepping back to admiring her own handywork. "Hopefully this boon will be of some use to you. Or at the very least, so your friends know not to shoot you full of arrows should the enemy also be equiped in such dazzeling armor as yours. I ask but of one gift for you to bring back, Ser Martyn. Bring just yourself back alive and well, or perhaps a few cuts so I may help tend to them and enjoy your company some more." Cerenna smiled, and curtsied once again, allowing Ser Martyn to be on his way, not wishing to hold the knight up any more than she already had.

Lady Cerenna quickly made her way to the paraphets of the castle wall, watching the stream of well armed and armoed knights and men at arms making their way out of the gates and towards the countryside. She smiled and waved at Ser Martyn, watching him disappear into the distance, before going back about her duties deep within the Golden Tooth, which at this time of day, was helping create bandages for any wounded that could end up in the castle infirmary. As she soaked fresh linen and cotton strips of cloth in a cauldron of boiling hot water, she thought of her former crush, Ser Aerion, and that of her new one, Ser Martyn.

A few hours later, at the gates of the Golden Tooth.

Lord Lorimer was abruptly pulled away from spending time with his lady wife when a runner came searching for him. He had been helping her figure out what meals to cook and serve for the return feast of the noble Golden Knights, the men at arms, and in general, for victory over the enemy. Sighing, Lorimer rose up, kissing his wife, and followed the runner into the hallway, turning back to smile and say his goodbyes to his wife. "Sweetheart, you keep enjoying yourself, I will be back when I can. I want you to have some fun with this. You are my lady wife and nobility, plan a feast that you would love and enjoy." The two smiled at one another, with Lady Myrielle blowing her husband a kiss. Lorimer reached out to catch it, smiling happily, before turning on his heel and heading to the gates where the members of House Vikary await him.

Lord Lorimer spoke to the runner, listening to what the members of the Vikary party had said and stated. He had not met the members of the Vikary family before, even though they had the same liege lord in the Westerlands overall. He belted his sword to his hip, as well as donning a leather jerkin to his chest, as a small amount of protection should luck not be on his side today. Lorimer shaded his eyes as he stepped out into the sunlight of the mid-afternoon day. It was warm, with a hint of humidity in the air, though a nice breeze was blowing to help keep those on the walls cool. The runner darted ahead, making his way to the gatehouse to call out below to the House Vikary party. He was a simple man-at-arms, and spoke as politely as he could down to the gathered soldiers. "Ser Leon of House Vikary, m'lord Lorimer is coming to meet you at the gates 'imself. We thank yee for your patience." Lorimer could hear the man-at-arms call out, and couldn't help but chuckle to himself, before making his way down to the courtyard of the castle via a set of stone steps descending from the wall.

"Open the gates... let the men of House Vikary pass through so that I can speak to them as equals. Ser Lorimer called out aloud to the three men manning the gates. A short while later, both the large wooden doors and the iron porticulis were opened, leaving Lord Lorimer and four men-at-arms standing at the threshhold of the Golden Tooth. He sized up the Vikary men, looking at them, their gear, their banners, and mounts. Seem friendly enough, Lorimer thought, perhaps a score of decent looking soldiers, at least a few knights among them too. Lorimer bowed slightly, before speaking to the guests before his gates. " Ser Leon of House Vikary, I welcome you and all your men into my home. Welcome to the Golden Tooth. You may keep your weapons and arms. We are all loyal subjects of the Westerlands, and should such dire events transpire, I'd rather have my guests armed so that they can defend themselves. But let us not worry about such things until we have shared bread and salt, so that you can enjoy the hospitality of House Lefford." Lorimer turned his head towards a pair of pages in the colors of his house. Together they carried a tray of freshly cooked bread, still warm from the ovens, along with another tray of salt, butter, and sliced mutton. A small but friendly offering to a guest, but would ensure guest rights to any and all who would partake. "My guests, enjoy... "

The men rode into the keep and dismounted, and the knight at the lead took off his tusked helm and revealed a comely golden-haired man of five and twenty years with a strong square jaw and a scar that ran down the length of his face. His youthful good looks were somewhat marred by the scar, and his sorrowful brown eyes showed he had not lived as idly and comfortably as most nobleman. Ser Leon accepted the trays and passed them around to his men who all partook. Leon inclined his head to Lorimer, "Thank you for your hospitality, my lord. The country isn't as friendly as it could be."

He pointed to a scratched dent in his breastplate, "We came upon a bandit party that raided a merchant caravan. Then the corpse-eaters arrived in the night. We had a few more men before we set out. And strong walls are a welcome sight."

Lorimer listened to Ser Leon with respect, feeling saddened that the current state of affairs that had afflicted the Westerlands, his home. The Vikary men certainly seemed to need a good night's rest out of the elements and a warm meal. 'By the seven, they are welcome to the baths as well, should they wish it', Lorimer thought to himself. He smiled and bowed his head forward as Ser Leon thanked him for his hospitality. "Ser Leon, I am glad that I could be of help to you and your men in these troublesome times. I welcome you into my home and to rest your feet and backs for as long as you need. If you would like, you can also use the bathhouse to freshen up before dinner tonight. Put the thoughts of bandits and corpse-eaters from your mind, at least for tonight. These walls should keep out the common ilk of criminals and beasts, but I would ask but one thing, should the castle come under attack, would you fight alongside us against the common foes of the Westerlands?" Lord Lorimer spoke honestly and with respect for his fellow Westerman.

Ser Leon nodded, drawing out his sword and kneeling to the ground, offering the blade up to Lord Lorimer, "Your gallantry and chivalry are a beacon of light in these dark times. I do so swear upon the honor of my house that my men and I will conduct ourselves with the utmost honor and that our swords will be at your disposal as long as we are your guests. I swear we will abide by all the rites of hospitality, on the soul of my mother I swear it." Ser Leon's men kneeled as well. It was an old, extremely formal gesture, but was also completely ironclad. No knight could break such an oath without proving themselves as no knight at all. It was as close to a guarantee as any host was like to receive.

Lord Lorimer felt deeply humbled by Ser Leon's extension of customs and curtesies, plus a vow that few ever dared to offer. He extended his right hand out, in offer to help Ser Leon back up. "Ser Leon, noble knight of House Vikary, please, rise. Come, let us enjoy the day that is left, have your men relax themselves and see to their needs. I am only doing what any good man would do for a neighbor and loyal subject of House Lannister, and that of House Targaryen by extension. We are all one people here, the Westermen. Too much blood has been shed during our faltering fight during the War of the Five Kings. Its time to put our swords aside, and forged plows and farming tools." Lord Lorimer spoke in a friendly tone. He returned Ser Leon's kneeling with a formal and deep bow, to show his own reverence to the vow that was made. Lormier then turned, beckoning the Vikary men to come into the castle proper, to stable their horse, to enjoy shelter from the coming storm.

Clouds began to quickly descend on the late afternoon, the sky darkening and promising the outset of rain and gloom. Ser Leon accepted the gesture with a greatful nod and said, "I agree, my lord. Too long has the West been wracked by strife. It is my dream that the men of our homeland be allowed to live in peace, free of corruption, war, banditry, and political conniving. And of the dangers of forces we cannot truly control nor understand." Leon gestured to the men to rise and they followed Lefford's contingent, the men handing off horses to the stableboys.

Leon walked next to Lord Lorimer, "Thank you for the offer of a bath. My men and I can surely use it. Mud, blood, and sweat hardly make for a pleasant aroma. And it would be shameful to appear in such a state before the ladies of the castle." He sent off his men to bathe and clean themselves and followed them, "You're welcome to join us my lord. Perhaps we can have a drink or a talk while we wash off the grime."

Lord Lorimer stood in the courtyard, chatting with both his own knights and men-at-arms, and conversing with those of the House Vikary party. He looked up, taking a break from the conversations, noticing the dark gray and gloomy clouds the loomed in the distance. 'Rain...' He thought to himself, before her focused back to his conversation with Ser Leon. He pondered the propisiton, then shrugged. It would be nice to enjoy a hot bath, and some vital conversation with those who had been in the area longer, men who knew the problems that plagued the region more personally than region dispatches and reports. "Ser Leon, I think that would be rather enjoyable and enlightening to join you and a few others for a soothing bath. The bathes are this way... I will send a page to bring us some food and refreshments. I must admit, I will probably ask you a few questions to get a better lay of the area for myself and those that serve alongside me. You can have a few of your men join us, as I shall do the same." Lorimer finished, stepping aside to both point the way to the bathes, and to also lead the way with a few of his selected knights.

Leon nodded at Lorimer, "I will be happy to answer them my lord. Surely you have many, having just freshly arrived back home." The party entered the bath houses of the Golden Tooth, and the men-at-arms began stripping off their leather and weapons, whooping with joy or sighing in relief as they slipped into warm pools, the knights having their own bath separate from the other men. A smile touched Ser Leon's grim visage as he began washing, his natural good looks becoming much more apparent with the gradual absence of dirt and muck.

"There's nothing quite like a warm bath after a long journey. I can't tell you how grateful I am for your hospitality. These days it is not so common for doors to be open in this way. Folk are often afraid to open their doors to strangers. And rightly so. Ask me anything you like, my lord. I am at your disposal."

Lorimer had stripped down to the buff, easing himself into the warm pools of his bathhouse. He reclined against the edge of the pool, letting the heat soak into his body, his muscles and bones. This was the greatest perk of living here in the Golden Tooth. Lorimer raised his right hand and arm slightly, smiling in a friendly manner, "Ser Leon, don't mention it. If other people wish to act out of fear, let them. You are my guest, and I am your host, it would be dishonorable of me to treat you any less. Trying times sometimes adle people's minds. Let them cower behind their walls, not like you and your men. As to my questions, I will do my best to keep them as few as possible. I know you want to relax more than have to wrack your brain for nuggets of knowledge." Lorimer smiled, before taking a moment to enjoy the waters, washing his own sweat from his face and body.

After a minute or so, Lorimer began to ask his questions, and as he promised, they were as few as possible, him more so listening, rather than trying to talk or ask followup questions unless he needed to. He asked about the nature of the Reyne rebels, who was the man claiming to be of that House. How many houses were sworn to the rebels, how many men had been lost, what were the Lannisters doing about the situation, were there any sparrows, rogue warriors of the faith, and so on, allowing Ser Leon to both enjoy his bath, but answer the question at his own liesure. Lorimer catalogued the answers in his mind, knowing he would have to act upon that knowledge accordingly.

Leon answered succintly. He answered that none had actually seen the lord who called himself Lord Reyne, and that he was most likely somewhere in hiding. No houses had outright declared for the Reynes, but many were suspected of providing safe harbor for them or monetary aid and arms, as the Brotherhood Without Banners had operated in the war past. They were also suspected to be in collaboration with the Gardeners, Fishers, and Black Krakens, along with the Vultures and Scorpions.

Right now there were only small raids and skirmishes, losses in the dozens or scores of men, and the Lannisters had been combing the countryside asking questions and trying to root out the rebels, without much success. Sparrows and other rogue faithful were also a common site in the area and were operating very similarly to the Reynes, but many more had died in clashes between the extremists and their targets and the Lannisters had been more succesful in finding and eliminating Sparrow dens though the threat hadn't been stamped out yet. The extremists hadn't had as strong a hold as in the Riverlands, but it was still a visible problem.

Lorimer ponderd all that was relayed to him, for such information was troubling indeed. From the sounds of it, no information about the Lord Reyne spoke of either a lack of spies for the Master of Whispers, or that there could be traitors in the midst of the capital, and the outyling provinices. Or, just by sheer dumb luck, whoever this man, or even woman was, had a number of hiding places that couldn't be found. At least, even if it was a small consolation, none of the Houses in the Westerlands had declared for the Reynes, but perhaps this was more troubling than nought, for Ser Leon assumed that houses were no doubt providing funding, arms, and armor to the rebels. Appear to be loyal, then strike like a snake in the grass at the opportune moment. More so, was the odd informaton concerning the apparent collaboration amongst the formerly extinct houses, and the Vulture King rebels and Scorpion rebels. Almost as thought someone was behind the scense pulling all the strings. Were things truly that sinister, something bigger was at work.

Odd though, Lorimer though, as to the other bits of intel. There had only been small raids, little skirmishes in the more rural regions of the Westerlands, places that the bulk of Lannister might rarely ever traversed. Furthermore, many people still remember Lord Tywin Lannister, and the reign of Lady Cersei Lannister. It was no real surprise that many of the small folk did not wish to speak with the Lannister forces asking questions. Stories of the Mountain's Men traveled far beyond the Riverlands. The only real sucess being experience at all so far was battles with the Faith Militant. The fanatical holdouts never seem to shy away from battle, wich at least made them easy to fight, but you had to find them first. They were extremists, fanatics that harrased the small folk and nobility alike. Lorimer was thankful that they were not as strong as their foothold in the Riverlands, but he could not worry about other realms when the one he lived in had its own slew of problems.

He sighed, thanking Ser Leon, and continued to enjoy his bath. Dinner time would arrive eventually, but for now, let all enjoy the hot bathes and little snacks brought by the servants.

Aftermath of the battle at the Maiden's Men's stronghold.

Aerion surveyed the scene around him, the smell of blood, sweat, spilled liquor, and other unsavory scents filled his nose. He breathed heavily, letting the thick putrid air fill his nose and lungs, the acrid taste of candle smoke ever present. He looked to the Crown Prince, perhaps afraid of having overstepped his boundaries, or that the Crown Prince would cut down the sellswords anyway. Instead, Crown Prince Aemon raised his hand, signalling a ceasation of hostilites amongst his own forces. The fighting ceased, the loyalist forces still holding their blades at the ready, as the fate of the remaining Maiden's Men now hung in the balance of the Big Captain's decision. Aerion looked back at her, looking from her to Ser Malik and Ser Ellion, hoping that these two knights wouldn't give into a fit of bloodlust or vengance.

By the Seven, such a bloody afair did not happen. The lady captain of the Maiden's Men tossed her sword to the wooden floor in defeat, the blade bouncing foward a little before comming to a stop a few feet from the three knight's feet. The other sellswords soon followed suit, their weapons clanking and clacking off the floor as they dropped their weapons. Aerion listened to the Big Captain speak, her voice oddly erotic in a foreign way. It was tinged with fear, but strong nonetheless. "Aye. You've beaten us." The Crown Prince then stepped forward, his blade still in hand, covered in gore, which caused a glint of fear to appear in the Big Captain's eyes, before it was allayed as the Crown Prince himself spoke. "Fear not. I will abide by my man's vow. You will not die. But if you wish to avoid a cell, you have a choice. Bend the knee and enter the service of the Iron Throne, or spend the rest of your life in captivity. I can think of no worse fate for one who loves the sea.". Aerion felt a sense of pride that he was mentioned by the Crown Prince, and relief as the Big Captain took only a few seconds to accept the Crown Prince's offer.

The Big Captain bent the knee, removing her cap revealing a red bandanna holding her golden blonde hair back from her face. Aerion sheathed his own blade, wiping sweat from his face as the Big Captain and the Crown Prince spoke to one another. Aerion moved back from the scene, seeking out his friend Lady Lyvia, to check on her well being, while also seeking out Lady Greyjoy, to thank her for helping him during the chaos of the fight. He could hear the Big Cap and the Crown Prince convering in the background, as he came across Lyvia, who was sitting on a stool cleaning her blade and shield of the battle's aftermath. She looked up, smiled and nodded to Aerion, before going back to her work. 'The blood of the Mountain seems to keep her from ever getting hurt,' Aerion thought to himself, before he jostled Lyvia's shoulders and smiled back at her. "I am glad you are alright... I'll bother you later with talk and food, fair enough?" Aerion spoke softly, recieiving a friendly shove in return from Lyvia as she nodded back at him. "I will hold you to it that you cook us a fine tasting meal, as for some odd reason I can't cook worth two coppers. Now begone and let me clean my gear Aerion."

Aerion then came across Lady Greyjoy, who was minding her own business as she stood about. Aerion moved to stand next to the woman, and bowed partially at the waist before speaking. "Lady Greyjoy, thank you. You certainly helped keep me from garnering a rather nasty wound and scar if not worse. I hope one day I can repay you for your ferocity on the field of battle. I extend you my friendship as well, should you accept, and you are always welcome to join myself and Lady Lyvia for anything you may need. I won't take any more of your time, but thank you again, my lady." Aerion bowed once more, awaiting any reply from Lady Greyjoy, before stepping back and away as the Crown Prince approached Taria to speak with her.

Taria smiled a little and gave Ser Aerion a nod. "You're welcome," she replied quietly. It was a little embarrassing if she was being honest with herself, as she didn't have the sort of skill that any of the other fighters here did. Still, that being said, a hand of friendship was never to be pushed away. "Of course I would accept, it'd be an honour." She bowed her head once again before excusing herself, hearing the Crown Prince.

Aerion volunteered himself, as did Lyvia, to help watch the remaining Maiden's Men upon their ship. It would be good to actively doing something other than scrubbing pots or watching the rolling waves of the sea. And beside, Aerion wished to speak with the Big Captain, to get to know her, and humanize her in a way that the others seemed unable to do. These sellswords, in Aerion eyes, were no different than he was a number of years ago, they were men and women hard on their luck at times, fighting for coin to put food not only in their mouths, but the mouths of their families as well. Aerion knelt down beside a group of dead, from both sides, and began to say their last rites. While not an overly religious man, it seemed odd to leave things unsaid for the dead and gone. To Aerion, it was the least he could do for those that payed the ultimate price, be it for king and realm, or for the alure of golden coin and warm food. He went about the grim task of closing their eyes and crossing their arms atop their torso's, mouthing a small and simple prayer to the Crone to light their path to the other side.

Aerion rose up at the command of the Crown Prince, who ordered the Maiden's Men survivors to be escorted back to their own ship, so that they may be ready to depart in the morning. Lady Lyvia fell in beside Aerion, her sword and shield as clean as the day they were made. Aerion smiled at his friend, the two sharing a friendly arms about their shoulders, walking alongside the Maiden's Men sellswords and their own loyalist forces as they all began to file out of the building. Aerion's sense of accomplishment and relaxization turned sour as he heard the anger and venom rolling from Lord Bolton's mouth. Lord William Bolton spoke as though the command of the Crown Prince did not matter, nor did the semblance of honor and respect for a foe who had yielded. Aerion began to draw his blade as Lord Bolton spoke, ready to not only parry the drunken sot's attack, but to take his head off as well. " Get your twits in line, this isn't a peasent revolt. They won't 'see the light'. I think you'll find that they have been killing their whole lives, and today was just more of the same. Any commander with any brains at all would call for their execution, starting with blondie in the middle. Allow me to demonstrate. You! Best start praying."

Aerion looked across to see the anger and fear in the Big Captain's face, as she could do nothing to save her own men. Aerion himself felt an unbriddled frothing anger burning within him, listening to Lord Bolton not only call into question the decision of the Crown Prince, but also insult the up and coming King. His blade was almost fully out of its scabbard, ready to cut down Lord Bolton, when the steely grip of Lady Visenya snaked out and stopped Lord Bolton from doing anything further. Aerion could see the pain flashing in Lord Bolton's face, the anger in Lady Visenya's, and the sudden ceasation of Lord Bolton trying to continue his rash and dishonorable actions. While he could not make out what Lady Visenya was saying, she was clearly angry, her voice low and almost eminating like a hiss. She ended her discussion with Lord Bolton by shooting a fearsome glare at a sellsword, before pushing Lord Bolton before her so the two could continue walking.

Resheathing his blade, Aerion shook his head in disgust. He turned to Lyvia, speaking in a low tone to her, "He is a vile man not befitting of being a Lord or having the honor to serve in the King's armies. He will be nothing but trouble. We will have to keep an eye out for that venomous prick, should he get any ideas to try and seek retribution." Ser Aerion turned then to the Big Captain and the sellswords about her, after Lyvia had nodded. He eyed the captain up and down, admiring her jewelry and in all honesty, her natural beauty. He then spoke in a tone loud enough for any to hear, to include Lord Bolton and Lady Visenya, plus a few others no doubt. "My lady Captain, I swore on my vows as a knight to protect you and your men from harm. I have been where you stand now, as a sellsword that has been defeated. I will not break that vow as long as I live and draw breath. You put your trust in my words, and that of the Crown Prince. I put my trust in you and your fellow sellswords to keep your word as well. Pay no attention to those who seek to debase themselves at your expense. Not everyone who serves the crown is honorable and upstanding." Aerion cast a disdainful look at Lord Bolton, before walking by him with the rest of the Maiden's Men, not wasting anymore time listening to the dishonorable words and thoughts Lord Bolton would be spouting out.

Ser Aerion called out to Lady Visenya as he was leaving the building through the front door. "Lady Visenya, I hope to see you once again, your friend has defiled the air with his dishonorable actions and thoughts. I bid you good luck and good fortune, and may the Seven guide your path." Aerion strode out of the Maiden's Men's base with the remainder of the sellswords, Lady Lyvia following him as well as those who volunteered to guard the sellswords. The night was dark, and on the edges of town and in the vile corners of buildings, terrors stalked the weak. Aerion and Lyvia chatted to one another for a moment, before Lyvia moved farther ahead in the line of sellswords. This left Aerion standing next to the Big Captain herself, so, he decided to strike up conversation with the woman.

"My lady Captain, I find myself at a disadvantage, in that I do not know your name. It seems odd and dehumanizing to call you captain all the time, or Big Cap'n as some of your men favor. You know my name, allow me to ask and know yours, my lady."

The sellsword captain looked at the man, surprised, before saying, "Normally, I'd tell you to fuck off. But you saved my life in there, and the lives of my men. You're alright for a knight, not like a lot of highborn cunts I've met."

She smiled wickedly at Ser Aerion and bowed with a flourish of her cap, "I am Serona Drennys, bastard of the great Drennys family of Pentos. Captain of the Maiden's Men. And I owe you my life, and I don't like owing people. Even without the coin your dragon prince promised me, I am bound to help you. Even sellswords and pirates have their honor. And I am a woman of my word."

Aerion smiled, bowing his head in respect to the Sellsword captain. "I'm glad you are not telling me to fuck off, for I rather enjoy your company and if I can be so bold, dazzling good looks. So, enough of me oogling you, and you are welcome. I've been a sellsword for a long time, served with that cunt Bloodbeard in the Company of the Cat. Perhaps it helps having to have fought under the lunatic to make me a bit more likable that all the pampered lords and ladies of the West. Lady Serona Drennys, a bastard too. Well, it certainly seems like we share that... I am a bastard too, from House Targaryen, lucky us, the unwanted leftovers from the great and powerful." Aerion paused, looking about before continuing.

"Lady Serona, you owe me nothing. I don't care if you would not have offered quarter to us if the tables were turned. You didn't deserve to die, nor your men. Being a sellsword is shitty enough of a career, no sense in dying for one idiot and their lost cause. The Iron Throne pays well, and rewards those that serve it nicely. You can help me by being a friend and sharing in good conversation. I can't tell you how god awfully boring it is to listen to these highborn lords and knights talk of their achievements in the tourneys here and there. Yeah, good for you, you can knock a man off his horse with a wooden stick."

Serona laughed, a bright and silvery sound that hinted at the happier woman she might have been, in a different life, "Handsome and a charmer too. You'd have a good career as a gigolo, Ser Aerion. Bloodbeard you say? I know the old bastard. I served with him in the Company when I was younger, before I left to join the Maiden's Men and lead it. I heard he was dead. And good riddance. Son of a bitch made me bed him." She spit on the ground as they walked on.

She side-eyed the knight, "A bastard you say? I would never have guessed. I thought perhaps you were brother or cousin to the dragon princes. Trueborn, that is. I've met quite a few bastard, Ser Aerion. None with your manners. How does a bastard sellsword become a King's Man?"

Aerion rather enjoyed the bright and silvery peel of laughter that eminated from Serona's lips. She had a bright spark of happiness deep within herself, something this world had not managed to extinguish yet. He smiled, and let out a hearty laugh of his own, deep and velvety. "A gigolo... my my, if only such a fate could keep me happy, but alas, I aspire to a different walk of life. I assure you of this, Lady Serona, handsome and charming are but a few pieces of who I am. But anyhow, yes, I served under that crazy old codger. The murderous fool loved to dye his beard with the blood of his enemies. He is dead, thank the Seven. He took a spear to the neck and fell from his horse, not surprised, he always had to be in the thick of all the fighting." Aerion paused, casting a sidelong glance at Serona, before speaking in a lowered tone. "He was a vile man, through and through. I am sorry you had to share his bed. May his corpse rot for the worms, and his soul burn for his evils." Aerion sighed, and offered a smile at Serona.

"Aye, a bastard, legitamized, or at least so I am told, or was, by my mother long ago. Said we were decended from a Targaryen prince from long ago, I share his name. Prince Aerion Brightflame, banished to Lys for a few years, made love you my female forebear, or raped her, whatever the truth, my family was birthed in the world nine months later. We've lingered on since then, survived the Blackfyre tyrant, a few unfortunate events, and a countless amount of storms. But yeah, I am not the pure bloodline of the others, I am my own man and blood, save for Prince Aerion's." Aerion finished for a moment, taking a few sideways steps to avoid a puddle of shit in the street, before continuing. "As to serving the King, and all that it entails, I just happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. I helped save the king, or say they say. So, I decided to try my luck in Westeros, and see what kind of man I can make myself." Aerion shrugged, and continued walking beside Lady Serona.

Serona listened to his story attentively, then said, "Sounds too good of an end for him to my end. But it makes no matter now. Not the worst man I ever had. But we're all better off without him alive. Normally, any man who told me such a story, I'd call him a liar and a cunt. You don't know how many old salts or bilge-rats around here claim descent from the Black Pearl or the Saans. But you, I think you are too damned honest to tell one. And quite a story it is. You must have a special kind of luck. And I am glad for it. Otherwise my head would be on a spike right now. And I rather like my head. Friends? It may be too early to say that. But we can have a drink anytime."

Ser Aerion could see that they were drawing closer to the Silver Serpent, and the enjoyable conversation he was having with Serona would have to come to end for at least the time being. Still, he enjoyed every moment of it, taking in her voice, the way her eyes looked about, the colors in them, the strands of her hair, both tied back and a few rogue loose strands that defied Serona's bandanna. He laughed at the way Serona spoke, it was so honest, almost as though taking the time do else was just not worth it for the sellsword captain. "No sense in lying, just makes you look like an idiot and makes things worse for you in the end. Bloodbeard is dead and gone, as are many of his shit-headed lieutenants, so thats a consolation at least for me. Lady Serona, perhaps you are spending too much time out at sea and at the docks, rather than looking in the forgotten parts of the world that we tend to ignore. I am glad your head is not on a spike, and is instead attached to your body. You are far too stunning to have them separated. And how could I talk to you as well? Friendship is something that will happen over time, we can work on it as we share this adventure together." Aerion laughed softly, and bowed his head slightly, "As for drinks, perhaps, but only if you share a meal with me as well, so we may talk of whatever we fancy at the time over a good hearty bit of food. Fair enough?"

Lady Seronna smirked, "A noble knight asking me to sup? If only my mother could see me now. I will share supper with you and yours, ser. But only because you are fair to the eyes and a good deal less rank than most of my men. And far better company. Besides, we'll be on the same ship anyway. Perhaps someday, if I'm alive to see many more days, you can show me more of the land. I've been on all the seas. But I've never truly seen as many countries as I'd like. Especially not mainland Westeros."

Aerion laughed happily and with great amusement at Serona's response. He smiled at the sellsword captain, nodding his head at her, "I look forward to supping with you then. There you go again with your own sweet words that butter me up. I guess I will have to be guide for you in Westeros, though I can't honestly say that I know every knook and cranny there, so, perhaps it will be a fun adventure for both of us and whoever else may aspire to tag along for the journey. And I am glad to smell somewhat decent, and be of acceptable company to you as well. I gave you my word and promise to do all I could to keep you alive, I plan on keeping that vow unbroken Lady Serona. We are almost to the Silver Serpent, but I promise that there will be more time for talk later tonight perhaps, and the days and maybe even weeks to come."

Serona dipped her hat to Aerion, "I'll hold you to that promise, my lord." The last she said with more than a touch of humor and fell in with her men.

Ser Aerion neared the Silver Serpent with the recently turned sellswords. He had enjoyed his converstation with Lady Serona Drennys, Captain of the Maiden's Men. He had brought the prossession to a halt, allowing those that had volunteered to guard the sellswords to go aboard the Silver Serpent to collect their affects and gear to take aboard with them to the Maiden's Men ship. Aerion himself had to collect his armor and rucksack full of spare clothes and such. He was chatting idly with a few sellswords, trading stories of battles fought on this island, that beachhead, those fields, them mountains, and so on, when he saw it was his turn to go and collect his affects. Lyvia had returned with her rucksack and supplies, nodding to Aerion for him to go aboard the Silver Serpent. "Well, I will do my best to be quick so you all can get some sleep."

"We all need some sleep altogether." Seran interjected, rubbing his swollen face still. He limped so slightly, the emotions having worn off long ago. "Besides, that was quite the thing. Sparing the pirate. Huh. Hope it doesn't bite us in the back." The Lyseni said, as he still stood tall. <<"Just be careful. Honour is double edged." >>The lyseni reminded in Valyrian.

Aerion paused halfway up the gangplank. He mused a smile at Seran of Lys, his right hand resting on the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword, the other holding the taunt rope of the gangplank. Aerion spoke plainly as he continued to board the Silver Serpent, "Seran, noble Seran of Lys, look around you and see the price of bloodshed. You've fought as a sellsword as long as I have. You have fought all across these disputed lands, and seen first hand what comes from senseless killing and cutting down your foes in anger. Not to mention what happens to non-combatants when that bloodlust takes over both good and bad men." Ser Aerion paused as he stood on the deck of the Silver Serpent, making his way to stand beside Seran. << "Seran, you are a good man and an honorable one too. We all have a chance to make the world a better place, to do what even the most honorable and civilized of our enemies may not. Honor is double edged, because it is a great burden to shoulder. Kings and Queens may move men, Captains bellowing out orders, but so can a man move himself. When it all ends, and we stand before whatever gods we believe in, one can not say 'But I was told by others to do thus,' or virtue was not convenient at the time. Thus can never do, and one only sells themselves short. If I die, I die as an honorable man with a clean concience.">> Aerion finished in Bastard Valyrian. He smiled at Seran, and offered his right hand outwards, as a gesture of both trust and friendship.

"You two always are babbling in your foreign language. I can only wonder what you are saying... perhaps you are planning to marry this princess and that." Lyvia bellowed out, a wide smile upon her face. She snickered with Serona, returning to her conversation with the sellsword captain.

"You killed people for coin. How can you have a clear conscience." Seran spat back, his only blue eye glaring back. "And I did the same. I decided that my sister's happiness weighed more than honour back in Lys. But the thing is...I don't like many unknowns in such a task. It's not because anger, but concern." The Lyseni answered back, folding his arms. He heard the woman's reply altogether, and he frowned. It was impossible to tell, because his face was messed up.

"I'd rather marry you." Seran added. "Unlike princesses you can watch my back." He spat back. "I'm a man of simple aspirations. My sister's happines, and some cozy place to live the end of my days, maybe even a partner. I could even take the wine business even." He sighed. "Do not assume that just because I'm from lys, I will fall for princesses."

Aerion still held his hand out, smiling at his friend who was now a bit angry at a cursory appearance. << "Seran... just because we are sellswords, fighting for gold, does not mean we become evil and vile men. I fought soldiers, I fought fellow sellswords. We are no different from knights or men-at-arms, we all at the end of the day fight for coin, for food, for a place to lay our head out of the elements. I can't speak for everyone in the world, but when a foe layed their weapon down, when a man or woman turned to run, I did not cut them down. I chose what orders to follow, and what orders to disobey. Fighting for coin does not make a man or woman dishonorable, its the actions they commit that determines what guilts weigh upon their concience. You are a good man, choosing a hard life with little last reward in order to give your lady sister a better life. We've all made sacrifices, but our honor and souls do not have to be such.">> Aerion paused, and then returned back to the common tongue of Westeros, "Seran, I appreciate your concern, and see that it is rightfully placed and spoke. I ask you to trust that those that volunteered to guard the Maiden's Men will ensure their loyalty, that the sellswords are deep down good men and women trying to make ends meet and make it home to whatever is waiting for them." Aerion finished replying, letting out a laugh as he and Seran both turned to look at Lyvia down below.

Raising an eyebrow at Seran's comment, Aerion laughed happily, and responded as well to the jeer, "Alas Lady Lyvia, if only you were a princess, a noble lady of refinemet and delicacy... " Aerion laughed again, smiling at his friend below.

Lyvia rolled her eyes, turning away from Serona. Crossing her arms, she replied in kind to both Seran and Aerion. "If only you were bigger Seran. I'm afraid the act of love making would leave you broken and crippled, a man stuck in a wooden wheelchair. I would have to treat you like the lady, dress you in fine clothes and jewelry. You sell yourself short Lyseni. Simple aspirations are lies we tell ourselves that we can settle for. You want a strong stout home and lands, like anyone. A dutiful wife to cook and clean for you, and Gods knows what else." Turning her attention to Aerion, she laughed as she retorted back to her friend. "A princess, really? You can't keep your eyes off of me, even if I was a swineheard, you foolish Valyrian Bastard. I am noble as they come, I just had a murderous rampaging mountain for a father. I wager you are the delicate one, with your pretty hair and purple eyes. You can't handle a woman like me." Lyvia finished, blowing a kiss to both Seran and Aerion, offering a wink to a third person on the Silver Serpent who was standing back aways from the two men.

Layali was a little confused. She hadn't gotten far, still slightly lost in her nostalgic thoughts, but ... Was I just winked at?. She looked behind herself but there was no one there, at least no one who was paying attention at the winking lady.

"Uh..." Well, this was a perfect chance to introduce herself, she reckoned. "I'm assuming that was for me, right?" Still holding on to the bow, she walked over, stopping just a foot or so away from the others. She looked from the woman to the man who wasn't Seran, noting his hair and eye colour. Another Lyseni then? There sure were a lot today.

Seran rolled his eyes as Aerion followed his spiel, finally accepting his hand. "Just please stop the sermon. I get it." He said. Lyvia's jeering however, awoke something in the lyseni, as his hands became hooks, scraping the wood with his nails, and he bit part of his swollen lip, drawing blood. His good eye also narrowed a lot, as he shot a glare first to Aerion. It was more like a plea. Asking the fellow Lyseni to stop him if he went berserk.

But after a few breaths, he said in a low, hoarse voice full of hostility. "I'll just say this once, you dumb Mountain-bitch. Never desire that fate on anyone. My own brother, who is dead now, was crippled from birth. For that, my father beat my mother until she died of her wounds on Lysara's birth. And I took the sword to gut the bastard. But someone beat me to it." He spat, his gaze boring holes in Lyvia's skull.

Aerion shook hands with Seran, happy that at least they could still be friends, even if they did not always see eye to eye. However, it was Lyvia comment that caused him to sigh and start rubbing his face in exasperation. 'Great...' He thought to himself. As Seran began to harshly berate down at Lyvia, Aerion turned to find an attractive woman standing at the railing now. Seran was certainly engaged in his grudge match with Lyvia for the moment, so Aerion bowed to the woman, speaking to her in a friendly tone. "My lady, an honor to meet you. Ser Aerion Goldfyre, at your service." Aerion rose back up, offering a toothy smile in concurrence with his greetings. He turned to look down at Lyvia, who was now also begining to seethe with anger too. He sighed, and listened to her response.

"Oh, I'm not a lady, really." Layali let out a nervous laugh, forcing her focus on the man who called himself Aerion. If he had ever been to Meereen, he would recognize her accent being from there. "I'm Layali, most honoured to meet you as well." She smiled cheerfully at the man, deciding to ignore Seran and the woman for the time being. Thankfully they had moved away so that made it much easier. She wasn't sure what was the matter, but getting so angry couldn't be good for Seran's face.

Aerion smiled at Layali, a soft gentle smile one favors a friend with, or perhaps a close aquaitance. "One does not have to be nobility to be a lady, Lady Layali. Our daily lives can be hard enough, it never hurts to be polite. If I may gander a guess, it sounds like your are of Meereenese decent. What brings you all the way out here to these godless lands? Surely it can't be for the weather, too hot during the summer, and too wet in the winter. Aerion had a few thoughts in his head, as the woman was no doubt attractive, but, best not to assume things. He sighed, casting a look towards Lyvia and Seran, before moving a few more feet away from Seran and his anger.

"Well... you're right, I didn't come here for the weather." Layali's smile wavered slightly, looking away momentarily before looking back at Aerion. "I had left a rather lovely home in Meereen, my destination being King's Landing." Her eyes brightened a little. "It had been my wish since I was small to meet the Queen. Mother had been there, the day Meereen was freed from the masters. So was Father... Anyway, I had left on a ship, heading to King's Landing when pirates attacked. I wasn't killed, thankfully..." Lifting her shoulders in a shrug, Layali tilted her head to the side. "I was brought here instead. I can't even remember how long it has been..." A bitter laugh escaped her lips. "It probably feels longer than it has been."

"I am glad that fate brought us here then, to help you gain your freedom. I am sorry for the ordeals you had to suffer under these criminal and vile men. Lady Layali, one day, events like you experience will hopefully become distant memories and bed time tales told to scare children, rather than true fears." Aerion turned his head, and sighed, turning back to Layali, and speaking with her, "Looks like Seran and my friend and at eachother's throats, lucky us..." Aerion dismissed himself for a moment to look at the events unfolding.

Lyvia walked away from the others, standing at the edge of the docks, looking up at Seran with her cool steely blue eyes. Her hands rested on her hips, standing defiantly looking up at the Lyseni man full of hostility. She spoke in a fearsome tone, tinged with anger as well, "Call me dumb Mountain-bitch to my face, little man. Come down from your high horse and stand in front of me. Life is a cruel mistress, she fucks everyone raw, and then spits on your roast chicken before pissing on the floor. You had a family, consider yourself lucky. Not everyone even has that, a family, even if its all fucked and broken." Lyvia turned to look to Aerion, seeing him gesturing to her to shut up and cut it short. Sighing, and rolling her eyes with a snort, she spoke in a more reserved tone towards Seran, "I am sorry for your brother and your mother. I bid you good night, little Lyseni man, besides, it seems you have the company of another lovely lady with you two princess chasers." Lyvia then smiled, looking at the woman who came to the railing, and spoke to her in a more friendly tone, "Don't let these two dolts bore you. If you want some good conversation, don't hesitate to pay me a visit."

"Well if you insist, I surely won't." Layali looked to the lady, gifting her with a smile. It seemed whatever had those two riled up had been quelled, which was hopefully a good thing. "Lovely to make your acquaintance, my Lady. I'm known as Layali." It was something of a relief, not having to turn on her fake charm that had been a necessity at the brothel. She could simply be herself, for better or for worse.

Seran eyed Lyvia's angry expression with a cold sneer. Good, that lesson stung, even if she went with that spiel. And then she suddenly cut short, before anything else happened. He turned to look Aerion. Maybe he had rattled her leash? Still an apology was an apology, and Seran breathed deep, hand in the rail.

And he jumped down in a single leap, rolling to absorb the fall, right next to Lyvia Clegane, showing off that not everything about his ability to fight relied in swordplay. His good eye stared at hers. "Apology accepted. I'm sorry for calling you names aswell." He thought.
"But this isn't over, you know." Seran added, glaring once more. "We shall settle this like proper mercenaries. A showdown, staking our lives." He paused. "I'll drink you under the table, anytime."

Lyvia stood perfectly still as Seran lept down from the ship to the docks, the Lyseni man rolling to his feet before her. She looked downwards at him, with his own eyes looking up at her. She surpressed the urge to smile, as Seran spoke to her. An apology on his part, though it was followed with a drinking challenge. 'Lucky me...' Lyvia thought to herself, before she spoke to Seran with bravado, "I bet you would like that, wouldn't you little Lyseni man, me under the table, by your little sausage. You best be ready to be down on your knees under the table, looking at whats between my legs. You will never out drink me, little man. I accept your foolhardy challenge, and look forward to having to carrying you home like a little lamb. Till next time, Seran Little man of Lys." Lyvia then smiled slightly, moving her right hand to try and jostle Seran's left shoulder, before she stalked off to the front of the line with the sellswords. As she walked away from Seran, she looked over her shoulder to call out to Layali, "Layali... a pretty name for a pretty lady. I hope you enjoy the same things as myself, and perhaps some mulled wine if it fancies you. I hope to see you around, Lady Layali..." Lyvia winked to Layali, before turning and walking out of range.

"Well that's nice of you to say!" Layali smiled and waved as she watched the lady walk off. "I hope so as well!" So far it looked like the men here were respectable enough, and the woman beautiful. Freedom was looking better as time passed.

She turned to look up at Aerion, smile still on her face. "What was her name, Ser?"

"That, Lady Layali, is none other than Lady Lyvia Clegane, my friend, sparing partner, and lovely food taster of meals that I cook. Since she can't cook worth a shit. She is one hell of a fighter though, and has a wonderful singing voice. Anything else you would like to know about her?" Aerion asked with a smile.

"I think that should be enough," Layali replied with a small giggle. "If I know everything, then what will I have to talk to her about. Besides... it's rude if I don't speak of the person who is standing right before me. It may be too soon to say, but I do hope to make friends with you all... or at least be on friendly terms." A mischievous smile brightened her face. "Especially one who knows to cook!"

"Then I was glad to have been able to give you a few bits of information about Lady Lyvia. You would probably enjoy her company, she really is rather nice and pleasent once you get past the whole angry exterior." Aerion laughed along with Layali. He offered out his hands in a friendly manner, a clasped handshake of sorts. "Well, you are in luck, if you wish to be a friend with myself and Lyvia, I can cook like no other, I promise you that. You'll never go hungry and look at a meal and think, 'I can't eat this... it'll kill me.' One can never have too many friends my lady. I must bid you goodnight. I have to collect my affects, and be on my way. We all need to get some sleep and rest for the days to come. Lyvia is an early riser too, if that is of any use to you. My lady." Ser Aerion bowed low to Layali, awaited a response if any, then left to grab his affects and mosey on back to the docks, and from there, to the Maiden's Men's ship.

"Well, the last thing I'd want is to die due to food." Layali couldn't help but chuckle at that. "To be honest, that could very well happen in a place like Stepstones. I wonder if it's the same for King's Landing?" She hmm'd for a moment, tapping her chin with her finger in thought. "I suppose I shall find out when I reach there." There was certainly excitement in that thought, clear from the grin on her face.

"Of course," she replied with a nod. "I hope you have a restful sleep, Ser." She smiled and waved as Aerion walked off before deciding she may as well rest too. It had been a long day for her as well.

Of course, things can never be easy. As Ser Aerion walked, he came to the stark realization that he had left behind his recipe book, or scrolls, whatever it was, in the ship's galley. Sighing, and chastising himself, Aerion turned back around, telling the few remaining guards and sellswords he would catch back up with them once he grabbed his recipes for all the food dishes he made. Aerion broke into a run, and made his way back to the Silver Serpent, clambering up the gangplank and making his way to the galley below decks of the ship. They were where he had left them, sitting on a pantry shelf, neatly tied up and waiting for him to take them with him to his next cooking area, wherever that may be. Aerion opened his rucksack, and packed the culinary knowledge away, reshoulder his pack, before turning around to find himself face to face with Lady Merebelle Gray. "Lady Gray, is it? An honor to meet you... how are you tonight? I hope you wound is healing nicely, you fought well those few days ago."

"Yes, I am. I apologise for not being able to help," said Lady Gray. Still having her main arm bandaged up and doing fine in healing.

No infection either, so it meant that she would make a full recovery soon.

Aerion nodded his head in aknowledgement. He spied the bandaged arm as Lady Gray held it in view. "No need to apologize for resting your arm up and healing. You took wounds in battle, no one would ever slight you for remaining here to guard the ship and ensure you're fully recovered for the next battle. Wouldn't want anyone coming here and stealing our means of escape and travel." Aerion shifted the rucksack on his back, fixing it to be more center on his person. He looked about the relatively empty room, and then back to Lady Gray. "What brings you to the galley this time of night?"

"Standing watch. Better than trying to sleep amongst several dozen men. What about you? Why are you suddenly back here? I was under the assumption you guys were going to be gone for some time now," she said.

"Speaking of time. How long will we be being here? I am barely informed on what you guys are doing at all."

Aerion motioned to his rucksack, and then to a shelf behind him. "I guess it is better to be on watch than in the stuffy bunk areas. I had forgotten my reciepe books here, for cooking. I can't exactly leave behind those family treasures, not to mention it would make creating certain meals a bit harder. But yes, I was a fool and forgot my secrets and tricks to making delectable meals for my friends and myself." Aerion moved to take a seat at one of the benches. He beckoned for Lady Gray to join him. He collected his thoughts for a moment before speaking once more.

"To be honest, I was as much in the dark as you were up until a few hours ago. I knew like you that a shore party had been sent into both the town and to the keep. From what some of the other soldiers relayed, those that went to the keep killed the local pirate lord, while the other folks went to a brothel and sellsword hideaway. The brothel bunch picked a fight with a pirate crew, and capture its leader, while the hideaway detachment made buddy buddy with the sellswords to gleen information from its captain." Aerion paused, taking a breath, before continuing.

"You were here when the ship was attacked, I guess that was from the remaining pirates of the brothel pirate captain they captured. The Crown Prince devised a plan to defeat the sellswords. Your companion, Ser Ellion, apparently was quite the deadly swordsman, from what I saw and those that were with him said. The Lyseni man, Seran, he volunteered to disguise himself as the Crown Prince, and Lady Visenya took him as a captive to the sellsword hideaway. While you remained with a few others to guard the ship, the loyalists stormed the sellsword's base, The Maiden's Men. We defeated the sellswords, got them to yield rather than be butchered. The plan is to head for some link up point with the rest of the rebel forces. For now, we are still going to ride under the fog, pretending to be pirates and sellswords loyal to this Scorpion Rebel Leader. I myself, and others, have been detailed to guard the remaining Maiden's Men, as they have the connections we need to get closer to ending this rebellion. I think that about sums it all up, though it wouldn't hurt to pick your companion Ser Ellion's brain, word is you two are somewhat 'close'." Aerion said the last word with a bit of aprehension, but finished what he had to say to Lady Gray. He looked at her to see if she had any more questions or concerns of her own.

"Speaking of Ser Ellion. How is he doing? Or what is he rather doing?" asked Gray, as she sat down next to him.

"I mean, it gets rather boring here alone - while the other guys are around, they are mostly busy sleeping and nursing their wounds.

"Ser Ellion... to be honest, I don't know. He is alive, breathing, and being his normal self from what I have seen and heard. He certainly seems to enjoy kill, among his other pursuits. He should be above decks, last time I saw him."

"The joys of being on watch. At least nothing bad has happened, so thats a blessing in of itself."

"I haven't seen him much around here. I thought he had gone with you guys?" asked Gray in reply, look at Aerion. "So how long do you think this will last? Or what has the Crown Prince planned? How long will it take until you reach the hideout of these 'rebels' and deal with them?"

"Will I still be able to add my piece - or at the very least accompany Ser Ellion and make sure, he won't go do something stupid on his free time," she added.

"Ser Ellion Tyrell did march out with us to assault the hideout. He also marched back to the docks and this ship, at least I think he did, hard to miss a man like him." Aerion spoke in a tone of displeasure, as though talking about Ellion was not at the top of his list of enjoyable things.

"As for Crown Prince Aemon's plans, I don't know anything for certain. We will get our marching, or rather sailing orders in the morning. Our destination is South of here, perhaps a few days tops, unless weather slows us down." Aerion paused, then continued after a small shrug, "Rebellions are hard to quell, it seems no sooner you lop the head off one snake, another two take its place."

"Once you are healed, thats your decision to fight or not. And something for you and Ser Ellion Tyrell to discuss... perhaps something you two should speak on sooner rather than later."

"I guess so, where can I find the man in question? I haven't seen him in quite awhile now - and I am not sure, where I might have to go or seek to find him," spoke Merebelle Gray, as she sat with Aerion.

"Do you perhaps happen to know, where he is? I would very much like to go and see him," she said.

"To be honest, I am not sure. He could be at the brothel with the Crown Prince and Lady Greyjoy. Perhaps some of the other men-at-arms may know, they have a fondness for him." Aerion toyed with a wooden plate, before looking back at Lady Gray.

"You should be careful about him, my lady. I can't speak with a certainty, but from what I have heard, he is not the kind of man to be tied down to any one woman... for what its worth."

"For what it is worth Ser Aerion - I also have a dendency to reply to lies and betrayal with utmost harsh force," replied Merebelle Gray. "While I might not ask much, I do ask for fidelity from Ellion Tyrell..."

"Because we are...'supposed' to be half-way engaged. Don't ask...long story," she explained. "The fact of the matter is - if he tries to cheat on my honor or trust, then I will say this. I plan on challenging him to a Trial of Combat...for the crime of being a unfaithful..."

"I know, it sounds strange. A woman demanding that from a man...but I say, why not?`We already are having more and more female knights. Plus a man can accuse a woman of unfaithfulness - why can't I do the same. There isn't any rule against it...last I checked..."

Aerion steepled his fingers before him, nodding to what Lady Gray had said. "Fair enough, Lady Gray. If you've talked to him about such things, then such things have no more need to be discussed. Though, I hope for both your sakes, he remains adherent to his vow or promise to you. From what I have seen during the fight aboard the Grey Ice... you might be the better fighter than him."

"It sounds no less strange than other female warriors, like Lady Brienne of Tarth. Well, the hours draw far later into the night. May I excuse myself to get back to my duties, I have taken up your time enough as it is, my lady. May the Seven guide you, in all that you endeavor."

"You as well, safe travels...and if you see Ser Ellion - tell him to get his butt back here. We need to talk," she spoke, watching Aerion leave - as she soon resumed her patrol around the ship.

[bloonewb]

(The second part was not without a generous contribution by @MrDidact . Thanks buddy!)

"Good day," muttered Arak, pushing slowly through another pile of captives. His legs still trembled from the atrophy he suffered in the cells of the pirates, and his head throbbed dully, a continuous reminder of the low blood in his head. In his own little world, he forgot where he was, and stumbled on a foot that came out of nowhere. He blundered into a pirate with shackled arms, who promptly shoved him away with an elbow, growling curses. "Apologies," Arak mumbled, and leaned on his spear with a sigh. The chaos was over, and he was dead tired. For perhaps the first time in his life, he felt overtaxed.

A hand snaked out of the crowd and snatched him by his overgrown hair. Arak felt his head get rudely pulled back, and a high-pitched voice began whispering in his ear.

"And where have you been these last days?" came the undeniable voice of an angry William.

"A good day to you as well, Lord Bol-"

"Don't give me that Lord Bolton nonsense. What were you doing? Has soldier life taught you nothing? Perhaps getting curious and wandering is all well and good in the Stark Butterfly-Chasing Guild, but not with me."

"You are not as yet my commanding officer, brother," Arak groaned, feeling the headache flare up with a vengeance in his head. He let his free hand clutch his face, anything to block out the painful thumping. William continued with his whole tirade, Arak catching none of it but the end.

" . . . And from now on, you will not leave my sight. If I have a task, you'd better believe it's yours as well. Do you understand me?"

"As I said, you're no-"

"Do . . . you . . . understand?"

"As you command," sighed Arak. He turned, lazily, nearly tripping over his feet. He watched through blurred eyes his half-brother harassing a field medic and sighed again. Most people would be happy that their elder siblings are so worried about their safety.
__________________________
Once again, Cathay found herself at a bit of a dilemma. She has been at court for but less than a year, and during most of that time, the Mistress of Whispers chose to make herself incredibly scarce to her and just about everyone. Meaning, of course, Cathay couldn't recognize her writing. She isn't stupid enough to blindly accept that it came from the Mistress' hand, and she most certainly isn't trusting enough not to assume it isn't a ploy from one of her enemies. To attend this secret meeting would be a high gamble, one she would never take without at least a bit of insurance.

The idea came to her when the time of meeting began drawing very close. She contacted one of her many ears within the serving staff in the Red Keep. The plan was simple. First, the serving girl would go down there, under the guise that she was cleaning the grounds, while looking around for traces of Lady Arya, or worse, the Celtigars. Next, Cathay would double check, under one of her disguises. Just a longtime courtier of a landless house, drunk out of her mind. If everything checks out, then the meeting goes as planned. With a couple of stags changing hands, the plan was set.

Cathay's spy went down to the dungeons, where the skulls of the Targaryen dragons were once held before being placed once more in the throne room, and she found nothing. Absolutely no trace of anyone watching. Though of course if Cathay really was meeting with Arya, there wouldn't have been. But on the surface, it seemed as if there'd be no traps waiting for Cathay.

When she heard the word, Cathay donned her disguise. The next person to come down the steps was a dirty-blonde woman, appearing somewhere in her late thirties. She stumbled down the steps, occasionally stopping to hiccup. Cathay's eyes betrayed her outward demonstrations. They zipped about in her sockets, absorbing the entire room back to front and back again. With each confirmation that the chambers looked empty, her paranoia mounted exponentially. Surely it was a plot! She was going to be captured, most definitely! The steps weren't far, but for how long could she outrun all the guards and mercenaries surely hiding behind the innumerable pillars?

A voice rang out among the pillars, in the darkness, a woman's voice, though she could not discern from where it came; at times seeming to come from right before Cathay or from all around, "You can abandon the disguise, Lady Cathay. There is no one else in here besides you and myself. And you have nothing to fear from me."

Something from the shadows seemed to coalesce into solid form and Lady Arya Stark, the Mistress of Whispers appeared before Cathay in a black robe, "Pleased to finally make your acquantince, my lady."

"You as well, my lady," Cathay responded, removing the features of her disguise. People spoke in whispers of the mysterious Arya, who in a single stroke performed a great many political assassinations that turned the tide of the Targaryen Invasion. However, if Cathay was honest with herself, the woman across from her didn't look it. She was exceedingly small and spindly, and completely unkempt. Not what most would think of. "Have you read the Memoirs In the Web, my lady?" Cathay asked, trying to put off the inevitable conversation.

Arya kept most of her face hidden behind her hood, and in the darkness it was hard to see much of anything, but perhaps a small smile touched her lips, "Lord Varys' secret accounting of the reign of the Mad King, King Robert, King Joffrey, King Tommen, and Queen Daenerys as well as his own activities as Master of Whispers? Indeed, I have the original. And very few have even laid eyes on it. Lord Tyrion has read a copy. But not even my brother the King has. How did you chance upon it?"

"I think you'll understand if I choose not to refer to the scribes under my employ by name," Cathay said. She has clashed with the royal intelligence network in the past. They likely know nothing about the original source of their occasional torment, but it was only a matter of time. Business was sounding better by the second. "The bastard baby," she prompted. "You wanted to speak about . . . it?"

Arya reclined her head in answer, "Yes. This child could change a great deal, depending on the circumstances. A prince or princess always has an effect, whether they are trueborn or bastard. My brother proved that. Tell me what you found out. You must have discovered something by now."

"Something, yes," Cathay said. "I, under guise, met with the Captain Ardrian, house of Celtigar. He implied none-too-subtly that the true father of the child has no link with the Targaryen house. Unfortunately, I could not goad him any further. If I recall his exact words were: 'all Jonquil needed was a prince', and I'm hoping you could make better sense of it than I can."

Arya was silent for several moments before saying, "Ardrian is Jonquil's brother. He is likely to know quite a bit of who the father may be. It seems this was not some affair of passion, it was a concentrated ploy. But for what purpose? And those words... they certainly cast the parentage into doubt. But he said, she needed a prince. There are several. Not just Aemon. Viserys, Jahaerys. Rhaegar. Aegon Targaryen. His bastard sons. Viserys' and Daenyra's sons are too young yet. But It seems to me that another dragon may be the father. And Viserys has many bastards already, one more wouldn't have such an effect. The same for Aegon. Rhaegar, too shy for such a thing. But now I believe the father is someone of dragon blood, and someone manipulated it to be so. Either House Celtigar as a whole or members of it, perhaps working in concert with the Faith. And other parties besides, mayhaps. Troubling, very troubling." Arya seemed lost in thought for a moment.

"And I believe that until the child is born, anyone can pay a field worker a stag or two to put a bastard in a lady, but arguing philosophy won't get us far," Cathay said. "Point is, as the Memoirs kindly put it, 'it is because people love their masters that the verdict is surest. Truth plays only a second hand to authority'. The Celtigars want to start trouble, no doubt about that. We can deny it all, like in the Tyrionic Trials. People will listen more to the king than dissenters roosting near Dragonstone."

"Indeed, someone in House Celtigar is plotting something. Against us? Possibly. For their benefit? Certainly. Lord Ardrian has no answered any missives, he's preparing the Claw Isle Fleet for battle. But Ardrian the Elder may know something of this as well. We will have to send an Inquisitor to the isle. Not that much will come of it. But they wouldn't have gotten these ideas on their own. Someone is in league with them. And we can't be sure who in the House is in on it. For all we know, there are several different ploys at work here."

Arya paused, "The throne has offered no official word yet. It has been determined that we shall wait until the babe is born and Aemon returns before we can offer any definitive judgements. For now, all that we have acknowledged is that Jonquil Celtigar is mothering a bastard. If the babe comes out dark or gold of hair, then the question is settled. But if they are silver haired or white haired... then it becomes much murkier. Jonquil has already been dismissed from the Septas, however."

A moment passed, "Hmm, perhaps someone was counting on it. But if the child is truly one of the King's kin, he has decided they will be acknowledged and brought up in comfort, like all the others. That is why we must wait to determine the parentage. But we still need to investigate who is doing this."

"Do you have any theories on what is happening here? You're obviously much more than a mere lordling's daughter."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Cathay stammered. Bad move. She quickly recovered, and composed herself. It wouldn't do to have someone like Arya going to Starks, or worse yet, the king himself, and blab all of her plans to them. She can't let her Bolton ancestry get out before the time is right, or her chance at power is lost. "What I meant to say was that we cannot wait until the babe is born to make a decision. The longer we let it lie, the more the smallfolk talk, and suddenly the king no longer has any authority over his people. I cannot speak for the king, but the best action would be to take a stance, preferably within the fortnight."

Arya made no overt reaction and finally said, "Your words will be considered. But my brother has never been one to think too highly of gossip and opinion. Neither is my sister in law. But if you want us to take a stance, it would be helpful to get to the bottom of this. You have another assignment. I want you to talk to Ser Gaemon Celtigar, he's a captain in the royal fleet. And he's Lord Ardrian's nephew. He may be more pliable than Captain Ardrian. Do you think you can do this?"

"As you task, my lady," Cathay said. She dropped into a quick curtsy and ascended the stairs, berating herself. Obviously, her disguise was on some level off. If the Mistress of Whispers could see through it, then it obviously wasn't good enough.

Arya watched Cathay leave the dungeon and she stared after the young woman, until long after she was gone. She was hiding something. Arya did not think she was involved in this plot. But Cathay Whitehoof was trying to keep Arya from finding out something about her. And she was going to find out what. Arya melted away back into the shadows, to continue her work.