EricRP

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

@bloonewb I'm happy with this sheet. Ship to characters when the adjustments Didact mentions are applied.

FF7: SOLDIER [Big Game - Always Accepting!]

I understand. Best of luck with the RP everyone :)

Eric

FF7: SOLDIER [Big Game - Always Accepting!]

Kazuko Kotetsu - KK

Age 32 y/o.

Date of Birth 1968 - December

Gender

Male

Height 6'1"

Weight 177lbs

Hair Color Auburn

Eye Color Blue with the ethereal glow of mako-infusion

Written Description

KK is ever resplendent in the black suited garb of the Turks. His spiked auburn hair is immaculately done and his complexion remains youthful despite his 32 years. He is slender as a lance through working long hours and missing meals regularly. He has a high metabolism since his ill-fated tenure with SOLDIER came to an end so can be seen to pace, twitch or fidget in situations that require patience and remaining still. There's little else to say of KK other than he bears no outward scars of note and has a high, pointed nose with a frowning, stern expression.

Personality

KK is a fairly cold and serious guy. He likes sports though doesn't really discuss it with anybody. He likes being active because he has an excess of energy to burn off and will throw himself into missions with a quiet enthusiasm. He likes music and literature too but, again, keeps these private pursuits to himself. In truth, he's rather a private and reclusive person. Those who have worked with him would tell you they like him well enough but they wouldn't particularly count him a 'friend'. KK dislikes jokers. He has little patience for 'banter' and smiles only rarely. Usually when somebody has achieved something good. He likes to see things accomplished successfully and will reward colleagues that have impressed him with compliments. He dislikes waiting; never the most patient individual he will grow swiftly angry should missions involve extended periods of inactivity. He has a real issue with mess. He takes pride in his appearance and believes in professionalism above all else; colleagues who are sloppy or reckless are colleagues he will distance himself from.

Whilst not the most cheery individual, KK is slow to anger too; if riled though he can possess a fearsome fury; luckily this is most often channeled into his limit break. In downtime he likes to keep himself to himself but always has solid advice for recruits and colleagues who would seek him out.

Background

Only son of a rich family, KK grew up on his father's beachside villa on Goblin Island- a forested isle in the Eastern Ocean due North-East of Midgar. He travelled to Midgar and Junon with his father often to accompany him on business meetings with Shinra executives but knew little of his dad's work in truth. He found it boring but became enamoured with the Electric Company's Martial Division. He had father purchase him a sword which he named Yoshiyuki and took to fighting against bands of goblins in the woods back home.

After losing a considerable amount of gil in these battles, he took to leaving his wallet at home but after leveling up sufficiently, he made for the beach to fight under-lizards and dual-horns. He soon found most of his allowance was going on Hi-Potions but he was certainly becoming stronger and even took to battling pairs of Dual-Horns at once.

Unbeknownst to KK, whilst he was training, a high-flying Shinra exec named Heidegger was visiting his father and watched the boy keenly from the patio of the Villa. That next Summer, 15 year old KK was packaged off to Midgar for a 'Summer Camp' where physically strong kids from across Gaia were put through their paces with the objective being to earn a place in SOLDIER; a military programme for elite warriors that would form the strongarm of the company in its international relations.

KK had a headstart on the other kids, many were sewer rats from Midgar's slums or scum from Junon street-gangs. A few were young mercenaries who had become veterans of the Gold Saucer's Battle Square and they fared better but KK was able to stand above the field and by the autumn, had entered the ranks of SOLDIER 3rd Class.

For a few years, KK excelled. Dedicated to the missions and to the programme, he was earmarked to advance. He showed good resistance to Mako-infusion in the early experiments where lesser SOLDIERs became poisoned and unresponsive. He was due for advancement and bonded with his first Summon Materia, Alexander so swiftly that he alerted the attention of some major players in Shinra's science division. By the age of 21, KK is not only being groomed for 2nd Class but there is word of him assuming a command position within the division. However, word gets out of his relationship with Heidegger's daughter, Averle and there is a huge scandal. KK cannot understand that the girl is promised to one of President Shinra's sons and protests that it isn't a crime to fall in love. Within Shinra there are those furiously demanding the upstart SOLDIER be 'wiped out' but there is sufficient resistance from the Science Division who see huge potential in KK for any assassination plan to be forestalled. KK never learns anything of this.

However, when he returns from a 'peacekeeping' mission in Wutai, Averle is gone. He busts a few heads and tracks her to Wall Market and after more inquiries at the Honey Bee Inn, his trail leads to Don Corneo's Mansion. After fighting his way past a number of the Don's hired goons, he confronts the man himself who tells him to give up his search. Averle has been absorbed into the Don's seedy trafficking ring and if KK ever sees her again she'd scarce recognise him anymore. Heartbroken and disillusioned, KK quits SOLDIER the next morning, Heidegger himself blames KK for his daughter's disappearance and breaks his Alexander materia in a symbolic disinheritance of his SOLDIER tenure.

Knowing Heidegger means to kill him, KK returns to the Don's mansion but finds it abandoned and shut up. He sprays Averle's name in ten foot high writing on the nearby wall and climbs to the upper plate to begin life as a fugitive and mercenary. He survives a year or more before making the mistake of visiting his sick mother back on Goblin Island to discover it's a trap set by the Turks to lure him from hiding. He gives himself up, tired of running and finding little zest in life without Averle or SOLDIER but is spared when the leader of the Turks recognises the same potential and talent in him that the Shinra bigwigs once did. Heidegger has had to grudgingly accept KK is untouchable but KK has ever mistrusted the man, suspecting he sold his own daughter into prostitution rather than bear the disgrace of her dishonouring herself with a mere SOLDIER 3rd Class.

Never griping or complaining, KK has served the Turks faithfully, though he was monitored keenly in the outset- the suspicion being he had little reason to love the company. KK has always seemed keen in the world of subterfuge and covert surveillance though; almost as though he was looking for something all this time...

Weapon

Yoshiyuki (Mutsunokami Yoshiyuki in Japanese) is a mid-powered weapon for KK, and has an Attack power of 56 with two single Materia slots. Its power increases if one or both of the other party members are KO'd; if one party member is dead, the damage is doubled, if both party members are dead, the damage is tripled. In real terms, KK is able to focus the blade's energies more directly when imperiled; this is part of his SOLDIER 'sentinel' training that is also reflected in his limit break; Defender of the Fallen. The blade is a classic katana with a long cylindrical hilt wrapped in light pink grip tape. The crossguard is a circle of gold and the blade three and a half feet of tempered steel with a razor-sharp edge. KK wears the blade in a turquoise scabbard at his left hip supported by a black sash.

Materia

Yoshiyuki bears two single materia slots and KK bears a third slot on his gauntlet; Iron Bangle

Summon: Alexander. (broken) Useless materia split in two halves by Heidegger. KK still wears it in his Iron Bangle because "sometimes when things are split in two they still feel as one."

Magic: Meteor: Comet
Comet 2
Powerful magic capable of dealing high non-elemental damage to a single (Comet) or multiple (Comet 2) foes.

Command: Enemy Skill: [0/20] Prototype materia from Shinra's Science Division. If attacked, KK should be able to learn abilities from enemies to use for himself in future battles. Limited to 20 skills, he has yet to try it out in the field.

Limit Break

Defender of the Fallen
Casts 'Shield' upon party members rendering them immune to Elemental Magic and Physical attacks (They can be hurt by items or non-elemental attacks) Whilst entering "Berserk" Status himself. In this state, KK can only attack but his blows deal greater damage. If timed perfectly, KK might use DotF whilst allies are KO'd which means Yoshiyuki's Attack is tripled PLUS the added power of Berserk (Fury) Status. After battle, KK remains in 'Fury' state but will not enter subsequent battles berserked; however his Limit bar will charge more quickly and he will take more damage from attacks until a 'Tranquilizer' is applied to calm him.

FF7: SOLDIER [Big Game - Always Accepting!]

Hello there. Popped by to register my massive interest with a cautionary disclaimer that as GM of an existing game in Advanced and as a full-time English teacher and father of 4, I might have to let this opportunity pass me by. Let me read up your OOC and I'll resist/succumb to the muse as it takes me.

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

@NecroKnight Seconded. Absolutely take on another house if you so wish

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

A Queen flies in

A Collab with @Ezekiel (He did the bulk of the work!)

Eyes shut against the world, the rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms clung to the harness binding her to her mount and companion, Syrax. The methodical beat of her heavy wings drowned out all sensation as Rhaneyra focused on it. It was that, or acknowledge the harshness of the wind and cold around her, of the pain in her body and the sapping of her strength. She had forsaken her Hand's idea of flying with a maester, even the weight of one more person would delay Syrax, even if only by a little. It was not as if the man could have looked to her ills mid-air, and no matter what had come between them, she doubted her oldest friend would deny her the service of the Eyrie's own, even if that was all she gave her.

Syrax was not a swift dragon, but she was so vast as to be implaceable, while smaller dragons would have to flow with the harsh gale of the building mountain storms, Syrax bludgeoned her way through gust and gale. Behind her neck, Rhaenyra was sheltered from the worst of the wind and rain when they travelled, but she had not been in a fit state to do so when they had begun, and the journey had not been easy.

When Syrax finally began to approach the Eyrie, cresting over the mountains of the vale, Rhaenyra was barely aware, but she did not allow herself to slip into unconciousness. She was not sure if she would awaken, and she would not have the weather do her half-brother's dirty business for him. Through barely open eyes, she saw glimmers of the Eyrie as Syrax dropped low, heard shouts of alarm from below, although they were barely more than a whisper to her. With an impact that must have been titanic, but she could just about feel, Syrax landed in the mountain keep's main courtyard, giving out something of a roar of confirmation.

The Queen reeled in her harness, her travelling cloak pulled over her, and the riding leathers she wore beneath, she appeared more the adventurous teenager of her youth, in spirit, if not quite in form. Now, however, she fought to remain awake, her head lolling backwards as she almost instinctively removed herself from the harness, half dismounting, half falling, from the dragon, to the courtyard below, barely aware of the many figures rushing towards her.

"A dragon, m'lady!" Aya had called. The stewardess had been sitting cross-legged in the window-seat of Jeyne's solar whilst the Maiden of the Vale read through replies from her bannermen to her call to ready themselves for the possibility of war. Some were incredulous that she gave no sign of declaring one way or other and others even thought to try to persuade her themselves. House Sunderland was minded to declare for Aegon rather than face the wrath of the King and had even petitioned the rest of the Sisters to do likewise. Adrian Redfort had already gone to Dragonstone to pledge his sword to Rhaenyra. It was hopeless. She knew that for good or ill the Vale could scarce hope to avoid the coming storm any more than they could hope to avoid the coming winter. Mercifully the past week had seen an easing of the snows yet the wind was sharp and cold as a blade. Aya's cry gave her pause.

"Green or Black?" Jeyne rose and crossed to the window. Aya oftimes claimed she saw a dragon reflected in the mists of Alyssa's Tears, a wisp of the shadow of a ghost but she'd ever been a dreamer and the magical held a special fascination for her. Jeyne tightened her lips as she made out the familiar silhouette of Syrax growing larger in the grey skies. She'd made up her mind that her courtesy would be icy cold until whomever courted her support made their plea, but her breath was all relief that Rhaenyra approached rather than Aegon or one of his brothers.

She didn't bestir herself to go to the courtyard, a fire blazed in the Crescent Chamber and Jeyne took hr seat upon a high chair, the throne of the Old Arryn Kings on a raised dais of black marble. Aya stood, slender as a spear at her right hand as Lorn Lynderly and Emmon Corbray ventured out to receive Rhaenyra, Princess of Dragonstone and some would have it, rightful Queen of Westeros. A squire, a wiry lad named Loras Lipps, scurried after them with bread and salt but Jeyne called him back. He sullenly took up position to her left and the traditional guest right was forestalled.

Across the blue satin of her gown she lay the blade Falconclaw, not Valyrian Steel to be sure but the naked steel was message enough for Rhaenyra upon her entrance. Her heart panged to do it, but she'd resolved whomever made visit to her, they'd be treated with suspicion in the outset. This was their war, if it came to it, not hers and until they stated their motives for bringing a dragon to her doors, then she must needs defend herself. For who else would?

The first courtier of the Eyrie to approach Rhaenyra, or was it a guard? Her vision still swam and she couldn't make out the details, had the misfortune of coming face to face with the protective maw of Syrax, letting out another fortress-shaking roar in defence of her clearly stricken rider.

By the time more picked up the courage to approach, Rhaneyra had calmed the huge beast, patting its side gently as her sense returned. Still the chill and pain remained rooted in her centre, but her faculties had returned. In short order, she pulled down her hood, revealing who she was, if there was any doubt, the crown of her father placed atop a man of Valyrian silver. While tussled and made rogue by the storm, her look was still an impressive one, although more in line with the reputation of her husband, the rogue prince, than the Realm's Delight.

"Take me to....take me to your lady." The Queen spoke to the nearest courtier, who nodded before leading the way, Rhaneyra turning briefly to calm Syrax once more at the thought of being apart from her wounded companion. The short distance was not easy for Rhaenyra, but she fought to keep that from being obvious. Her travelling cloak was cast aside, the riding leathers beneath, black with red trime, was fine enough in its make to suffice for a formal meeting at pressing notice. Thankfully, the swelling of her miscarried womb had retreated, and so the Queen was willing to be seen as such, even if the slender figure of her youth had been replaced with the buxom sign of motherhood.

When she was finally brought before Jeyne Arryn, she was wounded, if not surprised, to see her prepared in a manner that was aggressive in its coldness, Falconclaw at the ready. She couldn't help but smirk a little at that, Jeyne would be so bold as to prepare to fight a dragon with a ceremonial blade.

Rhaenyra paused only for formal introductions to be made, her violet eyes not wavering from Jeyne's, something of a powerful sight, the stormswept heir of Valyria, before she herself spoke; "Lady Arryn, you must have heard of the-" It was as far as the Queen managed before the pain of her travels finally overcame her, a sharp pain within her, like a knife to her stomach, marring the concentration of her faith, the Queen extending one arm to catch herself on something, but nothing was to hand, instead she stumbled, to a collective gasp of the room. When she straightened herself once more, the pain kept her silent, clenching her teeth against the limits of her body.

Falconclaw rang every stone wall as it slid from Jeyne's lap and clattered uselessly to the uncarpeted marble. She'd steeled herself for the meeting but had scarce thought to behold her lifelong friend in such a state of ill-health. She hissed at Lynderly and Corbray, "Help her! For pity's sake! My chambers. Make haste. Aya?" She whirled around but the Lyseni was already halfway to the door. "I shall bring Maester Cowley at once." She curtseyed deftly and disappeared. Jeyne seized Rhaenyra's hand. Warm. It was always warm. "Have you lost leave of your senses, Rhae? You're not near fit to fly!" She hadn't meant to scold her dearest friend and, as her heart told her- rightful queen but to see her brought low by the travails of the birthing bed had shocked her to her core.

By the time the knights of the Vale had helped her to Jeyne's own bedchamber, Aya and Maester Cowley were already in attendance. Jeyne's Stewardess had lit candles and poured fresh water in a crystal jug at the bedside. The Maester had tinctures, powders, potions and salves in a clever wooden holdall that opened into many compartmented shelves via a system of levers and catches. Hot towels and cool moistened cloths were readied. After Rhaenyra was abed, Jeyne apologised for speaking sharply to the two knights and gave them leave, sullen Loras Lipps, who had followed in befuddlement still clutching his tray of bread and salt was bid to leave it on the writing bureau and to see to it that Falconclaw was returned to its place above the great hearth and that the cooks supplied meat for Syrax. "A couple of goats should serve. I doubt she's still partial to lemoncakes." She smiled and mopped Rhaenyra's brow with one of the damp cloths. "I am truly sorry, my friend... about the babe." She frowned but couldn't meet her friend's eye.

"I have prepared milk of the poppy." Whispered Maester Cowley, his eyes glittering and kind. She needs rest but there are no outward signs of lasting injury. Over-exertion is the cause of this malady. A decent sleep and a decent meal are the best remedies. Fish would be best... given the blood loss." His smile was tight and sad. "Thank you, Maester. Thank you Aya. If we might entreat some time alone?" She received nods from both and they slipped away in silence. The draft of milk of the poppy was left at the bedside next to the jug of water, beads of cool moisture cascading down the contours of the crystal like swollen jewels.

For the time it took for Rhaenyra to be abed, she was queen no longer, nor Jeyne Lady of the Eyrie, she was simply thankful for the aid of a friend, purpose flying in the face of troublesome pain. She, along with every ache and pain of her body, more than welcomed the comforting embrace of a bed. The first one she had lay in since the false-birth of her stillborn child, a thought that arose unbidden from the depths of her mind, before she could focus on the matters at hand. For now, she waved off the milk of the poppy, a sigh escaping her lips as the Queen sunk into the pillows of her impromptu bed.

"You were right, flying was not wise, but I had little choice, recent times have taken away most of my choices." The violet eyes that looked up to meet Jeyne's were vulnerable in a way that Rhaenyra was not often, even as a young girl, she had met most of the great challenges of life with iron walls of character about her. Only a few would ever see through that, Jeyne could be counted among them. For now, Rhaenyra chose not to mention that Jeyne's decision not to declare for her immediately was the principle reason for such a rash move by the Queen, bridges were not mended through blame.

Her hand clasped Jeyne's as she spoke of her lost child, she did not seek to force her to hold her gaze, simply squeezing her hand; "A daughter...my first, she would have been, born in to this world far too soon." The last few days, of trial and travel, had kept her mind from the crushing thoughts of her grief, swallowed up by rage, but now that the fire within her was dying, if just for a moment, her sorrow, a far worse pain than of her ails.

"I should change, my ancestors and husband may have made a habit of ruling as warriors alone, but I doubt many expect the first Queen of Westeros to look like a wild hunter." She chuckled, even if her laugh, all her laughs, were hollow these days.

Seeing her this way was hard. Jeyne had sorely missed her childhood friend but had to make a point of refusing to acknowledge Rhaenyra's marriage to Daemon. Daemon was poison; her Aunt Rhea had died childless and shunned because the Prince cruelly chose to forsake her and had made a point of sullying the good name of the Vale to any who would hear him. It would not do. Finally, he'd brought war upon Runestone and whilst the Knights of the Vale had ensured his claim remained fruitless, a score of loyal bannermen had needlessly perished. She had doubts how Royce, Redfort or Templeton might take her declaring for the very man, albeit through his wife, whom had cost them so much.

But that could wait. Not long, she knew, but for now. She squeezed the Queen's hand. "I'm so sorry I thought to greet you like that... I couldn't be sure it were you or one of Aegon's party and I'd resolved to treat any dragons at my door with steel." It sounded petty to say it aloud. "Gods... It's pathetic really, but your mention of your 'warrior husband' only reminds me what that man has cost the Vale." She sighed. "He remains an exile in these lands, and when you disregarded my advice to wed him... It hurt, Rhae. It showed me how little regard you had left for our friendship. I love you well but him?" She turned away. "You put me in an impossible position Your Grace..."

In the several sconces, the candles flickered. A raven beat its wings by the window and on towards Maester Cowley's rookery. Dark Wings. Dark Words she feared. Of late correspondnce had stepped up a notch, various Houses seeking Jeyne to give some indication of her intent. Most implored her to declare for Rhaenyra and their counsel was the counsel of her heart in truth. Yet there was a point to be made and she would make it. If her leal bannermen would risk their lives, let their Queen make her offer. To have lost the baby was a pain Jeyne had wept to hear but War was separate from personal matters and she doubted the might of the East would march into dragonflame because a babe had died and it was a bit of a shame.

She allowed Rhaenyra to digest her words as she compressed a cool cloth to her fevered brow.

For the moment, Rhaenyra allowed Jeyne her grievances. It had been a driving wedge between them, her marriage to Daemon, but it had never been something she was willing to compromise on, even to those closest to her. In truth, losing her childhood friend had cost her much, and not just the assured loyalty of one of Seven Kingdoms.

"As my friend, I understand, and I am sorry for the actions of my husband." Another pause, with her violet stare settling on the Lady of the Vale; "But I am not just your friend, I am your Queen, you know this to be true, you knew my father and his wishes. Whether or not you approve of my husband, the position you are in is the same for all lords and ladies of the realm, loyalty, or treason." She sat straighter in the bed as she spoke, even though she longed to remain as still as possible, for now, no longer holding Jeyne's hand.

"Loyalty is rewarded, but I should not have had to question yours."

It was heavy for Jeyne to hear; she was ever the Targaryen- Fire and Bluster. "Oh Rhae, don't play the high and mighty with me here, under my roof. In mine own bed!" She laughed, rising from the bedside and beginning to pace; "We're too old for petty squabbles. I just wanted you to ask my aid and not presume to ignore me for years then hope I'll come running in your hour of need..." She kept her expression soft, human but there was an edge to some of her words that betrayed the hurt beneath them that was genuine. "Of course I know your claim is right. I know what Viserys wished and I know Aegon and his lackeys have conspired to cheat you of your birthright." A tear slid down her cheek. When had she last wept? She'd wept when she heard of the babe... All her tears were for Rhaenyra of late. But should it come to war the realm will weep...

"In my heart, my friend, I am yours. Always. But my duty is to my people. Nobody understands that better than you." She stopped pacing and returned to her seat by Rhaenyra's pillow. "Daemon affronted the whole Vale and in that blasted business with Runestone he cost the families of some of my bannermen dear." Her eyes were downcast, she cuffed away the tears. "It would be remiss of me to push them into a war behind a man they despise, no matter to whom he's wed this time..."

For now, the Queen, abed in the Eyrie, decided not to push the issue that Jeyne's desire for gratification might have ended her reign before it had even begun, after all, no one had exactly forced her onto Syrax, but it took a brief pause to pass over the thought, before a weak smile graced her lips.

"I am glad, I would not want to have lost yet another joy so soon." Her smile persisted towards the Lady of the Eyrie for some time,even as they turned back to more serious, specific matters. The Queen retained her upright position, not wishing to come across as overly casual.

"I understand, they will not be happy to commit to a war they see in aid of my husband, but you will fight for me, not Daemon, although I doubt that will comfort them much. In stead of that, I have the backing of Driftmark, and much of the realm's fleets beside, Aegon may promise much, but even as war begins, for your bannermen so affronted, coastal as they are, great boons can be made for the Eyrie. My husband may still wound your soul, but prosperity, over poverty, can go much to fixing what he has done to the people of the Eyrie."

It sent a sorrowful pang to hear the rightful Queen trying to barter for her service with another's coin, yet it made sense with Winter drawing closer that those that would pledge their swords might receive recompense for those they left behind to see them through the cold years. "The snows have been dread of late." That was true, until the past few days the Eyrie was utterly cut off from the rest of the Vale. There had been Winters, Jeyne knew, when the Arryn Kings of old had spent years atop the Giant's Lance and no soul had been able to enter or leave again. She might even be better served sending her bannermen to Rhaenyra's cause by sea should it come to it and she was about to say as much...

The knock was familiar, welcome. "Maester Cowley? What news?" She bid the friendly maester enter. "Queen Rhaenyra, I implore you to try to sleep." He tried again, ever putting the care of his patient before the trifles of the realm. He turned to Jeyne; "The Blackstar approaches. Some seventy men & horse. He's cleared the Bloody Gate though I wonder that he takes such a bemusing route." Jeyne frowned. She liked Jon Templeton well enough but she'd pointedly not called the banners and wondered at the meaning of him bringing a reserve the long way round to her door unbidden.

"Forgive me your Grace, it seems we're to have more visitors during your stay with us..." She had a grave look as she sat in contemplation. "Ser Jon Templeton's a case in point Your Grace." She offered. "As loyal a bannerman as I could have hoped for. It was his brother I called upon to foster a Sunderland babe to assure their ongoing fealty long years past now. Jon came to collect her, Ronnel was ever half a cripple." She could scarce believe how the years had slipped through her slender fingers. "But when I had to call the banners when Daemon tried to sieze Runestone... Well, Daemon himself slew Ronnel and Jon's never forgiven it.

"My brother is Kennelmaster at Ninestars..." Maester Cowley put in. "Jon is honourable to a fault. Were the Queen wed to the Night King himself, he'd fight for her should Lady Jeyne bid it." He smiled placidly.

"I won't sleep while I have matters to attend to, at least for now." The Queen responded in terms that were certain but not unkind, sitting up straight in the bed provided for her, the bed clothes still wrapped around her form.

"If he is truly so loyal, then I should speak with him, it should not be seen that I am unkind, or rude, towards those who would set aside such things, though I will need to change before I see anyone else, I should gather." She mused seriously, before laughing, and smirking a little at the Lady of the Arryn; "While your lady may be accustom to her Queen dragged through the dirt in leathers, I feel most vassals are not."

Jeyne had Aya summoned to see that the Queen had fresh clothes, though Jeyne's own wardrobe boasted little black and crimson, the Lyseni stewardess presented some dark blue dresses or a deep red velvet gown that she doubted Lady Jeyne even knew she owned. Aya didn't look the Queen in the eye and was resolved only to speak if spoken to. She had spent the time since leaving the chambers looking at the dragon in wonder from the safe distance of the Courtyard gates. She was humbled to be in the company of a queen but in Syrax, felt she had witnessed true majesty.

Aya dreamed of dragons her whole life. Only Jeyne knew and she found it endearing, she often sat in the window seat in her Lady's chambers and watched the mists of Alyssa's Tears evaporating before they reached the valley's floor and fancied she could sometimes see a grey shape flirting through the distant spray. Jeyne had said she saw it too from time to time but Aya could never tell if she was just humouring her. There was no doubting Syrax's reality though and this Queen was lucky enough to have bonded with her for life. Small wonder she couldn't find the words to address Rhaenyra.

The Queen examined the offered clothing for only a little time, swiftly deciding upon the dark blue, for the current setting. Rhaenyra had always found it rather easy to read others, or at least, she thought so. It wouldn't take much of a genius to pause over the presence of a foreign handmaiden at the Court of the Eyrie, it was not as if the Falcon's Keep was a common port of call for travellers. Rhaenyra had known the girl, or at least her face, from time spent with Jeyne. She could not remember how she had come to be in the service of House Arryn, but it was clear Jeyne relied on her more than one might any other servant.

"You, and your...Aya? was it?" The Queen raised an eyebrow as she stood and spoke, a recalled distant memory, the bed clothes falling away from her, only a slight wince marring her features from the movement after her much needed, if short burst, of rest. Despite the presence of servants, having dismissed all but one, Rhaenyra set to work on the clasps and bindings of her leather garb, simple, even if expensive, and was no issue for the Queen to undress herself.

In her youth, back in the days that Jeyne and her's friendship had been cemented, Rhaenyra had been a slender, if womanly, beauty of the Targaryen line. Now, years gone by, and the Queen was no less fair of feature, but children and life at court had reshaped her, instead of a slender maid, Rhaenyra's form was buxom and maternal, a change that was more than obvious even under the loose small clothes that still covered her. The Queen's own eyes flicked from Jeyne to herself, before laughing, only a brief moment of childish amusment. "I do hope your gown has a little give." Gowns, unlike riding leathers, would need some amount of assistance from the handmaiden, even as Rhaenyra addressed Jeyne;

"I am sure there is more of note you have not told me of your realm? How does the Eyrie fair, in full."

As Aya manouvered the gown into position as flatteringly as she could, Jeyne remembered there was an old suit of plate and mail that might go around the Queen if all else failed. Though she decided she would keep that thought to herself. Having no issue of her own, who was she to pass judgement on her friend who had borne six children in these intervening years? "The Eyrie is peacful and prosperous. My smallfolk have the stores to see them through this next winter and since Runestone, war is something we do not speak of. At least not until recent tidings..."

Aya loosened the lace in the bodice and the Queen seemed more comfortable. "I think your dragon is beautiful, Your Grace." Aya spoke softly. "A beautiful creature for a beautiful woman." She smiled, fixing Rhaenyra's hair; beaten silver interwoven with gold.

The gown fitting was more than a slight wiggle, but once in place, and a loosening of the lace, the Queen was once again herself, as the Realm knew her, resplendent in courtly glory, especially as her hair, turned wild from the wind, was treated back into shape. She chuckled slightly at Aya's words; "Well, I do see why you have her serving you so loyally, Jeyne," Compliments, even subserviant ones, were always welcome when it came to Rhaenyra. "Yes, Syrax is quite the wonder, as are most of the dragons we ride."

"I am sorry then, that these matters should bring war to a peaceful realm, know that I wish it were not the case, I do not take lightly a conflict with my own blood." She sighed sadly to Jeyne, turning slightly to examine how she looked, nodding with swift approval. While that may have made her words seem flippant, in the company of friends, the barriers of formality were laid low.

"Ser Templeton will doubtless make his climb overnight." Jeyne knew, The Bloody Gate was a half days' ride from the Gates of the Moon and from there it was another half day's ascent to the castle. More treacherous by night, Jon Templeton was experienced enough to move through the dark and he'd have the sure-footed garrons of the guides to vouchsafe swift passage. Mercifully, the snows had abated but Rhaenyra's presence only pressured Jeyne into feeling she needed to make a declaration before she was ready.

"Your Grace," She began, courteously. "You must believe me when I say I would never declare for your enemies but at the same time if there is a course open that better secures the safety of my bannermen then I must pursue it." She sighed, knowing it was not the show of solidarity and sisterhood Rhaenyra would have hoped for. "I promise you this; should any parley or interim negotiation fail utterly, then my will and the Knights of the Vale are yours." She held the Queen's hand once more. "It's no easy thing. If I send my strength to Dragonstone, the Clans will have wind of it within a moon's turn and..."

"Lady Jeyne?" It was the Maester once more. "I apologise for any intrusion once more but another Raven... There's word of a youth and his Dragon at the Bloody Gate. I thought it prudent you were made aware. Daeron Targaryen approaches the Gates of the moon..."

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - Interest Check/Placeholder

I'm so tempted but I don't know if I could keep track of so many characters and so much activity!

@Obscene Symphony

We have a discord channel where we could soon bring you up to speed. There are a lot of long posts now but it's largely political posturing you're well in time for the action to start. No pressure though, let us know :)

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - Interest Check/Placeholder

Nearly 30 IC posts along now but we still have plenty room for players: we'd really like House Lannister & Tully but there are myriad dragonriders unclaimed in both sides still. Tyrell & Baratheon are similarly available and we could use characters from the free cities too.

So please check us out! Apply!

Fire & Blood

Eric

IC/OOC https://www.roleplayerguild.com/topics/166182-the-dance-of-dragons-asoi-f-got-openly-recruiting/ic#post-4410276

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

The first Green Loyalists

Collab with @MrDidact @bloonewb @raknarion (thanks guys!)

Daughter, I've failed to secure House Roxton. The Ring is procrastinating and Ser Frados as the young Lady's castellan has lost much of late. I fear my efforts in the Reach would bear more fruit were the Hightower army to accompany me but it would lose my my advantage of anonymity.

That being said, House Shermer was more fruitful and their force gathers to march to Kings Landing with all their strength.

I have acquired the services of a Knight named Ser Roger Corne who pledges his sword to Aegon. A hedge Knight to be sure yet he claimes he's the surest sword in the Reach. He travels with us.

I must needs return to Kings Landing; I cannot be sure those with whom I have treated will not inform our enemies of my whereabouts. My last hope is to call in on the Footlys of Tumbleton or else take the Roseroad straight through the Kingswood, my tail between my legs. I can only hope our other envoys have had more success.

I hope to be home within the fortnight.

Father.

Alicent was grateful Ser Otto was making his way home, it had been noble to personally treat with a smattering of Reachmen but a vain hope if House Tyrell did not bestir itself. Perhaps Daeron would fare better. She was acting as Hand in Ser Otto's stead, eager to keep busy in these uncertain times. Her daughter, Helaena and the children were her chief companions but she'd be passing happy once everyone was safely back upon the three hills.

She was tired and this business with Aegon's coronation and the coming storm made her feel all of her years. A grandmother. When had that happened? What had become of her youth? All's you got's yer cunny, girl! The crone's voice came unbidden to her ears again. She'd used her womanhood when she'd had need and become Queen and now Queen Mother- acting as hand to her son, the King in her father's stead. There was scarce any higher she might rise yet all those trappings of power were threatened by her infernal stepdaughter and brother-in-law.

Daemon. It made her smile to think whatever Rhaenyra had; she'd had him first. Not that Viserys ever discovered that truth. Lucky he'd always been a sound sleeper, they'd woken half of King's Landing that night with her screams...

Now, though, she'd sooner have his head on a platter and her son safe in his office.

The open window of father's solar in the Red Keep let a chill in that told her summer was done. There'd even been frost on the rooftops across the city these past two mornings and she'd ordered the rushes changed in her bedchamber because they were half rotten with damp. She felt half eaten with mildew herself, the gardens had sprouted ugly patches of fungus and there was an earthy smell emanating from the Godswood that made her feel unclean when she passed.

She longed for a bath. Maybe she'd have Valanna arrange one for this evening. The Velaryon girl had become close to the Queen mother though there were those who urged caution as the girl's uncle was the first to throw in with the Blacks. Small surprise that had been. Alicent was less worried; Daemon had killed the girl's husband, Vaemond and she clearly despised him for it; besides, the girl would comb the Queen's hair - she was hardly privy to small council meetings and Alicent knew better than to discuss affairs of state with the staff.

"Val, sweetling? I'd like to wear the rich, green samite this morning. Lord Crakehall has come and I would recieve him swiftly." With esteemed Westermen rallying to our cause, it may encourage Houses of similar standing to follow suit. I would reward this man." She thought aloud. It would be a clear message to bestow some reward upon Crakehall who had traversed the continent to bend the knee...

The girl's face was a scarred horror and Alicent had mastered the art of looking past the girl rather than be seen to stare in mild disgust.

Valanna nodded, reaching for the dress and deftly changing the Queen Mother's current outfit and exchanging to the elegant gown. Her face had been branded by King Viserys, for her husband's so-called treason, marring what had once been a beautiful face with classic Valyrian features. Her voice however still flowed as smoothly and softly as it always had, "Of course, your grace."

Valanna stepped behind her, helping Alicent change and said, "It seemed likely the Westermen would rally to Aegon's cause. Lord Jason is a firm supporter of the crown, and the Lannisters have always held tight control over their bannermen. I believe we can rely on the Westermen to be united. That should swing some of the undecided Reach Lords, if both Oldtown and Casterly Rock support the King." Ever since she lost her beauty, she had had to adapt. And now Valanna was much more savvy than most thought.

"What do you think Lord Crakehall deserves?"

Alicent liked Val's directness. She'd spent all her adult life at court and she was glad of a break from heirs and graces where two women grown could speak plainly. "I think I shall judge that upon meeting the man. It is said he has ever misliked his wife but that's not uncommon!" It was true. For highborn folk, marriage was a contract and about land, money, power... Love could come later or no. So long as everyone did their duty... She'd done hers.

"Tell me of Vaemond, sweetling. Was he a kindly husband?" She took the girl's hands in her old, beginning to wrinkle ones. Valanna had never opened up to the Queen Mother about him, save describing her grief after Daemon slew him. Alicent felt she ought to learn more about her confidente.

Valanna looked down, reluctant to speak but she met Alicent's eyes. She didn't cry, the tears having long since been exhausted, "He was, your grace. He was kindly, and chivalrous, and brave." She didn't mention that he was also her brother, that was common knowledge as was the custom for the Valyrian houses. She continued, "Corlys wanted to marry Vaemond and I off to different houses to cement alliances. But he convinced our uncle to give his blessing to our union, for love. We went sailing many times, and every time he went off to campaign against pirates and sellswords, he brought back a gift. When he went to war with Daemon and Corlys in the Stepstones, he brought me back this necklace."

She indicated the necklace hanging around her neck, gold with a pearl hanging from it, she smiled as she remembered the lively man, "But he was foolish. And called Rhaenyra's sons bastards. He wanted to make me Lady of Driftmark. And Daemon and Rhaenyra killed him." She didn't remind Alicent of how her husband had branded her and cut out her brother Matarys' tongue and her brother Gaemon's hand, and all the other mutilations he visited upon their family for Vaemond's foolishness. That was common knowledge as well.

A faint smile played upon Alicent's lips. There's always so much she leaves unsaid she thought. "It's good to remember the man as he was, Val. I know my late husband dealt cruelly with you and your kin but when I think of him, I recall him reading stories to my children, feeding me fruit in the Kingswood... Our wedding day. You've lost much, but there are memories they cannot take from you." She ran her fingers across the unscarred cheek of her handmaiden and sighed. "Best not keep Lord Crakehall waiting any longer..." An odd thought came unbidden to her. "Tell me, Val, what do you know of House Farwynd?" It was past surprising that when flicking through her missives in her father's office, she'd had word from a House Farwynd of Lonely Light declaring for Aegon. She was sure that was some distant House of the Sunset Sea and couldn't decide whether the letter had been in jest.

Valanna walked at Alicen't flank as they went to the throne room, "Yes your grace. The king was a complicated man. But I understand what he did. Vaemond was warned. Rest assured, Matarys, Gaemon, and I all remain committed to the true king." When the question of House Farwynd came up, she quirked an eyebrow, "Farwynd... one of the Ironborn houses if I am correct. They have several branches throughout the islands, and they hold the westernmost castle in the country, the Lonely Light. A queer folk, even by Ironborn standards, isolated. And if they are considered queer by a race of raiders, robbers, and rapers, well then they must be quite strange. Other than that, I know little."

Eventually the two of them reached the throne room, most of the court already assembled in the gallery, the small council, what remained of it in the city, seated near the throne. Valanna bowed to Alicent and took her place off to the side of the dais, with the other royal attendents. Lord Crakehall awaited them.

Alicent laughed at the girl's description of House Farwynd. "Some offers are best ignored, I think!" She chuckled. "They'll be pledging Aegon swords in Yeen next!" She joked. Yeen was a place she'd heard existed but believed it a dead city in a far-off land. Crakehall awaited and she greeted the travel-weary Westerman with a cordial acknowledgement. "Lord Ralf, it is my very great pleasure to receive you. I trust you've had bread and salt? Kings Landing welcomes you and your men, I hope your journey has been without trouble?" She took her seat at the head of the table and bid Ralf to sit opposite. He was an older man, past the prime of his youth but not unhandsome for his travels. She thought him the sort of man who would serve Aegon well.

As the Queen and her Companion entered the room, Ralf was one of the first to stand at attention, bringing his right hand banging onto his chest and bows. Offering a glance towards his fellow Westerlands nobles, making sure that they paid their respects as well. As the bowing ends, he begins to speak with a voice far deeper and direct than the usual Westerland lord usually spoke. "My Queen, it is our pleasure to be given the honour of having an audience with you, and the court. King's Landing have spoilt us with more than bread and salt. The journey was long, aye, but the The Gold Road proved to be peaceful and filled with merry folk." As the Queen gestures him to sit, he offers a curtly nod and takes a seat at the opposite side of the table. "The Lords of the Westerlands are most eager to pledge our loyalty to the True King of Westeros, Aegon Targaryen, and are at his service. He needs only to say the word and we will be at his side." Ralf shoots another glance at his fellow lords, seeing that they nod and murmur in agreement.

Alicent was smiling despite herself, he seemed so eager and keen, his lustre carried to her. In the corner of her eye, Lord Banefort sat at the table's corner, his cowl hiding his expression. Doubtless he'd be edgy and distant as was his wont. "My son will be delighted to add your brave forces to our own. Whilst we hope for peace, we regrettably fear Rhaenyra and Daemon's tempestuous natures." She smiled at that. "We have the law of Westeros on our side as set out in the Great Council of 101AC and Gods be good, Aegon's wisdom to guide us through these uncertain times. I would be honoured if you would accept quarters in the Red Keep itself. We would offer you a seat on my son's, your King's War Council and the Title of 'Master At Arms' for your unwavering loyalty and immediate support of the true King." As she spoke the words, Lord Banefort's cowl inclined slightly as though he were becoming more brooding and edgy.

For a moment, Alicent could clearly see that Lord Ralf was taken by suprise by this sudden offer of authority, but he quickly recuperated and offered a reply. "My Queen, you and King Aegon are too kind, but I shall accept the offer gladly! To be able to Serve The King in such a compacity is an honour beyond a doubt." As Ralf accepted the offer, a choir of applause comes from the lords of the Westerlands, clearly pleased to see one of theirs being given a position of such power. The Lord Crakehall didn't offer them a third glance however. "I shall attend my duties at once when the audience are finished. I shan't fail either The King or you, 'tis I swear before The Seven!"

Had she been too bold? She wondered. Father would be back in half a moon's turn and what would he make of her new appointment? "Rest assured, Lord Crakehall, it is we who are honoured. Though whilst I make the offer, it is in my father's office. He is currently..." She thought a moment, "Away from the city, but upon his return it is he who you must convince of your credentials!" She smiled a disarming smile. "I would be honoured if once you and your men are rested, if you would join me as my personal guest at dinner this evening. I would hear your ideas for the organisation of our forces in defence of Aegon's throne?" She made it business but was sure it would be pleasure to receive Lord Crakehall in any capacity.

"I'll have words with your father when he returns, and I will assure him that a man of Crakehall is the one for the position." As the offer of dinner comes up, he begins to feel the hollow feeling that emitted from his stomach. Ralf had hardly eaten that day. "I'll scribble down some potential plans for the defence of King Aegon's throne and join you with an empty and a merry belly for dinner! " A smile appears upon Ralf's face as he accepts the dinner invitation.

The other Westermen spoke up, introducing themselves to the Queen Mother and making their presence known. All the great lords and renowned knights of the West were there, a fine company of chivalry. Lord Jason Lannister was not present at the moment, but his strength was well represented in his bannermen and retainers. There was one odd man out however, a man from the Reach, who had distanced himself from his own family. All eyes soon fell on this lone knight.

"Ser Jon, House of Roxton, at His Grace's service now and forever," he said, stepping out of the crowd and taking a knee. He stood, and drew his sword. It shone silver in the bright torchlight. "I am truly sorry I cannot offer the services of my rightful blade, Orphan-Maker. Unfortunately, it was not given to its rightful owner, but rather passed through deceit to my fiendish cousin. Rest assured, I am a trained knight, proficient in the arts of war, and do not require Valyrian steel to cut my mark into the enemies of the crown." He returned to his kneeling position, eyes positively glowing with zeal.

Valanna eyed the young knight with appreciation. The man was tall, muscled, and handsome. But a tad young for her taste. There were women at court who chased after the strapping young knights, but she was not among them. That didn't mean she couldn't appreciate him however. That was the best she could do for almost anyone after all, her face the way it was. He was definitely easier on the eyes than Lord Crakehall. Strong and tall as well, but uglier than sin, and as hairy as the boar on his sigil. All of this she kept to herself, and she continued to watch.

Roxton? What had her father's letter said of Roxton? Daughter, I've failed to secure House Roxton. The Ring is procrastinating and Ser Frados as the young Lady's castellan has lost much of late... This was no Frados, though. Jon Roxton was here despite the position of neutrality taken by his kin. That was bold. Mayhaps this man ought to be known as 'Bold Jon Roxton' she mused.

"Ser Jon, you honour your King with your presence. I would be much obliged if my daughter, Queen Helaena and my grandchildren had the service of a bold knight to shield them from any coming dangers... The sort of loyalty only the Reach can inspire." She smiled, the bird was limed.

"I thank you profusely. Such a privilege I cannot refuse. I swear by my blood I will defend them to their enemies' dying breath!" Jon said, nearly shouting. He looked up, and there was no doubt that a great anger lurked within him. "Let not my unfaithful cousin sour your opinion of House Roxton. He is weak, and when time comes, I would be more than happy to risk even the ire of the gods to honor His Grace by defeating that disease that plagues my rightful seat!" He bowed one last time and stepped back into the crowd.

Alicent was taken aback by this man's passion. He was howling about kinslaying when all she'd wanted was a cheap babysitter. "Ser Roxton, I vow that you shall always have a place at my home and at my table and that I shall ask no service of you that might bring you dishonour. I swear it by the old gods and the New." He might be somewhat rough around the edges but he'd doubtless fight like a terrier to protect her family and that was well and good.

Later, after Valanna had drawn her a bath, she felt the stresses and struggles of acting as Hand ebb away. She let her blonde hair, streaked with greys, loose of its tight braid and sank into the hot waters. The Westermen had cheered her, she felt safer and with Bold Jon, she had vouchsafed Helaena and the babes. Not that they were babes anymore in truth. But she was glad of their protection nontheless. As she let her weary eyes close, the image of Lord Crakehall's handsome, weathered face came unbidden to the forefront of her mind. He'd looked at her not as a subject ought to look upon a Queen, but how a man might look upon a maid. She hadn't had that look in long years but for her age, she wasn't uncomely herself. She decided Val might need to take especial care in dressing her again for dinner...

The Dance of Dragons - (ASoI&F) (GoT) - [Openly Recruiting]

Jon

"You're bastard lucky!" Laughed Ser Rolund Hardying at the Bloody Gate. "This past fortnight, the snows have made the climb near impossible." He was a squat, tan man of an age with Jon and seemed prone to chatter. Knight of the Bloody Gate was an honoured but probably exceedingly lonesome post, even with some three-dozen staff and hangers-on. Jon just laughed.
"It's snowed at Ninestars too Ser Rolly. Are you going to ask your bloody question or no?" He quipped. The shorter man made a pantomime of taking offense but grudgingly intoned the old words;
"Who would pass the Bloody Gate?" He added a tremulous volume to his voice though Jon had passed into these Mountains a half dozen times before and Ser Rolund knew him well enough.
"Ser Jon Templeton- Knight of Ninestars, Knight of the Vale, Bannerman to Lady Jeyne Arryn- Warden of the East, Ser." He looked straight ahead, playing the stranger for this time-honoured, if tedious, ceremonial charade.
"And who, good Ser, goes with you?" Pressed Hardying, the red and white chequered surcoat of his House riffling in the strong autumnal breeze.

"My Squire, Harold Stone, my late brother's bastard son; my Master At Arms, Kennet Nash and a retinue of four-dozen Templeton men-at-arms and a score of cavalrymen besides." On cue, a horse whickered and got a sharp slap to the neck for its trouble.
"State your business, Ser" Rolund intoned, already bored of the chore now.
"I mean to pledge my strength to Lady Arryn in light of recent tidings from Kings Landing and Dragonstone alike." Jon spoke smoothly, tonelessly.

"Lady Arryn has called no banners." A taller man, cast in bronze mail, slipped from the shadows of the gatehouse.
Jon was surprised, then irritated. "My apologies, Ser Yorbert, but I speak to Ser Rolund presently. Yorbert Royce was nephew to Rhea Royce, named for his great uncle who had represented Lady Jeyne at the Great Council in 101AC, now his older brother held Runestone and Jon's older brother had died to put him there. The lanky lad had a habit for interruption and spoke more in a minute than he would stand to in a moon's turn.

Ser Rolund looked uncomfortable by this interjection but conceded, "Ser Yorbert must needs remember that I am Knight of the Gate and not he, yet he has the right of it. Lady Jeyne hasn't declared either way yet, much less called the banners." He smiled apologetically.
"What of that?" Chided Jon, "I'm a Knight of the Vale! Might I not pass into the Mountains of the Moon as I please? As my Lady's leal bannerman?"

"Steady now, Jon!" Rolund raised his palms in an attempt to pacify the normally easy-going Knight o' Ninestars. "Of course you may pass, but I can hardly let Seventy armed men and horse through unquestioned now, can I?" Jon bowed his head in apology.

"My force is but a token of what I would bring into my lady's service. They need not make the climb but can remain at the Gates of the Moon or I can have them camp here if it please you better, though I warn you, the men eat more than the horses and shit thrice as often!” He hoped the jest would be well received.

“That won’t be necessary, Ser Blackstar, the Seven protect you. I wish you safe passage.” The squat knight stood aside and Yorbert Royce scowled sullenly as the yellow and black clad column filed past.

“I thought the Knights of the Vale were all friends…” mused Harold once safely out of earshot of the gatekeeper and his disgruntled companion. The lad had the strength of a boar and his shoulders were thick knots of coiled muscle. He had little of the look of his father, Ronnel, though Jon’s older brother’s life had been marked by the childhood ailment that left him half a cripple. He was plainly garbed as was his wont and Kennet Nash, tall and with a thick grey beard rode beside him, his brow furrowed in thought.

“In theory, yes.” Jon explained. “In times of war the Knights fight together and are as fearsome a force as any in the known world, yet” He turned to the lad, “the rest of the time we’re like any other brothers, ruled by petty grievances and trivial envies…. Yorbert Royce back there, the bronze streak o’ piss, mislikes us because Uncle Gawayne unhorsed his father in some tilt and him and his brother have always claimed it was done by some underhand trick. Never actually had the truth of it. Never much cared for jousting since losing my father all those years back…” Jon shrugged, it was a painful memory but long years had numbed the hurt and it was done and gone now.

“Would Uncle Gawayne cheat to win a tilt?” Harold puzzled.
“Yes!” cried Jon, Harold and Kennet together. The old Master-at-Arms had grumbled that he was getting too old for these journeys but Jon had insisted. Nash had some ingenius weapon design that he thought might prove useful for any that may wish their keep defended from dragon-attack. There’d be plenty afeared of that, he worried.

The grey-green peaks of the Mountains of the Moon were capped with white still and the travellers were passing relieved to be off the High Road, not that Jon feared the Mountain Clans, they were sporadic and opportunistic but would have sense enough to know not to molest a party of armed men and horses of a landed Knight. The relief was at seeing the end of the journey before further snows swept in and made ascent to the Eyrie impossible. Overhead, a crow cawed as it sped past high above them; no doubt ferrying word of their arrival on to the Gates of the Moon. From there, they would continue as a trio to the waycastles Stone, Snow and Sky which garrisoned the narrow goat-track that proved the Eyrie’s only way in or out. It was the smallest castle of the Great Houses in the Seven Kingdoms but to assault it was unthinkable. Dragonback was the only feasible attack plan and once Kennet proposed his idea to Lady Jeyne, Greens and Blacks alike might think twice even of that option.

The smallfolk were busy in the valley, innumerable carts rumbled past in both directions during their half day’s ride towards the Gates of the Moon. The break in the snows had given them a chance of finishing collecting their harvests and swelling their stores. The promise of winter had been exacerbated by the threat of war and whilst there was scant probability of fighting between the two gatehouses here in the Vale, the smallfolk hurried this way and that to safeguard lest the worst did happen. Jon could scarce blame them, the markets outside Ninestars had tripled their trade in the days before they departed as people rushed to secure their families’ provisions for ought that was to come.

He’d left his Uncle, Gawayne in charge though he knew Ronnel’s widow would rule the roost in his absence as she practically did whether he was there or no. By day she frustrated and terrified him in equal measure, by night… the less said the better. Some addictions were harder to best. He was glad to be free of the place, he always felt better ahorse, sword at his side and in the company of fellow soldiers. Women always complicated things and whilst he held no proclivities for bedding men as oppose to women, he often fancied that to do so would certainly simplify things somewhat.

He kept those musings to himself. It was a relief too, to have Harold free of the castle. Too much time within those walls brought all kinds of private rivalries to bear and the lad’s affections for their young Sunderland ward was certainly getting the widow’s back up; Allayne Templeton, a Waxley by birth, had been mother to Birgitte Sunderland ever since Jon had brought her back from The Eyrie as a squalling babe some dozen years past. A scheming and bitter woman, she had, at least shown some real talent parenting Birgitte in lieu of a child of her own and had surprised some that she had capacity to love at all. But however strong her love for Birgitte grew, it was counterpoised by her disdain for Harold. It was scarce hard to blame her, Harold was shame for her made flesh; Ronnel’s bastard, sired on some camp slattern, one of Uncle Gawayne’s late wife’s handmaidens and he grew hardy and strong whilst the twisted and malformed Ronnel could scarce rouse himself to enter Allayne, despite her considerable charms.

Jon, to his eternal shame had come to know those charms only too well and still regularly received his brothers widow in his bed in the black of night. But he was free of her for now and felt better for it. Harold seemed happier too, having seemed to pine for Birgitte in the opening days of their cumbersome march. They’d had to come twice as far West to go back East, given Ninestars’ location on the Southernmost of the fingers upon Serpent’s Bay. They’d been received at Snakewood by the Lynderlys that first night and feasted again at Heart’s Home two nights later but largely they’d faced comfortless camps and scant, barren foothills for the bulk of their journey. Even their final reception at Strongsong, barely four days past seemed a distant memory after long days in the saddle.

Corbray, Lynderly and Belmore alike had all asked the same question; why not just take a ship? The Serpent’s Bay current was slow at this time but when he’d set out, Jon hadn’t been convinced the snows wouldn’t swell the Serpentine and jeopardise their safe passage; in truth, though he’d come the long way around to gauge the mood of his fellow Valemen. there was a tension everywhere they went, though and whilst there was little to no love in the Vale for Daemon, the Queen’s husband, he found none who spoke fondly of Aegon either. As the light dwindled in the West and finally left the valley, the stony crenellations of the Gates of the Moon stood etched like indigo shadows across the neck of the valley to guard the ascent to the Eyrie. Far off a shadowcat yowled and Jon smiled as Harold unconsciously shrugged his shaggy black cloak tighter around his shoulders at the sound.

“The echoes make them sound louder, lad.” Nash put in. “They’ll be long leagues off in truth and not like to attack a great host such as ours.” Harold harrumphed, “I’m no craven!” Which made Jon and Kennet chuckle. “Just make sure you leave bread beside you as you sleep and they’ll take the loaf and leave you be.” Kennet reassured him.
“They eat bread?” Harold frowned in doubt.

“Love it.” Jon added. “Some of the older cats bake their own” Kennet and the Blackstar erupted in peals of laughter.
“Fuck off!” Harold spat and spurred ahead as his uncle and the Master-at-Arms howled in mirth. They caught him up as Bronn Waynwood and a detail of some dozen knights stood to receive the party at the Gates. The Templeton levies were already unpacking to make camp to await the Knight’s return but Nash, Harold and Jon signalled their intention to make the climb by night. He wouldn’t risk further snows and committed to continue whilst the going was fair. After speaking with Lady Jeyne he knew they’d be bestowed every comfort the Eyrie had to offer.

And perhaps he could discover what his liege Lady’s intentions were where nobody else had.