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Vixere
CaptainBrittonA collab with @kingkonrad
Ser Aerion and Lady Amber - The time before the attack...
The ride following Aerion had been a short one, but Lady Amber Redwyne had managed to follow the Goldfyre, after catching his eye at the Feast. Whilst Alerie had hinted at letting her handmaiden go, she had mostly done this of her own accord, the look she received from him had said to her to follow. The ginger-haired girl of barely 15 years of age, she was even shorter than Alerie, and no fairer, Alerie was not stupid after all, she didn't want to be outshone. But none the less, perhaps Aerion had seen something in her, and vice-versa.
Riding to where she saw the tracks, she stepped off the horse, tying it to a wooden road post, before lifting her dress, gently making her way down to the fire, and where she saw Aerion musing, away from it all. She wanted to introduce herself, and knew that Aerion was a mercenary, she knew only that, so she made her approach clear.
"Ser Aerion...I believe you caught my eye at the feast. I'm Lady Amber Redwyne. I was with Alerie Tyrell." She said, brushing her ginger hair aside a little, her hair straightened with a streak running over her left eye, her small frame completely diametrically different to Aerion.
Ser Aerion rose like a cat stretching, as if no effort was put forth into the seemingly graceful motion. He turned to face Lady Amber, and bowed before her ever so regally. "Lady Amber Redwyne, an honor to have you join me on this peaceful night. I would be lying to say that I had not fancied you with a few lingering looks. Please, would you like to join me for a simple meal and some friendly conversation, if pleases you, my lady." Ser Aerion smiled, offering out his hand to Lady Amber, to help her to a seat if she accepted.
"You're far too formal." She giggled, as she sighed, Aerion rather dashing indeed, even if he was lying on the sandy beach and rather a little... hedge knightly. She loved it, it was different to the lads in the Reach, he seemed very much relaxed, and at ease with it all, and here she was, blushing as he spoke.
"I'm merely a handmaiden to the Lady Tyrell, but I thank you." Amber smiled, as she took his hand, then taking a seat close by the fire, indifferent to it all. She was Horas Redwyne's daughter, his second child, her brother being Jaime Redwyne, a freckly, ginger-haired lad that had a stammer, and a bad physical form. She on the other hand was far less freckly, and whilst her ginger-red hair was distinctive, she looked far more pleasant to the eye. And yet because of that, Amber was a little different. She chose to be a little more roguish, she liked playing with the boys sometimes, but knew she'd never be as good as them at fighting. She liked lying on beaches with them, enjoying the sunset over the Arbor Strait, watching the ships go by. Completely aimless, free, careless. She seemed completely content with who she was, and unlike her master who she served as handmaiden, she seemed like she was just fine with chasing people like Aerion who were far more exiting, far more than any old man that her father would marry her off to.
"Seven Hells, it's good to be away sometimes, from all my duty. Lying on a beach, in the quiet. Away from all the madness in there, you know?" She sighed, as she lay down, still holding his hand, looking up.
"I always thought you'd be warm. That dragon's blood." Amber seemed a little disjointed at times, as she knew that even if this night would pass, and they'd drink what little Arbor she had left on the horse, she would have to sometime into the future, just move on. Or maybe not. She didn't know. She let life lead her where she liked. And that was just fine.
"A man's honor and manners are all he has when he has nothing else. Perhaps a bit foolish, but when you have next to nothing, your deeds and name travels far and beyond what one could ever think possible. But please, let us relax and enjoy the open air and each other’s company." Ser Aerion made sure to sit only after Lady Amber had seated herself. He smiled, taking a few moments to look over Lady Ambers unique features and personal beauty, before joining her in conversation.
"By the Seven, it certainly is a relief to enjoy the world away from all the pageantry and formality." He smiled, laughing softly at the last part, a joke in part upon himself. "But, my lady, you are more than a mere handmaiden, for here, on this strand of beach beneath the rising moon, you are what you wish to be, what you are meant to be." Ser Aerion stoked the fire, adding another splintered piece of driftwood to it. "It is here, in the world we can feel most free, from our duties, vows, oaths, everything that ties us down, if only for a few hours." Ser Aerion let go Lady Amber's hand when she mentioned its warmth in relation dragons.
"Me, a dragon, or its blood in my blood... well, that certainly would be fortuitous." He smiled, turning to move an iron skillet into the fire. "A dragon of House Targaryen long ago fell in love with my ancestor of old, and created our line. While they can keep their black dragons, we shine brighter for it, as the gold that rings this heirloom of ours burns away all doubt and sin, leaving behind a golden dragon of honor and pride..." He repeated the words melodically, quite nicely, before turning to look at Lady Amber, "My mother told me those words, as hers unto her, and hers unto her, and so on. But tonight, dragon or not, I am but your humble host, and I am at your command."
Aerion turned towards the small bag of food, showing it to Lady Amber. "How would you like your food cooked?" Ser Aerion smiled, showing the different vegetables, the small side of beef, and the spices he had. "Any way you like, I shall make it so."
Amber felt a little relieved, she didn't have to do something for Alerie, he was offering. Now that was lovely.
"Ooooh... just a little." She said quietly yet firmly, listening to him. He sounded brave, and certainly was a poet.
"I can see it in your eyes. That dragon's blood. You really don't have to be so charming...I'm already all over you." Amber giggled, knowing she was fairly lowly in the scheme of things, and after all, she was still a girl. 15 years old, and he was almost 10 years older, yet he felt like to her, he was younger somehow. She didn't know why, but Aerion had this charm, this maturity yet his hair and very way of being suggested he was a little of a kindred spirit.
"My family produce the wine in all these lands, the best, they say. I personally prefer the Dornish Reds, but if I told my father that, he'd slap me." She mused, as she gently looked down at the canteen she'd brought, a pigskin, gently passing it to Aerion, letting him swig it a little, before she had some.
"I guess we share much in common, Ser Aerion. Tell me of your adventures, I mean, I've heard all the ones in the Reach, of Ellion Tyrell and his magical cock, and of the mad Rowan. But you must have seen some things, surely?" She asked, not pulling any punches, taking a good guess that Ellion wasn't here. Not that she'd seen his cock, only that another handmaiden had, and that it had been very, very lewd indeed. Many women, and a man, but such rumors were never to be spread further than the circle of handmaidens, no Lords or lowborn even knew, only a small clique.
"The best wine in the lands you say? Well, far be it for me to refute such a claim. I must try it with cooking sometime, if I ever get the chance to do so." He returned to food prep, using a small knife to cut the food into a more manageable size, speaking as he did so, "Dragon's blood or not, my lady, you are no doubt far more interesting than myself, or perhaps it is a magical spell you have cast on me, befuddling my wits." He smiled, then let out a warm laugh. His shirt was rolled up as he laid the meat into the skillet, letting it pop and sizzle as it began to cook.
"Dornish Red, a fair drink, with a bit of spice to it, if I remember. But your father, to slap you if such was uttered allowed, why, that certainly will not do, for a master vintner as your father would certainly want such knowledge to make his own vintages better than the drink of a rival vineyard." Aerion dropped some onions, garlic, potatoes, and tomatoes into the skillet, letting them begin to cook. He took a small sip of the contents of the canteen, savoring it, and adding a little to the skillet, before offering it back. "But if you father were to ever slap you, my lady, well, then it'd be the honor of this humble knight to fight by your side and defend your own honor."
"A magical member? Ha, now that is something that even I have trouble finding true." He smiled, mixing the food about, before turning to face Lady Amber again. "For a true friendship to foster, we find common ground in which to build upon, and out from. But tales and stories of my adventures, of the lands far away. Hmm, now where to begin? Perhaps a song, something heroic and adventurous? Or a tale of the lands far to the East of here, across the seas and islands? A poem? Or do you wish to hear of what my own two eyes have seen, what my ears have heard, in my own travels? Tell my Lady Amber, what fancies you most interesting right now?" Ser Aerion smiled, before turning back to continue tending to the food.
Amber chuckled, listening to him intently, smiling.
"You're a mercenary...tell me about the East Of the lands you served in. About what you've seen...surely a lot. I've seen their ships from Astapor, and Qarth come by, trading and selling their goods. What's it like?" She asked, inquisitively yet closely, leaning in towards Aerion, as the fire crackled, their food cooking.
"I'm afraid I don't have much to say, myself. I come from a rainy yet warm island where we produce wine. Our sigil is a grapevine, no less." She chuckled, as she wrapped her arm around his body, looking up, resting her head against his shoulder, listening to him.
"But hey...at least even if I have little to say, I'm always a listening ear for your tales. For an adventurous, noble and yet humble Knight like yourself, I suppose I'd always listen. Do go on." She quietly added, reassuringly, keeping close to his embrace.
Lady Amber's interest in Ser Aerion was certainly noticeable, and for Ser Aerion, he made a mental note to not let things get carried away, certainly not to bring dishonor upon himself, but more so for the honor of Lady Amber. He paused, thinking of some more... adventurous tales of his past actions, rather than combat and the dark under-belly of war. He reached forward to move the skillet off the flame and onto some coals, to let it simmer and cool into an edible plate. "So, you wish to hear of the East, to the Disputed Lands and Stepstones, I suppose that I can find some tales to speak of here before a fire and friend." He would smile, adjusting his sword that lay next to him, before speaking again.
"Amber, if I may call you so friendly, do not ever hold disdain nor lack of pride for your home. A rainy yet warm island, why, such a place sounds enchanting. Being able to play in the rain and not get cold, or able to wear comfortable clothes and not worry about the blistering heat nor the frigid cold. And as for your sigil, a grapevine, well, take no offense in this, but sometimes we cannot see the inner meaning of what our sigils hold. Yours, for instance, perhaps it seems like a simple vine of grapes, but if you look past it, you see food, strength, sustainability, fertility, patience, and above all perhaps, zest for life and fun. Nothing is ever so simple Lady Amber." He smiled, before moving the skillet closer to Lady Amber, so that she might partake in the food that had been so recently cooked.
As she moved to wrap herself about his person, Aerion took care to ensure that it was as respectful as an embrace could be, his hand resting upon the log behind their backs, rather than her shoulder or hip, less any passersby get any ideas, nor to risk shaming his guest. His resonating voice spoke forth of his travels, taking care to leave out the more sordid and unsavory events. Aerion regaled the sights of the Stepstones, their own rugged beauty and serenity. The forests, the beaches that few men had ever walked, the white cliffs of this island, the red cliffs of another. The sea turtles, dolphins, and whales. Rousing tales of the pirates who once ruled those islands, told in a way to make them seem like dashing rogues rather than the blood thirsty and greedy villains they truly were.
But, Ser Aerion saved the best for last, or so he felt. It was the tale of a home his family once had, so very far away, in the Disputed Lands. And rather than simply tell this family story of his, he sung it, every so beautifully and melodically. It regaled the first time the Goldfyre's had set foot in their new home, the untamed fields of wildflowers, the forests as old as time, the beaches, the lakes and streams and rivers, and above all, the low hill on which their estate was built upon, of the view it granted over all the land as the world beyond. The ballad of sorts, continued onto the taming of the land, the love and husband and wife, of their children and their family. The tales of farming and planting, of orchards and honey. Though, as all tales of old, the began to descend into a darker tone, sadness befalling the family during the reign of "King" Malerys the Monstrous. Of their losses, both in land and in family, and finally, of the family's flight to Lys, and the pieces being put back together.
"I hope that these were... to your taste my lady." Ser Aerion smiled, looking at Lady Amber in anticipation for her response.
"Certainly....you sound like a well-travelled man. A well weathered one." She nodded, listening to his ballad, and what he had to say. She was in a certain kind of lust with what he said, of the Disputed Lands, and the rise and fall of land, of his very family.
"It sounds like one heck of a story. I suppose, where do I fit in this tale?"
She is amusing and persistent, isn’t she, Ser Aerion thought to himself. Yet, before he could answer, the roars of the dragons, the sounding of horns, and the sounds of battle brought the two crashing back to the real world. Something was gravely amiss, and whatever it was, that danger had found its way to the sandy beach on which Ser Aerion and Lady Amber enjoyed.
Ser Aerion's Private Beach - North of the Iron Gate
Ser Aerion breathed heavily, sweat beading across his forehead. His opponent was matching him blow for blow, and then some. With each swing of the creature's blade, Ser Aerion was pushed back, having to dodge and weave his way from being driven towards the sea. Both combatant's feet churned the sand beneath them, with each step and counter-step kicking up a small flurry of sand, like little gouts of fire billowing forth from a forge. No sooner had Ser Aerion sidestepped once again, did his blade and that of the chaotic sea creature's blade lock, both being straining for supremacy over the other.
Amber had already run away, upon Aerion's orders, and already made her way back to the horse. She was terrified, almost silent in response, and couldn't even find the courage to scream, she had stopped herself being locked in place, by half diving onto her horse. The hooves of the steed could be heard, not wanting to even think about Aerion, or if he would survive. She had to, if it was what he said to her to do, to survive, then she would.
Again the creature spoke, in the hissing and clacking voice, taunting Ser Aerion, goading him, making fun of his humanity. The creature had already scored several superficial wounds upon Ser Aerion, little cuts, scrapes, and gashes that stung and burned, each one opening a little more the longer the fight went on. The other creatures merely looked on, watching their champion fight, as if they were taking notes, studying how Ser Aerion fought. Not once had they intervened, sought to help their comrade, even when the duel brought both man and creature within range. This time, Ser Aerion was ready, remembering the last two times the creature had used its deformed body to its advantage.
The sea creature of chaos started to disentangle itself, pulling its blade back while simultaneously lashing forth with its razor-sharp claw to try and stab Ser Aerion in the side once more. The motion was almost fluid, twisting to his left, allowing the pincered claw to shoot forth, while bringing his Valyrian Steel blade downwards, cutting through the armored pincer in a gout of black viscous blood. The creature roared, stumbling back and away from Ser Aerion, hissing as it dropped its blade to clutch at its lost appendage. The severed claw clacked once, twice, then ceased to move, as Ser Aerion refocused his attention to his foe. Its eyes focused on him, beady and primordial, full of hate and rage. The champion let forth a blood curdling roar, before charging in once more, this time with no weapon save its remaining armored fist.
Such was the ferocity and baleful nature of the attack, like the way a crazed bear lunges out in its death throws, that Ser Aerion was caught off guard, the gauntleted fist connecting with his face and jaw, sending him reeling backwards. 'I have to... to recover, or this monstrosity will kill me.' Ser Aerion thought to himself. He tightened his grip upon the handle of his sword, feeling the pommel just beneath his fist. He darted left, then right, letting the creature give chase, its sense all lost in its blood crazed rage. The remains of his fire, the embers would be his salvation. It was now or never, as Ser Aerion turned at the last moment, somewhat sliding in the loose sand, using his sword to reach into the still heated embers, and flung them at the creature. Never had Aerion heard such an anguished cry, and never again would he.
As the creature clutched at its burning eyes, the embers hissing and popping against its skin, Ser Aerion struck quickly and decidedly. With three strokes of his blade, the creature's head rolled off, its remaining arm severed, and then the blade driven deep into its heart, bursting forth on the other side. The embers still burned and crackled upon the now vanquished champion's remains, the body now falling back as Aerion pulled his blade from the creature's chest. His every breath burned, and the sweat and blood had found their way into Aerion's eyes, obscuring his vision. He reached down, using the tattered remains of his shirt to clear his gaze, fearing that the other creatures could soon be making their way towards him.
Looking up, and seeing that the creatures were still a safe distance away, Ser Aerion turned to look at the defeated champion, its lifeless corpse darkening the sand about it. Kneeling, Ser Aerion spoke softly, "May the Father judge you fairly, even in your service to forces beyond the compassion of the Seven. May the Mother grant you mercy, and end your pain, this world and the next. May the Warrior find your strength worthy of remembrance and to serve at his side in the next life. May the Maiden grant you a return to innocence. May the Smith grant you praise for your malformities, and how they aided you. May the Crone light your way to the next world. And may the Stranger grant you swift passage. It was an honor to have faced you... rest easy now, creature." Ser Aerion rose back up, and held his blade at the ready.
Much to his surprise, the other collected creatures had found their fill, seeming only to be here as witnesses to the duel that had transpired. Their form was different, from the fallen one, but from the distance, all that could be made out was that they had more than two arms. Slowly, the creatures turned, and made their way back to the water, sliding into with ease, and disappearing into the darkness of the briny deep. With no other threat, Ser Aerion made with all due haste to head back to the city, and more importantly, to the Red Keep.
It was there, on that road that Aerion would have realized that when she had ordered her to run, it hadn't ended well. The horse that Amber had been riding had been killed, and what would have been a horrible sight beyond that, would have been the body of Lady Amber Redwyne. Blood poured from her side, she was bleeding heavily, and she seemed unconscious, several stab wounds, and she'd been left to die.
Ser Uther Tattershall, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Harwin Strong - Battle of the Red Keep, Outer Yard, A small tent.
All three men had been lounging about in their shared tent, a blessing considering most if not all the inns in the city were full, and space was hard to come by even on the city outskirts. Luck had been on their side, as a knight from some house had to return for family matters back home. Or rather, been sleeping soundly when all hell had broken loose. At first, they each thought to themselves that it was but another drunken scuffle, perhaps between two knights who had to prove their egos to one another. But, as the noise grew, and the sounds of fighting continued, it could no longer be some drunken duel between idiots. Again, the noise continued to grow, all three men fumbling to get out of their cots and don clothing, when a horn sounded, loudly and clearly through all the chaos and confusion. The three knights darted for their swords and shields, stumbling over armor and furniture. The castle was under attack, or the city was, and they needed to get out into the fight.
A loud piercing scream filled the night air, sending the three knights running out of their tent and into the courtyard. There they were greeted by a chaotic scene of combat, between the forces of King's Landing, and a motley mixture of barbaric humans, Essosi mercenaries, and something far more nefarious. The three men hurried after a group of rushing Gold Cloaks, heading for a set of stairs that led to the parapets of the outer wall. As they climb the stairs, the group of men were greeted by a small assortment of hostile forces. Two Gold Cloaks fell to their death before them, as a disfigured half man, half sea creature pulled them down with it. An Essosi man was cut down, tumbling down the stairs and stopping at the three knight’s feet. This utter chaos caused the three to freeze, stunned by what they were witnessing. Both sides were cutting a bloody swath among one another across the courtyard and the walls, and for now far outnumbering the guards on duty. This moment of indecision would be a costly one. The smell of fish and water greeted the three men, who turned to see a hulking creature standing behind them. The thing was hideous, and as the three tried to draw their weapons, the creature lashed out, snapping its malformed hand into the right shoulder of Ser Harwin, the man scream as he was lifted and tossed as though he were a mere rag doll from the stairs onto a tent below.
Both Ser Uther and Ser Oswell slashed at the beast, cutting its face and chest open, causing it to recoil in pain, before a spear from a guardsman cut the beast down in its neck. "Go... see to Harwin, Oswell. I will cover you. Hurry, I heard his collar bone snap, let alone what else could have happened." Ser Uther shouted above the din, cutting down a passing barbarian before moving with Ser Oswell to where Ser Harwin lay. As they reached their fallen friend, the two grimaced. Ser Harwin was unconscious, bloody seeping through a mangled looking would in his right shoulder. "Cursed the burned Seven of Stannis..." Ser Oswell swore, as he moved to drag Ser Harwin from the fighting. Ser Oswell slipped on the slick stones and dirt that made the courtyard, falling atop a slain guard.
Ser Uther looked about the scene of confusion, noticing a small defensive line being set up about the Throne Room doors. It would be one hell of a mad dash to get there, considering the fighting erupting across the courtyard. He reached down to help drag the fallen Ser Harwin to a slouched position, yelling at Ser Oswell simultaneously. "Get up... get up you idiot, get his other arm and drag him to the friendly lines over there, by the Throne Room. Once you get there, and so help me by the Father, staunch the bleeding, not some other fool we don’t know, you, and any trained professionals. Harwin is going to feel like shit when he wakes up, and best to see your ugly face than some strangers." Together, the two men lifted their unconscious friend, dragging him across the courtyard, fighting foes as they came into range of their blades. It was strenuous work, bloody and painful.
Ser Uther snarled as he cut down a hideous looking lobsterman, the creature having scored a flesh wound upon Ser Uther’s right leg, the blood quickly staining his pants. Forcing and shoving their way past the dying bodies of friend and foe alike, they made their way to the spear line, having to cut down at least two more foes, before tumbling through to the relative safety of friendly forces. Even with the quick thinking of some pompous Lord and his retinue, casualties were beginning to mount. Uther himself found a dead soldier beneath him, as he scrambled back to his feet to help Ser Oswell drag Ser Harwin to the outer steps. A few camp women huddled in the shadows of the Throne Room outer doors, scared at the mayhem taking place, some covered in blood from fallen friends, others from their own wounds. Ser Uther waved at them, shouting for someone to come and help his fallen friend. Finally, one of the braver ones came forward, staying close to the ground, not wanting to be seen over the heads of the friendly forces.
Ser Uther quickly relayed what he needed her to do, and that she would be reward for her services in saving Ser Harwin. He stood up, taking Harwin’s sword, breathing heavily as he staunched his own blood loss with a tattered piece of fabric from a dead man-at-arms with a green and yellow tabard. “Oswell, keep him alive, or we must deal with his spirit cursing us for a millennium. Plus, he is a good card player, and I don’t want to have you on my team when it comes to playing corners.” Ser Uther forced a smile, bowing his head to the camp woman who was helping, before dashing headlong back into the fight wielding both swords. Before Ser Oswell could yell out, Ser Uther was gone, lost in the fighting with men who pushed past the shield lines to help even the odds, and exact vengeance for their fallen friends.
Lady Cerenna, Lady Lyvia, and Ser Lorimer - The Red Keep, a tent behind the Royal Kitchen.
The night had been so wonderful and magical. The wedding, the feast, the festivities, all the fun and games that a royal wedding brings to not only the married couple, but to all the guests as well. For a few silver coins, Cerenna and Lyvia had been able to score a nice sized plot of land behind the kitchens to set up a tent for themselves and Ser Lorimer… plus his newfound companion, Myrielle Hill, a bastard no less. But, after a few drinks, Lyvia made mention that she certainly had the look of a Lannister to her, and not one of the lower echelons, but the main branch itself. Perhaps it was true, Myrielle did have the purest of blonde hair, and deep green eyes, but whatever her parentage was, she was a working lady now, perhaps cast out to hide the family shame. Either way, Ser Lorimer and “Lady” Myrielle were fast asleep in one another’s arms, sharing a large cot in the corner by the kitchen wall. Cerenna had finally fallen asleep when Lyvia had violently shaken her awake.
“Wh… wha… what is it Ly… Lyvia?” Cerenna mumbled out, still trying to turn back over to sleep. That was when she heard the warning horn, the lasting note resonating through the air. Something was wrong and amiss, “What is going on? What is wrong Lyvia?” Cerenna now asked, as she got up from her cot, reaching to put on her dress. Lyvia had her sword drawn, and even in the dim light cast from a lone candle, Cerenna could see blood upon the blade. She looked about the tent again, noticing that Ser Lorimer was missing, along with Myrielle. “Where is my brother Lyvia, what in the cursed burned Seven of Stannis is going on here?” She was now standing, her dress fully on, though untied. Lyvia had a look on her face that was very uncommon, fear… and something else, as though it were sadness.
“Grab your medical supplies, and get them ready… its bad outside. Something is attacking the castle and the city below. Cerenna, your brother is hurt, badly. We are going to have to operate on him now… I want you to know, I did all I could to save him, but… but the damned things were too fast, and got to his right leg. Wait here. I will bring him in. He is delirious from the pain and blood loss. I think he will live, but we are going to have to cauterize the stump closed, less he loses any more blood and die.” Lyvia hugged Cerenna quickly, before she darted out of the tent, the flap closing behind her in a small whoosh. Cerenna was stunned, startled, and angry all at the same time. She shook her head, pushing the anger and confusion aside as she cleared a cot for Lorimer, and grabbed her bag, opening it, readying it for what would come next. Cerenna turned to the little cooking fire in the tent, and quickly began to add more and more wood to it, getting it roaring whilst she opened the top of the tent even more.
The tent flap quickly opened once more, with Lorimer being carried by both Lyvia and Myrielle, leaving a trail of dark red blood behind them from Lorimer’s wound. As the battle raged outside their tent, Lady Lyvia and Lady Myrielle battled to stop the flow of blood from Ser Lorimer's missing leg with gauze and linen. He had been taking a walk along the walls when the creatures attack. He had fought them valiantly, but no matter his skill and courage, the creatures of the dark had prevailed. A twisted crab like man thing had cut Ser Lorimer's right leg off from the knee down, his cry of anguish still ringing in Lady Myrielle’s ears, tears streaming down her cheeks. Cerenna shook her head, knowing that by the Seven she would not lose her brother, no matter the cost. She looked to Lyvia, nodding to her to begin holding Lorimer down, knowing what she was about to do would be more excruciating than losing the leg, and would make her brother cried out in anguish before passing out probably.
“Hold him down. This is going to hurt like hell Lorimer… but it will save you.” Cerenna said to both Lyvia and Myrielle. “I am sorry big brother, but I am doing this to keep you alive.” Cerenna put on a heavy mitten, and grabbed a skillet that had been sitting in the flames. The cast iron glowed red hot, the heat coming from it even reaching Cerenna’s face. She sighed, and then pressed the metal against Lorimer’s wound as hard as she could, ignoring his screams of anguish, and continued to hold it in place as the rent flesh was burned closed and stopping the blood loss. Cerenna had a feeling that her brother Lorimer would not be the last one this day that would need to have their wounds sealed. Deep within, Cerenna prayed that Aerion was alright, and that he would come back soon, unharmed and alright.
Ser Aerion and Lady Amber - The time before the attack...
The ride following Aerion had been a short one, but Lady Amber Redwyne had managed to follow the Goldfyre, after catching his eye at the Feast. Whilst Alerie had hinted at letting her handmaiden go, she had mostly done this of her own accord, the look she received from him had said to her to follow. The ginger-haired girl of barely 15 years of age, she was even shorter than Alerie, and no fairer, Alerie was not stupid after all, she didn't want to be outshone. But none the less, perhaps Aerion had seen something in her, and vice-versa.
Riding to where she saw the tracks, she stepped off the horse, tying it to a wooden road post, before lifting her dress, gently making her way down to the fire, and where she saw Aerion musing, away from it all. She wanted to introduce herself, and knew that Aerion was a mercenary, she knew only that, so she made her approach clear.
"Ser Aerion...I believe you caught my eye at the feast. I'm Lady Amber Redwyne. I was with Alerie Tyrell." She said, brushing her ginger hair aside a little, her hair straightened with a streak running over her left eye, her small frame completely diametrically different to Aerion.
Ser Aerion rose like a cat stretching, as if no effort was put forth into the seemingly graceful motion. He turned to face Lady Amber, and bowed before her ever so regally. "Lady Amber Redwyne, an honor to have you join me on this peaceful night. I would be lying to say that I had not fancied you with a few lingering looks. Please, would you like to join me for a simple meal and some friendly conversation, if pleases you, my lady." Ser Aerion smiled, offering out his hand to Lady Amber, to help her to a seat if she accepted.
"You're far too formal." She giggled, as she sighed, Aerion rather dashing indeed, even if he was lying on the sandy beach and rather a little... hedge knightly. She loved it, it was different to the lads in the Reach, he seemed very much relaxed, and at ease with it all, and here she was, blushing as he spoke.
"I'm merely a handmaiden to the Lady Tyrell, but I thank you." Amber smiled, as she took his hand, then taking a seat close by the fire, indifferent to it all. She was Horas Redwyne's daughter, his second child, her brother being Jaime Redwyne, a freckly, ginger-haired lad that had a stammer, and a bad physical form. She on the other hand was far less freckly, and whilst her ginger-red hair was distinctive, she looked far more pleasant to the eye. And yet because of that, Amber was a little different. She chose to be a little more roguish, she liked playing with the boys sometimes, but knew she'd never be as good as them at fighting. She liked lying on beaches with them, enjoying the sunset over the Arbor Strait, watching the ships go by. Completely aimless, free, careless. She seemed completely content with who she was, and unlike her master who she served as handmaiden, she seemed like she was just fine with chasing people like Aerion who were far more exiting, far more than any old man that her father would marry her off to.
"Seven Hells, it's good to be away sometimes, from all my duty. Lying on a beach, in the quiet. Away from all the madness in there, you know?" She sighed, as she lay down, still holding his hand, looking up.
"I always thought you'd be warm. That dragon's blood." Amber seemed a little disjointed at times, as she knew that even if this night would pass, and they'd drink what little Arbor she had left on the horse, she would have to sometime into the future, just move on. Or maybe not. She didn't know. She let life lead her where she liked. And that was just fine.
"A man's honor and manners are all he has when he has nothing else. Perhaps a bit foolish, but when you have next to nothing, your deeds and name travels far and beyond what one could ever think possible. But please, let us relax and enjoy the open air and each other’s company." Ser Aerion made sure to sit only after Lady Amber had seated herself. He smiled, taking a few moments to look over Lady Ambers unique features and personal beauty, before joining her in conversation.
"By the Seven, it certainly is a relief to enjoy the world away from all the pageantry and formality." He smiled, laughing softly at the last part, a joke in part upon himself. "But, my lady, you are more than a mere handmaiden, for here, on this strand of beach beneath the rising moon, you are what you wish to be, what you are meant to be." Ser Aerion stoked the fire, adding another splintered piece of driftwood to it. "It is here, in the world we can feel most free, from our duties, vows, oaths, everything that ties us down, if only for a few hours." Ser Aerion let go Lady Amber's hand when she mentioned its warmth in relation dragons.
"Me, a dragon, or its blood in my blood... well, that certainly would be fortuitous." He smiled, turning to move an iron skillet into the fire. "A dragon of House Targaryen long ago fell in love with my ancestor of old, and created our line. While they can keep their black dragons, we shine brighter for it, as the gold that rings this heirloom of ours burns away all doubt and sin, leaving behind a golden dragon of honor and pride..." He repeated the words melodically, quite nicely, before turning to look at Lady Amber, "My mother told me those words, as hers unto her, and hers unto her, and so on. But tonight, dragon or not, I am but your humble host, and I am at your command."
Aerion turned towards the small bag of food, showing it to Lady Amber. "How would you like your food cooked?" Ser Aerion smiled, showing the different vegetables, the small side of beef, and the spices he had. "Any way you like, I shall make it so."
Amber felt a little relieved, she didn't have to do something for Alerie, he was offering. Now that was lovely.
"Ooooh... just a little." She said quietly yet firmly, listening to him. He sounded brave, and certainly was a poet.
"I can see it in your eyes. That dragon's blood. You really don't have to be so charming...I'm already all over you." Amber giggled, knowing she was fairly lowly in the scheme of things, and after all, she was still a girl. 15 years old, and he was almost 10 years older, yet he felt like to her, he was younger somehow. She didn't know why, but Aerion had this charm, this maturity yet his hair and very way of being suggested he was a little of a kindred spirit.
"My family produce the wine in all these lands, the best, they say. I personally prefer the Dornish Reds, but if I told my father that, he'd slap me." She mused, as she gently looked down at the canteen she'd brought, a pigskin, gently passing it to Aerion, letting him swig it a little, before she had some.
"I guess we share much in common, Ser Aerion. Tell me of your adventures, I mean, I've heard all the ones in the Reach, of Ellion Tyrell and his magical cock, and of the mad Rowan. But you must have seen some things, surely?" She asked, not pulling any punches, taking a good guess that Ellion wasn't here. Not that she'd seen his cock, only that another handmaiden had, and that it had been very, very lewd indeed. Many women, and a man, but such rumors were never to be spread further than the circle of handmaidens, no Lords or lowborn even knew, only a small clique.
"The best wine in the lands you say? Well, far be it for me to refute such a claim. I must try it with cooking sometime, if I ever get the chance to do so." He returned to food prep, using a small knife to cut the food into a more manageable size, speaking as he did so, "Dragon's blood or not, my lady, you are no doubt far more interesting than myself, or perhaps it is a magical spell you have cast on me, befuddling my wits." He smiled, then let out a warm laugh. His shirt was rolled up as he laid the meat into the skillet, letting it pop and sizzle as it began to cook.
"Dornish Red, a fair drink, with a bit of spice to it, if I remember. But your father, to slap you if such was uttered allowed, why, that certainly will not do, for a master vintner as your father would certainly want such knowledge to make his own vintages better than the drink of a rival vineyard." Aerion dropped some onions, garlic, potatoes, and tomatoes into the skillet, letting them begin to cook. He took a small sip of the contents of the canteen, savoring it, and adding a little to the skillet, before offering it back. "But if you father were to ever slap you, my lady, well, then it'd be the honor of this humble knight to fight by your side and defend your own honor."
"A magical member? Ha, now that is something that even I have trouble finding true." He smiled, mixing the food about, before turning to face Lady Amber again. "For a true friendship to foster, we find common ground in which to build upon, and out from. But tales and stories of my adventures, of the lands far away. Hmm, now where to begin? Perhaps a song, something heroic and adventurous? Or a tale of the lands far to the East of here, across the seas and islands? A poem? Or do you wish to hear of what my own two eyes have seen, what my ears have heard, in my own travels? Tell my Lady Amber, what fancies you most interesting right now?" Ser Aerion smiled, before turning back to continue tending to the food.
Amber chuckled, listening to him intently, smiling.
"You're a mercenary...tell me about the East Of the lands you served in. About what you've seen...surely a lot. I've seen their ships from Astapor, and Qarth come by, trading and selling their goods. What's it like?" She asked, inquisitively yet closely, leaning in towards Aerion, as the fire crackled, their food cooking.
"I'm afraid I don't have much to say, myself. I come from a rainy yet warm island where we produce wine. Our sigil is a grapevine, no less." She chuckled, as she wrapped her arm around his body, looking up, resting her head against his shoulder, listening to him.
"But hey...at least even if I have little to say, I'm always a listening ear for your tales. For an adventurous, noble and yet humble Knight like yourself, I suppose I'd always listen. Do go on." She quietly added, reassuringly, keeping close to his embrace.
Lady Amber's interest in Ser Aerion was certainly noticeable, and for Ser Aerion, he made a mental note to not let things get carried away, certainly not to bring dishonor upon himself, but more so for the honor of Lady Amber. He paused, thinking of some more... adventurous tales of his past actions, rather than combat and the dark under-belly of war. He reached forward to move the skillet off the flame and onto some coals, to let it simmer and cool into an edible plate. "So, you wish to hear of the East, to the Disputed Lands and Stepstones, I suppose that I can find some tales to speak of here before a fire and friend." He would smile, adjusting his sword that lay next to him, before speaking again.
"Amber, if I may call you so friendly, do not ever hold disdain nor lack of pride for your home. A rainy yet warm island, why, such a place sounds enchanting. Being able to play in the rain and not get cold, or able to wear comfortable clothes and not worry about the blistering heat nor the frigid cold. And as for your sigil, a grapevine, well, take no offense in this, but sometimes we cannot see the inner meaning of what our sigils hold. Yours, for instance, perhaps it seems like a simple vine of grapes, but if you look past it, you see food, strength, sustainability, fertility, patience, and above all perhaps, zest for life and fun. Nothing is ever so simple Lady Amber." He smiled, before moving the skillet closer to Lady Amber, so that she might partake in the food that had been so recently cooked.
As she moved to wrap herself about his person, Aerion took care to ensure that it was as respectful as an embrace could be, his hand resting upon the log behind their backs, rather than her shoulder or hip, less any passersby get any ideas, nor to risk shaming his guest. His resonating voice spoke forth of his travels, taking care to leave out the more sordid and unsavory events. Aerion regaled the sights of the Stepstones, their own rugged beauty and serenity. The forests, the beaches that few men had ever walked, the white cliffs of this island, the red cliffs of another. The sea turtles, dolphins, and whales. Rousing tales of the pirates who once ruled those islands, told in a way to make them seem like dashing rogues rather than the blood thirsty and greedy villains they truly were.
But, Ser Aerion saved the best for last, or so he felt. It was the tale of a home his family once had, so very far away, in the Disputed Lands. And rather than simply tell this family story of his, he sung it, every so beautifully and melodically. It regaled the first time the Goldfyre's had set foot in their new home, the untamed fields of wildflowers, the forests as old as time, the beaches, the lakes and streams and rivers, and above all, the low hill on which their estate was built upon, of the view it granted over all the land as the world beyond. The ballad of sorts, continued onto the taming of the land, the love and husband and wife, of their children and their family. The tales of farming and planting, of orchards and honey. Though, as all tales of old, the began to descend into a darker tone, sadness befalling the family during the reign of "King" Malerys the Monstrous. Of their losses, both in land and in family, and finally, of the family's flight to Lys, and the pieces being put back together.
"I hope that these were... to your taste my lady." Ser Aerion smiled, looking at Lady Amber in anticipation for her response.
"Certainly....you sound like a well-travelled man. A well weathered one." She nodded, listening to his ballad, and what he had to say. She was in a certain kind of lust with what he said, of the Disputed Lands, and the rise and fall of land, of his very family.
"It sounds like one heck of a story. I suppose, where do I fit in this tale?"
She is amusing and persistent, isn’t she, Ser Aerion thought to himself. Yet, before he could answer, the roars of the dragons, the sounding of horns, and the sounds of battle brought the two crashing back to the real world. Something was gravely amiss, and whatever it was, that danger had found its way to the sandy beach on which Ser Aerion and Lady Amber enjoyed.
Ser Aerion's Private Beach - North of the Iron Gate
Ser Aerion breathed heavily, sweat beading across his forehead. His opponent was matching him blow for blow, and then some. With each swing of the creature's blade, Ser Aerion was pushed back, having to dodge and weave his way from being driven towards the sea. Both combatant's feet churned the sand beneath them, with each step and counter-step kicking up a small flurry of sand, like little gouts of fire billowing forth from a forge. No sooner had Ser Aerion sidestepped once again, did his blade and that of the chaotic sea creature's blade lock, both being straining for supremacy over the other.
Amber had already run away, upon Aerion's orders, and already made her way back to the horse. She was terrified, almost silent in response, and couldn't even find the courage to scream, she had stopped herself being locked in place, by half diving onto her horse. The hooves of the steed could be heard, not wanting to even think about Aerion, or if he would survive. She had to, if it was what he said to her to do, to survive, then she would.
Again the creature spoke, in the hissing and clacking voice, taunting Ser Aerion, goading him, making fun of his humanity. The creature had already scored several superficial wounds upon Ser Aerion, little cuts, scrapes, and gashes that stung and burned, each one opening a little more the longer the fight went on. The other creatures merely looked on, watching their champion fight, as if they were taking notes, studying how Ser Aerion fought. Not once had they intervened, sought to help their comrade, even when the duel brought both man and creature within range. This time, Ser Aerion was ready, remembering the last two times the creature had used its deformed body to its advantage.
The sea creature of chaos started to disentangle itself, pulling its blade back while simultaneously lashing forth with its razor-sharp claw to try and stab Ser Aerion in the side once more. The motion was almost fluid, twisting to his left, allowing the pincered claw to shoot forth, while bringing his Valyrian Steel blade downwards, cutting through the armored pincer in a gout of black viscous blood. The creature roared, stumbling back and away from Ser Aerion, hissing as it dropped its blade to clutch at its lost appendage. The severed claw clacked once, twice, then ceased to move, as Ser Aerion refocused his attention to his foe. Its eyes focused on him, beady and primordial, full of hate and rage. The champion let forth a blood curdling roar, before charging in once more, this time with no weapon save its remaining armored fist.
Such was the ferocity and baleful nature of the attack, like the way a crazed bear lunges out in its death throws, that Ser Aerion was caught off guard, the gauntleted fist connecting with his face and jaw, sending him reeling backwards. 'I have to... to recover, or this monstrosity will kill me.' Ser Aerion thought to himself. He tightened his grip upon the handle of his sword, feeling the pommel just beneath his fist. He darted left, then right, letting the creature give chase, its sense all lost in its blood crazed rage. The remains of his fire, the embers would be his salvation. It was now or never, as Ser Aerion turned at the last moment, somewhat sliding in the loose sand, using his sword to reach into the still heated embers, and flung them at the creature. Never had Aerion heard such an anguished cry, and never again would he.
As the creature clutched at its burning eyes, the embers hissing and popping against its skin, Ser Aerion struck quickly and decidedly. With three strokes of his blade, the creature's head rolled off, its remaining arm severed, and then the blade driven deep into its heart, bursting forth on the other side. The embers still burned and crackled upon the now vanquished champion's remains, the body now falling back as Aerion pulled his blade from the creature's chest. His every breath burned, and the sweat and blood had found their way into Aerion's eyes, obscuring his vision. He reached down, using the tattered remains of his shirt to clear his gaze, fearing that the other creatures could soon be making their way towards him.
Looking up, and seeing that the creatures were still a safe distance away, Ser Aerion turned to look at the defeated champion, its lifeless corpse darkening the sand about it. Kneeling, Ser Aerion spoke softly, "May the Father judge you fairly, even in your service to forces beyond the compassion of the Seven. May the Mother grant you mercy, and end your pain, this world and the next. May the Warrior find your strength worthy of remembrance and to serve at his side in the next life. May the Maiden grant you a return to innocence. May the Smith grant you praise for your malformities, and how they aided you. May the Crone light your way to the next world. And may the Stranger grant you swift passage. It was an honor to have faced you... rest easy now, creature." Ser Aerion rose back up, and held his blade at the ready.
Much to his surprise, the other collected creatures had found their fill, seeming only to be here as witnesses to the duel that had transpired. Their form was different, from the fallen one, but from the distance, all that could be made out was that they had more than two arms. Slowly, the creatures turned, and made their way back to the water, sliding into with ease, and disappearing into the darkness of the briny deep. With no other threat, Ser Aerion made with all due haste to head back to the city, and more importantly, to the Red Keep.
It was there, on that road that Aerion would have realized that when she had ordered her to run, it hadn't ended well. The horse that Amber had been riding had been killed, and what would have been a horrible sight beyond that, would have been the body of Lady Amber Redwyne. Blood poured from her side, she was bleeding heavily, and she seemed unconscious, several stab wounds, and she'd been left to die.
Ser Uther Tattershall, Ser Oswell Whent, and Ser Harwin Strong - Battle of the Red Keep, Outer Yard, A small tent.
All three men had been lounging about in their shared tent, a blessing considering most if not all the inns in the city were full, and space was hard to come by even on the city outskirts. Luck had been on their side, as a knight from some house had to return for family matters back home. Or rather, been sleeping soundly when all hell had broken loose. At first, they each thought to themselves that it was but another drunken scuffle, perhaps between two knights who had to prove their egos to one another. But, as the noise grew, and the sounds of fighting continued, it could no longer be some drunken duel between idiots. Again, the noise continued to grow, all three men fumbling to get out of their cots and don clothing, when a horn sounded, loudly and clearly through all the chaos and confusion. The three knights darted for their swords and shields, stumbling over armor and furniture. The castle was under attack, or the city was, and they needed to get out into the fight.
A loud piercing scream filled the night air, sending the three knights running out of their tent and into the courtyard. There they were greeted by a chaotic scene of combat, between the forces of King's Landing, and a motley mixture of barbaric humans, Essosi mercenaries, and something far more nefarious. The three men hurried after a group of rushing Gold Cloaks, heading for a set of stairs that led to the parapets of the outer wall. As they climb the stairs, the group of men were greeted by a small assortment of hostile forces. Two Gold Cloaks fell to their death before them, as a disfigured half man, half sea creature pulled them down with it. An Essosi man was cut down, tumbling down the stairs and stopping at the three knight’s feet. This utter chaos caused the three to freeze, stunned by what they were witnessing. Both sides were cutting a bloody swath among one another across the courtyard and the walls, and for now far outnumbering the guards on duty. This moment of indecision would be a costly one. The smell of fish and water greeted the three men, who turned to see a hulking creature standing behind them. The thing was hideous, and as the three tried to draw their weapons, the creature lashed out, snapping its malformed hand into the right shoulder of Ser Harwin, the man scream as he was lifted and tossed as though he were a mere rag doll from the stairs onto a tent below.
Both Ser Uther and Ser Oswell slashed at the beast, cutting its face and chest open, causing it to recoil in pain, before a spear from a guardsman cut the beast down in its neck. "Go... see to Harwin, Oswell. I will cover you. Hurry, I heard his collar bone snap, let alone what else could have happened." Ser Uther shouted above the din, cutting down a passing barbarian before moving with Ser Oswell to where Ser Harwin lay. As they reached their fallen friend, the two grimaced. Ser Harwin was unconscious, bloody seeping through a mangled looking would in his right shoulder. "Cursed the burned Seven of Stannis..." Ser Oswell swore, as he moved to drag Ser Harwin from the fighting. Ser Oswell slipped on the slick stones and dirt that made the courtyard, falling atop a slain guard.
Ser Uther looked about the scene of confusion, noticing a small defensive line being set up about the Throne Room doors. It would be one hell of a mad dash to get there, considering the fighting erupting across the courtyard. He reached down to help drag the fallen Ser Harwin to a slouched position, yelling at Ser Oswell simultaneously. "Get up... get up you idiot, get his other arm and drag him to the friendly lines over there, by the Throne Room. Once you get there, and so help me by the Father, staunch the bleeding, not some other fool we don’t know, you, and any trained professionals. Harwin is going to feel like shit when he wakes up, and best to see your ugly face than some strangers." Together, the two men lifted their unconscious friend, dragging him across the courtyard, fighting foes as they came into range of their blades. It was strenuous work, bloody and painful.
Ser Uther snarled as he cut down a hideous looking lobsterman, the creature having scored a flesh wound upon Ser Uther’s right leg, the blood quickly staining his pants. Forcing and shoving their way past the dying bodies of friend and foe alike, they made their way to the spear line, having to cut down at least two more foes, before tumbling through to the relative safety of friendly forces. Even with the quick thinking of some pompous Lord and his retinue, casualties were beginning to mount. Uther himself found a dead soldier beneath him, as he scrambled back to his feet to help Ser Oswell drag Ser Harwin to the outer steps. A few camp women huddled in the shadows of the Throne Room outer doors, scared at the mayhem taking place, some covered in blood from fallen friends, others from their own wounds. Ser Uther waved at them, shouting for someone to come and help his fallen friend. Finally, one of the braver ones came forward, staying close to the ground, not wanting to be seen over the heads of the friendly forces.
Ser Uther quickly relayed what he needed her to do, and that she would be reward for her services in saving Ser Harwin. He stood up, taking Harwin’s sword, breathing heavily as he staunched his own blood loss with a tattered piece of fabric from a dead man-at-arms with a green and yellow tabard. “Oswell, keep him alive, or we must deal with his spirit cursing us for a millennium. Plus, he is a good card player, and I don’t want to have you on my team when it comes to playing corners.” Ser Uther forced a smile, bowing his head to the camp woman who was helping, before dashing headlong back into the fight wielding both swords. Before Ser Oswell could yell out, Ser Uther was gone, lost in the fighting with men who pushed past the shield lines to help even the odds, and exact vengeance for their fallen friends.
Lady Cerenna, Lady Lyvia, and Ser Lorimer - The Red Keep, a tent behind the Royal Kitchen.
The night had been so wonderful and magical. The wedding, the feast, the festivities, all the fun and games that a royal wedding brings to not only the married couple, but to all the guests as well. For a few silver coins, Cerenna and Lyvia had been able to score a nice sized plot of land behind the kitchens to set up a tent for themselves and Ser Lorimer… plus his newfound companion, Myrielle Hill, a bastard no less. But, after a few drinks, Lyvia made mention that she certainly had the look of a Lannister to her, and not one of the lower echelons, but the main branch itself. Perhaps it was true, Myrielle did have the purest of blonde hair, and deep green eyes, but whatever her parentage was, she was a working lady now, perhaps cast out to hide the family shame. Either way, Ser Lorimer and “Lady” Myrielle were fast asleep in one another’s arms, sharing a large cot in the corner by the kitchen wall. Cerenna had finally fallen asleep when Lyvia had violently shaken her awake.
“Wh… wha… what is it Ly… Lyvia?” Cerenna mumbled out, still trying to turn back over to sleep. That was when she heard the warning horn, the lasting note resonating through the air. Something was wrong and amiss, “What is going on? What is wrong Lyvia?” Cerenna now asked, as she got up from her cot, reaching to put on her dress. Lyvia had her sword drawn, and even in the dim light cast from a lone candle, Cerenna could see blood upon the blade. She looked about the tent again, noticing that Ser Lorimer was missing, along with Myrielle. “Where is my brother Lyvia, what in the cursed burned Seven of Stannis is going on here?” She was now standing, her dress fully on, though untied. Lyvia had a look on her face that was very uncommon, fear… and something else, as though it were sadness.
“Grab your medical supplies, and get them ready… its bad outside. Something is attacking the castle and the city below. Cerenna, your brother is hurt, badly. We are going to have to operate on him now… I want you to know, I did all I could to save him, but… but the damned things were too fast, and got to his right leg. Wait here. I will bring him in. He is delirious from the pain and blood loss. I think he will live, but we are going to have to cauterize the stump closed, less he loses any more blood and die.” Lyvia hugged Cerenna quickly, before she darted out of the tent, the flap closing behind her in a small whoosh. Cerenna was stunned, startled, and angry all at the same time. She shook her head, pushing the anger and confusion aside as she cleared a cot for Lorimer, and grabbed her bag, opening it, readying it for what would come next. Cerenna turned to the little cooking fire in the tent, and quickly began to add more and more wood to it, getting it roaring whilst she opened the top of the tent even more.
The tent flap quickly opened once more, with Lorimer being carried by both Lyvia and Myrielle, leaving a trail of dark red blood behind them from Lorimer’s wound. As the battle raged outside their tent, Lady Lyvia and Lady Myrielle battled to stop the flow of blood from Ser Lorimer's missing leg with gauze and linen. He had been taking a walk along the walls when the creatures attack. He had fought them valiantly, but no matter his skill and courage, the creatures of the dark had prevailed. A twisted crab like man thing had cut Ser Lorimer's right leg off from the knee down, his cry of anguish still ringing in Lady Myrielle’s ears, tears streaming down her cheeks. Cerenna shook her head, knowing that by the Seven she would not lose her brother, no matter the cost. She looked to Lyvia, nodding to her to begin holding Lorimer down, knowing what she was about to do would be more excruciating than losing the leg, and would make her brother cried out in anguish before passing out probably.
“Hold him down. This is going to hurt like hell Lorimer… but it will save you.” Cerenna said to both Lyvia and Myrielle. “I am sorry big brother, but I am doing this to keep you alive.” Cerenna put on a heavy mitten, and grabbed a skillet that had been sitting in the flames. The cast iron glowed red hot, the heat coming from it even reaching Cerenna’s face. She sighed, and then pressed the metal against Lorimer’s wound as hard as she could, ignoring his screams of anguish, and continued to hold it in place as the rent flesh was burned closed and stopping the blood loss. Cerenna had a feeling that her brother Lorimer would not be the last one this day that would need to have their wounds sealed. Deep within, Cerenna prayed that Aerion was alright, and that he would come back soon, unharmed and alright.
