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Fandom A Song of Ice and Fire RP (Game of Thrones)


Carth Flowers


The Great Hall, Highgarden, The Reach.



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Ser Carth Flowers' stomach let out a slight growling, but it was missed among the noise of the great hall.

They had been on a steady march from their seat to Highgarden and eating nothing but field rations since they left. What many outside of House Tarly didn't know was that what Lord Helyon Tarly considers a "steady march" can nearly match the average force's "double time." He wasn't hungry per say, merely wishing for more tasteful sustenance. Still the bastard knight stood at attention, unwavering despite the flirtatious looks some handmaidens had flashed at him, and guarded his charge, though the Lord of Horn Hill hardly needed guarding in his opinion.

Like himself, Helyon Tarly stood in his armor and weapon, along with his sons that sat at a nearby table. His eyes would switch from the man he conversed with and the rest of the hall. Beside him, one of the few people the Lord of Horn Hill considered his family held a goblet of his own wine, sipping from it occasionally. Lord Luthor Redwyne, though not in armor and armed, watched warily his brother in arms as they spoke together. Not surprisingly, it was about the current military situation with the Reach and what the Westerlands' response might be.

"No need to worry about the sea. Half of my fleet's still at the Shield Islands, helping the reconstruction."

Helyon Tarly's eyes flickered to his other brother at the table with his wife and family. "I never did, and I doubt I will in the near future. Still, we must prepare Goldengrove. When the Lannister comes, our brother will likely be tested most out of us three." Luthor nodded, understanding.

"Only fools would doubt their propensity to come now. They would not risk bringing the North, the Riverlands and the Stormlands upon themselves with a strike from Golden Tooth. Which leaves us." He took a sip of his wine, as Helyon acknowledge him with a slight nod.

"Not sure if handing over the Ironborn to Highgarden was wise though."

Luthor half shrugged, "he's in more or less a landlocked fortresses' dungeon surrounded by not only an enemy army but an enemy fleet at the nearest harbor as well. 'The King of the Iron Islands' can rot in the Tyrell's custody for all I care." Helyon remained silent. If he had any more thoughts on it, he let the matter drop.

To the other side of Carth, he could hear Erik Rowan Sr. answering his wife, and turned to see his posture to be quite muffed. The fat man had already slimmed somewhat from his estimation, and the way he carried himself was a night and day difference, even if he wasn't in armor. Oswen's voice, jolly and almost nonsensical before, now took on an air of authority and confidence.

"I'm fine, dear, just thinking about the preparations Goldengrove is making at the moment and how I should be there right now. If you'll excuse me, I would like a word with the Lord of Horn Hill and the Lord of the Arbor." He stood up, and looked at his eldest son. "Luthor, finish your meal quickly, it's likely we'll be needed by our lords here." Luthor, still not quite used to this new man that was his father, merely nodded in a quick fashion before obeying. With that, the Lord of Goldengrove went over to join Luthor Redwyne and Helyon Tarly. To the Lord of Horn Hill, the man spoke, "I already have our master-at-arms as well as our castellan to prepare for war. I only wish I can oversee the preparations myself."

"No matter old friend. We will be prepared to meet the Lannisters, even if the Reach have not mustered its full strength," Helyon replied, when a knight walked up to them. All three lords addressed the newcomer with a stare. The knight nervously spoke up.

"My lord Varn Tyrell requests your presences my lords. It's about the state of military affairs within the realm."

Luthor Redwyne drained his cup before tossing it to the side and cracked his neck, "about time. Shall we to it then?" Helyon and Erik nodded, before looking to their sons.

"Rowan, Oswen. Here, now. We're leaving."

"Luthor! Come along! We have preparations to oversee."

Carth fell behind the formation with some other guards from the three houses, as the sons took their positions behind their fathers, who followed the Tyrell knight as they're led to meet with Varn Tyrell.​




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@TheFordee14







Rowan Tarly


The Great Hall, Highgarden, The Reach.



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Rowan Tarly looked uncomfortable as he sat down in the nearly crowded hall, and ate the meal in front of him quickly. Not particularly because he was hungry, but rather he had been eating only field rations since they left Horn Hill, like the rest of troops. Rowan didn't mind sleeping out in the elements, he had done so for many a years as he hunted Dornish raiding parties and bandits in the depths of the Red Mountains. That does not mean that he thought highly of the food rations he ate, and while they kept the men healthy and not starving, they were also relatively tasteless and tough to chew. Even now, as their forces camp around Highgarden, his father allows only the barest of pleasures for both the rank and file as well as his officers, the usage of whores, due to the state of war they were in. Any man that were found drunk or misses his drills or formation would be severely punished. Rowan could see Oswen still shifting his back every once in a while from the whipping he got from father after speaking up back at Riverrun.


This feast, as well as the ceremony for the funeral, were the exceptions that their father had allowed Rowan and Oswen. Up until then they slept with the troops outside of Highgarden's walls, despite the Tyrell's offer of hospitality for their family as well as their officers. Helyon Tarly himself was not excluded, and his father retired every night to a field tent under his personal guards' watch every night. Now, as they dine and drank quickly, Rowan looked to his brother, who seemed a little too cheerful for a funeral. His father had already finished his dinner before the last of the guests finished sitting down, and stood to the side, conversing with Uncle Luthor. The young Tarly heir popped the last chicken leg into his mouth and quickly chewed the meat off of it, before wiping his face. His eyes briefly met those of Hallie Rowan, who looked away quickly and blushed. Rowan shrugged to himself; she was pretty alright, but he was a married man. He wouldn't have doubted it that his father considered the marriage between them, but probably made up his mind that it would be better politically to take in a Tully instead. Rowan couldn't complain; Agnes is a beauty and he wouldn't trade her for the Iron Throne.


Just as Rowan finished his cup of ale, his father's voice reached out to him.


"Rowan, Oswen. Here, now. We're leaving." Quickly, he scrambled up on to his feet with Oswen, and fell in line behind his father, who was already walking away from them. Uncle Luthor and Uncle Erik were kinder though, and waited for them before catching up with their father. As they walked quickly out of the hall, the Tarly heir found himself side by side with his Rowan equivalent. He had met and trained with Luthor before, and found the man amiable. While he has the enthusiasm of Oswen, Luthor also had his mother's sense and his father's prowess. Striking up a conversation, Luthor looked at Rowan.


"So, a bit exciting no? The Lannisters invading and whatnot?"


Rowan raised his eyebrows. "Sure, but you aren't concerned about Goldengrove? It's likely the first targets they'll strike on their way to Highgarden." Luthor shrugged.


"The walls of Goldengrove is strong enough to hold the Lions off until Reach arrives to smash them to pieces. Besides, they'll likely need to take Red Lake first, and their walls are no Summerhall either." Oswen laughed and clapped Luthor in the back.


"See? He gets it! You worry too much Rowan. Like a gran in armor you are."


Rowan considered him briefly, narrowing his eyes. "Better to err on the side of caution in things of war. I rather overestimate the Lannisters than the other way around. So should you brother."


Before Oswen could reply though, their father's voice reached them from the front. "We've arrive. Conduct yourselves." Whatever Oswen was going to say died in his mouth, and the two sons straightened themselves, while Luthor looked sheepish at the discipline their father had instilled in them, and brushed some imaginary dirt off of his shoulder. They passed a door before entering into another ballroom, with Varn Tyrell and his entourage greeting them.


@Jabroni
 
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Highgarden


Eveleen eyed her husband and son as they left the table. Ser Erik Rowan was planning to prepare an army. Things had reached to a boiling point between The Reach and The Westerlands. Over what, I don't even know.


"Are you alright?" She heard her younger brother, Sef, say. Eveleen turned her head to look at him. He was a handsome man. The entirety of House Tyrell were known for their elegant appearances. Am I alright?


Eveleen thought of an answer to his question.


"I am not alright, Sef."


It was the truth. She would lie to anyone else, but Sef and Filicity. She popped a small piece of ham into her mouth. She then used the remaining wine in her jeweled chalice to wash the ham down her palate. "My husband prepares for a war, in which my two sons will likely fight in."


She thought of her two sons, Luthor and Erik Jr.


Luthor was a man grown and skilled in swordplay. Erik Jr was equally as good, but, he was young. He is still my boy.


@Savagai


-


Filicity Tyrell's arms leaned on a masonry wall. Her eyes were locked on to the big ball of fire in the sky, which had been slowly being replaced by a crescent moon in the last hour or so.


She had felt so numb, ever since they received the news.


It had been said that he was chanting my name before the stroke took him.


Filicity rarely got on at her father, but when she did- it was nice. He was such a kind person, albeit a bit ignorant.


All he ever did to wrong Filicity was try and set her up with some lil' lordling. She rejected each and every proposal, solely because she was bitter at him sending Willam away all those years ago...


Filicity took a deep breath and decided she must return to the hall and rejoin her family.
 
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SEF TYRELL




Sef sighed a little as he hears his older sister. He took a piece of bread and ate it quickly. He has a strong bond with her. His sister was a few years older then him. He layed his head on her shoulder. "Should I stay here with you?" He asked. As he thought about it he added "Or should I protect your boys?" He knows his sister loves her two sons. He could sense his sister being worried about them.








Location: Highgarden



Mood: Caring


@TheFordee14


 
Highgarden


POV: Bedivere Hightower


Lord Gawain stood with Tom and Bedivere on his flanks, Lord Tyrells body was being prepared for burial. The atmosphere of the place was grimn and rightfully so, there was family and loyal bannerman attending. Bedivere did not know Lord Tyrells personally, as the Lord Paramount of the Reach he only knew his name, but he did pity the way he died, away from home and in an accident.


The thought of death brought back memories of grayscale, although he did have a physical reminder the mental was far worse as he remembered how he was dying locked in a room fool of all sorts of plants and concoctions.


His father had watery eyes, he wasn't the best for funerals, Lord Hightower had a kind and soft heart and he made sure to send seven blessings to the late Tyrell. Bedivere sent his blessings silently before they moved on. The Hightowers were some of the last to enter the hall and they quickly found a table near the back of it, no doubt Gawain was thinking of his son, Lord Hightower enjoyed a good conversation and seemed eager to talk with the mourning family and visitors. But for now Gawain, Bedivere, Tom and a few of the more trusted guards sat at their table.


It was not long that they were left sitting before they were approached by a knight...
 
Highgarden


Eveleen looked at him as he lay his head on her shoulder. "You know me, Sef. I don't need someone to check up on me every minute. Go, and see if my boys will end up in this war my husband and the people of The Reach are plotting." She said softly.


A young servant girl came over with fresh platters, filled with all types of cheese and meats. Eveleen looked to her side to see Hallie barely eating anything, and Katleen half asleep. She tugged on the servant girl's sleeve. "Could you please take the girls to their rooms?"


The girl gave a nod and did what she was asked to do...





@Savagai
 

Highgarden

Viserys Blackfyre 1st of his name​



The King Beyond the Sea found his patience running short. He had half a mind to run to the Hightowers, Tarly's, or any large house in the Reach and conspire against these Tyrell's. The new Lord was already swamped with work, enough so that Viserys struggled to have a word in with him. He found himself left politely in a room with two guards, some water and a modestly aged loaf of bread. And there he might of stayed for hours more, if the knights looking after him didn't feel compelled to view the funeral of the late lord Tyrell. They allowed Viserys to roam around them, deeming him mostly harmless. He wasn't a mountain of muscle like some of these knights, nor did they allow him to keep his armor or weapons. He did convince them to store his swords, one being the still sheathed Blackfyre, in some room far from observing eyes. The sword itself was ornate, but the spell-forged blade would give away what it was at first glance.


He was given the honors of watching the funeral too, from afar and a far off wall. Even from this position the King could make out wet faces from men and women alike. What stuck out to him were the dry ones. A smile tugged on his lips as he noticed that, possible players in the Reach's own political environment. Why would they support the sickly Arren Tyrell? Surely there were better men for the job of Warden of the South and Lord Paramount of the Reach. The man had already irritated Viserys with his lack of a presence, but the king was a forgiving and understandable man. He wouldn't seek the young lord's destruction quite yet. But nor would he ignore possible allies.


Viserys was unable to get too much closer to the group of nobles, his horses were off resting as well, and he found himself with little to do. The feast began and Viserys, or Morath to be more accurate, was kept out for various reasons. He was left in the courtyard where one guard kindly presented him with a horn of ale and some moderately less aged bread with cheese that only came from Reach utters.


He savored the meal, far better than the one at the inn, or was that just his hunger? He shrugged, downing the horn of ale and sitting himself on the stone border of a guardian, lightly crushing some flowers that stuck out too close to the hedge knight. As the Sun in the sky slowly dropped, replaced with a half present moon, the knight sighed. He wondered if he'd meet the Lord in that day, and if he didn't what he would do? He couldn't leave, not without his sword. Viserys supposed he could ask for it back upon his eventual escape of the castle, he had other places to be. 'I've missed the wedding.' The Lannister Wedding would've been the place to make allies, but the King Beyond the Sea was unable to attend, unfortunately. Stuck in the roses castle. 'They are the most valuable allies.' he told himself. But how true was it? Could he not meet with the Hightowers, Florents, Tarly's, any other large House? All of them, even. They would be the true power, with the same agricultural strength as Highgarden. He stiffened as he thought over the prospect. 'I'm here, so are they, though.' He glared at the gardens around him more intensely.


'House Stark would be allies worth having. A trip North would take me through The West, Riverlands, and even the Iron islands should I dare.' He through out the last region immediately. He hated the open ocean, and the hostile nature of the larger Ironborn houses were a good portion why. Corsairs and pirates commanded the seas of the Stepstones, not unlike the Ironborn, and had almost ended his life on numerous occasions. 'Bugger their drowned god.' He decided. He stood up, dusting his ass as dirt and petals stuck to it. He began to pace, the other guards outside the halls of Highgarden either paying him no mind as their own mead attracted their attention, or were engaging in small conversations among themselves.


'The Riverlands is where I shall go eventually. The Brackens have always supported my kin, and Lady Barbra is one by birth.' The Tully's would be persuaded to ally him, too. That would bring him at nearly forty thousand soldiers, should he count the ten thousand he left across the sea. 'Too few to win a war, not too few to convince other Houses to join me.' As long as the Ironborn continued to raid the Reach, he might be free from their gaze for a time. And the Lannister's. . . 'I'll need them or Highgarden, well the Reach.' He decided. No matter who else he had, one or the other would be the deciding ally. 'What could a Lannister want? A castle? Only Harren's Hall is grander than The Rock. Lands? I could give them some along the Mander, to be certain. But that would not be worth the price of a war.' His mind struck an idea, one he wasn't comfortable with. 'Valyrian Steel is what they've wanted.' He pinched the bridge of his nose. 'We'll see if that can convince them to ally with the Black Dragon and Golden Company.'
 
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<span style="font-family:'Dawning of a New Day';">SEF TYRELL</span></p>


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Sef nodded, he kissed her on the cheeck. "Sure, I will do". He took his plate full of bread and took a piece of it before bringing it to the Kitchen. He walked towards his dorms and found his battle armors. He was always wearing some light mail armor. After he was done with his armor he sat down at his bed and checked his weapons. </span><span style="font-family:Raleway;"><em> Right, I actually don't know what we are going to do..</em></span><span style="font-family:Raleway;"> His two shortswords, a dagger and some knives. He placed them all on his body. He walked out of his room to the place where they would gather</span></p>


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Location: Highgarden</span></p>


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Mood: Excited</span></p>


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@Everyone who is going to there</span></p>


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Roland Wilds - Casterly Rock - Melee Pit

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Roland knelt near the edge of the arena, breathing steadily as he felt the pain in his ribs slowly fade away. Luckily for him the other knights seemed to be too preoccupied with each other to really bother with him and he had been given nearly a full minute to rest. With his full strength restored he spotted a young knight wearing the sigil of House Arryn approaching quickly, nearly sprinting. Bursting forward from his resting position Roland would power forward with every ounce of speed he could muster in his heavy platemail suit. Striding across the arena the young man facing him would slow down, preparing an overhead swing. Camren, aiming for Roland's shoulder would swing down hard with his longsword only for it to glance off his pauldron as Roland turned his body slightly to deflect the vast majority of the impact.


It was only a fraction of a second later that Camren was slammed into the ground, the air leaving his lunges as he gasped for breath. This was no longer a battle of swordplay for Roland, he had been injured this way and he decided he would treat this as if it were a battle for his life. Using whatever tactic he needed to to overcome his enemy he climbed atop Camren. Slamming the pmmel of his sword into the side of Camren's helm several times the younger and smaller man was helpless as Roland had taken his breath from him and was much older and stronger. Sadly however the young knight had his own tricks and he used Roland's heavier body against him to roll him over and land back first on to the ground.


Immediately bringing himself back to his feeet Roland was met with several quick blows from Camren, which he of course blocked quite easily. It seemed slamming into the boy at full speed was the correct choice as after struggling to catch his breath and taking several blows to the head, Camren was weakened. What once would have been a small challenge was reduced to fodder. Exchanging blows with Camren for a few seconds Roland would strike his visor, denting it and obscurng his vision. This left Camren open to a strong shield bash to the chest that sent him to his back. It was then that Roland used the tip of his blade to lift Camren's visor, looking the young man in the face he could see that his nose and lip were bleeding. Not only this but it seemed his nose was in fact broken from the dented metal of the visor slamming into it. "Yield" Roland spoke simply, to which Camren replied with bloody spit on Roland's boot. Sighing oud enough for Camren to hear Roland quickly dropped to one knee, sending a powerful punch to the mans face with his mailed fist, causing his nose to contort even worse to the right side, something the mans handsome face would likely never recover from. Not only this but it knocked Camren unconscious, forcing a few men to rush out and grab him to bring him to safety.


Roland was finished playing games with the knights in the arena, he would spend the remaining time of Lyonel, as well as Cayden and Trevir's fight roaming around the arena, defeating all of the remaining knights with greater and greater feats of skill and brutality, assuring each victory with the first strike he landed. It was only in this way that Roland could assure that his reserves of stamina would remain high while also eliminating the competition. There was no more time for drawn out fights to prove his skill, no more being blind sided, there was only victory.


And it was this attitude that brought Roland to odds with two Arryn knights who had been fighting each other. Slamming his blade against his shield several times to get their attention he pointed the tip of his blade at one, and then the other, challenging both. Having already defeated three other Arryn knights, two of which were caught along by Roland after tiring themselves against several other knights. Watching Brock come charging forward like a mad berserker and Roland scoffed, the large and obviously strong man thought he could simply overpower Roland. But the bigger they are, the harder they fall. Ducking below the initial strike of the man as he continued forward Roland would dive forward, deliberatly placing his shoulder into the mans knee. The force of Brocks own momentum and the weight of Roland's armored body shattered the mans knee. And with a powerful scream of pain Brock tumbled over Roland, forced off the field as men carried him away, the only thing keep the splintered bone together being his armour.


Looking to Siward next Roland would climb back to his feet just in time to parry the man. He would obviously be the more challenging one, as he seemed not to rely on any physical aspect of fighting. Roland could respect that as he did the same, focusing his training on swordplay rather than strength or speed. But that did not mean Roland wasn't a naturally more physical specimen than this man, and Roland used this effectively. It was rare that Roland could overpower another combatant so completely, and he began to see why many physically strong fighter relied on it. Pounding the man into the ground as he held up his shield Roland would stomp down with all of his might to finally put the man on the flat of his back. Kicking the mans shield out of his hand Roland was struck in the side by the mans blunted longsword. Sending painful shivers up his spine Roland retaliated violently, slamming his own blade into the side of the mans head to knock him unconscious with a single, powerful, downwards blow.


It was at this point that there seemed to be only three combatants including him, trying to focus on them Roland knew exactly who the two other were, they were...


OOC: Leaving the ending ambiguous because I don't know if Trevir or Cayden is gonna win and I don't know if Lyonel is going to win.
 
Highgarden


POV: Gawain Hightower


Gawain had not enjoyed the day particularly, funerals had always been painful for Gawain ever since his own fathers passing. He felt sympathy for the Tyrells and recognized what they must be going through, although his mind wondered how the new Lord Tyrell would handle this, he had heard from time to time that Lord Arren was a weak and sikly man perhaps unfit to rule but Gawain did not judge a man until he met him and so was curious in learning more about him.


During the funeral Gawain stood beside his son Bedivere, he still thanked the gods that he was still there with him but ever since he was released from the Citadel he had only appeared in a set of black plate armour with a dark green cape around his shoulders pinned with what resembled the tower from their family's sigil. On the other side of him stood Tom Costayne the master-at-arms of Oldtown, him and his nephew Ben have been long time friends of the Hightowers. Looking at Lord Tyrells cold blue body being lowered into the ground caused his eyes to begin to water, but he promised himself he would not cry, a dignified and proud Lord should not shed tears at a funeral, once the body had finally been buried Gawain sent seven blessings his way perhaps to aid him in his new journey.


After the burial ceremony the guests were moved out of the graveyard and into a hall where a feast was being held, although haply to converse Gawain thought of his son first and set his eyes on a table away from the crowd. Gawain, Tom and Bedivere along with their most trusted men settled down at the table and relaxed for a moment however it did not take long for a knight to approach them.


"My Lord Varn Tyrell requests the prescense of you Lord Hightower at a council on the subject of military affairs." The Knight said with importance.


Gawain rose quickly and looked around the table, "We best not leave him waiting then... Bedivere if you would kindly accompany me, Tom you too." With that said his son and Tom rose from their seats in unison and began to follow the knight. They soon arrived at the hall where the meeting would take place and took three seats close, not not too close that it would seem arrogant, to the front of the table where Varn Tyrell would be sitting.
 
"Somewhere"


They brought him to a courtyard centered around a noose. As soon as he saw the long line of rope, Conn knew that it wouldn't end well for him. He had to think fast. God, what will I do?


A few guards dragged him across a ground of grainy sand and dirt. Each of 'em had a bundle of purple grapes engraved on their armour.


House Redwyne.


He suspected as much.


They brought him up to a gallow, made of rotting grey wood. Conn Greyjoy's throat had gone dry. The sun beamed down, which made the wood quite warm. As Conn's foot hit across one of the wooden boards, it snapped in half. The guards wrapped the noose around his neck and left him there.


At least I won't starve.


"Conn Greyjoy." The man from his cell spoke. A small crowd had gathered to watch him hang. Conn couldn't say anything back. He was in some state of shock. He didn't expect his death to come so quickly. Why did I do it? Why did I attack Fair Isle, and The Shield Islands?


"...Yes?" He managed a croak.


"Everyone from 'ere to The Wall thinks you are a dead man. So why shouldn't we hang you now and make their rumours true?"


Conn thought long and hard, yet all his thoughts were empty. He looked at the burly guard and only replied with a shrug. He couldn't bluff his way out of this one. The guard looked him up and down and spat on the ground, before looking at the elderly man who controlled the gallow. The old man nodded back and begun preparation.


Conn closed his eyes tightly. He thought it'd be best to focus on N'ai and Eleri before he was hung. He remembered a time in Norvos, where'st he and N'ai visited a brothel together. They bought a whore who was very pretty and shared her. They had been on the way to Braavos, to see The Iron Bank in all its glory.


However they had both decided to spend a little bit of coin in Norvos before they journeyed on. Conn kissed the whore, as did N'ai, but as the night went on they begun to ignore the whore and romance each other. Conn loved the woman so much. She was the only woman in the world that was able to tame Conn's heart.


When she died, giving birth to their daughter, Conn was angry. He was angry he couldn't save her and he pinned his anger on the newborn child he held in his arms. But once he looked into the eyes of his little girl, he was no longer full of rage.


Eleri was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. She became his everything. His whole world.


Conn felt the rope tighten around his neck. It was time. He sighed. All of a sudden, however, his eyes opened.


"WAIT!" He called.


The crowd looked at him, as did the head guard who had sentenced him to his death. Conn looked at them all and smiled slightly. "If you let me live, I'll take you to a great treasure. Something my sister came across in her travels. A thing that will make you all rich."


The guard looked him up and down with a suspicious glare. "What is this thing you speak of?"


Conn smiled with his eyes.


"A dragon egg."


Surely they'd take me up on my offer?


The guard looked at him, with an expression of surprise planted upon his face. The crowd were silent until they irrupted in to a clatter of laughter. The head guard bellowed. Conn's face dropped. No...


"I appreciate the offer, heh." The guard began, he looked over once more at the elderly executioner and gave the single. "But, I don't believe in such fables, your grace."


No. No. By The Drowned God- NO.


"You-" Conn was about to say something else, but the floor below him dropped and so did he. The noose tightened around his neck and he tried to rip it off with his bare hands. He used his fingernails to try and pick away at the rope- but he only managed to scrape his own neck and draw blood. The crowd watched on in an eerie silence as he thrashed his legs around. He had to do something. I... have... to...


The noose dug into his neck.


He had to cough, but he could not. All he made were disgusting, gargling noises instead.


As his vision begun to blur, he saw things. He saw Eleri playing with her sword. He saw his uncle, Vaughan, laughing before chugging a flagon of ale down his pipe. He saw his sister, staring at him. Haelga raised her arm and pointed at him, and then she started to laugh.


She laughed at him.


I... should of...


Conn's eyes felt like they were about to pop out of his head. His entire throat felt as if it had been stitched up so nothing could slide down it. He continued to try and break the rope, but one by one his arms fell down to the side of his body.


His vision blurred together a bit more, before it all went blindingly white.


The last thing Conn Greyjoy heard was the high-pitched, shrill laughter of his sweet sister.
 

Varn Tyrell

Varn rose to greet the lords as they entered behind Ser Russal. He clasped each of their arms in the typical soldierly fashion and began in his low, gravelly voice, "Lord Helyon, Lord Rowan, you move like lightning the maester tells me. One beat you're on the Oceanroad, serving cold steel. The next...you're back at Horn Hill." He gave a half-knowing smile with a hint of disfavor at that. They deserve thanks, but let's see if humble becomes them.

But he did pander to the Redwynes, since anything less would seem queer given their crushing victory. "Lord Luthor. Well met, well met," he said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Keep this up and might be we'll make you a prize of Pyke when the time comes." If they value floating rocks..

"Sef...come here," he managed softly as he embraced him. It was all Varn could do but cry. Had Hollis' death taken hard on his nephew as well? He couldn't tell just now.

"Lord Gawain..this your son? I hardly recognize him. Was a boy last we met, but here's a man." Signs of the affliction peppered Bedivere's neck, otherwise his armor seemed to conceal most of it.

He paid each of their retainers in kind before ushering everyone to be seated. "Most of you know my nephew Lord Sef, who still fancies himself a bachelor to the delight of half the maidens in Highgarden." He let out a dry cackle before moving on. "Our good Maester Jarvas, who's served us faithfully for the last..forty years was it? Well, ever since Hollis and I were children..." He paused for what seemed like minutes, holding back the fingers of emotion creeping into his eyes.

"And here we have Ser Collyn Caswell." He was a salt and peppered man with a trimmed beard, wearing plain steel although well polished. "As happenstance would have it, he's gathered the principal of Highgarden's host under the Mander.

"My lords...My brother has fallen. It is time we put grieving aside and sew our wounds closed. These Ironborn are like rabid dogs - don't know what's good for them sides the smell of raw meat. It'll take more than a flogging to bring them to heel."

Then, turning it over to the Tarlys, "And there's more..."

@WanderingJester @Savagai @Lancelot
​
 



SEF TYRELL




Sef stood next to his uncle. He embraced his uncle as his uncle did also. He looked to the face of his uncle and saw he was crying. He said on a low tone "Uncle, everything is going to be alright." He moved back to the side of Uncle and listened to him when he continued. It was getting each second more harder, it was still his father, he didn't saw him much but his childhood was awesome. He spend much time with his father and brother in the gardens and grassland around Highgarden. His eyes fills with tears and he lets out a single tear. As his uncle came again to him smiled very weirdly and uncomfortable. They didn't know anything about him, especially his interest in guys. He felt really weird, he was suspected to soon marry someone for the good of the House. He wasn't exactly planning that. The maidens in the Highgarden liked him, but he didn't like them. He was talking with them, so the others wouldn't get suspicious. It was really hard for him. He couldn't tell anyone because Tyrell would loose allies and gain enemies. At this moment it isn't looking good for them.. he shifted his gaze towards the Tarlys. He was wondering what they were going to tell








Location: War Room, Highgarden, The Reach



Mood: Sad


@WanderingJester @Lancelot @Jabroni


 
Rowan Tarly

​



The Meeting Room, Highgarden, The Reach.

​


Rowan Tarly raised his eyebrows at both what Varn Tyrell said, as well as the way he said them. Not many men alive would have the courage, or foolishness, to speak to Helyon Tarly that way. Both his father, Uncle Erik and Uncle Luthor greeted the Tyrell in a professional, but almost a distant manner before sitting down. It was evident that the Lords of the Reach, at least in regards to Horn Hill, the Arbor and Goldengrove, that Hollis Tyrell's brother lacked the respect that the late Warden of the South had towards his commanders, and they knew it.


The room had began to crowd as other prominent members of the Reach arrived. The Lord of Oldtown, who had been consolidating power for a while now, came with his son. The poor boy had the scars from his bout of grayscales from beyond the Narrow Sea, and even though the disease had long left him, Rowan could feel an uneasiness in the room, himself not excluded. He also noticed a stiffening from Uncle Luthor at the Hightowers, but little aside from that. Varn Tyrell's speech distracted Rowan from that particular line of thought though, as all turned their attention on him. For a moment he thought the Seneschal of Highgarden had mistaken him for a lord, but then realized he was addressing Uncle Erik, who narrowed his eyes at the other man, but did not say much at the moment. Standing behind his father with Oswen, Rowan could almost feel the chills emanating from the Lord of Horn Hill in front of him. However, when his father finally spoke after a moment, the tone was cool but composed, the same he would to speak to a particular private in the Tarly force, rather than to a member of their overruling liege family.


"Much can be achieved by the way of the Warrior's discipline. You would know this better than most in Highgarden, I would think." Helyon's eyes briefly went over to the man's nephew, who just looked slightly less green than his lord brother, before returning to the Seneschal. "I was not aware we were on first name basis Seneschal. I must ask you to refrain from calling me Helyon, especially if you would not address my brother of Goldengrove the same way." He waved a hand over to Uncle Erik, who looked dignified but vindicated at his long time friend's support. On the other side of their father, Uncle Luthor nodded in agreement.


"Feel free to keep the salt rock that is Pyke, Seneschal. It's all but useless aside from being an execution block for those seaborne filth that fancied themselves a material that would rust in weeks when exposed to seawater. Me and mine merely performed our duties to defend the realm, nothing less, and certainly nothing that merits thanks." He leaned back in his chair, while rubbing his chin. "Please excuse the absence of my son. Helyon's overseeing the fleet current stationed around the Shield Islands. Also, with respect, I second my friend's statement. If you would not refer to Erik by his first name, Lord 'Redwyne' will do." He nodded to the other two, though the Lord of Horn Hill was focused on the Guardian of the Reach. The Lord of Goldengrove nodded back his thanks though. Rowan frowned but said nothing; was it wise to antagonize their liege lord as such? Still he trusted his father, who always had the best of Horn Hill and his brothers on his mind.


When Varn Tyrell looked to them again, Helyon Tarly calmly stood, pushing his chair back. He waved a hand, which Rowan and Oswen went around and got a large map of the Reach from one of their knights. They walked around the table and spread the map on the table before them, weighing the corners down with cups and such, before returning back to their father's flank. The marcher lord pointed to Northern Reach, as well as the Ocean Road, before arriving at the Westerlands. "The Lannisters have mustered an sizeable army for the last few months. Despite the advice of several commanders, Luthor and myself included, Lord Tyrell did not see fit to rally our own banners, disregarding the Lions as a threat, ceding good relations with Tiber Lannister as proof of that. However the events and signs of the times I could no longer ignore, and with the initial inaction of our lord paramount, I informed the other lords most directly under threat from the Lannisters to begin mustering their defenses, particularly those at Hammerhal and Red Keep." He waved a hand over to the seats he just named.


"Now, I have no definitive proof that Tiber Lannister intends to invade the Reach. However, a veteran does not draw his sword for show, and House Lannister have proven despite their age that they're no green boys. If anyone needs convincing, please brush up on your recent history and the War of the Lions that took place in the Westerlands. Now, there are three direct targets the Westerlands can strike from their position: the Iron Islands, the Riverlands, and us. While the Lord of Casterly Rock have raised his navy by an unprecedented rate, it can only match the Iron Fleet 1:1 at best. To risk a naval battle in a venture for some desolate rocks that might leave the Westerlands completely venerable from the sea seems unlikely. The Riverlands is much more viable, but with the recent marriage of House Lannister and House Brax, who is strongly tied to the Riverlords, as well as the risk of bringing both the Northern and the Stormland Powers down on themselves, it's a high price to pay for the crossroads. That leaves us." Rowan watched his father traced the Oceanroad down from the Westerlands to Highgarden.


"Yes we may have more manpower than the Westerlands, but most of also scattered at the moment. Regardless of why that is, that is the current situation, and we can do little to change that now. Even with the recent call to arms, I doubt we would be able to rally the same amount of arms as we could if we spent the time that Tiber Lannister did. At best, we would have around the same number as the Westermen, if not a little more. Worse, the Lannisters have had months to train, equip and discipline their forces as a whole, whereas our men would be more or less startled and winded from the sudden rally, inexperienced as a whole of working in cohension within this new force we're gathering at the moment, possibly even tired from their quick flight from their homes and long marches to the mustering fields. This leaves us venerable in regards a possible conflict with House Lannister. While I have every confidence out of the force I gathered from Horn Hill, I am in no illusion that other houses in Reach are not under constant threat from the Dornish, or specialize in non-martial disciplines." He looked to the map and waved a hand over the region in general.


"We do have some very important and possibly decisive advantages though. Our supply system is vastly superior than those of the Westermen; we'll never have to worry about starving before the enemy does. If they do invade, we will have the homeland advantage. We can likely force the Lannisters to battle us at a time and place of our choosing, either waiting for them to come to a defensive positions or meeting them at a place that provides us with the most advantage, terrain wise. We have better mounted units, well suited for the plains of the Reach. All these, if used correctly, will yield victory and security for us. The Lannisters, given their resources, will likely wager on an 'all or nothing' battle with us to decide the conflict. It's likely we'll have numbers and terrain on our side there, and if we can break the back of their army there, we may even be able to secure what parts we wish of the Westerlands themselves." The Lord of Horn Hill pointed to Southern Westerlands, from Red Lake all the way up to Feastfires. He then looked to the overall room and concluded his briefing.


"Of course, we can always strike the first blow, take them off balance. That would no doubt make the conflict between us and the Lions unavoidable, but if we are sure of an imminent invasion, it would not be the worst decision to make. Especially with the delay in their attack due to the wedding celebrations occurring currently."


@Jabroni @Lancelot @Savagai
 



SEF TYRELL




Sef looks to the Lord of Tarly as he speaks and nods along the way. The lord is saying the right things, actually his uncle shouldn't adress Lord Tarly that way. But Lord Tarly didn't needed to make such a big point of it. His could just defend himself, and the others also themselves. One thing was very worrying him, the battle would be at The Reach. He had to make sure it was a quiet remote place, without any villages nearby who would come into danger. He inspects he map and sees there are various Houses in danger, what Lord Tarly says correctly. He sees his father was stupid to not rally the banners, but he could understand his fathers decision. The Reach has a scattered army, but it is much bigger then the Lannisters'. As Lord Tarly speaks his lasts words, Sef knows it is not smart to attack, but defend at a chosen place.


Sef stands up. He looks towards Lord Tarly. "Thank you, Lord Tarly" He looked at the map and tries to remember where each house was located. "Indeed is House Cordwayner in the direct threat of the Lannisters. We have also the homeland advantage with we shouldn't trow away, as you said, Lord Tarly. Our strongest move is to pick a place in our advantage" He looks at the map and recognizes the 'Red Lake' from his childhood memories. He looks to Lord Tarly and says "We should clash with them somewhere between House Cordwayner, House Oakheart and the Red Lake. It is also to intercept them just over the border. There is a small strip of land between the forest near House Cordwayner and the Coast." He stops talking and points at the places on the map. He looks up again and says "House Cordwayner, Oakheart, Ambrose, Crane and Rowan have their armies located nearby. The Lannisters will have fifty-five thousand troops. So we need at least more then sixty thousand to survive. It will take weeks to gather such and army." He sighs a little, he isn't seeing the future brightly. "If we manage to gather an army large enough, we should be at the Ocean Road, somewhere between Old Oak and House Cordwayner.


I suggest we should appoint the General of the Army. Personally I don't think my brother or I would be the best for the job. I am going to focus on the supplies to our troops. Our fast network should work in our advantage. Has some other Lords the need to say something about how we should react to this?" He sat down and looks to everyone at the table a few seconds. He had realized there was one crucial point in their tactic, troops. Many houses has a smaller army, which should be mobilized and traveled fast towards their meeting point.








Location: War Room, Highgarden, The Reach



Mood: Optimistic


@Jabroni @Lancelot @WanderingJester


 
Highgarden


POV: Gawain Hightower


Gawain was greeted by Varn Tyrell, the brother of the late Lord Hollis and uncle of the new Lord Arren. He smiled as he mentioned his son "Yes my boy has grown into a man." Bediveres face remained unchanged but he gave a polite bow of his head showing his acknowledgenent, he thought perhaps this was not the best place for him as he had rarely spoke ever since the Grayscale, even his family found it hard to get much out of him. As the three men sat down Gawain took note of the other attendants, there was Lord Redwyne, Lord Rowan, Lord Tarly and his sons, there was also Sef Tyrell and a knight of Highgarden responsible for gathering the Tyrell troops.


Gawain did not take the way that Lord Tarly spoke to his fellow Lords and even superiors too kindly, he gave him a disdainful look but decided against speaking up. What wound him up even more is that there wasn't even any proof that the Lannisters were going to assault the Reach, as if it could not get any worse he had the nerve to follow that up by discussing war strategy, this seemed to influence the young Self Tyrell who followed up by talking possible battlefields, the suggestion of a remote place cheered him up a bit, it seemed Self Tyrell was a man who cared for his people which was something Gawain could relate to and respect. Patiently Gawain waited for his turn to speak and when he did it was calmly, "I do not feel the people of the Reach deserve to be plagued with a war, if there is an option for peace I would advise we take it however..." Gawain paused as he took of his gloves "If it were to be unavoidable I suggest we take a defensive approach, at least until we can gather more men."
 
The Stepstones


POV: Aemond Velaryon


Aemond inhaled deeply, taking in the gust of fresh air, the smell of the sea brushed his nose and he began to feel natural again. Moments of peace like these came rare for Aemond so he held onto them for as long as he could, he began to collect his thoughts and think about his current situation. It had all started when he was requested to transport cargo for wealthy merchants in Lys to the magisters of Pentos. It was one of the easier tasks that Aemond has carried out but it was there he received his brothers letter, he sailed home to the island of Driftmark and returned to High Tide to meet his brother, instead he was met with his neice. Now he was the captain of a ship that his brother bestowed him with, apparently The Rogues Eye would be too recognisable and that is the last thing Baelor wanted, so now he was captaining an unknown ship around the stepstones.


He was looking for a certain pirate captain, a man named Swaine, called "Black eyes" by some. Aemond was to convince them in making an attempt in burning the Redwyne fleet, but of course he had to find them first, or perhaps they would find him...
 

The Stetones


Captain Quentyn Sand
​



The captain looked through a spy glass with barely hidden excitement. Another ship was spotted! The Westerosi bastard had never before seen so much gold enter his pockets then in the last month, when they were hired by the Golden Company. 'Allied to.' He corrected. 'At sword point by a spear chucker.' He resisted a laugh. Quentyn was no young man, he had fought in these seas in the war of Nine Penny's, long ago. Now as an old man he was living freer than ever before. No lord to order latrine pits dug, to fall into formation and stand against a cavalry charge. 'The only order is this, take ships and keep everything else.' His new employers were generous. He had half a mind to fight with them in Westeros, mayhaps they would give him Starfall in return for his loyalties.


"Raise the flags and full speed ahead!" he commanded. His own standard, two eagles facing away from each other fell just shy of the top of then mast. The pure gold banner of the company he worked for came first.


"Aye aye! Blow the horn as well, captain?" A dark skinned crew member asked.


"Nay, what ships have fallen behind may stay there! The loot about that ship is ours." Mine, is what he truly meant. He would give his men women and wine, and with the other 80% of the earnings he would spend on himself. Eat and dine with the Magistrates of Lys. His devilish grin grew. "All men not rowing to the deck! Swords drawn, we're gonna board them soon!"


It would take maybe ten minutes to catch up to the ship, less if they had poor sailors. But there was no escape from Captain Quentyn. The old sea devil knew these straights better than a farmer his field.


@Lancelot
 
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Varn Tyrell


This is going extremely well. His suggestive remark about calling banners without leave bid little reaction. No, of all things, calling them by their names invoked anger, and that statue Rowan seemed even more affronted by a formal greeting. Varn took their complaints well salted. Had his brother not been buried today, he might have bestirred himself. Too tired and old to sing like a proper little lordling.

So he sunk back into the seat adjacent to the Lord's elevated stone slab, brooding quietly as he listened to the Tarlys, the signs of discontentment running over his temples and cheeks. And yet despite his early frustrations, he had to admit - their mapping and notations were impeccable. He also liked the idea of striking while the iron was hot. Yes, the strength of their muster was not yet complete, but a well-placed pincer movement or two could throw the entire Lannister host into a frenzy, scrambling to save their own unprotected holdings.

He began rubbing his temples when Sef started talking of knights and castles. Why focus so much attention on some meager holdfast such as Hammerhal? Even if Lord Tiber thought the place of strategic importance, there would simply be no way to defend it. Unless he meant this to be an open engagement...Wait a minute. Yes. If the lions were hungry for their next meal, they could screen their forces and attempt to encircle, perhaps even cut off the Lannisters with their numerous cavalry bannermen.

When it came time for Lord Gawain to speak, Varn listened intently. Unfortunately, what little he had to say stemmed from a father's heart. Fathers worry about the cost of life, while warriors have the strength to pay it. It would seem the Lord of Hightower thought the price too high.

Ser Collyn Caswell cleared his throat, running a hand along the east of the map. "My cousin is rallying Bitterbridge as we speak, my lords. That is where you shall find a fresh source of levies from which to tap. No doubt, this will take time and hundreds of wayns to stretch our supply lines, but if there is one man who can muster the Fords, it's him."

Varn shook his head at that. The Reach didn't have the luxury of patience, at least not now. "Lord Hightower, you of all know the stakes in love and war. Those who play must be willing to die for it, heart and body. I am inclined to agree with the Tarly notion; a good a defense is a well-maneuvered strike at the heart of the enemy. It worked for Aegon, and it can work for us as well." He stood up slowly, fingering his sword belt as he met him eye to eye.

"You wish to wait for all our power. Well, how long is that I ask you? A fortnight? Half a year? Every moment spent falls into Tiber's pocket. I'll admit, he is no friend of mine, and from what I hear he's not half stupid either. Those forty or fifty thousand could be supping at Crakehall while we twiddle our thumbs." He sat back down and crossed his palms under his chin.

@WanderingJester @Lancelot @Savagai @Archon​
 

Rowan Tarly


The Meeting Room, Highgarden, The Reach.



​



Rowan Tarly watched and listened as each member around the room gave their piece after his father. Some made sense, others little at all. Did the Tyrells not have scouts of their own?


The Lord of Highgarden's brother had a good point though. Meeting the Lannister forces somewhere between Red Lake, Hammerhal and Old Oak would make for an ideal position for battle. The land's more or less clear and flat, well suited for the Reach's forces. It would be far enough away from the Westerlands that any routing units from the Lannister's forces could be ran down, and would take much longer for any reinforcements to support the straggling lions. He noticed that after Ser Collyn Caswell spoke, he looked over at their father, and nodded. It seemed almost a month since they greeted the brother of Lord Caswell at Horn Hill, but no doubt Bitterbridge would be in the same position as the Tyrells and a good portion of the Reach had they not heeded what Helyon Tarly told them at their last meeting.


The Heir to Horn Hill also noticed the look Lord of Oldtown gave to his father, though to neither his nor Oswen's surprise, their father completely ignored it. In fact, the only response that came out of Helyon Tarly made as the various individuals spoke was a barely noticeable nod in reply to Ser Caswell, which, while many outside the household might not have noticed, spoke volumes. Helyon Tarly rarely gave signs of approval, even to his own family members. While Rowan still reeled from that motion, his father spoke from where he was. "The first blow I had in mind consisted more of just gathering the needed amount of troops before marching up to meet Tiber Lannister in open field near the Reach border, rather than to mount a defense behind our walls. We do not have the numbers at the moment, even with my host, to do much other than to cause a bit of nuisance to the Westermen. They number at near 40 thousand, well trained, well equipped, and well paid."


The Lord of Horn Hill pointed to the southern regions of the Westerlands. "Both Crakehall and Cornfield are foritified enough that they'll likely hold out until Tiber Lannister's forces arrive, at which point our inferior numbers will face off against his, not to mention we would be ill equipped to fight in their terrain as well. House Myatt's seat, while less fortified, is deep within the Westerland Woods. We would be very venerable to ambushes along the way, and our knights and riders are ill suited in fighting within that treeline. The only viable target would be House Plumm's seat, but say we take it, then what? It's not a crossroads for their supply or financial network. It's not a forward command center. Their family has no direct ties to the Lannisters. We can pillage, then raze it to be sure, but then Tiber Lannister would likely use it as justification for his war against us as the aggressor. What if after his marriage he uses his ties to the Tullys to compile them to their aids? All he would have to do is show the corpses of House Plumm we've left behind and the Riverlords would be honor bound to come to their aid, bringing with them the Stormlands and the North. They may not come immediately, but eventually all of them will come to the Reach."


"We are mighty, but we cannot succeed in a war that way. Walder Tully and his wife would have enough legitimate reasons to stay out of this should Tiber Lannister starts the war, not us. What we can do is dictate where they will face us, which will allow us to utilize every advantage at our disposal." Helyon Tarly gestured at the position where Sef Tyrell had pointed out. "The Seneschal's nephew does have a point. The land between Old Oak, Hammerhal, and Red Keep is ideal for our purposes. It's flat and firm, perfect for our riders charges. Relatively uninhabited and uncultivated, so we'll likely not lose much of our food production from the resulting damages, and far out enough that most of Reach would not be disturbed. My reports have told me that the Lannister force does not exceed 41 thousand, and so we would only need to muster 45 to 50 thousand to match them. With most of Northern Reach already gathering their forces, this would not be an impossible task as to raise all of Reach. Once that is done we may move to a position and begin preparing our forces for the battle to come."


Rowan observed the map, his father gave very good points, all of them valid. This way most of the Reach, including Highgarden, would not be touched by the Lannisters. They wouldn't even need to mobilize the Redwyne Fleet, with a sizable taskforce still guarding the Shield Islands. There would still be plenty of men to defend the South should the treacherous Dornish decide to strike at a time like this, which was entirely plausible given the situation. They would use any advantage they could get just to spill a bit of Reachmen blood and take a bit of the Reach for their own. Rowan frowned at the thought of the Dornish, but looked over the map again. His eyes fell on the region his father pointed out, then realized something...


Since they arrived, Uncle Erik spoke for the first time. "What of Hammerhal and Red Keep?" He had noticed the same thing as Rowan. Helyon looked at him then to the rest of the room.


"They would need to fend for themselves, and if they fall, we'll have to retake those seats after we break the Lion's back."


@Lancelot @Jabroni @Savagai @Archon (I guess?)
 
Casterly Rock


POV: Lyonel Hightower


Lyonel nodded his head in response to the mystery spearman but as soon as he turned around one of the knights of the vale was already approaching him and fast, Desmund lunged the blade of his sword towards Lyonel who did his best to manouver around the sword, he managed to avoid most of the damage but the blade ended up skimming off of his shoulder plates. Lyonel pivoted to the left and swung his sword up in a curve, Desmund leaned back causing Lyonels sword to miss its target and achieve nothing but cut the air. Desmund shuffled back which forced Lyonel into being the aggressor, he charged forward and swing his sword from over his left shoulder, Desmund managed to meet his sword in the air the sound of the clash filled the arena, both men took a few steps back but Lyonel was finished with being patient and surged forward once more, sweat was beginning to form on his brow and his breaths grew longer and longer, so far he had been in 3 encounters under the heat of the sun and it was starting to take its toil, on the other hand the Vale Knight Desmund was fresh. Desmund easily knocked Lyonels sword to the side and the swords then collided in the air once more, and again, and again, and again, neither of them budged and Lyonel gritted his teeth as he placed his shield over his head, Desmunds sword slid off it and Lyonel quickly pushed forward with his shield in front of him, barging it into Desmunds chest he pushed him back only to be knocked on the side of the head by the crossguard of Desmunds sword. It rung his helmet like a bell disorientating Lyonel but he continued to push on until Desmund managed to push the shield down and gave a large whack to his chest sending Lyonel staggering backwards.


Lyonel fumbled with his shield while trying to recuperate but when Desmunds next strike arrived it his him right across the body, Lyonel let out a grunt and let go of his shield and let it drop to the arena floor, now holding his longsword in his right arm and his left arm free for whatever he rose his sword into the air and curved it downwards to meet Desmunds sword, now with his left arm free he used it to apply extra strength to over power Desmund and bring his sword to the ground, he then proceeded to boot Desmund in the stomach which caused him to fall on one knee, Lyonel thinking he wounded him rose his sword to bring down on shoulders but instead he got a shield whacked into his leg. Now both men on their knees Desmund gave another shield bash this time into Lyonels chest, sending him on his back. Desmund rose and pointed his sword towards Lyonel, perhaps ushering him to yield?


Lyonel smiled through gasps of breaths, he was getting fatigued now he won't be able to last much longer especially against an opponent of Desmunds calibre, he shook his head at Desmund before he swung the sword down, Lyonel managed to just roll out of the way, the second time he wasn't so lucky and the blade of the sword caught his leg, the third Lyonel managed to knock out of the way and kicked his legs towards Desmunds hoping to take them out from under him but Desmund managed to dodge it by quickly moving out of his range. As Lyonel tried to rise once more he received a blow to the torso that sent him back to rolling on the floor, now on his hands and knees he clutched his sword, he held the blade and the sword (think half-swording maybe) and managed to catch Desmunds next blade with his own, he slid it down to meet the crossguard and grabbed hold of Desmunds wrist. Lyonel yanked his arm and pulled him down to the ground with him, Lyonel let go of his blade so he had both his hands free for this moment.


Lyonel delivered a right hook to the helm of Desmund and followed up with a left, he then felt Desmunds shield crashing into his stomach and then into his side. Lyonel grabbed the shield and tried to take it away from Desmund but he would not let him, Desmund gave Lyonel a headbut and then brought the shield up under his helm and into his chin, it knocked his helmet off and near broke his chin. Desmund followed by crushing the shield into Lyonels face, his head hit the ground hard and he felt his nose break as his vision blurred. He managed to find the strength to give another hook to Desmunds left but Desmund rose his shield ready to bring it down on his head. He paused and waited for Lyonels response which eventually came with "I Yield"
 
TheAncientCenturion said:

Highgarden


Viserys Blackfyre 1st of his name
​



The Blackfyre king begrudgingly allowed Arren Tyrell to go. To his astonishment, the previous Tyrell lord met a fatal end in King's Landing. 'Perhaps little sister was tired.' He had no inkling of what Kuvira was like, leaving when she was not even eight. But being raised by the mad man that was Maeryn did her little good. Especially if she was so brazen to attack potential allies. 'Then again, a young and new lord is more willing to bend then a proud and experienced man.' There was some sense in it, Viserys supposed. But the Captain-General would push this attack on one of the lowest levels of schemes he could consider. There was the off chance Hollis Tyrell died of natural causes, but 'Hedge Knight' was skeptical.


He found himself alone in a new room, replacing the courtyard for something far nicer. A pleasant study, an ideal room to hold debates and discussions between vassal and lord. 'Which is what will happen.' Part of the Golden King feared that young Arren was off conspiring against him. Why else would he so eagerly abandon the man? The only alternative was that Arren thought so little of the 'hedge knight' he opted to take care of menial matters first. Viserys didn't know which scenario bothered him more, imminent death or this lad rebuking him so. The King beyond the Sea stayed amiable, confidence exuding from his form as he stared at a few of the guards assigned to the room. Water was also brought to him, though no other kindnesses were. 'No guest right?' It puzzled him at first, but Viserys found himself silently approving this fresh lord and his tactics.


"How long have you been in the service of Lord Tyrell?" Viserys, or rather Morath, questioned a knight. He was broad chested and mean in the face, he had the decency to not point his sword at the king though, which Viserys was grateful for.


He eyed the Valyrian Spawn briefly before looking at the adjacent guard. "I have been in the service of House Tyrell since last Winter."


"Mhhm." He smiled brightly through his humming lips. "A loyal and strong knight to find yourself in Lord Tyrell's service for so long. What is your name, ser?" His violet eyes burrowed into the knight, and to this man's credit he didn't so much as flinch.


"Edric Beesbury. And yes, I am an accomplished knight, hedge knight." He spoke with poorly veiled animosity, bringing the King more amusement.


"Ser Morath, if you would." He dipped his head in a show of respect and his platinum hair near fell over his face. "How long do you suspect he'll be, Lord Tyrell that is? I am tired, hungry and thirty. Lady Filicity promised work, but I fear Lord Tyrell is too buried in his own to hire new hands."


"Keep your tongue still, ser." Edric exchanged a grimace with the other guard before continuing. "Lord Arren will finish with you in due time. He has more important tasks at hand than just handling a Hedge Knight. No matter what his sister said."


"Ah, yes. The Greyjoys." The Shield attacks caught him off guard. Lord Conn was quick to act, mayhaps he even planned it under Maeryn's rule. It distracted Westeros, even split them to an extent. But Viserys wouldn't be truthful if he said he hadn't wished Conn had waited till war broke out in earnest. "Great privateers of the open oceans. Does your lord plan to bring the fight to them?"


A grunt accompanied with the sound of shifting metal and then came Edric's reply. "None of your business, Ser Hedge."


Viserys felt his smile falter. The knight was hardly being friendly, not that it prevented the Blackfyre from enjoying himself. It was passable entertainment, but a restlessness prodded at the man. Ser Lucas Silverspear was a patient man, a gallant commander and worthy knight. But if he saw an opportunity, say Braedon marching off to battle, he'd take it. Viserys needed to secure solid alliances, and quickly. Part of the man hated the fact he declared himself publicly to the realm. He could of stayed in hiding, were that the case. 'No.' he reminded himself. 'To be abrupt and force my name upon their ears early is best. They will not fight for a stranger, they must be aware of who I am.' He could of sent emissaries before hand, but Viserys had a sinking feeling about the war. He needed to secure the throne quickly if he were to keep it.


The door opened and Lord Arren came in, silent at first. Viserys' smile grew. "Lord Tyrell, it is a pleasure to meet you. . Again. I pray that these circumstances that interrupted us earlier are well over with, resolved and shut firmly. Your beautiful sister told me of the opportunities Highgarden held for me, and I confess to say I believe I can improve upon your own prestige." He paused, still seated and looking up at Arren with vibrant purple orbs. "Provided you would take me into your House and treat me as any just and honorable man under your banners."


Click to expand...
Arren Tyrell

​





Highgarden

​



Arren cast his eyes up to meet the Dragon's, offering a confident - and powerful - smile in return, "Your Grace," Arren replied curtly with a respectful nod. The words were meant not in mock, but in recognition and respect. "Forgive me for my premature departure, I had dire business to attend. I'm sure a man as well-educated and intellient as you, is well aware of the Reach's current... Position." Arren ignored the glaring pain in his forced stature, and took a seat across from Viserys as gracefully as he could. Clasping his hands on the table face, Arren briefly cast his eyes down, and gave a slight sigh, before raising himself straight once more.


"My sister does enjoy to talk, there is no doubt about that. Highgarden holds many opportunities... for the right man." Arren leaned forward slightly, interlocking fingers and analysing Viserys closely. "Are you, the right man, Ser?" Before Viserys was allowed a reply, Arren continued to talk. "As a claimant to the Iron Throne - rightful or otherwise - aligning House Tyrell with you would be seen as an act of treason to both our current monarchs. Kuvira's reign is uncertain, she is faced with the Stormlands, The North and the Riverlands whilst supported only by the Arryns, we - along with Dorne and the Westerlands - are undeclared. Now lets say The Reach commits its allegiances to you... The Westerlands would surely join the Baratheon alliance, and Dorne's support is unlikely given our centuries long rivalry. As you can tell, these are unfavourable odds for the both of us."


Arren once more changed his stance, this time he was more relaxed, and sure of himself. "I beg you forgive my skepticism, I'm sure you understand. But I must ask, what would the Reach - and House Tyrell - gain from 'accepting you into our House' - as you put it?" The new Lord Tyrell continued to gaze at Viserys - awaiting the well-formed response to follow, but would it hold the affirmation Arren needed?


@TheAncientCenturion\[/uSER]
 
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Highgarden


POV: Gawain Hightower


Gawain momentarily furrowed his brow but managed to calm himself, he was not an experienced commander or soldier, he was a peaceful Lord.


He could understand where Varn Tyrells words were coming from, he must be stressed under these circumstances and the war-like men such as Lord Tarly and his bloody family didn't help the situation.


He listened intently to Lord Helyon discuss who to strike, he hoped the father would judge him justly although he spoke some sense. It would not be wise to engage the Westermen in their own territory, even their troops would be at a disadvantage as the land was not suited for cavalry.


But then he began to speak of leaving Reachmen to fend for themselves and suffer from the Lannisters What have these poor men done to deserve this?


He looked Varn in the eye with his response, the seemed to mistake peacefulness for weakness "How long?... I mean no disrespect but however long it takes I say. May the mother have mercy on us all if we struck the Lion early only to find he had no intention of war in the first place.... and Aegon had 3 dragons need I remind you, we don't even have our full force behind us." Gawains face started to turn a bit red now. "I can send word to Oldtown and the Brightwater Keep, gather a force of around 5000 and have them join the host."


 
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Highgarden




Viserys Blackfyre 1st of his name
​




"Your Grace."


The smile that overwhelmed Viserys' face was threatening to split his face in two. It appeared his mummers farce was less convincing than he originally believed - Viserys liked that however. If Lord Arren were to be fooled by a ruse as simple as that, then he'd make for a poor ally. On the other hand, the fact that he was now meeting Viserys as he were an equal gave the king some hope. He found it hard to sit still as Lord Arren spoke, not out of anxiety but excitement. Plans were already being brought to the forefront of his mind. He took a sip of water before placing both hands on the table, to match Arren.


"Your worry is noted." His smile dimmed as he spoke. It held a feral nature to it, however. "It's appreciated even. A king does not wish to rely on fools to aid him in any task he takes. But you, Lord Arren Tyrell, are no fool, are you?" He was in a poor position. The Tyrell lord could have him arrested or even executed at any moment. Delivered to either side of the conflict or none at all. But Viserys dared not let the concern leak to the surface. Only assurance and confidence were present on his face and in his voice.


"I would not have risked my life riding across Westeros to only offer you a few victories and then defeat, Lord Arren." His purple eyes seemed to gleam with something, a hunger for victory or glory, if there were any difference. "The Golden Company can successfully outmatch the Crownlands, we're close in number and far enough away in skill that a war between the two would be embarrassing for the Westerosi." It was a bold faced lie. He left and the Company was close to 11,000 men, all of whom were professional soldiers for years. But that didn't quite match up with his words.


"Furthermore, I feel as if you shouldn't fear the Lions of the Rock or the Snakes of the desert." The chalice of water graced his lips yet again, the rim placed firmly between them as he sucked down the rest of the water. "If you were to declare for me, you would do it after the Red Dragon and Stag have fought and bloodied each other. The Riverlords will find my side agreeable in time, the Northerners will be under equipped compared to us. That leaves a single kingdom opposing us." He paused briefly, looking the new lord over. "You Reach Lords have the strongest knights out of the Seven Kingdoms, the most fertile land. . There's no kingdom that can oppose you."


"Should you wish to ally me, name a price and I will give you whatever you want. As I said, the Lannister's will not be our enemies, at least not for long. Any conflict the Rose and the Lion has will be ended in a dance of fire and blood. . Should you heed my advice. I mean not to offend, but I am well versed in conflicts. I would offer myself to you in any wars to come, more than my sister could say." He held a grin back, letting a sour expression come over him. He hadn't any idea if the lack of support from Kuvira tore at Lord Tyrell, but he was willing to play every card he could. "And the Baratheon is a brute without a single thought for the people of this kingdom. Together," he focused on Arren's eyes as he spoke, his words getting quicker. "We could transform these seven kingdoms into a truly wonderful empire. One without these political nuances that cripple all sides."


There was another pause and he rose to his full height. "What say you, Lord Arren? An answer is needed, and I wish not to rush you, but our enemies are gathering. I have no time left if I wish to save the Seven Kingdoms. Will we stand shoulder to shoulder in the wars to come, or shall I seek out an other to take this cup?"





@Archon
 
Harrenhal


( Part I )


Aerea sat in a cell. It was damp, dark, and decorated with cobwebs an' mold. She was sitting on a slab made of stone. She had tried to get some sleep, but she was unable to do so without any sort of blanket. She ripped off the bottom frill of her dress to use as one but it did not suit.


It is only late summer, yet the air is already so cold.


Aerea stared at the little rectangle window a few feat above her. It was wide open, however, she could not reach it due to her height. She tried turning over her 'piss' bucket and standing atop of it but she was still too short even when standing on an object.


Suddenly, the old wooden door opened and a plate of bread slid in. It quickly shut. Aerea looked at the meal before using her hands to push herself up off of the stone slab. "Agh." She groaned as the palm of her left hand touched off of the stone. The wound on her left hand stung every time she touched it off something. She managed to get herself up, however.


Aerea stumbled over to the wooden plate and the unappetizing loaf it held. She squatted down and picked up the bread with her right hand. She took a bite and yelped. It is almost like rock.


The loaf of bread was harder than the stone slab she was lying on through-out her first night here in Harrenhal.


She didn't even try and chew her food, she just spat it out onto the graphite below her. She became frustrated and hit the plate across the room. The plate hit the wall with a thump, and the loaf hit the wall with an even louder thump!


She crawled back over to her slab and rested her head against the cold rock.


Her eyes opened to the door opening, once more. A pair of young servant girls came in. One was very tall, and lanky. The other was shorter and a little bit chubby around her face.


The tall one collected the stale bread and the plate that had accompanied it. The fat one waddled over and helped Aerea stand up.


"We were told to wash you, m'lady." She said, her face looking like that of a young piglet.


Aerea didn't respond.


Why should I respond? These people aren't worth my breath. Not when I only have a few breaths left to breathe...


The tall one vanished, and brought the plate an' meal with her. The chubby girl stripped Aerea and brought in an old sponge and a bucket filled with murky water. The fat one began to dip the sponge in the water and then scrub Aerea's bruised and naked body.


It stung slightly when the chubby girl washed the parts of her body that harbored bruises and cuts. Aerea sat in silence, though- as the girl cleaned her filth ridden body. The tall girl returned with a black dress, covered in dust and moth bites.


Aerea dried herself up with a dry towel and then the pair of servant girls dressed her. When Aerea was fully dressed, she realised that the dress she wore was covered in the sigil of House Whent. Bats. The tall girl knocked on the cell door and it was opened by a guard, who then escorted Aerea through the halls of Harrenhal until he brought her to her destination.


A dining hall.


Aerea sat at the bottom end of the long dining table. At the top of said table was an elderly woman. The woman was covered in clothes of black. Her face was partially shielded with a black veil.


"My princess."


Aerea looked at her with a blank stare.


"You may not know who I am..." The woman continued to caw. Her eyes were hidden by her veil, which made Aerea somewhat uncomfortable.


"I may not care." Aerea interrupted.


The woman cackled. Her laugh is as disturbing as her attire.


The doors behind Aerea opened up and Ser James came out, dressed in a silver plated armour. He sat near the top of the table, alongside the old bitch.


"Lady Maeve." Ser James pecked her crumpled hand with a kiss.


Maeve Whent. She's the mother of Ser Warren Whent, and lady of House Whent.


"You've given it away, Ser." She cackled some more.


Ser James just smiled in response.


Soon, a small buffet was placed on the table. Aerea had her share fill of food. She started filling her empty belly with roasted pork and boiled broccoli. She then moved on to a gravy covered turkey, stuffed with large potatoes.


Finally, Aerea came to the dessert. She started to eat a fig, before she caught Lady Maeve watching her.


"Enjoying yourself?" The old crone asked.


Aerea responded only with a sharp nod.


Lady Maeve stood up and walked over to the end of the table. "Here, have a cup." She said as she began to fill a chalice up with red wine.


"I am quite alright." Aerea said.


"No. I insist."


"No, really, I am fine."


Lady Maeve filled the cup to its brim and picked it up. She came closer and put the silver chalice up to Aerea's lips. The red wine seeped through Aerea's lips and flowed down her throat. Aerea felt her mouth fill with drink.


"Mmh." Aerea tried telling her to stop, but she couldn't.


The wine poured down Aerea's chin. She began choking on it as it swirled around in her mouth. She tried to push Lady Maeve away, but, she somehow could not.


"MMMMH!" Aerea sounded.


She had to spit the wine out, but Lady Whent wouldn't give her a chance to do so. Aerea thrashed around in her seat. Stop this you crazy bitch.


Suddenly, Lady Maeve pulled the chalice away from Aerea's lips. Aerea spat out all the red wine that was in her mouth. Her lips were even stained with red. Ser James looked at her, his eyes wide. Aerea coughed up a storm and fell off of her chair.


"I see you do not favourite Arbor Red." The old bitch said as she placed the silver cup on the dining table. Aerea knelt on the floor, wiping dribbles of wine away from the corner of her mouth. "You.." Aerea began, but, she soon entered another fit of coughing.


"I always knew Targaryens couldn't handle their drink. Although your father could handle my husband, couldn't he? I still remember the day he ordered for the beheading of my husband. I still remember how my sons all cried their eyes out when they learnt their beloved father would not be returning home to Harrenhal." Lady Whent said, solemnly.


"My sons cried, and then they forgot. They went off with their lives. Edsel went off to fight in a Blackfyre rebellion, he, like his father, never returned home either. Beck went off to Braavos on your father's command- he disappeared as well." She continued.


"And then my youngest boy, Warren, was enacted into your father's person guard when he didn't even wish for it."


Aerea had calmed down. She looked up at Lady Whent, who's face was filled with anger and a hint of despair.


"Which was why I was overjoyed when Warren came home and told me that soon, House Targaryen would be no more." She finally finished.


Aerea's eyes grew wide. I was wrong. I am not here on my sister's command, I am here because Warren Whent plans the downfall of my house.


Aerea couldn't believe it.


"You should rest, my lady. I will bring Aerea back to her cell." Ser James said softly. Lady Maeve nodded frantically and sat back down in her seat at the top of the table. James strutted over to Aerea and helped her up off of her knees.


He escorted her back to her prison, in complete silence. Aerea tried to talk to him, but, he wouldn't even look at her, let alone give her an answer. When they got to the door of her cell, she clung to his armour. "Please James..." She whispered.


He grabbed her left hand and dragged her into the cell. She yelped as he did. Her left hand was even more sore than what it was this morning. James pushed her and her jaw smacked against the slab of stone in which she was supposed to sleep upon.


"Goodnight." He said, before he left.


Aerea was, once again, all alone. She covered her chilled body with her old red and grey dress. She felt like crying, but she couldn't. She had cried too much as it was. I need to get out of here.


Aerea closed her eyes and slept.


She was plagued with that dream, again. A lone stag was in a field. It looked at her and blinked, before she pointed at it- and an axe came down upon the old animal's head.
 
The Ten Towers


POV: Siegfried Harlaw


Siegfried bit into his bread intensely as he sat in what was his late fathers seat, he wished he had killed the I'm uncultured himself but Harron insisted to let him do it instead. This had left Siegfried restless, he never was a good waiter well... he wasn't good at anything besides sailing and killing honestly but I digress. He threw the bread onto the table bored with it, it had a large bite mark of Siegfrieds mouth and it had a fluffy white inside now showing. The doors at the end of the hall opened, Harron and Rodrik Harlaw entered with a few of the men that accompanied them on the coup detat (around 8 at most) and they carried small wooden chests with them they placed them at the end of the table before they opened them, inside was a variety of gems and metals. Siegfried huffed in confusion "What have you brought these for?", Harrons response was delivered with a smirk "For the kingsmoot of course my lord... you will need gifts for when the time comes." Siegfried shook his head "Little shiny pebbles will not make me king... My strength will make me king, that is what we need what we will always need... strength." Siegfried rose from his seat, Harrons seemed to nod in approval, despite being his friend for years he still struggled to read what he was thinking or being able to tell if his words speak truth or not. "And it pains me to say it but King Conn depleted much of our strength. Our fleet." Siegfried leaned forward and placed his fists on the table "It is not silver, or gold or gems that I need... It is wood" Harron and Rodrik nodded in response, "Neither of you wouldn't know where to get some wood worthy of the Iron Fleet would you?" His two cousins grinned as Rodrik spoke "Aye, I know just the place."
 
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