Ellion chuckled, beaming at Miri. He'd been quieter than usual when he was carried in, after looking after his men, and letting Ser Dickon take the lead. He'd done so well, and fought valliantly. The men were talking about the shark-headed beast he slayed, and one lucky fucker had actually gathered it's head, putting it on a wooden pole. The Bravethorn, they called him. Confronting Viserys Targaryen had been one thing, but Ellion felt better than that. He felt not cocky, he felt deserving. Like he'd earned his rose. And that made him feel content with it.
"No, it doesn't seem anything important. Just a few cuts and wounds. They'll heal. I hope you still like my body beyond the scars they'll leave." Ellion said, smirking at Merebelle, knowing she'd give into his charms, even now.
"I suppose a mail shirt would have been good. Or perhaps we would have never made it to the fight. A true warrior doesn't need armour, they say in Braavos." The Tyrell added, aching as he adjusted his position, a little blurry but back to himself now he'd had some treatment.
"So, Merebelle Gray. You did well...." He added, pulling her down from the kneeled position he had by her side, and close to his mouth, kissing her on the cheek, half-whispering into her ear as he embraced her.
"....and what can I say....we both took a sword today." Ellion almost felt his wounds hurt from how much he chuckled, knowing it would be a complimentary slap from her, but he quelled it by kissing her, the look of sheer care and like on his face, he seemed so warm and glowing, the heat was not like from a Targaryen, but felt organic, comfortable, warm and almost like a bed of roses.
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@Monochromatic RainbowMirren stood, staring eye to eye with a member of the Kingsguard posted right outside the Red Keep. "Dammit! That was an attack by somebody!" She gestured angrily at the corpse splayed out on the ground scarcely a meter from them. "You can't tell me a single thing or let me into the keep?! Do you think I'm some foreigner come to continue a failed assault?!"
She huffed, looking around for someone with a less stonefaced demeanor to speak to. "I don't suppose there's a single thing you can tell me that's even remotely helpful? Are the king and queen doing something about this? Is there someone I can go to who does more than stand there?"
The Reachmen looked over, seeing the Dornish lady, the guards at the gate being from Ellion's movement and garbed in mail and plate. They recognized the armour as Dornish, and one recognized who the person wearing the lamellar armour was. The Captain of the guard at this entrance no less, and it was a complete happenstance, that what happened next, as he walked up to her, on the other side of hte gate.
"You're Mirren Sand, are you not?" He asked, the Reachman decked out in mail after the fight, the captain of this patrol on the Red Keep's walls bolstering the other City Watch that were posted here.
"I know you well. Hell of a talent with that spear of yours, you were a bodyguard, weren't you? My liege was just looking for those from Dorne to talk about strategy. I would imagine you'd fit well with him. You aren't here to kill anyone, I know you may be a woman who serves gold, but you're smart to know you'd be very dead in due time if you tried after what you just saw." He said across to her, as the other men opened the gate, as the Reachman Captain sighed.
"Name's Ser Eflyn of Oakheart, fourth son of the Lord Oakheart. I'll lead you to my liege. You might be an unfamiliar face, but I think if you happen to come by now, I can introduce you to someone who needs a Dornishwoman right now."
Mirren raised an eyebrow, tacitly following the man. "I remember you, I think we met during negotiations for the construction of a brewery in House Tyrell's personal territory?" She shrugged, "Well, do tell me about your liege, Ser Willas, yes? Forgive me, my knowledge of Westerosi lords is not what it used to be."
"Back in Manderford. I remember now." Eflyn replied, as he nodded, the gate open, allowing her to come in, as he looked at the patrol, then her, his faceplate fully lifted.
"He's the Lord Paramount of the Reach, Master of Coin. And also, I imagine he has need for someone who knows the lay of the land in Dorne as well as the people." He added, as he led her away from the patrol, and towards the Keep itself.
Following the meeting with the King, Willas and Alerie had left, the speech over, and the orders clear. Willas had begun writing marching orders, and had headed to their quarters. They had been met a few times with a few dignataries and people of merit, but mostly, it had been the same old, post shark-headed and fucked up attack on the Keep as it had been. And the guards that were by Willas's room saw Mirren, a little on edge, till they saw Eflyn.
"Who's this, Eflyn?"
"It's Mirren Sand, a Dornish soldier. Someone who may want to meet Willas." With it, Willas already walked out of the quarters, past his guards.
"A Dornishwoman in armour. You came a little late. But I appreciate the effort." He simply said, a smile on his face, Willas limping a little but confident, quietly charistmatic and approchable, gregarious yet not overbearing.
"What brings you here, may I ask? Ser Eflyn is not one to recomend people without reason."
"Forgive me, Ser. I was a little preoccupied with the attackers in the streets of the city. I'm sure you had it under control, but alas, most of the smallfolk lack armor and weapons, so they were not quite as capable of defending themselves." She nodded to the Reach knights who had accompanied her, "However, alongside the guards, I saw several men of the Reach fighting remarkably well. I'm rather impressed."
Taking his demeanor to be permission to enter the room proper, she stepped forward. "Ser Eflyn has indicated that you might have need of someone who knows Dorne and its people? I take it the king has tasked you with something in the land. I admit, my knowledge of Dorne's more recent developments could be better, I have spent the better part of six years away accompanying a lord on his... escapades until he apparently snuck a barrel of wine past me - unfortunately for him it was poisoned. Nevertheless, I am in the market for someone to serve, and from what I gather you may have need of someone from Dorne?"
"Yes, there is. You seem like a bodyguard, that sort of armour is worn by those who don't want to get killed protecting people. Heavier than usual, compared to lighter leather for movement. So I might have an idea, if you know the area." Willas added, limping a little, Alerie nodding to the woman that had come in, acknowledging Mirren but letting Willas get on with buisness, as he took a seat by his letter table, which doubled for where the Master of Coin, namely him, did the Realm's accounting.
"King Jon wants a Reachman and Dornish army to rout the Vulture King out of the Dornish Marches, the mountains. They are cooped up in a borderland that is difficult to access, with few routes in, and are terrorising everyone, hiding in the dust."
"Now I know us Reachmen and Dornish don't naturally get on. But I know that this is a border issue, and my brother, Ser Garlan, will probably not be on the best terms with the Prince. So his men may need a pathfinder, a soldier to lead them through, and perhaps that is where you come in."
"Generally, I would say this sort of armor is the type worn by those who have no wish to die in general, truthfully." She nodded to the rest, "Bandits in the Marches again? I remember them. I could've sworn my father lead a raiding party into the area that flushed a good deal of them out. I take it they've returned and are somehow more troublesome than before." She sighed, "Seems much in Westeros has happened while I was away. I can help you through the marches, though I'm afraid the soldiers of the Reach may be ill suited for desert warfare. Let me suggest one thing above all else - bring water."
She walked forward a little more, eyeing the plans on the table. "I am, however, a bodyguard for the most part. I have training and some experience as a commander in some regards, but for the past five years I have mostly served as a bodyguard, do you or another of the Tyrells need someone such as myself for that role, once the rats in the Marches are dealt with?"
"We need people who know things. Knowledge is power, and I would imagine that while we'll get on to get rid of this threat, someone who understands both sides will prove useful. If that is what you can provide, Mirren." Willas was agreeable, nodding.
"It's the mountains. King Jon wants this to be a swift campaign, a sideshow of that total war he wants in the Stepstones. I understand in a war there is no such thing as a sideshow, Garlan will not spare anyone if they threaten his combined forces and their access in. If they don't know the mountains and don't have someone to strike back at them the way they might wear away the army, then whatever their numbers, they won't survive long." Willas added, as he sighed, sipping a little more wine off his desk, realizing his guest. Alerie already put a cup on the table, as Willas poured some Arbor in, for Mirren to drink.
"You would be well suited to be a confidante to my brother, then. Support him in his command. You'll be paid in coin, and Garlan can offer anything beyond that for your service. I'm a kind, but fair ruler, Mirren. I suppose Eflyn weighed you up well. You'll protect and serve House Tyrell in helping us clean up the banditry in those mountains, for your land and ours both." Willas added, sipping down more wine.
"What say you?"
Mirren frowned, "You are right, the Dornish mountains are nothing to consider a "sideshow", your grace. Dorne was the only kingdom to withstand the Targaryen invasion, and I daresay any force that deploys against the bandits within them, especially if those bandits are organized, best tread cautiously lest they find themselves dwindling low on numbers and supplies. I've seen it happen before and if you do not take care it will happen again. The untrained foreigner knows a few passes through the mountains, the natives know thousands. I daresay you may want to hire more than me."
She shrugged, "Nevertheless, I will serve you."
"That's why I learn from the past. We'll be working wtih the Dornish forces..and I do not intend to have our men succumb. I imagine we will gain more when we regroup with the Dornish in their lands." Willas seemed wise, he seemed to take on board what Mirren was saying, knowing full well his house's adventures during the attempted conquests of Dorne.
"Very well. I will arrange for payment and transport. The army's marching orders should be coming in. Several thousand men will head to the passes in the Marches, rallying at Nightsong, and you can meet Garlan there. I will let Garlan dictate the strategy, but he's no fool as to what lays south. The Dornish forces will probably close the net, leave them nowhere to go. It will not be easy, but if Eflyn thinks well of you, then I anticipate you can do well." Willas added, as he finished his goblet, sitting up.
"As you wish, my lord." Mirren nodded, "Let me caution you against relying purely on numbers, the advantage can quickly become a disadvantage should you find your supplies running low." She stepped back, unsure of how to proceed. "Shall I accompany you, Ser, or make my way there on my own?"
"I'm afraid I'll be staying here, and my son, Ellion is headed elsewhere. I'll send a retinue of Reachmen with you, to make your way there to meet Garlan. They'll be stocking up, and preparing a plan of action. It's far more than a rebellion in the Reach, for certain." Willas added, as he quickly signed another piece of paper, before placing a wax seal upon it, half-sliding it across the desk as he gave it to Mirren.
"Though feel free to go see my son. Half saved the castle tonight, held the entrance to the Throne Room with the Reachmen we had. The forces of the Reach, and the Rose Knights will be there in a few days to meet you." The Tyrell Lord added, as he sat up a little.
"I trust you will serve our House well, Mirren Sand. I think you'll find it is benefitial to us both. A spear in protection is a spear that serves indeed."
Mirren bowed, taking the roll of parchment and deftly tucking it away. "Farewell then, my lord. I can depart this day if you wish."
"With the rate things will go, you might have to."
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There was more parchment writing, and Willas had written a systematic set of orders. Orders not disclosed to anyone but him, his sister and later on, Ellion. For now, the orders were enclosed for Merlin and Garlan to recieve, on the matter of the army. He had sealed it with the green wax seal that in itself, smelled of a particular flower from the Reach, a reminder of home that Willas had. He thought about all the mess, and Mirren. That and Ellion's wounds, and he hoped he'd be well.
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Willas and Alerie emerged from the safety of their quarters, and found the scene a mess, a chaotic one. Willas had spoken with King Jon and the Small Council in the immediate aftermath, and the Knights of the Realm were fully alert, bleary but guarding. He had confirmed one particular wish for Ellion's bravery, and Jon had granted it. Willas didn't seem suprised, but was still happy nonetheless. Yet the deaths of the men had been miserable, unfortunate, terrible. The ceremony in the Great Hall had been amazing, and for Ellion, he had been humbled, kneeling at King Jon's feet upon recieving the honour, bowing as he took his stand once again, heading by Merebelle's side. Willas was visibly proud, firing a look across at his son, now wrapped up in his armour with his bandages beneath. Ellion was naturally pleased, a firmer grin on his face than some, as somber as he felt, he felt well for a wounded man. He looked at Merebelle, almost as happy to hear it. Yet something ticked in his head. Something that felt strange. A ticking sensation. She was beautiful, good. But she wasn't right. Not a...well, she was exotic, and fiery. But not like some girls he'd heard of. She was pretty, but not stunning. Even the sex, it was good, but not the best he'd had. It was...strange. What the hell was he thinking? Most lust for others? Or just complacency? Maybe his mind was tired...and he didn't know anymore. All he knew was, he wanted the touch of something tomorrow morning, before he recovered his mind again.
----------------------
Amber breathed, a loud sigh of air rushing into her lungs. She was confused, unaware, and not able to understand. She should be dead. By all accounts, she had been. The life had dripped out of her fingers, and she didn't know why.
"Ahhhh..." She moaned out, opening her eyes, as Jamie ran to her side.
"Amber!" He yelled, as she cooed, sighing as she looked down.
"It's the Milk, don't think about it. You're lucky to be alive, sister."
"I don't know what I saw...it's all black. Where's....where's Aerion?"
"He headed up to the Red Keep, sister. It's okay. You're going to be fine." Jamie replied, as Amber sighed, leaning back, not wanting to think about it.
"Is he okay?"
"He saved you. He saved you, sister. I love you more than you ever know, you know....."
"I know. But I chose to be out there. Please. Don't tell Lady Alerie. She'll have my head. Say I got caught up." She said, Amber's words simple but easy, a lie to keep and Jamie looked confused.
"She can't know."
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Ellion could only nod, looking to the King, a distinct nod, as he knew where he'd be going. It wouldn't be pleasant, but he knew where his place lay. He'd head to the Stepstones, as the note had provided. Some others would go to the Red Mountains, but the note specified The Stepstones, and he felt roguish enough to take it on. It would be a feast of fire, a bath of blood, dragons, ships and pirates. But he liked that. Not a military campaign. A chance to be trusted by the King, and that confirming acknowledgement, to act as Master at Arms in the Red Keep, was a humbling gesture. Not exactly tying, and Ellion was happy with that. He could live with that, or something else.
"I'll go to the Steptones, if you permiss me to, my liege." Ellion added, drawing his sword and holding it by the hilt, walking to a step in front of Jon, kneeling.
"I could use a little adventure. My father has told me that the armies of the Reach are already receiving their orders, and will meet that of the Dornish and Realm's forces in Hellgate Hall. I wish to undertake a different task. I will be available as a sword at your hand for the Stepstones. For whatever is required, for the greater good of the Realm." He said, his voice bold, but readied.
"I could use a few good men in this room, and a couple of Greenhands. Enough cowering in the dark from the monsters of the salt....I wish to find what their darkness is." Ellion said across to the room, looking across at Merebelle, a certain look to see if she would follow, as would anyone else.
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The early morning noise of cawing and creaking could be heard in the Rookery, and the Maester had already attended to the new post. The night's flight of the ravens, and it had been swift. The fastest that he'd seen it, and Maester Olyvar only knew that meant one particular thing. Marching orders, or death. He prayed to the Seven it wasn't the latter. The sun shone through the high tower, the green fields in the distance illuminated, the rolling hills and distant mountains visible from here, the cawing echoing.
He was right, at least, he was half right on the topic of what had happened to a good number of men in King's Landing, and attached was Willas's letter. From the seal of the Lord Paramount himself, the wax that of the House that Maester Olyvar served loyally and humble. He stumbled out of the Rookery, and already headed down the stairs, already finding the Steward of Hightower, Willas's son, Merlin Tyrell. The man was already in his garb, and looked like he'd been woken up by his children, who had come to visit.
The look of fatigue on his face, Merlin was a particularly tall man, 6"4 after all, just as tall as his younger brother, Ellion, a remarkable trait among House Tyrell's well fed and strong bloodline. Perhaps it was all the wine, and the good upbringing that gave them the potential to be healthy and happy. He had the looks of Willas, though his hair was receeding, you could tell he could no longer sustain a long lock of hair, so had his hair trimmed back, leaving a thin layer atop his head, that would in coming years, turn to baldness, and no attempt was made to cover it up. A stocky fellow, he seemed to look larger than Ellion's slim yet well trimmed physique. Did Merlin fight? Not much, or at least, not as much. He was a father, a steward, and he was following his father, yet hadn't seen him in almost seven months now. He had his own life, and Merlin Tyrell was a fair, well-respectable man. You could crack your jokes, but at the end of the day, he was a sound fellow, he earned his respect and in his garb, seemed fitting of House Tyrell's legacy as it's heir in waiting.
"Lord Merlin, it's your father from King's Landing. He sends word of mobilisation." Merlin's face dropped, as he looked across, hands by his side, sighing.
"Fuck. I didn't want it to come to this. None of us in the Reach liking these words. But I know he has a point, it would only be a fragile peace for so long. Alright." Replying as he recieved the note, reading through, taking every word.
"It's a lot of men. At least 8,000 to a campaign in the Stepstones, with that being part of a coalition. And 16,000 to the Dornish Marches, to Nightsong and Blackhaven into the Red Mountains. That is a big ask. He wants us to send almost a third of our military forces to war. That decision of who goes he hasn't specified. But I imply he wants me to make that decision. I suppose the old man didn't want to use up too much quill. He knows that's my end from politics here." Merlin said, as Maester Olyvar looked at him, wondering what their next move would be. Merlin seemed wise to the situation, he was not deaf to the ear of the Reach and it's Lords, he listened to his Lords and knew that they would voice their opinions, strengths, and availability, vying for power. The Reach was a large place, it was difficult to govern, almost as much as The North. Many different peoples within the Reachman identity existed, from simple cider farmers to shipping traders to wise men, to warriors, and everything in between. A Kingdom of farmers, fighters, drunk people, clever people, and mercentile people. An industrious kingdom. A drunk Kingdom that smelled pretty. Merlin had to admit, the game of politics was not so easy sometimes, but when you had an understanding of power, and the fact that everyone respected where they were and what House Tyrell did for them, they served well.
"Send a raven back, and a few others. We have plans. Tell the Steward to find me Garlan, so I can meet. I need to speak with him, and let him know he is needed. Rally the banners of Oakheart, Goldengrove, Tarly, Caswell and Peake. The former two, I want deployed to the Stepstones on Redwyne ships to help carry any coalition that the Kingdoms have, alongside banners from smaller houses inland. The latter three, I want them to deploy to be Garlan's army, alongside Garlan's personal guard at Manderford. We need the rest here. That leaves us with a defense should we need it, and people in the fields happy." Merlin said, Olyvar nodding, as he knew he had a long day. He had his children to go see, caught in between their tutoring, and Garlan to meet later.
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"Aarrrgh!" Garlan's blade rang off the armour plate, as the man was knocked backward over a little, Garlan giving him a hand up.
"Bollocks. Concentrate." He said, as the man took Garlan's hand, looking over.
"Again." Garlan added, as he went forward, charging far too quickly, Garlan slowly but decisively blocking the blade, before swinging it over, kicking him down. He slammed the blade right next to the man's head, burying it into the dirt, tutting.
"This is an exercise in fucking futility. You aren't fighting an opponent fair. I woke you up at the crack of bloody dawn so you understand that better." He added, as the man spat.
"And isn't that all we're taught?"
"You can't be an honourable Knight if you're dead. Everyone fights dirty. Even Reachmen. Look." Garlan added, as he adjusted his blade.
"You have to think of it better. You have a weapon in your hand, but you are a weapon too. When you're in plate, you're carrying momentum, and the more you get bashed, the more you'll tire. But you're like a battering ram. You'll knock, and jostle someone, and that gives you seconds to do what you do. That is, you aim for points, not for sweeps. Again." Garlan added, his son, Martyn, responding well. He was a late learner, but he wanted to do a morning spar, and get his son a little more disciplined. He was a good lad, following in his footsteps, but he worried sometimes he was a little too shy, a little too meek. This was a good way of keeping his martial mind focussed, and Garlan knew it would do him well.
Jostling forward, Martyn swept, as Garlan clanged, Martyn now charging in and shoving hard, Garlan being knocked back, but on his feet.
"Better. Don't risk too much. But don't be afraid to be stuck in." Garlan added, as they started again, sparring and sparring, swords clanging, and Garlan despite his age, was holding well in a fight. He could hold Martyn back, the youthful energy going, but not as good as Ellion, and that Garlan did want that in some way of his own son. Minus the carelessness, of course.
"Good, good. You're doing well. Not fucking bad. I'd imagine you have other matters to attend to in the castle. Speaking of..." Garlan added, Martyn quiet and only listening to his dad, not really having much to say, as the Tyrell brother to the Lord Paramount saw the guard come.
"It's Merlin, he's calling a meeting. There's information from your brother, there's a call to arms."
"By the fucking Seven. Well, Martyn, I'll make a soldier out of you yet."
(Fuck, that was a long time coming. It wraps up some story, and gives me a foothold in the events to come. I don't feel well, and am very tired- this week coming is far more dead and able for me to post in.)
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