Abefroeman — Roleplayer Guild

The Stands of Honor, Outcasts and Misplaced things among the Nobles.

Ser Aerion quietly listened to Lady Visenya talk. It was odd, he thought, as she had chosen to gracefully sit by him. He cast a sidelong glance at her and all her graceful yet fiercesome beauty, before turning to fully face the noble woman. 

A slight breeze danced across the tourney grounds, pushing Visenya’s hair slightly about as she began to speak. Aerion watched the loose strands seem to dance amongst the sunlight, before focusing back in on her voice, and the words that she spoke. First, she spoke about Lady Lyvia, about her combat prowess and how she had taken on many a man from the Trident and the Stormlands, to include the Lightning Lord himself. No doubt a family blood feud from times bygone. Aerion took a small sip from the wineskin, though more often than not, he preferred to abstain, letting Visenya drink more.

"Your Lady Lyvia is quite the fighter ser. She took on the Lords of the Trident and the Lightning Lord all. I half expected her to challenge Jeor next but only then did she succumb. It was impressive, I could use soldiers like her in the Dragon's Teeth." Her voice held the tones of awe and pride, like that of a seasoned commander wanting a new recruit to join, which she had indeed said. Aerion smiled at this, looking over at Lyvia with Visenya as she continued speaking.  "Last I saw her, she could barely walk. It seems Cleganes get back on their feet easily."

Aerion spoke up as well, the two looking at Lady Lyvia as she was intently watching the tourney and going ons down below. “Lyvia is one hell of a fighter, better than me to say the least. I hold hope that she one day gains the lordship… or rather the ladyship of her ancestral lands. She’s been through so much, lost so much, well the least I can do is fight to the ends of the earth to give her a better life than she started with.” Aerion smiled, before looking back at Lady Visenya as she turned back to speak with him some more.

Aerion quirked his eyebrows as he listened to the next bit. It was certainly out of the blue, and definitely a shock as he heard it. She’d been proposed to, by none other than the new Lord Bolton. While Ser Aerion hadn’t met the man personally, he had heard that the man was a bit of a drunken sot, and obviously came from House Bolton. In conjunction with that, he had heard a few other bawdy rumors, none which he’d repeat, but it did raise the hairs on his neck when he thought of it. Lord Bolton sounded like the type of man who’d be in one of the more ill-refuted Sellsword companies, the ones that reveled in bloodshed and debauchery. 

"We had some excitement ourselves. A proper brawl right in my favorite tent. A true shame, they had good ale. But then again it might have been for the best. William proposed to me you know." Visenya laughed, a strong chuckle, with just a flush of embarrassment, "I've know him since we were both babes you know? Sansa took him to the Red Keep often when she wasn't North. We trained together, studied together with my cousins. I taught him how to string a bow, he taught me how to wield a dagger. He was always something of a cad, always pissing off everyone he ever met, including me. But still, I had been the one who had to mind him when we were children. I still do. That must have been the hundredth brawl I watched his back in. Though one of the only ones he didn't start himself. I am fond of him strangely. 

Aerion watched Visenya oddly as she continued to speak. The way she inflected her words and tones, it conveyed an interesting picture. Maybe it was the wine, or perhaps it was something else, but Aerion swore he saw Lady Visenya blush. He didn’t press the matter, and continued to listen. 

Visenya smiled, thinking of herself as a girl, when everything had seemed simpler. "But marriage? I didn't know what to say, especially since he was terribly drunk. Especially since I can't know whether he was serious, whether he was having me on or not. I probably would have started that brawl myself to avoid answering. He put me in a terribly awkward position. But he is William. I seem to have a talent for attracting rogues. Though I suppose bastards don't often attract gentlemen. Present company excluded of course my lord."

Ser Aerion smiled, shaking his head. He did find the idea of being a lord oddly alluring, but honor dictated that he broach that matter with Lady Visenya. “My Lady, whilst I’d be deeply honored to not only be known as a lord, and to have a lordship, I am but a simple unlanded knight, nothing close to the level of prestige and power of those in higher station than my own.” Ser Aerion paused, smiling and letting the breeze play across the venue, watching how it toyed with Lady Visenya’s hair. “A bastard is a word, and only a word. We are what we make of ourselves. Look at what you have done, how far you have risen. Bastard? No, I’d call you a noble lady, a shining example of what one can do when they put their mind to it.” He sighed, sitting back to let Lady Visenya continue.

Visenya smiled and drank, internally cursing herself somewhat for speaking so much. The drink had loosened her tongue far more than she liked. She steered the conversation towards much less awkward matters, telling him of some adventures had as Commander of the Dragon's Teeth and childhood misadventures she had with the princes and other highborn children. Ser Aerion had traded tales with Lady Visenya as she traded hers. He spoke of battles on the Stepstones, raiding enemy encampments, sacking cities and castles, life in the Company of the Cat. But his proudest moment, was becoming a knight, a tale which he told with great pride and gusto. 

Ser Aerion recounted the tale of gallantry and honor in the face of chaos and evil. He almost seemed to laugh at it now, the day seeming so long ago. It had been at the island of Last Refuge. The peasants and pirates had risen up in rebellion, even garnering support from other islands and from the disputed lands. They had been deployed in yet another campaign of bloody suppression, to crackdown on men and women whose livelihoods had been stripped away, been conquered by a foreign government. It was an early morning beach landing, assaulting a castle and port that had been taken by the rebels. Aurane Velaryon’s forces had been repulsed seven times, and suffered tremendous casualties. Ser Aerion implied that Aurane was a bit of a putz and an incompetent commander. 

He finished the tale in roughly ten minutes, but in that time, Lady Visenya learned more about Ser Aerion than many could learn from hours of reading a book. Ser Aerion had disobeyed orders, pushing his small retinue of men-at-arms south, choosing to assault the castle from the ruins of the town itself. Of course the orders had been to slaughter all the rebels, men, women, and children. Aerion burned his ships, to make it seem as though they’d been defeated, using the smoke from the wreckage to sneak past the sentries and pickets, and with his small retinue of misfits, quickly fought their way to the commander of the rebels. Aerion single handedly fought and killed this brigand, and in all the chaos, helped the citizens of this town, along with any of the rebels who were willing to lay down their arms, escape through the ruined main gates of the city. He had spared the lives of some two thousands small folk, and shattered the enemy resistance. A septon had knighted him as those who fought with him right there on the spot. 

Ser Aerion laughed, joked, and enjoyed his time with Lady Visenya. She had the most amazing voice, and even more interesting stories to tell. He found himself hanging onto her every word, as she finished her last, and perhaps most entertaining story. "....Daenerys was furious but Jon only laughed. Arya just stared at us as usual. But Sansa! Sansa didn't talk to me for a month! She couldn't even look at me without turning red. Suffice to say Aemon, Steffon, William, Julianna, and I were forbidden to go the ball." Visenya laughed again and sighed leaning in unconsciously to Aerion before catching herself and sitting up. Her hand had gotten perilously close to his and she tried to not notice as they watched the tourney. The days competition were drawing to a close with the slow setting of the sun and it would soon be time to head to the Red Keep for the biggest feast in a decade. The only competition still ongoing was the grand melee which Visenya watched with much excitement, cheering loudly as King Jon and the Prince fought with vigor against all their opponents.

Aerion looked down, noting how close Lady Visenya’s had was to his. Only a fool would reach out to uninvitedly touch her hand. He smiled and moved his hand away from hers, to let both of his hands rest in his lap, whilst he watched the finale of the tournament, and enjoyed the company that the both had together. 

The Feast of a Thousand Feasts, the Lioness and the Dragon

Ser Aerion and the Band of Seven enjoyed themselves greatly during the opening festivities of the wedding feast. They amazed at all the performers, listened to the speeches, bowed their heads in reverence to prayer, and clapped and cheered when everyone else did as well. It was a superbly joyous occasion, one that had hardly any match in recent history, let alone perhaps even the times of old. As each member of the Band of Seven enjoyed themselves, Ser Aerion turned inwards in quiet introspection. He looked at the lords and ladies of the realm, at the men and women who attended the nobility, knights, squires, king and queen, prince and princess, rich and poor, Ser Aerion looked across the sea of faces, the writhing tide of humanity, and smiled, seeing so many people just completely happy and at peace, living in the moment, not worrying about the world’s troubles.

Feeling a tug on his arm, Ser Aerion turned to look at a royal page. The young lad, wearing the colors of House Targaryen, explained that the King and Queen wished to speak with him for a moment, and that he should follow the page to their table. Ser Aerion smiled, nodding to the page, excusing himself from his friends and tablemates, before rising and following the young page through the crowd. He soon found himself standing before the royal dias and table, and knelt down fully before the living embodiment of the Crown. 

Jon nodded at Aerion, "I trust my niece took good care of you and your men during the festivities. I am humbled by your leal service ser, and am glad that such puissant knights serve the realm. I asked you here to join me on the recommendation of Aurane. He was impressed by your performance in the isles and told me you'd be worth consulting. I've only been to the isles a handful of times, so as one who is well aware of the situation on the ground, tell me, what do you believe is the best way to finally stop the Stepstoners from uprising?"

“Your Grace, you ask a tough question, with a tougher answer. Though, I beg your pardon beforehand, as I will speak truthfully, and you may not like how I so choose to answer, but my duty and oath to the throne demands that I answer as such.” Ser Aerion awaited for King Jon’s response, before he would speak at length.
 
Jon dismissed his concerns with a wave of his hand, "I asked you here because I want to hear what you have to say. I will only have what you sincerely believe, I have no use for lickspittles. Speak as your heart compels you to ser." 

“The Stepstones are far closer to the Iron Islands if a comparison is needed, though they do not hold any one god above another. These men and women are pirates, brigands, raiders… they are outlaws and freemen to their very core. They bow down to no one king, aside from a Pirate King, which Lord Aurane once held briefly. Before him, it was Salladhor Saan… and so on and so on. The common theme amongst all that have held supremacy above the people that inhabit the Stepstones, save perhaps one, is that they are all men who lived outside the laws of king and realm. They favor combat, thievery, piracy, slavery, and whatever else that fancies them at the time. Don’t get me wrong though, for every vile outlaw, a tale of good and honor lives among them. At the end of the day, the people of the Stepstones are still people, men, women, and children, who live their lives as their forbears have.” Ser Aerion paused, placing his hands behind his back in a parade rest manner. 

“Your Grace, I don’t doubt that you believe that these rebels, as you now refer to them, can be cowtowed with shear might, perhaps even a dragon. Therein lies your problem, these people have seen a dragon before, or rather, their forbears have. Daemon Targaryen styled himself King of the Stepstones and the Narrow Sea. He was an honorable man, a brave and powerful dragon-rider, and even he could not tame the Stepstones. Malerys Blackfyre held the same islands under an iron-fist and boot, the exact opposite, and he could not hold the islands. He and the islands stood against the full might of the Iron Throne, and still, those islands remained free, breaking up into smaller squabbling lords and ladies, still as fiercely independent as ever before.” Aerion looked between Queen Daenerys and King Jon, before continuing. 

“Killing the Pirate Lords won’t work… another will take their place, a first mate, a skilled commander, a lowly dockworker, anyone willing and able to take control in the chaos. What makes matters worse, in my time serving in over twenty military crackdowns on rebellions, is that the Pirate Lords, rarely, if ever met all at the same time and place. Sure, they may send intermediaries, but at the end of the day, they are much like a hydra, cut one head off, two more will take its place. Each man and women that is killed on the field of battle only serve to create martyrs and vengeful hearts. By your orders, or by proxy through Lord Aurane, how many castles have been burned to the ground? How many villages have been razed, ports shattered, farms flooded, and the list goes on. The Stepstones hold no love for a foreign King and Queen who see them as miscreants and criminals.” Ser Aerion sighed, listening to the rebuttal of both the King and Queen.

The King kept his peace, listening intently and considering Aerion's words but Daenerys interjected, "When I was reigning in Slaver's Bay, I did my best to rule kindly. I adopted their customs, married one of their own, followed their traditions as closely as I could. But all for naught. Only with fire and blood did I finally bend the Ghiscari to my will. I spared as many of them as I could, but my experiences have taught me that when the olive branch fails, steel blades must be kept on hand. Even the Dothraki only follow strength, I did not win them with courtesy but with might. The Stepstoners are our people. They swore fealty to the Throne. My husband let Aurane and Salladhor retain their positions to rule in our name, we let them keep their gods and laws as long as they did not raid or pillage Westerosi lands or any lands allied with us any longer. I know perfectly well that Aurane and Salladhor were and are cutthroats, but it seemed prudent to let cutthroats led cutthroats. Their methods may be... indelicate, but they are no worse than the atrocities these pirates have committed to Westerosi for generations and now against those Stepstoners and emigrants who are loyal to us. Every time a rebel flotilla lands on Dornish shores, blood flows. Treat them kindly you say? I say they are malcontents, and malcontents can only be brought to heel with fear. They will learn to fear us."

“Your Grace, my Queen, perhaps… but to answer the question that was first asked, I would say Lord Davos Seaworth would be the best man to find a solution to the continuing rebellions. He is a good man, well known in all the criminal circles, and would command far more respect than Lord Aurane or Lord Salladhor. The people of the Stepstones are different than those of the former Ghiscari Empire, not to mention the freedmen far outnumber their slaves, in contrast to the old slaver’s cities. Different cultures require different methods, and my answer stands, Lord Davos would be able to bring the rebels to the negotiating table, and perhaps bring a stronger sense of peace to the region. You will still have diehards and holdouts, but they will be in the minority. It was an honor to be able to speak with you both, Your Grace and my Queen.” Ser Aerion bowed down deeply, showing his deferment to the Crown.

Jon said nothing until he looked up at Aerion and said, "Thank you for your insight ser. I am glad for your honesty. I must consider your words. But know that whatever transpires, in all likelihood I will have need of you in the days to come. Your service is most appreciated. You will always have a place at my home and my table if you wish it." With that he gestured to Aerion that he was free to go.  

With his friends happily chatting and drinking with those next to them, Ser Aerion looked over to meet the strangely mystical gaze of Princess Daenyra, who held her infant child in her arms, which also looked outwards at Aerion in a manner which was unable to be explained. Ser Aerion looked around him, to be sure it was he that was the subject of Princess Daenyra’s attention, before moving to excuse himself, walking across the space between tables to stand before the Princess, and formally introduce himself. “I would be correct in assuming that you are Princess Daenyra, your highness. My friends spoke of you, and of your invitation. I would not seek to rebuke such an offer of a noble lady as yourself, and humbly accept such an honor, if you would allow a humble knight as myself to join you and your kin at your table, your Highness.” Ser Aerion knelt before Princess Daenyra, and patiently awaited her response.

Daenyra sat by herself, her husband having joined many other young men in a bawdy drinking song led by Prince Viserys. She smiled at Aerion, letting him kiss her hand and said, "You are no simple knight, ser. You are a valiant warrior with a noble heart. You have the gallantry of a prince. You will always be welcome here in the keep with myself and my kin." She favored him with an enigmatic look, "Indeed, some might say your place has always been among the blood of the dragon." 

The conversation that followed was polite, pleasant, and a tad puzzling. Daenyra and Aerion traded tales, avoiding politics for the most part. Daenyra introduced Aerion to her youngest son, whom she had named Daemon, a babe that was hale but quiet with big eyes that drew Aerion in with their solemnity and mystery; and a full head of pure silver hair. The babe's blue and green gaze seemed to pierce into the knight's very soul. The pair traded tales, with Daenyra telling Aerion of her childhood in the Red Keep and her travels all over the realm. Occasionally, she would ask Aerion about his experiences in the Stepstones and Essos, asking questions about his family and his childhood. 

The inquiries were interspersed with light talk and polite chatter, and were delivered nonchalantly but Aerion sensed there was a larger purpose behind Daenyra's questions. She was very interested in Aerion's lineage though she hid it well and revealed no motive for wanting to know about Aerion's bloodline. The Princess' voice was soothing as the sea, and her gaze had a calming effect. Oddly, sometimes it seemed she knew what Aerion would say before he said it. 

After a time, Daenyra looked at Aerion's sword, "Poison is it not? The infamous weapon of the even more infamous Vunatis family? The Scorpions. My uncle in law killed their lord in the last war didn't he? Scattered the family to the winds, their heirs hidden even from my aunt's eyes. How did you acquire such a weapon?" 

Ser Aerion had been enjoying his conversation with Princess Daenyra. She, out of all the people he had ever met thus far, had an odd inclusive understanding of his inner self. Which, so to speak, felt as though she could see into him, though Aerion shrugged it away as perhaps a woman with a knack for reading people. The oddest feeling, was that for each question Aerion answered, it was like brushing the dust and dirt from a half covered and remembered tapestry telling a childhood story. As the conversation progressed, transpiring from Ser Aerion’s younger life and his forebear’s past, to the more recent times, and the day he attained the Valyrian Steel Sword Poison.

“Your Highness, it was more a stroke of dumb luck, than a feat of physical prowess. We… or rather the forces under the command of Lord Aurane had finally swept aside the rebel forces controlling Bloodstone, my company was tasked with the mop up duty. The siege took sixty-three days, far longer than it should have taken, and allowed much of the enemy garrison to slink away the night before the last assault on the walls.” Ser Aerion sighed, eluding to the common knowledge that this was a common occurrence, and perhaps lead to the continual nature of the rebellions. “I was fighting in the ruins of the main keep, when the section of floor where I stood gave way. I must have fallen at least two or three floors, and was saved by an old tapestry and a partially flooded room. Must have been a passageway leading to a smugglers cove or something, but the exit had been partially buried in rubble. I came across the remains of the late Lord Vunatis, he’d been buried in the rubble, perhaps the reason for the collapsed tunnel. Either way, as I said, dumb luck, still clutched in his right hand was the sword Poison, as beautiful and deadly as the rumors said.”

“I took the blade from that foul villain’s dead grasp, taking it for myself, in a foolish hope of eventually redeeming the sword to a more noble purpose and persona… as though a sword had a life of its own. I know, it sounds like the foolish tales of old hedge knights and swords in stones, or a boy finding a relic in the tomb of a fallen warlord. But that is how it honestly happened. I fell through the floor like some unlucky fool, and was saved by a tapestry and water. I fought like hell to get back to the surface, having to face a few dozen holdouts myself, who were hiding in the ruins, no doubt planning to sneak out and attack at night. Since then, I have used Poison only in the pursuit of gallantry and honor, for the greater good of the realm, rather than for evil… I know, how suitably like a child’s story. But that is the truth behind it all, no matter what bizarre rumors they say.” Ser Aerion finished, with a bit of a smile and a blush.

Whilst the feast began, Ser Aerion could not help but let his eyes wander the room, looking at the innumerable men and women who crowded the feasting area. As the moon shone down on it all, he traded gazes with Lady Visenya, who sat among the high officers, looking at the members of House Tyrell, Stark, Lannister, Martell, Arryn, Baratheon, Greyjoy, Tully, Frey, and the list went on. He’d hold his studying gaze upon those that interested him, lingering on some, and others favoring but a few mere seconds. He looked at Cerenna Lefford, smiling and waving to her, smiled at Lady Amber of House Redwyne, offering her a small polite gentlemanly kiss atop her hand, as she made her way to serve her liege lord, and Ser Aerion bowed his head to Lady Visenya upon meeting her gaze once more, before turning back to his goblet, which he had been drinking water from.  

In time, the food began to arrive, and as everyone else, Ser Aerion feasted. He smiled and laughed at jokes, trading a few of his own, whilst continuing in his formal conversation with Princess Daenyra. He talked only what he knew about, and polite fully apologized when he could not offer insight into a certain subject he was not versed upon. The Princess was incredibly intelligent, and what was more, she seemed to have an otherworldly presence about her, perhaps an aura of some sort. Aerion chalked it up to the interior lighting, mixing with wisps of smoke and flecks of dust. Maybe it was something more, but he knew better than to push the subject. Aerion enjoyed his food, partaking in small portions of each course, not wishing to offend the King and his hospitality. The music was serene and enjoyable, the entertainers skilled beyond comparison, and the mixture of different cultures and peoples all coming together under one roof.

As the last dishes of dinner and desert were cleared away, Ser Aerion noticed something odd before him. On a clean linen handkerchief, say a folded paper dragon, perfectly detailed to resemble the very creatures that adorned the banners of House Targaryen. Curious, Aerion thought, as he picked up the paper, to only have it unfold before him, revealing a coded message, or rather, a more private summons of the Crown for soldiers to embark upon a gallant quest to help bring peace to the Stepstones. It read simple enough, Ser Aerion supposed, meet at the Royal Docks at mid-day, serve the Crown honorably and loyally, and be rewarded for their leal service. The reward itself, whilst alluring, was not what drew Aerion in, but rather the chance to prove himself, and his family name, deserving of greater recognition before the realm, and perhaps the chance to finally have a home, not so much as having wealth and means to live a life of luxury. Ser Aerion pocketed the note, and resolved to embark upon the quest, and perhaps find something more than just the reward promised in writing.

 Off to Bed, Prince and Princess… 

The time had finally come for the more ribald part of a wedding, one which Ser Aerion did not particularly agree with. But, customs were customs, and the people love to have fun, even if it were a bit raunchy. As the men and women gathered about the bride and groom, Ser Aerion excused himself out a side door. He was still a bit peckish, and made his way to the larder, getting lost twice, before finding it. He took a small side of beef, along with some vegetables, and left a fair amount of silver to cover what he had taken. Aerion would borrow a frying pan, and some cooking utensils, stuffing them into a burlap sack that had been lying about. As the castle reveled and partied, enjoying their festivities, Ser Aerion made his way down and out of the Red Keep, across side streets and alleyways, to find himself at the Iron Gate, bordering the North Eastern part of the city. 

Nodding to the guards on duty, Ser Aerion made his way out of King’s Landing, picking his way across the road illuminated by moon and starlight. He’d eventually make his way to a secluded part of a beach, still within sight of King’s Landing, but far enough away to where it was quiet and peaceful. The waves and wind provided a melody all their own, intertwining with the sounds of wildlife in the trees and grasses behind him. Ser Aerion chose his spot carefully, kicking aside a few rocks and sticks, before setting out a blanket and his burlap sack. As the minutes passed, a small pile of drift wood and kindling had been collected, a pit dug and lined with small stones, and soon enough, a warm fire crackling and casting a ruddy orange glow about the area. Ser Aerion proceeded to ready his meal, prepping the meat and vegetables to his liking, and setting them upon the frying pan to cook in the simmering heat of the fire. 

“A man could come to enjoy being this free, living on a beach with not but his thoughts, a warm fire, and a home cooked meal.” He mused to himself. A large log provided both a seat and a backrest, as Ser Aerion settled himself in for a slow cooked meal and the sound of song, as he began to softly sing aloud to himself. He sang ‘The Song of the Seven’, ‘Jenny’s Song’, ‘The Bear and the Maiden Fair’, and finished with a beautiful solo of ‘The Dance of Dragons’. His tune carried outwards across the waves, as it died down, it was replaced by the calming melody of nature once more. Ser Aerion smiled up at the moon, before looking back down at his fire and cooking food, curious if anyone would come to join him. Perhaps Lady Amber Redwyne would somehow make an appearance, or perhaps Lady Visenya. A wandering hedge knight, weary and hungry, or a rogue prince… all these thoughts crossed Ser Aerion’s mind, with a few linger thoughts of the possibility of Lady Cerenna somehow having tailed him. But, such was yet to be revealed, as Ser Aerion set about to continue cooking his meal, enjoying the peace and quiet that only one’s own solace can bring. 

As Ser Aerion tended to himself, and any possible guests, things back at the Red Keep were certainly different, and far more chaotic. In the chaos of battle, this siege of otherworldly creatures, many a man would fall, and no doubt many a horrid creature as well. It wasn’t until the roar of dragons, and the screeching hiss of fire, that brought Ser Aerion to his feet. His meal long since finished, the fire but embers in a pit, Ser Aerion looked on in astonished awe as he spied numerous small figures fighting, seeing dragon’s and smaller flying creatures, and the flaming streaks of fire arrows. Whatever was happening was bad, but to make matters worse, his own strand of the beach now beheld a small slew of humanoid creatures, a chaotic and unholy combination of sea creatures and men. A single creature strode forth from the dozen or so arrayed before him, a dark champion of some unknown chaos spawning ground… its voice guttural and clacking, hissing and seething with hatred and primordial rage. The champion issued a challenge to Ser Aerion, drawing its barnacle encrusted blade, and menacingly scraping it across its other arm, which was far closer to the claw of a lobster or crab, than the arm of a man.

Ser Aerion drew Poison, letting his scabbard fall into the sands, and either defending a companion, or by himself, he charged forth to meet battle against this agent of evil and chaos.
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