Almalthia

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

Yavin IV

A temple dig site

_{Collab with @Almalthia, & @Ruby}

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Hours later Jaslyn stopped and a memory of her mother intruded in the silence of her mind. “Caught without armor? You might as well be caught without clothes. Cortosis is precious and could save your life.” Her words rang as Jaslyn looked at the speeder and opened the compartment pulling out her original pack and took out the cortosis weave armor. The deep gray material was not as decorative as it would have been if she had stayed with the Jensaarai but that suited Jaslyn just fine. Slipping the shawl from around her waist and setting it aside Jaslyn then unbuckled the belt and buckles. She slipped out of the hooded vest clad in only her undershirt, a thin white linen that molded to her curves. Her finger trailed lightly over her sabers as she placed them on the shawl she had set aside. 

Pulling on the Jensaarai armor was like putting on leather and it molded to her body like a second skin. The designs in the armor allowed for flexibility especially in the elbows, knees, under the arms as well as the groin. Pulling on a specialized utility belt Jaslyn placed her sabers at her sides and reached for the boots that went with the armor. The armor was layered and covered from neck to wrist and neck to feet. The Jensaarai from the youngest to the oldest knew the value of the armor and as they grew their armor became more complicated and layered. She grew up knowing how to make the armor and had taken years to put this together. She was proud of it and it was the least “Jedi” item she owned. She felt like it was a nod to where she had come from and a stepping point to where she was going.

Finally Jaslyn plucked up the shawl and folded it and put it in her pack; which she then put in the container in the speeder. The pull was getting insistent and almost irritating in its consistency. It would only let her ignore it for a few minutes at a time. Jaslyn rolled her eyes and drank more water and climbed back on the speeder. Kicking it into gear and again opening up her senses she turned the throttle up dodging trees and debris by trusting in the Force.

After a discussion on her not needing to kick anyone out of their pre-fab with Iizia, reassuring him she’d be happy to share, and thus not kick out Professor Megalyn Tu of the lodging she’d been at since the camp was struck, her tour began. Most of the lodgings were closer to the exterior than the interior, with about a ‘dozen’ local militiamen being paid to act as community outreach and security for the dig.

She met the cook, briefly, as they chopped, and met some of the academic staff and specialists. Sela Ramallah was as niche a celebrity as it got off Charmath, but amongst the academia of archaeology, she was learning she had something akin to rock star status. Whether happy to thank her for her investment, or happy to meet her because they knew who she was, she spent most of the next hour gladhanding.

It made her glad about the most exciting work she did, no one would ever know about. Although having that kind of notoriety did make navigating dig sites a little easier, and in this case, a lot easier. Towards the end of the tour the senior staff of the dig, not already in the temple, as they worked three shifts around the clock and only two shifts were in camp at a time or not currently working in the camp, met inside the main building with its holoprojector in the center.

The Temple of Yavin 4 came to life in light projected to a hologram, and Selene got a good idea of the progress they’d made. Iizia began the presentation:

“As you can see, we’ve spent most of the beginning of the dig getting through Imperial left-over. A lot of equipment just left, tagged for salvage and destruction by the New Republic, which is one of the reasons the government was so keen to allow us to come and do this.”

Sela thanked the graduate student who brought her a cool drink, as sweat already began to bead and work its way around the base of her hair, “Sounds like what our dreams are made out of.”

The sarcasm elicited laughter from the assembled field academics, including Iizia, short and portly as he was, his thick cheeked face held rather animated expressions as easily as most people looked bored, “Well, with the boring work of that done, we’ve moved on. We’ve taken some interesting Rebellion items, but most of the teams have begun going down as fast as the engineers will allow us.”

She saw the line of their progress, motioning to the hologram of the Temple cutaway with a free hand, “Lift shaft towards the center of the structure? Smart, more likely to be structurally sound than most of the peripheral descents.”

“And cluttered with deadlifts we’ve had to cut through to keep going down. Whatever the power system is, our engineers have had zero success in getting anything to work. Maybe they’re all Force activated, who knows?”

The assembled scholars snickered at it. Right, like there were Force users around. Ha.

“Two days ago, we reached this,” the man focused the hologram of the Temple past the prior lift shaft stoppage, “sensors discovered an adjacent tunnel, and this one doesn’t share the same metallurgy as the rest. It’s older, and shares readouts shared by other Jedi Temples in the Outer Rim around the High Republic era. Very slow work, we’ve attempted to assist the engineers as much as possible, as well as reached out to colleagues at the university. Meanwhile, we catalog what we’ve already been finding from Imperial and Rebellion, including an intriguing cache of Clone Wars era armor, but sadly our goal is the lower structures we believe are still there. There was an accident a day ago, one of the junior engineers fell, and one of our researchers assisting him passed out, unfortunately. We’re not exactly sure why.”

“Doing what you can,” Sela smiled, Selene’s mind instantly narrowing on the accident—she’d have to quietly inquire about it, careful as she went. She felt a juxtaposition of the Force, darkness and light, but in chaos, nothing resembling the natural equilibrium. “I’ll spend the evening looking through reports and poking around, before I devise a plan.”

One of the fellow senior field academics laughed, “Just gonna find a dark hole to jump down?”

“Yep,” Selene said, before taking a sip of the chilled tea, entirely serious, with more than a few people present staring at her in response.

There was a foreboding as Jaslyn drew nearer to the source of her curiosity. She saw on the ridge just above the top of the canopy the top of a structure that sent a shiver along her flesh. She knew right where it was.

Jaaaasssslllllyyyyynnn… The presence was stronger now and was so cold it burned. Jasly’s breath fogged as she maneuvered around a line of trees. It was male and steeped in the darkside. Not that it really bothered her but it was just good to be wary of things that were too far to one side or the other. Fire could warm and it could kill.

Do not listen, child. Your focus determines your reality. A warm voice that Jaslyn thought she should know but could not place from where soothed and calmed her mind. Both presences left her mind but she could still feel them. She put them out of her mind and continued toward the temple, the speeder facing the sun as it started its descent to the horizon.

The late afternoon brought her to a clearing where Jaslyn pulled up sharply as the full impact of the temple made itself known. It was old and massive and… chaotic. There was no balance here; there was an ebb and flow in the Force. Jaslyn’s eyes darted around trying to look at everything all at once. There was almost too much to focus on. Staring and just taking it in for what felt like hours but was really only minutes Jaslyn felt the tug so insistent that it made her gasp. 

Throttling up the speeder Jaslyn began to see people at the temple as she got closer. She throttled down and sighed as she realized she was going to have to interact with others when all she wanted was to find what or who was at the end of the quest. There was a man who gave off emotions of irritation and discomfort; likely due to the heat and humidity. Not everyone could use the Force to keep themselves comfortable. For those with the training the environment didn’t pose as great a threat than those that didn’t have the training.

“No visitors. This area is off limits, joint venture of the Wetyin Colonial Authority and the University of Coruscant. Turn around.” The man held up his hand as Jaslyn tilted her head.

“I’m sorry but that won’t  be a possibility. Let’s not make this unpleasant…” Jaslyn tapped his surface thoughts. “Lucas.” She waved her hand. “You will allow me to pass because I belong here.” The Force flowed through her and tapped the man’s mind. She soothed his emotions as he waved her through.

Jaslyn parked the speeder next to another heavy speeder. She looked at the people who looked at her and as she looked back at them if the puzzle didn’t fall into place she moved on. Finally she entered the main building. Jaslyn was led by the Force to a room as she tasted cold tea just as she opened the door.

“You.” Jaslyn stated as she stared at the woman with ink dark hair and blue eyes. She was pale and slender but not without being womanly.

A thousand thoughts and one entered Selene’s mind when the door opened and a voice reached out to grab her. She was partially through a sentence about the differences in atomic structure between High Republic and Late Republic Jedi architecture when that voice came, and with it brought sudden silence to the room that held Selene, and Professor Megalyn Tu, with whom she was currently sharing a lodging with, and who was inescapably perplexed at the sudden entrance and word of the newest arrival.

By the time Tu looked at Selene for an answer, the Queen of Charmath had her path forward: the twist of her lips into a crooked smile, the glint of mischief in the darkness of her eyes, and the utter ease of the mirth in the whisper of a chuckle that escaped her pale lips, “Jilted lover. Please inform security of a breach, have them raise the alarm, and ask them to question the sentry about this mistake.”

Even if Selene knew the answer to that particular one, already.

Vu was short, curly purple haired with a look of having missed a wash for the last handful of days—life in the field, after all, but there was a quickness to the manner in which the metallurgist snapped to and left the room, her eyes wide in anxiety and fear as she took a step towards the entrance in which the sudden appearing red haired woman stood, before deciding to leave through the other door.

“You scared her,” Selene said, her voice thick with gratification at the fact, even as her attention and eyes went back to the metallurgist’s reports on the small screen next to her, on the other side of the large circular room filled with desks orbiting around the holographic projector in the center, and of course, as with any dig site, a large coffee machine against one wall. “That’s…not good.”

It was a reaction to something on the screen, not of the woman, the woman whom Selene suddenly twisted on a heel to face once again, a grand smile and great width of her suddenly wide eyes opened to regard anew, “you’re about to be very popular,” wryly spoken with a dalliance of a shrug, “not that it matters. Bigger fish for the barbie, and all that. There’s a spirit in this camp…I can obfuscate myself from it as easily as I obfuscate myself from other Force users, for now, but you and all that…bright, sparkly Light-sidedness?”

The emphasis she put on the last three words were melodical, playful, as if it were all some great game, even as she began to make her way closer to the woman, and closer again, like a predator closing the distance on entranced prey, her body’s movements so fluid, so easy, it was too easy to miss the truth her body language whispered behind every act:

Dangerous.

“Sit down,” she instructed in a voice that gave a command as easily as most men breathed, motioning to the chair closest to the woman, “and tell me just who you are, and how you know the Queen of Charmath, Assistant-Dean of Xenoarchaeology, and very generous late investor to this dig, Sela ir-Ramallah Vitaal,” she paused for a beat, before adding, “the Seventh of her name. Just a simple, exceedingly wealthy, exceedingly politically connected, socially reclusive girl living out her heart’s desire of ancient things and ancient cultures as a leading scholar in her field.”

Nope. No Force using here, no sir-ee.

“I don’t know you. I just heard you, felt you. I can’t explain it more than I had to be here.” Jaslyn sat down still reeling from the reaction of her world tilting on its axis. She smoothed her hair back from her face; the strands that had come loose from the braid that fell to her waist. “Until I saw you I had the idea that I was seeing the future. Now I have no idea what is going on.” 

Leaning her head into her hands Jaslyn scoffed. “Being a good person shouldn’t be laughable but you make it sound dangerous. Which has to be the biggest joke in the galaxy. I didn’t mean to frighten anyone.”

Lifting her head Jaslyn smirked. “Simple? Queen? And the Assistant-Dean of Xenoarchaeology? Does Leia even have that many titles? Well I suppose if we are trotting out names and titles Jaslyn Dayne, daughter of the Saarai-kaar. I suppose something of an equal rank?” She snarked with a grin.

Selene never did stop stepping forward. Even with each word the woman spoke, even with that grin, Selene just got closer, and closer…until the woman spoke of ‘equal rank’, to which Sela the Seventh barely, hardly, inched a smile at, instead being so close her dark, perfectly straight hair, tickled at the woman as Selene leaned down to this Jaslyn Dayne’s ear, and whispered the kind of whisper that quivered souls and left goosebumps on skin:

“…who said I was done?”

Selene’s body perked straight as a knife, her head tilting sharply to the side, like she was some dark-haired bird of prey. It was the sound of the word, she knew it, she’d heard it, “Ancient Sith word…”

Her fingers snapped as she found her answer, and her eyes tumbled back onto the woman once more after a quick upward drift as her mind thumbed through the encyclopedia of her memory, “I read about your lot from Inquisitor records. Interesting story, if ironically humorous in a twisted way.”

What the woman said before that was even more interesting in the moment, but Selene wasn’t about to let that be tipped off at the moment—not that it mattered as the door beside the woman opened. She expected security, but instead got a stunned looking Andrejo. The Co-Director of the Dig looked stunned, pale with shock, and dizzy enough to be sick.

“…Doctor Lergo, my Co-Director…was murdered down in the shafts by one of our senior post-grads. More details as they come, security is bringing up the body and the murderer now, then they’ll deal with…well, her,” he said, looking at Jaslyn for the first, and last time, before walking back out again, as if he were simply floating through it all, too phased to be phased.

Selene simply nodded, before turning her attention back to Jaslyn, and smiling, “I do hope you came prepared for the show,” then it happened, as the façade broke and Selene came through, as intense and serious and genuine as any one soul could be, “it only gets worse from here.”

She then, quietly, reached towards her waist and turned off the safety of the blaster at her side.

In a fit of madness, or rash impulsiveness that was unusual for her in multitudes rarely seen, Selene tipped her hand, “I think the spirit brought you here. If it used me, it may know about me,” she sighed the last sentence, unsure of what it meant, and hating to be unsure of what anything meant, “and if it knows about me…”

She just trailed off, going back across the room, and returning her attention to the reports. 

“Sounds like you have it all figured out and that the rest of them are all… at best along for the ride? You know better than to turn me over to security. If it gets worse than a murdered Doctor you could use my talents.” Jaslyn stood and studied the holo of the temple. “So where do we start this little detective drama?”

Jaslyn turned to the door with a look of expectation. “I am no Xenoarchaeology major but I am observant and,” She looked back over at Sela. “I am ready for the show. Too curious for my own good really. Spirits don’t scare me Queenie.”

Stress boiled as Selene felt her thin fingers comb through her black hair, and push back, hard, against her scalp until her fingers were free, and the moment of tension was momentarily behind her. The look Selene gave the woman now was blank, like the expression of someone who’d been through enough pain to come out of the other side numb.

“Then you’re a fool. Come with me.”

Selene left out of the exit on the far side of the woman, her pace quick and her walk determined as she cut a line through the heart of the site camp, past work buildings and past communal bathing set-ups, past lodgings and make-shift kitchens, past utility and storage areas, past transport ships put to ‘bed’ and awaiting power up, past the farthest reaches of the camp and towards the very heart of the temple.

It was there that the secret lifts had been uncovered. Selene hadn’t had the time, or the heart, to tell the assembled academics that they had just been wrong: the subterranean levels they had found weren’t Jedi, they were Rebel. Her suspicion was that the adjacent shafts weren’t even lined with metal, but a mix of metals native to the moon, and stone from the same source…which made their origin far more obvious than it had any right to be.

The crowd formed a semi-circle around the hidden lift, one clearly meant to be hidden, carved out of one of the giant cylindrical support beams of the temple that had been reinforced by Rebels, hinting at its purpose. The screaming started before they even got close, but by the time they were close, several of the dig staff were either looking away, or too staring, disturbed, or in the case of a handful of them…crying. The sound of the screaming was raving madness, and the post-grad student who’d been handsome and daring and bright was now pale and howling, blood still upon his hands, still around his mouth. His arms held down by members of the security team, his trousers and sleeveless top stained, soiled.

The Co-Director, Doctor Lergo, a man Selene had attended more than a few classes and talks of, was bone white, a chunk of flesh missing from his neck, and dark red dagger shaped punctures from his neck to his navel.

“I’ve done this my entire life, and I’ve never seen this,” was the whisper in the ear from Selene to Jaslyn, the very smell of the darker woman, some mix of spice and floral, intensified by the stress of the moment and sheer closeness of their bodies.

“YOU DO NOT BELONG!”

The scream came guttural and hoarse, the shoulders of the killer popping and cracking as muscle and bone shifted like serpents under a thin sheet of skin, twisting itself free from the firm grasp of militia security before throwing them free in either direction. Most worryingly to Selene, the scream came the moment the killer’s eyes, bloodshot and yellowed, set their sight on the Jensaarai.

The way it lunged and parted through the assembled crowd caught everyone unaware, and made security hesitate to shoot—what if they hit someone in the crowd? Dayne would have felt a firm shove, before hearing the roaring whine of the K-16 Bryar Pistol come to full, devastating, charge to fire its entire power source in a single shot. Selene waited the half second until the killer was nearly on them before she stepped in front of Jaslyn and fired, blood and brain and scalp and hair flying behind the charging madman, littering some of the crowd and some of the security force with it.

Yet the killer still fought to grab and claw at the woman who stood between it and the Jensaarai, forcing Selene to bend down and take the heft of the blaster pistol to bash at the remaining brain and skull of the post-grad worker until it stopped so much as twitching. A heavy sniff, and a slow stand to full height, Selene flipped her hair back behind her shoulders, and began to catch her breath. She gave the red-haired woman a single glare, before she simply walked away towards one of the communal wash areas of the camp.

Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

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After having met the Dameron family Jaslyn knew that she would have to find a place to live. The lush jungle was so different from Dantooine where she had lived on the plains quite a ways from the city. The press of the minds and emotions within a city would quickly become oppressive and affect her negatively. She would need to see if there was by chance a dwelling that was abandoned by someone or even one that she could rent or purchase. Pulling out a datapad she punched in the information and found an acceptable place. It was on the large side but she couldn’t complain since it fit her requirements of being away from the hub of activity and fairly isolated with the nearest neighbor being more than three kilometers away. It was described as being two stories with the second one built into the ground. She located the place she was going to so that she could claim the dwelling. This would take up most of her funds so she hoped that it was at least serviceable.

Walking out of the office a new home owner Jaslyn sighed at the fact that she was going to have to buy a speeder and likely one that was on its last leg. Shifting her pack she trecked over to where the last owner had told her the speeder shop was. As she entered a Chadra-fan squeaked out in Basic “Be right wit’ ya.”

“No rush, friend.” Jaslyn responded looking around at the brick brack and hodge podge of parts mixed in with fully functioning items. There were what looked like add ons, upgrades and other things that you might use to tune a speeder. “Just looking to get a speeder that will get me from point A to point B.”

A grunt and some things clattering was the answer that Jaslyn received before a long pause and a shout. “Nothin’ fancy then? Boring but I can have it ready in a couple of hours. Come back then.”

“Thank you.” Jaslyn exited the shop and in no particular hurry started walking. She had no where in mind and found herself in a cantina drawn there not knowing why exactly. Out of the corner of her eye Jaslyn saw something. She turned toward the object in curiosity and blinked not seeing it. It was like it vanished.

Walking up to the bar Jaslyn ordered and paid picking a seat with her back to the wall as well as in a dark corner. Sitting down she passed the time by sipping on her drink and reading about ancient history. The story was about the schism that started the division of the Je'daii in the Jedi and Sith order.

Jaslyn. A dry hoarse unused voice whispered like a snake sliding across dry dead leaves.

Looking up and around the empty cantina Jaslyn saw no one but heard soft male laughter that matched the voice that called her name. The bartender was a woman. Jaslyn locked back at the datapad and saw something very different than what she was on previously.

Information about Yavin IV, a map of temples. A slender pale finger tipped with a long polished nail painted a deep violet tapping on a temple that was hours outside the colony, if you took a speeder or transport of some kind. “Here.” The voice was rich, crystal and chime-like and very clearly female. She blinked and the datapad in her hands was again the history of the Je’daii.

Suddenly Jaslyn put down the datapad on the table and spread her hands flat with fingers splayed wide as the sound changed around her, sending her head spinning. She could hear a heartbeat that was not hers. A throbbing pulsing insistent beat that was much different from her own. Her’s was racing she could tell. This one felt… different. She felt her heartbeat slow to keep time with the one she could hear. When her heartbeat synced up with the one she could hear something in her shifted and with a wave of intense vertigo the world righted itself and changed fundamentally.

Breathing deeply and reaching for a calmness that she didn’t feel Jaslyn blew out a shaky breath and felt a thread of a different presence. Her head turned to look out the window to the jungle and she had a feeling that the temple that the woman’s finger tapped was in that direction. Jaslynn stood and put the datapad back in her bag and waved at the bartender. She felt a pulse and tug within her toward that place in the jungle that had to be the temple. With the rest of her credits she bought survival equipment and food to take with her the pulse throbbing with an ache unlike she have ever experienced.

Coincidently it had been two hours and the speeder was ready. Jaslyn put her bags in the speeder’s compartment and started it up. The speeder kicked on and it took everything she had to not open it up and race into the jungle. She got to the end of the colony and opened herself up to the Force and followed the pull that got stronger with every kilometer. Dodging trees with the anticipation of the Force was child’s play for Jaslyn; her mind was on the growing presence she felt at the end of her journey.

No one had stood out so clearly as this and yet was shrouded in mystery. The dichotomy of it was so enthralling that Jaslyn could not pull her focus from it. Curiosity and passion had always been something that she could never really scrub from her personality and her Master never required it fully. She had heard tales of Obi-Wan, Anakin and Qui-Gon from the age of twelve and on. Master Thracia had never required it of her and told her that there were things that the Jedi Order got wrong and that predecessors had right. She even pointed out that some things the Jensaarai did they did correctly. Jaslyn slowed and stopped to eat and drink as she pondered what she was racing toward.

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Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

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The hour before the Dantooine sunrise saw a tall, athletic woman in dark clothing, or at least it seemed dark in the early hour. Jaslyn Dayne watched the sky turn from deep indigo to gray to lavender to pink and orange then finally a light blue. As the sky lightened and the sun, Dina, rose she became clearer to view. Her coppery hair was braided and the pieces that fell out floated around a strikingly beautiful and very natural face. Arching coppery brows over a pair of light gray eyes lined with deep drown thick lashes. A nose that was delicate as well as the bone structure. Cheekbones that set off large eyes and a complexion that was like cream. A mouth that was a full delicate rose cupid's bow set in a calm unruffled fashion. 

Wearing a buff colored hooded vest that clung to her curves with an ivory scarf tied loosely around her long neck. As she walked along the black leather harness shifted and creaked softly. Arms bare save for the buff leather gauntlets that closed with ornate laces in a braided cord pulled taut. Her harness was attached to a wrap that, at the moment, functioned like a skirt and a belt. At present it covered her backside but was twisted up in front like a belt to keep her legs free. Black leggings clung to long shapely legs and tucked into black boots that eased through the native grasses of the plains.

Jaslyn’s steps were light, silent and rolled like a dancer's, or more appropriately a swordswoman. The breeze swept across the plains waiving the grass like a sea. Garang as in the way of cities was rather small but that was to be expected on an Outer Rim planet. Garang was also home to the only spaceport. And Jaslyn was leaving Dantooine behind.

While still early Jaslyn was not the only one that was out and about. The residents of Garang were also up and busy with daily tasks. Jaslyn bought passage on a ship going to Jaemus without much trouble under the guise of a hunter wanting to participate in the Battle of the Arena in Vespaara.

The trip to Yavin was, in a word, boring. Which Jaslyn considered lucky since it could have been one that they'd been attacked by pirates along the way, multiple times. The lambda, that she had caught a ride with for the last leg of the journey, touched down. “What is this place called?” Jaslyn asked as she looked out the viewscreen.

“Wetyin’s Colony.” Came the grizzled voice from the Zabrak pilot that was flipping off switches to fully shut down the lambda. He was an older man who had needed a few hands with the ship and Jaslyn could work a slicer deck. Without using the Force and playing her hand.

“Thank you Kelnar.” Jaslyn had kept her presence in the Force buried but she still felt the echoes of it like a cool hand on the back of her neck. Thinking about it she wiped a hand over the back of her neck.

“You keep an eye out if you go to Gully’s. There are too many sleemos there.” Jaslyn saluted Kelnar and gathered her bag and stepped off the ship onto the ground. And nearly fell.

The Force was an almost physical thing here and it took everything that Jaslyn had to keep her presence buried. Stumbling, she caught herself before she fell. Blinking Jaslyn analyzed the information battering her shields. She knew that if she continued to hold it then she'd have a crippling headache within an hour. Jaslyn lowered her shield and felt the aggressive rush of the Force. 

The hot biting wind that stirred no air seemed to cut through Jaslyn. It was malicious and powerful and…searching. Chasing that was a calm soothing presence that was like light misty rain in spring. Both were just as powerful as the other. Balance. But teetering on the edge. Jaslyn acknowledged both as she felt a third. Small but growing and it felt like shade from a tree on a hot day. That was something different. 

Feet moving without truly conscious thought Jaslyn walked around the colony. She stopped in front of a home that was a little farther on the outskirts of the colony. A sapling that was different from the other trees around. Jaslyn reached out and stopped as a young voice spoke. “Who are you?”

Looking over her shoulder Jaslyn saw a young boy probably not more than nine years old. “Jaslyn Dayne. Can I get your name? I was told not to talk to strangers.” 

The young boy nodded. “Yeah my mom says that too.”

“Yet here you are talking to me.”

“Well if no one asked for names no one would know anyone would they.”

Smiling, Jaslyn held her hand out. “Pleased to meet you…?”

“Dameron. Poe Dameron.” He shook her hand enthusiastically. The child's emotions flowed through him into her. Excitement, friendliness, curiosity, longing to be included, uncertainty, anger and loneliness. Such deep loneliness. But love. So much love for his parents and flying. Seems he'd gotten the flying bug from his mother who was a pilot.

“Very nice to meet you Poe. Are your parents around? Don't want you getting into trouble.” Jaslyn let go of his smaller hand with an ease that belied the inner turmoil she was going through. 

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Star Wars: Echoes of the Force

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Description

Coppery red hair is the first thing you notice about Jaslyn, that and her height. Coppery red, thick and wavy to the middle of her back. She pulls it up or braids it most of the time save for her Padawan braid. She is five feet ten inches or 177.8 centimeters. She has a complexion that is most often described as creamy, or pale. She has light gray eyes that change slightly depending on what mood she is in. Her teeth are even and white. Her lips are a neat cupids bow a few shades pinker than her skin tone.
She is of an average fit figure, toned lean muscle, and at 25 could not be mistaken for a boy as she used to before puberty. She is quite apparently female with an hourglass shape.

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Name: Jaslyn Dayne
Species: Human
Homeworld: Susevfi
Age: 25
Gender: Female
Rank: None
Master: Thracia Cho Leem from the age of 12 to current [4 BBY - 9 ABY].
Former master(s): Saarai-kaar from birth to the age of 12 [16 BBY - 4 BBY].
Apprentice(s): N/A

Equipment:

• Self-made lightsabers, pale golden yellow bladed that attach together for a double bladed saber staff.
• Cortosis covered armor.
• Street clothes.
• Informal Robes.
• Formal Robes.

History:

Jaslyn was born 16 BBY on Susevfi, also known as Suarbi 7/5, a moon of Suarbi 7. Jaslyn was born to the Saarai-kaar of the Jensaarai. The Saarai-kaar, Liana Dayne, her mother assumed the leadership of the Jensaarai when her husband and Tyris were killed by the Jedi Nejaa Halcyon and Ylenic It'kla in 22 BBY. Nikkos Tyris was a male Anzati who had served the Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic as a Jedi Knight during the final decades of the Republic Classic era. Tyris fell to the dark side of the Force and became one of the founders of the Jensaarai. He was one of Count Dooku's allies during the Clone Wars, and was killed by Nejaa Halcyon during the conflict. Liana developed a hatred of the Jedi, whom she believed were responsible for murdering her husband and Master (unaware that Tyris was a Dark Acolyte of Count Dooku). She assumed the leadership of the Jensaarai and kept them hidden from the Galactic Empire on Susevfi.

However, Jaslyn's older brother approached Darth Vader, offering to become a Jedi hunter. Vader killed him on sight, and the Saarai-kaar further hid her people. Liana's problems with her children didn't end there as Jaslyn was a curious child and was constantly disappearing for hours on end. One such disappearance would lead to her meeting her current Master Thracia Cho Leem. Much like Darth Vader had sense in her older brother Master Thracia sensed in the girl the light, unlike Darth Vader, Master Thracia would form a Master - Padawan bond with the precocious girl.

Master Thracia would describe Jaslyn as having a large personality. She is opinionated, willful, justice driven, trusting and stubborn. Quite frequently she pushes the line of debating and arguing. She means well just wants to know the full extent of a subject. She strives to work against her inherently passionate and opinionated stance and has come along way. She believes that violence should be a last resort, and that there is good and bad in everyone. She is stubborn, willful, naive, trusting, and sheltered. She believes that everyone deserves a chance and that redemption is always possible.

Master Thracia spent months, almost a full rotation, on Susevfi earning Jaslyn's trust and finally was rewarded with the girl showing up at her place fully packed. All the explanation that Master Thracia got was "I'm ready now to go." Jaslyn was very close lipped about her family situation. In truth her mother's hatred was obvious to the girl being a natural Force Empath and seeing how it effected her other brother decided that she was better off with Master Thracia. She did not want to be used as a tool for revenge.

Jaslyn's forms are Soresu, Form III The Way of The Mynock. Ataru, Form IV The Way of the Hawk Bat. As well as Juyo, Form VII The Way of the Vornskr, or the Ferocity Form. She has personalized them so that she could use a saber staff and dual wielding in all forms. Modifications to Form I, III, IV and VII include the inclusion of Jar’Kai. She prefer using Sun Djem as a disarming attack versus a killing blow. She is proficient in Sokan and is working on Telekinetic Lightsaber Combat. Juyo is not a form that Master Thracia excluded her from due to Mace Windu also being familiar with it and as Master Thracia is well acquainted with Master Windu she saw no harm in it and Jaslyn is excellent in it.

Jaslyn shows great promise in the Force and in particular Force Empathy, Tutaminis, Telepathy and Telekinesis she excels beyond in these areas. She is equal to what would have been considered a Jedi Knight at the height of the Order. Master Thracia has told her she is ready to make it on her own and has sent her to Yavin 4 to see what the young woman found of importance.

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

Dragonstone

On the path to the dragon cavern

_{Collab with @Almalthia & @Apoalo}

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Chaos. The storm helped as things went in and out of the light. But it hindered the women as well. Pheynix was glad that she had sent Cassie with Cass and Pyxis out to the ship to go on to Duskendale. Her oiled leathers were drenched but thankfully waterproof or mostly. She was damp in places she’d rather not think about. However she could tell that Melys did not have that luxury. She did not look like a Princess but rather something that looked like it was dragged in from the sea. They went out the door and the Princess wiped her face as she watched the chaos.

Nix watched the Princess as the Princess watched the chaos. “We are done gawking Cousin. Let us do what you came out here to do.” Nix grabber Melys’ arm. A flash of lightning pierced the night as Nix looked around quickly and noticed the man in white the same time he saw her. “Qrugh! Kostagon se jelmāzma mirre syt īlva nykeā īlon issi ojūdan₁.” Nix yelled in Valyrian as the thunder rolled around them. She spoke harshly in the Princess’ ear. “Ilon jāhor daor mazverdagon se lōgor. Skore ñuhoso naejot aōha zaldrīzes₂?” She remembered that even if it was accented that the Targaryen cousins knew Valyrian and it was possible that no one else would know the mother tongue.

Melys watched as Nix tore off her black oiled cloak and motioned for Melys to put it on. Putting it on in a hurry Melys realized that her hair likely would draw attention like a blaze of moonlight. Fyresong was in the cavern where they slumbered when on Dragonstone that cavern was at least a quarter hour walk from the castle. “Bona iksos nykeā deks hen elēnar gone rȳ nykeā geron hen se sombāzmion₃!” Melys pulled Nix in the direction of the cavern where the dragons normally went. “Bona iksos lo ziry iksos konīr! Ziry could sagon mirre skoriot₄!”

“Pār īlon jorepagon naejot se ānogar hen uēpa valyrio isse se muñnykeā ēngos bona ziry iksos konīr₅.” Nix and Melys pushed hard, the Princess starting to flag as Nix was rushing her to run. The third time Melys stumbled Nix heard the unmistakable curse and shuffle of a large body slipping in the mud. The scrape and clack of armor that was not made for moving silently. Nix grabbed Melys and ducked behind a large rock. Nix motioned for Melys to be quiet as they crouched in the rain, the storm still fierce. She pushed Melys closer to the side of the boulder and deeper into the shadows.

“They’re around here somewhere. We just saw them on the path.” The pathetic whine was high and nasal. He sounded utterly inconvenienced and a step away from turning around and going back.

Nix could kiss the whiner; perhaps his companion, or goddess blessed, hopefully a singular companion would listen to him. Kostilus, kostilus, kostilus ondoso ry uēpa valyrio ivestragī konīr sagon mērī lanta₆… She prayed in the mother tongue practically pouring herself into the rock as she leaned around the rock in a flash. The sight that greeted her made her stomach twist and her mouth thinned under the veil she wore. Kostagon nyke gīmigon skore mēre hen ao nyke ȳzaldrīzes naejot syt bisa? Bȳre hen zirȳ se mēre bona timpa mittys₇?! She reasoned to the Old Gods.

Slowly leaning down, Nix felt around for a stone. And apparently at least one of the Old Gods found that an acceptable request for she found one of decent size. Pivoting silently Nix waited till they all had their backs to her as she tossed the rock so that it clattered to the left of the path. It distracted the men who all but two of the six went to investigate.

“Stay there in case it is a trick. We have to find the Princess.”

The gruff comment was from the Kingsguard Griffith Goode. Nix remembered him. He and his brother had not hesitated in switching sides as if they had known what was going on. Come to find out that Visenya had hand picked the brothers. Nix nodded internally; it seemed like Visenya played the long game as well as the Rahl family.

“Yes Ser.” Both the men replied simultaneously as the other four wandered off in the direction that Nix had tossed the stone.

The window of the storm working in the women’s favor was getting smaller. The lightning and thunder lessened but at least the rain was steady. Nix wiped the rain out of her eyes and drew her sword slowly and silently. She had to make this fast and silent. She desperately wished she’d brought her brother Castor with her.

Looking up at Nix from where she had been practically put; as if she were seven and had no idea how to be quiet and still; Melys’ glare should have conjured dragon fire. She watched the darker shadow that was Nix next to her shift and picked up the rock only to fling it away. As she watched four guards, one in white; a Kingsguard, and three others went to investigate the noise the rock made. Suddenly as lightning flashed in the distance illuminating the landscape briefly as well as the sword that Nix now held. Melys’ eyes widened at the blade. Surely not?!

Apparently luck had run out and the guards on the path walked around the boulder the ladies had been hiding behind. Also as luck would have it the whiner was a screamer; who let forth a high pitched squealing that would have made a sow proud. Immediately Nix leapt into action knowing there was no way the other four had not heard pig boy. She grimaced as the current two drew swords. More blood on my hands. Perfect. Just how I wanted my tour of Westeros to go. Funeral then fighting and killing… oh and dragon flying. The sarcasm of the running inner monologue made a smarmy grin pull at her veiled mouth.

Whirling Nix beat back one of the two guards with a flourish then moved to reposition the other like a chess piece on a board away from Melys. The exchange allowed Nix to reposition the guards but it was far from quiet. Swords clashed and rang loudly not to mention the squealing whiner did not stop announcing their presence. “The Princess is here! Got a girl here who's got a sword an’ thinks she knows how to use it.”

Nix gritted her teeth as she heard a response from the direction of the other four. She really wished that Cass were with her right now. They would make quick work of the guards; the only problem would have been the Kingsguard. Now she was looking at six men at once against just her. Her odds were not in her favor. “Sir dakogon naejot aōha zaldrīzes₈!!”

From behind the guards chasing Nix and Melys a voice would ring out, sturdy and sure of itself. “Are you women or cowards to chase after two girls barely of age? If this is what chivalry and knighthood in Westeros has become then perhaps I don’t dream of becoming such any longer.” The guards whirled and the one in the far back would suddenly have Valyrian steel kissing his neck. In a practiced deftness, Castor Rahl would twist the blade to slice down, pressing harder as he did to easily cut the throat of the man who would splutter and gargle as he fell to his knees and then the ground, twitching as his lifeblood blood ran freely. Castor took a step up, letting the dying man form a sort of barrier, and pointed the now bloody blade towards the rest. “I suggest you leave my sister alone and return to the Castle.” Castor wasn’t wearing his heavier armor, instead, he was dressed in simple gear. A leather coat of plates over a cloth gambeson and chainmail. He had been lucky Pyxis was willing to help him fasten the shin guards and forearm bracers.

The other guards began making their way up, menacing the Rahl with their spears. Knowing they had the reach advantage, Castor sheathed his blade and as the spear was shoved forward, smashed it against the rock, grabbed hold, and then with a roar ripped it up and out of the Guards hands. He then would charge down, and using his shoulder would smash into the lead guard with the full weight of his body which caused the guard to lose his balance and fall back into his friends. Castor, unfortunately also lost his grip as he had no control of the momentum of his attack and he fell down the small dip and landed hard on the ground below. Wincing, he didn’t have time to feel the pain and was instantly on his feet again, moving to kill a few of the guards as they tried to extricate themselves from the pile. With only two guards left, the Kingsguard Knight ripped his sword from his scabbard and ordered the guards to get the girls and that he would deal with the newcomer.

Grinning behind her veil at the sound of her brother Castor's voice, the light to her dark, her twin soul. Pheynix had always thought that they should have been twins like Hespaerys and Lunaerys; that the siblings were not seemed such a waste. But such is the way of the old gods. The fervor that rose in her rushed through her veins and she swore that she heard the cry of a night bird of prey. The sound echoed through her over the storm that was easing up.

The unearthly keening seemed to pull from the very depths of her as she moved around the rocks to face the remaining guards. The keening started as a high pitched haunting wail that then dipped down to an eerie almost two tone cry of some ancient unknown beast. It spilled past her lips in words that frightened even the most stout hearted. “Morghon māzigon adhirikydho₉!!”

Lightning illuminated Pheynix as she danced swiftly and gracefully to engage the guards. Both of whom looked horrified for long enough to give her an advantage. Blade flashing in the sporadic lightning and singing a death knell as it split the air as easily as the throat of the first guard. “Melyssanthi maghagon aōha zaldrīzes₁₀!!”

Melyssanthi had heard the preternatural cry that split the night come from Pheynix and heard it echo back. Flashes of Pheynix covered in blood from a wound on her side, cradled by an odd looking bird with feathers of fire. She watched as the odd bird was joined by a wolf and a falcon. Blinking, she watched Pheynix dispatch the guard with such obviously deadly grace that she moved like water flows. This was a water dancer. She was jolted out of staring by Pheynix turning that odd voice on her.

Nodding but not knowing if Fyresong could hear her, Melyssanthi called out to him. Anything to make Pheynix stop using that spine tingling voice.

But Melyssanthi would make a crucial mistake. A mistake she would not have made if she had not been so rattled about everything going on.

Melyssanthi called out to Fyresong by imitating his cries when he was younger. Melyssanthi sounded like a baby dragon. A very loud, very distressed baby dragon. There was an answering melodic trumpet as well as a harsh bellowing that was deeper and more menacing.

Eyes wide, Melyssanthi realized her mistake too late. She was successful in catching Fyresong’s attention but she had caught Cannibal’s attention as well. “Sōvegon naejot issa va adere jelmior! Naejot issa! Naejot issa sir!₁₁” Screaming, she begged and prayed that Fyresong would get there first.

As Melyssanthi called her dragon the guard and Pheynix circled each other trading blows gaining no ground. This guard was older than the first and wiser by far. The note of begging distracted Pheynix enough that the guard got her. She grunted as the sword gave her a glancing blow to the side. Glancing only because she was able to redirect the blade at the last second. For that she moved into his guard and drove her sword into his arm pit.

Shoving the guard away from her Pheynix grimaced as the movement pulled the wound. Wing beats and a menacingly deep and crackling roar echoed as dragon fire lit up the night in bright rose gold. The deep black dragon known as Cannibal for his choice of prey was illuminated and he moved like swift oil in the night reflecting a terrible poetry of a dark rainbow. A dark rainbow that was headed straight for them. “Oh shit.”

While his sister faced off with the surviving guards, Castor was slowly circling a fully armed Kingsguard Knight. Castor was giving deep breaths, to remain calm and prevent any emotions from taking over and giving the Knight an opening. He held his sword in a high ready stance, not quite the highest guard but enough to be the more defensive fighter. The Kingsguard was in plate and Castor was going to have to go for the kill with his knife or get a good stab through one of the unprotected areas. The man before him was larger as well and Castor would not be able to overpower him, this was going to be a battle of finesse and swordplay.

With a final circle of the fighting area the dance of blades began. Shadowfang was light in his hands and Castor felt the vibrations of the two swords clashing in his gloved fingers as castle forged professional steel met with the legendary Valyrian steel. The sound rang all around and mixed with the roar of a dragon. Both fighters, their blades met together, looked up and then at each other. The timetable of their fight moved quickly. Castor seemingly recovered first and struck a quick glancing blow to the Kingsguards helmet which started a hack and slash back and forth between the fighters that, despite their weapons, Castor made look like a true dance. His movements were crisp and true and he appeared to almost be floating. He was so quick. But three things happened in rapid succession. The first, was Castor losing his balance after parrying a savage blow fueled with fear and adrenaline from the Kinsguard. Castor was thrown back and his foot hit an uneven rock and twisted it badly causing him to fall and yell out in pain. The second thing that happened was that as Castor was flailing and falling his sword, as sharp as it was managed to slice and cut his opponent in the upper thigh, the Valyrian steel blade slicing through the unprotected clothing and the skin below like paper. And the third thing, was the great pools of blood from the slaughter had reached the edge of the rocks and began dripping down.

Screaming frantically at Fyresong to keep clear of Cannibal, the words practically unintelligible, Melyssanthi watched as Pheynix dropped to the ground and rolled away as dragon fire pierced the blackness of the night. The guard that was staggering on his feet went up in flames and was promptly eaten by Cannibal. The guards’ screams were swiftly silenced by a deeply disturbing crunch followed by a satisfied gurgle and terrifying growl that bordered on a chuckle as the black known as Cannibal landed. He turned his eye in the direction of where the clanging of swords and a sharp cry of pain came from.

Watching in horror time seemed too slow for Melyssanthi and though it was only seconds it felt like an eternity as the dragon let out a roar so loud she had to cover her ears. Then a gout of flame again shot forth this time she heard the pop and sizzle of metal, the smell of roasting meat making her gag. This time Cannibal was playing with his food since it was wearing armor.

“CASTOR!” All Pheynix saw, heard, smelt was the possibility that the beast was playing with her brother. Her world narrowed to the beast and the self satisfied gurgle almost like when a cat plays with a mouse as the dragon shook its head gently while bones popped, crunched and ground together. Climbing to her feet unsteadily Pheynix grasped the hilt of her sword in both hands groaning softly as it pulled at the wound in her side. She forced herself to breathe through the pain and to raise the sword higher as she felt Melyssanthi jerk her arm causing her to stumble then catch herself.

Rose gold flames split the night and traced alongside Cannibal as Fyresong caught the attention of the other dragon. Cannibal roared, half of the Kingsguard hanging out of his maw, the melted plate catching the light. Pheynix covered her eyes as Cannibal whipped the rain, that had trailed off to a misting, into stinging hard pins as he went after Fyresong.

“Don't worry Fyresong is swifter than even the Black Dread and since he is smaller he's more agile. He will lose Cannibal and come back for us. Thankfully we will have harnesses by then, but we must be quick.” Melyssanthi and Pheynix both went over to where Cannibal had been playing with his food only to see Castor on the ground.

It was always hard for a swordsman to admit defeat. It was easy for them to make excuses but Castor just stared up at the Kingsguard and even if things would've gone differently had he not twisted his ankle the result was that Castor's own wound wasn't instantly fatal in a battlefield scenario. A Knight on his back and unable to move was a dead Knight. But then, flames engulfed the Kingsguard and Castor's eyes widened even as he scrunched himself into a tight ball, as tight as possible in his outfit, and covered his face with his arms. He could hear his boiled leather… Boiling, and popping from the proximity and even from behind his arms, Castor felt his skin warming.

Any other would've undoubtedly been torched just from the proximity of the torrent of flames blowing over them but Castor's Valyrian lineage proved itself once again as his skin only warmed and turned slightly red. Which meant as his sister and the Targaryen came to check on him, Castor was unfurling and slowly getting to his feet, wincing as he put weight on his twisted and already swollen foot.

Reaching out to clasp her brother’s hand Pheynix had dropped her sword with a clatter. As she twinned their fingers together with one hand as she embraced him fully she leaned her forehead on his shoulder. “Lēkia. Issa prūmia bē morghūltan₁₂.” It was quite clear that the sword was secondary and the love the siblings shared ran deep. Tears leaked from Pheynix and she started to cry in earnest at the stress of the situation.

“I understand the gravity of the situation but we have to go. We're only halfway to the cavern. We still need to be harassed and to get all three of us into them. We have to go. Now.” Melyssanthi felt for the siblings but seeing them be able to embrace only made the fact that Aegon was gone worse for her. She had no comfort and it made the rage that lingered like a festering wound throb in time with her heartbeat.

She was not angry at them. No. Melyssanthi knew she was angry at those who had killed her brother and had taken advantage of her father’s love and death. Maegor. Visenya. Alys. Tyanna. The rage within her grew twisting around those names. Planning to strike with fire and blood.

So as Melyssanthi turned to start on the path to the cavern the rain finally cleared and the moon shone on a drenched woman where a half grown girl had stood. The childlike innocence had been burnt out by her rage and the events that brought her thus far. She let the siblings have their moment. She was not needlessly cruel and she knew they needed it. Both Pheynix and Castor had killed to keep her safe. No small requirement.

Pheynix sniffled as she gathered herself together. “Are you hurt?” She asked Castor her voice warbling, breaking softly as she did so. She needed to know that he was alright. She did not mention her wound, in fact hid the fact that she could feel the trickle of blood. If she was not already soaked and wearing black her whole shirt would be red and wet with it, at least her left side would be.

Castor let out a choked sob as he saw his sister and let her fuss over him a bit. He held her tightly and nodded as the Targaryen spoke. He knew they had to go but he had to take a moment. He smiled as Pheynix placed her head on his shoulder and shrugged his shoulders at her question. “I'll be fine, unless that Dragon comes back. We do have to move.” He tilted her chin up to him and smiled down at her. “Stay strong. Move fast. Fight together.” It was a mantra that had been taught to all the Rahl children by their father and was why no Rahl family member went anywhere alone. There were always two.

He then would begin moving as fast as his ankle would let him, his face determined and uncaring about the pain. His only objective was to keep moving and get to the cavern. To get Pheynix safe.

They moved swiftly despite their injuries since the uninjured Princess was leading the way and Pheynix was not going to offer up that they needed to slow due to her injury. She assisted her brother by taking his weight off his injured ankle. It pulled at her wound but she hid the pain behind humor. “Cass you're getting fat. I swear you've gained weight since Volantis. The captain might have to refigure the course back home.”

Castor was used to fighting through pain. None of his many instructors ever allowed injuries to stop their practice. Cass had simply been expected to get over it and fight through it. Survival didn't care about your pain, and survival was everything. He rarely used his sister, only occasionally giving some of his weight if they passed a particularly rocky area as he didn't want to fall and waste time. But all in all Cass felt they made good time at the cavern and he just rolled his eyes to Nix. “Pyx said the same thing as he was helping me get ready to save you. You two must become more original.”

“Just reinforces my statement. Pyx is smarter than most of us. So I will take the compliment.” Pheynix brushed over the saving part. He could not have known that it would go this way.

They had made it to the cavern. Melyssanthi ran in and gathered up three harnesses and passed two of them to the siblings. “It's pretty basic. Step in and pull up then pull up and over like a pack. The extra goes around the dragon and loops over itself. It secures but if you need to get off quick the ropes release easily. You can sleep in the harness and not fall off.” She took off Pheynix's cloak and stepped into her harness showing them how to tie them up.

Wing beats heralded Fyresong’s presence as he landed and burbled to Melyssanthi. “Yes you're a good boy and made sure that nasty dragon left us alone. Now we're going to go see Rhaena. But first this is Pheynix and Castor. We like them. No funny business tonight we have to leave.” A series of clicks and burbles along with a warbling sort of growl accompanied Melyssanthi's speech as if he were responding and possibly back talking to her. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I hear you. We can all hear you. Anyways, be nice and lean down here so they can get on.”

Grabbing the long ends of Pheynix's harness she looped them over and around Fyresong. “You're going in the middle, Nix. And Castor you're just behind her. I will be a little farther up.” She said as she quickly fastened the harnesses onto the dragon. She'd done it multiple times before so it was nothing new. “Climb on up.”

Pheynix watched in awe as Fyresong landed and smiled at the conversation Melyssanthi had with him. He had looked over her and her brother with a critical sapphire eye. Accepting them he allowed Melyssanthi to harness them to him. Pheynix climbed on and knew that Cassie was going to be jealous. “Cassie will kill us if we do not tell her everything. Down to what he smells like.” Melyssanthi showed her how to tighten and loosen the ties on the harness. As she turned to Castor and did the same Pheynix's vision narrowed.

Fighting to stay conscious and look like she wasn't going to pass out took everything Pheynix had. She'd lost more blood than she thought. She felt Castor climb on then Melyssanthi. As Fyresong lifted into the air Pheynix got dizzy but managed to fight back the blackness that threatened to engulf her.

Translations

• 1 - Shit! May the storm work for us or we are lost.
• 2 - We will not make the boat. Which way to your dragon?
• 3 - That is a foot of tide gone at a walk from the castle
• 4 - That is if he is there! He could be any where!
• 5 - Then we pray to the blood of Old Valyria in the mother tongue that he is there.
• 6 - Please, please, please by all Old Valyria let there be only two
• 7 - Can I know which one of you I speak to for this? Six of them and one that white fool?!
• 8 - Now run to your dragon
• 9 - Death comes quickly
• 10 - Melyssanthi bring your dragon
• 11 - Fly to me on quick winds!! Fly to me! Fly to me now!
• 12 - Brother. My heart almost died

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

Riverrun

The lands surrounding Riverrun

_{Collab with @Vanq, @Ruby, @Almalthia, @LadyRunic & @Thayr}

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Spring in the Riverlands meant mud, and this spring had yet to disappoint. The morning held a chill, and the slop of brown mud had made for a less than pleasant journey out, but the mood was still high regardless. Their father and Lord Paramount had ridden out days ago to visit Seagard and had intended to see Stone Hedge as well. That likely meant several more days to not slight their kin at Raventree Hall. Kin still, no matter that their cousin’s mother had died.

They rode south and east, preferring the flat lands off the Red Fork rather than the forests north of Riverrun. They rode for sport and to hunt, but it was not a serious day of it. It was a day, in the midst of too much tension, for the eldest offspring of House Tully to take advantage of the promise of spring.

They passed by an old farming village, one that looked too old to have been deserted from Harren the Red’s rebellion, perhaps it had been emptied during the conquest. Nature had reclaimed much of the wooden structures, but stonework stood true.

“As good as any place to rest the horses and have a bite to eat, don’t you think, m’lord..." Raulf halted his mare, and spoke with warm ribbing to his brother. Their father’s departure had been a tension relieved, but the second son knew that feeling would not last long. Yet another attempt to find him a wife. Still, that left Prentys to act in their father’s interests, and gave Raulf reason enough to try and keep him humble. He shifted in his saddle to catch Abigael’s attention with a dramatic wink. “Or perhaps m’lady thinks it better to push on for our prey..." He laughed easily, though it was not entirely genuine. There was still a tension to him, not just the reason for Rhobyn’s absence, but the news and rumors of the realm had set him on edge even more. “But I think Bensen will agree with me, right lad..." Their cousin, enough time spent with them that Raulf considered him his eldest younger brother.

The lady in question’s attention was drawn to her brother and with a singular raised russet eyebrow the expressive face of Abigael Tully seemed directly related to the question that she then asked. “And deprive us of this exquisite spring romp? I think not..." She niffed delicately as she pulled the massive blood bay stallion to a stop. He flicked his ears in annoyance. “There is naught back at the castle that needs my attention..." She motioned for one of her brothers; she considered Bensen a little brother rather than a cousin, to help her down. “If we are stopping you will not leave me on Balerion. You know I won’t be able to get down and it is rude! The ground is so very far away and my dress would tangle....."[/color] She tapered off pouting. She was a little thing and the stallion Balerion made her look even smaller. She looked down at the ground then at her brothers still pouting.

Truly if I wanted to I could get down on my own. I just don’t want to. Father probably went North to find Raulf another girl to humiliate. Eventually he will have to marry as will I. If Father harps after another Harroway boy after Elmo had that accident I will make life here hell. The Highgarden Heir is a good match and he’s handsome. Abigael’s attention came back to the present.

Bensen ran a hand through his shoulder-length locks, a deep exhale accompanying it all. She was right, he thought, there wasn’t anything back at the castle that really needed any of their attentions. At least, that’s as he saw it. For that matter, they all seemed to agree about stopping. The youngest of the bunch sighed melodramatically, playing far into it as he clambered down from his pony. “I suppose we ought to..." Of course, the ground did not help him as he landed, feet slipping from under him in the churned mud. The sound he made in falling was most unmanly.

“And here I liked this cloak..." he breathed out, cheeks red-hot in embarrassment as he laid for a moment before getting back up. Wiping the mud from his hands off on the outer ends of the cloak, Bensen looked up to the still-mounted lady. He flashed a rueful smile, still embarrassed over his fall. “Jump down, Abi. I’m sure my imprint has made the ground firmer for it..."

A gaggle of children were they, Prentys gave Raulf a stern raise of a reddish brow. “It will do as well as anywhere and were I the Lord, brother, you would find yourself married off quick as could be. Even if to a Frey..." For all the talk of marriage alliances was a serious matter and the Tully's were lacking in the next link of the Lordship after himself, the Heir to Riverrun had a tone of amusement. Humored by his brother's refusal to marry rather than their exasperated father.

Swinging out of the saddle, his blood bay tossing a head in relaxation, the man strode across the mud and soggy grass to pluck Abigael from the saddle. A tall man and built with the training of a knight, Prentys had thought it a shame he had not been sent to the Starks of Winterfell. So soon after the Conquest, it would have been impossible. The Lords needed to gain favor within their own realms, alliances were a thing for daughters when one had an excess. Not that Abigael was an excess, He thought wryly. She was his own sister and a jewel within herself. “There you go, Princess..." He teased her.

Raulf lowered himself smoothly, the splatter of mud completely missing his leggings. He rolled his eyes at the rest of them. “No one told you to bring a war steed to a picnic, Abi..." The criticism was delivered with forced harshness through his easy smile. Had Prentys not moved to her rescue so quickly, he would have been there to free her from her self-inflicted distress. Why their father had let her claim that beast as her own…well, it wasn’t anything for Raulf to complain about.

He groaned inwardly at his eldest brother’s jest. His reluctance to marry or agree on a match was not well hidden within the family, no matter the excuses offered externally. “Not all of us can be blessed with a wife like Lucinda..." He didn’t necessarily dislike his sister by law, but she was far too pious for his tastes. “Have a son and this talk of marriage can be put to rest at last..."

The talk of marriage was too much to continue engaging, instead, he went to Bensen and looked him over. “A good thing we didn’t bring any other ladies to see your dismount..." He chuckled, “or hear whatever sound that was. Sevens, cus, do you scream that way with the practice swords and I’ve just never noticed..." Raulf wasn’t one to talk, he’d barely gotten more praise than well that wasn’t the worst you’ve done, boy.

The smile that Abigael gave her big brother Prentys was like sunshine from behind clouds. Her expression was one of joy as she was called Princess. “My husband shall have a lot to live up to since my brothers spoil me..." She giggled and hugged her brother for a moment. Letting go she caught Balerion’s bridle and secured it so he didn’t wander. The dress she had chosen was cut in a square neckline and had fitted sleeves. It was a river blue with shots of crimson embroidery trailing throughout it like thin veins. It was fitted to Abigael’s small hourglass shape and the skirts just brushed the ground as she took care to lift them out of the mud. Dew transfer to the dress was acceptable but cold slimy mud was not.

Positioning herself on the grass Abigael looked over at Raulf. “Raulf don't squabble, you know Balerion would get out and cause problems if I left him. It's not his fault he thinks I'm his lady. Speaking of ladies, Lucinda didn't want to join us today, Prentys? Is she alright? Bensen darling you missed a spot just here..." She pointed to the gloves she had on and to the palm near the outside of her thumb.

Bensen looked just a tad crestfallen at the mention of ladies or, indeed, him making such sounds at practice. The idea of them hearing such a noise was embarrassing, but the idea of such a noise reaching into the ears of every Riverlands lady was unbearable. Of course they hadn’t heard him make such noises when practicing swords; the reason was embarrassing too, as he frankly barely had ever done so after father had…gone. Things to fix, things to fix. Things for now to forget to be more precise. He cast a look at Raulf, smiling slightly. "Small wonders that we didn't consider bringing any. I didn’t know there were any in mind..."

Missed a spot? He didn't even bother to check, just wiping his hands even more vigorously on the poor cloak.

Prentys shook his head, his mane of red hair swaying about a weathered face. The eldest of the lot and as such there was the position as the Lord's heir to uphold. Which Abigael, well intending as she was, made difficult with matters he wished to leave in his chambers. “I fear I offended My Lady, when I did not denounce Maegor for his attempt to be king..." There was steel in his gaze as he looked over his brother, sister and cousin in turn. Too soon they would go out into the world and he did not want some ill fate to befall them. “These words will not bear repeating. Well you know I heed the teachings of the Seven and of the piousness of my wife. Yet, there is a time and a place. Speaking too openly or with fervor on matters so great that concern the Targaryens? Abi, do you remember seeing Harrenhal, and that castle is newly built when all is said..." He gave a very pointed look to his sister and brother.

“Lucinda would have me denounce the marriage of brother and siblings and the upstart of marrying more than one wife. With my sword and the Faith as my shield..."

Prentys was one to bring things back to depressing reality. Still, Raulf gently ribbed Bensen with his elbow and lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s always ladies, or so I hear. Just don’t let his wife find out..." He nodded back to the eldest with a final wink. Another thing that he wouldn’t be one to talk about. He put on a good enough display of things, but he hadn’t chased after a skirt since he was younger than Bensen was now.

“Do we have to ruin this glorious, muddy, spring day with talk of this again brother..." The look he gave was harder than his tone. No one could actually ignore what went on, nor could they hide from how it might affect them. “Lucky for you all, I planned ahead, or planned for the worst if we didn’t catch sight of anything worth hunting..." He stomped back to his horse and the packs he had filled before the sun had risen at all that day. Skins of wine too good for their expedition, hard cheeses, cured meat, dried fruits. He grabbed a wine skin and held it out for them to see. “A drink first, that whatever madness is elsewhere in the realm, we are left alone to our mud..."

"He is obliged to talk of the Faith on any day. Lucinda would be displeased any other way..." Bensen frowned as he spoke not so loud, still wiping away at the mud on his hands crouched over. He had barely seen the glare given by Raulf, straightening up with a sigh as he'd finally been satisfied that the mud was off his hands. The cloak, rough as it was, just needed to be let dry before he'd wipe it away. It was thick wool, durable enough the young Tully was sure.

Eying the goods that Raulf had brought, Bensen smiled again. He truly had looked ahead, best or worst, and the gradual hole in his stomach made itself even more known than before. The hard cheese, especially, was enticing. Sucking at his tooth appreciatively, he nodded even as he was unsure exactly on what Bensen should say for it. After all, the eldest did not seem in too jovial a mood.

Looking up at her eldest brother Abigael scrunched her nose adorably. “Really Pren? Must you bring up that cursed place and be so serious? We are allowed to have some fun aren’t we? I don’t want to talk about who’s doing what and make it a lesson. I want to have fun and not think about what lies beyond the moment. I do enough of that..." She smirked and picked her way over to Raulf and snatched the wineskin from him. “I’d much rather extol the virtues of the fictitious man I wish to marry. Raulf and Benji can join me. They can tell us what virtues their wives should have and then we can take the qualifications to Father. Up for the challenge boys..."

Shrugging off the hard look from Raulf, the eldest of the Tullys gave his younger brother a rueful shrug. Realities were realities and he, unlike they, shouldered a burden of being the heir. He could never just forget where he stood or what he was. “Yes, I must. Else if I do not bring up the Faith at least one per outing my wife will hear tell of it and I shall find Riverrun a cold place..." It was half a jest as he collected some of the dried fruits from his brother. “But I already know what virtues Raulf desires. A beautiful woman. One who is not so serious..." He teased his brother with a slight smile. “For you Abi? A knight well placed to be a Lord and a kind hearted..."

“Kind hearted isn’t such a surprising thing..." Bensen ventured, his nervousness in the statements gradually bleeding away as the young Tully continued. “If anyone wanted something else, they’d be odd. She’d want someone who would listen, take heed, someone who…you know? Talked. Had actual conversations. Those seem rare enough for her..." He would choose a piece of cured meat instead, gnawing on it for just a moment as though in contemplation. It was quite good, all things considered, and Bensen tried asking the question to himself. What did he want? It wasn’t something he had ventured much before, not as far as putting down the thoughts in a list as though ordering goods from a quartermaster, though the Tully found that he could probably imagine such a lady. The only ones who truly struck him so were the Reeds, maybe, or even some of the Northern women. He couldn’t say that he knew any Riverlanders or Reachmen who would hunt or fish or walk by his side. He chewed some more. It wasn’t something he could quite say aloud, at least not in front of Prentys. He’d criticize just as much as his wife would.

“The Dornish would fit that bill quite well, for Raulf. Beautiful, who aren’t serious..." He chuckled at the imaginary sight of him bringing such a lady into court, the faces of those others who would be aghast by it.

His brow arched upwards at the astuteness his cousin displayed, at least as far as Abi was concerned. If he’d had any interest in marriage, perhaps the Dornish would be his best bet, he thought and a rueful smile unintentionally flickered across his lips. The fame - infamy, depending on who you asked - of a Dornish woman was well known enough. Perhaps if he wanted to really annoy his father he’d raise the suggestion when presented with another poor woman to be intended.

Raulf frowned at the wine no longer being in his hand and held it outstretched to his sister. “Abi apparently needs a husband who will let her do as she wishes, when she wishes, how she wishes, hm..." Seeing the skin not returned quickly enough he tried to give her a sad, pitiful look. “And she hopefully won’t let him die for lack of drink..." He curled his fingers more insistently that it be returned to him.

“Beautiful women can be found in paintings and stories, why settle down and never have a moment’s peace again..." He knew there were rumors about him, but he had never been foolish enough to give those rumors teeth. “It will be better for me to be clear-headed as I advise you into our elderly years, Prentys. What would you do without me..."

He sauntered over and threw an arm around their eldest brother’s shoulder and leaned in with a loud whisper. “Now can you make our favorite sister give me back the wine..."

Pulling on the wineskin again Abigael took a long draw making a satisfied lip smacking sound afterwards. She made it annoyingly loud to gain attention. “I am everyone's favorite sister. And I am helping you practice being clear headed. As for my husband, an entirely biddable husband is a boring husband..." She smirked and gave the wine to Bensen. “I, dear brothers, I want passion. I want romance… and I want him to be pleasing to the eye as well as the heart. He doesn't have to let me win all the time, just the important times..."

A little belch crept out and Abigael covered it with the back of her hand, her eyes twinkling. “And I want out of the Riverlands. Highgarden is nice this time of year..." She hinted her preference then thought she had better be a little more obvious. “As in the Tyrell heir. I mean we are the Paramount seat in the Riverlands, why not align with the Paramount seat of the Reach..." She reached for a piece of fruit and nibbled as she watched her brothers’ reactions.

“Highgarden..." Raulf chuckled even if hearing his sister speak about passion made him wonder what sort of terrible poetry or stories she’d found a bard to tell her lately. “What was wrong with the Arryn boy who came through here a few years ago, too young for your tastes? Or are you afraid of heights maybe..." It wouldn’t have been the worst of political arrangements. He had softly suggested it to their father, why else was the lad touring the realm if not to shore up the fledgling line of an ancient family? A shame the boy hadn’t been adept at matters. Pleasant, and perhaps pleasing to the eyes, though it seemed he and his sister did not share taste in men.

Taking the wineskin, Bensen delivered a long look at the sister, eyes just a bit humored at the image. It was funny, yeah, though seeing her off to the Reach would be a strange loss he thought. Taking a quick swig before proffering the thing to Raulf, the young Tully exclaimed, "If Prentys can't talk of the Faith, we oughtn't talk of politics lest Father decide the Starks are a good fit to you, Abi. Off to Winterfell you'd go, and never another summer you'd see. As for the Arryn, I'm sure there are too many rocky hills for your tastes there..."

Arching an eyebrow at the mention of the Arryns. Abigael paused and then it came to her. “Oh the delicate blonde man with the repressed attitude about women..." She snagged her gloves off her hands and tapped them on her thigh. “A bird may love a fish, but where would they live? Besides that he lacked the manners the Seven or the Old Gods gave a goose. That is a lot of work dear brother for a pretty husband..."

Leaning against a tree, Prentys shook his head. “A good thing then that your first betrothal fell through with the Harroways if you want out of the Riverlands..." He commented, a hand reaching for the wine skin with a raised brow towards Raulf. “That lad… Elmo? Hardly talked and as dusty as a book..." Considering Raulf he nodded more to himself. “And a Dornish woman for you would do well..."

Putting a hand on her hip Abigael slapped her thigh lightly with her gloves. “Elmo. Yes. Well at least father listened to me about not keeping that betrothal after the accident..." She sighed and shook her head. “Truly sad what happened, but the place is cursed. I was not going to get passed to his younger brother. Arryn would have been a better choice than a boy still clutching apron strings..." She was still affronted that they had offered to substitute another for her to have someone ‘whole’. She had thought Elmo was a good person and a nice friend but no more than that. Elmo was not passionate nor romantic, rather Elmo was very cool and polite. She was almost sure that he had no romantic feelings for her than he had for his sister. If she was wrong she’d never seen evidence to change her opinion.

“I think we should be touring the lands. Checking out alliances that could be made. Father needs to let us swim a little..." Abigael pushed her long curly hair out of her face and sighed heavily. She chafed under the confines of her father’s love. It was like a warm soothing blanket that was weighted down with responsibilities that she wanted to cast aside.

Raulf thought on it for a moment, his sister was not wrong and he cast a look at Prentys. Perhaps their father had kept Abi too close to Riverrun, too safely tucked away. He brushed aside the comments about how fitting anyone would be for him. “No matter your thoughts on the Arryn boy or that poor Harroway, you’re not wrong about touring the lands, don’t you think, Pren? Maybe even get our cousin properly introduced..." Please, he thought, a few months away to escort them around would be good for him, a focus on those two was less on him.

The heir to the Riverlands considered the idea of his sister and brother. A touring of the lands would be no bad thing. Letting the lords see and know him, find spouses and alliances for his siblings. Perhaps give Lucinda time to consider his way of thinking. They had been together for well over ten years, rarely apart during that time. “No, it is a good idea and one I would be more than interested in joining in. Letting the Lords see my face and know of me before I replace father would be no bad thing..." Prentys agreed.

The horse was given a mix of what he could find; carrots, mostly, with an apple to finish. He, himself, had feasted on duck he had hunted down at the small creek, not far from the memory of what used to be a village in the Riverlands. Before he succumbed to sleep, he ensured the fire was out, and covered with dirt. The horse he left inside the remains of a home, wooden timber, with half the roof missing, but the horse was unlikely to mind that.

He, himself, took the crawl space of the home. A bedroll and his dark coat rolled up to his head were more than he needed to fall asleep. The next morning, he was quick to pack and prepare to be off, but breaking his fast was the priority. There was some duck left, but an assortment of berries and nuts were his prize for the early part of the day.

He waited to leave, and partly out of necessity; his mind ran, and ran, and ran. It was a matter of wheels within wheels; opening a door just to find another door, surrounded by maze and mystery—where was she? Was she safe? What was she? Was she some witch? Was she some manifestation of divine will? Did such a thing exist?

He believed she saw what she saw. Was she simply mad? Was there more to it? Some questions, dark and dangerous as it felt, he knew the answers to…even if he still asked them as part of him pretended, he did not. Other questions, he just asked himself, again and again. By the time he finally readied the horse, he heard noises. The remains of the village allowed him caution and plenty of options for a careful, hidden, approach.

He had a good look, and he liked not at all what he saw: high born, obviously, without any visible guard. Speaking of madness… It took him a few moments to retreat, silently, from the remains of a granary, to come around the building to its front, to within sight. His blade was obvious upon his hip, his voice lower than normal, as if he hadn’t spoken to a soul in days.

“Do you think it wise to linger in abandoned places without guard..."

Turning pleading eyes to her oldest brother Abigael fluttered her eyelashes to get him to laugh. The boys all laughed when she hammed it up and she found that laughter was the best equalizer. Laughter would get you into and out of more places than trying force. Besides that she was a tiny little thing and force didn’t really work. The attempt to lighten the mood was torn apart as she heard a soft gruff voice and froze for a moment. Indeed they had not come with a guard. She trusted her brothers to protect her. Perhaps that was a foolish mistake.

Stepping behind her brothers, Abigael clicked softly to bring Balerion closer. Looking around as if the sudden idyllic countryside that was so pleasant moments ago hid villains behind every tree, bush and burn. Abigael pressed back into Balerion, her eyes flicking back and forth. The horse shivered as his mistress’ disquiet bled into him from her diminutive hand upon his neck and to his withers. Balerion’s ears flicked and his nostrils flared taking in a deep breath.

Abigael rationalized that if this man was indeed not alone, as he seemed, then it would not be smart for them to not harm her. It was a gamble but she took it as she tapped Balerion’s shoulder, her signal for him to bow so she could climb on. Balerion blew out the deep breath he had taken then dipped and with a swift movement Abigael climbed into the side saddle. Balerion felt her full weight and straightened as she settled. Ears flicking Balerion snorted and danced with the extra energy of the tension that you could cut with a knife.

“Steady..." Abigael’s voice was soft, melodious, rich and contrary to her slight frame. The level calm belied the apprehensiveness that kept Balerion twitching. She knew that she would need to compose herself to soothe Balerion even the slightest. In testament to the sheer amount of willpower she had Abigael stuffed most of the fear into a box.

“A little fear keeps you sharp. But not so much that it cripples you girl..." Abigael recalled her Uncle saying when they had gone on her first hunt.

Balerion danced as Abigael calmed and his large hooves sucked and spattered the mud as she brought him under control then relaxed. The ingénue and beast both relax as they eye the newcomer with interest. Curiosity winning out over fear Balerion shifts closer to the man as Abigael tips her head letting Balerion have his head the reigns loose. Ears forward Balerion stretches his neck out then takes a small step.

Her study of the man roamed his person intensely and with a curiosity that was immeasurable, such was the largest flaw in Abigael, her curiosity. His clothing was well made and dark; the sword at his hip had a lion on the hilt. He was road weary and it showed in his tousled shoulder length sable hair. Echoed by the stubble that graced his cheeks and the husky tone of his voice. “Bennie hand the wineskin to the man from Casterly Rock. He sounds like he needs it to clear the road from his throat. Raulf, is there salt in there? We should welcome him with hospitality..." She relaxed more as she blinked at Balerion nudging the stranger’s shoulder. “He normally doesn’t take that quickly to people..."

“A man from the West..." Prentys's brows were drawn together for three had been little but bad news from Casterly Rock. The death of Aegon chief among them. The laughter and smiles from moments ago cast aside as he considered this stranger. That the war horse took to him was noted as he gave a nod to Raulf in agreement with their sister. “You are a long way from Casterly Rock, stranger. Come drink and feast with us and tell us what has you looking so haggard on the road?. I've heard many a tale come about the Lannisters from out if the west..."

Raulf undid the ties that held the bag to his horse. It had been an error to stop and chat without even a moment to determine that they were alone. It wasn’t the first time they had all gone off on their own, not something they made many aware of, but they’d never run across more than a scattering of smallfolk. Not someone like this man. Abi - maybe Balerion moreso - had a good read on people. He was not fully relaxed, but his body was loose and he quickly returned the easy-going smile he saved for those he hoped to charm.

“I cannot promise a feast but salted meat, a hunk of bread, and a long drink from that wineskin will do you good..." He offered the bag, open, towards the older man. He did not look like a Lannister of any kind, perhaps a guard? With the news out of the Westerlands, Raulf wouldn’t be surprised if a man had had enough and looked to make his own way.

“I’m good with animals..." was his only response to the comment about her horse, detached and gentle, as he gave the beast a casual scratch and friendly few pats before turning his attention to the others. All Keano heard was further madness and a desperation for news. At least he could understand the latter, while the former just left him staring at them in partial disbelief.

Had the past fortnight not been strange, he might have had a hard time believing the group before him now. “The blade was a gift from my former employer, Lorelai of House Lannister. Her eldest brother, Loreon, returned from adventuring in Essos. He brought Essosi gods with him, Aegon died at the hands of smallfolk....."

He trailed, thinking he saw on their faces an untrustable hope, but his mind played on with the fringe Westerosi empty village, and he became convinced there had to be a simpler explanation. On their clothes he found creases indicating folds, the kind of thing that drew him in like a backwards attraction, like a chatter of endless secrets and pretentious quips. It seemed as useful to him as throwing stones at the sky. Suddenly he saw it all again; wild eyes, streaking colors, blurred by the blood, and a half-moon over the bay that threatened with pale light—within the blink of his eyes, it all changed: back to the nobility around him, back to the village, back to the present.

“Lord Tytos, uncle of the old King’s children, sent an assassin to kill his niece, Lady Lorelai. By the time the morning star found the Rock, Tytos was dead, Lorelai believed dead....." His eyes found the horses, as the tips of his ungloved fingers traced the lines of the war horse’s lower jaw, lost in it, “I told her to run. I told her to run and never look back. The Three-Eyed Raven would find her, I hoped…I hope, still..."

By the time he quit speaking, the words were nothing more than haunted whispers. Without questioning why, he spoke again, clearer, harder, “The city was rioting when I left. My oath was to her, not her family. The Reach talks of two great hosts; one for the King, one for the Faith, marching to King’s Landing. The High Marshall of the Reach is either dead, or lost, whichever tale you’d want to believe. Vaera Balaerys stalks the mountains of the Westerlands with her dragon, like she’s searching for a homeland, guiding another lost dragon like some secret Valyrian flying host on the march to Casterly Rock, where her old adventuring companion resides as Lord of the Rock..."

He paused, before looking up at the girl before, and shrugging, speaking past her, “No feast. No food. Get out of here. The shadows have cracked, and they’ve started to creep across this entire land. War. Others. The ice is getting thinner…you’re not safe..." he said, staring into the eyes of the woman on the horse, but his mind far away, “and I can’t protect you anymore....." He took a single step back, blinked, and turned away. It was time to go.

Thoughts churned in Abigael’s mind. Lorelai? Assassination attempt? By her Uncle who is now dead? Essosi gods? Aegon dead? Three-Eyed Raven? Questions round and round spun like an ash seed in the autumn winds.

Almost disoriented, a chill ran a painfully slow trail down Abigael’s spine at the fall of words in raspy haunting whispers. The air seemed to still and the forest held its breath to better hear what this man had to say. Riots. Armies marching to King’s Landing. Dragons in the Westerlands. But when her river blue eyes met his warm hazelnut brown ones, and he spoke to her and beyond her. Her eyes widened as he warned them, no her, that she wasn't safe and that he couldn't protect her anymore. That familiar chill crept over her from head to toe.

Balerion knickered as the man turned as if to call him back and say he wasn't done getting petted. “Shush you needy thing. You act like I don't love you enough..." Abigael leaned forward in the saddle as the man turned to go. “Wait. Surely you at least need supplies before you go wherever you're going? Would you deny me at least that courtesy since you have declined my hospitality? Or you can consider it a payment for information shared..."

He shook his head in disbelief, followed by fear, and then anger. Raulf preferred to settle things with a smile, well placed suggestions, or brute charm. But whatever nonsense spilled out of this man’s mouth was simply that and nothing to be entertained. Particularly not to be entertained by his sister. What had they been thinking - at least the man was right on that much. “Abigael..." He spoke her name, a warning, a plea. He closed the bag and tucked it under his arm, backing away slowly, and not just to ensure he did not trip himself in the mud. “Bensen, on your horse too..." He wouldn’t order Prentys around, but he caught his brother’s eyes and gave a firm nod.

He turned the words over in mind, to not lose them, to be able to recall them later and parse what was real and what was the ramblings of a clearly mad man. “It’s time we returned home, the mud is too much for a hunt today..."

Shooting her brother a frown at his tone Abigael opened her mouth to retort only to growl softly as Raulf started to order them around. “Bensen belay that..." Her tone was tart and not quiet. She turned back to Raulf, eyes narrowed and the leash she had on her temper starting to rend. She upbraided her brother stridently. “Raulf I said as much when we set out this morn but you talked me into it. How is it now that we have something..." She paused searching for the word. “Riveting, that you want to turn and head for home? Do the deer, or whatever it was we are after care that it is muddy..." Her acerbic tone was one that she used when she thought someone was being particularly oafish.

Nudging Balerion with her knees Abigael and the warhorse danced around her brothers closer to the man from the Westerlands. The verisimilitude of the traveler made her want to know if it was from visions or reality. Visions could be interpreted just like in tales of old. Why else had three Valyrian families moved from such a rich enchanting place to the cold shores of Westeros? Besides that Abigael was burning to know what had happened to Aegon, Rhaena, and Lorelai. It was as if the story wasn’t even half told and Father was telling her that she had to go to sleep and hear the rest tomorrow.

Bensen stared, stock-still for the most part, and the events laid themselves out before his very eyes. His hand had drifted close to his belt, the dirk there fairly comforting compared even to the blade that the stranger wore. There were many things fairly disconcerting about the man and what he was saying, the whole of it, not to mention the way he was saying it. He wasn't well, that was sure enough, he wasn't well and what he was saying wasn't well. Three Eyed Ravens…Bensen could vaguely grasp at what precisely that was, but only just. He stared still.

Raulf's words broke his frozen form, taking a few steps backwards before Abigael countermanded such. She talked about deer and not caring, the words seeming to just pass over here. "We…we ought to tell people, though, oughtn't we? To send ravens and confirm what was just said. The deaths and…and the Reach..."

“No..." The words were hard from Prentys as he moved to his horse and mounted, giving Bensen a hard look. “If we tell the people it can and will start a panic. A panic right now with enough upheaval, cousin, will cause trouble for all. A monarch and his heir dead, a succession cast between uncle and nephew..." The man shook his head. “I shall inquire and quietly..." He assured the man, resting a steadying hand on the lad. “And get word to Father..."

Despite himself, Keano had stopped when the girl spoke up. Then he turned to look at the one who’d been quiet, but suddenly spoke to question what they ought to do. When the one who spoke with the arrogance of authority spoke up, he actually felt himself smile, even as his mind drifted down the dirt road that led into the broken, forgotten, memory of a village. With his eyes in quick pursuit of his mind, he saw it, first, and audibly sighed. “Think you missed your chance for quiet. Good luck..."

Keano walked back between buildings, with a quickness that wasn’t there before, as the golden rose of Highgarden, on a green grass field, appeared dancing at a distance in the spring sky—a distance that was closing fast with the cloud of dust and dirt behind it. When the cloud got closer, still, it appeared in truer form: two ranks of horse, with a single horse at the fore, black and big and strong, with a rider upon it that was tall, slender, dark haired, and big brown eyed. A handsome man wrapped in the leathers and cloaks and fastenings of the highest level of nobility.

As they entered the remains of the village, the two ranks spread out, fast and hard they rode, as if daring anyone a horse to turn rein and make a run, encircling them immediately if they didn’t, spears out. Each in the green leather and chainmail, with the golden cloaks pinned by golden roses about their collarbones. Knights of the Reach.

The slender lord upon the black courser slowly trotted towards to complete the encirclement, his eyes not on the group, but the one: the one with the red hair, and the blue and crimson wrapped upon her form. His courser drew closer, and then when it would be appropriate to stop, the lord drew it closer still. Closer they came, the deeper the depths his eyes seemed to find in her own, until before either of them knew it…he was close enough to reach out, and offer his hand, palm up.

It was as if the others didn’t exist, for that fleeting, fading, moment in time. “Lord Bertrand of House Tyrell…which Lady Tully are you, I wonder..." He said it smiling, his voice as steady and stern as it was ready to lower its defenses, and show warmth.

Gritting her teeth Abigael knew to have all of them against her was not to get her way. She hated not getting her way, always had. True that age tempered such things, as well as the brothers learning that they could tell her no. That had always rankled as each one when they got older stood up to her. Until she turned on the water works. Tears worked but Abigael found them hard to work with unless she was truly frustrated, deeply angry or hurt. She opened her mouth to again follow up Bensen’s comment only to snap it shut because Prentys just had to pipe up as well.

Rolling her eyes up to the heavens and caught a bright flutter in the distance. Focused on the object she saw the standard of Highgarden and blinked. Was this a daydream? Was she wool gathering and really still in her solar working on her needle point?

As they were encircled by Knights of the Reach, Highgarden to be exact, Abigael had only eyes for the man statuesque, lean, dark of hair and eye. Her breath held as he rode closer lost in his eyes as he came closer than appropriate. So close that she could tell his eyes were thickly lashed and deep pools of warm shadow. She blushed prettily as she put her hand in his. His voice was rich like mulled wine on a cold winter day.

Tongue darting out to wet her lips in a nervous gesture Abigael answered the man she had not only been just talking about but had been imagining meeting. Reality was trumping anything she could have imagined. “Then wonder no longer Lord Bertrand. I am Abigael Tully, first born daughter of Lord Rhobyn and Lady Gewlia Tully. Welcome to Riverrun or almost Riverrun. I am appalled that I was unaware of your visit..." She smiled with delight, making her river blue eyes sparkle.

“As were we all..." The cool voice of Prentys was glacier water over rocks. “We had no raven that you or your men were passing through Lord Bertrand..." A man from a house of stewards, for all that Aegon the Conqueror had raised them to the position of Lord Paramonts. At least the Tullys had been Lords among the Riverlands. “Ser Prentys Tully, Heir the Riverrun. My brother, Ser Raulf Tully. Our cousin, Bensen Tully..." His horse shifted under his directive, to politely draw close to his sister and this uppity young Lord. Mannerless cur. “Tell me, why do the Highgarden pass through with a group of Reach men and no word to the Lord nor his heir? I would think the raven perhaps went astray..." Kneeing his mount closer to Balerion, he neatly inserted himself between the two, a stern frown upon a proud face.

Bensen sighed internally as the situation grew even more odd, Reach men-at-arms suddenly left and right, the rose on their banners, and the man before them was named. Abi, being as she was, seemed to instantly be infatuated, Bensen bowed his head and shifted his hand from his belt when introduced, and Prentys per usual was exceptionally severe. He breathed out audibly too, trying to just exhale out all the stress and things and sheer stuff that seemed to be thrown his way. There was, as far as Bensen could tell, simply too much. He didn't say much, though, simply mounting his own pony as Prentys seemed to ask pertinent questions.

He blinked, as if he must be lost. His bright, brown, eyes darted this way, then that, up upon the eastern sky, then the western. Finally, his jaw set, and his head gave a quick, hard, shake, as the edge of a jape hid just beyond the ridge of his tone, “I don’t…SEE castle walls…have I come asking for guest rights..."

Then, suddenly, he turned his attention back to the lordling and smiled the smile of a young man that was wont to give into his impulses, with every means available within the Seven Kingdoms in which to indulge them. It was easy, casual, and full of a life it seemed the Tully lord before him would never see dawn upon the horizon of his own life.

Bertie felt sadness for the man. “We travel on business of my own, passing through your fine lands of rivers and fine villages….my sister would like you, I think..." he said, gratified, amused, and turning his attention to the Lady once more, “…I do apologize for the interruption. We thought you all might be in danger..."

“You all, and the spy that left your presence as we approached..." the voice that spoke was hard, booming, like a thunderclap in a narrow canyon. He was the largest man of them all, including the Tully, with the hard look of a warrior.

Without looking away form her, Bertrand raised an arm in the direction of the large man that spoke, “Lord and Knight, Ser Dennet Tarly of Horn Hill. Not his first time to the Riverlands, though, is that correct Dennet..."

“I was with the High Marshall of the Reach, Lady Vittoria, as we cleansed the Riverlands of Harren the Red..."

As if he was sharing a deep secret, Bertrand leaned towards the Lady Tully and whispered, “I’ve learned to be proud of my little sister. BUT..." he pivoted, voice loud enough in a snap for all to hear, as he addressed them all now, looking between the Riverlads, “King’s Landing was a little warm, with the new King Maegar and the Faith Militant about to light the city AFLAME, I tell you, as they battle each other for…….I don’t know what, actually, I stopped paying attention when it became clear violence was in the air..."

Then, once more, Bertrand smiled a near grin at the Lady Tully, “Shall my Knights and I escort you home, M’Lady? Never know what dangers lurk....."

The faux pas that Abigael made about assuming he was there to possibly see her made her blush hotly. At least she hadn’t come right out and assumed he was there to see her. She didn’t know what to make about the comment of his sister would like her brother. Prentys was so serious… but that might appeal to some. She loved her brother but she wasn’t sure she understood him.

Abigael blinked as Bertrand said that he thought she might have been in danger. She swallowed and slowly opened her full mouth about to answer him as the booming voice of Ser Dennet Tarly rang out like the peel of thunder and she jumped slightly. Balerion tossed his head and flattened his ears back toward her. “Steady Balerion..." She murmured as she barely looked at her beloved warhorse and even the booming voice couldn’t pull her eyes from the deep pools of shadow that held her enthralled. When he pointed she nodded, a meer dip of her chin. As he leaned in she gravitated toward him and smiled as he admitted his pride in his sister.

As he pivoted Abigael let her eyes move over his thick sable hair and caressed his shoulders. She barely resisted the urge to touch him. When he smiled at her asking if he could escort her home she didn’t hesitate. “I would be honored to have such an escort, M'Lord..."

“Abigael..." Prentys gave his sister a disapproving look, before directing a far more polite nod of his head to Dennet Tarly rather than the introduction he gave to Bertrand. “Lord Bertrand, we would gladly see you to the castle proper, as opposed to the lands on which. You, Highgardeners, should be well aware the lands of a castle extends beyond it’s wall.Your sister does a fine job as a commander, a credit to… your family..." His words not even honor Bertrand with the notion that his family was a House within themselves. Turning his mount, he placed a large hand behind Abigael’s back. Urging her to come as well. “Come along, sister..."

The buzz of her brother’s words rang like a fly round her head. Annoying. His snarky attitude made her shameful and angry that he behaved that way. “I apologize for my brother’s unconscionable snobbish behavior. I can only attribute it to the fact that I'm his darling little sister. Though I don't normally get as much attention. You must be weary from your journey. Please take a moment with us to relax..." She smiled brightly with a hint of chagrin.

Seven, so much for a day of fun. And Prentys, no matter his strongsuits, was now displaying his flaws. Raulf groaned inwardly, he wouldn’t be able to leave his brother alone for a single minute where diplomacy was needed. So much for that flight of fancy of taking Abigael and Bensen on a tour of the houses. Then again, if there truly was that much unrest afoot, it was a terrible idea regardless. Trapped in the Riverlands, a true enough story for any other time in their family history. “Well, I would also be appreciative of an escort back..." He spoke at last, having mounted his horse. He avoided trying to give Prentys a disapproving look; it would be wasted. Abigael needed one as well, but she would take it as a challenge no doubt. Their cousin was the only other one with a head on his shoulders at the moment it seemed.

“Good timing for us to make such an error as to travel alone. Our father..." and surely Abigael too, though he wouldn’t be so brash as to say it aloud, “would have never forgiven us if we had let the heir to Highgarden avoid a visit. Though, I can understand not wanting to be waylaid in the Riverlands…again..." He nodded in recognition of the sacrifices made in clearing their lands of that rebellion. “Still, Lord Tully is unlikely to return in time to meet you himself, so please, at least stay for a night of food and rest before you return to whatever duty calls you..."

“Don’t you look at me, you shit..." The anger came cold from Lord Tarly, voice as far from rising as it was close to dangerous, but it came all the same to the Tully Lord, “you look at him..." he said, pointing to Bertrand, “he’s your kind. Not me. I’m the kind who lost brothers fighting a fight your family couldn’t. They’re buried down that road, a road I’ll travel any fucking time I want..."

A beat of silence, a few beats of hearts, and Dennet nodded to Abigael. “My apologies you had to hear that, Lady Abigael..."

Bertrand’s face steeled. “Go on, take half, finish the job. Circle back and we’ll meet up..."

Dennet’s eyes weren’t hot flicks of blackened brown, but near empty vessels drained of the fire from before. That was the power of the Heir to Highgarden, and Bertrand knew it was the only thing that kept Lord Tarly from darker words, or actions, still. When half of the Knights begun to trot out, Tarly included, Bertrand gave a belated sigh, and looked back to the Tully Lady, though his words were meant for the rest of them, “I don’t think insults were the greater part of wisdom there, but let’s move on, Lords and Lady. I’ve heard great things about Riverrun, and would be honored to escort you all home and partake in your generous offer..."
His smile was real, but that, as his father had said before, was the thing about Bertrand…his smiles were always real, it’s just no one could ever seem to figure out what they meant. To Abigael his gaze softened, and his voice lowered to a private volume. “Would you please ride with me along the way? I’d like to get to know you, and tomorrow is never promised..."

Mortified! If only the earth would swallow me whole! I will make Prentys regret every letter of every word he just said! Our grandfather and father are no better than the Tyrell House! Abigael’s thoughts raced as Ser Dennet Tarly snapped her brother’s words off and fed them back to him cold and angry. Abigael glowered at Prentys, her eyes promising swift unrelenting retribution to be delivered with an alacrity that would make the dragons on Dragonstone jealous. Abigael moved away from Prentys’ hand on her back closer to Bertrand.

Acknowledging Ser Dennet with a deep look of contrition hoping she got her point across as she smoothly attempted to soothe tempers. Abigael made sure that she made eye contact with all the Knights, earnest apology in her eyes. Hearing Bertrand address Ser Dennet about a job to finish she tucked that information away. Balerion shifted stamping, impatient to get moving back to home. “If you bolt and make this humiliation complete, no carrots or apples for a week..." Balerion snorted and settled with a heavy sigh as if to say, “Fine. But I don't like it..."

Nodding Abigael fell in closer to Bertrand shooting Prentys another glower telling him to back off so she could start to fix his cock up. Finally they got moving Abigael fastened to Bertrand’s side like a proper Lady attending a visiting Lord who was courting her. As they advanced at a walk Abigael smiled at Bertrand. “Indeed tomorrow is not promised. My Lord is wise to recognize it. Tomorrow is a mystery. Yesterday come and gone. Today is a gift and why it is called the present..."

Eyes sparkling, Abigael teased Bertrand. “Balerion will be upset that I decided to be more ladylike and reserved today. I didn't let him have his head and charge around. I did see a few horses that looked quite fine, yours included..."

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

whoops

A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars

Volantis

Some time after the Dothraki Horde burned Part II

_{Collab with @Almalthia, @Apoalo,@LadyRunic & @Vanq}

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Damon knew the expressions of wealth and, since coming to Volantis, the ways to fight the desert's intense heat. Though his weakness was as always a beat of another sort. The woman who gazed at him and taunted was pleasant enough to look upon. More suiting to his tastes than his frail wife. The concern he felt was for the sharpness of her gaze, but that was something that could be corrected with time. Smiling with appreciation for the game she played, the Riverlander gave a deep and sweeping bow. "Revealing that so soon My Lady would be in bad taste. Though I can say while I have seen many a beauty while sailing the seas, you are by far the most exquisite."

"I find myself fearing that while often I was the one pursuing the ladies in my younger years, it is I who should be wary of being pursued." His words were light and in jest but his eyes roamed her in turn and appreciation. For he had spoken no lie.

"Humm… this one lies like he breathes brother." She smirked at Damon's response. "He fears being pursued? Perhaps you shouldn't have told him that tale about being related to Nymeria and some Asshai sorceress in the line somewhere."

"Calm yourself Calytrix. I did no such thing. Even if there is some truth in it. Can't go scaring off the faint hearted Westerosi peoples can we?" Darkin rumbled as he took Lyra's hand and turned them toward the trio that had joined them. "Lady Sharra, my dear, how are you?"

"Care for some juice, little bird?" Lyra indicated a carafe that looked cold.

"Mother, that pet name is irritating." Aster rolled his eyes. Though he was pouring a glass of juice₁ for Sharra. It is a deep red like wine but smells rich and fresh with a bite but sweet all at once.

The overt flirtation was enough for Sharra to maintain a crimson hue even in the relief the room offered. Her eyes drifted along the murals, out to the view out to the city. The closest she had seen in their tour across was the seven kingdoms was maybe Casterly Rock or Highgarden. In comparison, they looked as impoverished as the Eyrie had felt when she had stood within those great castles. She wondered, with embarrassment, if the charge of being faint hearted was not at least indirectly targeted towards her. Sharra could not blame them for thinking it if it was.

“It looks so refreshing, Lady Lyra. Thank you." She accepted the glass, the rich scent pleasing but it was the chill as she brought it to her lips that led to her gulping an unlady-like mouthful of the nectar. Her eyes brightened with the relief of sugar and a chill that ran down her spine. She hoped that Damon would be content to ignore her again. The unsteadiness seemed to have dissipated. Though Aster seemed annoyed with the pet name, Sharra found it sweet, though her tongue stumbled in finding a way to navigate between mother and son, but she gave a soft smile of appreciation towards the woman. A much warmer sort than her mother.

“Had you entertained the Prince…the King, while he was here?" Sharra asked quietly, hoping to avoid drawing Damon into the conversation. She had never met the man, but she knew her brother’s views on him and the difficult line it was to walk between owing their position to him and despising his mockery of the faith.

Both Lyra and Darkin shared a look and a smile. Lyra turned back toward Sharra. "My dear do you mean Vhandyr or do you mean Maegor? Not that the distinction would make a difference but yes we entertained both. As well as Vhandyr's other family members. We have entertained House Balaerys for as long as I can remember. Maegor is not our Prince or King, remember we elect our Ruler here in Volantis." She smiled and handed a plate of food to the girl patting her hand gently.

Aster led Sharra over to the pool. "My sisters like to set chairs in the water and dangle their feet in. If they're wearing pants they just sit in it but dresses are a different matter. Besides that mixed company. Only Lunaerys would flout convention so hard. Probably because it is a convention." He lead her to a chaise in case she felt that dipping her feet was too impertinent.

Dipping her hand in the water Calytrix made ripples then flicked them off and set her drink down. The wading pool was at most up to her mid calf and had a hidden shallower end; that they were at, that was only ankle deep here. Swinging her legs over she stood from the chair and walked through the water to stand by Damon eyeing him critically. "You might pass testing. Have any children?"

Lyra bit her lip to smother a laugh at Calytrix and her attempt to overset Damon with her boldness. She wondered how Damon was going to handle the woman. She was less subtle in conversation than with a blade. Calytrix had trained her children that had wanted to learn water dancing and Lyra knew she was strict but full of knowledge. Calytrix and the Braavosi water dancer they had handpicked were quite a team teaching those who wished to learn the art.

Passively watching his sister flirt, Darkin led Lyra to sit near where Aster and Sharra were. Personally he wished the girl would stay. Aster seemed to like her. But if she wanted to go Aster would follow her and eventually bring her back. Or possibly stay with her, though that was much less likely after the "little bird" got used to Volantis and her weather. Sharra seemed… undervalued by her family. Darkin felt like she would bloom in Essos.

The young Arryn picked at the plate she had been offered, and sat it at the small table beside the chaise Aster had led her to. She began to sit, but paused. The other women were so at ease, perhaps - perhaps it would be rude to ignore such a custom. Nevermind that cool waters on her ankles and feet sounded so pleasant. Like when she had been a small girl along the family’s piers in Gulltown. Before her mother had found her and berated her. Instead, boldly she felt, Sharra delicately lowered herself, softly lifting the skirts away to slide off her delicate silk slippers and touch a toe to the water. They were right, it felt marvelous, an impish but genuine grin flickered across her face as she turned her head to Aster, a moment of seeking approval.

Calytrix had given up her seat, and Sharra cautiously made her way towards it. Skirts lifted to skim across the top of the water, soft splashes with each step, until she could settle into the chair, feet dutifully dangling into the small pool. The smile returned, a flash of tempered pleasure. Her elder siblings would have been scandalized, surely.

She thought of asking how Maegor had been received here, but, with the man’s second wife’s kin present surely there was only one manner of answering it. “I am afraid I did not learn much of the Free Cities." She had been taught little of anything beyond embroidery, hymns, and prayers. Sharra’s lips pressed together, this wasn’t how she had rehearsed it in her head but it seemed almost natural now to propose it. “It would be shameful if I left still knowing so little. I would so love to see more of your city." Her eyes wished to seek out Aster, but it was Lord Darkin and Lady Lyra she tried to address it to - for propriety.

The man smirked at Calytrix as he let her study him. To do anything else would be in error among this particular gathering. "A son." There was no denying Alton, the boy was as robust and healthy a young lad as any. The only regret he had was that his father kept the boy close to him. Damon was under no illusions, his son would never be allowed to follow his path. Alton would be taught the ways of the knight. To become another of the swords that guarded House Harroway and Harrenhal. He had commented once to his father a out the lad coming with him to Essos to study but that thought had been cut down. Salted with more comments as to why Damon had not sired more children. A private army of cousins to fight for Jon's heirs.

Jon's heirs… Lucas would die of shock if he knew. The thought leant a smile to Damon's lips. "I would have brought him here to study when he was older, had I the option." And the lad would prove a useful tool. A seed for the family to have some status here.

Raising an eyebrow, Calytrix asked. "And you do not have that option why? Is his mother not dead? Since you have no wife, for surely your Seven would object to more than one. After all that is what got Maegor in the bind he is in. The man's a fool to think he's Aegon's equal. Just because he has his father’s dragon does not mean he will follow in his father’s footsteps."

Darkin watched and listened to Sharra with a smile. He could tell she was addressing himself and Lyra because she felt it was more proper. "But of course, though Lyra and I find ourselves busy with day to day tasks, we have contacted our son in Braavos on your behalf. Cephaeys is willing to take you and your brother to Pentos as well as up to Braavos to round out your tour if you like."

Lyra watched irritation flicker in Aster’s eyes for a brief instant before he blinked. Oh he's got it bad. Good. About time. And I like the little falcon girl. Sipping wine she turned her attention to her sister's shenanigans. I doubt I've ever seen a woman so forward in conversation as Calytrix. Come to think of it, I don't think Maegor was fond of her forwardness. Then again she wasn't fond of his history. She loathed Alys. Not that I blame her. I could rub two rocks together and find more use. And the lack of thought for anyone but himself is rather apparent especially considering the situation across the channel.

Turning her attention back to her eldest and their younger guest Lyra smiled. "Aster is very well educated and was planning a trip up the coast. He will not admit it but your arrival set his plans on their ear."

She smirks?! Why?! Aster swore that he felt his eye twitch. "Muñnykeā ao jāhor sagon se morghon hen issa₂. My mother speaks truly. However it was not something that could not wait. Rescuing such a fair lady was the one time I could feel like a hero of old. If it meant I could stay longer in your presence I would be happy to accompany you on your journey, gevie mēre." He knelt next to Sharra as he reached out and caught Sharra’s hand then slowly raised it to his lips. He softly kissed her knuckles and sent a smoldering look to her.

The sea wise son of Lucas gave a dark chuckle. “My Lady, your forget that I am from Westeros. A son so young could not leave his mother and the mother had no wish to take to the sea, especially with a child. Let alone that I would had refused if she had offered." He assured the woman, for all Damon care little for his wife. Their child? He was innocent of the flaws that his mother had. “My father has dictated at what will be, and I have no choice to go along with his plans for now. In the future, it will depend greatly on how the fates fall." Though his gaze sharpened slightly. So this Calytrix did not care for Maegor? That was interesting and useful to know.

“My father is proud in support of the dragons, my brother prefers the Faith. I? Let the powers clash. A Lord has always had to balance both of them. To interfere would risk one’s House. There is wisdom in waiting. The dragons are not many, yet powerful while the Faith is many and lacking the, pardon the words, fire-power. I for one? The Faith will not yield and is deep seated through the middle of Westeros and there is no love of dragons in Dorne. It will be a game to see if the stalemate shifts."

The news that aid had been secured to see them to Pentos caused a brief flicker in her expression. But what followed was enough to send a rush of blood to her cheeks anew. The words slid around her, the touch of his hand to hers, his lips to her fingers and Sharra responded with a thoroughly embarrassed, choking, giggle. It did little but to deepen her blush. She couldn’t dare meet his eyes and rather frantically looked about for anything else to notice. “It…I…We..." She stumbled for words to respond to her hosts or to Aster. Her hand pulled away softly, folded into her other hand on her lap. “Gevie mere," she repeated, the words sounded wrong to her from her lips compared to all the times he had spoken them, “what does it mean?" Thoughts of kings and dragons and whatever else the Harroway man spoke of dwindled away.

Both Darkin and Lyra smiled looking at Aster. Who looked a little disappointed that Sharra had pulled away, but he had let her retreat. Someday she wouldn't find his attendance as shocking as she currently did. "You will get used to that soon." Aster whispered and grinned.

"You hold her in suspense, my son. The torture must be something you learned from your father." Lyra teased both her son and husband, smirking at the latter.

"Hen rhinka ziry gūrēntan hen zȳhon kepa, yn ziry iksos īlva tresy. Ziry gūrēntan hen zȳhon muñnykeā hae sȳrī₃." Darkin laughed as Lyra playfully smacked him.

Smiling at his parent's antics Aster looked back over at Sharra. "It is how I see you. How you have always appeared to me. Beautiful one. Gevie mere means beautiful one. May I continue to call you beautiful? Though the word pales in comparison to the mere curve of your cheek." He reached out and as lightly as a butterfly caressed her cheek with his fingertips.

A moment that felt like a thousand moments, and Sharra’s response was an unmeasured smile. A surprise, even to herself. Here, for the first time, she was not the Maiden of the Vale. It was unnatural to suddenly have such attention on her, earnest and honest? The smile was matched only by a return and strengthening of a deep blush. “How could I say no to your request?" She replied quietly, reminded that there were so many others present.

A noise disturbed the quiet dances that played out between man and wife, between woman and man intended, between what could blossom into something more. Boots, still dirty from the city, and loud against the pristine stones. The smell of liquor and spice and sweat surrounded the swaggering young man accompanied by clearly disgruntled Rahl men.

“My dearest and favorite aunt." The words came out in soft slurs as if the rough common tongue had found the Volantene accent. He stopped, realizing the audience was far greater than he had initially thought. “And…well, everyone else. Lord and Lady Rahl your hospitality has been so..." The heir to the Vale found himself tongue-tied. He was barely disheveled, but considering how much of the day remained, it was a shocking sight to Sharra, who glanced nervously at Aster and then to his parents.

“What I mean to say is, we may have washed up at your door but your city I dare say…I dare say we should have intended to come here and not Pentos in the first place. You’ll all be the first -” He rubbed a hand over his chin. “Well, second I suppose, to hear the good news. Aunt, I’ve found you a husband at last and a good trade deal to match it."

Artys did not notice, or if he did, paid no mind to, Sharra’s face losing all color to a ghostly white. He did not stop to notice the way her mouth worked at finding any words fitting the occasion. Why would he? Women were to be wedded, bedded, and give a son or two - or six in his mother’s case - just as he would some day find in a woman. “I believe you know them Lord Rahl, such happenstance to meet them at a pleasing little venue. Maegyr and Arryn, what better match for a bird of prey than to a cat of war! Hah! Yes I’ve learned much about these tiger and elephant politics."

He slumped into a chair, his news delivered, and smiled to himself. Absent-mindedly and to no servant in particular he stuck out a hand. “Come, a drink to celebrate, no?"

Damon watched the family’s banter and smiled. This was something he was not exactly used to seeing. Lord Lucas humored such among his sons, brothers and the children of those brothers yet the Lord of Harrenhal rarely engaged with it. It had once been commented by a relative that all the joy in Lucas’s life died with his first wife. Perhaps that was so. Raising the goblet accepted from a servant to his lips, he paused as the younger Arryn walked in. All in good timing, for there was going to be an alliance here and one that Damon thought would work to his advantage especially if one of his sisters could be wed off to an Arryn. A three-way in alliances would only further strengthen the ties. Yet upon hearing the words that Artys spoke, the former pirate raised a brow.

Perhaps he could divert this, it would certainly put the new found lovers in his debt. “A joyous thing marriage. All the better when it is a union of the heart as well the strength of kin." He mused as he studied the young Arryn over the wine cup. “Ser Artys, I have three young sisters who can marry. My married sister is wife to Maegor. Perhaps with a marriage between our families and the Arryns and Harroway to the House of Rahl who are indeed wise in the ways of Volantis and looked upon with favor by the dragon lords in this area?" He was unsure of the last, but he wanted to tempt the man into this power play.

“I remember your sisters." A goblet had been placed in his hand but his eyes remained only half open as he raised it to his lips. “But we’re a family of many men and so few women." An inappropriate giggle sent ripples across the wine. He took a gulp. “I have neither sisters nor other aunts to spare for such deals. Qavo Maegyr manages the family’s port business and what better pairing could there be when my own brother is being groomed to expand our port in Gulltown." Artys brought the goblet back to his lips, tipped his head back and swallowed deeply til it was empty. “Fine wine, thank you."

Sharra could not handle it any longer. She swung her legs over the chaise, both feet planted in the shallow waters. She had not gathered the skirts of her dress and the hems were wet, wicking the water up the delicate fabric. Her eyes focused only on Artys. “I am the Maiden of the Vale and I will remain that." Without thought, she gripped Aster’s arm to raise herself without falling, she could feel her limbs trembling with unusual anger. “Excuse me, please." It was not a request, but at the moment she did not care how her generous hosts received it. Her nephew didn’t seem to notice either statement as she walked past him and his dirty boot prints, out of the room.

Damon gave the Arryn boy a pitying look. The boy was a dolt to not be able to read what he said, there was no other answer. “Lad, perhaps this is a topic I had best take up with the Lord of the Vale and not his heir." Since he seemed incompetent, if his mother managed to marry one of his sisters to this boy? Harroway would grip the Vale by the proverbial balls. “And perhaps it is something best look to him for the final say."

An eyebrow that was dark and arched rose toward a hairline that would make kings jealous. Aster turned flinty slate blue eyes from Sharra’s retreating form to her kinsman. “I find it very interesting that Qavo’s father and three older brothers died this morning and he was able to take over the piddling business. That was not a rumor that I had heard. Pray tell how much gold did you pour down his throat in the form of watered ale to pry that confession from him āeksio mittys₄? The hells he frequents typically water the ale to make it go farther. Hopefully you did not decide to dally with the help. If you did, you should see a healer quickly. Perhaps what makes you a man will not fall off if you get it looked at before you begin to itch. They call her Scratch not because she does but because you will."

Standing Aster plucked up a goblet and a carafe of juice and inclined his head to those present. He then proceeded to follow Sharra leisurely and slowly letting her work off her temper. From that observation of temper she was in a high dudgeon, and while not his fault he might take the brunt of it. She flashed like a fire in the desert at high noon and she was glorious in her passion. Perhaps if she struck him with her vitriol he could play the wounded party and see how sweet she apologized. Maybe she had talons, this little bird. Grinning Aster strolled the hall knowing that she did not know the property like he did. Smoothing his expression to careful neutrality he continued on his way keeping a keen eye out for Sharra.

Soft laughter from Calytrix rose as her nephew walked out, laughter escalating in volume. She wiped her eyes, still chuckling after a full minute. Long enough that everyone could tell that she was laughing at the Arryn boy. “The bird believes the words of a tiger! This is the most amusement I have had since Cassie brought home that filthy flea infested monkey and tried to wash it."

At the sound of Calytrix’s laughter both Darkin and Lyra looked at each other and sighed. “Perhaps, sister, we should inform the lad of how he’s been duped rather than snicker about it?" Darkin stressed with a growl. “Keligon verdagon kirimves hen mittys.₅"

His fingers tightened around the empty goblet as he waved away a feeble offer to refill it by a silent servant. The other Westerosi man was bothersome with his arrogance. Harroway may have wed - against god and man - to their dragon overlords but they were not Lords Paramount. “My father does not need to be involved in this. He wanted his sister married and she will be.” He hiccoughed, a gurgly unpleasant noise. He thought at least, his father wouldn’t be displeased by finally marrying off the woman.

But it was his hosts’ mockery, lightly toned and mixed with words he didn’t recognize, that sounded almost like the Valyrian he had been forbidden from learning, that set him off. He stumbled to his feet, the goblet dropped to the floor, glass splintered. The little lordling waited until Aster had departed, though he couldn’t stop himself from scratching at his groin at the mere suggestion. It had been a long night and a long morning, he’d not been picky about where or how he had sated himself.

“If it is a lie then I will see them held accountable.” His fist flexed, but the slur remained in his words and he was noticeably unsteady on his feet. His face flushed, from drink and anger. “I am not some pissant lord from lands still ravaged.” He tried to glare at Damon Harroway, but his blue eyes were glossy and red and couldn’t focus for long. Seven, he hoped he hadn’t fucked this completely. The pride crumbled into self-questioning and he felt again like a boy being scolded by his father for some impropriety or another. He hated it.

"At least this 'pissant lord' was raised to converse with those of station and not the whelp raised to converse in the manners befitting goat herds while as drunk as a swine herd." Damon said coldly, raising from his seat. "My Lord and Ladies Rahl. Forgive the boy, I shall see to it he gets back to his stables- I mean, rooms, by your leave." The lad was making a fool of himself and while a scathing comment was well earned? He did not want the House of Arryn to fail because of one brainless bird. Gripping the boy's arm, he jerked making Artys's hand leave his crotch even as he bowed to their hosts.

Subs/Translations

• 1 - Pomegranate juice with a touch of honey
• 2 - Mother you will be the death of me.
• 3 - Of course he learned from his father, but he is our son. He learned from his mother as well.
• 4 - fool lord; lord fool
• 5 - Stop making fun of the fool.