Fandom A Game Of Thrones : THE EXALTED COUNCIL - RP

[Yarrow]

Richard Redwyne

Richard wandered around the Gardens of Highgarden. He looked at the grapes and grinned, it weren’t the best grapes to make wine with. It made him think of home, the Arbor with her beautiful shores and women. Richard missed the Island. He had stayed at Highgarden after they had left Harrenhal in a hurry, just like most other Lords. It was a request of Baelor, his liege. Richard really wanted to just take a ship and sail home. Richard was curious, he wasn’t sure what Baelor’s plans exactly were. Would Baelor go to war against the Baratheons to take the crown from Elaena and put it somewhere safe until Jaehaerys was born, as Lord Baelor liked to call the unborn. It was also a possibility to just wait until the baby was born and then decided what to do. Richard didn’t really knew Baelor. Richard never joined the parties of his father with the Tyrell lord. His father. Richard had received the news when he arrived at Highgarden. He knew he needed to show that he was mourning, but somehow Richard couldn’t.

Richard his relation with his father was never good. Richard liked to live his life, sail around Westeros and Essos and not really pay attention to any lessons his father was trying to teach him. Also the fact that Richard was probably the father of already five children, baseborn, didn’t really help. Richard could however feel sorry for his mother, who really loved Ryam and who was now alone in the cold castle.
Suddenly he was out the gardens and walking through the gates to the village, it was time to visit another lady.

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Lady Pia Tully
Riverrun

'To my dearest Lord Baelor Tyrell, father to the princess and grandfather to our young kind. It is I, Lady Pia Tully of the Riverlands, come to exchange with you pleasantries and swear to uphold the oaths that House Tully has made towards the rightful rulers of these Seven Kingdoms for generations.'

Lady Pia looked down at the parchment, her eyes narrowing as she reviewed her work. 'No, that doesn't sound right.' She couldn't put her finger on it, but the short letter wasn't conveying exactly how Pia felt, nor how she wanted to be perceived by Lord Tyrell. Taking the parchment in her hands, the Lady let the quill drop to the desk in the Riverrun solar. Tearing the parchment up twice, she threw it to the ground, where a pile of other notes and letters directed for Lord Tyrell sat, collecting dust for the better part of the afternoon. The worst part of it all? This wasn't the first day Pia spent on the task. The last three, she had dedicated to carefully thinking of what she'd send to Lord Tyrell. It was clear that lines were being drawn in the sand - the Dornish attacked the Vale and Northern delegates outside of Harrenhal, who were of course attacking Gawen Tyrell and Princess Elaena. Using her deductive skills, that indicated the North and Vale were to side with Daeron, with the Dornish and presumptively the Stormlands with Jocelyn Baratheon and Elaena Targaryen. This information bothered Pia at first, they had enemies on all sides. The North alone was a mess, history taught that they were practically immune to aggressive advances, meanwhile they were capable of devastating an opponent in war. Likewise, the Vale was kept safe by those treacherous mountain passes. Pia assumed the only way to take the Vale was to do it by sea. An option not currently available to the meager Mallister navy.

Indeed, Lady Tully was nervous, even if she refused to show it. They had to defend against two powerful Houses or join them. 'And I can't support a bastard.' Pia Piper half believed the letter, but Lord Rosby seemed to be a man of low cunning and dubious moral character. Why even allow the question of succession go on for so long before providing the letter to the realm? Besides, the North and the Vale would not rush to protect the Riverlands from any invading foe. Not immediately. 'We will be battered, then raped by the North as their men come down.' A scowl settled on Pia's face. It was impossible to negotiate with Waters and his host of savages and traitors. Pia had no love for Jocelyn Baratheon, nor did she have confidence in the Dornish to win a war for her. With only the Stormlands and Riverlands, the outcome was obvious. 'Besides, Lord Tyrell has a large army and ripe lands. And he is generous.' Ever sociable, Pia Piper only heard those envious of Lord Tyrell's wealth speak ill of him. He was the obvious choice, even if the babe was a girl, they could replace it.

Turning back to the desk below her, Lady Pia gripped the quill tightly between her delicate fingers. Autumn brown eyes were focused as she pulled another parchment scroll in front of her, dipping the quill in the inkwell.

'To my good friend, Lord Baelor Tyrell, it is I, Lord Ryman Tully. I offer my condolences and congratulations, as the events that transpired in Harrenhal were most grievously felt by your House. Yet, you are to be a grandfather soon, grandfather to our future king! It is for that very reason that I write to you, Lord Tyrell. If the bastard of our previous liege does not bend the knee or your grandsons half-sister persist in her claim, I, Lord Ryman Tully, will personally gather my banners and support your precious grandchild's claim. It is our deep friendship and the amicable relationship between those of the Riverlands and the Reach that compels me to swear this oath to you. That, and the honor of a noble Lord who is incapable of overlooking such crimes.'

Pia smiled as she reread it. 'Now this is a letter. Lord Tyrell will be so pleased to see another Major House supporting him. I assume we're the first of many.' The Iron Islands were missing, as were the Lannisters. Both would naturally flock to Lord Baelor, Pia was certain of this fact. Meaning, they would be able to overwhelm their enemies if this came to bloodshed. 'At the very least, Elaena will have to be deposed if she's in Kings Landing.' No news had come from the city, least not that which reached her ears. Her knights took off in that direction, but Pia was uncertain if the princess took the city yet, or if Lord Baelor had led his gallant knights into the Red Keep and claimed it as his. 'I suspect the latter. Lord Baelor would not let the symbol of the monarchy go to a woman.'

"Mother?" A voice struck Pia from behind. It was Lysa Tully née Darry. Blonde as her children, the woman only a decade younger than Pia waltzed into the solar. She wore the colors of House Tully, matching her tanned skin wonderfully. Pia smiled. "We were curious as to where you took of too. Lady Rhaenys and her companion have been delightful company." Lysa smiled.

"Yes, they have." Rhaenys Velaryon and her dedicated hand servant had arrived at Riverrun some days ago, it was a surprise, but one that Ryman and Pia delighted in. Guests outside of their own realm was not so common, especially from a House so tied to the Targaryen's. "You, my dearest husband and my little boy are with them now?" Pia asked with raised brow.

Lysa bent closer to the desk, her eyes immediately hitting the parchment. The woman made no attempt to hide her lasting gaze. "No. . Lord Father is attending to the Grand Maester. They discuss much of the world and history outside, near the castle. Is this a letter for Lord Tyrell?" Lysa broke the conversation, a hand reaching for it. Pia made no attempt to stop her daughter-in-law, giving the future Lady Tully free reign to read her words. She was quite proud of them.

"It is, I've worked on it for the better part of the afternoon." Pia flashed a weak grin, an arm waving over the numerous failures to her right. "Is my lovely husband off with the grandmaester?" Her nose scrunched, Pia immediately felt like finding that man and scolding him. Lady Rhaenys was here, they could pry some information from the woman together, and that duo was likely off hunting mushrooms. Ryman refused to hunt much else, after his brother's fateful fall all those years ago.

"They're fast friends, those two. Each day, Lord Ryman practically leaps into the Grand Maester's lap, eager to discuss something else with the man. It's adorable, in a queer way." Lysa gave her mother a soft smile, not ignorant on the strained relationship her parents had. She couldn't begrudge Lady Tully much, if Edmure was half as. . Unique as Lord Ryman, she would be bitter too. Luckily, Pia had raised Edmure into a proper young lord. "Mother," Lysa's voice was shallow compared to before. "Don't you think it would be better to sign this letter under your own name, if you don't intend for Father to read it?"

"Should I? I would think that Ryman's name would garner more respect. Befriending Lord Baelor is important, we might see a spot on the small council open up for us. . . Especially if Lord Ryman's befriending the Grand master." The only problem was that Harren would complain about 'needing' to return to King's landing' constantly, and talk of Daeron as King was not uncommon. He was following forged documents and treated them as law. Trying to talk the man out of his position was impossible, too. Lady Tully had tried. Instead, they kept deceiving Harren. King's Landing wasn't safe, not with Gawen Tyrell's thugs taking over the city. 'King' Daeron was missing, fleeing after the events of Harrenhal. He persisted, still, but neither Lady nor Lord Tully budged much. Ryman's many antics proved to be worthy distractions for the moment, as well. 'Bringing Harren over to Baelor will make it seem like the maester supports the unborn child. Mayhaps it will warn us more praise.'

"Indeed. Maybe press who you are, Mother? I mean no offense, but I believe Lord Baelor may be happier to hear from you than Father."

"Perhaps. Perhaps you're right." Pia stared back at the note, yes. . Lysa wasn't wrong. Baelor would want to know that Pia Tully was steering her husband in the right direction.

Her quill hit fresh parchment, the hand scribbling along the paper in quick succession. Words seemed to emanate from Pia. In three minutes time, she was finished. "And how do you like this, daughter?" Pia's smile was crooked and deep, showing how proud of the work she was.

Lya took it, her blue eyes quickly taking the words in. "Perfect! Absolutely perfect!" Moving forward, Lysa embraced Pia. The older woman (barely) did not shy away from returning the affection.

"Now all that's left to do is send it to Highgarden. . Maester Karl may not be so keen to do that for me. He worries about Harren and I despise those little birds."

"Dear mother, I shall take this burden from you. Go, go and meet with Rhaenys Velaryon. I'll march to the Rookery this instant!"

Pia let out a sigh of relief. "You are blessed, daughter." The seal of House Tully was stamped in hot wax, sealing the parchment up and readying it for delivery. "I will see you shortly." Pia one more hugged her daughter-in-law before breaking for the door, she would have a quick snack before seeing her guests. Hours in the solar had kept her away from food and drink, and the mother of three found herself eager to fill her stomach

~ ~ ~

Lysa Tully née Darry
The Rookery - Riverrun

The journey to the rookery was short, with few servants getting in the way of the future Lady of Riverrun. The parchment note was clutched tightly, her fingers marking the outside of the paper as she held onto it with an iron clutch. Lady Pia had spent her day on this note, but the importance of that went beyond just the time wasted. This was the future of House Tully in her hands, supporting the right claimant - in the case of open war - meant life or death. There was no shortage of former kings in their home land, each might begrudge a dragon little to take up their former positions. Lysa crossed into the bird filled room, greeted by countless squawks from the denizens of the maesters chambers. Karl was out, to be expected, leaving Lysa alone to wander the room. It must've held fifty ravens, with another ten empty cages indicating some were out - or was that for incoming ravens? Truthfully, Lysa didn't know. This was the third time she was in a rookery, she wasn't all too familiar with the animals.

The smell of the room made Lysa want to gag, however. "By the Seven." A hand folded in front of her face, the dress of House Tully being used to muffle the noxious fumes. Bird shit, filled in multiple cages, with the animals looking at the woman queerly. "I don't suppose you'll talk to me? Tell me which one of you can go to Highgarden?" While she was a stranger to the ravens, she wasn't so ignorant to believe that any raven could go anywhere. They were trained to go to a specific place. How? She hadn't a clue. They just could, though. A squawk came from the back of the room. Apart from that, she received no other response. "I suspected not."

Her feet crossed the floor, causing it to groan dangerously as she spied each cage. Most were labeled, with specific houses or general regions on them. It helped, but Karl didn't keep them in any specific order. She saw the Lannister raven and that of House Stark sitting side by side, with House Greyjoy's not too far off. They were of different regions! Why were they put together? Likewise, Darry was nearer to the Reynes than most raven cages. After several minutes of searching, the combined eyes of dozens of black birds began to unnerve Lysa. "I see why mother hates seeing you all." She grimaced. There was no sign of Highgarden yet.

One of the ravens struck its cage as Lady Darry passed by. "Oh fuck! Fuck!" She ran, instinctively, further into the large rookery. It had tried to attack her! Peck out her eyes! Lysa new what these birds could do! She'd seen plenty on the hanged corpses left all over the Seven Kingdoms. "Fucking birds." She roared. "Damn it, Lord Tyrell, where are you?"

At her inquiry, another bird squawked. Almost hearing her, the black eyes of this raven were boring straight into her. "D-Did you. . Say something?" The bird let another cry out, fidgeting in its cage anxiously. Eyes went from the Lady to the paper in her hands. "Hold still!" Lysa rushed to the cage, her eyes scanning for any label. She found a warn few letters. An I, N and G. 'High Garden.' She hoped. She'd seen nothing else to point her in the direction of that castle. This had to be it. . .The bird even indicated as much, with its restless attitude. It knew. Gulping, Lysa looked at the envelope holding tied to its foot. "Hold still." With shaking hands, Lysa pulled open the hatch, immediately blocking it with her pale skin. The bird shook, flapping its wings angrily. "Hold still!" She cried again, tossing the rolled up parchment into the damn bird's holster. With the leather around it, she shut the lid at the top before bolting to the side.

"Go, you little cretin!" She roared.

The bird need not any encouragement. It flew from its cage, perching on another near an open window.

"Go! I said go!"

Curiously, the bird cocked its head at her, then looked at the window, where a soft breeze came in from. Understanding ran through the raven as it flapped its wings, darting out through the opening and beyond the sight of Lysa Tully.

"Thank the Seven. . ." Looking at the other little hell birds, Lysa grimaced. She made her way through the room, quick and careful to avoid getting too close to any room, before dipping down the stairs. She'd need to wash herself after touching the filthy animal.

The bird outside took to the air, as the Tully women wanted. It did not, however, head South for Highgarden. The beaked creature flew to the East, eyes on the horizon as it flew for King's landing.

~ ~ ~

Lady Pia's Letter


'Lord Baelor Tyrell, the magnificent and courteous neighbor to the south. It is Lady Pia Tully of Riverrun, speaking on behalf of all of House Tully and all of the Riverlands. In times of turmoil like these, where bastards forge documents and conspire to be kings - unjustly - and when girls not yet wed, ignorant of the world, wish to be queen, it is up to us mature and wise Lords to band together. The events of Harrenhal struck us all with despair, not so much as I, with news of a Dornish attack on two nobles Houses following the unceremonious execution of Lord Rosby, the Seven kingdoms appear more dangerous now than they have in decades. My Lord Husband, Ryman II of Riverrun and myself have come to the conclusion that the only way to preserve our peace is with wise governance. Lord Baelor Tyrell, on behalf of the entirty of the Riverlands, we shall stand united behind the banner of House Tyrell if you decide to rightfully protest the coronation of both Daeron Waters and Elaena Targaryen. Your royal grandson is the heir to succeed our deceased and beloved king, the entire realm knows it. And Riverrun will fight, if need be, to make sure they accept this truth.

Lord Tyrell, the resources of this realm are yours to command as our loyalty and friendship is sworn to your House. If you do intend to press your claim, Lord Ryman and Lady Pia Tully (myself) would have urgent need to meet with you. Be it in the Riverlands or the Reach, as we unite our strengths and form a decisive strategy to prevent bloodshed and life loss in the realms.

Lady Pia Tully née Piper of Riverrun'

Mion
TheFool​

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Bryce Stark
Wolf of the North

Bryce stood in the balcony in his chambers, his wife on their bed as she lay there half-naked. He sighed, looking out at the sun slowly rose over the North. Theon was still in the Vale, and Bryce had just learned that Larah was in love with his ward, which he was of course alright eth. But most importantly, he had found out that she was arranged to marry Lord Whitehill. The negotiations were...quick. Basically, Bryce told the Whitehill's to "fuck off," and they did. Amelia stirred in their bed, the redhead saying, "Up already, huh?" Bryce nodded, saying, "Of course I am. You know me. Even after nights like that, I'm always up." She smirked, saying, "Then I'll just have to make love to you harder." Bryce smiled, kissing her as she lay there. They both got fully dressed, Bryce in his normal getup and Amelia in a plain green dress and cloak. They headed out together, Amelia going to be with her daughter's while Bryce went to train as always.​

 

[Grammatic]

Edwyn Frey-The Twins

Edwyn was getting another migraine.

Ever since the amusing events at Harrenhal, Edwyn's life had dissolved into an endless series of military affairs. General council meetings, observing the defense preparations, or simply walking the walls, giving the thousands of soldiers flooding into the Twins a few encouraging words. Most of the time he left them with a bit of a smile on their faces, though the few veteran soldiers from the Reed-Frey war remained stubbornly grim. Edwyn didn't blame them. War was a messy, pointless affair. So much destruction, so much death. He didn't detest war on humanitarian grounds. In fact, people like that annoyed Edwyn. No, he didn't like wars simply because its hard to collect taxes from the dead. And wars are very good at getting people killed. He lost eight brothers in a small war, and who knows how many would die from this new war.

A King, A Queen, and an unborn baby. For those three, thousands would die. His migraine was getting worse thinking of all the money he would be losing in the near future.

Edwyn was currently sitting in the small quarters he had within the Twins. A small series of chambers, the rooms were sparsely decorated with only a desk and bed within the main room. His wardrobe was in small chamber adjoining this one, with a freshening room attached to the other side. Seated at his desk, Edwyn stared absently out the only window in his quarters. A half finished bottle of ale sat on the desk next to a stack of unfinished letters, some of them crumpled up and tossed around on the floor. In the distance, Edwyn could just make out a merchant caravan coming towards the Twins, a few Frey soldiers riding towards them. On Edwyn's orders, every merchant caravan heading to the North was being turned back, with those truly determined having all their possessions and supplies confiscated. It pained him to hurt such business, but in times of war it was a poor idea to allow supplies to go to your potential enemies. It would take some time to rebuild his trade contacts once this war ended, but even that was a more appealing thought then the battles ahead.

Pushing himself to his feet, Edwyn grabbed the cup off the table, taking a sip from the liquid and grimacing as it burned its way down his throat. He walked barefoot across the floor of his chambers to the window, leaning against it as he drained what was left in his cup. He stared silently towards the North. The empty landscape, the clear skies, it would not last long. Soon, there would be countless bodies staining the ground with their blood, and smoke from countless fires rising up to blot out the sky. All because people couldn't agree who should be the ruler of the bloody Seven Kingdoms.

Turning back to his desk, Edwyn refilled his cup, downing the contents in a single tilt before refilling it once more. Maybe he could drown out the migraines.

 

[clarinetti]

Garrett Grafton
The Eyrie​

The man knew he was truly far from home as a moment of contemplation took place in the garden. Here the air was cool, biting at one’s throat with each breath taken, and from where he stood the mountains could be seen in crisp detail, their jagged edges sheathed in snow. Equally stunning was the castle itself, which undoubtably had an austere beauty of its own, much like the peaks which surrounded it. The tranquility of the Eyrie was a deceptive one however, and the scenery did little to draw his attention away from the sombre reason for his visit.

When the noble houses and their lords had been summoned to Harrenhal by the Hand, Garrett had his share of concerns. Lady Arryn was keen on having her nephew seat the Iron Throne in the wake of the Kings’ passing, but with a legitimate daughter and potential grandson on the way it seemed an unlikely turn of events. Nevertheless he attended the meeting, if only to show his support for the house he served. Little did any of them know then what was to transpire. Lord Rosby’s great reveal of Daeron’s legitimization, followed shortly by his death at the hands of one of the Kingsguard. The fleeing of the remaining two claimants, and in the wake of a surprise attack by the Dornish a second death, this time that of the Prince’s son and heir.

The memories had replayed in his mind over the long trip back to the Vale, so much so that it felt as though it had happened in another life rather than but a few weeks ago. How could so much change in so little time? Prior to the departure, the most pressing concerns had been the smuggling of Myrish lace and repairing roads, and now all the lords and ladies of the Vale had been summoned by Lady Arryn. The letter had been brief, but after all he had witnessed and in light of the flurry of ravens she’d reportedly scattered across the Kingdoms, there was little question as to what would come next. His imagination never ceased to come up with a myriad of unpleasant outcomes for the near future, and it was enough to have him reach for a bottle of strongwine, though he had never before thought himself a drinking man.

Now though, it was necessary that his mind was clear. Gazing once more at the pristine landscape, Garrett tugged his cloak closer to him and returned to the hall where many of Lady Arryn’s bannermen milled about. He made his rounds, mustering up a shred of cheer in offering pleasantries to some of the fellow lords and ladies, many whom he hadn’t seen in some time. Waynwood, Lynderly, Coldwater, Redfort… they are names and faces he knows well, and under better circumstances he would be genuinely pleased to see them all again. Eventually, the pool dwindled until only Lady Arryn and the two Royce men seemed to remain. Not that he’d been avoiding them…. but with all that was going on, it seemed wrong to waste their time with trivial greetings and idle chatter when they surely had more important things on their minds. For a moment longer he deliberated, debating whether to approach before finally deciding against it. Instead, he enfolded himself into a nearby conversation, if only to pass the time until the reason for their meeting was finally addressed.

Mentioned
Saavedra
Obi-Wan Kenobi
Valemon

 

[Akio]

His Holiness
​

Deep within the sept of Baelor sat an older man on his knees before 7 great statues. He kneeled before the center one, a great statue of a stern-looking man staring down at him holding scales of law. Around him lay other statues, an old crone holding a lantern, the warrior with his sword, the maid in her refreshing beauty, the smith with his tools, and the mother in her mercy. And behind him lay one other, the stranger cloaked in darkness, on the edge of his thoughts and near out of sight. He knew all these statues well, he had spent many hours in front of them and while he knew the spirits did not reside in these statues it was still where he was most at ease. Yet now he was not resting, he had been deliberating with himself since the news of the king's death had reached him. Or rather waiting... The wait had ended two weeks ago when the matter of the succession remained undecided and a new question had arisen. What should he do, what should the gods do? The question had consumed him for the better part of two weeks and the voices in his head were constant. It seemed even the gods could not decide immediately. So he prayed and sat in meditation so much he refused most of his meals in order to try and connect to the gods more to understand their will.

But it seemed his moment of peace was over as he opened his eyes, hearing steps behind him as someone approached him. "I believe asked not to be disturbed." Despite the bluntness of his words, he was not angry at the Septa that approached him. He was more curious about what would have led her to call on him despite his orders. Perhaps one of the rulers of Kingslanding had made their move at last. "Your Holiness, the Dowager queen Jocelyn Baratheon has requested your presence." So it was the Dowager queen, did she come for her Granddaughter in the guise of the mother, or for herself. Nevertheless, he would not be summoned so he would stay here and told the Septa. "Bring her to me here, we will talk in the presence of the gods." He said returning to prayer and after a moment he could hear retreating feet. "May the father judge us all justly." He said as he looked at the room of the cathedral, so it began.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Qoren Martell​

Despite knowing that the procession he sent was long gone Qoren could not help but stare out to the south where his son's body had disappeared over the horizon. Two weeks. Two weeks had passed since the events of Harrenhal and the death of Darron. Two weeks since the attack had gone wrong, and his son had been killed. He remembered it well, as it was burned into his eyes. The roar of battle was around him and Lord Cassal who had rushed foolishly in and lost his mount was pierced by two spears in front of him, choking on his own blood. Qoren didn't waste time, no point in showmanship and he drove his sword above the man's collarbone as he was already half dead he was entirely unable to defend himself and died with hardly a sound. He turned to see if they had gotten to Darron in time only for him to find his son impaled on the bastards blade. All he could do was stare at that time until a roar of rage echoed among the battlefield. Ryden had seen his brother fall and threw himself into battle and for a moment it seemed he would sweep aside everyone in his way and get to Daeron himself. Qoren could only watch till he heard the horn behind him. It wasn't the brazen sounds of a dornish horn but rather than proud, longwinded sound of the knights of the Vale. He turned and he saw dozens of knights coming down on them and while they were winning he knew immediately they could not stand against these lovers. His son was dead and Ryden was venting his grief yet he still felt cold and he knew what all logic told him to do. They needed to retreat, or they would be wiped out here. But to let it end in failure, to not even be able to avenge his son. He hardened his heart instantly when these thoughts appeared. They were immature for a lord. Grief, revenge, all those could come later if he was alive.

He hadn't wasted any time and had ordered a retreat, managing to reclaim his sons body with great force before setting off. At first, he had simply been cold and it had not been till he saw his sons body later in the care of the silent sisters in the sept of Baelor did his lost truly hit him. His son was dead. His son and heir gone into the ground in what should have been in the prime of his life. He had become isolated and withdrawn in the Sept and the Red Keep, stewing in his loss and grief. He didn't know what to tell his wife and had taken several days to write a simple letter describing the failure of the attack. His failure. But now his son was gone. He had decided he would not rest in Kingslanding and in Laenas and several other lords care he sent back his bones. Now even much of the grief was gone and all he felt was a cold anger. At himself for not noticing him, at Daeron for taking his life, and at one other. One who was still in his grasp. Stepping out of the room he occupied two guards looked at him started, seeming to want to say something but were unable or perhaps afraid to as he set off determinedly on his path. There was one other who played a part in his son's demise and he had grieved long enough, he needed to be a leader but first, he avenge one more crime that ended his son's demise, going to see Lord Dayne who he kept in Kingslanding half under watch. It was time to figure out where his once loyal sword lied.

 

[Yarrow]

Willam, Gawen, JonTwo weeks earlier
Willam was now riding next to Gawen and Elaena, he looked at them and shouted at Gawen "What were you thinking? Why bring Elaena with you? You are bringing her in danger!" Willam noticed the kingsguard still behind them and felt with one hand how many arrows he had, just to be sure


‘Lannister?’ Gawen had been so focused on getting Elaena as far away from Harrenhal as possible that he hadn’t even registered the other rider approaching, a foolish mistake. Had the man been hostile it could have spelled disaster for the escaping Queen and her companions, though it seemed that right now he was content to merely berate them, rather than resorting to more violent measures. Even though he knew that it may slow them down, Gawen drew his sword, guiding the reigns of the horse with only one hand. Elaena sitting in front of him may make maneuverability difficult, however he would not feel safe without a weapon in his hands. If this blonde bastard wanted to take the Queen from him, he wouldn’t be going down without a fight.

“Leave us or face the consequence boy! I am the Queen’s protector, I will not warn you again.” He looked over to Jon Baratheon, together, the two of them could almost certainly take the Lannister boy, though it would take time, time they did not have.



Willam looked confused at Gawen when he drew his sword, but came irritated when the Tyrell called him a boy, Gawen was only a few summers older. Willam was also not sure why Gawen was so hostile, Willam had always been around Jaehaerys and Elaena and he became good friends with both, he hasn't spoken much with Elaena after the funeral, but they were still on friendly terms right? He looked at Gawen and said "Calm down man, you are not thinking clearly, I am not here to fight you, I am here to protect Elaena, you are not the only one who cares about her. But right now, you are in trouble with these guards on your back and if it comes to a fight, you'll have a hard time"


’Have a hard time’? Was that a threat? Gawen was a knight of the Kingsguard, one of the most prestigious warriors in the realm, if it came down to it he knew that he would be able to cut down at least half a dozen lesser men, though he prayed to the seven that he would not be forced to test this theory. He had given the Lannister boy ample warning to leave them, yet it seemed that he was still on their tail. He was persistent, Gawen had to give him that, but persistence was not always a good thing. Perhaps he meant what he said. Perhaps he did want to protect Elaena, but right now the best thing he could do for them was stop slowing them down with his presence.
Gawen contemplated his options for a second. He could feel Elaena still shaking in front of him, if they were old friends then it was true that the Queen would not appreciate his death, though in a time of war, friendships were ever changing. What of Loren Lannister? This boy was his son, yet the Lord of Casterly Rock was nowhere to be seen. If the lions were truly friends of the dragon then Gawen would be seeing more than one child barrelling towards him. This was a ruse. It had to be. And at this point Gawen was not willing to take risks.
He made a snap decision, pulling the reigns of his horse close so that the beast slowed down at an alarming speed, the creature moving at a fast trot just behind the steed of Willem Lannister. ’I’m going to regret this’ He thought for a moment as he plunged the blade of his sword into the flank of Willem’s horse, the creature making a defending scream as Gawen pulled the sword out and once again sped up, hopefully riding far away from the Lannister boy.
“That should slow the boy down! I won't take any chances.” His eyes shifted to his companion, Jon Baratheon, almost daring him to say something. He held the Princess close, he couldn’t see her face, but he hoped that she was staying strong.

They were still riding neck to neck, his horse having a slight advantage since Willam was not so heavy. Suddenly Gawen slowed down and was behind him, did he saw in that he was taking ridiculous actions? Clearly not, since Gawens sword plunged into the horse, like he did with Lord Rosby, his horse stumbled and fell down to the ground, Willam was actually lucky that he didn't became trapped under the horse and managed to roll away. He cursed as Jon and Gawen with Elaena rode further. For a split second he thought of shooting an arrow through the leg of Gawen, but he wasn't as hotheaded and single minded as the King's Guard he thought. In the distance he noticed a small village, he had some golden coins in his pocket, he would be able to get a horse there. It took him only a few minutes to get to the village, but he already didn't see Gawen and Jon anymore. He asked to the first person he saw where he could buy the fastest horse around here. Finally after spending less than fifteen minutes in the village he was already on the road again. He knew he couldn’t get to them before they arrived at King’s Landing, but now he was on the way he would still go there and see if Elaena was safe


This could not get any worse, Jon thought to himself as he slowed his horse down after Gawen did and watched stunned as Willams horse went down. Jon snarled but held his tongue as they took off again leaving Willam behind. He would definitely say something to Jocelyn when they arrived at Kings Landing. For now he would remain silent, Fighting now served no purpose. He cursed his siblings, Gawen and Elaena for being so weak. Willam had been a friend and yet she sat there and said nothing. He could feel his faith in Elaena shake form her lack of will. Not one word passed his lips as they continued on, but the game went on being played and Jon had to make some important decisions soon.

Hypnos
Nightblade

 

[Braddington]

Lord Addam Osgrey
Lord of Coldmoat and Knight of Standfast​

Coldmoat had been busier than it had ever been in Addam’s lifetime, representatives from all over the Reach had come to attend his wedding with Lysa Tarly, the woman he had loved since he was a boy. Dancers performed all over the keep, eastern boys played with fire much to the delight of the small folk and knights put on mock tourneys in celebration of the joyous occasion. Of course it was never meant to be like this, the wedding had been planned for the year after but after receiving word from Harrenhal it was arranged within the week for the wedding to take place the next. It was expected that Lord Tyrell would call his banners and Addam would have no choice but to obey his liege and lead the Osgrey men in person, much to the chagrin of his mother who protested the last of the Osgrey line capable of having children fighting for the family that had repeatedly denied his ancient rights to the Northmarch. Addam was loyal however, he had sworn an oath and when called upon by his liege he would answer, as his father had taught him to years before. Still the occasion was rather happy, people had put off their thoughts of war for this one day and Addam was happier than he had been for years, he truly loved Lysa with all his heart and through set back after set back it was finally happening, she would be his and he would be hers. All that was needed now was the oaths.

“Addam, stop fidgeting! I can't be expected to do your hair when you move your damn head every 5 seconds!” his mother Selyse yelled at him as she styled his hair into something more presentable than what he woke up with this morning “Perhaps you should stop pulling on it then! Do I even have hair left up there anymore? Am I the egg to your Duncan now, mother?” he quipped back to her, a smile beaming on his face as he did so. “Look, i'm simply saying that your father looked like a mongrel dog when we got married, don't do that to poor Lysa.” Addam couldn't help but laugh out loud at that, further annoying his mother who in the end reverted to smacking him to keep him in place. “And I am simply saying that it doesn't matter that much, we're in love so relax will you! If one hair sticks up during the ceremony I doubt she is gonna turn around and leave me, crying all the way back to Horn Hill. Take a break and enjoy the celebrations, Seven hells, we need one.” His mother simply nodded and walked out of the room “Wait...aren't you going to finish?” Addam shouted after her “No, I’m taking a break, Seven hells I need one, right?” came the distant response. Addam sighed and sat back down, attempting to salvage his hair before getting properly attired.

As he entered the Sept all rose to meet him and he simply bowed and smiled to the them in quick turn, quite a lot of them he had never seen in his life and were merely lesser brothers or cousins of local Lords who could not attend. He still made an effort with them though, with his ever open smile which seemed to put them all at ease. He took his position next to the Septon and stood with a relaxed posture as the chit chat in the gathered crowd grew, most likely talking about everything that had happened. About the bastard, child and woman who had brought Westeros to the brink of yet another war, but now was not the time. He simply waited for his beautiful bride to appear so that they may finally be together.

Yarrow

 

[TheFool]

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

Where is he? Jocelyn thought. She’d been positioned by a pillar for far more than five minutes. As she contemplated going home, the girl returned wearing rose red cheeks. “The High Septon would… erm… like to see you in his prayer suite.”
Jocelyn frowned, “His what?”
“His prayer suite.”
“I heard you.” Jocelyn said, “I just-”
“It’s where he… prays.” The girl said, cutting off Jocelyn’s words. Jocelyn tried to muster a smile but it was bewilderingly difficult. She stared at the septa and shook her head, “You tell his high holiness that I demand his presence at our first and utmost important small council session this evening.” Jocelyn’s eyes lingered on the door that led out to King’s Landing.
“If he is not present then I, with help from The Crone, will find a High Septon who can be.” Jocelyn moved towards the exit, “Go.” She said to the girl before she left.

As she got back in her litter- she swore. She rarely swore, but times were tedious. Who does he think he is? The four men began to bring the litter back to The Red Keep. Telling me to come to him? Him. An old man who was once just some fucking farmhand. She clenched her fist. Jocelyn had a very close relationship with The Seven but she believed, contrary to everyone without a mind of their own, that The Gods did not pick The High Septon.
My late husband did.
As the journey progressed, she pondered. Maybe I was too harsh? She leaned her head against the litter’s window. It is just that… just that… ugh. “Almost there, your grace.” A voice informed her. Westeros was on the brink of war. It was only a matter of minutes before someone struck first. Hells, Ser Gawen struck first. Followed by that Qoren Martell.
Jocelyn had to do whatever had to be done to make sure that her and her granddaughter were safe and strong. I do not have the time to be waiting whole whiles for that man. No matter the number of prayers he has spat. The litter came to halt.
“We’re here.” The same voice said.
Not yet we’re not.

Elaena Targaryen
Queen Of The Seven Kingdoms


​

Elaena did not have one bit of hunger within her. I haven’t since Harrenhal. She looked at the plate in-front of her. The juice was fresh squeezed and the toast was well toasted, but she just wasn’t hungry.
“You have to eat, your grace.” Sansa Harte said with her smile that of which was whiter than snow. “Please, your grace. Even if it only a little bite. Eat.”
Elaena sighed, “I’m sorry Sansa, but I can’t. Not right now.”
Sansa slightly bowed her head and then placed a hand on Elaena’s head. “It is perfectly alright, sweetling.” Sansa moved her hand and picked up the breakfast platter before adding, “Though I better see you scoffing down those scented tarts that Tom bakes for after dinner. They are beautiful.” The two girls giggled.
Sansa was Elaena’s favourite handmaiden. She is such a ray of sunshine, amongst all this rain. “Go and get dressed.” She said as she took the trays of food away. Elaena nodded in response.

It took about two minutes to reach her room. She opened the door, then quickly closed it behind her. “Good morning, your grace.” Brella Hogg said as she swept the floor.
“Morning Brella. I didn’t see you at breakfast.” Elaena spoke softly. She walked over to her bed and fell back on it. If only I could just lie here forever. “I had to go and check on… Meredyth.” Brella replied, her broom brushing from left to right.

She blinked. Her eyes fixed on the finessely drawn drawings. It is dotted with direwolves and dragons and krakens and lions and some stags too. “How is she?” She asked Brella. The sound of a sweeping broom suddenly stopped.
“She is… well.”
I doubt that. “Is she?”
“Yes, your grace.”
Elaena sat up with a sigh. Meredyth Rosby was another one of her handmaidens, though she hadn’t been doing her duties since…
Since Lord Symond’s murder. Elaena did not like dwelling on it. She was continuously pushing what happened at Harrenhal to the depths of her mind. Meredyth was in King’s Landing still. Grandmother said she had to stay here. “I’m not stupid, Brella.” Elaena said, “I know she isn’t well. She’s essentially a prisoner.”
Brella looked at Elaena with sad eyes. “She isn’t a prisoner, Elaena. She’s… your handmaiden. Her place is here.”
“But she isn’t here, Brella. She’s pent up in a room somewhere. Or, worse, in the blackest of the black cells.”
“Shush. You’re being silly, Elaena. Meredyth is fine.” Brella assured her. “Now how about we draw you a bath and then get you dressed?”
No.
Elaena sighed. No!
“Okay.” She said.
Defeated.

Tyland Lannister
Lion Of Lannister


​

King’s Landing was a glittering pile of goat shit. “I fuckin’ hate this place.” Roland said as he reined in his horse. “As do I.” Tyland lied. It was a scum hole, but a seductive scum hole at that. Something about this city is so alluring.
“You alright, Willam?” Tyland shouted back. His nephew was on a horse he bought in some village somewhere. It walked with a crooked step and looked as if its heart would combust at any given moment. Willam gave a grunt in response. Good. He’d lost his horse to Gawen Tyrell. The stupid boy. Tyland scratched his jaw. Going after a murderer like that is just…
Stupid, stupid boy.
Tyland referred to Willam as a child though he was only two or three years younger than him. The three men and their horses winded down The Kingsroad. The Dragon Gate in the near distance. “The ale is shit, as is the gruel. And the whores… the fuckin’ whores…” Roland spat. Tyland couldn’t help but laugh at his friend.
“What is so wrong with the lovely whoring women of King’s Landing, Roland?”
Roland grimaced, “I’ll tell you. You know Kevan Hill?”
“Tarbeck’s bastard?” Tyland said, his eyebrow raised, trying to picture the bastard in his head. “Nah. Spicer’s.”
“What about him?” Tyland asked.
“He came down ‘ere to King’s Landing and visited a brothel in silk street. A month later, his manhood falls right off.”
Tyland laughed again, “You cannot be serious.”
“I swear on my mother’s fuckin’ grave, Ty. That bastard doesn’t ‘ave a cock anymore.” Roland gripped the reins of his horse. “All because he stuck it in some King's Landing whore.”

They got closer and closer to The Dragon Gate, that of which was manned by four men wearing their signature golden cloaks. “So where to first?” Tyland asked as his eyes met with one of the guards. “Where do you think? The fuckin’ whore house.” Roland said with a boisterous laugh.

Jocelyn Baratheon
Dowager Queen


​

“Your grace.” A courtier wearing Rykker colours said as Jocelyn walked past. She smiled at him. She got to her room and freshened up. She relieved herself and then poured a cup of fine wine. “Letters for you, your grace.” Tyana Fell said fairly.
Jocelyn sipped her drink,
“Bring them to the small council chamber. I will read them there.”
“At once.” Tyana curtsied, before taking leave. Jocelyn took another sip. The Small Council. “Betha.” Jocelyn called out to her other handmaiden who was in the middle of prayer.
“Yes, your grace?” She spoke.
Jocelyn downed her wine, “I am so sorry for the interruption Betha but could you please go and tell those involved that the small council meeting will begin soon.”
“Of course, your grace.” The girl got up and fled the room. Jocelyn moved over to the door leading to her balcony. She looked at the city. Empty cup in her left hand. Her thoughts were wild. So many things to do and so many things to plan.
She stared at the sept. Its blue dome now only a dot in the distance. The noon’s sun shone down on the city. Her city.
Elaena…

It was only a quick walk to Elaena’s quarters. “Leave.” Jocelyn instructed her granddaughter’s handmaiden as she entered the room. The girl bowed her head before disappearing behind the bedroom’s door.
“Elaena?” Jocelyn called. The room was empty. The door to the balcony was open and the wind came through the wine coloured curtains. “Elaena?” Jocelyn repeated.
“Hold on.” The girl called back.
Jocelyn stood by vanity mirror, her arms folded. Elaena stepped out of the a room to the side. She wore a red dress with black fabric sewn in as well. Her hair looks damp. “I just got out of the bath.” Elaena said as she walked towards Jocelyn.
Jocelyn smiled, “Come. Let me comb your hair, my dear.”

Elaena sat on a small bench in-front of the vanity mirror, before handing her grandmother the brush. “It’s an important day today, my dear.” Jocelyn looked at Elaena’s face in the mirror. It looked as if she was frightened. “After I brush your hair, we will head for the small council chamber. Where you will hold your first meeting.”
“What will we discuss?” Elaena asked, blinking.
“Things. The details of th-”
“War.” Elaena interrupted.
“Not war, Elaena. Not yet.”
Elaena spoke up, “I am not a child, grandmother. I know that war is inevitable.” Jocelyn ran her hand through her granddaughter’s silver hair. “I know, my dear. I shouldn’t sweeten my words. I am sorry.” She went back to combing her hair. For a few minutes it was silent. As Jocelyn looked at Elaena’s youth filled face in the mirror, she thought of Jaehaerys. My Jaehaerys...

“Did I ever say to you about your father when he six or seven?” Jocelyn asked, putting the hairbrush down. Elaena shook her head. Jocelyn looked in the mirror at herself and at her granddaughter. “Well, the worst winter in three decades had finally come to its end and your father, who clung to the seam of my gown throughout the whole winter, came up to me on a sunny spring morning.” Jocelyn stopped and took a breath.
Jaehaerys. “You see, your grandfather frightened him with tales of The Others and their ice spiders as the winter raged on. So your father was petrified.” Jocelyn smiled wider, which led to Elaena doing the same.
“So he came to me on this morning and he said, ‘mother, mother- I have to go’. And I said, ‘where?’. And he showed me his sparring sword and said that it was time for him to go Beyond The Wall and chase away all the bad things. All the…” She could feel it. No. Her eyes began to well with tears. I can’t cry in-front of her. But it was too much. The last two weeks had put such amounts of strain and stress on Jocelyn Baratheon. So much so that she began to cry. She placed her head in her hands. Sobbing. “He was… such a… such a good boy. Such a brave b-boy.”
Jocelyn could feel Elaena’s hand pat her back. It destroyed her when it happened. To outlive her son. Her only son. I would never wish such a thing on any mother. “He would have been s-such a great King.”
Jocelyn wiped the tears away and then looked at Elaena. They hugged. It felt like forever. When the let go of one another, they smiled. Though Jocelyn’s smiled soon turned to a frown. “What I’m trying to say, my sweet sweet girl. Is that you must fight. Like your father would’ve. Though you won’t be fighting pretend spiders and shadow cats. You’ll be fighting everything else, Elaena.”


“We'll be fighting everyone else.” Jocelyn added. “Because that winter will soon be here again, and the monsters are coming for your throne.”

Spoiler: MENTIONS

Akio
Yarrow

 

[Nightblade]

Jon Baratheon
The Silent Stag​

Location: Kings Landing

Jon had arrived at Kings Landing cursing everyone he could think of. His Sister for asking him to do this, his brother for
telling him to watch Ser Gawen for anything further happening, the ruined knight himself for the actions that have the
7 Kingdoms wobbling on the edge of war. He knew his brother had called his banners and if his informants were right
so had lady Arryn.

Meanwhile, Jon's own friends had given notice that they had passed by Dragonstone and were closing in on Kings Landing.
With a small sigh of relief, Jon knew his friends would help defend the city from a naval based attack if needs be. He had given
the missive of information to one of his eyes and sent it directly to the Queen with strict orders for the note to be burned once read.

Swirling a goblet of wine, he also thought to Willam. As soon as word came of his arrival in Kings Landing, Jon had word sent to
check in on him stressing that he did not trust Gawen as far as he could throw the man.

Interactions: N.A
Mentions:
TheFool - Jocelyn
Yarrow - Willam
JPTheWarrior - Alexander
Hypnos - Gawen

 

[ReverseTex]

Gaheris Coran
Hypnos
JPTheWarrior
Nightblade
Harrenhal could only be described as a lucky break. The opportunity of the three heirs already going as far as killing made for a comfortable climate to work. Chaos was always a thrivable environment, especially if you’re a smaller foe on the table. In the two weeks that have passed by with more travel and pleasantries with the Baratheons, Gaheris had made good use of his time.
Firstly, he deployed almost half of his guard into Kings Landing, disguised, and eyes and ears open. He needed every bit of dirt. The other of half the guard was divided into halves, in which one half was sent to Highgarden, the other displaced north near the Eerie. Secondly, he had written a letter to Baelor Tyrell. Of course In the privacy of his own office, and with the usage of his personal raven. Alexander needed to know nothing of his actions...
​

Spoiler: Gaheris’s Letter

Lord Tyrell,

You most likely have little idea who I am, or what I want. You think I’m a pawn for Alexander Baratheon, which that I am not. To contrary belief, I do not serve my Lord, I serve myself. And what I desire is for Jocelyn Baratheon to sit her place, and Daemon Waters to dissapear...

Now, my desires align with yours, do they not? So with that established, here is my proposal. I will supply you with information upon the Baratheons and the whore Jocelyn. I have my spies planted aggressively around Kings Landing, in which I get debriefed nightly with whatever they gathered. If anything of importance is to occur, I will send my fastest raven to Highgarden. Now, what do I want...? I wish for two things many Lords do: Power, and Land. You will reserve a council seat myself. For land, I wish for a new section of The Reach, seeing as Nightsong will be surrounded by enemies if I dare try to take it back...

With my most sincerest regards,
Gaheris Coran

Gaheris slithered into the Baratheon dining room, his face freshly shaven, and his metallic silver eyes scanning the room harmlessly. He gave a polite smile to Jon, then the rest of room. Taking his seat on the hedge Lord end of the table, he slowly poured himself a glass of wine. Looking back up towards Jon, he sighed. “How has Kings Landing been treating you Lord Jon? I apologize for not asking sooner, afraid Nightsong business kept me from joining you all.”​

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Steffon Dayne
The Red Keep

It had been two weeks since the duel underneath Harren's shadow, since the humiliation served to the Sword of the Morning by Jonathor Corbray. The pommel that struck him flashed in his mind many a time since they fled that battle, the horns of House Arryn chasing them into the darkness, like they were vermin. Even now, Dayne's eyes were forced shut at the memory, his knuckles whitening. It was dishonorable, the ambush and the attack on King Daeron, but at the same time Steffon Dayne despised the treatment he received and their retreat. Death seemed like the perfect solution to that battle, be it his or Daeron's, or all the knights in Prince Martell's company or everyone in Harrenhal. Steffon Dayne's heart sunk, knowing that he accomplished nothing, he allowed his enemies to jeer at their conquest over Dorne and the death of Prince Dorran. 'Prince Dorran.' The name felt numb in his mouth. Someone who carried the same blood as his wife, albeit diluted by Martell poison. The boy wasn't meant to wield a sword or lance, everyone knew that, Qoren especially. Steffon couldn't understand why his heir was on the battlefield. He wasn't experienced, beyond mandatory lessons under Sunspear's Master-At-Arms. 'Rest easy, Prince.' Unlike Qoren, Steffon found the younger prince enjoyable, in short doses. They were different animals, Steffon and his prince, but they didn't conflict. 'You gave your life in combat. There can be little greater honor.' Serving his father's damned charge to the bitter end, Lord Steffon felt great respect for the youth.

Sitting in his modest room in the Red Keep, Lord Dayne had plenty of time to reflect over the battle. Over the entirety of Harrenhal. Aside from a few hours a day, Dayne resided in the room. He wasn't a stupid man and he could see Prince Qoren's men trailing him, off in the distance and almost out of sight. If it hadn't been for his own house guards, Lord Dayne wouldn't of noticed. 'He does not trust me.' That was obvious enough. 'He is right to hold his suspicions. I have mine of him.' Unlike the gallant Prince Dorran, who died an honorable death in a battle he neither wanted nor demanded blood be shed. Prince Qoren was a snake, one who kept a friendly smile on his lips, luring those around him close before spilling their veins with venom. Like all snakes, there was a way to handle Prince Qoren, a method to not be bitten. Lord Dayne thought he knew the art of dancing around the cobra of Dorne, but the spies that trailed him insisted otherwise. 'I may soon need to defend myself.' Lord Dayne had thought this long ago, and among his disgrace at the hands of Corbray, had five of his House Guards take steeds ride for Dorne. Likewise, a letter to Starfall meant for his queer friend, Matthos, had instructed the Red Priest to take up Dawn and meet the house guards en route for Starfall. Never did Steffon wave the sacred sword around as if it were a toy, Lord Dayne believed he'd be needing it now more than ever. Not only for the cobra, but if the enemies in the Vale and North made moves against Queen Elaena and her allies.

'There are too many Kings, Queens and claimants.' Dayne thought, holding his head in his palms.

A knock on the door roused his attention, followed by one of his house guards opening it. "Prince Qoren, Lord Dayne." He announced.

'Who I wanted to see.' Dayne fought back the urge to grimace. Rising to his feet, Steffon bowed his head in respect. "It is. . . An unusual place to meet, Prince Qoren. The room is not to your standards, I am certain. If it would please you, we can talk else where." Anything to buy Steffon a few seconds of respite, allow him to think on why Qoren would spontaneously appear in front of him. 'Is he asking something of me?' Dayne hoped not. He wasn't in the mood to run errands.

Akio​

 

[Yarrow]

Torman Tarly
Torman looked at his little sister, Lysa was wearing a beautiful light grass green dress and had yelllow flowers woven into her hair, the colors green and yellow symbolised both houses Osgrey and Tarly. Today was an important day, the marriage between house Tarly and Osgrey meant that Torman would stabilize his position in the Reach. Tormans aunt was the mother of Lord Dayne and his uncle was Lord Tyrell himself. The Martells and Tyrells were on different sides, so that could lead to some family clashes. With the Osgrey marriage Torman would only make it more clear where his allegiance lay.

"Sister, it is time for you to go" Torman said smiling at his beautiful sister. Together they walked towards the sept. Lysa and Addam had been betrothed since they were both still crawling around their castles. Many visits to Standfast made Lysa and Addam fall in love. Torman was happy with that, since he knew his parents marriage wasn't great and it had lead to many unpleased moments at Horn Hill.

As the door to the sept was opened the music started to change and the crowd was silent in a few seconds and nearly all Lord and Ladies turned their head around to look at the beautiful pair who walked into the Sept. Many 'oehs' and 'aahs' could be heard from the ladies and children present. Torman knew only a few people present personally, but he had learned the names to all the faces present. Most of them were brothers or sisters of the lord since many were already on their way to Highgarden. Torman would follow depart tomorrow and he would meet with the rest of the Tarly army halfway.

Together the brother and sister walked gracefully towards the septon and Addam where they both moved to their place, the ceremony began

Braddington

 

[Braddington]

Lord Addam Osgrey
Lord of Coldmoat and Knight of Standfast​

As Lysa and her brother walked through the Sept, Addam’s knees suddenly got weaker as nerves finally kicked in. She was beautiful in everyway, and seeing her in Osgrey colours made it that much more perfect, they would be together for the rest of their lives if he had anything to say about it. Her smile could be seen all around the room and for Addam it was sweeter than honey as he could do nothing smile back to his bride to be, he could have sworn his mother was crying at the sight but he was probably just imagining things, she didn't cry over matters like her only child's marriage. That was far too trivial

As she reached the altar between the statues of the Father and Mother he saw her face up close and he stared into her eyes with feelings he had only ever felt for her washing over him. “Lysa, you're more beautiful than I could ever have deserved.” He said, his teeth on show for all assembled. She simply winked at him in a playful manner, a habit that had become common with the pair. Then the ceremony truly began with the Septon giving his blessings and sayings from the Seven Pointed Star.

The Septon turned to Addam with a polite smile on his rather bloated but jovial face “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.” With this Addam delicately removed the Tarly cloak from her shoulders and placed an Osgrey one in it's stead, officially bringing her under his protection. Then Addam took her hands in his, softly rubbing them with a methodical rythmn making sure to be as gentle as possible as the Septon wraped a ribbon around their hands “My Lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of the Gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever. Let it be known that Lord Addam of House Osgrey and Lady Lysa of House Tarly are one heart, one flesh and one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder. In the Light of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity.” As the Septon finished the ribbon was cut, releasing their hands no matter how much they wish they lingered. “Look upon each other now and say the words.” They both looked into each other's eyes, caught in a trance as the names of the Seven were recited by them both simultaneously, not once was their sight broken. “Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am hers and she is mine, from this day until the end of my days.” Addam knew what came next. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.” As their lips touched a spark could be felt between them and a feeling of pure good and right washed over them both. Separating from the kiss Lysa turned to face the crowd but Addam felt...wrong. He just stood there, he couldn't move or speak or scream for help, it was like he was trapped in his own body. His mother immediately got up seeing something was wrong, Lysa was moved away as Selyse stood shaking Addam trying to break whatever trance he was in too no avail. Now he could see her tears, the same she had for his father when the same happened to him. He wanted to cry as well but he could not. Wedding guests jumped up to see what was wrong and his uncle came up to the side of Selyse to comfort her and help. Then without warning he collapsed, his head hitting the stone below as darkness consumed his field of view, for but a brief few seconds he thought it was the end before accepting the blackness around him.

A few hours later he awoke with a sudden snap, bolting upwards from his bed with a shot of adrenaline. Before he could adjust to the reality around him, Lysa jumped on him tightening her arms around him with tears running down her cheeks, he returned the hug as his mother entered the room. “I'm fine, don't worry about me. It was just nerves, I am alright now. How could I not feel nerves on the happiest day of my life?” Selyse stood in the doorway looking at Addam with a dark look upon her face, she knew exactly what this was and it took all her energy not to breakdown then and there. This was for another time was their immediate thoughts, they had a feast to attend and everyone needed to be assured that Addam was fine.

As Addam entered with Lysa at his side the entire hall rose in applause to greet them, relived that Addam was ok. They made their way to the centre of the biggest table in the hall and Addam sat beside Lord Tarly as food was served. Lysa sat with Selyse on her other side. Addam looked to Lord Tarly, his brother by marriage. ”I am sorry about all that happened earlier, it was nothing to worry about I assure you. Anyway, I don't suppose you shall be riding for Highgarden soon? If so my men are already gathered and ready to go, we can march together if it pleases you. No doubt it would ease Lysas mind.”

Yarrow

 

[Yarrow]

Torman Tarly

Torman was pacing in front the chamber where Addam was laying in bed. It had all gone so quickly. After the kiss, Addam froze and fell down to the ground. He could still hear the smack Addam had made when his head hit the stone cold floor of the sept. After the first commotion Torman made sure the feast went on. It was important to have some joy in these darks time where everyone was readying for a big and deadly war.

It had happened all an hour ago and it was nearly time for the food to be served. One of this personal servants came up to him and bowed “My Lord, the food is ready to be served, if you would like to follow me?” Torman nodded and followed the servant.
As soon as the doors opened he could feel all eyes looking at him and everyone present hoped it would be Addam. Torman simply shook his head and everyone went back to talk to their neighbours at the table.

Torman sat at the biggest table in the centre, but places next to him were still empty. It were the places of Addam, Lysa and Selyse who were still in the chamber where Addam was laying in bed. Right after the first course was placed on the tables Torman stood up to give a little speech. He held up his glass and tapped with his knife to the glass, demanding silence. Torman looked around and then to his wife who had learned him to open up and have emotions “Welcome everyone!..” he started off “Tonight we celebrate the unity of to amazing people. Lady Lysa and Lord Addam Osgrey. They will be with us soon, but for now! Let us eat and enjoy!” Torman sat down again and by looking at the others he knew that the speech sounded fake. It was really hard for Torman, but he did his best.

When the festives were on their way when the door opened and Addam and Lysa entered the hall under a loud applause of the lord and ladies present. They walked over to the table and sat down next to Torman. Addam made his apologies about what happened but Torman shook his head “Don’t worry about that, and yes, I was hoping to depart tomorrow, my men are coming with my Uncle Artur so I would be pleased if we could ride together”

Braddington

Willam Lannister
Willam had been riding in silence. The whole way to King’s Landing he hadn’t spoken a word and when he was asked something he just grunted. The young Lion felt defeated by a Rose, while he was only trying to do his best and make sure Elaena was safe. He still couldn’t find a clue when Gawen had struck down his horse, Gawen and Willam knew each other because they were both serving the Targaryens. He was so hopeful when he found a new horse in the village but as soon as they had been riding for a few minutes the horse stumbled and could only walk further. Willam maybe hated himself even more for that. He wasn’t able to protect Elaena. Willam wanted to be gone from this world. He felt like nothing could cheer him up, also the jokes from his uncles riding mates couldn’t do that.

When they all stood in front of the Dragon Gate, Tyland asked where they should head first to. Willam looked at his uncle and said “Home”. You could hear the sadness in his voice. This was totally not like Willam. Normally he would be happy to see the Dragon Gate. It meant that he was near the Red Keep where he felt he fitted right in. Flirting with the Ladies, sparring with the other Lords and attending as many parties as he could and sometimes visiting his favorite men in the whorehouses. But now everything was different, he didn’t even had the courage to see Elaena

TheFool

 

[Hypnos]

Melessa Tyrell
Widow​

A fortnight had passed since Mel had made her escape from Harrenhal, though she could still not get the images of that evening out of her head. After she had been unceremoniously tossed onto a horse and shipped away from the castle like prized cargo, her escort had not stopped until they were firmly upon Reach soil. It had taken them almost two days to get to Tumbleton amidst the chaos, two days of hard riding, and with a baby kicking around in her belly, Mel had found herself on the verge of collapse. That had not been the end of her troubles however. Once they had arrived at the castle, her guards had insisted that they lay low for a while, getting some rest before they finally decided to move onwards to Highgarden. As such, Mel found herself practically trapped in a foreign castle, surrounded by strangers.

At first, she had attempted to make friends with the young daughters of Lord Footley, though she quickly gave up with this venture when it became apparent that they viewed her more as a superior than a peer and were therefore not eager to include her in their activities. On her first day in the castle, Mel had made sure to send a raven to her brother Garth in Highgarden, as she had been instructed, though if he received that letter, he made no attempt to send a reply. That was to be expected however, her brother had never been the most able of administrators, yet now the weight of the entire Reach rested upon his shoulders. He would be under an enormous amount of pressure.

Respite from the solitude came in the form of Lord Footley, who arrived at the castle only a few days after Mel had herself. He was a kindly man, or at least that’s the impression that Mel received and he made a big fuss over making sure that she was comfortable and safe, giving her clothes from the wardrobe of his own wife, and offering to let her sleep in his own chamber, though Mel politely refused. When time finally came for them to leave, Footley would personally escort her to Highgarden, accompanied by an honour guard consisting of what appeared to be over half of Tumbleton’s able bodied men, though Mel supposed that with war looming on the horizon, it would be best not the take chances in terms of security.

That was how she arrived home. After being absent from Highgarden for over a year now, it felt strange to return under such circumstances. As soon as the party crossed the premises, things felt different. Normally, Highgarden was a very serene place, beautifully decorated and filled with life, though right now it seemed as if a sense of foreboding was hanging in the air, everywhere you looked faces were sombre and serious. Where before Mel could remember young children running around the halls, they now seemed empty save for the guards, the amount of which had doubled or even quadrupled since her last visit. Judging from outward appearance, one would have been forgiven for guessing that the war had been raging for several decades rather than the better part of five days. ‘If there even has to be a war at all.’ That last shred of hope that Mel held on to for peace was shattered the moment she saw her brother.

Garth was the black sheep of the Tyrell family. Whilst Lord Baelor was loud and charming, Gawen was skilled and strong, and Mern was smart and witty, Ser Garth fell into none of these categories. In his youth many had expected Garth to fade into obscurity, and in truth, he might have enjoyed that prospect, though circumstance had robbed him of this opportunity. He was a third son with little notable talent, and as he grew older it became apparent that he had little interest in the goings on of the family. When he was her age, Mel remembered Garth developing a serious problem with alcohol, often being found lying face down in a stable surrounded by wine and ale, though luckily he had grown out of this habit. Naturally he was Mel’s favourite brother. Mern was always so serious, and Gawen was… well Gawen, but Garth had always been sweet. An ear to listen to her problems when no one else would.

Knowing all of this, it was a big surprise when Mel entered her father’s study to find her brother clad in a full suit of armour, writing letters and giving orders as if he had been lord for several years. She had been taken aback was this truly the same brother she had left here years ago. She had little time to contemplate.

The next few days were a blur. With various lords and ladies arriving at Highgarden following her brother’s call. It seemed in the absence of her father, Garth had taken it upon himself to personally call the banners and ready the Reach for war. Lord Baelor himself had been nowhere to be seen, and for a few days many had thought him to killed or captured by a hostile faction, though that was not the case. Fourteen days following the events at Harrenhal Lord Baelor returned and he had not done so alone. Behind him was a small army consisting of the soldiers of various houses around the Reach. Baelor Tyrell had not been idle, nor had he lain low like Mel, on the contrary, the Lord of Highgarden had been supping with many of his vassals on the way back home, visiting the majority of the castles that lay between Harrenhal and Highgarden and generally carousing with their lords. When he first arrived at Highgarden he looked as if he had not slept since Mel last saw him, though despite this, a trademark grin still crossed his face.

“Lords of the Reach! Your liege had returned.” Even in such trying times, Lord Baelor had not lost his taste for the extravagant.

 

[Akio]

Ryden Martell
​

Few changes had been made to the Red Keep since Qoren arrived. With the Martells lost in grief and the realm seething in turmoil very few preparations could be made for the coming storm. But if one change could be spoken off as a bit before and since the departure of the body of the prince of Dorne the near constant ring of swords rang out in the courtyard where injuries hadn't been few as an untamed blade vented his grief. Standing in the middle of the courtyard with his spear crossed over his body was none other than the surviving prince. His eyes coldly watched the last guard in front of him whos own spear was held in his slightly undead hands. A shield hangs limply on his arm, half cut to ribbons while two other guards lay on the field in different states of agony having obviously been beaten to near an inch of their lives by the cold-eyed prince. While the prince was still, his body a conduit of potential energy they lay a deep-seated rage in his thoughts as he looked at the guard and almost didn't see the mans older grizzled face containing a trace of panic but instead saw Daeron. The bastard who took away his brother. His eyes flashed with rage and with a savage snarl he flew at the man in front of him.

The guard hurried to block, raising his spear as Ryden cross the distance in two long strides and stabbed out with a vicious blow with lethal intent and the man could only block with the shaft as trying to back away would only mean his force would grow as he followed due to his momentum. The spearhead slammed into the wood so hard that the guard heard the shaft of his spear crack due to how deeply the prince's spear pierced into his weapon. The weapon was stuck fast but Ryden didn't even hesitate as they both dropped their now useless weapons, the guard a shade slower then Ryden. Before he could even say anything Ryden stuck out with a metal fist which hit the mans jaw hard and sent him stumbling with a few broken teeth. Grabbing his knife from his sheath he whipped the dagger out and brought the knife down into the man's shoulder, causing him to scream before he grabbed his head and brought it hard against his knee, shattering his nose as he fell boneless backward. Ryden was now the only man standing of the original three who stood against him and not far away a small group of people had watched the battle with differing emotions playing across their face. One of them was lord Uller, who was a larger and heavy set man, shorter than many but with a solid frame, watching Ryden fight with a bit of envy, remembering his glory days when he was younger and not quite as stiff. "He is a prodigy." He declared looking at the prince. "I've never seen anyone more so swiftly with spear or sword. What do you think Anaya?" He said asking his daughter pointingly. She knew what he wanted her to say though he didn't say it out loud. She had been forced to wear a dress when she was called out by her father here and even now as three men were in varying states of beaten and Ryden was tearing off his helm he seemed to want her opinion on this carnage.

Ryden looked back at the group. He had been a constant visitor to the courtyard since his brother's body left the city, often causing injury to those who dared to spar with him as his rage burned with a fury. Even from here she could likely see the twisted emotion in his eyes and he felt another burst of anger. They just watched him and spoke as if he wasn't even there. And despite how many fights he took and every time he tried to let go of his rage it simply grew and with his fight over he threw down his helmet in disgust and began stalking off the field, moving back towards the Red Keep.
==============================================================================================================================================================

Qoren Martell
​

Qoren like always had come with his own guard, 6 men dressed in black leather and holding spears and shields in theirs. It seemed even in Kingslanding Qoren was being accompanied by the Dornish elite. Whether this was a show of force or something more was hard to say. In fact, very little had been seen of Qoren in the last few days. When they came to Kingslanding Darrons body was laid in the sept of Baelor so those who knew him could pay their respects. But Ryden after hearing some comment from a knight who said Darron should have never been so foolish to go onto the battlefield lashed out with fury and kicked everyone but his immediate family out of his brother's bodies resting place after the first day and for the last few days, none of the family had revealed themselves till Darrons body was sent off with Laena and other lords returning to Dorne. Qoren was grieving for his son, though whether was that believed by everyone was up for question. After all, it was still said that even at his sisters funeral who when he was younger was said to be as close to as siblings could be he had not grieved even for a moment, helping make the arrangements and seeing his sister off to her final resting place without expressing his feelings once.

Whether he had grieved or not Qoren seemed drawn and tired, as if he hadn't been sleeping and his demeanor was cool and withdrawn rather then anything else. When he spoke, however, his voice was the same as ever with a chill in his voice as he rebuffed his offer. "No here will be fine Lord Dayne." He said before turning his gaze to his guards. "Leave us, all of you." He said ordering his guards and everyone else in the room away and after a brief pause, his guards obeyed, leaving him alone with the Sword in the Morning. Once the door closed Qoren turned to look at Steffon, his eyes chilling as he turned away from him, not automatically speaking but instead weighing his words. "I see the injuries you have taken have mostly healed." He said turning his gaze back to the Lord, his eyes cold enough one could almost feel the icy chill from them. "Though I wonder if they've managed to temper any of your arrogance." He said his words blunt and unkind as he turned towards him. Qoren was often times reserved and cold but never had he seen him intentionally provocative as he in some ways insulted him now, awaiting the obvious response as he waited for the proud sword to likely stumble into the perceived insult.

 

[Little-Fox]

Anaya Uller
King's Landing​

It had been scarce two weeks since she'd made it to King's Landing with what remained of the Dornish retinue. Two weeks since Prince Darron had fallen to the Bastard-King Daeron. Queen Elaena's supporters had rallied and pulled together under their various banners, some working to defend while the Dornes had outright attacked. While not so dark as Harrenhal, King's Landing didn't seem too far from the perceived prison, especially since her many attempts to wander outside it's walls had been thwarted. She'd been denied her leathers unless she was going to be in the training yard and her father had even limited her time there, insisting that she utilize her time in a more lady-like fashion by trying to socialize.

"He is a prodigy. I've never seen anyone move so swiftly with spear or sword. What do you think Anaya?" Her father's question broke her contemplative silence as she blinked up at him, those intelligent sea-green eyes catching the sunlight just enough to make them look a little brighter than usual. She'd been watching the carnage below, each of the three guards taking more of a beating than any spar would usually give. Normally, the sounds of steel would provide her a sense of comfort. But this wasn't normal. The tension was so high that even as Ryden started out of the yard it felt like the moment just before a thunderstorm, the only thing missing now was the petrichor.

"Of course, Father." She started quietly, smoothing down the soft peachy-gold fabric of her dress. "He fights well, but I don't think those guards will be of any use for at least a little while now. They will most likely need at least a few weeks in the infirmary and even then they will not be as strong in combat as they might have been otherwise." It was true, especially for the poor bastard who'd been stabbed in the shoulder and who'd suffered more than a few broken bones. "As for what I think... I think he is angry and I don't think it takes any special senses to see that. Imagine if brother were felled... I would likely be much the same way and I don't think even you would keep me from the training yard." She glanced back down to where the keepers had begun trying to help the latest casualties off the field with a frown.

"Well then, why don't you go talk to him?"

"Father?" Do I have to?

"Go on. See if you can't help him."

Damn it. "Yes Father." This is not going to end well. She smiled politely and gave the most lady-like curtsy she could before leaving the other spectators and starting out to follow the Lord. How would I want someone to talk with me in this situation?... I wouldn't... Alright, well... Just be compassionate, right? Maybe? Yes. Let's try compassion and see if that helps any. No one deserves to lose their brother... but no one deserves to be punished for it except for the one who slew him either. Her lips twitched with a half-frown as she fell into step not far behind Ryden, off to his right rather than directly in his blind spot. "Lord Martell..." She stated audibly, her tone calling and perhaps even a touch coaxing rather than her usual blunt quality.

Akio

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Steffon Dayne
The Red Keep

Lord Dayne welcomed his Prince into the small quarters at the Red Keep, a mild beard now attached to his chin and cheeks. He'd of shaved it, but Steffon couldn't find the time to, these days. It wasn't that he didn't, but whenever he found himself wanting to, another distraction arose. As the Prince declared that the room was fine, Steffon watched his two house guards wonder off with the Dornish elite, likely just down the hall in either direction, waiting for a call from either the Lord or Prince before they returned to the suite. With the two now isolated from the outside world, Lord Dayne shifted, looking to his Prince inquistively. Qoren didn't take to speaking immediately, which Steffon found bothersome, but not irksome enough to comment on. The man had lost a son recently, the Dornish practically declared war for her grace Elaena as well. The mind of Prince Qoren was likely a mess, too much to consider and not enough time in the day. For a split second, no longer, Lord Dayne felt pity at Qoren and deep shame within himself. He did little with his time since their arrival to King's Landing, whereas Qoren more than likely was pushing off mourning to read the political climate. Cold, but not unlike him. Any pity that Steffon had for the man was abruptly dropped, when Qoren turned around with his lips parted, the Sword of the Morning glanced up at the cold, calculating eyes in his skull. They were different, they carried a cold hatred within them, entirely different to the distant disdain that Qoren Martell became famous for.

Subconsciously, Dayne's body tensed. Then he blinked past his surprise. His wounds? 'They are fine.' He wanted to say, but was given an insufficient period to do so. 'Arrogance?'

'This is the game he's playing then?' Violet eyes turned hard, reflecting the defensive nature of the Dornish Lord. "If any hubris infesting my blood yet survived the many humblings during my tenure as a tourney knight, persisted, I assure you that Corbray's borrowed hilt has bled it from my body. Like a leech to bad blood." There was a defiant tone in his voice, but Lord Dayne knew better than to speak back to the Martell. He'd comply with his requests, answer his questions, and be done with the man soon enough. He didn't know why Lord Qoren would single him out with the intent of reminding him of his failure, but Steffon suddenly couldn't wait for the man to leave. 'And I felt sorrow for him.' No, that was now pushed towards Prince Ryden or Princess Laena. Not this man. "And you, Prince Martell? I am unaware if you faced any injuries during that fateful eve. You seem well." A slight, minor but there. The man was likely in the back, away from the action. A coward who would disgrace others with the ultimate dishonor in the form of assassinating good men.

Akio​

 

[Little-Fox]

Willow Stark
Daughter of the North
​

The trip home had been a blur for the eldest Stark daughter. Throughout the entire journey, she could only think of a few things: A man had been killed in front of the entire council. No. Murdered. The Hand of the King had been murdered in front of the entire council. Even after she'd gotten home, things had been quieter for her. The bustle was there, people were talking, small meetings were had, there was activity... but she felt nearly deaf to it all. A thin black woolen cloak kept the Northern chill off her, the deep navy blue linen dress beneath holding her body heat in as she knelt in the root system of the Weirwood tree. She'd been there for hours, letting her thoughts roam in her own manner of prayer.

A war is starting. With Dorne's attack on King Daeron's supporters... I suppose that makes the Martell Prince our enemy now. Could I have prevented that? Probably not. It would have just been more heartbreaking... and dangerous. Either I could have been trapped in Dorne now, or worse. She didn't know that Darron had been slain that night by Daeron's blade. She only knew that her father had immediately steered their bannermen into guarding the King and that she'd been sent out of the confllict. She'd been fortunate and she knew it. She'd gone back to the Stark tent and grabbed what she could before getting into the carriage. The guard who'd been sent with her had been watchful and fussy, hurrying her along as best as he could. She still remembered the heat and light from the fire that burned at the Tyrell canopy, a sad realisation that a very pregnant Melessa was likely either now dead, or fleeing for her life. Watch over her. She prayed. It might have been odd to pray for a candidate you didn't support, but to her, Melessa was still an innocent in this. Someone who'd largely been a part only because of who's child she carried. Watch over us all.

Rusty of Shackleford

 

[Grammatic]

Edwyn Frey-The Crossing

"Siege. Siege. Siieeggee." No matter how many times Edwyn said the word, it just didn't feel right in his mouth. It stained his throat like particularly bad wine, or a particularly bad woman, depending on the occasion. Though, given current circumstances, he would give almost anything to experience either right now. With the realm devolving into factions and storm clouds of war forming ever on the horizon, Edwyn hadn't been able to relax much at all of late, or experience even decent wine. He had cut himself off of his precious drinks, deciding he needed a clear mind to deal with the matters at hand, and an even clearer head to plot his rise to power after it was all over. He would have time for bad wine and worse women when this dilemma was dealt with.

He was currently in the main library of The Crossings, sitting at a table with stack after stack of books looming around him. He pushed himself away from the one he was currently reading, a tale from the Age of Heroes, a dreadful name for a dreadful time. Endless war, endless killing, no one could catch a break then. The only good thing to come from it was this book as far as he cared, depicting a massive siege of Storms End. The details were very specific, evidently taken by a third hand observer as to avoid the bias of victor or loser. He hoped to learn something from the book, much as he hoped to learn from the rest of these books, painstakingly gathered by Edwyn since his ride to the Lordship of the Twins. There had barely been a cupboard full of books before, now he had two full libraries, with a third under construction. Knowledge is Power his father had once told him. Edwyn had taken that to the next step.

Pushing away from the table, Edwyn turned to exit the library, grabbing the light black cloak he had draped over the back of his chair, donning it over the left side of his body. It went with the dark grey shirt and pants he wore, with a small Frey sigil brazened on the back of his cloak and the right shoulder of his shirt. It was not a common look in Westeros, but it was one he had come to enjoy personally. At his hip was a simple sword, the only heraldry on it being a small iron bar gate set into the pommel, almost an after thought when Edwyn thought about it. Until his fathers time, House Frey had never been warriors, and had never needed a family sword to pass down. Edwyn stood as the first to start the tradition almost every other House in Westeros followed. While he was no great warrior, he understood the need for a powerful army, and had continued the militarization his father had started. He was thankful he had spent the extra gold here and there to ensure they would be ready.

Outside the library, two Frey soldiers were waiting for their Lord, armed with shields and short spears. Edwyn didn't pause, turning to walk down the hall, leaving the two soldiers to rush to catch up to their Lord. They made quick passage through the Twins, finally exiting through the main gate on the Northern side of the bridge. Everywhere Edwyn looked, soldiers and servants were rushing across the courtyard. Sergeants were shouting orders at trainees to the side of the yard, and fresh supplies were being brought in the main gate by wagons. Edwyn crossed the courtyard, giving only the briefest nods to those he turned from their task to greet their Lord. Edwyn climbed the stone staircase leading up to the main wall of The Crossing, stepped past several archers currently walking the battlements. The flags placed at regular intervals along the walls flapped with the light breeze coming down from the North, bringing with it cold winds, and the sound of construction.

Where before there had been nothing but empty ground around The Twins, now there were the beginning of trenches and palisades. Trees nearby the Twins were being felled in large numbers by the smallfolk at Edwyn's order, and brought to the Twins. Lines of stakes were being laid out, wooden walls erected, and the smallfolk of nearby towns and villages under the Frey banner pouring in and across the bridge, where a small tent town was being made in conjuncture with the new defenses. From their ranks, several hundred new soldiers were being constricted and trained, to supplement the current garrison. For the first time in history, The Twins would become a Fortress, and not simply a walled toll booth.

Edwyn remained on the wall for some time, watching his smallfolk and soldiers working. Finally he turned to one of the soldiers nearby, walking towards him. "Send word to Lord Tully. The Crossing will be secured within the fortnight." The soldier nodded his head, quickly turning to rush down the steps of the wall and across the courtyard towards the rookery within the keep. Minutes later, a raven flew out of one of the windows in the upper levels of the Twins, flying south towards Riverrun.

TheAncientCelt

 

[Akio]

Ryden Martell
​

Ryden had gone some way already as his pace was certainly not slow as he took long strides off the field. His armor was somewhat splattered with gore as it clanked as he went into a hallway that was mostly isolated. These guest rooms were almost never in use and only rarely cleaned and he found himself heading there to avoid the group of people who had been watching him. The fight had done nothing to help the boiling anger that had been growing inside him since his brother's death, tearing towards eruption. In all his opponents, in all his rage, all he could see was Daeron striking down his brother. The face of the bastard who had taken away his family. Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood he shut everything out, not even hearing Anaya catching up to him somewhere behind. There would come a day he would avenge his brother when he would drive his sword into the bastard prince. And when that day came he would not allow that prince to die cleanly.

He had not heard Anaya approach till she called out to him. Stiffening at first thinking it was a servant or someone else he turned and realized it was that difficult girl from Harrenhal. Anaya he believed it was. Coldly snorting he did not stop and continued to walk, forcing her to follow if she planned on still accompanying him but at the same time, he soon acknowledged her as he spoke. "Were you sent by your father to talk to me?" He asked his voice prodding and harsh, with even a bit of mocking. While he did not know who she was when he first met her how could he not know one of his father's principle bannermen and one who participated in the attack on that terrible day. Given what he knew of her father how could he not guess that her father likely had a part in her being here, they were not so close she would try to comfort him in his grief. His tone obviously had no friendliness and while when they had first met he had been haughty it was nothing like this rage of emotion and disdain as he entered the isolated area, hoping she would stop following him so he could stew alone.

 

[Akio]

Qoren Martell
​

Qoren did not look away from his gaze and right now his eyes were truly a bit like the snake he expected him to be, with harsh eyes and a silent and deadly demeanor. His mouth twitched into something almost like a small smile but there was nothing friendly about it, instead, it was mocking and bitter and little more than an expression of his mockery of the Sword in the Morning. "Did it now? I wonder if it did, for all those humblings you speak of it did not stop your arrogance and pride from calling out to the bastard son Daeron to warn him. Or was your grace was how you referred to him?" He said, making it clear the warning he had given had not been forgotten and was likely the reason he was here as he coldly watched him and as he half turned he could tell the prince of Dorne was armed though what the meant or if he planned to strike out was impossible to tell. "After all, I can't help but wonder what part of your drunken stupor convinced you to call out to warn Daeron when the intention was to surprise him. Or did your pride not allow you to strike him?" He said knowing that Staffons pride as a knight was one of his forefronts and while that was why he trusted him once now he knew why it was also he could never trust him again, not for anything but simple tasks. In fact, while he blamed his own order and lack of awareness for his son's death almost as much he blamed this honorable lord, whos pride had likely saved Daeron and led to the hard fight that had led to his son's demise. And now someone who in his own way he admired for his conviction he hated for the same reason in that his foolishness had cost him more than ever could be taken back.

 

[Little-Fox]

Anaya Uller
​

While she hadn't necessarily expected a warm response, she hadn't expected him to nearly outright ignore her either. That snort of derision steeled her at least partially to the sharp response, the tension not unlike that of someone holding a blade against one's flesh with the threat to pierce if they didn't hold still. "I was, yes." She answered truthfully. He might have had the longer gait, but agility and grace were some of the tenets of a lithe fighter. His mood was on full display, a warning that screamed it's promise of violence if she wasn't careful. Those poor guards didn't have a chance, did they?

"You are hurting... just as Laena is hurting. But you are angry too... and no one blames you for that. You have every right to be angry." Just don't kill your own men because of it. "If you want to be alone, I'll let you alone... It's what I'd want if it were me."

Akio

 

[TheAncientCelt]

Lord Steffon Dayne
The Sword of the Morning

The Red Keep


The rhythm of the discussion turned murderous, even if edges weaponry was not to be found in the cellar of a room. Prince Qoren had struck, the beat of battle gliding his tongue against Lord Dayne, a noise produced from the ruler of Dorne not dissimilar to metals rending cry. Arrows wound at the tip of this snake's venomous maw, flying out with the intent to further humble Steffon. Instead, as they crashed against his purple tunic, it caused a deep grimace. Emotions were checked, he was not one to let them run loose. But in this encounter, Lord Dayne felt the urge to. Between unwanted memories of his past, a crushing defeat and the pounding drums of war, a lecture from Prince Qoren was the last recipe to cement this poor mood. His nostrils flared, his face otherwise remained flat in clear disapproval. "It was not any sense of self worth that filled my inner compunction to warn his grace of our hostile approach." Despite those words, Steffon wondered if that were true. He was better than a common layabout, incapable of stabbing another in the back. Was that truly an egregious display of pride? Lord Dayne wasn't sure, but he suspected it didn't fit Lord Qoren's description. "It was my honor, not my pride, that demanded I give warning. For I will not take good men unawares and stab them in the back. I apologize, Prince Martell, if that is what seems to feed your resentment towards me. My very being would decay if I slew a single man that night, if things had gone according to your machinations." Liquor helped make the decision, no doubt. Inhibitions were destroyed. But, that was how Lord Dayne would feel, regardless. He would rather give up his moniker as the Sword of the Morning than dishonor himself to that extent. He may not key every vow a knight should, he did not protect anyone that evening, but Steffon's identity would shatter if he performed such a disgraceful act.​