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LadyRunic female Member

The Laughing Raven

STATUS: What lies in the hearts of the drae if not madness? - Ma'doc 5 yrs ago
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5 yrs ago
Current What lies in the hearts of the drae if not madness? - Ma'doc
5 yrs ago
Replies will be coming out in a few days. Been down sick.
5 yrs ago
"Fly you fools!"
3 likes
6 yrs ago
To everyone waiting on replies. They most likely will be out tomorrow or Saterday. I need to get a part for my computer!
1 like
6 yrs ago
Sorry if replies are a bit slow. Dealing with a headache.
4 likes

Bio

Hello! I'm LadyRunic! But you knew that...

I love most types of Role Play, but by far my favorites are those that are well thought out and worked with. Especially when you can find a group you can work well with. I love books- So many books. It's a running bet that I will become buried under a pile of said objects one day... I'm a tad busy, and when an Rp really catches my interest I'm inpatient for posts. It's like reading a good book and getting stuck on a cliff hanger.

You can generally expect posts regularly once a week if not more.

I've RP'd for the better part of fourteen years, so I can honestly say I have some experience and I've developed the understanding of what I expect of a partner in a one-on-one or a group. I'm also the sort who will speak up and point out something if it looks off or forms a problem to me. I spent most of a year once stuck in a Voice Chat Rp that was hell on Earth, so I'm straight forward when I need to say something. I expect this in return from my Rpers and DMs. I want to improve my writing and love constructive criticism.

Most Recent Posts

In A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Elayne Rivers, the Ghost of Harrenhal
The bitter wind off the God's Eye carried the hint of a storm as it whipped about the ruins towers that Harren the Black had once speared the sky. Now they stood like melted candles. Dragon fire had melted stone, seared flesh, and burned all within. It had not even been half a century later that life had come back to those haunted halls where ghosts still walked. Ghosts did walk them, those of regret and past pains. The soft music filtered through the heavy oaken door that led into the solar of Lady Catelyn Harroway, the wife of the Lord of Harrenhal.

Her mother.

Not that she could call the woman such, Elayne had learned that quickly as a child under the woman's switch. Though she was of noble blood on both sides, a child born out of wedlock was nothing but a burden. A bastard. One of the many Rivers that dwelled in the Riverlands. Her footsteps were quiet as she carried the basket of cloth to the laundry for the maids. Rightly she should have been in the solar, at needlework or mending for her mother and sisters, but the minstrel had been doting upon her and in response, Lady Catelyn had banished her from the room.

Dressed in the cast off from Alys, Elayne had taken in the form to fit herself better, but the skirt of the gown still bared too much of her ankle to be seemly with Alys being a tad shorter than the slightly younger woman. Perhaps it was her lot in life, a tool to the Harroways. The ever-loyal, ever-scorned servant. She didn't want it. Not really, but what choice was there? There was no life for her outside of the generosity of her mother and the Harroways, so she would make the best of it. Even if the best of them had been sent away. For all his bluntness and sharp words, Elmo had been the kindness in the last two years, along with his aunt Minisa

Minisa, Elayne considered the woman. The fragile Butterwell woman had turned into a ghost herself after the birth of her son, Alton. The boy seemed to grow stronger while his mother grew weaker. Minisa had nothing but scorn from the nobility, her husband was often gone over sea and it was common knowledge among family and servants alike that he was hardly faithful to her. A few servants had dallied with the second son of Lucas. Elayne, herself, had narrowly avoided the man when he was drunk and looking for someone to join him when Minisa had been heavy with child. Her lips thinned as she recalled their last encounter.

The wall at her back was cold and the thunder boomed outside, the man who cornered her in the stairway had the stink of wine on his breath and the flush of a drunk across his cheeks. His nose pressed against her neck and Elayne pushed at his chest, cringing at having to touch the man. "Ser, you are drunk." She had whispered, desperate to find some escape. This was not the first time he had cornered her drunk, but this was one of the worst. There was no Elmo to distract his uncle, nor was her mother around to scold her for his actions. Terror and fear coursed through her veins. If she was not so aware that she stood no chance. Elayne would have slapped the man.

"Not yet." His husky voice, roughened by shouts at sea, washed over her shoulder as he press an unwanted kiss there. Her skin prickled in an eerie way. "Stop it, girl." He growled as she tried to pull away, one of his large hands wrapping about her waist. "I would not ruin an investment." That was worse than his touch, and Elayne wanted to weep hearing it. "After all, there are plenty in Essos who like a beautiful maiden of Valyrian blood, no matter how diluted." The sneer in his voice was audible and the woman sighed in relief as she felt him pull back. A small respite before a hand fastened about her neck. "The Lyseni would pay well to display you in one of their Houses, perhaps even in Elyria I might find a good price? Volantis?"

"Ser," She dared not call him Damon, it would only earn her worse if he took it badly. Which, given Damon's state, he would. "Your Lord-Father="

"He wouldn't lift a finger." She was pulled to her tip-toes as she felt the man tilt her chin up, those cruel dark eyes looking amused. Like a cat playing with a terrified mouse who knew there was no escape. "For a bastard from his lawfully married wife? It would solve the problem of your embarrassment." She was shaking, it could have been cold or fear. Then she felt him release her and Elayne stumbled, falling to the stones. Damon's steps moving away as he called back over his shoulder. "Take care of yourself, dear sister. I have every intent of finding you a worthy husband." It had been long seconds before she stood from the floor, feeling bruises forming on her delicate skin. It had been long hours more she had emerged again after sequestering herself in a small cubby, left from the original building for some unknown purpose that most seemed to have forgotten about, her eyes red from weeping. For Damon would be as good as his words. She would have a husband and it would be to Damon's benefit, even if he had to steal her away from a lawfully wedded Lord in Westeros.

Drawing herself away from memory as one of the muscled laundry women pulled the basket from her hands, Elayne said nothing to the sourfaced woman. Turning instead to go about her tasks, things that could not leave her mind idle. Action would force that dreadful promise away. Yet, she still felt its shadow haunt her just as the remains of soot seared in stone, a few looking too much like human figures when the candles flickered late at night, haunted the melted castle.

The courtship she had seen had not been sheltered. Though she had been kept mostly to Harrenhal Castle, ignorant of the rest of the world, Elayne had listened to the talk. The whisperings kept the walls from crumbling in on them. She was aware of what went on, just as she was aware that the servants saw her as untouchable. The noble among them. The Harroway family saw her as a bastard. Cast out of both worlds, kept to herself. Elayne immersed herself in books when she could. Languishing away when there was only mending that a noble lady could do, yet unable to enjoy the full pleasures of a noblewoman for Lady Catelyn would not allow her to entrance, as the Lady-Mother had put it once, the local minstrels.

Plucking a basket of her own mending to do, an embroidery that Hanna wanted for a gown, the silver-haired maiden moved to settle against the narrow window that opened into her cell-like room. A bed, a small chest, and table. Her fingers flicked the needle in and out as her eyes scanned one of the books that Elmo had recommended to her. It was about herbs and their different properties, something she might find useful if she ever was in need. A stab of pain lanced through Elayne's heart as she recalled the eldest of Lord Lucas's grandsons. Though a cripple, Elmo had been sharp of mind and had taught her what he had read. Be that a smattering of languages, herbs, medicines, or poisons. It had been she who had brought Elmo the herbs he needed and helped him to brew the concentrated forms he desired. A small blessing the Maester was a tight-lipped man who seemed to have some small amount of favor towards her.

Turning the page, she settled against the tapestry at her back. Turning her mind to the task and reading at hand. It would not do to dwell. Life never went backward, the river ever ran towards the sea. Just so, what would come, would be and she could only endure it.
In A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

In A Song Of Ice And Fire : The Swords And Stars → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay

In A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
House Lothston & House Blackwood


The tournament was set to begin, the noble guests that were expected had arrived on time. Lord Quentyn Blackwood stared in resigned silence at the black dragon on red that flapped high on a pole in the distance. Dressed in padded quilting, he looked as a lord should who was set to be merry and to take part in the tournament. In truth, he would have rathered not jousted. There was a point to be made, however, all the Blackwoods were fine and fit warriors. Robert was keeping himself from most of the dealings, but his second son was more a bookish sort and no less a fighter for it. Not turning to greet the man who paused beside him. “You are a fool Manfryd.” His voice was gruff as a breeze raised flags and swept through the scents of hundreds of campfires, cooking, cleaning, and the smell of shit. His cousin by marriage was full of the latter. “Arranging to marry Danelle to a Redwyne boy.”

“It was acceptable to both and I wanted the girl married before the year was out.” The reply was gruff as the Lord of Harrenhal crossed his arms over his tunic. Servants took a berth around the two lords. Some slowed, others speeding on whether they wished to risk overhearing a word. Most did not after both lords fingered the hilts of swords and fixed harsh stares about them. Perhaps the conversation would be better in the privacy of tents and their camps. But the meeting here was out of the reach of sons and daughters alike. “That they have a potential son for Elayne as well hardly hurts. Though I have other hopes.”

“Hopes.” The word was a bark of harsh laughter, as the Lord of Raventree grimaced. “Your hopes lie in that the Prince will take her for wife. A young lad taking a woman he fancies? Possible, but your hatred of the Targaryens is well known after King Aegon, may he rest in peace, took your mother and sister as whores.” Ignoring the snarl on the other lord’s face Quentyn continued. “The boy will likely marry either his twin or a daughter of a Lord higher and with more family prestige than you.” It was harsh but true. The only times Quentyn knew of Targaryens marrying outside of the family for future Queens had been Houses of note. The Hightowers, the Martells, Valeryons, Arryn. Though the last had been a cousin through the mother. Viserys, the father of Aegon, had married a Lyseni woman. Though the King had thought to have been dead through most of the Dance. “Peace. Manfryd, I want what is best for your daughters just as you do. They are Calera’s children.”

That hardly seemed to quell Manfryd, though he did take his hand from his sword. “They are my children and I will do as is best for them.” A gruff reply and Quentyn could hardly blame the man. Manfryd’s pride had always been a touchy thing and he cared deeply. Though he could hardly show it, it just was not in the man. Not since Calera had died.

“Dammit, man. What’s best for them is for you to let me foster Elayne.” His irritation with the Lord of Harrenhal was taking over and Quentyn knew it. Manfryd bred fine mules and wonder he did not provide the place of the ass himself! “You do her no favors allowing her to remain in Harrenhal where you host no one but bats and shadows!” Slapping his gloves against his thigh, he considered his argument and sighed. “Manfryd, Danelle is as stern as stone. A fine heir for Harrenhal.” As fine as a woman could be. The girl had approached him asking if he found her fine enough for Harrenhal. He had, she would rule the land well. She had wanted assurance that if cousins came to call and claim the seat of House Lothston after her father passed, the Lord of Raventree would aid her. Hell, the girl had hinted that her father would be better off dead. Encouraging thoughts as to an accident.

Not that he could say as much to the man before him. Manfryd did not care for Danelle. He found his daughter a suitable heir but difficult to deal with. Like a falcon that could savage you or fly away with a prize at any moment, Melissa had mentioned in passing. An apt comparison. Elayne was a sweet girl and would not do well under Danelle’s hand when the elder sister became Lady of Harrenhal. Manfryd was playing a dangerous game and Quentyn wanted to make sure that at least one of Calera’s daughters had a shot at a happy life. He knew the husband of his cousin was speaking loudly against the Targaryens and if the Lord of Harrenhal was eager for the whispers that the Blackfires were the true dragons… It would not surprise Quentyn.

“Manfryd.” He decided to play on a cruel nerve and continued carefully on the path of diplomacy. “Melissa is at Raventree and I can think of no better woman to find Elayne a match worthy of her.”

“One of Aegon’s-”

“Mistresses.” He interrupted the snarl and continued over the protest. “You well know how highly Calera thought of Melissa despite that. You know very well the two were close as blood sisters. For the love you still bear your wife, will you not at least take it into consideration? Bennifer’s wife just had a son as well. It would only benefit Elayne to be around a newborn child as well so she will be better prepared when the time comes or do you mean to send her with a caretaker when a husband means to take her?”

That seemed to cause the other lord to pause and he seemed to muse on the topic. The flow of people thinned and thickened. Servants hauling food, drink, and laundry about. Buckets and trinkets and tokens. Squires with weapons and armor. Shields of many different hedge knights bobbing as they made their way through the tourney’s roads. Sidestepping a horse and cart of wine, the two lords were tucked off at the side of the throng and Quentyn was about to give things up for a lost cause for the day and take up the litany at another time.

“Let us speak of this over wine. Perhaps you could convince me better with some arbor red in me.” Quentyn’s lips curved as he took the opening. That Manfryd was willing to offer him wine that would cost him something to buy said only positive things.
In A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Collab with @Ruby

Aelor & Aelora Targaryen | | Manfryd, Danelle & Elayne Lothston



The chair was old, but her lavender eyes judged it firm enough for her, even sitting with something resembling confidence in the seat after a thorough dust off in the cellars of Summerhall, quiet spaces with not but an ever-present chill to the air and the scent of damp dustiness as numerous as the cobwebs. Brushing off her hands before flipping white hair as safely behind her ear as she could get, readjusting in the chair with a repressed sigh even as the figure shouldered into the small space.

And it was a small space; besides the chair in which she sat, there was a chair with no back and a profound wobble, a square of wood and four pegs that maybe, if you were both destitute and desperate could be used as a table. The visitor smelled of the road, sweat and dirt, bidding she forgive his current state as he entered with his near-nasaly pitch.

The man was average, at best, in everything: height, weight, appearance, voice…but none of it seemed like an accident. An utterly average man rarely stands out, and is even more rarely recalled even by those who might have seen their face before. “Did you enjoy the finds?”

“I did, thank you,” Instinct brought a small, polite, smile to her mouth as she thanked the man. The books were rare, and highly insightful so far, though Aelora hadn’t gotten so spend as much time as she would have liked with them yet. “Any words from you?”

She had never seen him closely shaved, she realized, as he looked down at the sitting Princess, his eyes clouding from the thoughts at work behind them before he nodded his head, finally, and answered, “Yes. I do appreciate the purse, Princess, it certainly never hurts the efforts. Uh, as to those efforts…several noteworthy bits.”

The tone was somewhere between concern and joy, and, frankly, just left Aelora a little confused until he provided further depth: “The comings and goings of your bloodline, Princess, especially those upon the fringe…best to be watchful. Blackfyres and those with attachments.” She nodded, solemn, understanding, before he went on, “The Reach is so bountiful, how could those within be expected to not want more? Potentially problematic. The North bleeds, and a cousin of yours freezes.”

Her head tilted. The Reach followed mostly what she had heard before; that there was an unusually high amount of muttering between the Bannerlords. The North, though? A cousin? Of hers? The only one that…”Princess Saeria?”

The spy nodded, and Aelora’s face brightened. Half the time Aelora thought the man just made up the stories of Saeria. The other half the stories just made her feel as if her own life had been all but wasted within the walls of the Red Keep. “She was supposed to be here. She was supposed in King’s Landing—instead she gets drunk and decides to purchase passage to White Harbor. She nearly died the first fortnight she was there, nearly freezing to death before being helped by a commoner.”

“…who told your people all of this for exchange for a gold piece.”

The man’s very average, non-distinctive nose wrinkled with amusement, “My Princess, that you believe that is the price paid to such lowborn says much and more about you.”

Lavender eyes narrowed at the man, but she pushed it aside and focused, shrugging, “Saeria is madness and glory in equal measure, but above all is a wild thing. She’ll be fine.” Aelora had met the cousin twice; once she entertained herself at a feast seated next to Aelora by playing with a dagger all evening, going to bed early. The second was years later and Saeria never made it to the feast; Aelora ran into her leaving the Feast for bed. She’d been climbing the Red Keep most the day and expressed sadness Maegor’s was so separated from the rest of the Red Keep as they met and talked on the drawbridge. “And you save the best for last, so?”
“Avoid visiting any Westerland camps.”

Aelora blinked, “More Bannerlord muttering?”

His round head shook, the shadow of what was becoming a second chin exaggerated with the angle his face took as he looked at her in a sterner gaze. “Assassination. Sourced from our own shores, no Faceless Men but skilled if unpolished killers in that guild all the same.”

“How?” Poison was a worry of any noble, there was always a reason you could talk yourself into believing for someone to poison you. Or not you; Aelora lost count of how many stories she had heard from old noble ladies of poisonings that killed someone they weren’t intended for.

“Who can know, Princess?”

Her face twisted, “I should hope each golden coin helps you know more and more. If a Lord of Casterly Rock is threatened I would hope to know something more than that.”

His pause was profound, but not cruel, since Aelora knew when her measure was being taken. When he did respond, it was gently, “You wish to intervene. You wish to know enough to prevent. You wish to help. This is admirable, Princess, as admirable as thinking a gold coin for a commoner’s tale a fair price. This will not be stopped, they will die. Yet take comfort; it’s no Lord of Casterly Rock, but a minor Lannister branch that is the unfortunate dead soul.”

More was said, but it all just seemed to twist and dance in her mind like smoke caught in the wind. He offered guardsmen and cooks and the like, but her head shook, as she simply didn’t care. He knew her rule: either people were getting hurt that might not deserve it, or family, or large matters of the realm. Aelora hated most of all that he was right:

She wanted to help. She wanted to intervene. And, as admitted to herself, she had been embarrassed. Too naïve to know the price of a payoff. She would have snorted in anger, stubbornly diving into the shadows of Shadowblack Lane to learn this harsh reality that the spy found adorable she was so ignorant of.
But she was a princess in a palace, and now wasn’t the time. Yet the thought never left her, even as she stopped by the kitchens on her way and talked to Luci and Stoffer. Ducks roasted in lemon and honey, mutton cooked in a thick broth of ale and onions, baked apples with sharp yellow cheese, salads of turnip greens, red fennel, blue cheese, pine nuts, and sweetgrass. Honeycakes baked with blackberries and berry tarts rounded out the meal. Aelora would admit it was meager, but Aelora was undoubtedly the chief food taster in the Red Keep, spending so much of her youth with the stewards of the Red Keep, learning the importance of being lord commander of a host of servants and cooks, men and women, stores and inventories.

She was harder than most to impress.

The hardest detail to smooth out was the location. The Palace was madness, every usual spot taken by a pre existing commitment to hosting Lords and Ladies. Or it would have been difficult, had Aelor not apparently solved the issue with uncle earlier in the yards, practicing for the tournament. According to Aelor the older Prince stared, shrugged, and told him to pick whichever room he wanted that wasn’t chosen. It was exciting only because it meant a rarely used site; both because it was never necessary and because even when it was it was rarely allowed. All in all, the Great Library wasn’t a bad spot.

He was dressed in black tunic and breeches and boots, chest sporting a red Targaryen dragon in large cut ruby, trails of fire along shoulders and down the sides of his boots in matching ruby red. While she dressed, he would see to the rest of it, parting with her outside the kitchens with a quick hug. He even managed to find the Lady that Aelora had sent for clothing for Elayne, and directed her to the right place with hours to spare.

Most of what was left for him was sitting in the Great Library and having a drink as he read a book about old battles by a Maester long dead to time. It was Helene, the Lady from before, that came in after the table was brought in, candles were lit, and most of the table was already set. Helene was from a House close to King’s Landing, though which, at the moment, he could not recall. There had been drama between Lady Samatha of House Rykker, Aelora’s last Lady in Waiting, and…closest friend? Former closest friend? Former friend? It wasn’t in Aelor’s nature to pry when Aelora was clearly disturbed, and whatever had happened, Aelora had wanted nothing to do with taking him through it. She had just wanted him to hug her during the fallout.

“She used your room, we dressed her, she’s ready and awaiting you, my Prince.”

It was dry, distant, however polite the words the girl used. Aelor had no history of grabbing any of Aelora’s ladies and hauling them off, and Aelora never did say anything to any of her Ladies, but they all acted the same way about them: either at odds, or vowed to silence. Lady Samatha once explained it was because, while no one said it, all the Ladies knew: Aelor and Aelora were all but betrothed.

A dreadful thought in some ways, but it explained why they treated him so politely, so coldly. It wasn’t fear of him, or fear of her, it was fear of them—of intruding, of doing something that would get in the way of what many in the Red Keep saw as one of the purest romances, and easiest matches, within the Targaryen dynasty.

He wasn’t so sure, but Aelor had long ago resigned himself to the distinction between duty and the rest of his life. His twin had done just the same. He met her with nothing but a dagger on his simple but polished black leather belt and silver buckle. It was borrowed, as was the long dagger in a black sheath. His own hair was combed out but retained a slight wave to it, a small braid falling from his head behind his left shoulder.

At the door he nodded to the house guards on duty, one of which simply opened the door and said something. A moment later she appeared, wearing a long cut gown in black satin that bared her porcelain shoulders hinted at the bright red satin lining, most notably at her chest. The young woman’s hips were dressed with a braided bejeweled black leather belt, seemingly every type of gem with every color, dazzling and sparkling as she moved.

Her Valyrian hair was combed fine and straight and let to fall about her back and chest and shoulders. He smelled rose petals when was anywhere close to him, alerting him that they’d met Elayne there. The twins met the Kingsguard Knight outside the Great Library, he along with six other Targaryen Knights that had traveled with them from the Red Keep would be posted on either side of the table, far enough back to be forgotten unless looked for, but close enough to act quickly if necessary. The white cloak would stand behind Aelor, who would take the head of the table. Lady Elayne and Princess Aelora on one side, the Lothson’s on the other.

The meal was splendid, not overly done as Elayne had feared. Nor was the gown that had been collected from her tent out of taste. The dark yellow could have been gold if not for the actual golden panels, taken from one of her mother’s dresses, but it the white lace and undersleeves were pristine. A series of black bats and towers were patterned across the plain brown belt and golden buckle. Suitable, though the neckline was hardly anything Elayne found proper. It had been commissioned by Danelle before they had left Harrenhal, one of the dresses to attract the eye. Smoothing the peerless gown, she gave the twins a smile that she hoped hid her terror at the mess this could well turn into as she tugged at a stray lock of hair.

Sweet pear wine and Arbor Gold were already awaiting at the set table, the smell of food making his belly rumble as he turned away from the table to the door, finding her looking at him for a second before looking back to Aelora. The wine would wait as Aelor made his way to the door and smiled, admiring the view, “Lady Elayne, you look beautiful…and terrified. Why is she terrified?”

Aelora smiled, “Because she’s not slow, Aelor. I was just telling her to take a deep breath, and come in! Look at the library, the table…and the wine. I’d suggest the sweet pear wine. It’s softer on the belly, but makes EVERYTHING better. Shall I fetch you a glass?”

Sighing at her failure to keep that terror hidden, Elayne tugged harder at the curling lock that fell over her shoulder. “The library is wonderful, books are wonderful.” She agreed though there was a strain in her voice. It would be a miracle if nothing untoward happened thus far. Though it was lovely to get a chance to see the twins in splendor, they were lovely and would look more still if she could just figure out how to make black stand out from black. Sheparding her mind back to the course, she found herself nervously pacing. Giving the twins a nervous smile, Elayne tried not to let the frown she felt through the mask and have it aimed at the Prince. He was such a good man for trying to help her, even if he seemed a bit a fool with his question. That he made more problems was simply a by product of such. “Please, Highnesses, I must apologize before hand. My father has- He doesn’t have the best of temperaments and is quick to assume.” Was she pacing again? Her feet seemed to be moving and she felt her hand tugged at that stubborn lock of hair. “This is going to be a disaster.” She whispered in utter horror of what was going to happen. Perhaps she might knock a candle over and spare disaster one way with another one? She knew herbs! Elayne mourned the too late thought, if she had thought it earlier some herbs in her wine would allow her to feign illness and put a stop to this madness! “Danelle is sharped tongue, but she means well. There’s a lot placed on her as heir.” She was fretting, wasn’t she?

Aelor’s face brightened, even as the light of the dying sun flooded the library chamber gold, a smile to match nearly upon his features, “They hate us and prefer the Blackfyres. We know. Treason, and all that.” He seemed amused by her, more than the topic of his own words. “It’s okay, Lady Elayne.”

And Aelora barely seemed to notice he said anything worth hearing at all. She was distracted, eyes on the table, worrying over little imperfections, asking a passing steward to make sure the fireplaces were lit, but along the first and second floors. It seemed to get more and more chilly with each passing night at Summerhall.

“Thoughts are hardly treason when they are less than words.” Elayne answered diplomatically, with a smile that was more teeth than the demure one she wore. “Highness.” That hesitation before adding his title was just as pointed. “I would ask you not to barb my father with such talk, Prince Aelor.” Her cheeks were positively flaming that she dared to say such to him, while a small part of her grumped that it was the man’s own fault for insulting her family. Not that he was wrong. No, he was far more correct than she cared for. The problem was treason by her father and sister would hardly spare her. Her hands at least had stopped tugging and smoothing. “Please?” She glanced towards the door, her brow creased though a small smile still masked her face.

“…what? What happened?” Aelora returned to the conversation, left lost by Elayne’s plea, eyes bouncing between Lothson and her twin.

Aelor said it flatly, like he was repeating some dull fact, “Treason, all that.”

“Oh, yeah.” All the sudden excitement from the mystery of what Aelora had missed in the conversation was gone the moment she heard the topic. For once, she looked more bored than Aelor. “Honestly, this might be our…twenty-and-something dinner with a Lord or Lady that’s treasonous in one way, or another?”

“Close to that number, I imagine,” Aelor nodded.

Aelora shrugged and smiled to Elayne, “We don’t care. You don’t feel that way.”

“I promise not to broach the subject.”

The other twin nodded, once, twice, “Yes, of course, myself as well: I promise not to broach the subject with your family.”

“…if they bring it up, however,” Aelor shrugged, slowly, as he turned on his boot and headed for the table.

Targaryen madness might be more common than she had first through, Elayne sighed and looked between the twins with the same lost expression she first had. “Thank you.” She whispered, and stiffened as she heard a servant open the door. Her hands moved to fold before her and her face became a beaming smile, a mask slid over all else. Taking a hesitant step forward, she watched at the servant brought in Manfryd and Danelle Lothston. “Father, Sister.” She paused as if a hand had been clamped over her mouth.

Manfryd had dressed well in a coat of black with a white and gold bat stitched across the chest. His face was a thundercloud that only dimmed slightly as he gave his youngest daughter a fond smile before turning his cold eyes on the Prince and Princess. Danelle observed the room as she and her father mad their bows to the royal twins. A finger lowering to lay with the rest of her hand.

“Oh, Elayne. Sweet sister, we were worried for you when you wandered off, on your first tournament going too.” Danelle’s husky voice could not be called soft but there was concern there. For her own plans, Elayne knew. Embracing her sister as Danelle seemed wont to do, the younger stiffened as Danelle’s voice dipped to a more private whisper. “Fool girl.” A snarl as she felt the woman’s thumb dig in slightly into her side, tucked away from their watchers.

Elayne kept her smile and observed for all of Aelora’s disapproval Danelle had chosen well. Wearing her own gown of creme with dark embroidery over it. “My apologies sister, I must have been caught up in all the excitement.” The threat was clear and she was to play along if she hoped to see another. “If I may? Allow me to introduce Prince Aelor and Princess Aelora of House Targaryen, who gave me such assistance. My father, Manfryd of House Lothston, Lord of Harrnehal. Lady Danelle, his heir.” It would be foolish to leave that out and probably earn her a sharp pinch to add it if she did.

Manfryd had turned his gaze from his wife’s greatest gift to him and glowered at the Prince. Seeming eager to want to demand answers as to the situation. “And why is it a Targaryen Prince, raised in decorum, would not see a lady returned to her family?” Elayne winced, even as she spied the small smile on Danelle’s lips. Had her sister been planting her seeds into their father’s mind about how her rescue by the Prince had gone?

Aelor had stood when the Lothsons entered, a pleasant enough smile upon his face introduced. At the Lord’s question, Aelor didn’t hesitate: “I confess to being lost outside the walls of Summerhall, Lord Lothson. You must recall this place I’ve spent so much time, transformed into a city of tents and pavilions as far as I can see. Lady Elayne spoke so highly of you both, I felt I had to invite you to Summerhall, and being I knew where it was…the choice was more practical.”
Princess Aelora found back teeth biting into her tongue to keep her from saying the wrong something. Finally, the pious and pure Princess spoke up, “We meant not to offend, my Lord, but to honor your House. There are five meals taking place right now in Summerhall. All small, all private, all invitation only. We sent a large party to immediately inform you of Lady Elayne’s situation, as well as to deliver the invitation.”

The point was unspoken but left bare for the Lothsons to see: they would be talk of the tent city. Some would mention Lady Elayne and the Prince, most would focus more on the dinner. What did they speak about? What petitions were spoken of? This is why there were stories of Aelor and Elayne?
Aelora knew the outrage to follow, the trap she stepped into, but she was confident in the fact that today had been a good day for House Lothson, and Lord Manfyrd in particular.

“Was the party sent to inform you and deliver the invite below your station, my Lord?” Aelora asked, visibly frowning, as the brother of the Kingsguard shifted uncomfortably at the sight from the far end of the room and the sudden silence became profound. It was no accident; unbeknownst to the Lothsons there was a harpist waiting to be brought in, and a minstrel with lute awaiting upstairs.

“It was fair enough.” Manfryd’s voice was not an inch warmer, but he could see the reason of the Prince taking Elayne to Summerhall. It had seemed nothing untoward had happened, but still.. There had been as many whispers saying nothing had happened between King Aegon IV and Jeyne, more were the whispers of his mother and sister sharing the same bed as the Targaryen King and each other. Danelle had suggested that it might be a ploy of some sort to take Elayne as hostage to make sure Harrenhal would remain a ruin. That all his plans would be to the tune played by the Targaryens. In truth? He had just as little love for the Blackfyres, but King Daeron he was sure was a bastard. A king with so many children and his wife only bearing one? Aegon had as well as named Daemon by bestoying the man Blackfyre, the ancestral sword. A sword this youth’s hand would never touch though by rights his father or grandfather ought to have it, if they were King Aegon’s trueborn heirs.

There was a shift of skirts as Danelle rose from a curtsy. “Fair enough, indeed. You honor us inviting House Lothston to dine with you.” It seemed that any urging Manfryd required Danelle was eager to give it. Elayne wanted to feel relief but she knew there would be hidden pitfalls.

Taking his cue from his daughter Manfryd continued. “Yes, it is indeed welcome that you arranged this” His eyes noting the Kingsguard skeptically. Elayne could imagine the man thought this to be a trap. Some scheme. He was hardly wrong, though it was more of Danelle’s making she mused. “Honored even.” He grated, and Elayne stiffened as she felt Danelle’s hand on her arm. A puppeteer. “Though one wonders why you could not send my child back with that party and invitation?”

All Aelora did was look at a certain Knight, and one of the Targaryen men-in-arms stepped back and away. Soon enough the minstrel with the lute would start in the background, descending from the spiral staircase.

Aelor looked, in an instant, emotional. There was a hard edge to his eyes, and his shoulders seemed to stiffen as he straightened to his full, impressive, height. His chin tightened, in anger, possibly? He nodded, several times, as his voice sounded, and the mystery was lifted:

Aelor wasn’t angry, but he did look and sound emotional the more Lord Manfryd pushed, “Lord Lothson…Ladies, apologies for the unpleasant nature of what must be said in your presence,” he walked as spoke, first speaking to Manfyrd, then stopping as he got close to Aelora, while looking to Elayne and Danelle and apologizing for what must be said. But what must be said wasn’t said, not until Aelor was within a foot or less of the Lord of Harrenhal. His voice quiet, intense. “I know what House Targaryen has done to your good House, Lord Manfyrd. I had not thought…I made a mistake. Once I realized it, once I arrived, I knew what had to be done.”

He moved, opening up to the rest of them and taking a step back, his voice louder but his tone the same, gravely seriously but more vulnerable than he was clearly comfortable with, “I had to bring you here. You had to see your daughter, well and untouched, kept company by my sister, while I practiced in the yard,” his voice lowered again as Manfyrd became Aelor’s only focus, the Prince once again stepping close to the man, “You had to see no harm was meant. You had to see a simple mistake was mistake, Lord Manfyrd, that House Targaryen knows the delicate nature of this situation and that we take it seriously. I needed you to see it with your own eyes…who else would you believe more than your own eyes?”

Elayne stiffened and would have taken a step into the fray had not Danelle’s resting arm turned to iron. “Elayne…” The voice spoke softly. “Be a dear and let him set his foot, or need I remind you?” The whisper never rose but Elayne’s eyes flickered between the men worriedly. Danelle had a plan and she was to play the empty headed doll, that Danelle expected.

Manfryd frowned a the Prince as they stood close to each other though he did not back away. Perhaps a fool, but Manfryd was no coward. Perhaps there had been some truth in what the Prince said and certainly there was sense, but lies were said as easily as wine was drunk. “A simple mistake? Perhaps, boy.” There was insult in that word as well, a pointed insult. Bristling slightly he was cut off as Elayne stepped hurriedly forward.

Ignoring the fury in her sister’s eyes, Elayne smiled and hurried to take her father’s hand. To save him from himself and this debacle if nothing else. “All is well Father. Truely, I must apologize for being so scattered.” Her meek voice never rose and was just as lost as she had been when the Prince had found her. “The Princess has been most delightful and gracious in allowing me to gather myself at Summerhall while the Prince was about his business. Please, allow us to dine and forgot this dark talk.” She smiled, beaming between the two men and tried to ignore the icy chill she could feel run down her spine. How had simply slipping around a tent turned into this mess? Smoothingher hand over her skirt as she dropped’her father’s hand at his curt look, she felt Danelle’s hand about her shoulder. Putting the strings back on the puppet she supposed.

“A simple mistake.” He repeated himself and glanced at Elayne before continuing far more carefully. “It seems simple mistakes have led us to here. You speak boldly for one so young and my daughter seems well off with your aid.” There was an edge still in the man’s tone and he seemed distinctly thrown off his first thought of challenge from the Prince’s and Elayne’s words.

Aelor heard no insult. A healthy respect for elders was beaten into Aelor in the Royal yards at the hands of cousins and uncles and Kingsguard. To a man the age of Manfyrd he was a boy, and fair enough. Aelora presented the seats to the Lothsons, apologizing for stealing ‘her new friend’ to the other side of the table with her.

It wasn’t long after drinks were poured and food was served. Aelor didn’t hesitate, asking before he even had a bite, “How is Harrenhal, Lord Manfyrd? How goes the town? I imagine a busy time with harvests near.”

He was interested in what the Lord of Harrenhal had to say, and Aelor knew few Lords who weren’t eager to talk harvests and stores and prices and castle, especially one like Harrenhal. Aelor knew its scale. He didn’t want to imagine running it.

It was the right way to steer the conversation and Elayne relaxed as she found herself sitting across from her father and sister. Had she sat by Danelle, her elder sister would have made her look the fool. As it was, Manfryd nodded easily and spoke of the repairs he had paid, per the laws written out by King Jaehaerys, for to restore parts of Harrenhal. The towers and the great hall, not that they were in disrepair, but they did require more refurbishing after neglect from former Lords. The town was a bustle with the harvest and not only the harvest coming in. Fishing was prevalent on the God’s Eye and the running of Harrenhal was fit to keep any man busy. A litt wonder, Elayne thought with a sigh, that he failed to notice the strife forming amongst his children.

Danelle for her part was listening pateitnly, and carefully. Her words adding in a thing that Manfryd mused over or nudging some idea before the man. Elayne felt the pinch to her side and hid her wince in her goblet. Danelle was going to be pleased to have her back, but unhappy about how easily she could have taken the favor of the Targaryens by fixing Manfryd ‘mindless blunders’. Though her words turned Manfryd from a topic every so often. Turning her words to Aelora the woman continued. “I do hope Elayne was not too much trouble getting under your feet. The girl can be a bit mindless at times, but then… Well, I fear you understand all too well. Having found her wandering about on her lonesome.” She added simply. Elayne merely smiled, though she tasted the hurt as she bit her tongue to keep from doing anything that would upset Danelle still more. Her hands folded in her lap, clenching neatly.

Aelora was mid-drink when Danelle began, lavender eyes bright and big and alive with a happy warmth as she listened, “Not at all. She was a great help, worked with palace staff and my own Ladies in Waiting to get tonight’s meal off the ground, allowed me to see to a very important visitor. Did some light reading on the Greater Mysteries of the Valyrians and the Rhoynar, too, since that was the book I left open.”

“Elayne will be speaking High Valyrian before we know it.”

It was a toast, as Aelor said it with goblet in the air. He said first in the way that came naturally to him, in High Valyrian. He said it again in the common tongue, for all present. Aelora repeated the High Valyrian, and held her own glass up. “To new friendships.”

Elayne felt roses bloom in her cheeks as her father looked with smug satisfaction. He had always thought highly of her, even if she forever seemed to fall short. But the praised heaped on the young woman by the twins made her clench her hands for another reason. “Surely not, forgive me Princess but I did not wish to disturb over much and reading is a small comfort.” She joined in the toast even as her family did. Her smile less of a mask and more true.

Danelle settled back into the chair and Elayne knew that the Princess thwarting her words would not go over well. Her sister did have her reasons, it was hardly easy being heir and her father would not understand that Danelle had no wish to marry a man. Still, the woman would be a fury for this. Elayne sighed, she feared she was getting far too beyond her sister and outshining her. Something that could not be allowed. “A doubtful thing.” Danelle stated cooly. “I’ve no time to spend finding her a tutor, the septa and maester do well enough. What need does a wife to learn High Valyrian? Perhaps if she planned to take an Essosi husband or a Valeryon, but I doubt they would look so inland for a wife.” She remarked with a small bitter laugh. “The men would terrify her with their strange ways!”

“No need, she has Targaryen friends now.”

Aelor’s smile and tone were sweet things in the moment, even if Aelora knew far better. But she smiled along, her tone never wavering from the warmth, “Indeed. We will visit, and you must visit Elayne! Come help me navigate the suitors with me, perhaps we’ll both get fortunate matches. A blessing you haven’t to worry about it, Lady Danelle.”

The tall woman tightened her grip on the stem of her wine glass and her eyes narrowed at the Prince and Princess. Aelora found her foot being thoroughly trodden, as much as a soft slipper could, on as Elayne saw the warning sighs of Danelle’s anger breaking through the surface. But it was Manfryd who spoke.

“Visits,perhaps.” He granted with a sober look of slight annoyance. “But Elayne will remain at Harrenhal while a suitable match is found.” Where it would be lords coming to him over the match. “More over, perhaps a match will be found tonight.” He remarked, Elayne knew she was now blushing for another reason than Aelor’s declaration alone and looked in alarm at Manfryd even as Danelle’s eyes slid sideways. “The Redwynes have two sons of their House that might be suitable.” He remarked. “A good rich house, though I would rather see you, my dear, married to an heir and not some run of the mill cousin.” A marriage for Danelle then, and the woman was looking like viper. Elayne swallowed heavily.

“It would be a pleasure.” Her tone was soft but there was no sweetness in it and her hands smoothed her gown. “I shall wish for all to go well Danelle.” The look from the martial woman made her skin crawl.

“As do I.” Danelle agreed with a vicious look. “Of course, these are matters for later and not this lovely dinner.”

“Talk of Banner rebellion in the Reach, Lord Manfryd. Pick the wrong match there, and you may never see Lady Elayne again,” Aelor added in, almost casually, confident in his information—he always paid attention to what Aelora relayed, even if liked the pretense that he didn’t most the time. That and a long sip of his wine, as Aelora found herself chiming in, the wine making her head a little warm, and fuzzy.

“Besides, Redwynes? They’re alright, but you’re the most powerful Bannerman to the Riverlands. The Crown knows Harrenhal is close should we need assistance, Lords of Harrenhal have a long history serving Royal councils, even Hands of the King. You have Harrenhal town itself, Lord Harrow’s Town, the lake, not to mention the largest structure in Westeros…this is a significant ally. You need an ally equally worthy. Perhaps you could offer your wisdom on our own potential matches, Lord Manfyrd?”

Aelor nodded, firmly, “YES. You’re an experienced man of steel and political prowess, Lord Manfyrd, we would be better off with your wisdom.”

The Lord of Harrenhal frowned slightly, puzzlement though not outright hostility. “The Redwynes have a son to take the Lothston name by marriage with Danelle. Though, I must ask, your own matches. Are not the two of you to wed each other as is your… custom?” Danelle took a long sip of her wine. Elayne looked startled and perplexed. A feeling she felt was all too common around the twins.

The twins just laughed, with Aelora finally being the first to admit, “An option, of course, but marrying to secure strengthened bonds with noble houses has worked well for House Targaryen most recently. It would be foolish for House Targaryen to not at least look into the possibilities that present themselves.”
“…you sound like our grandsire,” Aelor remarked, smirking at his sister.

She shrugged, “Yes, but he’s right.”

“He is.” Aelor wouldn’t dare pretend otherwise, leaving him to turn back to Lord Manfryd, “You know the kingdom as we do not, Lord Manfryd. You are…closer to certain aspects that we are not. You are cautious regarding your own children’s matches, so again I ask: what wisdom would you offer us were you an advisor to House Targaryen?”

Danelle could wish the two were stupid and in truth? She did most feverently. It would be so much simpler then, she could have her power. Harrenhal and her women to love and play with. Why did Elayne have to wander off? To be scoped up by some brat of a conqueror two hundred years in the past? “Very wise and tried and true notions.” She answered simply. Though she contemplated switching Elayne for this trespass upon their plans. Manfryd was rising too high too soon. It would draw attention when he died, and worse? He might well die with an heir if the other Houses sought to ally themselves with a marriage directly to the Lord. Of course she had taken precautions a bit of hemlock, a bit of night’s bane, a few other herbs in his mead. Something to loosen the bowels, to strain the heart. A bit to deaden the interest in women. But this?! Danelle was going to see him fall from the rampants next time he toured the repairs to Harrenhal!

Elayne leaned into the chair and watched as Danelle’s finger ran along the stem of the wine glass as though she wished it was some dagger. She those movements before and sighed. “How would I?” Her father’s voice was certainly off balance and his irksome nature was uncertain if this was some mockery of him or something to brag about later. Musing it over, the Lord of Harrenhal nodded seemingly in thought. “I would repair relations, in truth. Taking husband and wife those lords in key positions. Martial and commerce points of interest.” He words were careful and he looked rather thoughtful. Elayne felt her heart flutter slightly at the thought that there might be some chance, but the young woman stilled it. She was of a small House, in a ruined castle. Their lands were large, but hardly of interest.

“Marriages in Dorne and the Stormlands are always useful. Though I could hardly see why you’d look to the North. The Starks and loyal if nothing else and to be frank? Their uses are slim compared to the rest of the realm. They are vast, yes. But hardly rich and their military might can hardly face down the rest of the Six- Seven Kingdoms.” He shrugged seeming more in his own mind as he considered Aelor skeptically. Amused if nothing else. “I myself have a fair young daughter.” Elayne flushed as that thought came far too close to her own thinking.

Aelor looked to his twin, and nodded, slowly, “It’s good advice.”

“Right about the North. Plus dragons and cold…”

The Prince took a long drink, thought about it, shook his head, “I suppose you’re right.”

“He’s right, too, Lady Elayne is a potential match. We will have to inform our father.”

“His father?” Aelor asked, in a voice that wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

Aelora pondered it for a moment or two, before laughing, “I’m not sure. I’m always hesitant to bother him…better to let father if he decides it requires it.”
On that point, the twins agreed, and toasted to letting their father confront the King for an opinion on the matter, as Aelor explained to Manfryd, “We just recently opened up any kind of courtship. Summerhall is our first public appearance in such a capacity. Any potential matches we report to our father. I presume the Small Council may weigh in, the King himself, possibly.”

“Likely, in your case,” Aelora said, referencing the line of succession, as she downed what was left of her drink. The food was as eaten as it could get, neither twin being able to eat much more. “I fear the night grows late for me, you have a tournament soon?”

Aelor chuckled as he stood, “I did join those lists, didn’t I? Thank you for coming, Lord and Lady Lothston. Lord Lothston, I shall likely see you around the tourney field, same to both you Ladies.”

Elayne coud have happily died there in that chair rather than be subjected to the conversation of the Targaryen twins and her father. Her face turning into a red banner as she swallowed a gulp of wine.”I do.” Manfryd agreed, seeming much in better humor than he had before. His mind was rearranging plans and ideas, new ones and less tainted with the irritation, were being noted as they came. Moving to stand, the man bowed to the royal twins and looked to his two daughters.

Danelle was as serene as a ocean and it was just as much a lie, for within her a maelstrom was unfurling and her anger flashed in her eyes as she considered Aelora. The woman had power of some sort, some skill that had turned everything against her. Just as her twin did. Standing she crooked a finger at Elayne in a gestured that would drop the girl’s bright eyes to her shoes as well it should. “Come sister, let us be about to our tents for you to rest.” She commanded, not bothering to deign her younger sister with a glance.

The youngest of the Lothstons stiffened, her face paling slightly though her smile became more fixed. Standing, she hesitated and pressed a small strip of cloth into the Prince’s hand. “My favor. Wear it if you wish. I am sorry, I wish I could do this a more proper way, but…” She shook her head subtly, and gave both a smaller, far more apologetic smile. “Your hospitality was most welcome, Your Highness.” Dipping a cursty she moved to join her sister, her form becoming stiffer as she eyed Danelle warily. Anyone with sense would with the woman’s towering temper.

It was the white knight that had moved to the door, as the household guards stood sentinel just outside the doors of the library. He had said something about luck and the tournament to Manfryd, as Aelor thanked Elayne politely, and the mass of people moved for the door. Aelor stood behind, but Aelora stayed with them until the doors, until Manfryd was out still talking to the knight, and Danelle had seen Elayne go in front of her, to keep a better eye on her?

Aelora didn’t think about what happened next, she just acted: taking the four to five steps to reach the door from where she had stopped, reaching out and taking Danelle’s shoulder, leaning her neck forward so that her lips could be so close to Danelle’s ears the vibration of Aelora’s lips would be enough for Danelle to tell what was whispered, even if she didn’t hear it:

”I’ve seen your end.”

Lavender eyes smoldered at the woman as Danelle’s eyes shot back and over her shoulder at the Targaryen Princess, only for the Lothston woman to watch the Princess change completely on a dime, smiling and bidding them farewell, waving and thanking Lord Manfyrd for coming once again as the Kingsguard knight escorted them home as sort of parting honor guard.


In A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Blackwoods


The dawn light trickled through the cracks in the shutters that kept the night out and the noise of the waking sprawl of village houses, and the man looked sadly down at the woman who lay staring up at him. Rosy was as beautiful as she had ever been when he returned after his mother’s death. Her face was speckled with freckles and her hair cascaded down her in dark waves that matched her dark eyes. A raven of his own heart, but the knife twisted as she smiled that sad smile up at the young knight. The Young Steward heard her smile and laugh as she had called him that when she hailed his return from Raventree Hall. A return from the seat of his family, Robert wanted to sigh. It should not have been like that, had he his way Rosy would have been crying her joy from the airy solar. The golden light from the glass dappled her dressed in silks and delicate furs to protect her from the winter chill.

A slim hand, roughened from work, caressed his cheek and the stubble that formed a small beard. “Don’t, Robert.” The voice was soft and firm, if he had not known better he would not suspect Rosy of pleading softly with him to leave the question unasked. His eyes shut as he leaned down and press his face into the woman’s shoulder, letting his lover hold him as he felt the pang of rejection cut through him again.

“Will you never admit what we both know?” He whispered, knowing his agony was shared by her. That it was inflicted by her. That she would never agree for her reasons. Reasons he had no wish to pry from her, the one time he had she had wept and refused to see him for nearly half a year. Oh, how he had felt like such a monster for inflicting that upon her! “Rosy-”

Her fingers pressed against his lips as she moved and pressed her forehead against his. “No, love.” Her eyes, dark as pools of night, were glistened with tears of stars Robert thought. “We love each other and we’ve had fine children. Yet, if we were to wed. Robert, I do not want a life of worry and fear for my children. I’ve seen your great games between houses.” She had never explained that and Robert had not asked. He knew she had seen some horrible things, heard worse perhaps. Never mind how he had protested that as a second son he would not likely inherit with Bennifer young and strong and his wife having given birth to a son. Yet there was a nagging thought in his mind. How simple life seemed and yet how easily could the Stranger pluck away the lives of those about him! Robert knew that he could be heir to Raventree Hall and called to make a marriageable alliance. Rosy knew it as well and did not want her children forced into marriages and used as pawns.

“They would not.” He didn’t add what they would not. The list was too great and to speak of the worries aloud would leave things between them that were best unspoken. Kissing her fingers, he wrapped his arms around her and knew she was right. Just as he knew that he would not press the matter with her. Roland had been furious when he had returned from being a ward of the Freys, a shield all new upon his arm, and himself in fury at finding his brother in the bed of a harlot with a gaggle of children that could only be his. By Roland’s morals the proper thing would have never bedded the woman at all, the next thing was to marry her despite her wishes. That Robert had done neither? It was an affront to his younger brother and it was blind luck that Bennifer had been riding through as well. Had he not? Blood would have been drawn that day. “I’m to go to the tournament at Summerhall. Let me take Gran as a squire, the boy is old enough to begin learning. Being a knight is an honest trade.” It would also allow him to keep the boy close as he grew and even arrange a proper marriage for the son he could not acknowledge.

“Robert.” He heard the refusal in her voice, the fear. “The Brackens will be there if the Blackwoods are and how simple would it be for them to start trouble with a bastard boy?” She was right and Robert pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he gave a small groan of protest. “Let Gran go to the maesters as you did. He is bookish enough and has learned to read. Let him go to them in another few years.”

It was true the eldest of his sons was a clever boy, but he was also tall and strong. It would be a waste as a maester, but Rosy wanted her son away from fighting and Robert could not precisely disagree with his lover. Knowing she would ask for his word, the man sighed and nodded. “I will, Rosy. My solemn word upon it, but fair lady? Give me your favor for when I joust?” There was a laugh as the woman twisted about to give him her favor. A sound that was sweeter than any bard he had heard.


“We will be fine,” Melissa leaned against the horse and smiled up at the giant of a man who cradled the small form of his infant son. As Benjicott was handed down to his great aunt, Bennifer gave a dubious look towards Raventreehall. The tall roof spreads its protective eaves over the family’s ancestral home. The poisoned weirwood tree, dead and roost to a host of ravens, reaching its white branches over the wall. It had stood for centuries and would stand for more, yet he still felt unease at leaving his wife and son to go off to Summerhall. His father had sent for his sister, a mother to three herself, to help make sure his son was assured that all would be well and Bennifer knew his presence was needed.

Still.

“If you say so, aunt.” His words were dubious as he turned back to his father, a looking being cast over the large knight’s shoulder as he gazed at the bundle that was Benjicot Blackwood. Melissa smiled in amusement. Soon the knights and their entourage were out of sight and the woman mounted the stairs up into Raventree hall. All would be well, of that she had no doubt.

The woman draped in a chair was dark of hair and tall stature, though still a head shorter than her husband. Olyria Blackwood, formerly a Frey, smiled at her caretaker and sighed as her robust son was returned to her arms, the needlework set aside. “He is a good husband. A better father to be so worried about so healthy a son.” The husky tone was soft as the woman sighed. “Though I do hope they will not run into trouble at the tournament.”

“They will, but they shall be able to deal with it.” Melissa pointed out reasonably and settled herself in another chair under the vaulted ceiling, the hearth before them crackling away in merriment. “Roger and Roland would be to the two to worry about.” The former lover of King Aegon IV admitted and pressed a finger to her lips. “Roger is expected but Roland’s…”

“He has a lance up his arse and frankly getting it dislodged would be a healthy outcome.” The tart reply from Olyria, but it was within reason. Roland had been a ward of her father and she well knew the man’s ramrod stiffness with the rules and his honor.

Pouring some of the wine into a goblet, Melissa watched her great-nephew play with his mother’s hair and smiled. “I would not put it so blandly, but true. Something which causes endless problems if he decides one way is right against another.”

“The old rumors?” The newborn’s mother sighed as she waved away the offer to refill her goblet with less than wine. “King Daeron, long may he reign, has done well bringing Dorne into the realm. Yet, I cannot fault that I too harbor some dismay that he may not be the King’s trueborn son, the trouble those mere thoughts- With Blackfyre granted to a bastard over the heir? Either way, I would rather not have another war to drive brother against brother setting my husband into danger.”

Melissa tilted her wine goblet and studied the gilded ravens about the cup’s rim. “You speak far too openly, but with the honesty of a wife and mother.” She admonished the wife of her nephew, though she could not fault the woman. She had seen the trouble brewing over the past twenty years and heard her father speak in muted tones of the great Dance of Dragons. The horror that had gripped the realm. Thankfully there were no dragons to score armies by the hundreds. The swords in hands of warriors did enough of that. Yet, she leaned back and sighed. “I do not fault you, Olyria, but do not speak of such things.” She warned the woman, her fingers stroking the fur of a doe Quentyn had gifted her.

The mother nodded and seemed lost over the marvel of her new babe. Taking a sip from the glass, Melissa stared into the low flames and considered the whispers she had heard. They would not do to speak of. Not unless she wished to lay trouble upon an already troubled mind. “Ah, Bennifer will be well. His only worry will be his own for you. A good marriage.”

“A match of necessity, not love. But he is a good man.” She agreed with a small, fond smile. “He worries more for the child I think. Five years married and this is our first, and a son.” Melissa was not so sure Bennifer felt the same, but there was no fighting the constructs of their noble rank. Love, lust, wealth, power, and all of it wrapped up to further the ends of those who said to jump. Some were good men, good women. They cared for the happiness of the people under them, not the overwhelming power they could grip. Happiness is so rare a thing. Contentment was more often found.

Melissa heard Olyria keep talking, now about the tournament and her regret about not going. It wasn’t possible of course, Olyria was still weak from childbirth, and traveling with a newborn was hardly a wise thing. The septa and maester would be having apoplexy over the mere thought had it been suggested so it had not been.

Her thoughts turned and as they did she looked through the years of her life and remembered Raventree Hall as it had been in her father's day. The tapestries lustrous and the place was full of laughter and delight. Calera had been as a sister then, eager to join Melissa in any adventure the two saw fit to embark on with Quentyn undoubtedly returning them to the good graces of her parents. Soft spring days of their life before the game of thrones had taken her up as a mistress to the king and before Calera's horrid first marriage. She felt some benefit that the man would not cause another woman the same worrying agony that had been inflicted on Calera and had been a worry of hers unto her final child.

Melissa kept her face a mask of polite interest, not wanting to spoil Olyria's mood or explain the troubles of their family. Troubles best left in the grave. Calera had always feared childbirth, or rather the pain and possible death that would come with it. Her marriage to Manfryd had been a good union and having twins seemed to have cured the woman of that fear, but Melissa could still recall that final letter from Calera, just weeks before her death, worrying that this time felt different. That she did not feel as ready for the child, though she was pleased and eager for a second son. Two daughters already had been born to their union and a second son would cement Manfryd's line with heir and spare. Melissa smiled sadly as she heard Benjicot laugh in delightful innocence. His hands tangled in his mother's gown as he played with the light that reflected off her jewelry.

Innocence. So pure and sweet and it never lasted long enough. Privately she turned the worrying matter of Manfryd Iverson in her mind. She had no love of the Lord of Harrenhal and the man was nothing but a brewing cauldron of trouble. No, what worried her were the two daughters of her childhood best friend. Danelle had become surrounded by rumors and cold and Melissa was worried that the cold fingers of Jeyne Lothston were pulling strings. She had known Jeyne from the woman’s time at court with her mother and had seen the flirting favor with which Aegon had set eyes upon her. Manfryd had his reasons to dislike the Targaryen King, though the Lord had taken it too far perhaps. Having to watch one's sister and mother become favored playthings of a king then be dismissed and find yourself mocked and out of favor? It was a bitter pill. Worse for Jeyne whoever had born the bulk of Manfryd's shame and had been pawned off.

Perhaps there would be luck, Quentyn had two sons who would take a wife gladly. Perhaps one would agree to marry Danelle or sweet Elayne. There was little hope Manfryd would find a son of a notable noble to take Danelle and the Lothston name, but perhaps a cousin with ties at court would suffice? Roland was as firm in doing the right thing as any other man. Perhaps he would not do for Danelle, but if she were to set up the betrothal in favor for Calera it would be to pair the third of Quentyn's sons to Elayne. A man to do the right thing would find a soft-spoken and gentle wife easy to live with. Roger and Danelle however would prove to be more of a… struggle. The boy was as arrogant and sure as any young knight and desperate to prove himself, not material she would put as the Lord of Harrenhal. Yet for Danelle to marry Roland? There was a match to make the North seem as warm as Dorne. Chuckling softly, she took the offered child as Olyria stood and slipped from the room to attend to her needs and crooned at the little lad.

There was always time to ponder but she would not play games except if she could forge some decent marriages for Calera's two surviving daughters.

Perhaps even three. She had her suspicions that Alysanne was not at the bottom of the God's Eye as many suspected or in some ghostly brew in Harrenhal. The girl had vanished all too cleanly. Too practiced, planned, and carefully enacted. She had heard little of the twins or Danelle before Calera's death but the woman always seemed to dote on them. After her death, all Melissa had heard had come from Quentyn in letters from Danelle and softer ones from Elayne. Each seeming to have a shadow over them, which could be expected from Calera's death and the disaster that was Manfryd's second marriage. Still, there was something not right about it and daughters did not just up and disappear from nobles houses.

A gurgle and horrible smell from Benjicot distracted her.


Bennifer sighed and leaned on the sword that was braced against the dirt of the practice ring. Practice, the big man, decided was something which was more amusing when you were being watched by my ladies, wed and unwed alike, and happily married. There was a certain lack of worry that one may wish to tarry into your father’s tent and suggest a betrothal you were not all that interested in while you were tarrying in the tent of another maid. That being said, according to his father, he was to be keeping Roger from doing just that. With more success than how Elayne’s situation was turning out.

A pang of guilt went through the knight at the thought of his younger cousin but he had heard of no lechery done by Prince Aelor, and it would be good for the tiny little flower to get out of the shadow of Harrenhal. Privately Bennifer did not know why his father bothered to hear Danelle out. The woman gave him chills along his spine, it was like walking through those haunted halls. Having paused by the castle when he had traveled into the Vale for other tournaments, Bennifer could not help but feel the smallfolk had some truth in the idea that those ruined halls were haunted.

“Will you stand around all day or fight!” The challenge rang across the practice field and Roger glared at his brother. Dark of eye and light of hair, Roger was drawing just as many stares though his form was less tall and leaner than Bennifer’s bulk. Taking the silence of Bennifer’s slow thought for an answer, the young knight charged and was knocked aside with ease as Bennifer swung his sword like a hammer to knock the shield aside and then sent a kick into his brother’s stomach.

Walking over to the gasping lad, the man rested his sword on a shoulder and smirked. “I will get around to it.” His voice was a deep and slow rumble as he offered a hand to the younger Blackwood.

Roger grasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. Still wheezing. “You mean to take me from the lists lest you joust against me!” He accused his brother with some heat in his arrogant jest. The answer was a peal of deep belly laughter from the man that boomed like thunder.

“Your arrogance does you no favors.” That voice, the very definition of detachment, flickered through the practice ring the Blackwoods had taken and dispelled the laughter of their eldest brother. Roland was a beautiful singer and poet but he always left the words with a sense of longing. As though there was a great sadness or righteous fury that could only lead to doom. The youngest of the brother glared and would have whirled to challenge him had not Bennifer’s grip turned to iron.

Among other things, Bennifer had been chosen to keep the two from fighting. The big man sighed and gave Roger a disapproving look. “Why not go change and see what enjoyment can be found at the Redwyne tent? They are said to have brought a fair bit of drink.” The scroll on Roland’s fair and lean face gave truth to what the man thought of that. Bennifer always thought that Roland looked a fair bit like their grandfather Benjicot. His hair ranged between a dark blonde to black and framed a face set above a form that was lean and ready with sword and shield.

“You encourage him to drink and sin.” Pious is a good word for the boy. Bennifer felt his feet move and soon the two sons of Lord of Blackwood were circling each other like cats.

Shrugging his large shoulders, Bennifer knew he should end this soon so he could catch up with Roger before the boy got himself into trouble with the Redwyne daughters. Though a betrothal to that House would be as good as anything, he did not want it with a Redwyne with a bastard in her belly for Roger. A wife to tame him would do the lad good, but a child? That would drive Roger into taking the Black if they were lucky. To Essos if they were not! “We all drink, Roland. We all take our pleasures. Shall you go to Old Town and become a Septon?” He had thought their father might insist upon it when Roland had first returned with his shield, three white weirwood trees. Oddly enough when asked, Quentyn had said no. Bennifer had not understood why until his father had opened his eldest son’s eyes to the potential war that brewing. Wars brought death with them and there would be a desperate need for knights if things boiled over.

“Septons may speak from the book, but men fear a sword and will heed their betters through it.” Harsh words, though not untrue. “Lawless brigands are not brought to heel by the Book of the Seven.” The Blackwoods had kept the Old Gods and Bennifer felt a twinge of dislike at recalling that Roland had taken up worship of the Seven. There was no real reason for it, but it irked the large man that his brother could be so callous towards their family. Noting that Roland had lowered his weapons, the big man did the same and chuckled to break the tension.

“Not going to fight?”

“I’ve no need. We shall prove our skill later in this tournament.” Ah, so there was the ire. Roland did not enjoy his skill for show but to be of use. This tournament irked the man and Bennifer had overheard their father order Roland to participate. Shaking his head, the large Blackwood turned away and sheathed the sword at his waist. Giving a wink and a wave to a few ladies that were watching while he retreated to his own tent for a better tunic and then…

Then he was going to get wonderfully drunk while keeping Roger in line and out of bed with noble ladies.
In A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Collab with @Neianna86

Domeric Redwyne | Manfryd Lothston

-Around the time of Elayne becoming lost-


The morning was bright and early, the sort that spoke well of the weather for those that attended the tournament in Summerhall. It could have been raining or snowing and the mood of perpetual grimness surrounded the Lord of Harrenhal. Dressed in somber black with trim of gold and white, his vest was of plain leather and boasted the bat of House Lothston as he crossed the tournament grounds. Two guards with him, not as any real measure of protection the Lord would agree, but more as to give them something to do aside from the drinking and flirting with pretty maids that would certainly be out of their reach. Stopping as he walked through the tournament ground, he spoke to several lords and their sons, though the tones were often tense. It was well known that Manfryd had no love for the King and Princes of House Targaryen and were it not for the fact he had two daughters to wed it was known he would not have attended even if the invitation as proved an insult.

There were the Freys who drank a cup with him and spoke in agreeing tones about trade. The Moontons, the Paeges- to whom Manfryd had no love but they held lands near his own and the Lord of Harrenhal was determined to make his social rounds as duty bound him-, and many other Riverlords. Some had sons aplenty, others had sons spoken for, yet he breached the topic and found most were regretful that they would not marry a son to Danelle that would take the Lothston name. There was scorn in some voices, others showed sympathy, and still, others offered sons and daughters and discussed the Realm and the various potentials of the Targaryen Princes.

Finally, he came to the House in truly wished to speak to and paused as one of their manservants rushed by. Waving over the loitering man, he spoke with sharp words and a passed groat. “See to it that Lord Gorlois Redwyne is notified that I wish a word with him, or his brother Ser Domeric is notified Hop to it, man.” He had written letters of commiseration to the House before about the ire of the Targaryen’s missteps, and the possibility of marriage between their houses, both rich for their own reasons. Gesturing to his guards, he left them to roam like faithful hounds as he sparked a conversation with a large and brutish-looking Hedge Knight he recalled from his years past when he did joust. Ser Hamil was a large man whose hair had gone and an angry scar gave what remained of his nose a snoutish look. Topics turned to banditry and the tournaments and travels of the knight.

The man had looked at him with some internal conflict, before shaking it off and finding his lord, it was after all not for him to question such things.
It only took a minute or two for Lord Domeric and his Lady to appear. They had been enjoying a courtly stroll together as ‘the children were handling themselves and had been given orders. Honora would see to it that they were obeyed.
The woman was part bloodhound after all.
As they approached Lord Manfryd they halted and offered him a welcoming smile.
Lady Cyra Peake bent low in her courtesy offering the man a little warmer welcome than he would be used to.
“Tis a good thing to see the bat of Lothstone amongst all these Northern knights.” She offered. “I almost believed I truly was up above in the Neck at this point.” She started with a gentle laugh.
“I assume you will want something to drink? What pray tell, may I fetch you?”
Domeric himself was a taller man, slightly portly as the years and the wine had settled well, particularly a bit around the stomach, but such was the case with age and prosperity.
His dark hair had started to show some graying and his darker blue eyes were fixed on Manfryd’s as they attempted to read the man’s expression.
Nevertheless the man offered him an equal warm smile through the well maintained black beard that was gracing his face. His nose bore a scar, a memento of a skirmish with some pirates some 20 years ago, a particularly nasty event that also cost him one of his eyes. Whilst the damage was not so horrible that it left a great deal of scarring, the eye had been ruined. So he wore an eyepatch to cover up the replacement he had put inside of it, leaving many to wonder what exactly was behind it.
Some spoke of a crystal eye, capable of seeing the future. Others swore it was similar to that of a black candle, so black that it would swallow all the light and offer the man his sight back.
Domeric never unveiled it, so it was and remained a mystery and he himself enjoyed it being that way immensely.
The coat he wore was stitched with silk and gilded thread and the cufflinks were little trusses of grapes and the padded silken shirt beneath it showed off their wealth with its cleverness of the stitches and embroidery as well as the material that was used.
Cutting to the chase he turned to Lord Manfryd and spoke in a more serious tone.
“I doubt he came here for leisure Cyra…I believe he came here for business. Is it not so, my Lord?”

Manfryd gave a bow and a small smile at the woman. While he would grumble and grouch, the man was not without manners. “The bat of Harrenhal indeed. I come for business, thought your offer of wine is generous and I would hardly refuse a woman her will.” There was a reason that Calera had accepted him as her husband and though time may have embittered him, Manfryd could not help but try to give Cyra Peake the courtesy he saw due to her. Privately he wished he had kept to Domeric’s aging and not his own balding head, he knew his age hung about him as his frame seemed in decline but the spirit was strong and he would see Harrenhal kept as it should be. A lordship of note and worth in the control of House Lothston. Turning his cold blue eyes on the Ser Knight, he gave a firmer tone that spoke of business. “Shall we move this talk to more shaded quarters, we are not the youth to let the sun stew us in silk and armor alike.” He also did not want to speak so openly that others might take up an interest.

Domeric laughed and nodded as he patted Manfryd on his shoulder.
“Come, I’ll see us both seated. This year’s Tournament is proving to be a rather good and profitable year. As all Gods know, when bounty is a-plenty one must return the favor. The Gods will otherwise take their share and usually are far less cordial then.”
He led him to the Feasting hall, but helped him up towards the Redwyne’s own table as he instructed his own household guard. “Keep a clear eye on trouble makers and allow us to have our business in private. Anything that cannot wait you will call upon the lady Cyra, she’ll keep the peace for now.”
With but the shortest of nods in accordance, he gestured for Mandryd to sit himself down at the well dressed table. Food was always present or refreshed for those who desired to eat and goblets stood there ready to be filled with whatever their guests desired.
“Anything you fancy, Lord Manfryd?” He asked.

“The red wind of the Arbor. Your drinks hardly lack.” He stated what to him was bland truth and sat easily when Domeric did so, not wanting to be too presumptuous so soon. Glancing about the tent with a smile that was tired, if not easy, he swirled the goblet and watched the guards keep a discrete ring about the noblemen. “Far finer than Dornish swill, I need not worry about choking on poison or sand.” Giving a shrewd look to the Reachman, he decided to cut to the chase, they could talk more of politics later. For what he spoke of did not change his footing there. “I have two daughters, you have two sons Ser Domeric. If we cannot find an acceptable match between the two,” The thin man shrugged his shoulders in dismissal. “I might have to see if your brother will be agreeable to giving one of his daughters for my wife.” Considering the wine, he looked across the pavilion and gave an almost sad smile. “I had one once before, taking another would not fill that void, yet no woman would find Harranhal a horror.” The man for all his snarls and sour nature dearly missed his first wife and something had snapped in him to reform into anger over everything else.

Domeric poured him from the decanter Lady Cyra had brought them, catching Domeric’s eyes for a moment before stating.
“If you have need of me, you need but call for me, Husband.
Domeric smiled before waving her off.
“Go on, I know you’ve been eyeing that Lannister goldsmith ever since we passed them, buy the bloody things.” He said before adding. “Just, keep in mind to tell Honora to keep watch.” Knowing the glint in his wife’s eyes all too well.
As he watched her leave with a smile spread from ear to ear, he took hold of his goblet and toasted.
“Let us drink to good business and taste.” He offered allowing the red liquid to please and soothe his worries.
“Aside from the fact that the bat has always been a well respected sigil, your own visits to Tournaments have been rather rare have they not?” He asked. “Or perhaps our paths hardly ever crossed during those times…Whom would you aim for if you were a betting man?” Domeric asked as he swirled the wine in his goblet.
He eyed him more seriously this time.
“I doubt few houses would honor the bat and offer it its due respect. Perhaps it is fear that drives them or simply because they’d rather not part with sons or daughters.” He gazed about the room.
“You sent out a letter I believe to my brother. Whilst I have heard him about the desires regarding his House I did not hear him mention your name amongst them.” He told him matter of factly.
“You’re in a bind, my lord. You have no sons to carry your line and with your own age increasing I doubt few Lords would offer up their daughter for fear of what the lowborn call: the curse.” He told him as he took another sip from his goblet.
He allowed the silence to speak for itself.
To ponder and consider his next move for a moment longer.
“I would offer you my sympathy as well if I did not see the opportunity that lay within.”

“I have seen time better off tending to my land.” The man said stiffly, “Tournaments are for those who care for such foolishness as to risk their necks getting broken. I rode the lists in my youth and with no son to take my place, I saw little reason to join them again.” Leaning back in the chair, he drank deeply of the wine and forced himself to relax. Ser Domeric’s words struck close to the heart of the matter and Manfryd waited patiently. “It does seem that even the Highborn find themselves fearing nonsense, the only ghost that haunts Harrenhal is that of Jeyne. I was gracious enough to allow her a place to stay after her husband’s children turn her out when the Stranger took him.” It irked that Gorlois did not see him fit for even consideration, but Manfryd held firm against the insult.

“A bind? If I wished to relieve it, I would take another commoner for a wife.” He pointed out with a bored expression. “They are plenty enough and a young woman would be eager to be spared working the fields. That is no guarantee of a son to carry my line, however.” He would give some ground to gain a husband for Danelle, though it made his pride quiver in outrage. “Though the lad who married the heir to Harrenhal and took the Lothston name would find himself a man with rich lands and a wife well interested in tending them properly. For all my daughter has her eccentricities, she is capable and is familiar with the land and would not begrudge a husband free reign with his own amusements.” That he was certain of. Danelle would care less about the man so long as they upheld the Lothston name. “Let us cut to the chase, Ser. You have two sons who are not like to inherit. What is your price? Gold? Land? I will be loathed to part with the latter. Harrenhal is vast and needs that vastness.” He arched a brow. “Or would you seek to marry a son to Elayne? I would not be discouraged by that notion if it was your younger son.”

Domeric waved his hand in a gesture of appeasement.
“You mistake my meaning. I meant I had expected you sooner, where Gorlois children were concerned. At present I doubt his daughters would please you and his sons whether they were paired up or not, would have done for your children.
As all good gardeners know, a good wine needs more than just water and sun.” Domeric turned to him more as his features turned serious. Gone was the jovial smile, sharp was the glint that came from the blue eye as he placed one leg over the other leaning forward a bit.
“As you stated I have two sons. You need one to carry your name. Whilst we both know Harrenhal is vast, it is also capable of crushing families with its expenses. We both know this, so why not seek to provide ourselves with a better outcome of the matter. I’ll be frank and you’re not deaf either. The rumors regarding your daughter have made it difficult for you, you cannot deny that Manfryd.” He spoke father to father.
“I’d happily give you one of my sons if I knew that it would be a union that would bear some fruit. If only to offer you some solace from this.” He held up his goblet.
“My sons need not inherit, I did not inherit either and yet we have not suffered for it. I married upon my brother’s command and learned to live with my lady wife, finding her agreeable and capable to live and bear children with. Who is to say this could not be true for your daughter and my son. Provided they agree to it.” He stated refilling their cups and explaining his thoughts to Manfryd.
“Poorly made marriages never last, when lovelessness grows into disgust all you will reap is more sorrow. If the girl agrees to the match, I’ll see to it my son will take up your mantle. To ensure we sow a good field. Half of your castle cannot be manned or used, I’d say it should be repurposed for the wealth of your line. An orchard perhaps. With its more central location it could even be used as a retreat from the world. Alas my business mind is thinking ahead…pray tell me one more thing. Why would you rather have my younger son for your daughter Elayne?”

“Harrenhal will stand, there are plans already in the works and repairs being made.” Manfryd sighed, crossing one leg over the other. “As lovely as an orchard would be, we have several around Harrentown. I would not be averse to expanding the industry or adding new to it.” Studying the knight the man gave a chuckle. “As for not coming sooner. Elayne was hardly a girl and too young for me to allow her to marry or even be betrothed, I had held out some hope to find a wife myself.” Shrugging as if it mattered little to him, the Lord continued. “Poorly made marriages, I had one myself. Danelle will doubtless find your elder lad well enough,” And she would if the girl knew what was good for her. “Tell me though Domeric, if your wife perished bringing a young daughter like Elayne into the world, would not see her set with the best match you could? She needs a husband who can keep harm from her. Not one with ambition and with a secure seat to properly provide for her.” He shook his head and gave the man what could almost be called an apologetic look if there wasn’t pride in his eyes for the youngest of his children. “Elayne will go to someone who is worthy of her.”

Taking another drink from the wine, Manfryd decided to steer the topic away from ‘an agreeable match’ and see what could sweeten Domeric to the idea. “As for turning Harrenhal into a resort…” That brought a bark of laughter from the man. “Every war that crossed the realm has found a battle at Harrenhal that I can recall. From the Conquest to the Dance. Dorne never came so far North, but can you say we also did not see fighting on our shores around the God’s Eye from skirmishes as well? I have allies I can call for aid, married into that aid to secure it, and with reason. Perhaps I am being over cautious but Harrenhal has never been a Summerhall.”

Domeric smiled upon hearing Manfryd bark with some laughter.
“It is good to see you smile and laugh, Lord Manfryd. I confess Harrenhall is hardly anything like Summerhall, but as you said it had seen its fair share of conflict. With its location and size, where better to camp, where better to supply those doing battle.” He eyed the room.
“With all this excitement and happiness one would almost forget the potential troubles that stir in the air. If you pay close enough attention then you can smell it, like you can smell rain coming.
It's good that Harrenhal is speeding up its repairs, though I would do more than that. For if my hunch is correct we’ll have Dragons stirring again.” He told him before sipping from his goblet.
“I can understand why you’re protective. I would be as well if I had had any daughters. I know Gorlois has his favorites, but above all I know that the twins would have hardly done for you. They’re…our own little issue to deal with, I would not risk offending you with one of them. Regardless, I am certain we will find an agreement regarding one of your daughters.”

"I must admit that our harvest these last few years have been more fruitful than I have let on. It is wise to hold back some stores against possible disaster." Though a thin smile crossed the man's face. I do believe that one of them would do well if placed down south. I hear the family ties of the Reachmen are strong. Why not let one’s seed fly wide so your roots may run deep?" There was a level of suggestion in his voice and his posture was too relaxed to insult as he suggested that Gorlois marry his twins to Dornishmen. From what he had heard, the whispers, the girls would do well there and could easily send news back in letters to their father. "There is an old village on the West Bank that has suffered some from recent years. Perhaps your son would take up a winery in it. Though, your knowledge on such things exceeds my own." He admitted and cocked his head in consideration. "Shall I bring my daughters by tonight? For them to meet your sons?"

“I fear the Dornishmen hold little love for our wine or our family.” Domeric laughed before giving him a curt nod. “The day they do I will praise the Seven and stop drinking.” He vowed. “But I expect they’d cause some scandal and be known as the Arbor Reds that ruin men and salt their fields.” He said in amusement, before agreeing.
“You may bring them. I shall ensure my sons are here to greet them. What will come of it, we will have to wait and see, but I am certain we can press upon them the importance of meetings such as these, can we not?” He asked.
He raised his goblet once more. “To the future…” He offered.

“I am certain we can.” And he would, even if he had to drive Danelle to the septon for the marriage by the threat of disinheriting the girl. Raising the goblet, he suspected that this would be agreeable to his eldest daughter. Domeric’s son would be allowed his vices, the alliance between houses would be beneficial and Danelle would be wed off. A good thing all around. Perhaps this tournament would be of some benefit. “To the future.”
In A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
Collab with @Vanq@Sini

Dinner and Drinks - A Lady and a “Bastard”


Dyanna’s eyebrow quirked up as the woman departed hastily. She turned to watch Alys disappear into the masses of people that swarmed around her. She had learned to anticipate Maekar and did not jump as she felt his fingers lightly set about her waist. “You scared her from twenty feet away, my love. She won’t survive dinner if you think to join me tonight. Perhaps your brother can keep you entertained.” Dyanna’s voice was soft, as she tilted her head back to rest on his chest. She’d not listen to any questions or complaints about her plans. Certainly, by now, the Prince knew better than to ask. There was enough duty ahead of her, one night speaking with the curious bastard would be an agreeable diversion. “Come, you best return me to our rooms so I can be appropriate to meet our guests. Who is it this time?”

“Our good sister’s kin from the Stormlands: Lords Baratheon and their train.” The prince squeezed her side appreciatively. “I [i]infinitely[/i ]prefer your impropriety over Baelor’s quixotism,” he said with a hint of uncharacteristic mischief. Dyanna forever brought out the worst in him. “Yet you are right. Baelor wishes to discuss these Dornish raids out of the Red Mountains. One would think wedding and bedding more than one of you would be sufficient to put an end to that.” Maekar’s remark was mostly for his wife’s benefit, for she enjoyed being teased - or so he had convinced himself over their years of marriage. Despite the peace between King’s Landing and Sunspear, and its subsumption into the writ of the Iron Throne, brigands and bandits continued to operate out of caves and mountain fastnesses to predate on the Marches. Maekar felt his pulse quicken as Dyanna leaned into him. “Our rooms, yes,” he agreed hungrily. “Mayhaps there is still some time to be inappropriate…”

—

Last-minute dinner plans had been easy enough to arrange, at least for Dyanna. Servants brought a small selection from the main dinner’s courses. She had called for several different bottles of wine, though hers again was watered and honeyed. As much as she sought to be supportive of Maekar, it was a true relief to be spared another dinner with yet another great house or with Baelor in particular. The tourney had not even fully started but she yearned for it to be over so she could return to their quiet life.

“My lady, your guest has arrived.” A woman entered the doorway looking only slightly frazzled.

“Bring her up then, thank you.” Dyanna returned her attention to the small table in her sitting room that had been set up. She had changed, following her adventures of the afternoon, into a simple dress of linen, loose in a Dornish style, lilac and secured with the broach gifted during her betrothal some years ago; it had remained a favorite. It was blessedly less extravagant than what had originally been selected for the evening.

There was a sway to her hips as Alys slipped into the room in a gown that was deep green silk. Not something a common woman could afford and cut in the fashion that would befit any court with its sweeping neckline of cream and sleeve that fell in long billows after her elbows. Though her hair was ever in that long braid as it twitched and swished behind her like some form of a tail. A friendly smile to the frazzled servant, and a press of something into the woman’s palm as she passed, and Alys was dipping a well-practiced curtsy to the Princess of Summerhall. “I have arrived even as I said I would, My Lady. How could I refuse to dine with one of such renown? Though I must admit, my poor knight was beside himself with my neglect as to proper courtesies.” Which would be for her to mind his own needs and stay far away from a noble house he hated with a passion. Flipping her braid over her shoulder, she gave a fox’s grin to the other woman, she had no trouble with her. Let Dannel worry himself as he would, she would carry none of it here. A nice, free dinner and a chance to gather and offer a bit of news. There was always information to be bought and sold especially in high society, she told herself with an amused tone, her like of the woman had nothing to do with it.

“Alys, how wonderful that you made it. I hope the -“ she waved a hand in the air as if to gesture to everything and nothing, “ - chaos of this was not too much to sort through.” Another mention of this mysterious knight set Dyanna’s lips to a quirk. She hadn’t been able to track down any of the men she had sent to the woman’s camp to find out more. If they had even taken notice. “The septas from my youth would admonish me sharply for it, but I prefer familiarity rather than formality. Join me at the settees for a drink while the last of our dinner is brought in?”

The sitting room opened into a small balcony overlooking the now hundreds of lights that dotted the land surrounding the castle. Settees lined the entire area, with pillows and soft blankets needed as autumn airs threatened to chill the night. Dyanna situated herself, soft slippered feet pulled up under her as she sunk into her favorite seat. She had been serious about a lack of formality. A goblet of her wine waited for her on a nearby table. “I was not sure what you may favor. The Redwynes gifted us enough wine to last a year I think - take your pick of the red or the gold - though,” She added with a mischievous glint, “I’ve always preferred our vintage from my family’s vineyards.”

“Last a year with every knight in the region camped on your doorstep?” Alys noted with a smile as she joined the woman on the balcony. Sinking into the chair with an easy grace as she neatly crossed her ankles. Habit taught from a young age when wearing a dress. Her own hands poured a goblet of the gold as she settled into the chair more fully. For all she sat with a great lady of the realm, the woman seemed to take Dyanna at her word, a dangerous thing in the game of thrones. “Rhllor’s Pleasure. An Essosi I met on the dock of King’s Landing was selling it. An interesting twist of flavors that I have come across since.” Taking a sip of the Arbor Gold, she sighed in bliss. “Sweet with a bit of gold in it and costing enough I did not spare more than for a single glass.” She mused and shook her head in mock despair. “I shall mourn the loss forevermore. Though it was my more foolish escapades.” She had been thoroughly drunk and young, how she had not been picked up by the Gold Cloaks was something she still suspected was a narrow thing.

“We all have our youthful indiscretions.” Dyanna laughed with her, the story a welcome diversion as she had hoped. She was certain they had a bottle of that vintage saved somewhere, or perhaps it was Dragon’s Breath or A Dornish Kiss. They had been rather taken with some of the names the house had fashioned. “King’s Landing, I have not been back there in years and I was not able to take in much of the city. Truthfully, I appreciate the countryside far more. Open land to run and hunt.” She sipped her drink, in King’s Landing she had not been allowed to take off exploring nor have the boldness than to do as she wished in such a foreign place. “Will your knight be competing in the lists? Perhaps we should set several rumors milling if you were to join me for his contest.” Dyanna raised a hand quickly, “but if your answer is no, I must insist you mull it over with more wine and think on it til after dinner.” At the mention of food, a set of servants entered with a final few plates. Dyanna waved them over to set up the selection - roasted duck and boar, flaky vegetable pies, cheeses, and summer’s fruits.

“Youthful indiscretions?” There was a throaty laugh from the redhead as she chuckled. “My life is one indiscretion after another, My Lady, and I delight in them. It is merely a shame I do not remember all of that particular one.” Looking over the platters of foods befitting a meal for ladies, she sighed and there was a ravaging hunger in her eyes at the sight of boar. An arrow did little to its hide, and she had no wish to fight those savage tusks. “Aye, Ser Dannel means to compete.” Alys saw no reason to not give the name to the woman. Perhaps it might reveal why her knight was so irked against the Daynes. “A good man, though if you were to join for his contest with rumors he might fall off his horse in shock.” She chuckled gently and swirled the goblet. “A good knight, but do tell me, Lady Dyanna, what would a noblewoman know of discretions? Aside from that story, I scrounged up about your proposal which sparked an interesting love story out of the two of you among some women.”

Ser Dannel. So at least she had a name to go with him being of House Bushy. A small house certainly, of which there were countless wandering her home. The name meant nothing, but she could barely conjure up more of the house than its simple sigil or that it hailed from the Reach. “I would hate for a man to fall for such a trifle.” Dyanna would think on it regardless. There was something that prickled at the back of her mind over the oddity of it all. Or perhaps she simply needed to be kept busy with less pressing matters.

“I’ve heard that my story of that tourney is told as a warning or as a true love story depending on if it’s repeated by men or women.” She chuckled easily at that. “I was young, with too much confidence and luckily too little sense. You know - I knew he had to be one of the Targaryens. But I hadn’t a single idea which one. When I returned home, my friends and I took to calling him Prince Growl.” A wicked smile crept across her face. “But I must swear you to silence on that. Seven knows I’m allowed a few secrets from him still.” She twirled a slip of her hair between two fingers. “What about you, is Ser Dannel your knight?”

“I shall be agreeable to silence on that. His growl is not worse than his bite towards those other than yourself.” She noted with an amused noise that could have been a giggle. Then it became a chortle as Dyanna followed the route of conversation. Taking a sip to bide her time and compose herself, Alys shook her head. “No, he is my sword and shield. My heart is yet my own and there is but one thing to claim it. The challenge and amusements that can be found throughout Westeros.” And in particular, the things that were renowned though she saw no reason to be so pointed. Giving a broad smile, she knew her eyes were dancing with amusement. “If I offered to give myself to him, my poor Ser would be horrified. The man is sometimes too good, or that could be too stubborn.” She shrugged nonchalantly, her pale eyes sliding sideways to fix Dyanna with a wondering look. “I attract the strangest of people, from knights to Ladies it seems. But I must ask, what do you know- or think of- Prince Aelor? I heard from several mouths he was seen with a young woman of House Lothston across his lap riding back to Summerhall?” Indeed she had, and while she was not sure she approved of it in a Prince, Alys disapproved of Elayne being treated in such a way. “A serious question perhaps, but we are women, and my knight worries though I am not near the beauty.”

It was an entertaining way to view the man she traveled with. And while some women would protest too much or too little at the suggestion, Dyanna found herself believing this one even if she had many questions still. “It is very likely stubbornness, it is a common trait in men. A reliable sword arm is worth its weight in gold, though, don’t lose him on your adventures.” She spoke playfully and took another small sip of her wine. Her fingers tore at some bread, a smattering of cheese on top of it. Though she was reluctant to think about it, the smell of dinner was overwhelming at times. Dyanna listened with interest, another layer of mystery to the woman before her.

“Prince Aelor? Ah, well wherever he is, Princess Aelora is not far behind.” She spoke evenly now, her eyes betraying her curiosity. “Or perhaps it is the other way around.” She shrugged her shoulders loosely. “I’d heard some whispers of this on my way back, he has always been…different, but honorable.” Dyanna adjusted. “The Lady Lothston is surely safe within these walls.” She thought to ask if they should call for her, but paused. “The woman will be safe here of that I am certain, and certainly should fear nothing from my nephew. I don’t fault you for worrying, we often face dangers both hidden and overt, don’t we?”

The pig was something a delectable source of savoring for Alys and she sighed in appreciation of the well-cooked meat. Leaning back in her seat, she paused and gave the Princess a stern look. The mischievous glint in her eyes was far sharper. Alert or dangerous even. “I do not doubt the general safety of the women under Prince Maekar’s knowledge.” Her answer was soft, if a bit circumspect. “I approve of ruthlessness against men who commit so foul an act, though your words will give relief.’ Traveling alone in the world had been dangerous and Alysanne Lothston had been well forged in the ruthlessness of people who would take whatever they could from others. Just as she was careful to say the relief was hers and not Dannels. “Forgive me my musings, Princess. It is not every day that rumors come crashing through a tournament camp of a Prince and young noblewoman riding off on the same horse without a wedding between them.” She swirled the wine in her cup and gazed at the surface.

Alys doubted this was a game of Danelle’s. A Prince and heir to take Elayne for wife? No, her sister would have no lover or husband if she could help it. Elayne would be the Lothston mother for the next set of Lords and Ladies to carry on Harrenhal. Though Manfryd? Could he have set aside his growlings? She traced the rim of the goblet, her smile not faltering even as her attention eased back to Dyanna as she carved another slice of the pig. “But we speak of dark dealing when the dinner is heavy enough.” She chided herself. “Tell me, who shall win the tournament? Will Maekar set a wreath of Love and Beauty on your head?” She smiled with that wicked mischievous smirk again.

Dyanna nodded in agreement. “Maekar has a taste for swift justice with these matters when they are brought to him at least.” It was a stark truth how often vile acts could be swept aside. “But with how much wine is flowing now, I would not be surprised if more audacious things were to happen. There is at least opportunity for light gossip from it all.”

As Alys turned her attention to gossip of a tourney winner, Dyanna stood and gave a pre-emptive wave for her dinner companion to stay where she was. She moved just inside from their balcony seating, searching for something to satisfy a sudden craving. “There are many strong contenders. Perhaps I should say that my husband will out-perform them all.” She paused as her eyes landed on a plate of delicate pastries stuffed with honeyed cheese and some sort of deep purple fruit. “Perhaps you shall take the archery contest and cause all sorts of new scandals.” She twisted in place to peek back around to Alys before grabbing the plate to return to her seat. As she settled back to the settee, a pastry already in her mouth, flakes fell to her dress. She laughed, almost a giggle. “These are divine, I don’t know how they make them.” Dyanna nudged the plate forward. “However, I have sworn Maekar to not deliver such a courtesy to me if it is his to give.” A sly grin pulled her lips up. “Perhaps that is the real reason I hope he does not best them - I’d hate to see him crown anyone else.”

There was a small, if curious, smile on Alys’s lips as she studied the Princess. Not a woman she would have expected and she was glad of it. This woman was indeed a curiosity and one she was very glad to have met. Even if they had left the etiquette of their stations, or supposed stations, in tatters behind them. It was good for society, she thought in a whimsical moment of amusement, to keep the rules forever changing. “How could he crown anyone else? You are his wife and mother to his children and do not think I did not spy the look in his eyes when he came to you after our first meeting.” She sipped some wine, unsuccessfully smothering the final comment on that matter. “Though it’s a wonder you only have two children.”

Dyanna had devoured half the pastry, sweet and sour. “It would be some entertainment to see if he followed my wishes or risked offending me by naming some pretty little thing.” She chuckled again, how long had it been since she had just relaxed with a friendly companion? “Creating the children is a joy, and they are once they arrive. That middle part though -” Dyanna took another bite of the pastry. “Well perhaps it is the nature of maesters, but they seem to think I can have no fun at all while pregnant.” How they chastised her for everything, Maekar had put an end to their heaviest restrictions at least.

Carving off another slice of the boar, Alys nibbled it as she smiled with wicked delight. “You or I will suffice, so long as we take the lead I think. But then, my bow skills are more used to taking a bird on the wing or a hare.” She shrugged, “If my bow were not my match in height, I would use it a horse.” She admitted and sighed in delight. “Ah, I’ve missed a well-cooked boar.” She declared with an incline of her head to Dyanna. “Though as to those pastries… Dare I risk my fingers to your knife for trying one?” She asked with a tease as to the possessive delight that Dyanna was devouring the treat. “I’ve not come across them, which is saying something.” Swirling the wine, the woman gazed across the rim at the Princess of Summerhall and seemed to nod more to herself. “Tell me, who all is in attendance at Summerhall? I think I saw about four Princes walking here, and heard the name of several more being called.” The question was leading and perhaps was far less than proper, but she found it rather interesting. Her list of people to avoid would be more easily maintained if she could know for sure who was in residence and who was not.

“That would be a true match. I’m afraid I’m not quite so skilled as that, though I do love a good hunt. You’d enjoy Starfall I think. If it wasn’t for my brother, I’d say it was time for a visit again after the tourney.” Dyanna chattered away with only a slight wince when she mentioned her brother. They had never been close, but her marriage had ended any hope of sibling friendship. “Please, eat two. I will finish the plate if you do not.” She pushed the plate a little closer to Alys. “I think they are some fruit from one of the Free Cities.” The last bits of her pastry disappeared between her lips.

“It may be easier to say who is not here.” Dyanna swallowed the last morsels with a sigh. She reached again for her goblet, staring into the liquid for a moment before continuing. “Though at least of Maekar’s family, Baelor is the only of his brothers that came. Rhaegal and Aerys remained in King’s Landing with the king.” Of course, there were the others, the bastards. “And it seems Bloodraven has arrived.” Dyanna stifled a shudder, the man disturbed her regardless of his allegiances. “Though none would call him a Prince I hope.” She swept the last few pastry crumbs from the top of her dress. “You’ve a keen interest in the going-ons here. I can’t say I blame you.” Dyanna smiled with contentment. “Would you prefer to take a walk about and see who we may run into?”

The redhead plucked one of the pastries and nibbled it, finding the treat delectable if not particularly a favorite. Yet, how could she refuse to aid Dyanna? Listening to the woman chatter about whom was not attending, she felt a small twinge of relief. Too many dragons in a room was something of a disaster in the waiting. Not a bad thing, but the currents in Summerhall already felt troubled. She had been on the road for years and there were always whispers. It was something of amusement for her to see which were true and which were not. Leaning back in the seat, she felt her fingers stiffen on the goblet as the mention of the sulky Brynden was brought up. So Bloodraven for certain was in Summerhall, and here she had been hoping to have been mistaken. A foolish thing, but she was allowed her foolishness from time to time. Realizing a question she switched her gaze to the Princess and arched a brow with her best mischievous smile. “I take a keen interest in the going-ons, a horrible thing gossip. It amuses me greatly.” She sketched a bow of her head and considered the woman’s content enjoyment. A walkabout? What was the worst that could happen? “Very well, if you so wish. Let us walk, and you could tell me your thoughts.” There was a small smile as Alys finished the last of the wine. "My eyes are sharp, My Lady, as are my ears. My words are kept close and you are interesting. Quite so. A rarity for one of such prestige to wish to dine with a woman such as I."

Dyanna stretched out of her seat again. “I’m afraid I prefer to hide away from such gossip. It only ever seems to bring dark moods.” Or at least, she attempted to will away hearing of such things. It was the cost of who she had married, she had been reminded more than once. “I would not want to actually interrupt my husband’s dinner with his brother - Prince Baelor - or the Baratheons. But there will be so many wandering about that I’m sure we’ll be stopped for some favor or another.” Dyanna provided a small smile again, surely there would be something of interest for her companion. “Please though, any prestige of mine is simply borrowed from Maekar. I was destined for little but for a twist of fate.” She spoke plainly, without self-deprecation, as if it was a simple fact.

A loud knock interrupted her mid-step. “Enter.” It was nearly time for a maid to come to check on their dinner. Yet it was not a young girl who entered.

“Dy, I am sorry for intruding.” He used the familiar name he had used on her since she was but a child. “It could not wait, I need your advice before going to your husband with a…serious matter. I fear I’ve already waited too long.”

Ser Ryon stood before her looking rather haggard. His face was downcast, his hair pulled back as if he had just come from sparring though his clothes showed no sign of it. She had not seen him in such a state before.

“I’m afraid now is not a good time.” She spoke sharply, her tone unusual to his ears and he, at last, glanced up and behind her. Realization dawned slowly.

There was a look of similar kinship in Alys’s eyes at Dyanna’s words. Pain flared in her face as she recalled the death of her twin and the path she had been forced down. Had she not run, she would be dead like as not. If she had stayed to be Lady of Harrenhal after her father? The knock interrupted her thoughts and she sat as still as a statue with her fingers straying towards the knife that was used to carve the boar, til she noted the familiarity between the two. Watching the man, slip into the room and cocking her head at the sharp tone the lady took, Alys arched a brow. A smile graced her lips though her eyes were dark with thought.

“And who is this handsome fellow?” She fluttered her lashes and sliced into the boar to carve off another piece of meat. “Is he on the menu as well?” She teased the man and the lady both. Her head cocking as she nibbled the bite.

The cousins froze for just a moment. With her back turned to Alys still, Dyanna gave a stern look typically reserved for one of her children. A flicker of a grin pulled at the knight’s lips. He was but a simple creature, and the woman he had not immediately noticed was now all but impossible to ignore. Were it not for his cousin’s sharpness and his own blunder he’d have felt rather confident of himself. And then there was the matter that had actually sent him to her chambers. Somberness returned quickly, in a blink of an eye.

“My apologies, my lady…” He inclined his head, for the second time that day at a loss for who he spoke with.

Dyanna cleared his throat. “Alys Rivers, please allow me to introduce my cousin - Ser Ryon.”

“Sword of the Morning, and sworn protector to my most beloved cousin.” He finished for her with a small flourish. He was glad he had stopped to at least don a more formal coat and not the simple practice tunic from earlier in the day. Though Dyanna dining with a bastard from the Riverlands left several questions to be answered.

Dyanna turned at last, with what she hoped was a good attempt at smoothing the concern and disapproval from her face. “Yes, and ever humble in disposition.” She pointedly ignored the flirtatious question. Ryon would be too likely to accept such an invitation.

She tried very hard to keep a straight face, though she knew she smirked like a cat in the cream as she watched Ser Ryon’s bow and flourish. “Oh, only the best of knights can be humble when so well bred.” She agreed, her eyes dancing with mirth as she slightly regretted not being able to go by her proper name. Having seen the bat of Lothston in the city of tents had put the notion firmly in her head that risking going to the archer contest would be bad enough. “An august and prestigious pairing of titles. You, my lady, seem surrounded by handsome men.” She cocked an eyebrow at Dyanna and flipped her braid over her shoulder, the tail curling about her waist. “Do try to save some for the rest of us.” She remarked with a chuckle, standing to give Ryon a graceful and well-practiced curtsy.

Perhaps it would be well of her to leave, Alys thought with a pang of sadness. She had enjoyed speaking to Dyanna and this news that the knight had brought might well be worth listening to could yield fruit. Still, it was hardly her place. “Hm, you have news to deliver and I would not wish to keep you from pressing matters.” Her throaty voice dipped as she gave Ryon a saucy wink. “I shall beg your leave, Lady Dy, and if you have need to send someone to find me… Send him. Of course, he might need a club to beat the women off him.”

Dyanna could hear Ryon stifling a chuckle behind her. He would enjoy this far too much, but his proclivities had never been something to bother her. Her cousin was who he was, and Alys in many ways seemed like an even match…If it weren’t for whatever pressing matter had driven him to her rooms. “I will be sure to send Ryon for you before the tourney is over. I believe I am still owed a few stories or two of your adventures. I am sorry we could not continue our evening, it was truly a pleasure, Alys. If you have need of it, I will be happy to arrange an escort back to your camp.”

“An escort for little me?” She shook her head with a chuckle. “Oh, that would give Ser Dannel some hope to accept his aid more fully!” As if he did not aid her enough in her schemes! Dipping a curtsy to the woman, Alys turned on her heels to open the door and slipped through it. Ah, the simplicity of life, if she was wise she would listen at the keyhole but there were too many people wandering the halls. The servants, the guests, someone would notice. Taking a moment, she paled as she spied a familiar stiff back and reddish hair that would almost match her own. If the owner was not taller than her by a solid head. Darting back through the door, Alys shut it firmly behind her as she saw Danelle pause mid-step and look over her shoulder more fully. Had her bloodthirsty sister seen her? Swallowing hard, she gave Dy an apologetic look. “I believe I shall take that escort. The crowds are impossible!” She declared, trying to cover the fact her heart felt as though it was about to burst from her chest.

What on earth was Danelle doing in Summerhall? Manfryd had been there as well and that was something she had never expected in all her years. Had she drunk too much and perhaps seen things? That would make more sense, but she was not drunk. Alys felt her jaw tighten, she would need to find out what Danelle was scheming. Something most likely in concert with Elayne being said to have been riding in the lap of a Targaryen Prince. Smoothing her gown, she considered the best option to figure out the details going on with her sisters. Seven years and now she was having to delve into the business of Harrenhal to avoid the deadly curse! She wanted to shoot something, ideally picturing Danelle’s face over what she shot! Her smile was fixed on her face but her eyes blazed as Alys thought of how close she was. How easy it would be to slide a dagger through Danelle's ribs. Murder, perhaps, and perhaps that hunger dwelled in her eyes but the woman her sister had become was a troubling one. Worse than the whispering and dabbling girl who often haunted Alysanne's shadow.

Dyanna had gotten but two words out to her cousin, a chiding statement, before the woman burst back into her chambers. Her surprise quickly shifted to concern. Ryon’s intuition prickled at something and both sets of Dayne eyes again landed on the bastard woman. She had, Dyanna thought, been very keen to know who was in residence with them, though with there being hundreds of people of note there was little clue for her there. The cousins shared a sideways glance before Dyanna gave the briefest of nods.

“Please allow me to at least take you to our gates. I’ll have one of the men take you back to your camp from there.” Ryon stepped forward, concern in his eyes mixed with guilty relief at having a bit more time before having to unburden himself. The look in Alys’ eyes nearly gave him pause, but whatever had caused Dyanna to dine with her would hopefully go to explaining it. His cousin’s own expression had given little away.

“Send him back to me in one piece, Alys. He is my favorite cousin.” Dyanna offered a smile that no longer met her eyes. Something was afoot, though what exactly would require her to seek out resources she preferred to ignore. For nothing more than a curiosity, but now it was piqued, and it would need to be satisfied.

“A shame then,” Alys drawled, recovering some of her ease as she dipped a curtsy to the Lady. “, for me. Any woman with sense would want a piece of him and half the other knights that wander this tournament.” She remarked with that foxy grin. “Though, he shall have to call on me in your presence for you to have those stories. Of which I am sure this will make the list.” Tossing her braid over her shoulder in a far more assured flick of her normal behavior, Alys could not believe that Danelle would loiter about this palace as she had. “Your hospitality is something of a legend, Lady Dyanna. If you have ever need to call on me, I merely hope I can have the opportunity to show you some of the same.” A small thing, she thought, but Alys had to admit she did like the woman greatly. Respected her even, a rare feat amongst the noble houses. Gesturing to Ryon, she patted his cheek brazenly as she swept out the door again. “Come along, Ser, and fear not. I’m skilled enough with my own knife that you won’t have a need to worry about having to use that oversized cleaver. As if you could even draw it in this press!” Her tone was a mocking smile as she teased the Sword of Morning.


In A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
In A Song of Ice and Fire - the Blackfyre Rebellion → 2 yrs ago Forum: Advanced Roleplay
House Lothston


It was supposed to be a simple thing, to find candles for the dinner. As to why she was to find candles rather than a servant who would know where the candles were was a rather apparent answer. Summerhall was filled to the brim with people and there were hardly enough to send one for the necessary items when they had numerous other lords and ladies and Princes and Princesses to tend to. Thus Aelora had asked that she, Elayne Lothston, look for candles. Which raised the more pressing question of why her precisely? Perhaps the Princess was not aware of the fact she had gotten lost ducking around the corner to avoid her cousin’s bloody words of glee about battles. Perhaps she thought thrusting Elayne into a turbulent castle would be most amusing, which Elayne could hardly place that cruelty upon the Princess.

Corridors that twisted and turned and stairs that led up and down. She dodged around servants, politely excused herself past parties that fill the hall in chatter or argument, and turned quickly around when she came across the scandal of a man and woman engaged in some enjoyment in a less than private stairwell. The sound of a startled scream and shouts of outrage from others also stumbling across the two had followed. Beating a flushed face, she paused in a window and took a minute to fan herself in the cool air. Her cheeks flushed from the press of people and her more recent embarrassment. Leaning against the stone, she wondered exactly where a storeroom was. Elayne figured she could go and summon one of her own servants to fetch candles but that would mean Danelle would tear strips from her hide and not allow her back which ultimately fail in the Princess’s request. That would not do at all!

Snapping open her fan, she sighed and took the slight quiet as respite. Summerhall was a grand castle, a place for lazy days to pass and watch as the years turned. Gentle compared to its infamous lord. Thinking of lords with tempers, led her down the trail of Targaryens and to Aelor. Her cheeks heated as she glowered at the silken fan as she recalled the predicament he had put her in! Well-meaning of course, Elayne could not fault him for that. A very lost young woman in a sea of tents, his help had been required. But to bring her here! Here in the middle of the tournament itself! Of course, that was going to drive her father to foam at the mouth in outrage, Danelle would be plotting how best to secure her in a marriage that would benefit the ends of the Heir of Harrenhal. Despite the Prince’s assurance that no one would speak on his honor, things were hardly so simple. She had tried to warn him and his sister. For what? Because for some reason they had shown her kindness and favor by their actions. Could she do any less than try to stem the fury her father would bring over the actions? No, she could not. It was simply the right thing to do. Just as she was doing the right thing by trying to find candles.

What was not the right thing to do was to find herself sitting practically in the lap of the Prince on a horse that moved slower than a butterfly! She fluttered her fan to banish the flush that rose to her cheeks. That had been far too bold even for one of his standings and Elayne had just accepted it! The woman knew she probably looked like a fluffed cat considering if she needed to repay some offense and smoothed her dress. And he had dared to handle her casually!

Well, she would give him what for! That was exactly what she would do, if he wasn’t the son of the Prince of Dragonston and future king in his own right. Perhaps he did have some rough edges as his sister had mentioned, but what man did not? Prince Aelor, at least, in some small way had a kindness about her that she had not seen among men. Not that she knew many men. Looking about the dark corridor, Elayne realized she had wandered in her thoughts and become hopelessly lost once more. Though it was remarkably not as cool as the shadows would suggest it would be, there was even the smell of cooking and that meant one thing.

There was a kitchen!

Slipping around the large door that was part of a servant’s corridor, Lady Elayne hesitated off to the side and snapped her fan closed, stowing it in her small pouch. Here servants bustled with trays, pots, pans, and whole spits of beasts. Rabbits, deer, hogs, and board to name a few she had seen. Having seen Harrenhal’s kitchen when her cousins visited she waited patiently at the side until a large man with a stout belly noticed the obvious noble. “Can I help you, M’Lady?” His voice was a battlefield roar over the din as he drew near. His tunic and apron were stained with sauces and flour. Elayne noted she had never seen a clean chef in her life. Gesturing the man to draw a bit nearer lest her voice not carry in the din, Elayne spoke in a firm, if apologetic tone.

“I need candles, for Princess Aelora. I doubt you could spare anyone with so many to feed to show me back to her quarters, but I would be much pleased for the candles, Chef…?” She offered no names and offered no more work than what could possibly be easily obtained. There was hardly any sense in disrupting his kitchen more than it was.

The big-bellied man nodded, seemingly thinking more to himself than as to why Princess Aelora would send a Lady. “Nir!” He snagged a small boy who was rushing about with a stack of rags and smell of someone used to fetching things. “Take this Lady to the store rooms and show her back to Princess Aelora’s chamber in the…” She lost the rest of his words in the din as a pile of plates clattered from two bickering maids. His orders delivered the man whirled on them with insults and snarls that made Elayne’s eyes widen.

Slipping out of the door as Nir skittered before her, she offered no conversation as the youth hardly explained where they were going other than pointing, leading her to the store room and then the rooms of the Princess. Pausing, she dug a groat from her pouch and clasped the boy’s hand about it with a cheery smile. “Thank you, Nir.” She whispered in her willowy voice. The boy only hesitated to give her a bow that nearly landed him on his face. His speech was a stuttering mess, explaining his silence, as he tried to get out his thanks as he scurried back off to the kitchen like his toes were held over the coals. They might well be if he was not back soon, she noted as she gave both guards a small thankful smile before slipping into the room. Perhaps she should have taken one of them, but it hadn’t seemed necessary.

Setting the candles carefully with the dwindled stock, she had enough for the night she thought. Sitting she poured a cup of the sweet cider and sipped at the drink. The kitchen had been sweltering compared to up here and Elayne let slip a forlorn sigh. Was she forever doomed to be sequestered in rooms and gardens? She had no real quarrel with it. The world was dark and full of terror if one listened to Danelle. Yet, from what she had seen there was beauty and wonder as well. Pulling the ribbon from her hair, she let the red-blonde locks tumble free down her back and shoulder without restraint to pool in her lap. Running her slim fingers through the locks, she hummed and picked up one of the books. Thankfully in the Westrosi language and not the other scribble that must be from Essos. She was not prying she reminded herself, it had been the twins in their Targaryen madness that had shuffled her off to this room.

Not that she had protested it. Dragging her fingers through her curls again, Elayne peered at the pages and hummed softly to herself. She should have brought her own books along to the tournament but Danelle had promised to burn one if she dared. ”You are here to look pretty and be seen. Listen to what is said. Learn who is who and seduce those who are acceptable.” Elayne cringed at the remembrance of the word. Seduce. How to move and allure a man, Jeyne had told her how and she must have some success still for men still watched when their Aunt walked by.

Seduce a man. Elayne took another sip of the cider and sighed as she basked in the sunlight that filled the room and set about reading. How could she seduce men when a particular man and his twin had secluded her and he had seduced her. Her lips twisted into a small sad smile. A fool she was. Elayne knew herself for true. She was a fool and while she might look favorably upon Prince Aelor. He was meant for another, a Princess or Higher Lady than she. It was best she found enjoyment in this small favor the twins had graced upon her before it ended and she was once again a pawn in the greater game. :Best to privately nurse the small care she felt for the Prince than allow her thoughts to wander into what could never be. How often had she dreamed as one of her cousins had come by Harrenhal? For nothing, it had been no real love then but a private hope that one of them might agree to a cousin for wife. Something which would be acceptable to both Manfryd and Danelle. ”Take the happiness as it comes and try to see some benefit to the sorrow.” She remarked more to herself than anyone else. Firming setting her mind to rights she sipped at cider and delved into the book as a leg tucked up underneath her.



The conversation had gone fairly well, though no direct aid could have been accepted. Certainly nine had been offered. Danelle felt her temper become irked at that thought, but she could not afford to show it as she stepped into the sun's rays as they came through the smokey trails of campfires. What had been calmness had turned into a frantic scramble of men, noble and guards alike. The two from Harrenhal looking as though their Graves might be met while the massive Bennifer had a thoughtful look.

A giant bear just as his father had been, Danelle thought absently before her attention snapped to the two men. Two men, and no sweet sister to be shepherd about. "Where is Elayne?" Her voice surely turned the summer to winter in those three simple words. A simple question, a simpler answer. The latrine, ducked into a tent to take a break from the sun, somewhere where the fragile girl might rest.

"Gone, M'lady." One man, the older, answered stiffly. "She left the circle of tents."

Bennifer Blackwood gave an apologetic look to his cousin. "She was feeling faint, and in the camp, cousin. I went to find her a drink and upon returning she was no where in sight." He shrugged, so unconcerned! Danelle felt her teeth grind as she bristled. "Be at ease, the Tourney is safe."

"Safe." She spat the word and gestured for the guards to follow her. "Safe!" She hissed and stalked like a hunting wolf through the streets of the city of tents. Her eyes flashing as she listened to word and chatter, for any sign of an unthinking chit who would wander about alone!

"It's true! Saw them meself!" She pause as she noticed a young lad, excitedly dancing on his toes. "A girl all in silk and purple! Hair like red gold!" She sized the young boy's arm and spun him from his playmates, his terror rising in peasant brown eyes.

"The girl, was she to my shoulder. Thin. Hair in curls with blue eyes." The questions came out in sharp statements, and the boy nodded in terror. "Where? Stranger take you boy, where?" She shook him like the rat he was.

His voice was high and reedy as he stammered out the reply. "In the Prince's lap! Goin' towards Summerhall proper, Milady!" Finding himself suddenly free the urchin turned and ran, his livery flapping with the smell of piss.

Elayne had been taken by a Targaryen Prince? The Prince, the boy had said. She considered summoning him back by force and then dismissed the idea. There were plenty of Princes, but she had gotten the lad's head nodding on the description. It was Elayne. Snarling, she considered walking up to tear apart the Hall itself. To find the Prince and drive him at sword point from her fool sister!

Her plans were not ruined, not yet. There had to be a way to salvage the girl, to get her to wed a more proper fellow rather than following Jeyne into becoming a Targaryen whore. Turning back towards her own tents, she figured as to find Manfryd. Her fury making the guards sweat and march in sync behind her. The one good thing, this might kill the man. Then she would bring all of Harrenhal to get Elayne back and marry her at sword point to some husband. "Worthless wench, I'll make sure she never walks again." She whispered, promising to see the girl bound in a room. How the hell had this happened?!


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