Lord Garland Tyrell
(A collab between kingkonrad and @Kingfisher )
The Council Hall was far less filled, now with bodyguards, both Garland's and Jehrilla's, as they entered, Garland letting her take it in, as the candles lit the limestone hall up, the sight of wine already on the table, his own Arbor.
The wine had been taken by one of Garland's guard, as he took a seat at the helm of the table, where he had addressed his Council earlier, motioning for Jehrilla to take a seat. Perhaps he had forgotten, because it still was a pinewood chair, and the chair was most definitely going to be
"I thank you for the Ghiscari, it will go excellently in my wine cellar. I intend to try it tomorrow, maybe even let Lord Redwyne compare it to his own. I will show you our Arbor Gold, it is a most excellent wine of The Reach. Something exotic, to your taste. From the same cup, I assume the same is customary in Yunkai." He added, as he looked over, one of Alerie's handmaidens still lingering within the hall, as he turned to her.
"Megga, fetch us two goblets." Garland commanded, aware that the girl, barely of nine years, would do as she was told from her Lady's brother, to get the wine down their throats. Taking two goblets, she brought them to the table, and barely lifting the keg, began to pour the wine into both, as Garland took his goblet after his guest had done so.
"I look forwards to sampling this Arbor Gold," Jehrilla said poiltely, as she glanced about the Council Room. She sat down heavily in the pinewood chair, feeling it creek and moan beneath her calossal weight. If it breaks, I'm sure he can afford a new one .
"Now, Lady Jehrilla, I wish to get down to business rapidly, owing to the fact that it has been an awfully long day for the both of us. I want to know, just how many men you have at your disposal. As you know, the Reach is the second largest Kingdom of the Seven Kingdoms, and has the largest army. As you may have heard, a King who claims ownership to the Iron Throne and the Kingdoms that follow in it's stead. His only problem, is us." Garland
"I assume this does not concern you, and indeed, it shall not. But I require your better men. I know it will cost. There are also other things I reqiure, but I will talk about it if what I hear piques my interest."
Sipping down his wine a little, he nodded, looking on as he listened to her, waiting before she finished.
"Thinking about it...the sun is coming in, we should think about perhaps getting some rest. This place is too large, how about having some food served in my quarters? We should talk on it more, we can leave our guards behind, let them wait outside. I would rather we spoke on matters without people watching us." Garland suggested, motioning across to Jehrilla, as he sat up in the wooden chair, looking over to see what she would think, before they did move on.
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An hour later, the night had come to far more, as now, Garland had drunken far more wine than he could ever anticipate and eaten far more, outmatched in both ways by Jehrilla, and perhaps, lost himself. It felt like the more he drunk, it happened. And he felt the feeling was mutual, after her long journey. In his chambers, he stared out of the balcony, before coming back in, sitting on his bed, the meal finished on the table across the room, made of three courses, each as bombastic as Garland would wish.
"Ah, we still have so much to talk about. My sister, you would get on so well with her. She is cunning too, if you have ever heard the stories of Margery Tyrell, then my aunt, Lyanna, says perhaps she is like her. I disagree, with those red locks, I can't begin to see the similarities. Us Roses are sharp." Garland said, as he looked over at her, a little lustingly, perhaps his drunk mind looking for too long. She was preposterous, her whole body, it seemed...wonderful? No. Not that....Garland tried to fight it. He had sex with many a Reachwoman, a maiden at a Tourney, who he saw in the crowd. He had loved, and left, one by one, across the Reach, outside of the Reach, in Highgarden, but all of them had one thing in common. They were Reachwomen, and when Garland was seen among the common folk, he was never one to not show the house's extravagance and "Young Rose" to be a person who ruled with sympathy. But Jehrilla...this couldn't be. It was not love. It was lust. And lust, lust was dangerous. But he was tipsy, and with enough Arbor already in his system, it was a thought.
"36,000 men," Jehrilla cooed in her non-chalant manner, as she popped a piece of fish into her expectant mouth "to answer your earlier question. I have 36,000 men at my disposal." The Yunkish lady was full of food and wine, yet the banquet had done little to placate her hunger. The rolls of her stomach spilled out beneath her, yet still she wished for more. She had earned the title 'The Ravenous'.
"But let us put the talk of buisness to one side, my lord Tyrell."
Jehrilla heaved herself up off of the spot where she had been lying, her belly swooping down and brushing against the chamber's stone floor. She was soft but firm, huge but glowing, flabby but sculpted.
"We Yunkish women have many talents," she declared, as she unfastened the straps on her dress "Allow yourself to sample them tonight."
The bronze scales on her shortly-cut garment clattered as they struck the floor. Jehrilla stood there, naked as her nameday, and spilling out in every direction, with her black tangles dancing across her pale skin.
She scooped a wine goblet up off of the bedside table, taking a heart swig, before belching loudly.
"What say you, Garland?"
Garland looked on, a little amused, as a smirk formed on his face.
"Well...diplomacy was your first talent, and those numbers, I like. And if you're a man Tyget Crakehall sent to kill me, or worse, Daenys Targaryen, then I guess I got the right executioner. Let us see your talents beyond the dip" He said, as he looked on, smirking in a manner that could only suggest one thing.
The Young Rose was going to take his mind off things, and in his mind, he felt like something had finally snapped into place into his mind. After all, there was nothing like sea, and the Yunkish woman did not seem like some common whore, she seemed to have a taste that suggested to Garland that she enjoyed the act of sex for pleasure, more so that she had come to the beautiful Garland Tyrell's court to see what this Young Rose was like in bed, so he added up to himself. The scene faded to black, as Garland slowly unbuttoned his tunic, dropping it onto the cold floor.
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(a kingkonrad and @agentmanatee collab)
Willas could only look over to Kevan, watching him enter with his six-man Retinue, the Master of Arms being an individual who Willas always knew was going to be angry. The Crakehall has been here for a good reason, the Tyrell could guess. Something to do with the fact that there were an awful lot of dead bodies, and instead of the Commander Celtigar, Ser Willas Tyrell was sitting in his quarters, by a fireplace, in this fine morning. Across the room, a couple of Reachmen were cleaning their swords, wiping the blood into a wooden bowl filled with water, keeping an eye on the meeting. Kevan was furious, that much he could see, but Willas knew how this would happen. It was almost how he was warned, and he felt indifferent to it.
"Ser Kevan, I'm hardly suprised to see you at this hour, not after last night. I have to apologise for the mess outside, it was never meant to be this different a change in Commander. But no matter. These are on the Hand's orders. You serve him just as I do." Willas merely said, stating his own facts right at the end, as he pulled the parchment out from across the wooden desk, sprawling it open with his gauntlet, looking over at Kevan.
"Commander Celtigar assaulted us when we presented this order. We acted in self-defense, and what happened last night was loyalist Watch finding people who did not listen to the Hand's command, and followed a dead Commander. Traitors to the Throne can't be taken, not in times like these, when there's so much paranoia, so much tension. King's Landing is in enough trouble as it is right now, and I suggest we work together if we want to stop the people of this city having to see more bloodshed. No doubt, we are the only two people with any military thought that have any real power left in this city, I am correct, Kevan?"
Kevan Crakehall wanted nothing more than to put his sword through Wilas Tyrell's smug face, but he knew even with six guards, one of them his captain, he'd be cut down. Instead he snatched up the parchment Wilas had laid on his table and began to read. He wasn't lying, it had the hands seal, and it was Garland's handwriting... but none of that mattered. Kevan ripped the paper to shreds in his gauntleted hands and turned back to Wilas, "You are a traitor to your oaths as Kingsguard, and the hand is your nephew, besides, without a King to name him regent the Hand has no power. But he will soon again, when the King arrives at our gates, and we let him in like loyal servants of the realm." Kevan leaned on Wilas's desk as he said this.
Willas looked across, shaking his head a little, as he leaned back a little in his chair. Tearing apart the document was a sad feature, but he felt that it was expendable, at this point. It just showed his wroth, and Willas didn't want to rise to it. He reminded himself, he had the power here, even if he didn't have more swords, he had more truths.
"We? You haven't the control. Out there, they follow the Hand. Your King isn't accepted throughout the Kingdoms yet, nor is he right here. My nephew is merely serving the Targaryen Crown, and it is the same with any sucession bout. When Robert Baratheon died, this process was the same one that Eddard Stark informed the Kingdoms of Joffrey's illegitamecy, before the man had his head taken from his shoulders. The Realm entered years of war, for that. Time must be taken. Perhaps the Hand will arrive and find your cousin to be the rightful King, perhaps not, that is not my concern, and I merely am here to make sure that his orders happen, disregarding what one of his fellow Council members considers. What happens, is his concern. Of ours? We merely are here to wait. And we are merely two puppets in a game that is far above our level. I will be honest with you, Kevan...I'm not afraid to die." Willas said, as he sat up a little once more, putting his hands on the table, clasping his hands.
"That's because I know who will be put to the sword when Lord Tyget walks into our capital. Ser Willas Tyrell will be at the top of his list, I always have been, I always will be, it is a danger he cannot risk. So I guess that this little order, it seems to be a reason to keep on going, to make sure you don't dream of serving a man who assumes so much. When your King arrives, he will find the gates shut. By the time you have written to this so, there's going to be a contingent of Reachmen inside King's Landing, the number of which even I haven't been informed of. But whatever happens, they are going to keep the peace. If I were you, I would be very careful." Willas added, as he pulled a drawer open, slipping some paper out, before giving a glance back at Kevan.
"So...your next move is? You're in armour, and Seven Hells, you've got six men in a room, including yourself, when there's just the three of us. It would be difficult, but possible to kill us. But tell me, is that beneficial to your King?" The Tyrell seemed to have a knowledge of King's Landing when he retorted, his confidence one that he knew would be playing Kevan, to the best of his knowledge. He was not the sharpest tool in the box, but he could state facts, and he knew that Kevan was going to have to accept that, he thought to himself, and he didn't feel under pressure. This was a stand-off, but he had the advantage, he had the chance to make Kevan truly rant. It felt strange, how he knew that no more blood would spill, it felt like something a fighter could understand. It was a rhetoric, everything was, Willas knew that this would not escalate. It was an empty threat, and Willas could have been here without his armour, had it not have been for the fact that it simply imposed some formality to this whole situation, as he cleared his throat, sipping down a little water from a pale.
"To the Realm? To anyone, even? Chances are, you'd wind up dead too, unless you think you can outfox Ser Aliser over there. We aren't fools, we're Knights of the Seven Kingdoms, by the Seven, that cannot change. So that wasn't your intention, this was a wrothful entrance. Just like anyone's would have been. Kevan...you won't be harmed in any of what is to follow. I will make sure of it, that if I need a man who can get me to talk to Tyget, you will be the first. The Lord Hand is reasonable. There'd be no reason to cast aside a Council member who was given power to help the realm in a time of it's need." Willas concluded, as he adjusted his posture a little, watching Kevan, resting his hands on the table, looking over at the guards for a moment, as he turned his eyes on Kevan Crakehall once more.
Kevan glared daggers at Wilas, his cool expression only pissing him off more. He pushed himself off the mans desk, "You may be Captain of the Watch in name, but we will see how many are still serving you when a Tyrell force comes to take their food and occupy their city and drink their wine. The Small lords won't stand for this Wilas, there WILL be blood in the streets again before your Reachmen even arrive, and it won't be me who the smallfolk want dead.", he turned and began to walk back to the door, stopping just short of the frame, speaking without even turning around, "A rushed army of Reachmen won't be able to keep the peace Wilas, you know that. When King Tyget arrives, you'd be wise to let him in... the Westermen army can restore order quickly... but I suppose I am not the captain of the watch.", Kevan left the barracks, his men following suite, he had a letter to write.
Willas looked on, watching him leave, as he stood up, looking across to Ser Alliser, as he heard his men leave.
"Ser Alliser, I do hope you're not the only person who has some sanity around here. I can understand why the job for Celtigar relied on taverns in Flea Bottom, now I think about it, when Crakehall is your equivalent in the Red Keep." Willas remarked, his wit a little weathered by King's Landing itself, a trait that it felt like the whole family had. It felt like it wasn't even a conversation worth winning, it felt like facts worth stating. Whatever he would write, whatever he would do, Willas felt like his bet was as well placed as Garland's. The Crakehalls would arrive with no siege equipment, and by that point, the Tumbletons would already be entrenched. Whatever number they brought, they could last a couple of weeks, and unless Kevan's cousin had naval superiority already in Blackwater Bay, two weeks sailing, if not more from Lannisport, he seriously doubted the Master of Arms's rhetoric. True desperation, that was what it was...because if this was what Kevan was selling in his anger, perhaps deep down, and unadmittedly, he knew his cousin did not have the capabilities to lay siege to this great city.
"Aye, Ser. There's at least a few more, but I understand how you feel."
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By the evening of the day following the "Night of the Goldcloak Blooding", the first men wearing green and gold were coming through, the Tumbleton forces disorganized, looking more like a Rabble. But a rabble they were not, when they were unified, merely flocking like sheep to their shepard right now to form up a garrison force.
The Reach had it's forces spread, but the force based in Tumbleton was a Retinue- a barrack, established not long after the Targaryen Invasion. Tyrell Retinues were semi-professional soldiers, and moreover, were not drawn only in war, but were active reservists in their own right, a move that perhaps echoed that of a Rhoynar army. The Reach was large, and it was so that Willas Tyrell (the Lame Lord, not the Kingsguard) who had made the decision to create pockets of concentrated forces, both at Tumbleton, and Torrentpeak, as a solution to keep the Reach's military prowess connected to it's political influences, no matter what a neighboring Lord may have thought about it. Of course, the military was spread across the whole of the Reach, when soldiers were needed to war. But the Tyrell Retinues, they were something greater than that, a thought made over a century ago. It was to counter the initial threat of the Westermen, Stormlanders, rogue Crownlanders and Dornishmen, from small border Lords to higher Princes or Lord Paramounts respectively, each retinue numbering from 5,000 to 10,000 easily accessible men, able to be mobilized first and foremost, both being tactically advantaged and disadvantaged, in that it was still not enough to hold any Lord's forces. They were not shock troops, but they were a mixture of Reach Knights, Pikes, Swords and Archers, assembled into a force that could be the first to either hold, attack or defend, and not much more. It was never significant, but for situations like this, it seemed perfect, Tumbleton itself already having that number of vassal houses that owed men to The Reach's service. Tumbleton was barely a full day's ride from King's Landing, and the Ravens could reach the House speedily, before it reached individual banners. To muster the whole 80,000 men, doing such an action would still require that process of writing, and gathering at a rally point- and two weeks would be the minimum of what it would take, spare a miracle. The Retinue had never been used in full force, but the rest of the Reach's forces were kept among the populace, in each individual vassal, and would almost always need to be called through a long-winded process. It was not instant, and perhaps the smaller size of the Westerlands benefited this, as the rally points were central and barely a day or two away- in the Reach, Highgarden was still a week's journey from Torrentpeak.
The Tyrell host entered through the gate, some on horseback, some on foot, out of the Kingswood and from the Roseroad into the Seven Kingdom's capital, threading inside. Willas watched from the gate, looking through as the men entered, fanning through. 1,500 City Watch were useful to him, but not loyal. These men, they would follow him, they would do as he ordered. It was as if he didn't need his title, now it had no need to it all. It could be stowed onto someone else, and this was something Willas was considering. Getting Ser Maxwell to take his title as Commander, and nobody would need to question it. Even the men would just see it as another Tyrell to follow, and that would mean no change, given it wouldn't be a forced substitution of a Commander. He thought about it, as he headed up the hill, followed by Ser Maxwell and Ser Alliser, mingling through the groups of Tyrell men that were already undergoing orders to group to their minor Vassal Lords and other Nobles, be they other Knights or other nobles, even Masters of cities.
He found Lord Owain Tumbleton, first of his name, the Lord looking over as he stopped his horse by an Inn nearer the top of the hill in King's Landing, overlooking the southern gate, and the sunset on the distance, setting towards where Willas knew the armies of the so-called King Tyget Crakehall would come from, in whatever number he had. Owain must have been about thirty years, and in his plate, looked fitting, though it was obvious he was not the General that this army deserved. He was no fighter, he seemed thin and not made of much at all, compared to Willas. Even in armor, the green, silver and grey distinctive Reach plate, thorns and his house's sigil etched into his armour, it seemed like he was dressing for occasion.
"Lord Tumbleton, I welcome you to King's Landing." Willas said, probably with the highest grin on his face he had since talking to Kevan.
"It is good to see you, Ser Willas. I hear you have broken your vows." Owain replied, the man heavily bearded, making Garland's lion mane seem tiny, his beard rushing from his chin, like a thick web, brown in it's nature. Willas laughed at it, amazed that it fit within his helmet, but knew this was not the time for humor.
"The King is dead. I no longer need to protect him. The City Watch will work with your men, they act on response. They are as much yours as they are mine, Lord Tumbleton." Willas replied, nodding as Owain dismounted his brown steed, coming down with a clank, as he took his two-handed sword and pike off the horse's saddle, the pike itself massive and purely a horseman's weapon.
"That is good to hear. Though I doubt they will be of use, you know full well how loyal these men are."
"Some, very. Others, probably deserting right now. There's been one or two small skirmishes, seems like the rumour mill is already producing fruits. But that is not longer our worry, with the retinue, they will work for our aims." Willas simply said, as Owain nodded, Willas looking across at the gate once more, the sight of more men entering, the bulk of the force, on the sunset that sat in the horizon.
"Kevan Crakehall is going mad, he's angry most of all, I suppose he wanted to obey his cousin's command, and is terrified he'll be murdered if Tyget ever gets a hold of him. But he is powerless...and it is better that he lives to squeal like the Boar he is, than to be another dead body, it is mutually beneficial, I think. How are the men?" Willas asked, as Owain nodded, looking out across on the Roseroad gate, and the road that could be seen winding up to the Inn.
"In good spirit, Willas. What is it you plan to do with my retinue? Are we expecting a Siege, as you say?"
"Indeed, just as expected. It seems like Kevan is towing the line, he thought the gates would be open for his so called "King". If he is thinking that will change, I will eat your beard."
"Hah, how you jest! You wouldn't dare, so you know what is on the line!" Owain joked, looking across as he took his two hander out, inspecting the blade over, the man clearly a little weighed down by such a heavy weapon. But Willas was right- he knew it wasn't going to change. He may have had his own retinue and guard, but right now, 10,000 men were moving in, and in any number that the Crakehall Retinue engaged those forces, they wouldn't last long, not at all.
"That is the point. Yes...but let us be serious here. Up to 50,000 men could approach our walls. With all gates sealed, the assistance of the City Watch, and the fact that it is unlikely they'll expect. Your men are going to play a vital role in that."
"My men are going to be hungry, thirsty and in need of accommodation if it drags out. 10,000 mouths are many to feed, in a city of what, almost half a million? It's an addition."
"Well, I know that there are barrack spaces that aren't going to be filled, as are some houses in Flea Bottom. Don't take what you want, but do what you have to do, set up tents and stay out of the way of the common folk. They don't deserve this, the Masters and Mayors will continue to go about their business, I will issue that command, they are to follow the rule of law as was imposed under Aegon X Targaryen, and no different, a siege is to be prepared for but businesses, commerce continues as usual, with the Harbour running it's trade as it has done contiuously. Any confrontations, and this siege will become far more difficult to endure. I assume you brought supplies for your forces, none the less."
"We were told to be ready to be sieged, so it is good to hear you confirm we're not going to sally out and try and beat them on the open field, the men marched hard to get here. We can last four weeks, then we are on the stores of King's Landing, whatever state Aegon left them in. So who knows." Owain said, as Willas nodded in response, shaking his head.
"That is long enough. Good." The Tyrell simply stated, as he looked on, then back up at the Red Keep, before then looking across at Owain, ordering one of his men to bring hay for his horse.
"I wouldn't go up there, to the Red Keep, Lord Tumbleton. There's a very confused and angry man that doesn't know reality when he sees the Rose in his City." Willas said to Owain, before looking out once more. Come the night, most of the men would be inside, and the gates would be locked shut, the largest city in Westeros, under the hand of the Rose, and preparing for the worst of assaults. Sieges. Where they would be waited to be starved, or filled with disease, until they capitulated. Willas could only guess that it would be difficult to get any voice out of the capital throughout, so he would have to write any last commands and send them by raven to Garland, before preparing for the long time ahead. No doubt, it would be a tough ordeal ahead. He had to tell Garland the Host was inside, that Kevan Crakehall was not happy, and that the atmosphere seemed to suggest that there would be conflict coming on the horizon- he wanted his nephew to not waste time, and make haste with whatever political maneuvers he was going to make.
(A collab between kingkonrad and @Kingfisher )
The Council Hall was far less filled, now with bodyguards, both Garland's and Jehrilla's, as they entered, Garland letting her take it in, as the candles lit the limestone hall up, the sight of wine already on the table, his own Arbor.
The wine had been taken by one of Garland's guard, as he took a seat at the helm of the table, where he had addressed his Council earlier, motioning for Jehrilla to take a seat. Perhaps he had forgotten, because it still was a pinewood chair, and the chair was most definitely going to be
"I thank you for the Ghiscari, it will go excellently in my wine cellar. I intend to try it tomorrow, maybe even let Lord Redwyne compare it to his own. I will show you our Arbor Gold, it is a most excellent wine of The Reach. Something exotic, to your taste. From the same cup, I assume the same is customary in Yunkai." He added, as he looked over, one of Alerie's handmaidens still lingering within the hall, as he turned to her.
"Megga, fetch us two goblets." Garland commanded, aware that the girl, barely of nine years, would do as she was told from her Lady's brother, to get the wine down their throats. Taking two goblets, she brought them to the table, and barely lifting the keg, began to pour the wine into both, as Garland took his goblet after his guest had done so.
"I look forwards to sampling this Arbor Gold," Jehrilla said poiltely, as she glanced about the Council Room. She sat down heavily in the pinewood chair, feeling it creek and moan beneath her calossal weight. If it breaks, I'm sure he can afford a new one .
"Now, Lady Jehrilla, I wish to get down to business rapidly, owing to the fact that it has been an awfully long day for the both of us. I want to know, just how many men you have at your disposal. As you know, the Reach is the second largest Kingdom of the Seven Kingdoms, and has the largest army. As you may have heard, a King who claims ownership to the Iron Throne and the Kingdoms that follow in it's stead. His only problem, is us." Garland
"I assume this does not concern you, and indeed, it shall not. But I require your better men. I know it will cost. There are also other things I reqiure, but I will talk about it if what I hear piques my interest."
Sipping down his wine a little, he nodded, looking on as he listened to her, waiting before she finished.
"Thinking about it...the sun is coming in, we should think about perhaps getting some rest. This place is too large, how about having some food served in my quarters? We should talk on it more, we can leave our guards behind, let them wait outside. I would rather we spoke on matters without people watching us." Garland suggested, motioning across to Jehrilla, as he sat up in the wooden chair, looking over to see what she would think, before they did move on.
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An hour later, the night had come to far more, as now, Garland had drunken far more wine than he could ever anticipate and eaten far more, outmatched in both ways by Jehrilla, and perhaps, lost himself. It felt like the more he drunk, it happened. And he felt the feeling was mutual, after her long journey. In his chambers, he stared out of the balcony, before coming back in, sitting on his bed, the meal finished on the table across the room, made of three courses, each as bombastic as Garland would wish.
"Ah, we still have so much to talk about. My sister, you would get on so well with her. She is cunning too, if you have ever heard the stories of Margery Tyrell, then my aunt, Lyanna, says perhaps she is like her. I disagree, with those red locks, I can't begin to see the similarities. Us Roses are sharp." Garland said, as he looked over at her, a little lustingly, perhaps his drunk mind looking for too long. She was preposterous, her whole body, it seemed...wonderful? No. Not that....Garland tried to fight it. He had sex with many a Reachwoman, a maiden at a Tourney, who he saw in the crowd. He had loved, and left, one by one, across the Reach, outside of the Reach, in Highgarden, but all of them had one thing in common. They were Reachwomen, and when Garland was seen among the common folk, he was never one to not show the house's extravagance and "Young Rose" to be a person who ruled with sympathy. But Jehrilla...this couldn't be. It was not love. It was lust. And lust, lust was dangerous. But he was tipsy, and with enough Arbor already in his system, it was a thought.
"36,000 men," Jehrilla cooed in her non-chalant manner, as she popped a piece of fish into her expectant mouth "to answer your earlier question. I have 36,000 men at my disposal." The Yunkish lady was full of food and wine, yet the banquet had done little to placate her hunger. The rolls of her stomach spilled out beneath her, yet still she wished for more. She had earned the title 'The Ravenous'.
"But let us put the talk of buisness to one side, my lord Tyrell."
Jehrilla heaved herself up off of the spot where she had been lying, her belly swooping down and brushing against the chamber's stone floor. She was soft but firm, huge but glowing, flabby but sculpted.
"We Yunkish women have many talents," she declared, as she unfastened the straps on her dress "Allow yourself to sample them tonight."
The bronze scales on her shortly-cut garment clattered as they struck the floor. Jehrilla stood there, naked as her nameday, and spilling out in every direction, with her black tangles dancing across her pale skin.
She scooped a wine goblet up off of the bedside table, taking a heart swig, before belching loudly.
"What say you, Garland?"
Garland looked on, a little amused, as a smirk formed on his face.
"Well...diplomacy was your first talent, and those numbers, I like. And if you're a man Tyget Crakehall sent to kill me, or worse, Daenys Targaryen, then I guess I got the right executioner. Let us see your talents beyond the dip" He said, as he looked on, smirking in a manner that could only suggest one thing.
The Young Rose was going to take his mind off things, and in his mind, he felt like something had finally snapped into place into his mind. After all, there was nothing like sea, and the Yunkish woman did not seem like some common whore, she seemed to have a taste that suggested to Garland that she enjoyed the act of sex for pleasure, more so that she had come to the beautiful Garland Tyrell's court to see what this Young Rose was like in bed, so he added up to himself. The scene faded to black, as Garland slowly unbuttoned his tunic, dropping it onto the cold floor.
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(a kingkonrad and @agentmanatee collab)
Willas could only look over to Kevan, watching him enter with his six-man Retinue, the Master of Arms being an individual who Willas always knew was going to be angry. The Crakehall has been here for a good reason, the Tyrell could guess. Something to do with the fact that there were an awful lot of dead bodies, and instead of the Commander Celtigar, Ser Willas Tyrell was sitting in his quarters, by a fireplace, in this fine morning. Across the room, a couple of Reachmen were cleaning their swords, wiping the blood into a wooden bowl filled with water, keeping an eye on the meeting. Kevan was furious, that much he could see, but Willas knew how this would happen. It was almost how he was warned, and he felt indifferent to it.
"Ser Kevan, I'm hardly suprised to see you at this hour, not after last night. I have to apologise for the mess outside, it was never meant to be this different a change in Commander. But no matter. These are on the Hand's orders. You serve him just as I do." Willas merely said, stating his own facts right at the end, as he pulled the parchment out from across the wooden desk, sprawling it open with his gauntlet, looking over at Kevan.
"Commander Celtigar assaulted us when we presented this order. We acted in self-defense, and what happened last night was loyalist Watch finding people who did not listen to the Hand's command, and followed a dead Commander. Traitors to the Throne can't be taken, not in times like these, when there's so much paranoia, so much tension. King's Landing is in enough trouble as it is right now, and I suggest we work together if we want to stop the people of this city having to see more bloodshed. No doubt, we are the only two people with any military thought that have any real power left in this city, I am correct, Kevan?"
Kevan Crakehall wanted nothing more than to put his sword through Wilas Tyrell's smug face, but he knew even with six guards, one of them his captain, he'd be cut down. Instead he snatched up the parchment Wilas had laid on his table and began to read. He wasn't lying, it had the hands seal, and it was Garland's handwriting... but none of that mattered. Kevan ripped the paper to shreds in his gauntleted hands and turned back to Wilas, "You are a traitor to your oaths as Kingsguard, and the hand is your nephew, besides, without a King to name him regent the Hand has no power. But he will soon again, when the King arrives at our gates, and we let him in like loyal servants of the realm." Kevan leaned on Wilas's desk as he said this.
Willas looked across, shaking his head a little, as he leaned back a little in his chair. Tearing apart the document was a sad feature, but he felt that it was expendable, at this point. It just showed his wroth, and Willas didn't want to rise to it. He reminded himself, he had the power here, even if he didn't have more swords, he had more truths.
"We? You haven't the control. Out there, they follow the Hand. Your King isn't accepted throughout the Kingdoms yet, nor is he right here. My nephew is merely serving the Targaryen Crown, and it is the same with any sucession bout. When Robert Baratheon died, this process was the same one that Eddard Stark informed the Kingdoms of Joffrey's illegitamecy, before the man had his head taken from his shoulders. The Realm entered years of war, for that. Time must be taken. Perhaps the Hand will arrive and find your cousin to be the rightful King, perhaps not, that is not my concern, and I merely am here to make sure that his orders happen, disregarding what one of his fellow Council members considers. What happens, is his concern. Of ours? We merely are here to wait. And we are merely two puppets in a game that is far above our level. I will be honest with you, Kevan...I'm not afraid to die." Willas said, as he sat up a little once more, putting his hands on the table, clasping his hands.
"That's because I know who will be put to the sword when Lord Tyget walks into our capital. Ser Willas Tyrell will be at the top of his list, I always have been, I always will be, it is a danger he cannot risk. So I guess that this little order, it seems to be a reason to keep on going, to make sure you don't dream of serving a man who assumes so much. When your King arrives, he will find the gates shut. By the time you have written to this so, there's going to be a contingent of Reachmen inside King's Landing, the number of which even I haven't been informed of. But whatever happens, they are going to keep the peace. If I were you, I would be very careful." Willas added, as he pulled a drawer open, slipping some paper out, before giving a glance back at Kevan.
"So...your next move is? You're in armour, and Seven Hells, you've got six men in a room, including yourself, when there's just the three of us. It would be difficult, but possible to kill us. But tell me, is that beneficial to your King?" The Tyrell seemed to have a knowledge of King's Landing when he retorted, his confidence one that he knew would be playing Kevan, to the best of his knowledge. He was not the sharpest tool in the box, but he could state facts, and he knew that Kevan was going to have to accept that, he thought to himself, and he didn't feel under pressure. This was a stand-off, but he had the advantage, he had the chance to make Kevan truly rant. It felt strange, how he knew that no more blood would spill, it felt like something a fighter could understand. It was a rhetoric, everything was, Willas knew that this would not escalate. It was an empty threat, and Willas could have been here without his armour, had it not have been for the fact that it simply imposed some formality to this whole situation, as he cleared his throat, sipping down a little water from a pale.
"To the Realm? To anyone, even? Chances are, you'd wind up dead too, unless you think you can outfox Ser Aliser over there. We aren't fools, we're Knights of the Seven Kingdoms, by the Seven, that cannot change. So that wasn't your intention, this was a wrothful entrance. Just like anyone's would have been. Kevan...you won't be harmed in any of what is to follow. I will make sure of it, that if I need a man who can get me to talk to Tyget, you will be the first. The Lord Hand is reasonable. There'd be no reason to cast aside a Council member who was given power to help the realm in a time of it's need." Willas concluded, as he adjusted his posture a little, watching Kevan, resting his hands on the table, looking over at the guards for a moment, as he turned his eyes on Kevan Crakehall once more.
Kevan glared daggers at Wilas, his cool expression only pissing him off more. He pushed himself off the mans desk, "You may be Captain of the Watch in name, but we will see how many are still serving you when a Tyrell force comes to take their food and occupy their city and drink their wine. The Small lords won't stand for this Wilas, there WILL be blood in the streets again before your Reachmen even arrive, and it won't be me who the smallfolk want dead.", he turned and began to walk back to the door, stopping just short of the frame, speaking without even turning around, "A rushed army of Reachmen won't be able to keep the peace Wilas, you know that. When King Tyget arrives, you'd be wise to let him in... the Westermen army can restore order quickly... but I suppose I am not the captain of the watch.", Kevan left the barracks, his men following suite, he had a letter to write.
Willas looked on, watching him leave, as he stood up, looking across to Ser Alliser, as he heard his men leave.
"Ser Alliser, I do hope you're not the only person who has some sanity around here. I can understand why the job for Celtigar relied on taverns in Flea Bottom, now I think about it, when Crakehall is your equivalent in the Red Keep." Willas remarked, his wit a little weathered by King's Landing itself, a trait that it felt like the whole family had. It felt like it wasn't even a conversation worth winning, it felt like facts worth stating. Whatever he would write, whatever he would do, Willas felt like his bet was as well placed as Garland's. The Crakehalls would arrive with no siege equipment, and by that point, the Tumbletons would already be entrenched. Whatever number they brought, they could last a couple of weeks, and unless Kevan's cousin had naval superiority already in Blackwater Bay, two weeks sailing, if not more from Lannisport, he seriously doubted the Master of Arms's rhetoric. True desperation, that was what it was...because if this was what Kevan was selling in his anger, perhaps deep down, and unadmittedly, he knew his cousin did not have the capabilities to lay siege to this great city.
"Aye, Ser. There's at least a few more, but I understand how you feel."
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By the evening of the day following the "Night of the Goldcloak Blooding", the first men wearing green and gold were coming through, the Tumbleton forces disorganized, looking more like a Rabble. But a rabble they were not, when they were unified, merely flocking like sheep to their shepard right now to form up a garrison force.
The Reach had it's forces spread, but the force based in Tumbleton was a Retinue- a barrack, established not long after the Targaryen Invasion. Tyrell Retinues were semi-professional soldiers, and moreover, were not drawn only in war, but were active reservists in their own right, a move that perhaps echoed that of a Rhoynar army. The Reach was large, and it was so that Willas Tyrell (the Lame Lord, not the Kingsguard) who had made the decision to create pockets of concentrated forces, both at Tumbleton, and Torrentpeak, as a solution to keep the Reach's military prowess connected to it's political influences, no matter what a neighboring Lord may have thought about it. Of course, the military was spread across the whole of the Reach, when soldiers were needed to war. But the Tyrell Retinues, they were something greater than that, a thought made over a century ago. It was to counter the initial threat of the Westermen, Stormlanders, rogue Crownlanders and Dornishmen, from small border Lords to higher Princes or Lord Paramounts respectively, each retinue numbering from 5,000 to 10,000 easily accessible men, able to be mobilized first and foremost, both being tactically advantaged and disadvantaged, in that it was still not enough to hold any Lord's forces. They were not shock troops, but they were a mixture of Reach Knights, Pikes, Swords and Archers, assembled into a force that could be the first to either hold, attack or defend, and not much more. It was never significant, but for situations like this, it seemed perfect, Tumbleton itself already having that number of vassal houses that owed men to The Reach's service. Tumbleton was barely a full day's ride from King's Landing, and the Ravens could reach the House speedily, before it reached individual banners. To muster the whole 80,000 men, doing such an action would still require that process of writing, and gathering at a rally point- and two weeks would be the minimum of what it would take, spare a miracle. The Retinue had never been used in full force, but the rest of the Reach's forces were kept among the populace, in each individual vassal, and would almost always need to be called through a long-winded process. It was not instant, and perhaps the smaller size of the Westerlands benefited this, as the rally points were central and barely a day or two away- in the Reach, Highgarden was still a week's journey from Torrentpeak.
The Tyrell host entered through the gate, some on horseback, some on foot, out of the Kingswood and from the Roseroad into the Seven Kingdom's capital, threading inside. Willas watched from the gate, looking through as the men entered, fanning through. 1,500 City Watch were useful to him, but not loyal. These men, they would follow him, they would do as he ordered. It was as if he didn't need his title, now it had no need to it all. It could be stowed onto someone else, and this was something Willas was considering. Getting Ser Maxwell to take his title as Commander, and nobody would need to question it. Even the men would just see it as another Tyrell to follow, and that would mean no change, given it wouldn't be a forced substitution of a Commander. He thought about it, as he headed up the hill, followed by Ser Maxwell and Ser Alliser, mingling through the groups of Tyrell men that were already undergoing orders to group to their minor Vassal Lords and other Nobles, be they other Knights or other nobles, even Masters of cities.
He found Lord Owain Tumbleton, first of his name, the Lord looking over as he stopped his horse by an Inn nearer the top of the hill in King's Landing, overlooking the southern gate, and the sunset on the distance, setting towards where Willas knew the armies of the so-called King Tyget Crakehall would come from, in whatever number he had. Owain must have been about thirty years, and in his plate, looked fitting, though it was obvious he was not the General that this army deserved. He was no fighter, he seemed thin and not made of much at all, compared to Willas. Even in armor, the green, silver and grey distinctive Reach plate, thorns and his house's sigil etched into his armour, it seemed like he was dressing for occasion.
"Lord Tumbleton, I welcome you to King's Landing." Willas said, probably with the highest grin on his face he had since talking to Kevan.
"It is good to see you, Ser Willas. I hear you have broken your vows." Owain replied, the man heavily bearded, making Garland's lion mane seem tiny, his beard rushing from his chin, like a thick web, brown in it's nature. Willas laughed at it, amazed that it fit within his helmet, but knew this was not the time for humor.
"The King is dead. I no longer need to protect him. The City Watch will work with your men, they act on response. They are as much yours as they are mine, Lord Tumbleton." Willas replied, nodding as Owain dismounted his brown steed, coming down with a clank, as he took his two-handed sword and pike off the horse's saddle, the pike itself massive and purely a horseman's weapon.
"That is good to hear. Though I doubt they will be of use, you know full well how loyal these men are."
"Some, very. Others, probably deserting right now. There's been one or two small skirmishes, seems like the rumour mill is already producing fruits. But that is not longer our worry, with the retinue, they will work for our aims." Willas simply said, as Owain nodded, Willas looking across at the gate once more, the sight of more men entering, the bulk of the force, on the sunset that sat in the horizon.
"Kevan Crakehall is going mad, he's angry most of all, I suppose he wanted to obey his cousin's command, and is terrified he'll be murdered if Tyget ever gets a hold of him. But he is powerless...and it is better that he lives to squeal like the Boar he is, than to be another dead body, it is mutually beneficial, I think. How are the men?" Willas asked, as Owain nodded, looking out across on the Roseroad gate, and the road that could be seen winding up to the Inn.
"In good spirit, Willas. What is it you plan to do with my retinue? Are we expecting a Siege, as you say?"
"Indeed, just as expected. It seems like Kevan is towing the line, he thought the gates would be open for his so called "King". If he is thinking that will change, I will eat your beard."
"Hah, how you jest! You wouldn't dare, so you know what is on the line!" Owain joked, looking across as he took his two hander out, inspecting the blade over, the man clearly a little weighed down by such a heavy weapon. But Willas was right- he knew it wasn't going to change. He may have had his own retinue and guard, but right now, 10,000 men were moving in, and in any number that the Crakehall Retinue engaged those forces, they wouldn't last long, not at all.
"That is the point. Yes...but let us be serious here. Up to 50,000 men could approach our walls. With all gates sealed, the assistance of the City Watch, and the fact that it is unlikely they'll expect. Your men are going to play a vital role in that."
"My men are going to be hungry, thirsty and in need of accommodation if it drags out. 10,000 mouths are many to feed, in a city of what, almost half a million? It's an addition."
"Well, I know that there are barrack spaces that aren't going to be filled, as are some houses in Flea Bottom. Don't take what you want, but do what you have to do, set up tents and stay out of the way of the common folk. They don't deserve this, the Masters and Mayors will continue to go about their business, I will issue that command, they are to follow the rule of law as was imposed under Aegon X Targaryen, and no different, a siege is to be prepared for but businesses, commerce continues as usual, with the Harbour running it's trade as it has done contiuously. Any confrontations, and this siege will become far more difficult to endure. I assume you brought supplies for your forces, none the less."
"We were told to be ready to be sieged, so it is good to hear you confirm we're not going to sally out and try and beat them on the open field, the men marched hard to get here. We can last four weeks, then we are on the stores of King's Landing, whatever state Aegon left them in. So who knows." Owain said, as Willas nodded in response, shaking his head.
"That is long enough. Good." The Tyrell simply stated, as he looked on, then back up at the Red Keep, before then looking across at Owain, ordering one of his men to bring hay for his horse.
"I wouldn't go up there, to the Red Keep, Lord Tumbleton. There's a very confused and angry man that doesn't know reality when he sees the Rose in his City." Willas said to Owain, before looking out once more. Come the night, most of the men would be inside, and the gates would be locked shut, the largest city in Westeros, under the hand of the Rose, and preparing for the worst of assaults. Sieges. Where they would be waited to be starved, or filled with disease, until they capitulated. Willas could only guess that it would be difficult to get any voice out of the capital throughout, so he would have to write any last commands and send them by raven to Garland, before preparing for the long time ahead. No doubt, it would be a tough ordeal ahead. He had to tell Garland the Host was inside, that Kevan Crakehall was not happy, and that the atmosphere seemed to suggest that there would be conflict coming on the horizon- he wanted his nephew to not waste time, and make haste with whatever political maneuvers he was going to make.
