The Tullys have so far been just NPC'ed, right?
(Pretty sure I'm sticking with the Hightowers, but I got curious :P )
(Pretty sure I'm sticking with the Hightowers, but I got curious :P )
Celeste Member
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 268 (0.07 / day)
- VMs: 1
-
Username history
- Celeste 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
Aufklarung
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
@MrDidact Yay, good on Brienne. :3
Say... has it been established what became of Tormund and Brienne?
@MrDidact I'm fine with leaving Mychel an only child for now, unless someone else wants to RP as his sibling(s). I like the idea of making an endangered main line of House Arryn one of the themes of Mychel's story, him being keenly aware and concerned about the fact that the "true" Arryn dynasty could die with him.
@kingkonrad Oh yaaaaas. Mychel needs some of that golden rose. :3
Also, thinking of giving another character/house a shot. I see the Redwynes are already being RPed, so maybe the Hightowers or Rowans...?
Also, thinking of giving another character/house a shot. I see the Redwynes are already being RPed, so maybe the Hightowers or Rowans...?
Gates of the Moon
The skies above the ancient castle had been filled with the cries of ravens since the arrival of the Hand of the King and the new Knight Herald. The Belmores and Tollets had answered Mychel's call, as had the clans long acquainted with Lord Tyrion, yet the Black Falcon had not ceased his labour. Many more messages went and came before the feast, as the heir to the Vale tried to pull as many distant strings as he could before his true quest began. Even with the many delegates and knights that now filled the castle's great hall, probably just enough to make their stance in the coming conflict, he did not allow himself to rest. Any quick resolution to the old question of the Mountain Clans would suffice, and a bloodless peace would be even better... but Mychel found in himself a growing lust for something else: a resounding, powerful diplomatic victory that would reshape the realm in ways both massive and subtle. And for that, he would have to muster every bit of influence available to him, every owed favor, every piece of leverage.
As he strolled through the hall, pale blue eyes watching every lord and lady present intently, mouth producing warm pleasantries with ease, Mychel's mind juggled a dozen ideas. Dressed once more in finery, his black hair washed and perfumed, he pondered his near and far futures, the strategies of history's great diplomats, the taste of the wine on his tongue, and the lingering, though considerably numbed pain in his wrist. And he worried... and yet he also yearned. With every step he took as a Knight Herald, by the Hand's side, his taste for this, for the diligent work of a strategist, a peacemaker, a seducer of the powerful, grew more and more.
He returned to his seat beside Lord Tyrion feeling the pleasure of having made a handful of Vale lords smile and nod at his words with either sincerity or thinly veiled opportunism. Either way, he was making gains. The constant comments about their unmarried daughters, however, had not escaped his notice. And neither had they escaped Lord Tyrion's, if the look in his mismatched eyes was anything to go by.
"My dear cousin wants a military victory," Mychel said, biting on a piece of food to conceal the changing expressions of his mouth. "I fear that, even if we succeed, he will continue to undermine the peace."
And me. He thought to himself. And as long as he has father's ear, this entire effort will be in peril... as will be my position.
For a flickering moment, his thoughts turned dark and violent. A bloody image crossed his mind and vanished as soon as it appeared. He quickly took a sip of wine to hide the involuntary grin it produced.
"I do, however, thank you for the compliment, my lord," he said as his cup clanked with the Hands.
He took another sip, longer now, and stared at the remaining contents with a strange look in his face.
"As for marriage..."
He was silent for a moment, and none of his early enthusiasm showed in his features. But there was something else, something colder.
"A union with a fellow Arryn might spare me some grief, but it would ultimately be another step towards my house cannibalizing itself," he almost whispered. His voice sounded distant, its concern less emotional and more calculated. "The last two generations of my house left us on the brink of the main line disappearing entirely. And though we still stand now... what are we, the Arryns? What is our purpose? What is my father's purpose? What use is he to Westeros?"
His eyes turned to his father, sitting at the top of the dais, his mother beside him. "There he sits, the Lord Paramount, my father. In the seventeen years I've been alive, how many important, world-changing decisions has he made? The knights of the Vale have won many glorious victories, true. But what has he done? And what did my grandfather do, other than be Robert Baratheon's enabler, and becoming, with his assassination, the first of the many sparks that set the Baratheon dynasty ablaze?"
He drank the last remaining wine in his cup, the mild burning on the back of his throat almost wonderful.
"I would very much rather marry outside of the Vale. Any gains I could make marrying a lady of these lands would be short-term, and our house has isolated itself enough already."
He refilled his cup and Lord Tyrion's, and a warm smile returned to his face.
"But there might be some lords in this hall that could be further persuaded to see things our way, and disregard whatever my father or Ser Harrold may think, without having to make their daughters Lady Paramount."
With that said and done, he stood up, cup in hand, and walked towards a middle-aged man dressed in the colours of House Corbray.
"Ser Lyn, it is most strange to see you without Lady Forlorn in hand, ready to defend the Vale's honor," he said to the Corbray knight with laughter in his voice and a wide smirk on his comely face. The knight only slightly turned his head towards the young Arryn at first, his smiling eyes belying the stern shape of his mouth. The rest of his body seemed more interested in the Waxley squire sitting beside him.
"Why? Are you looking for a duel between Valyrian blades, falcon boy?" Ser Lyn Corbray asked, prompting a chuckle from the squire and Mychel.
"It depends. Am I expected to be undressed for it, ser?" Mychel asked in a lowered voice, arching an eyebrow and placing his hand on the knight's shoulder. "I remember how enthusiastic you were about that manner of confrontation during the tourney at Heart's Home."
The older knight did not blush, but his immediate discomfort was clear to see, as was that of the Waxley squire. It took Ser Lyn a moment to regain his composure, and even when he did, there was a fear in his eyes as he rose to his feet and bowed his head to Mychel. Taking a step forward, he leaned in to whisper into the young Arryn's ear.
"What is the meaning of this... my lord?" He asked, his shaky breath ghosting over Mychel's pale skin. It did not smell like he had drunk too much wine. That was good. Mychel wanted him lucid.
"Before you inconspicuously take the Waxley lad to your chambers, I would like to share a word with you and Lady Forlorn," said Mychel, whispering as well, his gloved hand lightly resting on the man's arm. He took a small sip of his wine before he continued. "I fear I might need you, your steel and your passion in the coming negotiations."
Ser Lyn was silent for a short time, his armored feet shifting on the stone floor.
"...you want me to play the diplomat for you? To help you appease those savages?"
"Oh no, my good and handsome Ser Lyn..." Said Mychel, leaning closer, his lips almost touching the man's neck and jaw as he slowly moved up, towards his ears. "I am offering you the chance to make me forget one lurid, potentially scandalous memory I have of you, in exchange for your public support, some Corbray knights, and Lady Forlorn herself if needed."
Had I a bag of golden dragons, I would rather bribe him. I loathe using his secrets against him, specially when his tastes are not truly secret. Mychel thought, sighing internally as he drank more of his wine and stepped back. And my memories aren't truly that scandalous, save for that last one... but he thinks they all are, and that is good enough for this.
The Corbray knight stared at him, thoughtful, dubitative, but the flash of fear in his eyes told Mychel that he had made his decision. He had won.
"Will my lord also want me to speak to my brother and gain his support?" He asked, a fake smile on his face. There was something of an angry hunger in his look as he bowed again. Ser Lyn could be hot-tempered, but Mychel had learned once that that quality sometimes manifested in more positive ways, specially towards himself.
The Black Falcon nodded. "That would be wonderful, Ser Lyn. I would be most grateful... and I will be happy to talk with Lord Nestor about arranging for more private accomodations for you and your good friend there."
He glanced at the Waxley squire, who sat still at the table, oblivious to their conversation. Ser Lyn looked back with a small grin, before turning to Mychel.
"Would my lord care to join us for a private game of cyvasse after the feast?" Asked Ser Lyn with not even the pretense of subtlety in either his voice or look. Mychel's smile did not falter, but his eyes turned cold.
"My apologies, but no. I thought I'd made myself clear on this matter."
Ser Lyn's quiet, humilliated concession was enough. Mychel left him there without a second thought, half-empty cup in hand. He exchanged a little triumphant look with Lord Tyrion as he approached their seats again.
The Belmores, Tollets, Royces, Waynwoods and Corbrays were all on their side now, and with a few more words he would have the Lynderlys and Hunters. Not quite a majority of the houses of the Vale, but enough to render mostly toothless whatever attempts Ser Harrold and his father made to undermine their work. Mychel now had a coalition of his own, lords and ladies at the service of the Hand and the Knight Herald, rather than the Lord Paramount and his armoured puppeteer.
The skies above the ancient castle had been filled with the cries of ravens since the arrival of the Hand of the King and the new Knight Herald. The Belmores and Tollets had answered Mychel's call, as had the clans long acquainted with Lord Tyrion, yet the Black Falcon had not ceased his labour. Many more messages went and came before the feast, as the heir to the Vale tried to pull as many distant strings as he could before his true quest began. Even with the many delegates and knights that now filled the castle's great hall, probably just enough to make their stance in the coming conflict, he did not allow himself to rest. Any quick resolution to the old question of the Mountain Clans would suffice, and a bloodless peace would be even better... but Mychel found in himself a growing lust for something else: a resounding, powerful diplomatic victory that would reshape the realm in ways both massive and subtle. And for that, he would have to muster every bit of influence available to him, every owed favor, every piece of leverage.
As he strolled through the hall, pale blue eyes watching every lord and lady present intently, mouth producing warm pleasantries with ease, Mychel's mind juggled a dozen ideas. Dressed once more in finery, his black hair washed and perfumed, he pondered his near and far futures, the strategies of history's great diplomats, the taste of the wine on his tongue, and the lingering, though considerably numbed pain in his wrist. And he worried... and yet he also yearned. With every step he took as a Knight Herald, by the Hand's side, his taste for this, for the diligent work of a strategist, a peacemaker, a seducer of the powerful, grew more and more.
He returned to his seat beside Lord Tyrion feeling the pleasure of having made a handful of Vale lords smile and nod at his words with either sincerity or thinly veiled opportunism. Either way, he was making gains. The constant comments about their unmarried daughters, however, had not escaped his notice. And neither had they escaped Lord Tyrion's, if the look in his mismatched eyes was anything to go by.
"My dear cousin wants a military victory," Mychel said, biting on a piece of food to conceal the changing expressions of his mouth. "I fear that, even if we succeed, he will continue to undermine the peace."
And me. He thought to himself. And as long as he has father's ear, this entire effort will be in peril... as will be my position.
For a flickering moment, his thoughts turned dark and violent. A bloody image crossed his mind and vanished as soon as it appeared. He quickly took a sip of wine to hide the involuntary grin it produced.
"I do, however, thank you for the compliment, my lord," he said as his cup clanked with the Hands.
He took another sip, longer now, and stared at the remaining contents with a strange look in his face.
"As for marriage..."
He was silent for a moment, and none of his early enthusiasm showed in his features. But there was something else, something colder.
"A union with a fellow Arryn might spare me some grief, but it would ultimately be another step towards my house cannibalizing itself," he almost whispered. His voice sounded distant, its concern less emotional and more calculated. "The last two generations of my house left us on the brink of the main line disappearing entirely. And though we still stand now... what are we, the Arryns? What is our purpose? What is my father's purpose? What use is he to Westeros?"
His eyes turned to his father, sitting at the top of the dais, his mother beside him. "There he sits, the Lord Paramount, my father. In the seventeen years I've been alive, how many important, world-changing decisions has he made? The knights of the Vale have won many glorious victories, true. But what has he done? And what did my grandfather do, other than be Robert Baratheon's enabler, and becoming, with his assassination, the first of the many sparks that set the Baratheon dynasty ablaze?"
He drank the last remaining wine in his cup, the mild burning on the back of his throat almost wonderful.
"I would very much rather marry outside of the Vale. Any gains I could make marrying a lady of these lands would be short-term, and our house has isolated itself enough already."
He refilled his cup and Lord Tyrion's, and a warm smile returned to his face.
"But there might be some lords in this hall that could be further persuaded to see things our way, and disregard whatever my father or Ser Harrold may think, without having to make their daughters Lady Paramount."
With that said and done, he stood up, cup in hand, and walked towards a middle-aged man dressed in the colours of House Corbray.
"Ser Lyn, it is most strange to see you without Lady Forlorn in hand, ready to defend the Vale's honor," he said to the Corbray knight with laughter in his voice and a wide smirk on his comely face. The knight only slightly turned his head towards the young Arryn at first, his smiling eyes belying the stern shape of his mouth. The rest of his body seemed more interested in the Waxley squire sitting beside him.
"Why? Are you looking for a duel between Valyrian blades, falcon boy?" Ser Lyn Corbray asked, prompting a chuckle from the squire and Mychel.
"It depends. Am I expected to be undressed for it, ser?" Mychel asked in a lowered voice, arching an eyebrow and placing his hand on the knight's shoulder. "I remember how enthusiastic you were about that manner of confrontation during the tourney at Heart's Home."
The older knight did not blush, but his immediate discomfort was clear to see, as was that of the Waxley squire. It took Ser Lyn a moment to regain his composure, and even when he did, there was a fear in his eyes as he rose to his feet and bowed his head to Mychel. Taking a step forward, he leaned in to whisper into the young Arryn's ear.
"What is the meaning of this... my lord?" He asked, his shaky breath ghosting over Mychel's pale skin. It did not smell like he had drunk too much wine. That was good. Mychel wanted him lucid.
"Before you inconspicuously take the Waxley lad to your chambers, I would like to share a word with you and Lady Forlorn," said Mychel, whispering as well, his gloved hand lightly resting on the man's arm. He took a small sip of his wine before he continued. "I fear I might need you, your steel and your passion in the coming negotiations."
Ser Lyn was silent for a short time, his armored feet shifting on the stone floor.
"...you want me to play the diplomat for you? To help you appease those savages?"
"Oh no, my good and handsome Ser Lyn..." Said Mychel, leaning closer, his lips almost touching the man's neck and jaw as he slowly moved up, towards his ears. "I am offering you the chance to make me forget one lurid, potentially scandalous memory I have of you, in exchange for your public support, some Corbray knights, and Lady Forlorn herself if needed."
Had I a bag of golden dragons, I would rather bribe him. I loathe using his secrets against him, specially when his tastes are not truly secret. Mychel thought, sighing internally as he drank more of his wine and stepped back. And my memories aren't truly that scandalous, save for that last one... but he thinks they all are, and that is good enough for this.
The Corbray knight stared at him, thoughtful, dubitative, but the flash of fear in his eyes told Mychel that he had made his decision. He had won.
"Will my lord also want me to speak to my brother and gain his support?" He asked, a fake smile on his face. There was something of an angry hunger in his look as he bowed again. Ser Lyn could be hot-tempered, but Mychel had learned once that that quality sometimes manifested in more positive ways, specially towards himself.
The Black Falcon nodded. "That would be wonderful, Ser Lyn. I would be most grateful... and I will be happy to talk with Lord Nestor about arranging for more private accomodations for you and your good friend there."
He glanced at the Waxley squire, who sat still at the table, oblivious to their conversation. Ser Lyn looked back with a small grin, before turning to Mychel.
"Would my lord care to join us for a private game of cyvasse after the feast?" Asked Ser Lyn with not even the pretense of subtlety in either his voice or look. Mychel's smile did not falter, but his eyes turned cold.
"My apologies, but no. I thought I'd made myself clear on this matter."
Ser Lyn's quiet, humilliated concession was enough. Mychel left him there without a second thought, half-empty cup in hand. He exchanged a little triumphant look with Lord Tyrion as he approached their seats again.
The Belmores, Tollets, Royces, Waynwoods and Corbrays were all on their side now, and with a few more words he would have the Lynderlys and Hunters. Not quite a majority of the houses of the Vale, but enough to render mostly toothless whatever attempts Ser Harrold and his father made to undermine their work. Mychel now had a coalition of his own, lords and ladies at the service of the Hand and the Knight Herald, rather than the Lord Paramount and his armoured puppeteer.
@MrDidact Still with y'all. Delayed as the seven hells with my IC posting, but sill here.
@MrDidact I'm finally done with finals, so I'll try to getting Mychel active again and help you move the Vale plot forward. Sorry for disappearing (again).
Also, regarding the show:
Also, regarding the show:
@MrDidact Thanks! ^^ And I'm considering it.
Tower of the Hand
Mychel Arryn was not a lad wont to blushing when on the receiving end of a compliment, but the underlying combination of sheepishness and pride was there, painted over his grinning features. He composed himself swiftly, unwilling to squander the opportunity to share more of his ideas for an instant, and spoke with confidence.
"The remnants of the Moon Brothers will definitely be willing to accompany us, provided that those among them that I originally dealt with still hold influence over their brothers." He said, reaching for a nearby map of Westeros, small but sufficient for his purpose. He pressed a meaningful finger on the northwestern edge of the Mountains of the Moon. "Their numbers are few now, but the name of their clan still carries a bit of weight. Hopefully enough to give us a modicum of safety in clansmen territory. We can send a raven to them once we arrive at the Vale, and have them meet our entourage on the limits of the Mountain King's heartland."
His finger them moved through the parchment in a southwards direction, towards Strongsong.
"Lord Belmore. He's the best, or worst, kind of idiot, depending on where you stand." He half-muttered, tapping his finger on the map. His hair formed a curtain around his face as he leaned down. "Believes himself to be a brilliant manipulator because he is always doing favors to other lords, thinking that honor binds them to repay him however he desires. He is pretentious and arrogant... kind of like myself... but unlike myself, his arrogance can be very useful."
He rose and turned to Lord Tyrion with a widened grin. "I can ask him to serve as a delegate, and provide men as well. And he will do it simply because it will indebt his future liege to him. So long as he trusts me to repay him, he will be quite reliable."
Combing a finger through his hair, the boy gazed at the map again, blue eyes narrowing for a moment. "And Andrew. Andrew Tollett, Lord of Grey Glen. He's a knight, and has been fighting the clans his entire life... But unlike my kinsman, my dear Ser Harrold, Andrew has grown tired of war. And he is a good, dutiful battle commander... and he despises my father. I often catch him staring at the two of us Arryns now and then, and I can easily see the difference affection in his eyes. He'd follow me and advocate for peace just to irritate the Lord Paramount of the Vale and steal his glorious victory over the Mountain King."
A lone drop of blood suddenly fell from his wrist and onto the map, right on King's Landing, although Mychel saw no meaning in that. He was not superstitious.
"I could write to Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood as well, my lord, but their hands will be tied by their responsibilities to my father. They can't commit the support of the Runestone and Ironoaks while they are tasked with managing my own family's seat and watching over the court." There was disappointment in his voice. Mychel was not prone to concealing such emotions when he spoke, which often earned him no small amount of bewildered, uncomfortable looks from others. "Besides, the logistics of getting them and some of their knights into the clansmen's territory without incident would be a waking nightmare. And neither of them, wise and honorable though they may be, would be very likely to face the clansmen's customs and behavior without incident."
The heir to the Vale nodded twice, a small gesture of self-assurance, and then looked once again at the Hand of the King. His eyes met the other's, and his grin filled once more with prideful enthusiasm.
"I am optimistic, however, Lord Tyrion. Difficult though the mountain clans may be, they are not even close to the greatest threat the Seven Kingdoms, or yourself, have ever faced."
The Vale - Outside of Gulltown
The voyage had been remarkably smooth, less trying than the journey by land from the Vale to King's Landing, even though Mychel was still far from accustomed to the sea and the lifestyle of those who sailed it. His fellow men of the Vale, and some of the Westermen, had provided him with good company on board the Clever Lion. His conversations with Lord Tyrion had continued to prove fruitful and encouraging, yet the time spent with the others had also provided him with bonding and learning in their own right. Lord Tyrion's men were quite unlike those from the Vale, but they did not lack for cordiality and interesting things to say. Some were in fact veterans from the days before Lord Tyrion had become Lord Paramount, and spoke with some reservation about their liege's father and uncles. Tywin Lannister's legacy lived on, even if not in the shape he had envisioned, and the more he heard, the more Mychel thought that the man sounded ike an exemplary leader, yet also as a cautionary tale. His mistakes were plain to see, so many years after his death, but their shadow did not entirely dim the brilliance of his achievements.
Tywin Lannister's reach had exceeded his grasp, thought not by much. And Mychel thought he knew better.
The moment Mychel stepped once more onto his homeland's soil was a sobering one, and he felt a tension as he looked upon the path ahead. The Knight Herald had come to bring peace to an old, seemingly never-ending conflict, and though the mountain clansmen were not so great a power in the grand scheme of things, it was hard to fathom lasting, defintive peace as a near possibility. Mychel's earlier optimism faltered somewhat as their retinue advanced. He forced himself to remember an assortment of details about the whole matter, a sorry excuse for a diversion, yet at least a somewhat useful one, even if some of the elements he recalled were frivolous.
When Tyrion began to ask him for information, Mychel's responses came with little of his original confidence, but he spared not a single shred of his knowledge.
"The Moon Brothers don't have an individual leader any longer. Our knights saw to that. What remains is a council of sorts, almost unanimously content with the terms of the peace I made with them. I gave them a small fief with a wooden keep on the edge of House Belmore's lands. They are raiders by nature, so they have been rather lacking in the taking care of the fields, but we have had no incidents with the common folk or any house nearby."
They were the least of their problems, as far as peace was concerned. Their weight among the clans was diminished, and their loyalty to the Arryns meant that the Mountain King did not look kindly upon them, but some clans still respected them enough to not try to slaughter them.
"I sent a raven. If they received it, they are to meet us beyond the Bloody Gate, on the edge of a lake where they are camping. From there, can provide us with safe passage and some protection, and make our offer seem more appealing to the clans least loyal to their king... starting with the Sons of the Tree. Fairly large in numbers, though not the most fearsome among the lot. Their leader, Faeyn, is the bastard son of a clanswoman and a prestigious Lord of the Vale... according to him. He does remind me of one, although he is no less vicious and no less committed to his clan's traditions because of it. The good in that is that he hates the Mountain King with a passion, since young Faeyn sees himself as far more worthy of a throne by virtue of having actual noble blood and, allegedly, a far larger cock. He has never said it outright, but I suspect he only bent the knee for the Mountain King because he had no other clans to rely on if he wanted to usurp his place."
Faeyn was unlikely to pledge loyalty to House Arryn, or even the Targaryens and their dragons, but maybe their loyalty would not be needed once all was said and done.
"Then there's the Milk Snakes. Few in numbers and rather isolated. I spoke to their chief, Tarra, when Lord Royce's knights defeated her and the Moon Brothers while I was a squire. She's old, though not frail just yet, and very fond of the Moon Brothers. The two clans have been allies for decades. When I offered peace to both clans, she refused, but mostly because she was grieving. Some of our knights had murdered and mutilated her youngest son after capturing him, and her other children demanded that she took my head in revenge. She was certainly tempted, specially when the Moon Brothers agreed to yield, but at that time all she could accept was a short truce in exchange for some food and horses."
Unless something unexpected had happened since then, Tarra would probably be willing to reconsider her loyalty to the Mountain King.
"The Redsmiths are going to be the most problematic. The Mountain King shares blood with their leader, who calls himself Bloodstone for some obscure reason. They are a large clan, and a hateful one. The last time I tried to speak with them, it turned out to be an ambush. They wanted to take me as a hostage. Nothing I ever offered to them ever interested them, and I can see why. They are in the line of succession for their king's throne, after all."
Some birds screeched high above them as their horses led them down the winding road.
"It is a blessing that they have a mighty rival in the Black Ears. You know them, Lord Tyrion. When they came back from your wars, their chief, Chella, found herself despised and outnumbered by the Redsmiths and their allies. The Black Ears would have probably been slaughtered had they not returned to the mountains with Lannister gold, weapons and armor. She is still close with the Moon Brothers, and if she remembers you fondly, that might give her another compelling reason to reconsider her loyalty to the Mountain King."
Mychel Arryn was not a lad wont to blushing when on the receiving end of a compliment, but the underlying combination of sheepishness and pride was there, painted over his grinning features. He composed himself swiftly, unwilling to squander the opportunity to share more of his ideas for an instant, and spoke with confidence.
"The remnants of the Moon Brothers will definitely be willing to accompany us, provided that those among them that I originally dealt with still hold influence over their brothers." He said, reaching for a nearby map of Westeros, small but sufficient for his purpose. He pressed a meaningful finger on the northwestern edge of the Mountains of the Moon. "Their numbers are few now, but the name of their clan still carries a bit of weight. Hopefully enough to give us a modicum of safety in clansmen territory. We can send a raven to them once we arrive at the Vale, and have them meet our entourage on the limits of the Mountain King's heartland."
His finger them moved through the parchment in a southwards direction, towards Strongsong.
"Lord Belmore. He's the best, or worst, kind of idiot, depending on where you stand." He half-muttered, tapping his finger on the map. His hair formed a curtain around his face as he leaned down. "Believes himself to be a brilliant manipulator because he is always doing favors to other lords, thinking that honor binds them to repay him however he desires. He is pretentious and arrogant... kind of like myself... but unlike myself, his arrogance can be very useful."
He rose and turned to Lord Tyrion with a widened grin. "I can ask him to serve as a delegate, and provide men as well. And he will do it simply because it will indebt his future liege to him. So long as he trusts me to repay him, he will be quite reliable."
Combing a finger through his hair, the boy gazed at the map again, blue eyes narrowing for a moment. "And Andrew. Andrew Tollett, Lord of Grey Glen. He's a knight, and has been fighting the clans his entire life... But unlike my kinsman, my dear Ser Harrold, Andrew has grown tired of war. And he is a good, dutiful battle commander... and he despises my father. I often catch him staring at the two of us Arryns now and then, and I can easily see the difference affection in his eyes. He'd follow me and advocate for peace just to irritate the Lord Paramount of the Vale and steal his glorious victory over the Mountain King."
A lone drop of blood suddenly fell from his wrist and onto the map, right on King's Landing, although Mychel saw no meaning in that. He was not superstitious.
"I could write to Lord Royce and Lady Waynwood as well, my lord, but their hands will be tied by their responsibilities to my father. They can't commit the support of the Runestone and Ironoaks while they are tasked with managing my own family's seat and watching over the court." There was disappointment in his voice. Mychel was not prone to concealing such emotions when he spoke, which often earned him no small amount of bewildered, uncomfortable looks from others. "Besides, the logistics of getting them and some of their knights into the clansmen's territory without incident would be a waking nightmare. And neither of them, wise and honorable though they may be, would be very likely to face the clansmen's customs and behavior without incident."
The heir to the Vale nodded twice, a small gesture of self-assurance, and then looked once again at the Hand of the King. His eyes met the other's, and his grin filled once more with prideful enthusiasm.
"I am optimistic, however, Lord Tyrion. Difficult though the mountain clans may be, they are not even close to the greatest threat the Seven Kingdoms, or yourself, have ever faced."
The Vale - Outside of Gulltown
The voyage had been remarkably smooth, less trying than the journey by land from the Vale to King's Landing, even though Mychel was still far from accustomed to the sea and the lifestyle of those who sailed it. His fellow men of the Vale, and some of the Westermen, had provided him with good company on board the Clever Lion. His conversations with Lord Tyrion had continued to prove fruitful and encouraging, yet the time spent with the others had also provided him with bonding and learning in their own right. Lord Tyrion's men were quite unlike those from the Vale, but they did not lack for cordiality and interesting things to say. Some were in fact veterans from the days before Lord Tyrion had become Lord Paramount, and spoke with some reservation about their liege's father and uncles. Tywin Lannister's legacy lived on, even if not in the shape he had envisioned, and the more he heard, the more Mychel thought that the man sounded ike an exemplary leader, yet also as a cautionary tale. His mistakes were plain to see, so many years after his death, but their shadow did not entirely dim the brilliance of his achievements.
Tywin Lannister's reach had exceeded his grasp, thought not by much. And Mychel thought he knew better.
The moment Mychel stepped once more onto his homeland's soil was a sobering one, and he felt a tension as he looked upon the path ahead. The Knight Herald had come to bring peace to an old, seemingly never-ending conflict, and though the mountain clansmen were not so great a power in the grand scheme of things, it was hard to fathom lasting, defintive peace as a near possibility. Mychel's earlier optimism faltered somewhat as their retinue advanced. He forced himself to remember an assortment of details about the whole matter, a sorry excuse for a diversion, yet at least a somewhat useful one, even if some of the elements he recalled were frivolous.
When Tyrion began to ask him for information, Mychel's responses came with little of his original confidence, but he spared not a single shred of his knowledge.
"The Moon Brothers don't have an individual leader any longer. Our knights saw to that. What remains is a council of sorts, almost unanimously content with the terms of the peace I made with them. I gave them a small fief with a wooden keep on the edge of House Belmore's lands. They are raiders by nature, so they have been rather lacking in the taking care of the fields, but we have had no incidents with the common folk or any house nearby."
They were the least of their problems, as far as peace was concerned. Their weight among the clans was diminished, and their loyalty to the Arryns meant that the Mountain King did not look kindly upon them, but some clans still respected them enough to not try to slaughter them.
"I sent a raven. If they received it, they are to meet us beyond the Bloody Gate, on the edge of a lake where they are camping. From there, can provide us with safe passage and some protection, and make our offer seem more appealing to the clans least loyal to their king... starting with the Sons of the Tree. Fairly large in numbers, though not the most fearsome among the lot. Their leader, Faeyn, is the bastard son of a clanswoman and a prestigious Lord of the Vale... according to him. He does remind me of one, although he is no less vicious and no less committed to his clan's traditions because of it. The good in that is that he hates the Mountain King with a passion, since young Faeyn sees himself as far more worthy of a throne by virtue of having actual noble blood and, allegedly, a far larger cock. He has never said it outright, but I suspect he only bent the knee for the Mountain King because he had no other clans to rely on if he wanted to usurp his place."
Faeyn was unlikely to pledge loyalty to House Arryn, or even the Targaryens and their dragons, but maybe their loyalty would not be needed once all was said and done.
"Then there's the Milk Snakes. Few in numbers and rather isolated. I spoke to their chief, Tarra, when Lord Royce's knights defeated her and the Moon Brothers while I was a squire. She's old, though not frail just yet, and very fond of the Moon Brothers. The two clans have been allies for decades. When I offered peace to both clans, she refused, but mostly because she was grieving. Some of our knights had murdered and mutilated her youngest son after capturing him, and her other children demanded that she took my head in revenge. She was certainly tempted, specially when the Moon Brothers agreed to yield, but at that time all she could accept was a short truce in exchange for some food and horses."
Unless something unexpected had happened since then, Tarra would probably be willing to reconsider her loyalty to the Mountain King.
"The Redsmiths are going to be the most problematic. The Mountain King shares blood with their leader, who calls himself Bloodstone for some obscure reason. They are a large clan, and a hateful one. The last time I tried to speak with them, it turned out to be an ambush. They wanted to take me as a hostage. Nothing I ever offered to them ever interested them, and I can see why. They are in the line of succession for their king's throne, after all."
Some birds screeched high above them as their horses led them down the winding road.
"It is a blessing that they have a mighty rival in the Black Ears. You know them, Lord Tyrion. When they came back from your wars, their chief, Chella, found herself despised and outnumbered by the Redsmiths and their allies. The Black Ears would have probably been slaughtered had they not returned to the mountains with Lannister gold, weapons and armor. She is still close with the Moon Brothers, and if she remembers you fondly, that might give her another compelling reason to reconsider her loyalty to the Mountain King."
© 2007-2024