Fandom A Song Of Ice And Fire / Game Of Thrones RP [ Now Open! ]

[D3lmoniko]

Storm's End, Courtyard...


Outside, the storm didn't show signs of stopping. The cold raindrops, along with the strong winds, made everyone cower in their houses or towers. But still, there were a couple of soldiers, one of them wearing a helmet with a pair of antlers on it. His sword looked like a bolt of lightning in his hands. When he swung the mighty sword, the receiver got out of the way, dodging the blow. With a grunt, the knight raised his sword again, throwing a hit at the soldier again, and again. The antler knight locked swords with the other, pushing him down, putting the sword to his neck. The downed soldier raised his hands, leaving the sword down.


"A guard fights to his death. Keep that in mind." The antler knight said, his voice inside the helmet sounded gruff and rusty. He helped the soldier up, picking up the sword and handing it to him. The soldier let his head down, and took the sword. "Do not despair or think yourself to be lower. We all went through the same thing, brother." These were the words of Verys of house Baratheon, the prince of the Stormlands. In any type of weather he fought and trained, as he believed that a soldier should not be conditioned by the weather.


"My lord Verys. We should get back inside. The lightning might hit us, or we could catch something." spoke one soldier, that was shaking and shivering. Verys laughed so loud, the waves hitting the outer wall were silent the whole time. "Where I studied, at Blackhaven, there was this legend about the first lord. Do you know it?" Verys said, looking at the soldiers that stood before him, some trying to warm themselves up, other standing tall and strong, like the towers that stood behind them. "It's said that one time, some dornishmen ambushed an envoy of house Baratheon. They killed his horse, and when they wanted to kill him-" He raised his sword, at witch time the thunder was heard. "-a lightning bolt, a cracked one hit both of the dornishmen, striking them down, like flies. And the envoy, he would become the first ruler of Blackhaven." He looked at his soldiers and let his sword down, letting out a small sigh. "All right brothers. Go back to your homes or posts. Training is done for today." The lord said, turning around and heading inside the giant tower, heading to the Lord's hall.





Storm's End, Lord's Hall...


Inside, when he approached the door, the guard opened the doors. Verys took off his helmet, revealing his blond short hair and scar on his face. He held the helmet in one hand, and walked softly to the place where his sister and father were, seeing his father lost in his own world again. He sighed and started to concern himself about what would this madness lead to. He knew his father as a caring ruler and father, wanting only the best for his children.

 

[LittleWolfie]

Storm's End, The Stormlands


A smile graced her lips as she saw her father was happy to see her. His sweet little flower, she guessed that was all she ever was, the delicate one of his children who needed protecting since she couldn't protect herself. At least he had overlooked her hair being loose for once, and even as she thought it the hair fell further in front of her face, the gentle curls half covering her left eye. She did love her father with all her heart, even if she didn't always show it, she just wanted to make him happy and proud of her.


"I'm sorry father, I didn't think when I saw what had been laid out for me to wear today." Meera apologized, her gaze falling to the floor and her head bowing slightly with it. "I can go and change it if that would please you better" she suggested, wishing she hadn't overlooked the fact even if she didn't actually have a yellow dress that looked nice on her, they were all too bright and gaudy.


Hearing a sound, Meera's head turned to the right facing the door, noticing Verys enter the hall. "Brother" she nodded gently at him in greeting. Looking at him it was quite obvious where he'd been, how could she have missed it earlier when she was watching the men train? The drops of rain still lingering in small spots across his armour and some on his helmet too. Safe to say his armour was definitely distinctive, specifically the helmet but that was her brother in his essence, a fighter. Although he did put his family first and she loved him for that, even if they weren't that close after his time away when she was younger and all of his training which she envied him for greatly.

 

[D3lmoniko]

Storm's End, Lord's Hall...


Durran snapped back to reality. His smile grew when he saw his son in his armor. "Ah. My two children. You know, this is what can bring an old man's hearth beat louder than any sound. And Meera, why don't you want to dress in the clothes I say? It will lighten up that beautiful face of your." Her face remembered him of his deceased wife.


Verys smiled and laughed. "Oh father. Can't you forgive her for this rebellious faze of hers?" Verys says, going closer to his sister. He knew her since he returned from Blackhaven, as she was born when he was away. Since then, he tried to spend time with his sister, but couldn't get close to her. Maybe because they were born apart. But that didn't stop him to care for her.


Durran looked at them and let out a small chuckle. "As waves cannot be stopped, neither the minds of young people." He stopped for a while and looked at his son's helmet. He points at it, smiling. "I see that you want to take my nickname away from me Verys." He pats him on the back, even though he had his armor plates on. Looking at the window, he started to talk. "We need to talk to the Martells. Our ships cannot be handled by sailors and merchants. Today, one man came here, demanding I pay him for his ships. I decided to reunite him with his ships. I cannot do this to all who say this. We could probably talk with the Martells to send our ships to Sunspear, then establish a trade route all the way to us. They will be entitled to half the trade capacity, and would be given half the profits."


Verys looks at his father and nods. He did not know much about politics, but an agreement with the Martells could be profitable. Both economically, and military. A safe south with leave them with two openings. He looks back at a soldier and says. "Prepare an envoy and my horse." At witch point his father starts to laugh. "It's not that easy my son." Durran says, smiling. "Prepare a crow for The Water Gardens. I will go and write the message at once." The lord said, immediately going towards his study.


Verys looks at his sister. "So, do you want to take a small walk to the balcony?" The prince says, looking at his helmet. He taught at what his father said, and it made him think. "What will I do when he passes on? Am I a good lord at that?"

 

[LittleWolfie]

Storm's End, The Stormlands


Her stormy grey eyes brightened as she looked between her father and her brother, liking seeing her family together, despite the obvious hole in the picture where her mother should have been. She hadn't known her for that long when she thought about it since her mother had been taken by some disease when she was just 6 summers old but the woman would always hold a place in her heart no matter what.


"I'm sorry father, I will change later for you" Meera replied to her father with a gentle smile, wanting so badly to please him, especially since they were all treading lightly around him. At her brother's comment however she quickly shot daggers at him and 'accidentally' elbowed him in the ribs since he was now close enough. Little did he know that this was not just some 'rebellious phase' but more her keeping everything in as much as possible. If Verys wanted a rebellious phase he may just get one when their father passed and he became the next head of House Baratheon. And that could very well get interesting since her brother had no idea how to handle her and he seriously lacked diplomacy skills. For his sakes he better hope that she was married off when that time came or things may get not so pretty and perfect between them.


Meera was silent while her father and brother spoke then although her mind was far from quiet. The Martells, alliance talk? What did that mean for her she had to wonder. could her previous thoughts be soon to be ironic and realistic ones? Well there were worse places she could end up really, she could be sent to the north and all of the cold and harshness that was up there. The sun of Dorne was a more pleasant sounding idea but still, nothing was spoken yet so her thoughts needed to slow down.


As if on cue with perfect timing, her father leaving and her brother's question snapped her back into herself. "Of course brother" Meera answered as she looked up at Verys' face. There wasn't an overly large height difference between the two but there was a decent difference. "And you know how much I love watching the storms play out in the sky"

 

[Tzun]

The Dreadfort, in the Rookery





Kyllan threw his gaze from the message, and decided that it was best to inform his brother, considering that he really was the Lord of the Dreadfort, until Kyllan decided that he would discuss with Larris that his return meant his return to power. He knew that Larris would take neither of the bouts of information well, even though neither meant much shift in his power just yet. Even then, Kyllan still needed to tread with caution. He left Gravven with a wave, and started down the walls of the Dreadfort once more, going down the stairs.


The stairs lead through into the Great Hall, a place where he had been before, and confronted Larris. He was sitting there on his throne, listening to the plea of a man that lost his home to the cold winter winds, and was looking for resolve and payment to construct a new one. Larris had his attention fixed upon the man, and did not see Kyllan. He listened, but paid more attention, and noticed that the torches were still held by skeletal hands that jutted from the walls. He felt like this was one of the last legacies of his family left in the Dreadfort.


Larris opened his mouth as the man finished his request, he was dressed in tattered rags and leather, barely enough for someone to survive in the snow and ice. He would soon die, and the North would be stronger for it.


"I will send three builders of my own along their way to construct a new hut for you, we have a large reserve of supplies that can be utilized. Lead the men to where they can rebuild it, and may the gods send their blessing."


"Thank you, m'lord! Thank you!" he spoke, spittle flying from his cracked lips and dirtied face.


Kyllan could tell that the man did not want to leave, as he did not do so with haste. He was most likely enjoying the warmth of the volcanic vents that lie beneath the fort, and most that lead to this very hall. In the same, Kyllan disagreed with Larris and his decision. Some of his men were not equipped to go out and deal with the cold, he was sacrificing his own men for a lost cause, a family that could do nothing but starve, a name that never meant a thing to them. Even in his age and stature, he could not bring himself to tell Larris of his disposition. They were family and that's what Kyllan's only solace was.


"Larris, we need to speak." Kyllan said, alerting his brother of his presence, as he was ignorant to most around him.


He had a look of surprise on his face, but toned it down to pay attention to his kin.


"Of what, Kyllan? Have you decided to run South again? Our father hasn't died and I'm not young anymore, is there another reason you would want to leave?"


((I had to go, but I will finish this when I get back!))

 

[D3lmoniko]

Storm's End, Lord's room





An air of emptiness filled Durran's room. A double bed, with only one soul to sleep in it. A drawer, where Durran still kept a few of his late wife's dresses. Near his bed, there were some flowers in a vase. They were the last flowers his wife wet, and her favorite ones. He kept them there, near the bed, wetting them everytime he got the occasion. It was good for him to still remember her as she was. "The most beautiful flower in all of Westeros." he kept saying to her, slowly rubbing her cheeks.


But, this time, Durran was too rushed to think of that. Not paying attention to anything, he went and stood at his small oak desk. He took a piece of paper, and his crow feathered pen. Submerging the small, sharp head of the pen in the dark, sinister goo, his mind started working on formulating. He tended to talk to himself while writing something. The sound of his voice would see if the tone was menacing or diplomatic.


Lord of House Nymeros Martell of Sunspear, Lord of Sunspear and the Water Gardens


Greetings from the Stormlands. This letter is sent as to ask your permission for a formal meeting, either on our territory, or on your lordship's. It is a diplomatic meeting, for a storm is brewing on these lands. As the north stands united in peace and trade, so the southern parts should stand strong and united. Our houses have been at war for a long time, hence the legend of the founding of Blackhaven. I am offering to send my heir, Prince Verys Baratheon on a diplomatic trip to your lands, so we could discuss peace and eventually, something more. We are waiting response from your lordship as soon as possible.


With honor and respect, Lord Durran Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End and of House Baratheon.





With a small sigh, the lord took the letter and blew on it, as to dry the ink. Durran then put some hot wax on the bottom of it, then stamped it, leaving the head of the stag on the end of the letter. As if it knew, the crow suddenly flew through the open window, and landed on the desk. Durran, with a surprised giggle, put the letter down, tying it with a small rope to the crow's foot. "Now listen, my feathery friend. Fly south, to Sunspear, and hand this message over to the lord. I know you can understand me-" He says, while slowly looking out the window. The storm was still raging on, but he knew the message, although wet, would still be readable enough. "-Now fly." Durran then made a small gesture to make the crow take its flight. The crow, within a heartbeat, flew out the window, and started to fly south. Durran still didn't knew how the crows knew where to fly, or how they were trained.


With another sigh, Durran lay on his bed, starting to sleep, as he felt tired all this day. While he lay on his bed, he turned to the left side, looking at the flower. He smiled, and closed his eyes, slowly whispering : "Soon my sweet flower..."


Storm's End, The Balcony


Verys smiled and looked at his sister. He then started to whistle, while smiling. "I felt that elbow you know? You are so powerful, why don't you join the kings guard? I bet you would make a fine banner man." Verys said jokingly, while looking at his sister. He then looked in front of them. Form the balcony, you could see the sea and the mighty wall that stood defiantly against everything. The village that could be seen acting as a port was empty, only the ships on the docks. He then saw two soldiers throwing a body off the walls. Verys shook his head. "Don't they know that father has a small temper?" Verys says, looking back at his helmet, handing it to his sister.


"I know you always looked at this with such awe. Those are real antlers. From one of father's hunting trips. I didn't want for it to go to waste, so I asked a blacksmith from Blackhaven to fix it up for me." Again with Blackhaven. All his memories were of Blackhaven, and only few from Storm's End. Quite ironically, although he is the heir of house Baratheon and of Storm's End, he was more of a Dondarion, then a Baratheon. His scar on his face, resembling a lightning was another sign of this fact.


Then Verys looked in the distance, sighing. "He still misses her... I miss her too." Verys says, hitting his fist on the balcony's edge, cracking it. This was one of the only times he showed a sign of crying, or of sadness. "I saw her for 5 years, but I remember her vaguely. An angelic face, soft, warm voice. How I longed for her to see me as a knight. Then the news came... I am still sorry I couldn't be here for her funeral. It was the most violent storm ever in Blackhaven, and no one was allowed to leave, especially me, the heir to the throne." He then sighs, after falling silent, holding back tears.

 

[WinterIsComing]

Castle Winterfell, The North . . .


"I'm thinking of writing to Rory, insisting him to come home. It might be a dangerous move; but, he is more adept in politics than me and I wish to send him and a group of my most trusted me to The Dreadfort." Hal decided softly.


Kerith didn't speak, she just nodded. "I just wanted you to know. If you think I must not do this, then speak now." He muttered in a low voice. Kerith continued to stay silent. He and his wife chatted for a few minutes, before he finally kissed her cheek and sat back down at his study.


Hal inked a pen and put it to a thin sheet of paper. He begun to write a short, but sweet letter to his eldest son and heir. Torrhen's Square wasn't far, so, it should reach him by the morrow. Hal finished the letter by stamping it with the sigil of House Stark.


Davir walked in, about ten minutes later, with a smile on his face and grease on his lips. His smile fell when he saw his lord as he realized he had been late.


"Oh, apologies m'lord, I-"


Hal put up his hand, as to shush him. "It's fine Davir. Please, can you take this to The Rookery and make sure it is sent off to Torrhen's Square?" Hal commanded. Davir nodded frantically and left with the letter in his hands.


Hal glanced across the room to see the sunset through the only window in the study. He sighed and brushed his beard with his hand...


Torrhen's Square, The North . . .

Spoiler

"Father!" Una called, as their horses arrive in Torrhen's Square. The square was surrounded by walls, on the edge of a large lake which, by river, lead to Saltspear. Rory got off his horse and gave him to a stable boy. Una hugged her father for a few moments, before she let go and moved aside. Rory smiled and looked at Ser Uilliam Tallhart; a middle-aged man, who was tall and thin. He ruled with a sternness, but, he had always shown Rory kindness.


"Rory. Shall we talk inside?" Uilliam asked, as he clung to his fur cloak. It was a sunny day, but, the wind was chilled. Rory nodded, and they went inside of the castle. It was a tall building with white washed walls slowly turning to grey. Inside; it was a dull interior. The windows and doors were all fairly small, making sure not much light got in. A small hearth was lit in the middle of the floor although the fire was dying. "Sit." Uilliam insisted. He disappeared momentarily and then reappeared with a papered letter, its stamp being that of a direwolf. Rory took the letter from Uilliam's hand and opened it.


My Son,


I hoped not to intrude on your hunting trip, but, I wish for you to return to Winterfell, at once. We have important matters to discuss involving yourself. I will see you soon, and, I hope you have a safe ride back.


Your father, Lord Tuathal Stark.


It was a short, mostly informal letter. Rory didn't know how to feel. He himself expected to stay in Torrhen's Square a little longer. "I've already had my servants pack your things an' load them onto a carriage. So you are ready to leave." Ser Uilliam informed, as he got up off of his chair. Rory raised an eyebrow. It was almost like he wanted him gone. Mayhaps Ser Uilliam heard of the rumors circling that his only daughter had lost her maidenhood to a lordling, and wanted Rory gone because of this.


"Thank you, my lord. I have never been shown such hospitality before." Rory thanked Uilliam, as he also got up. Rory extended his hand, but, Uilliam turned around and walked away- pretending not to see it. Rory frowned and left the castle. 'I guess it is time to return home...'

 

[kira blackthorn]

Kilian: Winterfell. The north


Taking a deep breath Kilian adjusted his stance and raised his bow. Sliding an arrow out of its quiver he set it up with his bow. Taking in a deep breath he drew back the string, let out a deep breath, and let the arrow fly. It shot out and toward the targed sparring the pillow dummy right in the heart.


Perfect shot.


Knowing not to celebrate yet Kilian turned toward the table set against the wall and set the bow and quiver down. Picking up his throwing daggers instead he turned back to the target and adjusted his stance. As he trained he let his mind wander, hands moving automatically.


If what mother had told me last I saw her then my elder brother should be home from his hunt soon. From her expression, though cleverly hidden, I can only guess that trouble is brewing which must be reason for his early return. I can only hope my family is not broken from the source of the trouble.


Throwing his last dagger he watched, with out seeing, it join the others in one of the man's arteries. He knew if he had an audience they would be impressed as all his shots were deadly. However he would not allow himself to grow arrogant with such knowledge. His mother, who had saw fit to see into and advice his training, would see to it. She was the one that gave him his first bow and he would not disappoint her.


Gathering his arrows and daggers he placed them in their proper places and headed inside. Walking into his room he took a seat at his high back chair and leaned back in it. His mind was still restless and sent his fingers astray grabbimg, tossing, and catching the pebbles in a nearby bowl.


After dealing with the arrogant blacksmith he had stumbled into Winterfell tired and weary but satisfied that his new purchase should soon be ready. However once he ran into his mother and heard of his brothers return his tiredness had left him and in its place grew restlessness. Now that restlessness refused to cease.

 

[LittleWolfie]

Storm's End, The Stormlands


A laugh escaped her lips at her brother's comment. Oh he had no clue just how much she wished he wasn't joking he really didn't. If she'd been born a boy then she would be able to do everything she wanted such as what he'd just suggested but she had been cursed to be born a girl and live with that as it's own curse in the current society. One day.... one day she might tell Verys.... just maybe. Meera gave a small sigh at her thoughts as she stared out at the bay, watching the lightning crackle across the sky as the storm rumbled around them. She loved these storms, despite most people hating them, they felt like home to her and made her feel safe. Yes, the girl was aware that made her a bit strange but her mother had always said that it was because of the blood of the storm kings that ran through her veins, if barely although she'd always been told she was just like a part of a storm herself, her eyes even showing it in their colour.


Noticing the same thing Verys had out of the corner of her eye, she took the helmet from him. "A small temper? It's been getting worse, you and I both know it" Meera's voice was quiet, not wanting to speak out of turn but unable to stop herself voicing her opinion on the matter. Her father was really worrying her these days but she tried to put it out of her mind in favour of studying the helmet she'd so often watched her brother fight with. "You truly are a Baratheon stag with these, it sometimes makes it feel like you were never away" Yet he had been away, for the first 8 years of her life she'd been without her brother. It was hard, hearing him talk about all of his memories from Blackhaven, for her at least. Those memories were of a time he was happy, before he had to worry about his little sister, before his mother was gone and it almost felt like being here in Storm's End would never match that for him, despite the fact that it was his home and they were his family, it was almost like none of that was true.


She looked over at her brother when she heard his fist crack, her right hand reaching over and lightly covering his fist, wanting to comfort him but not quite sure how to. "It's not your fault you couldn't come, we understood and mother would've understood too you know Verys. There's no need to beat yourself up over it." she reassured him. Meera paused, looking at her brother's face as her mind flooded with memories of her mother, not that she had too many these days. "She used to tell me stories about you you know? When I was little. She said it was so that I had my brother with me in spirit if not in body and when you returned, you wouldn't be a stranger to me."

 

[SeaTea]

The Eyrie, The Giant's Lance


The sun was beyond the horizon and the moon came to look upon her domain of mountains as Bryce stood upon the ridge line. Even with a lite torch in his hand, his skin did not feel the warmth of it and he was honestly surprised that he had not gone out; perhaps it was the will of the seven that allowed it to burn in this harsh environment. The warmth it provided was as always undercut by the ever present whine of the giant's breath that rolled off from the north-eastern side of the Giant's Lance. The air around him was crisp, cold, and dry, as it always had been since he could remember in growing up in the Vale. Why then did he feel as if he was drowning at this very moment?


He was not alone in his suffering, physically or mentally. There were others stood still upon the mountainside; various bannermen and their retinue, some servants that felt obligated to come, the shadow that was Gregor Stone also made his presence known, all of whom Bryce was thankful for joining him. There were however several notable exceptions such as his father and mother being absent, though he may as well blame their addled immunity to the cold. There were also none of the various adherents or officials of the Seven Gods among the group, none but the ever vigilant silent sisters who had helped him prepare for this moment, which he was very grateful for. His eyes began to sting as he tried to trace the wooden structure before him; ramshackle by any other name, but it would serve its purpose and he did not want to waste with good timber that could be used within the Eyrie, even for his beloved brother; Bryce was sure Mason would understand, he always was more understanding than most, even with Bryce's pragmatic stances.


"No sense in drawing this out, its' taken too long and we've been here long enough." The feeling of his lungs compressing only grew as he turned to address the meager crowd behind him.


"I thank you all for your due deference in this matter, and I offer my heartfelt thanks and a promise of remembrance for all those that have joined with me in my grief this day. It has only been a short time since the loss of our previous lord, my brother Mason Arryn, to the cloak of death. Although his time was short, it will be my duty to ensure that his memory as a true lord of the Vale will not be forgotten. It is today then that I ask all those here to join with me, and share in a family bond as we give our a final farewell worthy of a man from the Vale and a proud Arryn."


He gestured to the pile of wick torches unlit next to his feet while holding forth his own lit torch. He did not turn to see all those that took up their own torch to join him as he became involved in his prayer to the seven that he spoke aloud, but mostly to himself.


"Honored Father, may your judgment be fair and true for this soul that strove to serve you in his time in our world, and may he do your justice in the next.


Blessed Mother, may your mercy fall upon this weary traveler, and allow him to know peace in the next world.


Lovely Maiden, may your comforting presence sooth his agony, and grant him renewed purpose as he walks with you eternal.


Wise Crone, may your guiding light be the path for his travel to you, and may his intellect add to your foresight.


Grand Warrior, may his battle prowess honor you, and may his sword-arm never fail in your service.


Noble Smith, may you be inspired by his mind, and may your creations be wondrous with his steady hand.


Vigilant Stranger, may you spare your darkened touch from him, and allow his service to you speak of his virtue and worth as it did in this world."


Bryce finished with a light sigh and soon found a slight warmth in the air that was part relief of the burden lifting from his chest and the light of the torches around him, bright as could be upon the darkened mountainside.


"Mason, brother of mine, brother of us all; may your presence upon the Vale be eternal as you walk with the seven." He spoke no more as he felt a sickening feeling begin to choke him as he tossed his torch on the pyre, soon joined by all the others. He knew the reason why so few had come to honor his brother, because they did not think this a way of honor for him in the eyes of the people, or the eyes of the seven. He could still feel the sharpened looks of his parents and the septa on his back as he left the high hall to take care of this parting. He did not care for their angry words or scathing looks, he would honor his brother the way he would have wanted, as a true man of the Vale would have. Richard called it foolish, Lorelai called it madness, and the septa had called it both and more, as well as an affront to the seven. He drowned out their voices in his mind with the howling of the Giant's Lance and the crackling of the great fire before him. Only after all others had disappeared from his side and he was truly alone before his brother did he allow the stinging in his eyes and the pressure in his lungs to expel.


He cried as loud as he willed, none would hear him beneath the fury of the Lance. He cried for his brother Mason, cursed the life of his brother Brandon, and babbled to the sky of how everything was not the way it should be. He remained there until there was nothing but embers, and the cold had long taken the feeling of his limbs; Bryce did not care, he would stand vigil until he was sure.


Only until his brother's body was well and truly gone before his eyes did he turn to heave himself back to the Eyrie with the madness of cold. The moon would remain in his stead; watching, waiting for one her mountain sons until he joined with the seven. Unblinking and seemingly uncaring was the watch, but Bryce knew, better than most, that his brother would be well on his way with her illuminating guidance.


It was with this knowledge, that for the first time in a long time, Bryce felt nothing but contentment.

 

[Tzun]

The Dreadfort, The Great Hall


Kyllan stood before Larris, as he had just finished a meeting with one of the commoners that had come to seek assistance in the rebuilding of a new shelter before the coming winter. The Hall itself could withstand the winter, but the others in the outlying territories would not be counted lucky enough to survive. They did not have the same volcanic vents that were beneath the Dreadfort, the power and blood of the operation. This was how the Boltons were able to resist siege from the Stark men during the Age of Heroes. It was a useless rebellion, some might say, as no land was gained or lost, but in the end, only Bolton men died from starvation and they had sworn fealty to the 'true' Wardens of the North, House Stark.


"Larris," Kyllan spoke with exhasperated breaths. "We need to speak."


It was a talk that Kyllan had dreaded. He knew all too well that his brother would not take the news well. It seemed to the common observer that they might share the same mind, seeing as how they apparently shared the same body. Both with long, scraggly black hair that fell below their shoulders, a broad appearance, tall height... But Larris was the more slender of the gemination. He was thin, frail, unworked and unshaped by steel. Kyllan had the advantage of being raised by Daltis Bolton, his late father, who died at the hands of Stark men, after returning a flayed Kiera Stark to Winterfell. It was a grisly sight.


After a long pause, Larris knew what was coming, unfortunate news that would bring no please to his mind.


"What? Must I not have a day unpestered by your throes?" Larris spoke, irritated at the very sight of him.


Kyllan disregarded his question, and began to explain himself to his brother.


"I have sent a raven to Lady Moira of House Tyrell. I requested aid in both supply for the winter, and armies to support us in the coming wars with both the Targaryens and the Starks that unrightfully rule our lands."


"You seem to be doing something right, for once. Your return might prove useful. But why was I not informed? Why did this not go through me, the Lord of the Dreadfort?"


"There was other news that accompanied this. I requested as well to marry her daughter, Lorraine Tyrell, and wish to form an alliance with the South. Promising that she may appoint any who she sees fit from her household to rule over the Crownlands, and try and extend their reach to the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, assuming that they have the power to do so, as well as the ability to fell the Targaryen Dynasty. Coranys Targaryen himself is slowly degrading in mental legerity, and will turn to violence at the very thought, without and premeditation. In turn, I have also asked him for men to support our conquest in the North, and to weaken his position in the South, allowing for Lady Tyrell to send in and vanish the dragons."


"You what?!" Larris arose from his throne, and threw his hand on his sword. "Never. You dare go past ME? Marry some whore from the South, bring her to our lands and think that you can rule? Do I not exist to you? Who is this good for? Certainly not the realm. You've always just been some lowly bastard, concerned for no one and nothing but yourself."


Larris's voice rang through the halls, and through the gaps in the stone, where it was assured that anyone outside could hear his desperate cries to insight fear. But Kyllan was unbudging in his facial expressions.


"Guards!" He called, two men entered from the side of the throne room, swords in hand and the sound of the screams. "Take my brother to the square. As Lord of the Dreadfort and Head of House Bolton, I, Larris, sentence you to death on accounts of treachery."


Kyllan drew his blade, the steel sang as it left the sheath. Never had he thought that this would happen, attacked, by his own men, in his own home.


"Larris, this doesn't need to happen. I had nothing but the family in min-"


His brother cut off Kyllan's speech, and ordered his men to seize him. Both charged at him continuously, the first to his left cleaved to the side. Kyllan caught the blow with the hilt of his blade, and pushed the sword away. The men that he was fighting were armed in general Bolton armaments, chainmail and cloak of black and red, leather covering the splits in their armor. They were two men that he had not seen before.


The other blade came down, and Kyllan shrugged his shoulder away from the blow, making careful work to not get struck. The edge shaved a part of his woolen cape. In riposte, Kyllan aimed for the man's head with his right, where steel met steel, and both scraped the metal on each other. Kyllan was off guard, and decided to punch him with the hilt of his blade. Kyllan could feel that there were significantly less teeth in his gums, and were now lodged in his throat, as the man coughed some blood into Kyllan's face. The other threw what seemed to be a culling strike at Lord Bolton, but was caught as Kyllan kicked his leg from under him, and shoved the guard to the ground. With a fell swoop, he sundered the guard's armor, and flesh recoiled with sword. The other stood his ground, chin and breastplate covered in blood. They circled each other until he went for a stab, which was negated from his stomach, but gouged his leg slightly. Kyllan fell to his knee, and the guard that remained kicked his sword, where stone was scraped as it flew across the room. He looked at Larris, and asked if he wanted Kyllan held or killed, but the room was hit by a cold gust, and the doors to the Great Hall flung open faster than thought imaginable. Asten Crook came rushing inside, catching Larris's warrior off guard. With grace and legerity, Kyllan grabbed a knife from his boot, a kris, curved and deadly. He reached for under the opponent's tunic, and stabbed into his large intestine, dragging it about his waistline, a crimson stain flew from his garb, and he too, fell limp.

 

[D3lmoniko]

Storm's End, The balcony


Verys couldn't say anything. Tears were taking away all his words from his mouth. Not being able to talk, he looked up, letting the rain pour on his face, to hide the fact that he was crying. He couldn't let anyone see he was crying, as it was considered a weakness. Verys remembered how his trainer punished him for showing any emotions, other than fury. Verys then looked at his sister. He smiled, although some tears were strolling down his cheek. "No wonder father says you remind him of her. The same sweet and warm voice."


"But, deep down, I am too sorry that I didn't get to know you since you were small. I remember when I first saw you when coming back from Blackhaven. You were still hiding behind father." Verys showed a soft smile, gently brushing his sister's hair. He then looked at his helmet in her hands, the steel glistening due to the drops on it. "It seems like you are a shining beacon of hope in a storm of sadness."

 

[LittleWolfie]

Storm's End, The Stormlands


Meera stayed quiet and just listened for the moment, feeling like it was what her brother needed. He didn't get emotional very often and even though it was not nice emotions, she was kind of glad to see them. Sometimes it could be like her brother didn't feel at all and although she'd never admit it, it scared her a little bit, it made her think that he'd been made into too much of a soldier if that was possible. Still he was her brother and she would always be there for him if he ever needed her.


"Well to be fair to me you were in full armour Verys, to someone who was only 8 that's intimidating, especially since I was rather small back then." Meera countered with a joking smile, trying to lighten the mood a little. "I was fine once you'd gotten changed out of the armour for the evening. If I recall I was all excitable because I was allowed to stay up late for your return and sit at the adult table for the first time when guests were there." her smile lightening at the memory, "Even if I did have to sit on cushions so that I could reach the table and people could see me."


Safe to say that the young lady hated people touching her hair most of the time but she let Verys because he was her brother and sometimes it was a way he showed affection towards her. That fact overruled any dislikes she may have of the action most of the time. Placing the helmet safely on the balcony ledge, a playful smirk formed on her lips. "I wouldn't say that, plus storms aren't sad, they're beautiful, powerful and strong." Meera replied and she danced backwards, spinning round in the storm with her arms out and head tilted back letting the rain fall down on her as another bolt of lightning cracked through the sky accompanied by the roar of thunder. After all she could get away with it mostly since no one but her brother was going to see right now and she hoped her wouldn't be mad at her for it for once.

 

[cremora]

Sunspear | Dorne


Evening | Temperate | Clear Skies | Queen's Quarters


"Oh, my queen!" a gruff male voice groaned, echoing down the sandstone corridor.


"Oberos, be quiet!" another man hissed, strained.


Rysenna Martell grinned down at the Sand brothers, their bodies bound to the imported Ironwood bedposts as she went about torturing them deviously. "Now, now, boys," she drawled, the Dornish accent sprouting up from the ends of her words, "I thought we had trained the fight out of you by now." The sound of leather hitting flesh and cries of pained bliss reverberated throughout the halls.


A knock came from the door to the Queen's bedchambers. "My queen," a surly man beckoned from outside. Rysenna ignored the summons and went to continue the punishment of her consorts. She struck the bare thighs of Dallos as the servant outside her door continued to press for attention. "My queen," the summoner urged, knocking harder on the door.


"Oh for Seven's sake, open the door." Rysenna thrust the cat-o-nine-tails onto the bed and tossed a sheet over Oberos and Dallos waists. "What is so important that I must be interrupted now?"


Clad in Dornish golds and blues, the captain of the guard, Mahir Mahdi, swept the door open to reveal the petite body of her handmaiden Myris Toland. In her hands was a scroll, emblazoned with the stag of house Baratheon. She held it aloft for the queen to take. "This came by raven just this past hour, Your Grace."


Bright violet-blue eyes narrowed at the parchment in the Toland girl's hands. Rysenna had only briefly had the displeasure to meet the head of the Baratheon house, Durran Baratheon. In both their younger years there had been a gathering hosted at Storm's End, where all the heads of houses were expected. Rysenna had obliged the invitation, if only to placate the waning dragon on the Iron Throne.


Durran had been amiable for most of the meet, but Rysenna didn't like the midlanders. Perhaps it was the way he smelled, of salt, wet earth, and alcohol. What had put her on guard most about him, though, were the recent rumors of his instability. The fever of the mind was something no one escaped once infected. So, with that in mind, what could the Baratheon head of house want with her?


Rysenna took the scroll and read its contents, noting the ambiguity of Durran's reference to the leadership of Dorne. When she finished reading she held the parchment to a candle's flame and turned it to ash. "Thank you, Myris. Thank you, Mahir. You may go," she gestured to her guard, "but you- fetch me Brass Wyrm. I feel stiff and need to loosen up."


As the handmaiden turned to leave, Rysenna called out once more. "Oh, and Myris? Do try not to interrupt after she gets here." As the servant girl left to comply, Queen Rysenna tossed the concerns of the realm away and picked up the whip again. She strode to the side of the bed and ripped the sheets away from the twins. "Now where were we?"


Sunspear | Dorne


Morning | Warm | Clear Skies | Reception Hall


Rysenna strode into the hall where her congregates were waiting, platters of simple foods in tow with her servants. Thousands of men and women awaited her judgement every morning and no amount of time would address them all, but she would do her utmost to ensure as much could be done as possible. As one fluid being, the servants began weaving in and out of the citizens in waiting, handing out pieces of bread, cheese, and fish while others offered sips of watered wine from bladders.


The Queen took her place at the table at the forefront of the hall and smiled politely. "Good morning, citizens of Sunspear."


The congregation of men and women murmured in unison, "Your Grace."


"This morning's proceedings will be dreadfully short I'm afraid," Rysenna began, pulling a sheet of blank parchment towards her. "I must be off for Storm's End to make talks with the Baratheon house. Bear your opinions on it as I come to you, my friends. Your counsel is always treasured." Mahir Mahdi nodded and gestured for the first person to bring their issues to court. "How may the crown of Dorne help you today?" Rysenna asked.


One after another, citizen approached and made their plea for help or for justice, for blessings or for loans. Each person was handled as fair as Rysenna could manage, though not without some people being disgruntled at the result. All throughout the hearings the Queen took moments to herself to write out the letter for her reply to Durran, finally finishing just before lunch. She looked the letter over once more before finding she was satisfied with the reply.




Lord Baratheon of the Stormlands,






With winds and seas on our side, you may yet see us the day after this letter is delivered.

I regret to inform you that my husband will not be coming due to an illness which has stricken him. With him gravely ill

I can afford only slight hope that we may come to an agreement which ends happily for both our people.



Queen Rysenna Martell






-Yes, I am called Queen here in Dorne.


She folded the parchment up into a small roll and sealed it with rusty orange wax emblazoned with the Martell crest, and had the scroll sent to the aviary. "Time to conclude the proceedings, friends. I am to make for Storm's End now. I will see to it that one of my children will continue with you, or perhaps Mahir if my kin have decided to accompany me."


(@WinterIsComing, @Venus)


Rysenna inclined her head to the congregate as they murmured their farewells, setting off for the docks to board. The ship in waiting was a majestic desert beauty by the name of Nymeria, an apt name for the royal ship of house Nymeros Martell; A boisterous catamaran with twin junk wing-sails that flared to each side of the boat like the wings of a dragon. Painted with the banners of her house, Rysenna's ship glared ferociously back at her as she approached.


Rysenna boarded her swift water dragon of a boat and settled in amongst the sailor rabble, Nymeria's sails catching in the wind and thrusting them into open water. Behind the royal catamaran came two more ships, larger and donning lugger sails to keep apace. The Queen of Dorne looked back to see them set sail as well and smiled. The smell of salt on the air wasn't an acrid stench like the men of Storm's End. She would have to enjoy it while she had the chance.


Storm's End | Stormlands


Midday | Tepid | Raining | Nymeria Deck at the Docks


Nymeria and her consorts sailed into Storm's End docks a fortnight later, deckhands weary. Queen Rysenna had made her bed among every body on her ship at least once, struck with cabin fever due to the small quarters of her own chambers. The sailors had leaped at the chance to lay with a noble, but none had anticipated her stamina nor her... Peculiar tastes. Some left with bruises, others with scratches. None seemed worse for wear, but they certainly appeared in euphoric spirits.


Rysenna ascended from the depths of the catamaran swiftly at the prompting of her handmaiden, only to be met with the burly sight of the Baratheon welcoming congregate. She plastered a bright (and clearly fake) smile on her face and greeted them warmly. "Thank you for your kind welcome."





(@AnnoDomini)

 

[WinterIsComing]

Torrhen's Square Godswood, The North . . .


"I... I'll see you soon." Una echoed. Rory took her hand in his and smiled. "I promise, I'll be back to see you soon- if, of course, your father will have me." They both smiled at that. "My father can't accept that his lil' girl is falling in..." She stopped, and looked away from Rory.


Rory stopped smiling. "What?" He questioned. Una shook her head and left The Godswood. Rory sighed and sat on the grass. He looked up at the weirwood tree which stood before him. It was smaller than the one in Winterfell, but, just as frightening. Rory had always been a brave young man, but the weirwood trees would always give him unpleasant dreams as a child.


The weirwood tree's carved eyes bled a red sap. Rory closed his eyes and prayed for a safe trip back home to Winterfell.


Rory rejoined his men outside of Torrhen's Square. Keven, Fechin, Finley, and many others had already saddled up on their horses. Rory climbed up on his steed and adjusted himself in the saddle. He was never the best at riding horses, but, he wasn't the worst either. Rory looked up and saw Lord Uilliam staring at him, with a shy looking Una standing behind him.


Rory nodded at him, but Lord Uilliam did nothing in response. He just continued to stare.


"Let's go." Rory announced to his men. The carriages and horses begun to trot down the muddy, mucky path, leaving Torrhen's Square behind them. Rory gently tapped his steed with his hand so it would start to move. He glanced back to see if Uilliam and Una still stood at the gate, but- they didn't.


The Castle At Pyke, The Iron Islands . . .


Emmett lay on his bed; thinking of tonight's events. After his brother's behavior in The Great Hall, Emmett had sent his brother to the cells and dismissed his feasting guests. He also decided he would return Jory's body to his family, personally. He rode out of the castle and down to Lordsport, where he and his guard gave Jory's body to his mother, an innkeeper. She cried for a long, long, long time. Emmett apologized on Ewan's behalf, and then he paid the innkeeper as a token of his condolence. She didn't stop crying though...


Emmett stopped thinking about the last few hours, and he decided instead to think about the now. He hadn't fucked a girl since... since... Old Wyk. He decided to get up off of his bed and go fetch a whore, but, the door opened just as he got up. Erin Pyke, his bastard daughter, crept in.


"Erin?" Emmett said in surprise. Erin was about twenty years old, and, she had looked more like her mother than her father. Although she did have her father's piercing blue eyes. Despite having a mother who hailed from Yunkai, Erin was an Ironborn at heart. She fought her own battles and she always won 'em.


"Father, I'm sorry to disturb you. I just came back from a trip to Seagarde. It is... good to see you again." She spoke softly. Emmett nodded and put his hand on her shoulder.


She stared at him and backed away. "I must go get some sleep." Erin turned around and quietly walked out of the room, but, she stopped for a moment and turned back. "I heard what happened with uncle. What will you do?"


Emmett shook his head. "I will decide my brother's fate tomorrow, Erin."


She didn't seem satisfied with that answer, but, she nodded in response and left.


Emmett sighed and shut the door. He sat on his bed and put his face in his hands. He didn't have any clue on what he would do with his brother. It wasn't the first outburst Ewan had ever had, and it wouldn't be the last.


Emmett turned his thought to Erin. They had always had quite a distant relationship. It wasn't as if Emmett hated her, but it was because they were so different. Emmett had thought on occasion that he would have to legitimize her when the time came as he didn't have an heir as of yet.


Emmett shook his head and called out; "Mikael?" A young boy, by the name of Mikael, entered the room and bowed. "Boy, go to the whore house in Lordsport and bring me their most expensive woman." He said as he looked at the boy. The boy nodded and left immediately.


Emmett took of his small clothes and lay back on his bed., hoping that a rustle with a whore would clear his head.

Spoiler

Castle Winterfell, The North . . .


Hal had his food brought to his study, where he ate in solitude. He wasn't feeling very social today. As he ate his food he did nothing but think, think and stare. After he ate his meal, he dismissed Davir, and returned to his bed chambers- where Kerith was already half asleep. He undressed and slid under the covers. He closed his eyes and listened to the fireplace crackle away.


'What will I do?'


He thought to himself as he lay in his bed. Torin demanded a war, but, he couldn't risk another war- not with winter being so, so, so close. He could start a war, yes. But, it would bring no good to either House Stark or House Bolton. He could also send his son to diplomatically broker with The Boltons. Rory was a strong, tough lad... but, Hal wasn't sure if he would have it in him to do such a quest.


After a while, Hal's train of thought stopped and all his worries ceased to be as he drifted off to sleep.


The Castle At Pyke, The Iron Islands . . .


Emmett awoke to the grey sky shining through his windows. He threw off of the covers and immediately regretted it. He was entirely naked and as soon as the covers came off, he felt colder then any wildling ever could. He looked to his left to see a young, well endowed woman in the midst of slumber. She, too, was in her nude. He smiled to himself got up off of his bed. He took out an outfit of clothing and dressed himself in a fresh garb. He looked at himself in the mirror and smiled a wider smile. He wasn't one to brag, but, Emmett always thought he was on of the most handsome in Westeros.


Emmett quickly place some golden dragons on the bedside table, so the whore wouldn't wake up and come demanding her fee. Emmett then left his bedchambers and walked down towards The Great Hall, which was still being cleaned up from the previous night.


Emmett was greeted by an angry Ethan Greyjoy. Ethan was Emmett's youngest brother and, unlike Emmett, Ethan had never gotten along with Ewan. The two would always argue at the dinner table when they were younglings. Ethan stood by the hearth with a frown sternly placed upon his face. "Brother." Ethan greeted him, his arms crossed. Emmett flashed a grin at his brother, in response.


"We have much to discuss, Emmerson." Ethan sneered. Emmett cringed slightly.


"What is there to discuss, brother?" Emmett asked as he sat by a table next to the burning hearth.


"Oh, you know, the fact that our barbarian of a brother has murdered a young boy, in cold blood." Ethan shot.


"Oh... yes. What is your input?"


Ethan thought to himself for a moment. "We should hang him."


A plate of breakfast was placed in-front of Emmett. Emmett begun to eat, half ignoring his younger brother.


"Well, what do you say Emmerson?"


Emmett tore off a piece of dried bread and dipped it in a watery soup. "I say nay. Ironborn do not kill Ironborn. And brothers do not kill brothers."


"You just contradicted yourself."


"How?"


"Ironborn do not kill Ironborn." Ethan recited. "Last night, our brother killed a young Ironborn who had much life ahead of him."


Emmett stopped eating, and looked up at his looming brother.


"I will not kill Ewan. But, I will... think of... something."


"You better." Ethan growled, before taking his leave.


Emmett felt a flood of anger come over him. His brothers had never taken him seriously. Emmett looked back to see Ethan talking to Erin. Erin was looking at Ethan, but, her gaze slowly turned to her father. Emmett shook his head and turned back so he could continue eating his sloppy breakfast of bread and soup.

Winterfell, The North . . .


"A letter, m'lord." Davir panted as he came running into the war room. Davir handed it to Hal, and Hal opened it. "What is it?" Torin asked as he looked at the map of The North. "A letter from Lord Bryce Arryn." Torin perked his head up in response. "House Arryn?" He mumbled to himself. Hal slowly walked over to a stool. He sat on the wooden stool and properly read the letter.


"I must reply to this, immediately." Hal grumbled. He took a inked quill from a cluster of writing supplies, and, he begun writing a response to Lord Bryce;


Lord Bryce Of House Arryn, Lord Of The Eyrie And House Arryn, Warden Of The East, @SwiftThunder


I thank thee for the words, Lord Bryce Arryn.


I have run The North for most of my life, and, I do not want to enter a war with House Bolton. No, that is the last thing I'd like to do. But, I'm not sure if I have a choice in the matter. House Bolton is, as always, a dangerous bunch. If they want a war- then I cannot stop it, without brute force.


However,


I will take your advice and I will try and keep the peace. As of now; my son returns home very soon, and, I hope to send him on a mission of diplomacy in order to strike up an alliance with House Bolton.


And insure that they do not plan on a war. This will be my only chance, Lord Arryn. I must try and fix things before House Bolton does. I will attempt to make amends with them through my son. But, if the mission of diplomacy fails- I will have no other choice but to rage war with the flayed men.


Again, I thank thee. It is always nice to know a southron lord cares about the ongoing events in The North. I will try my best to make sure I do not enter the final years of my life in a land of decay and bloodshed. But, I can not guarantee that my efforts will avail.


Signed, Tuathal Stark, Lord Of Winterfell And House Stark, Warden Of The North.


Hal signed the letter with his stamp; the head of a grey direwolf. He passed the letter to Davir and told him to deliver it to The Rookery, where it would be sent to The Eyrie. Davir did a short bow and left. Hal and Torin exchanged short glances.


Almost an hour later, Kerith came to collect the duo who had almost spent the whole morning in the war room. "Rory is near." She said, quietly. Hal stood up and replied with a nod, before Torin and he followed Kerith downstairs to the courtyard where Rory would be arriving...


The gates of Winterfell opened, and Rory was welcomed with a crowd of smiles. He stopped his horse and got off. He walked over to his family, who had lined up by the exterior of The Great Hall in order to welcome him. "Father." Rory greeted his father firstly. They hugged. Rory moved towards his dearest mother next, and the two exchanged a hug- this one more loving then the one Rory shared with his father. "Kilian." Rory smiled and playfully hit his lil' brother's shoulder.


"It is good that you are home, my son." Hal said with a thin grin. "It is good to be home, father." Rory responded...


( @kira blackthorn )


Storm's End, The Stormlands . . .


It was very much a surprise for Sol when she was asked to accompany her mother to Storm's End. Sol had only returned from The Water Gardens, when her mother asked her to come along. Sol had Isabel pack a rucksack of clothes for her as soon as she returned to Sunspear. Before she knew it; Sol was on a boat heading towards Storm's End.


After a shaky and somewhat unsettling boat ride plagued by waves and storms; Sol had finally arrived in Storm's End- with her mother, and a host of other diplomats and servants. An even larger host awaited Sol's mother on dry land. They all wore the black stag of House Baratheon, so, they were obviously with Lord Durran. Lord Durran could of possibly have been apart of the host, but Sol didn't know what he looked like so she could not pick him out of the crowd.

 

[Ivazel]

Art Stark: Winterfell Training Yard


Art Stark's training sword clashed against that of another's: a squire by the name of Tommen. Tommen of where or what, Art knew not; all he did know was that he was winning. Art's leather tunic had suffered no abrasions in the last few hours as he and Tommen had been sparring. His adversary's, meanwhile, was marked with many creases where Art had gotten hits in.


"M'lord! Artaemus!" came a voice from across the yard. Art turned his head to look for a moment, only to be cuffed by the opportunistic swing of Tommen. "Seven hells," he swore. Tommen looked at him half-apologetically, half triumphantly that he'd gotten a hit in. Art ushered him away, for he knew the voice that had called to him. "Tomorrow," he said with a nod, then rose to his feet.


"Your cousin, Rory: he's set to return today. He'll be riding into Winterfell in just a few moments. Your father wanted you to be there when he got home, since you two are so close," the servant explained.


"Understandable. Allow me to put away my gear. Can't steal from the yard, now." Art replaced his things on the rack in the equipment shed, then donned his own tunic, emblazoned on the breast the stark sigil, the grey direwolf. Next came his sword, a Valyrian steel beauty named Fleshflayer, taken from the last Bolton rebellion. He'd had the hilt replaced by an ebony wolf with a ruby gemstone in its maw. Soon, he'd have a name embossed near the base of the blade in High Valyrian, a language he'd been studying as of late: Erinnon; Victory.


Art strode towards the gate of Winterfell, standing next to his father and his mother, waiting expectantly for Rory's imminent return.


When he did arrive, the gates opened and Art cheered like everyone else. "Good to see you've returned," he said with a warm handshake and a smile. They'd been friendly rivals all their lives-- Rory used to be the one Art always lost to in the training yard, until Art hit a growth spurt.

 

[WinterIsComing]

Winterfell, The North . . .


"Cousin Art! It's good to see you."Rory shook Art's gloved hand. "May we spar later on? I've done nothing but hunt animals the last week, and I wouldn't mind a good fight with a living, breathing human being."


Rory and Art had always been close. They used to play 'Monsters & Maidens' in the Godswood with all of the other children in Winterfell. They also sparred a lot as young men- with Rory always coming out on top, but, Art became a lot more exceptionally skilled at swordplay than Rory as he aged. Rory, however, would always be able to best Art in a battle o' bows.


Rory was 'okay' with a sword, but his real skill was with a bow- it always was...


Hal looked at his son and his nephew converse. Torin stood by Hal's side in an armor of grey and white. "What did you entail in your reply to Lord Bryce Arryn?" Torin questioned as they stood in the cold, muddy courtyard. Torin was Hal's younger brother, yes. But, sometimes he looked a lot older then him especially in the sunlight where Torin's facial scars would no longer be shadowed.


"I just gave 'im my regards." Hal said, huskily. "That it?" Torin spat. Hal gave his brother a firm, strong nodding. "I was hoping you'd form some sort of... alliance." Torin sighed. Hal didn't respond, he just continued watching Rory. Torin didn't say another word and left- presumably to go back and stare at the map in the war room.

 

[kira blackthorn]

Winterfell, the north


Kerith watched with anticipation as the gates of Winterfell opened allowing her eldest and his hunting party to enter. Seeing her eldest, alive and in good health, she felt something almost like a tightly coiled snake uncurle within her and relief take its place. My family is safe, for now and that is that matters. Opening her arms as Her son turned to her after his hug with his father she enveloped him in her arms tightly. "I am glad that you are home." Smiling happily as they pulled away from another She watched him go to his brother.


Kilian watched his elder warily remembering his form of affection when it came to him. As he approached Kilian prepared himself for what was to come and was right to do so as he was punched in the shoulder playfully. Barely light enough not to knock his small form off it's feet. I know he does not mean to hit so roughly and it is merely play but why is it he greets me this way? Regardless of his thoughts a playful smile tugged upon his lips and he returned the punch swiftly as he greeted him warmly. "Rory. Glad to see you seem to be of good health. Though if the rumors that reached my ears are true. You are in glorious health."


Oh, yes Kilian had caught onto the rumors spreading of his brothers adventures while he was away. Thanks to the little ring of gossipers he has collected over the years. Gossipers can sometimes be better then spies. Rumors of which he intended to tease his brother with as much as he wished.

 

[SeaTea]

The Vale, Gulltown


The heavy air and the ever present smell of salt was quite the departure from his birthplace of mountain, but it was not an unwelcome one. Bryce stood stalwart outside the largest building on the dock itself as he regarded the opening to bay of crabs from the harbor of Gulltown. His legs were still stiff and his back sore from the hard ride from the Gate of the Moon to Gulltown, but it would be worth it in the end for this sudden trip, or at least he was hoping it would. It was also a pleasant surprise to see almost no trace of any of the mountain clans on his way down from the Eyrie; he would have to make his own plans regarding them, different from his father or even his brother, but what he hoped would be for the better. His own bodyguard retinue remained by his side as always, as well as two Grafton men that seemed to have strong sword arms and a stare that could spoil meat; he didn't manage to catch their names, but he was glad for their vigilance in any case.


The one he was waiting upon finally made himself known, one harbor master Rictus, who shuffled his way to Bryce with a slinking smile and heavy robes. He wore dazzling metals and jewels that did not speak of someone that worked among merchant fleets or seemed to be proper on the physique of a man with from the Vale, but someone more at home in the royal court of King's Landing. Bryce personally thought Rictus stunk of Tyroshi with his feigned opulence, but he was the one that he needed to speak of for his business, and his bannerman Lord Grafton said that he could be trusted with their coin, as long as they didn't go beyond that. Bryce did not manage to get a word out before he felt the harbor master call to him.


"My marvelous Lord Arryn, a pleasure and more to have you frequent me at my noble work. I have heard a great many good things of you, and I am happy to help you in your request of the sea-faring people of Gulltown." He offered a bow and multiple nods of his head to Bryce until he stood much closer. Bryce could now make out a distinct stench of fish, and spotted that one tooth that hung loose and rotted, almost free from its place in his mouth.


"Well, I admit that I have also heard many things of yourself, mainly that you are the on to talk to regarding my request?"


Rictus smiled widely, once again showing off that rotted tooth. "Yes, I've received word from Lord Grafton himself, and I am pleased to report that such an undertaking will most definitely be within our grasp, that is if we were able to access more raw materials of course. Particularly this request of the ironwood, we would have almost nothing on hand to properly apply it as you wish, so we must negotiate for a larger cache."


Bryce noted he spoke with a practiced ease, almost as if he were an adviser to the Targaryens themselves. Bryce decided he did not like it. "Yes, well let it be known that House Arryn will do all its' power to get you and House Grafton what it needs. If nothing else, I would like you to proceed immediately with all available resources and continue on when we secure what else is needed."


Once again, that damn tooth "It would be my utmost pleasure Lord Arryn, and it is good to see the warden of the east become so invested with the make-up of our fleets. Nary a raider shall lays hands upon Arryn ship-making with these improvements and expansions. Truly your wisdom shall succeed that of even your father and may your reign last a thousand times of your brother."


His head remained bowed at this, which was a good thing, as he did not see Bryce's look of ice, nor his gesture to his two Grafton guards. Conveniently, Rictus was quickly pinned to the harbor master building and allowed no room of movement. This allowed Bryce the welcomed opportunity to counter Rictus' statement. Bryce grasped his fist like a stone and swung an under-hook into the stocky stomach and padded robe of Rictus, who had let out a rather disgusting belch at. Once he was doubled over, Bryce wasted no time in driving his leather padded knee into the bastard's mouth while he forced his head still with is hands. The yelp of pain and the whining afterward served to satiate Bryce, and so did the sight of the rotten tooth that was no on the ground next the the feet of the harbor master.


He slowly reached over and grasped the wretched thing while he knelt in front of Rictus, grabbing his head to see him eye to eye.


"If I may interject good harbor master, one must always tread lightly around those that would be their benefactor. One would never know when they might decided to punish," he gripped the jaw of Rictus harder at this, ignoring the steady flow of blood emerging from his mouth,"or reward their subjects. Like now for instance; as you deigned to insult me and my family name in the same breath, I instead focused on making your life better, and allowed you to remove a wretched sight like this," he spoke slowly as he spun the rotten tooth in front of Rictus' face, "and turn it into something much more pleasing to the eye."


At this he dropped the rotten tooth to the ground along with a few coins of Arryn gold that landed around it. He released his grip on the pudgy face and motioned for his guards to back off.


"Now then harbor master Rictus, I do wish you a good day, and I look forever forward to hearing nothing but good things in this grand undertaking of ours."


He waited for any word from Rictus, but all he managed was a low gurgle as he reached for the golden coins on the ground and slowly rose with his head bowed to Arryn. Bryce had enough of the see air and soon turned on his heel and began to make way back to Lord Grafton's hall, with a bit more spring in his step than before.

 

[Ivazel]

Art: Winterfell War Room


"Of course. A challenge from you is always to be accepted," Art agreed in a friendly tone. "I'll even treat you to a bowmanship competition. Not one I expect to prevail in, but a concession I think we'd both find enjoyable."


Art wasn't blind as he and Rory exchanged their returning camaraderie; he saw the small altercation that took place between Torin and Hal. As soon as the pleasantries were finished, Art followed his father to the war room.


"What's going on between you and Uncle? You were clearly disagreeing on something, and I'm old enough now that I must be informed of important matters concerning Winterfell, since I've never left for more than a fortnight." The last remark was based on a preexisting imposition that Art may not leave the domain of Winterfell, with the exception, of course, of Winter Town and hunting parties.

 

[kira blackthorn]

Kilian: Winter town, the north.


Something about this scene seems eerily familiar. Kilian thought as he stepped into the dim Amory belonging to one arrogant blacksmith and saw said blacksmith wielding another weapon. Seeing they were alone he tugged down his hood allowing his long hair to full down his back. He had forgotten to tie it back.


Taking a seat at the stool he Sat upon just a short while ago as he described his sword he waited for the man to acknowledge him as he watched him work. However today he found he was quick to bore so did not keep his silence. Instead he spoke as he watched the man admire the sword. Curiousity was his coal and fire. "Do you like being a blacksmith?"


Chuckling gruffly the man set the newly made sword down and turned to face the boy. I was beginning to wonder if you would speak anytime soon. Leaning back against the table behind him he rubbed his stubbled chin in thought.


As time passed and the silence grew Kilian began to fidget and shift in his seat as he awaited the man's answer. Finally just as he was about to explode and ask the man again the man spoke. " It puts food on the table and gold in my pocket so I assume I like it as much as any other black Smith. Anything else you wish to ask boy?"


That was barely an answer. Kilian thought in irritation but hid it. Yet, for some reason he thought the man could sense it. He seems to be a lot smarter then one gives a black Smith credit for. Resisting the urge to huff Kilian spoke. " How hard was it to become a blacksmith?"


"That depends on what kind of blacksmith you mean. A bad one, a decent one, a good one, or a great one?" The man smirked practically feeling the young lords growing irritation.


"The last three I guess." Kilian returned, a little uncertain. I really know nothing about black Smith's do I? Yet, I expect them to make me a decent weapon. One that could save me or seal my fate. Oh, how foolish.


"In that case," The man nodded as he went to fetch the boys sword. It was a silver beauty though a bit thin, like an over grown needle. However it fit the boy in a strange way. Not to extravagant or to plain unless it was desired. A real eye catcher. Returning with the sword, wrapped in a rich red clothe, he handed it to the boy as he answered. "To be decent, five years. To be good, ten. However to be great one needs a life time. Now shoo," He gestured toward the door as he heard the sound of people approaching. "I have other customers arriving and it seems you are still hiding. "


I think I underestimated you, Oh arrogant blacksmith. Kilian thought as he tugged his hood back up and headed for the door. You are smarter then most gives a blacksmith credit for. In fact you seem down right wise. Pausing at the door he asked one last question he felt could not go unanswered. "What is your name?"


Smiling at him mysteriously the man answered. "I have many a name depending on who you ask. Yet, no name. As in the end I am just a man. So that is what you shall call me."


That wasn't much of an answer so why do I feel like there was more of a meaning to it then I believe. Kilian thought as he headed back to Winterfell, his new sword hooked to his belt hidden by his cloak.


Kerith: Winterfell, The north


In her study Kerith watched from the large bay window as her son returned from his little trip to Winter town, hidden by a red cloak. Just what have you been up to recently my young child? Such a mysterious shadow you have began to gather. Regardless of her thoughts Kerith felt a sense of peace wash over her, taking the worry for her youngest away. She knew then that regardless of the troubles ahead her youngest would be alright. Even if he died. Run with the wolf's my little cub, but do not be afraid to sing with the ravens, or dance with the shadows.

 

[Tzun]

((I retyped this on mobile so there's no formatting. Sorry kiddies.))


Storm's End, Summer, Day 4392


Rezdoz rode with the band of horses and men, wagons and wheelcarts, soldiers and supplies. They were all like him, either lost souls wandering a new land, looking for penance and a new life, or looking to better themselves in this world. The only difference between them and Rezdoz was the fact that they were seeking to better themselves through glory, fame, honor... Or wealth, the most unholy of them all. He was a stranger to this place in his physical form, beauty and horror alike that had been unseen. However, he had been here before, in spirit, in the visage and veil of the flame that danced inside his vision. The fire detailed a land, unholy in practice, unpurified by the heat. He seeked to assist the world of the West. This land that seemed to only spawn lies, deformity, false idols and ignorance. Rezdoz had read of Westeros in Asshai. There, he took special interest in the intellectual guilds that formed there. Most notably, the Alchemist's Guild, and the Maesters. Both practices differed, as the Alchemists searched for ways of tangible magic and incantations, evocation and transmutation. Maesters, on the other hand, were scholars through and through, and disregarded the magic that he had practiced his whole life. His entire, real, life. His true being had only started when he was free, set so by the Lord of Light. The Maesters revulsed him, denying any existence of practitioners, speaking that it was a lost force in the world. Yet, when blood felt steel, crystalized, and then immortalized in fire, he saw that magic would play a large role in the wars that were to come, wielded by himself, and a high lord as a vassal, a conduit for R'hllor and his undying power, to cleanse Westeros.


It had been several minutes of Rezdoz staring intently at the storms that brewed over the sea beyond Storm's End. It certainly was a place that he had never imagined would be his destination, but with every crackle of lightning, and every gust of wind, brought only by an onslaught of rain, Rezdoz knew within that this was where he needed to be.


At the end of the train, he rode on a black mare, just as slick with moisture and grease as the stones within the Shadowlands, eyes that bore a red incineration. He had named her Shadowbound, but only in his mind. Only he and god need know his thoughts. Most were huddled in blankets, wool and hay protected them, but he rode on in his plate mail and nothing more, keeping a steady resolve as he rode back into place. Secretly, he felt as though all around him knew that his presence was there, what he was, what he aimed to do, but none spoke a word, and he did the same in return. Need not waste a bated breath on those that praise the false and the inept, the powerless. They would all be dead come Winter.


Rezdoz saddled himself and swayed from the course of the caravan once they passed the main road that lead into Storm's End. He felt a presence there as well. Unnative to Essos and his homelands. A magic, younger than his own, wielded none other by the Children of the Forest. It was ingrained in the stones, and seemed to ward off the Lord of Light that was buried beneath Rezdoz, but he persevered, and followed the narrow path into the darkness, hoping that soon, the thick, unending walls would come to a halt. They never did, not in the darkness, much too tall, even to see the fist that erupted through the ground, the tallest tower in Westeros. As Rezdoz approached the gate, four men were posted in the rain, buffeted by constant turbulence, yet they were unerring in their duty. They gawked inquisitively at Rezdoz.


With a thick accent, he was halted by a Stag. "Stop, no further." There was a slight tremble in his voice. From fear, from cold, it did not matter. He only wanted to pass the gates into the fortress that would be his repose from the world.


"I come from the city of Asshai from beyond the Shadowlands, I wish to speak to the Storm King. I come with no cause other than fate and faith. It is up to you to let me pass, but to deny a Red Priest could change the course of a world already wounded."


The words for them might have been difficult to process based on any of their mental prowess, but he stepped aside, and the three lesser men opened the gates, mud scraping to the side, leaving a clear entryway. The Storm Gate had been cleared, rain licking at Rezdoz' heel, barrating the ground on which he walked, he was just glad to have rid himself of the plight that was named the King's Road. There were several buildings along the enormous stone walls that lined the area of the cliff that Storm's End rested on, with a gracious view of Shipbreaker Bay. However, all of the buildings pale in comparison to the singular, gigantic hall that rose into the sky, lightning flashed in its background, and was hidden away by the scale of it.


Rezdoz saw the few other men that guarded the walls. There were certainly many, but not by the standard that he had grown accustomed to in Asshai. He dismounted at a saddling post, and left the mare there, without tying or settling the beast, it simply awaited command, and eyed blankly ahead, until it vanished into the obscurity that was the darkness. Rezdoz made a careful assurance to remain close to the braziers, though hooded, they bore enough light to fuel him with a strong resolve, an amount that pushed him to carry on the stride atop the cobbles, until reaching the behemoth.


There were many other men and women around him, working aimlessly in the dark, for it was still early in the evening, but the storms looming overhead drew in the shadow of an even earlier nightfall. Even so, he kept an ease and aloofness about him, cape dragging in the muck that had been stirred by rainfall. Two other Stags had stepped forward as Rezdoz looked among the skies, negligent of their presence, he walked to the doors that were the portal into the greatest of halls in Storm's End. He felt a push on his shoulder from a firm hand.


"I would like to speak with your lord Baratheon, ser. I come bearing important news from beyond the Narrow Sea." Rezdoz spoke in silent tone, as not to bring in unwanted attention.


The guard to the left gave a slight nod to the door, whilst looking at the other, and within a second, he vanished inside. There was only a glimpse of what was indoors, but he saw warmth and welcome, banners that held the Baratheon mark, and a lavish life for those fortunate. He hoped to speak with Durran Baratheon as soon as he could, wanting nothing more than to spread a rightful faith, to a rightful king. This king however, was not Durran, but a Baratheon of another name, born in another time.

 

[SeaTea]

Gates of the Moon, The Vale


Bryce's legs ached as he sat and contemplated the bare features of the desk and room around him. He never did really like the Gates of the Moon, though House Royce was more than welcoming, he just could not sit right this far below the Giant's Lance where the air was thick as it was in the lowlands, or at least it was to him. He was stuck in a small offshoot of the main hall, scraping before the pen as he wrote letters to various areas of the seven kingdoms to be sent out.


"Blasted ink and scroll, it'll be the death of me before my time." There was no one else in the room, but Bryce found it somewhat comforting to externalize his thoughts and have them rebound off the closed in walls. He was sure Maester Roland would give him a switch for the comment, having always drilled home his 'utterly needed' nature of learning, as would of his family advised that he should be more concerned in such matters. It was all sleet to him he thought, but there was no one else willing or able to take his place, and he did swear that he would hold his station, and as such he scraped before his pen and wrestled his scrolls.

Spoiler

To Lady Rysenna of the House Martell, Queen of Dorne and the Spearhead of the Sunspear,


As the new Lord of Arryn, I finally greet you and wish you good tidings Lady Martell. You may not know of me, but I find that it would be best if that were no longer true. In this time of summer and newly found in my station, I have seen the opportunity to address you as one should and ask of you the possibility of an increased correspondence between our two lands. I do believe that there can be a great deal to exchange between our two families and lands; I think a connection between the Vale and Dorne, the south and the east, could be quite beneficial in times of harshness. As such I would ask if the notion of a closer alliance would be within your purview, and if it is so, than I would be happy to host you upon the Eyrie itself, or perhaps the Gates of the Moon, while arranging to sail to Dorne to discuss things further should you wish it so. Until such a time, I wish safe travels and strength in your endeavors Lady Martell.


Bryce Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and House Arryn, Warden of the East


@cremora





To Ser Kyllan of House Bolton, Lord of The Dreadfort and House Bolton,


You may not know me, but I find myself in need of creating a correspondence in order to address a growing concern that has been brought to my attention. While it has been seen as nothing but a whisper to many, more than a fair share have brought the same report, that there is a build up of hostility in the lands beyond the neck. I do not presume to know of the feud you have with the Direwolf as I was not victim to the conflicts in the North; however, I do find it prudent to try and understand this reasoning. Is it truly intended for a war to spark in the north? I can scarcely imagine such a bloody undertaking, but I one to guess that it would not be a large obstacle if the Bolton family is to rise. I don't yet know if such a conflict is deserved, but I do think that such a conflict would be best if put to rest as quickly as is allowed by the Seven. I do not wish for another war across the water to strike the Vale, and in that regard Lord Bolton, I am open to discussion as to the possibilities of ending a war in the North as quickly as one could, should such an event come to pass.


Bryce Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and House Arryn, Warden of the East


@Tzun





To Lord Emmerson of House Greyjoy, Lord of the Pyke and House Greyjoy





It is a pleasure to finally write to you properly as one lord to another, though we may not have spoken more than a word to one another. I do believe ourselves to be of similar positions within our lordships, and thus can begin to understand one another better than most. Of course, it would be rude to not properly address you, so as Lord Arryn of the Vale, I do wish you good tides to sail and strength to sail with. I write to you to discuss the possibility of an alliance of some degree, as the advantages such an agreement could bring would be quite advantageous for both the Vale and the Iron Islands, given our positions, to serve as the line divided and crossing between the northern and southern peoples of our Seven Kingdoms. There is a great deal that can be exchanged between our families and lands, and so I would ask if the notion of an alliance would intrigue you in any way? Political maneuverings aside, I do hope this finds you in good health and spirits, and I look forward to your reply.


Bryce Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie and House Arryn, Warden of the East.

@WinterIsComing


The chill of the mountain air was beginning to flow into the room as Bryce finished with a slight grimace. He leaned back and contemplated the letters he had spent writing to his very limited level of frustration. He felt a headache overtake him as he finished with the writing; to be so involved with the land at large, to always watch over one's shoulder for a dagger, always mincing honest words to try and form a proper political form. It was still so distant from his grasp and understanding, but it was something that he now had to take count of. He was just glad for small miracles that he was informed of the realms so well without having really experienced it for his own. Now, it was all a matter of the snow falling where it may as he gathered the letters to be sent by raven, and hope that what he was doing would be the best, for himself and his family.

 

[D3lmoniko]

Storm's End, The Stormlands...


Verys smiled at his sister's dancing in the rain. "Only a baratheon can dance in a full storm." The boy said, wiping away his tears, looking at the port. He saw a few boats arriving, squinting his eyes. After a while, Verys pointed at the docks, at the flags that were showing. "Those are our flags. It looks like someone important has arrived. I say you go and change into something th-" Verys was interrupted by the doors opening, and a weird looking person showing up.


The set of red hair and red beard made Verys interested in the person that entered the castle. The flame on his eye made Verys remember a few books he read about the so called 'Red Priests'. Verys kept his helmet in his hands, slowly walking towards the man. "Greetings to Storm's End. I am prince Verys Baratheon. Behind me is my sister, Meera. And who you may be, my fair priest?" Verys said, after a soldier wet to his father's chambers.


Storm's End, Lord's Chambers...


Durran was resting in his chambers, images playing in his head. Were they from the past, the future, what it was, or what it is to come. A knock o the door made Durran's eyes shot open. After a few minutes of silence, a guard entered, saluting. "My lord! The Martells have arrived at the storm docks. And a priest has requested an audience with your liege. Prince Verys is currently talking to him." Durran slowly raised, like the sun in the south, and he looked at the guard, a kind smile on his face. "I thank you. Please, let me get dressed." The guard bows. "Of course my lord." He says, leaving and closing the door.


"They arrived." Was what Durran said, raising from his bed. He goes to the drawer, getting his clothes. A brown shirt, a pair of yellow pants, and his white armor. It went well with the color of his hair, a bright silver. It showed how many years have made their mark on him. A few moments later, he got his sword and helmet, and opened the door. The guard escorted him downstairs, where Verys and Meera were.


Durran forgot about the priest, and when he saw him, he stopped to look at him. The red hair, red beard, and the flame, those were clearly symbols of Volantis. Durran donned his smile he showed every visitor. "Welcome, my friend. I'm Durran Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End. I am sure you met my wonderful children." Durran says, motioning to Verys and Meera. "That reminds me, Verys, Meera, the Martels have arrived. Follow me outside to meet them. If they decided to walk and stay in the rain, we should do the same. We are not above them." Durran then turned his attention to the priest, nodding. "I am sorry, but your arrival has come at a very busy time. You are welcomed to join us." Durran says, making sign for Verys and Meera to join them. Verys had put his helmet on.


Storm Port, The Stormlands...


The welcoming hosts were dressed in yellow and brown, many of witch soldiers. A slim, tall boy, not passed the age of 20, walked in front, in armor, arms opened, and a smile on his face. His hair was a dark brown, much of it on his face due to the rain. "Welcome to Storm's End, my lords and mistresses. We received your crow, and have been sent here to escort you to the castle. My name is Feran Dondarrio, Captain of the Storm Guards, and I will be your personal bodyguard for the whole time you will be on our lands. We brought horses, so that you may not dirty yourself with the mud here, as it can stain the most beautiful of clothes. Now, if you may be as kind as to follow me." The boy said, going near a horse, standing proud and tall, although rain was pouring down.

 

[cremora]

Storm's End | Stormlands


Midday | Tepid | Raining | Storm Docks


Rysenna had been well received by the Baratheon entourage, provided horses and a contingent of guards for her family's protection. The Prince of Dorne and his sister had even made themselves known, along with a red priest and the head of the Baratheon house himself. It was this said head that Rysenna took particular care to address. "Lord Durran," she drawled, voice warm like honeyed mead. "It is most gracious of you to have invited us here. I should hope your halls are not as dreary as your skies!"


From behind her came polite laughs from her company, along with a few subtle smirks from the guards. It was customary in Dorne to make light of dark days and the day was certainly dark. And full of terrors... Rysenna frowned inwardly at the unwelcome outburst from her subconscious. She knew of the R'hllori faith and had shirked its mantle in her adolescence, so why did it persist now? The Dornish Queen glanced askance to the red priest, scrutinizing him a bit more suspiciously.


It is not without some twist of fate to find a red dog here now, she thought. Her expression unchanging, Rysenna returned to looking at the Baratheon leader. "Shall we make for your keep now?" The tawny skinned blonde lifted the trimmed hem of her dress over her knees and pressed a foot into the stirrup of the provided horse and hoisted herself upon the saddle. The gray painted gelding remained still as he was mounted, softly exhaling through his pale pink muzzle.


Rysenna spared the horse a look and noted the breeding line must have been spearheaded by Hobbies, with the horse's features narrow, tall, and lithe. Even the ambling gait was prize-worthy, barely a thump with each step. The detail to his bloodline must have been years in the making, and the beauty of the horse made the Queen momentarily forget herself. Suddenly she was back in Dorne, bareback against her amber courser, Sandstone. Rysenna gripped onto the reins reflexively, forcing the memories back.


With a light bump of her heels, the gelding trotted forward, keeping in step with the congregation as they moved towards the jagged tooth that was Storm's End's keep.