Introduction
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros is a realm with a history stretching back some twelve thousands years, where seasons last for years. The original inhabitants of the land were the Children of the Forest, until the First Men, a civilization of primitive warriors, crossed over from the eastern continent via a land bridge and fought a series of wars against the Children, which ended with the Pact of the Isle of Faces being signed. The First Men took control of the open lands and the Children remained in the forest.
The Pact was weakened after four thousand years by the emergence of the Others, an enigmatic race from the furthermost north, who swept south into Westeros and caused great death and destruction, bringing about a night that lasted a generation and a winter that lasted decades. In the War for the Dawn, the Others were thrown back by the First Men and the Children of The Forest, and the vast wall of ice was raised to bar their passage south should they come again. In the following centuries the Children gradually disappeared, and it was presumed that they left Westeros or died out altogether. Westeros now lay in the hands of men.
The land was divided into the Seven Kingdoms, united beneath the King who sat upon the Iron Throne. Families divided into different Houses, each with their banner and sigil, which in turn either allied with the king or fought against him. Bloody battles for the Iron Throne are strewn across the history of the Seven Kingdoms, and many different Houses have risen and fallen from power; the dragon-riding Targaryens, who were wiped out by the Baratheons, to the treacherous Lannisters, who in turn were overthrown. A great battle for the Iron Throne was fought many years ago, when the last remaining Targaryen led her army against the Seven Kingdom to take back what was once hers.
But that is old history now, and those houses have died out, while the Seven Kingdoms remain. The landscape of Westeros is very much the same, but the families have changed; clans have integrated and separated, lesser houses have come to power while old houses have faded away. How will Westeros fare until the rule of the current king? Will he remain in power and lead the country to a time of peace, or will Westeros once again be hurled into bloodshed, starting again the game of thrones?
Map: http://www.westeros.org/Citadel/Gallery/Entry/778/
---Main Houses---
House Winsler
A branch house descended from the once-powerful Lannisters, the Winslers have been humiliated, persecuted, and degraded since the fall of the Lions . After half a century of oppression, the Winslers have regrouped to become the principle noble house in the Vale. Their principle seat is at the Eyrie. The Winsler sigil is a black panther upon a blood-red field. Despite being at a military disadvantage, they are a prickly, proud people, keen to protect their honor, take revenge, and win back the seat at Casterly Rock that was once theirs. Lannister blood runs strong in many Winslers, and they can often be recognized by their striking, angular good looks and hair the color of spun gold. The Winsler words are We Do Not Forget.
Lesser Houses Sworn to House Winsler:
House Strake
House Cavanaugh
House Greyhardt
Descended from the King Balon Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands and the North, the Greyhardts no longer fashion themselves as a separate kingdom but have sworn fealty to King Damian. The Greyhardt sigil is a grey wolf standing upon a raging sea. They are the principle house at both the Iron Islands and the snowy northern regions. The Greyhardts are cool and noble, preferring not to dirty their hands in a conflict unless absolutely necessary. They are iron people, tall, strongly built, accustomed to the cold and the sea. While they are neutral towards the Winslers, the Greyhardts have enough wisdom to side with House Damian. Their principle seat is at Winterfell, although they also hold Pyke with a strong fist. The Greyhardt words are The Sea is Ours.
Lesser Houses Sworn to House Greyhardt:
House Sigurd
House Thorneir
House Orenson
House Baewhite
House Damian
House Damian was a lesser house sworn to House Baratheon in years past; after the downfall of the Lannisters, House Damian was given the Lannister's original lands. House Damian is the principle house in the Westerlands, the realm that once belonged to the Lannisters. Their principle seat is Casterly Rock. House Damian is now the royal family, having claimed the Iron Throne in King's Landing and the Isle of Dragonstone with the support of House Greyhardt. They share a mutual enmity with the Winslers, who believe that the Damians have unrightfully stolen their homeland. The Damians are a dark-haired, dark-eyed people, known for their cunning, arrogance, and political skill. It has often been joked that "You can't trust a Damian." Their sigil is a white wildcat against a pure black background. The Damian words are Spare Us Your Tears.
Lesser Houses Sworn to House Damian:
House Brookhaven
House Umber
House Cavendish
House Renlough
House Bennett
---Plot Arks---
POSTS 1 ~ 170
POSTS 170 ~ ___
---Characters---
King Henry Damian - A powerfully built, wise man, King Damian rules with an iron fist and refuses to relinquish his hold on the Seven Kingdoms.
(Erev Lace)
(Amaranta)
Lionel Storm - Formerly Lionel Damian. The king's son and heir to the throne, he was an arrogant but talented young knight who has more interest in military conquest than ruling. During the tourney at the Red Keep, it was revealed that he was actually a bastard, and thus was exiled from his own kingdom. Now known to Westeros as the "Bastard King", he has formed an unscrupulous army of sellswords to take back the Iron throne.
(Jacopo)
Princess Adelaide Damian - The prince's younger sister by two years, she possesses the imperious, dark good looks as her brother. Like the rest of her family, she's somewhat arrogant, but possesses a sharp political mind. She's taken favorably to Kervall Winsler as of late...
(KrazyTigger)
Prince Raban Damian - The Crown Prince of House Damian now that his older brother has been proven to be a bastard, young Raban is struggling to meet the huge burden set on his shoulders.
(Resurgam/aesir)
-------
Lord Nathaniel Greyhardt - A strict, disciplined man who knows when to act and when to stay out of things. He takes an isolationist mindset; his greatest concern is in keeping his region safe.
(Belynta)
Lady Birgitte Greyhardt - A soft-spoken, peaceful woman who frequently makes wise observations, she supports Lord Greyhardt the best she can. She cares deeply about her family and will protect them above all else.
(Belynta)
Ser Quincel Greyhardt - Lord Greyhardt's younger brother and the captain of the Greyhardt's fleet, he's a rather serious man, but somehow found himself dragged along in Lionel's wild quest for the throne.
(kazewarrior)
Lady Leliana Greyhardt - She is her younger sister's polar opposite and can frequently be found in the woods or on a ship. She doesn't possess her sister's strikingly beautiful features, but has more of a wild loveliness. Following events at King's Landing, she decided to follow Lionel, now her betrothed, in hopes of finding her own personal freedom as well.
(Amaranta)
Lady Isabel Greyhardt - A beautiful girl who takes great interest in books, music and learning. She was engaged to Lionel Storm, but he crowned her sister Queen of Love and Beauty over her.
(Maeve/yuri-chan1018)
Ser Richard Greyhardt - The middle sibling, he dislikes Lionel Storm. Quite a bit. Responsible and trustworthy, he does his best to be the next Lord Greyhardt.
(Wolf of Auril)
-------
Lord Benjamin Winsler - An embittered old man whose only objective is to gain revenge on the Damians; he is half-mad with frustration, especially after his wife was killed by a Damian.
(Erev Lace)
Ser Kervall Winsler - Heir to the Eyrie. A lifetime of dealing with his half-mad father has turned him into a responsible, mature young man. He has been taught to bear a lifelong grudge against the Damians, although he cannot help but feel enchanted by Princess Adelaide. He was seriously injured by Lionel Storm at King's landing and now resides in the Red Keep, something of a willing hostage.
(aesir)
Ser Jamie Winsler - A hotheaded young man, he hates the Damians and the Greyhardts with a passion. He is intent on getting revenge for his mother and his ancestors, and this sometimes drives him to reckless actions. He is the strongest of Winsler's sons. He is now fighting a guerilla battle, and won't rest until the names of Houses Damian and Greyhardt have been driven into the dust.
(Derek Smith)
Teralo Winsler - The twin of the second son, Winsler's third son does not share the beliefs of the rest of his family. He wishes for peace in the realm, something he believes cannot be achieved if the Winslers continue to strive for revenge. Unlike his twin, he is slender, and not very strong, although quite intelligent. He has a special relationship with a servant girl named Emaya.
(Nanase)
Kenneth Cavanaugh - An honest and polite man - one more suited at being a blacksmith than filling the position of the Lord of House Cavanaugh.
(Picturesque)
Lady Jane Strake - A tall, plain woman with a sharp mind, she is the head of House Strake and sworn to the service of House Winsler.
(Erev Lace)
-------
Nasrin Cavendish - A lady-in-waiting for House Damian, she despises all that nobility stands for.
(yuri-chan1018)
Dante Nevarra - A sellsword hired by Queen Morgana to protect her two younger children...from their elder brother.
(Winter Is Coming)
Nuala Hawkseye - A fearsome Wildling woman from the north, her spear is under the employment of House Damian.
(Winter Is Coming)
Ser Ulfred Borander - A stocky mongrel knight looking to use the tensions at King's Landing to elevate his status.
(7achary)
Ammon Rhys - One of the Brave Companions (the unofficial second-in-command) - a man who goes through wives at the same rate a drunk goes through mugs of ale.
(Amaranta)
Maryn - One of the Brave Companions - a laidback and snarky man who would sell his own mother for a bag of gold.
(kazewarrior)
Sirena D'airelle - One of the Brave Companions - a free-spirited woman of unpredictable moods; a wild card in all but name.
(yuri-chan1018)
Dagovere Baewhite - A Brother of the Night's Watch - a gifted and experienced tracker who holds no love for his cousins.
(7achary)
Lord Grimnir Niflheimer - A cheery woman who would rather kill than ask questions - she is the Lord of House Thorneir.
(BlackBlizzard)
Disclaimer: (If you want to make a character)
IF YOU WANT TO JOIN THIS RP, THEN YOU HAD BETTER FUCKING READ EVERYTHING WE'VE WRITTEN SO FAR OR GET SOMEONE TO EXPLAIN IT TO YOU. THIS IS NOT THE MULTIVERSE. WE HAVE A FAIRLY COMPLICATED PLOTLINE SET UP WHICH YOU COULD PROBABLY INTEGRATE YOURSELF INTO, BUT WE ARE NOT GOING TO CHANGE UP OUR PLOTLINE JUST BECAUSE YOU DON'T KNOW HOW TO FIT IN. IF YOUR POSTS HAVE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE PLOT THAT WE'VE SET UP, THEN YOU HAD BETTER GET THE FUCK OUT. ALSO IT WOULD BE REALLY NICE IF YOU WERE ACTUALLY FUCKING LITERATE AND IF YOU AREN'T AN ATTENTION-WHORE. THANK YOU.
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The Story So Far... Write a Post » as written by 18 authors
Setting
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Raban? What's he doing here? Henry frowned as his son came into the room, suddenly interested in the news from Renlough (which he'd already heard and found little interest in.) This was no place for a child --- but as soon as he'd thought that, his mind changed. Raban was the future King and it would be best to introduce him to news of his realm (and of his brother) sooner rather than later. When the doors opened, and the pair were announced, Henry nodded to Raban as the Prince hurried out of the way.
Stand and listen, he thought. Get into the habit.
The two of them, a man and woman, looked the part of escaped prisoners. Henry tried to keep his judgment, but as they spoke, his temper began to rise. Leliana Greyhardt ... he'd see that one dead. He layed the blame for Morgana's death, and Lionel's betrayals, at her feet. Did she have no loyalties? First, to betray her own sister, then her entire family, then, apparently, Lionel. Perhaps she'd found another man to warm her bed. His heart clenched at the thought of what the Winslers had done to him.
My boy, he thought. My stupid, headstrong boy.
Henry was too blind for love of his son to begin to see the truth.
"Jamie Winsler said something about wanting to give Master Lionel's eye to Your Majesty as a gift, but decided he’d rather have it himself."
Henry leaped up from his seat, flipping the table with an infuriated, wordless cry. Papers, quills, books, and unlit candles tumbled to the floor. The gentleman of the chamber who'd shown them in flinched and took half a step back away from the scene.
March on them! his heart screamed. Send every last man to burn Winsler!
No, his mind reasoned. They want you to do that, else they wouldn't have sent these two.
He stood there, back to them, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"If you are being truthful, you have my thanks," Henry said, slowly, "and I will see that you receive just reward. If I find out you are lying..." He left the threat wordless, but it was clear that he was, so far, more convinced they told the truth.
~
Lord Cavanaugh? Stephen thought. He'd no idea that Julia had married since the return from King's Landing, as he assumed the man was her husband ... but he referred to her as Lady Julia. Odd. He looked at Jane, to see her reaction, but she looked as though the finer details of etiquette were the least of her concerns. The woman who'd rode with Katherine had pulled her horse up alongside Jane and she was looking over her sister. Katherine, as usual, had a beatific smile, as though the whole ride had been a game.
Edwina giggled and blushed as Kenneth helped her down from her horse. Margaret did not stir from her sleep and her head lolled on the old nursemaid's shoulder.
"Oh, thank you," she said, her eyes roving all over Kenneth. For all that she was short, old and tired, she'd been ... a scandal ... in her youth. Age had not diminished her appetite. Ser Stephen, her brother, saw and made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He waited until Kenneth had turned to Jane and glared at her, whispering, "You're old enough to be his dead grandmother."
Jane accepted his help without a word and stumbled a little when her feet were on the ground. She held herself steady, however, and sighed, looking at their small, weary gathering.
"Thank you," she said at last, then, taking a breath, launched into taking charge of her household. "Margaret will need a physician; she's still recovering from the plague. We've all escaped unharmed, but Strake is lost to Damian. They meant to kill us in our sleep. We came here for defense. The journey to Winsler would have been too long, and we unprepared, and Margaret ... she is our heiress. We cannot risk her."
As if on cue, Margaret woke and began a violent fit of coughing.
"We must get her inside," Edwina insisted, her flirtatious demeanor gone.
~
There were few nobles that Jane outright loathed. Julia Cavanaugh was one of them. Years ago, they'd met when Cavanaugh and Strake had come to Winsler for a great ball and feast, celebrating the sixteenth birthday of Kenneth Cavanaugh, who'd returned to swear allegiance to his elder brother and Lord Winsler. Jane had been all of eleven and made to accompany Julia while the adults talked politics.
Julia talked of nothing but herself: what fashions looked best on her, what great marriages she could make, how well she could dance, how wealthy her family was. And, all the while, she incessantly ate from a basket of sweetmeats and pastries. Chocolate was smeared on her face. It would have been a lovely face, framed as it was by her perfect, golden brown ringlets, if it had not been so ... piggish.
"You're ever so good at listening," Julia said, after a particularly long, one-sided conversation about her shoes. Jane nodded, but her eyes were counting the sweetmeats in the basket. It was making her hungry, but she doubted Julia would offer one.
"That will be a good quality to have," Julia said, with a virtuous, overly sweet tone. "As you're not nearly so pretty as me. Papa says a man likes a quiet wife. Mama says I musn't be quiet, as I'm pretty enough to make up for it."
Something in Jane's head began to clench.
"Mama says that you look like your Grandpapa. He had really ugly, scraggly brown hair, too. Nothing near as pretty as my curls."
"My grandfather was not ugly," Jane said.
"You don't need to pretend," Julia said, her voice still as sweet as the chocolate on her chin. "Even though you are ugly and tall, I think that you are quite nice and we can be best friends."
Jane's nose wrinkled. "We're not friends."
"We're not? But I like you."
"You look, act and smell like a fishwife," Jane announced, not entirely sure what a fishwife looked, acted or smelled like, having never seen one and only heard it used as an insult by the knights. "You talk too much, you eat too much, and my Mama said that your Mama is a fool."
Julia stood on tiptoe and slapped her. At first, Jane was too stunned to react, then, eyes narrowing, she looked down at Julia. Eight inches separated them.
"You are an illbred piglett," Jane said, deciding to take the moral high road. "And I am a lady and shan't deign to grace you with my presence."
There, she thought, and stalked away.
Seeing her at the table made that same clenching in Jane's head return, but she made no sign. After all, it had been nigh on fifteen years ago, and childhood arguments should not make adult politics. Julia's maid had brought her a gown to wear ... one that was too baggy, short enough to require her old chemise be draped beneath it to save the indignity of her knees, and of a bright, horrifying pink shade that made Jane looked sallow and cronelike. Edwina had laughed, then, when she'd seen the miserable, resigned look on Jane's face, bit her tongue.
I Breathe, I Endure, Jane repeated like a chant.
Well, this encounter would be nothing like that one years ago ... that entire day had been a disaster. She'd been paired with Lord Kenneth and humiliated the both of them with her terrible dancing, as she'd remembered; so badly that her parents never asked her to dance again at any function. When they'd been told of Kenneth's death, some time later, she had a nightmare wherein she'd caused him to tumble onto a sword while dancing. It had been a long, uneasy night, especially considering Kenneth Cavanaugh was the closest she'd ever come to being betrothed.
Stand and listen, he thought. Get into the habit.
The two of them, a man and woman, looked the part of escaped prisoners. Henry tried to keep his judgment, but as they spoke, his temper began to rise. Leliana Greyhardt ... he'd see that one dead. He layed the blame for Morgana's death, and Lionel's betrayals, at her feet. Did she have no loyalties? First, to betray her own sister, then her entire family, then, apparently, Lionel. Perhaps she'd found another man to warm her bed. His heart clenched at the thought of what the Winslers had done to him.
My boy, he thought. My stupid, headstrong boy.
Henry was too blind for love of his son to begin to see the truth.
"Jamie Winsler said something about wanting to give Master Lionel's eye to Your Majesty as a gift, but decided he’d rather have it himself."
Henry leaped up from his seat, flipping the table with an infuriated, wordless cry. Papers, quills, books, and unlit candles tumbled to the floor. The gentleman of the chamber who'd shown them in flinched and took half a step back away from the scene.
March on them! his heart screamed. Send every last man to burn Winsler!
No, his mind reasoned. They want you to do that, else they wouldn't have sent these two.
He stood there, back to them, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.
"If you are being truthful, you have my thanks," Henry said, slowly, "and I will see that you receive just reward. If I find out you are lying..." He left the threat wordless, but it was clear that he was, so far, more convinced they told the truth.
~
Lord Cavanaugh? Stephen thought. He'd no idea that Julia had married since the return from King's Landing, as he assumed the man was her husband ... but he referred to her as Lady Julia. Odd. He looked at Jane, to see her reaction, but she looked as though the finer details of etiquette were the least of her concerns. The woman who'd rode with Katherine had pulled her horse up alongside Jane and she was looking over her sister. Katherine, as usual, had a beatific smile, as though the whole ride had been a game.
Edwina giggled and blushed as Kenneth helped her down from her horse. Margaret did not stir from her sleep and her head lolled on the old nursemaid's shoulder.
"Oh, thank you," she said, her eyes roving all over Kenneth. For all that she was short, old and tired, she'd been ... a scandal ... in her youth. Age had not diminished her appetite. Ser Stephen, her brother, saw and made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He waited until Kenneth had turned to Jane and glared at her, whispering, "You're old enough to be his dead grandmother."
Jane accepted his help without a word and stumbled a little when her feet were on the ground. She held herself steady, however, and sighed, looking at their small, weary gathering.
"Thank you," she said at last, then, taking a breath, launched into taking charge of her household. "Margaret will need a physician; she's still recovering from the plague. We've all escaped unharmed, but Strake is lost to Damian. They meant to kill us in our sleep. We came here for defense. The journey to Winsler would have been too long, and we unprepared, and Margaret ... she is our heiress. We cannot risk her."
As if on cue, Margaret woke and began a violent fit of coughing.
"We must get her inside," Edwina insisted, her flirtatious demeanor gone.
~
There were few nobles that Jane outright loathed. Julia Cavanaugh was one of them. Years ago, they'd met when Cavanaugh and Strake had come to Winsler for a great ball and feast, celebrating the sixteenth birthday of Kenneth Cavanaugh, who'd returned to swear allegiance to his elder brother and Lord Winsler. Jane had been all of eleven and made to accompany Julia while the adults talked politics.
Julia talked of nothing but herself: what fashions looked best on her, what great marriages she could make, how well she could dance, how wealthy her family was. And, all the while, she incessantly ate from a basket of sweetmeats and pastries. Chocolate was smeared on her face. It would have been a lovely face, framed as it was by her perfect, golden brown ringlets, if it had not been so ... piggish.
"You're ever so good at listening," Julia said, after a particularly long, one-sided conversation about her shoes. Jane nodded, but her eyes were counting the sweetmeats in the basket. It was making her hungry, but she doubted Julia would offer one.
"That will be a good quality to have," Julia said, with a virtuous, overly sweet tone. "As you're not nearly so pretty as me. Papa says a man likes a quiet wife. Mama says I musn't be quiet, as I'm pretty enough to make up for it."
Something in Jane's head began to clench.
"Mama says that you look like your Grandpapa. He had really ugly, scraggly brown hair, too. Nothing near as pretty as my curls."
"My grandfather was not ugly," Jane said.
"You don't need to pretend," Julia said, her voice still as sweet as the chocolate on her chin. "Even though you are ugly and tall, I think that you are quite nice and we can be best friends."
Jane's nose wrinkled. "We're not friends."
"We're not? But I like you."
"You look, act and smell like a fishwife," Jane announced, not entirely sure what a fishwife looked, acted or smelled like, having never seen one and only heard it used as an insult by the knights. "You talk too much, you eat too much, and my Mama said that your Mama is a fool."
Julia stood on tiptoe and slapped her. At first, Jane was too stunned to react, then, eyes narrowing, she looked down at Julia. Eight inches separated them.
"You are an illbred piglett," Jane said, deciding to take the moral high road. "And I am a lady and shan't deign to grace you with my presence."
There, she thought, and stalked away.
Seeing her at the table made that same clenching in Jane's head return, but she made no sign. After all, it had been nigh on fifteen years ago, and childhood arguments should not make adult politics. Julia's maid had brought her a gown to wear ... one that was too baggy, short enough to require her old chemise be draped beneath it to save the indignity of her knees, and of a bright, horrifying pink shade that made Jane looked sallow and cronelike. Edwina had laughed, then, when she'd seen the miserable, resigned look on Jane's face, bit her tongue.
I Breathe, I Endure, Jane repeated like a chant.
Well, this encounter would be nothing like that one years ago ... that entire day had been a disaster. She'd been paired with Lord Kenneth and humiliated the both of them with her terrible dancing, as she'd remembered; so badly that her parents never asked her to dance again at any function. When they'd been told of Kenneth's death, some time later, she had a nightmare wherein she'd caused him to tumble onto a sword while dancing. It had been a long, uneasy night, especially considering Kenneth Cavanaugh was the closest she'd ever come to being betrothed.
Setting
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“Looong face. I’m here t’ bring you ba-ah-ck t’ camp.” The man wobbled after Quincel. Quincel sighed and walked a little faster. He knew he was a rather unimportant, unwanted lump in Lionel’s army, but he was honestly and truly insulted that Lionel had sent a drunkard to come and fetch him. Well, to be fair, most of the Mummers were like that. Wait, why was he justifying Lionel? It was his own fault if his army of choice were liquor loving sell swords.
“I must decline. I’ve had it with you savages.” He caught his long cloak and whipped it out of the clumsy reach of the stumbling man’s fingers.
“That’sh not nish,” frowned the drunk man. He trudged through the snow after Quincel doggedly. “Now sh-shtop dat. I’m not allowed to hurt you.”
Quincel turned around. “Oh, is that so?” He stared at the Mummer coolly, then socked him right between the eyes. The man went down with a pissed off howl.
“Hey, come back!” The man tried to struggle to his feet, but he kept slipping in the snow. The more he thrashed, the more slick the area around him became. He cursed a stream as he watched Quincel walk off into the snowy woods.
---
“Don’t know why he even bothered,” grumbled Quincel. “I have no clue how he plans on storming Winterfell without siege weapons, and he as good as told Nathanial how many men he has when he allowed those sailors at White Harbor to escape.”
“Talking to yourself again, Longface?” Quincel whipped around, already shooting the pain in the ass owner of the amiable voice a righteous Ser Quincel glare. There was no one there.
For all his supposed genius, the Great Maryn was still stuck in that tree. The Braavosi had told him that he would help him Maryn out of the tree if Maryn told him exactly what he was seeing of Winterfell. But he did, the stinking dog of a Braavosi had run off, probably to steal his glory and get money for Maryn’s troubles.
“Up here,” he said. Maryn waved at Quincel from his perch in the branches.
Quincel squinted up at him. “What are you doing up there, Maryn?”
“Clearly, I am practicing the art of tree climbing. I thought you were supposed to be smart. The better question is, why are you out here? I’m surprised Lionel let you out of camp.” Maryn smiled down at him. Quincel returned the smile with a scowl. Then it dawned on the sell sword. “Oh! I see. You’ve deserted. Switching sides again?”
“Never was I sworn to the Bastard King.” He started to continue.
“Wait up. Maybe we can help each other.” Maryn cleared his throat. “You see, I seem to be having a bit a, er, dismounting problem with this tree. A whole angry mob is going to come after you soon, hot on those tracks you left there. I can direct them right to you, or I can just turn a blind eye, help you cover up those pesky little telltale track things. Maybe slip in a little white lie or two.”
Quincel started to protest, but realized that he was in fact leading them right to himself. There weren’t many horses back at camp, but there was horses. And they could run him down like a deer before hounds. There was no time to go and cover up his tracks, and he needed every possible minute to get as close to Winterfell as possible. Having Maryn point them in the wrong direction would help a lot.
“How can I possibly aid you in getting down from that tree? I’m not catching you, if that is what you were thinking.”
Maryn shrugged. “You’re the one who lives up here. Haven’t you climbed these trees before?”
“No. Why don’t you just slide down the trunk?” Quincel looked back the way he came nervously.
Maryn sighed loudly. “BRAVE WORLD, BEHOLD HERE COMES THE GREAT MEEEEE,” he yelled as he kicked off his branch and latched onto the trunk. He held that last ‘e’ as he rushed toward the ground, clawing and unbeautifully trying to grab onto the trunk. Maryn landed in the snow with a final “eee”. “Oh, wow, silly Quincel, the snow is soft enough.”
Quincel raised an eyebrow. That yell echoed in the forest. He had no doubt some scout had heard it. He had to get out of there quickly now. “I guess that worked. Farewell, Maryn. I suppose this is the last I’ll- uff!” Maryn had recovered quickly, and in a stride had advanced and tackled Quincel over.
“What are you doing?” He tried to sit up. The sellsword smelled like holy hell.“Get off me.”
Maryn did nothing of the sort. He shoved Quincel back down and pinned down his throat with one hand. The other hand drew a long dagger. “You’re coming back with me,” he said cheerfully. “I saw what you did back there to Valyn. He might have orders not to hurt you, but I have none such.” The sellsword’s dagger flashed down and cut into Quincel’s upper leg. There was no chainmail there, and the dagger bit deep. Quincel twisted, throwing Maryn off him with a cuff to the side of the head.
Maryn got up casually, shaking off the blow. “Now you can hobble on to Winterfell all by yourself, limping and dripping blood. We’ll see how far you can get before Lionel’s men catch up to you. Or the wolves. Or, I can graciously help you back to camp, where I can direct you to an Asshai maegi who can get you all nice and patched up.” He smiled.
“Bastard. Why?” Quincel struggled to get up, fighting off the burning pain. He stared in dismay at the snow reddening beneath him.
“Why does everyone keep confusing me with the King? Am I that pretty?” Maryn grinned. “Maybe now he’ll actually pay me. Besides, you didn’t actually help me get off that dammed tree. That was all me.”
---
It took them a long time to get back to camp, with Quincel leaning heavily on Maryn. They had made a makeshift bandage from Quincel’s (cleaner) cloak and they had packed it with snow to stop the bleeding, but with all their wobbling and complaining (on Maryn’s part), even the outer wrappings were brightly stained by the time they got back. Maryn yelled at everyone to get of the way. He helped Quincel through Lionel’s tent and dumped him in front of the king.
“Pay me,” he said, brightly.
“I must decline. I’ve had it with you savages.” He caught his long cloak and whipped it out of the clumsy reach of the stumbling man’s fingers.
“That’sh not nish,” frowned the drunk man. He trudged through the snow after Quincel doggedly. “Now sh-shtop dat. I’m not allowed to hurt you.”
Quincel turned around. “Oh, is that so?” He stared at the Mummer coolly, then socked him right between the eyes. The man went down with a pissed off howl.
“Hey, come back!” The man tried to struggle to his feet, but he kept slipping in the snow. The more he thrashed, the more slick the area around him became. He cursed a stream as he watched Quincel walk off into the snowy woods.
---
“Don’t know why he even bothered,” grumbled Quincel. “I have no clue how he plans on storming Winterfell without siege weapons, and he as good as told Nathanial how many men he has when he allowed those sailors at White Harbor to escape.”
“Talking to yourself again, Longface?” Quincel whipped around, already shooting the pain in the ass owner of the amiable voice a righteous Ser Quincel glare. There was no one there.
For all his supposed genius, the Great Maryn was still stuck in that tree. The Braavosi had told him that he would help him Maryn out of the tree if Maryn told him exactly what he was seeing of Winterfell. But he did, the stinking dog of a Braavosi had run off, probably to steal his glory and get money for Maryn’s troubles.
“Up here,” he said. Maryn waved at Quincel from his perch in the branches.
Quincel squinted up at him. “What are you doing up there, Maryn?”
“Clearly, I am practicing the art of tree climbing. I thought you were supposed to be smart. The better question is, why are you out here? I’m surprised Lionel let you out of camp.” Maryn smiled down at him. Quincel returned the smile with a scowl. Then it dawned on the sell sword. “Oh! I see. You’ve deserted. Switching sides again?”
“Never was I sworn to the Bastard King.” He started to continue.
“Wait up. Maybe we can help each other.” Maryn cleared his throat. “You see, I seem to be having a bit a, er, dismounting problem with this tree. A whole angry mob is going to come after you soon, hot on those tracks you left there. I can direct them right to you, or I can just turn a blind eye, help you cover up those pesky little telltale track things. Maybe slip in a little white lie or two.”
Quincel started to protest, but realized that he was in fact leading them right to himself. There weren’t many horses back at camp, but there was horses. And they could run him down like a deer before hounds. There was no time to go and cover up his tracks, and he needed every possible minute to get as close to Winterfell as possible. Having Maryn point them in the wrong direction would help a lot.
“How can I possibly aid you in getting down from that tree? I’m not catching you, if that is what you were thinking.”
Maryn shrugged. “You’re the one who lives up here. Haven’t you climbed these trees before?”
“No. Why don’t you just slide down the trunk?” Quincel looked back the way he came nervously.
Maryn sighed loudly. “BRAVE WORLD, BEHOLD HERE COMES THE GREAT MEEEEE,” he yelled as he kicked off his branch and latched onto the trunk. He held that last ‘e’ as he rushed toward the ground, clawing and unbeautifully trying to grab onto the trunk. Maryn landed in the snow with a final “eee”. “Oh, wow, silly Quincel, the snow is soft enough.”
Quincel raised an eyebrow. That yell echoed in the forest. He had no doubt some scout had heard it. He had to get out of there quickly now. “I guess that worked. Farewell, Maryn. I suppose this is the last I’ll- uff!” Maryn had recovered quickly, and in a stride had advanced and tackled Quincel over.
“What are you doing?” He tried to sit up. The sellsword smelled like holy hell.“Get off me.”
Maryn did nothing of the sort. He shoved Quincel back down and pinned down his throat with one hand. The other hand drew a long dagger. “You’re coming back with me,” he said cheerfully. “I saw what you did back there to Valyn. He might have orders not to hurt you, but I have none such.” The sellsword’s dagger flashed down and cut into Quincel’s upper leg. There was no chainmail there, and the dagger bit deep. Quincel twisted, throwing Maryn off him with a cuff to the side of the head.
Maryn got up casually, shaking off the blow. “Now you can hobble on to Winterfell all by yourself, limping and dripping blood. We’ll see how far you can get before Lionel’s men catch up to you. Or the wolves. Or, I can graciously help you back to camp, where I can direct you to an Asshai maegi who can get you all nice and patched up.” He smiled.
“Bastard. Why?” Quincel struggled to get up, fighting off the burning pain. He stared in dismay at the snow reddening beneath him.
“Why does everyone keep confusing me with the King? Am I that pretty?” Maryn grinned. “Maybe now he’ll actually pay me. Besides, you didn’t actually help me get off that dammed tree. That was all me.”
---
It took them a long time to get back to camp, with Quincel leaning heavily on Maryn. They had made a makeshift bandage from Quincel’s (cleaner) cloak and they had packed it with snow to stop the bleeding, but with all their wobbling and complaining (on Maryn’s part), even the outer wrappings were brightly stained by the time they got back. Maryn yelled at everyone to get of the way. He helped Quincel through Lionel’s tent and dumped him in front of the king.
“Pay me,” he said, brightly.
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Nathanial studied the reports in front of him intently trying to find someway out of the mess he had found himself in but no matter how hard he looked nothing changed. There would be a long siege and there was nothing he could do about it. He did not have the men to fight Lionel's army head on and the only thing preventing them losing straight away was the walls of Winterfell, they were built to last and many an army had broken themselves on those walls. All he could do was hope that Lionel's army was no different and yet he had a gut feeling that Lionel was craftier than that especially since he had Leiliana with him. His daughter had grown up at Winterfell and knew its ins and outs and passageways better than anyone. There was nothing Nathanial could do about that except hope that she had enough loyalty to her family to not share that infomation. It was a small and unlikely hope but Nathanial had no other hope to cling to. He turned as he heard the door open and saw Birgitte enter the room, as always his heart swelled at the sight of her. He loved her still just as much as when he had first married her...but things had changed between them and he did not know how to change them back. She had become distant with him and seemed most of the time out of his reach and the more he tried to close the gap the wider it became. Although since news of the impending army had arrived she had changed back a little, it was as though the threat of being invaded had galvanised her. He had seen more fire in her eyes the last two days than in the last few months and though he wished the reason was different he was glad to see it. His Birgitte had always appeared gentle and softspoken but there was a core of steel underneath which could not be broken. Though for a while Nathanial had feared that losing both Leiliana and Quincel had broken her but he was glad it had not. As for his own pain he had pushed it deep down inside as he could not afford to be weakened by it especially given who and what they faced, Some day when all this was over he would grieve properly but not today. There was still too much work to be done.
"Nate, any word?" Birgitte asked as she walked over to him to look over his shoulder at the reports he held.
He shook his head and flung the papers on the table so that they scattered and fell all over the floor as well as the table. He slammed his fist on the table in a rare display of anger and frustration as the helplessness of his situation became too much. He didn't speak simply stood there head hanging struggling to bring himself under control but failing to push the anger back down to a manageable level. Birgitte moved to stand behind him and he felt her hands on his shoulders gently kneading the muscles. He sighed as he skilled hands began loosening muscles that had been tense for too long, she worked silently and he closed his eyes relaxing into her hands. She leaned round and kissed him and he responded with a passion born of anger, despair and desperation which she seemed to share in equal measure. Nathanial had just decided to carry her to their bedchamber and the siege be damned, when their was a quiet cough from the doorway to the room. Nathanial broke the kiss and turned to face the door his breathing hard. He was not embarressed as all knew that he and his lady wife were still very much a love match. Birgitte simply smiled very slightly and smoothed her dark red dress even though it was already wrinkle free.
"What is it?" Nathanial asked the man, a soldier from the walls by the look of him.
"There is a messenger at the gate my lord, claims to be from Thorneir with urgent news."
Nathanial felt hope bubble up inside him Finally they have come, I eas beginning to think they would not answer the call
"I am on my way." Nathanial said.
Birgitte puilled on her woolen cloak and together they made their way to the gates where other men were already gathered waiting on their lords orders. Nathanial strode up to the gate and looked up at the man in charge of the watch.
"Open the gate it is our allies!" He called in a loud clear voice.
The man nodded and barked out orders which the men all hurried to obey, all were as eager as their lord for reinforcements and any news House Thorneir had on the state of things outside the walls of Winterfell. Slowly the huge bar that sat on the massive gates were lifted taking many men to life its enormous weight, then it was a matter of pulling the great gates open which again took much effort but eventually they swung open slowly.
The messenger stood squarely in front of the gates and he started to shout something which Nathanial could not catch and then time seemed to slow as he saw the messenger stagger and then stare down at himself in shock. Red blossomed and he turned slightly and Nathanial could then see the arrow quivering out of his back, before Nathanial could react two more arrows hit the guards nearest the gate appearing to have been launched from nowhere.
"CLOSE THE GATES" Nathanial bellowed finally finding his voice.
But even as he shouted it he knew they would not close in time, the huge doors were an advantagous when someone was trying to break through them but were not designed to be moved quickly and Nathanial saw men running inside who had clearly been waiting in ambush. He stood there shocked unable to move as the realisation hit him We have been betrayed!
How many more would betray him and his, what gods had they offended to deserve such a cruel punishment as to suffer three betrayels in a row. He dimly heard men shouting and the clang of weapons as men came together in battle. He heard a woman cry out and that snapped him out of his shock as he realised that Birgitte had followed him outside. He drew his sword, the blade shone in the dim light as Nathanial wielded [i][Wolfclaw/i] with the ease of someone used to training and battle. Lord he may be but he was still Wolf of the North and he had never allowed himself to grow soft. He turned and saw Birgitte standing with a sword also held in her hand and a dead soldier at her feet. He felt a surge of pride at his wife before focussing on getting her back into the relative safety of the keep.
"PROTECT THE LADY" he heard another soldier cry and saw that even as most ran to the gates to try and repel the invaders some broke off to form a ring around Birgitte and Nathanial. Together they fought their way back to the doors of the keep and soldiers began pushing Birgitte inside.
"Nate wait, I am not leaving your side." Birgitte cried and fought the soldiers trying to protect her.
" I need to know you are safe Gitte, please do this for me." Nathanial said quietly and seeing the look in his eyes Birgitte relented. She stepped close and kissed him deeply before pulling away.
"Stay safe my love and show them what we wolves are made of!"
"I will my wife I will."
Nathanial watched as she disappeared into the keep and then he turned and began bellowing orders for the defense of his home, in his heart he knew they had already lost as no doubt Lionel would use this weakness to attack. But Nathanial was determined not to go down wothout a fight.
"Nate, any word?" Birgitte asked as she walked over to him to look over his shoulder at the reports he held.
He shook his head and flung the papers on the table so that they scattered and fell all over the floor as well as the table. He slammed his fist on the table in a rare display of anger and frustration as the helplessness of his situation became too much. He didn't speak simply stood there head hanging struggling to bring himself under control but failing to push the anger back down to a manageable level. Birgitte moved to stand behind him and he felt her hands on his shoulders gently kneading the muscles. He sighed as he skilled hands began loosening muscles that had been tense for too long, she worked silently and he closed his eyes relaxing into her hands. She leaned round and kissed him and he responded with a passion born of anger, despair and desperation which she seemed to share in equal measure. Nathanial had just decided to carry her to their bedchamber and the siege be damned, when their was a quiet cough from the doorway to the room. Nathanial broke the kiss and turned to face the door his breathing hard. He was not embarressed as all knew that he and his lady wife were still very much a love match. Birgitte simply smiled very slightly and smoothed her dark red dress even though it was already wrinkle free.
"What is it?" Nathanial asked the man, a soldier from the walls by the look of him.
"There is a messenger at the gate my lord, claims to be from Thorneir with urgent news."
Nathanial felt hope bubble up inside him Finally they have come, I eas beginning to think they would not answer the call
"I am on my way." Nathanial said.
Birgitte puilled on her woolen cloak and together they made their way to the gates where other men were already gathered waiting on their lords orders. Nathanial strode up to the gate and looked up at the man in charge of the watch.
"Open the gate it is our allies!" He called in a loud clear voice.
The man nodded and barked out orders which the men all hurried to obey, all were as eager as their lord for reinforcements and any news House Thorneir had on the state of things outside the walls of Winterfell. Slowly the huge bar that sat on the massive gates were lifted taking many men to life its enormous weight, then it was a matter of pulling the great gates open which again took much effort but eventually they swung open slowly.
The messenger stood squarely in front of the gates and he started to shout something which Nathanial could not catch and then time seemed to slow as he saw the messenger stagger and then stare down at himself in shock. Red blossomed and he turned slightly and Nathanial could then see the arrow quivering out of his back, before Nathanial could react two more arrows hit the guards nearest the gate appearing to have been launched from nowhere.
"CLOSE THE GATES" Nathanial bellowed finally finding his voice.
But even as he shouted it he knew they would not close in time, the huge doors were an advantagous when someone was trying to break through them but were not designed to be moved quickly and Nathanial saw men running inside who had clearly been waiting in ambush. He stood there shocked unable to move as the realisation hit him We have been betrayed!
How many more would betray him and his, what gods had they offended to deserve such a cruel punishment as to suffer three betrayels in a row. He dimly heard men shouting and the clang of weapons as men came together in battle. He heard a woman cry out and that snapped him out of his shock as he realised that Birgitte had followed him outside. He drew his sword, the blade shone in the dim light as Nathanial wielded [i][Wolfclaw/i] with the ease of someone used to training and battle. Lord he may be but he was still Wolf of the North and he had never allowed himself to grow soft. He turned and saw Birgitte standing with a sword also held in her hand and a dead soldier at her feet. He felt a surge of pride at his wife before focussing on getting her back into the relative safety of the keep.
"PROTECT THE LADY" he heard another soldier cry and saw that even as most ran to the gates to try and repel the invaders some broke off to form a ring around Birgitte and Nathanial. Together they fought their way back to the doors of the keep and soldiers began pushing Birgitte inside.
"Nate wait, I am not leaving your side." Birgitte cried and fought the soldiers trying to protect her.
" I need to know you are safe Gitte, please do this for me." Nathanial said quietly and seeing the look in his eyes Birgitte relented. She stepped close and kissed him deeply before pulling away.
"Stay safe my love and show them what we wolves are made of!"
"I will my wife I will."
Nathanial watched as she disappeared into the keep and then he turned and began bellowing orders for the defense of his home, in his heart he knew they had already lost as no doubt Lionel would use this weakness to attack. But Nathanial was determined not to go down wothout a fight.
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The rooms looked as though they'd been stricken by a storm. Papers and books were scatted across the berugged floors; the tapestries and paintings hung askew if they were not propped against the walls they should have been hanging upon. On the writing desk, ink had been spilled (and dried) many times over. Even the bed was disorderly and piled with papers and books. All of the windows were shut and locked against the outside world, as were all the doors. Benjamin did not wish to be disturbed.
Most of the papers were covered with complex, sometimes fantastical, war strategies: they used troops he did not have, plans that could not work, creatures that did not exist. Some were covered with his thoughts, as rambling and nonsensical as they were. He had made lists of allies, some of whom had been dead for years: namely, the old Lords Strake and Cavanaugh. As he finished each list, he threw it down and wrote another. Repetition had become his dearest friend.
His spiral downward into madness had only increased since Jamie had disputed his plans, and when they'd escorted him to his rooms, it was there that he had stayed. His moments of lucidity were few and far between. Often, he forgot about his sons altogether, or imagined them still children and thus of no help to his plans. Those who passed by his rooms could heard him carrying on long conversations with his dead wife or alternately weeping and raging about her death, as though it had been only yesterday.
"Lord Winsler?" a woman's voice, hesitant, carried through the locked door.
Benjamin did not answer.
"There's a message come for you," she continued, "from Lady Strake."
Margaret? he thought, remembering Jane's mother. Another birth announcement, he was sure. The woman was always having children. Perhaps it was a boy this time. He opened the door and the woman in the hall flinched back, then thrust the message out to him.
The words penetrated the fog in his brain and he did not shut the door, merely stood out in the hall and read. An attack on Strake lands? By Damian? Of course ...
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Sunset, my Lord," the woman answered.
"The evening meal will be ready soon, yes? Well, have them ready on time."
"You'll ... you'll be joining Lord Teralo?"
He looked at her as though she were daft. "Of course, woman. I come to dinner every day, yes?"
"O-Of course."
She curtsied and scurried away down the hall, ready to spread the news that Lord Winsler was, for the moment, sane again.
Most of the papers were covered with complex, sometimes fantastical, war strategies: they used troops he did not have, plans that could not work, creatures that did not exist. Some were covered with his thoughts, as rambling and nonsensical as they were. He had made lists of allies, some of whom had been dead for years: namely, the old Lords Strake and Cavanaugh. As he finished each list, he threw it down and wrote another. Repetition had become his dearest friend.
His spiral downward into madness had only increased since Jamie had disputed his plans, and when they'd escorted him to his rooms, it was there that he had stayed. His moments of lucidity were few and far between. Often, he forgot about his sons altogether, or imagined them still children and thus of no help to his plans. Those who passed by his rooms could heard him carrying on long conversations with his dead wife or alternately weeping and raging about her death, as though it had been only yesterday.
"Lord Winsler?" a woman's voice, hesitant, carried through the locked door.
Benjamin did not answer.
"There's a message come for you," she continued, "from Lady Strake."
Margaret? he thought, remembering Jane's mother. Another birth announcement, he was sure. The woman was always having children. Perhaps it was a boy this time. He opened the door and the woman in the hall flinched back, then thrust the message out to him.
The words penetrated the fog in his brain and he did not shut the door, merely stood out in the hall and read. An attack on Strake lands? By Damian? Of course ...
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Sunset, my Lord," the woman answered.
"The evening meal will be ready soon, yes? Well, have them ready on time."
"You'll ... you'll be joining Lord Teralo?"
He looked at her as though she were daft. "Of course, woman. I come to dinner every day, yes?"
"O-Of course."
She curtsied and scurried away down the hall, ready to spread the news that Lord Winsler was, for the moment, sane again.
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[I'm having one of those "Oh my muse has fled me" days. :/]
;; Sirena D'Airelle ;;
She exchanged a hidden smirk with Ammon as the gates opened and they were ushered inwards with the tired, slow horses. The guards were the easy part—fooling the King and the others of the court would be a different matter. Sirena raised her head and studied the majestic structure as they got closer and closer to it. In her opinion, it was too…well, it looked too uptight and stiff. She was much more suited to the more casual and comfortable regions of regular cities and ports, not to mention where the Bloody Mummers usually stayed. This place looked like it was full of rules and restrictions, just what she didn’t like.
But she supposed that she was in a more indulging mood than usual, so she would comply. Besides, if they were chased out right away, she wouldn’t have time to add things to her collection of whimsical, fine things—however, she swore to the Seven if anyone, anyone tried to put her in a frilly dress they would have Loreley slicing them to pieces. She chose her wardrobe, and she would dress as she pleased.
Sirena stayed quiet most of the time, relying of facial expression than words to convey emotion. She glanced away as Ammon mentioned her supposed ‘rape,’ as if she was ashamed and sickened by the idea. In truth, the thought of her being raped was rather humorous. She, one of the Bloody Mummers, being raped—ha! However they did not know their true identities, and she was determined to keep it that way.
Court seemed interesting—she had never been to a palace in her life before. She had seen plenty of riches that her father had brought home from his raids; gold, silver, fine jewels and beautiful trinkets. After all, she had been in a wealthy family, dressed well and fed well. At least that was how it had been before her father had disappeared. She was not dazzled by the splendors, but her interest was indeed piqued.
She was deep in thought about these little trinkets that would be all hers to filch when the writing table of the king was shoved into the air, flipped over by the outraged royal. Sirena didn’t even blink, though she kept her gaze down to the floor. An emotional response from the Bastard King’s father…yes, that was surely to be a good sign. He believed them. The old fool believed them. That was…much too easy. She could sense the anger furling outwards from the King, something that could be used well if they could keep up the farce, and something not so fortunate if otherwise. But Sirena was not worried.
The Bloody Mummers were mostly skilled criminals, scumbags, liars, drunks, and thugs. Danger was what they fed on to grow. “Thank you for hearing your humble servants out, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, head still bowed solemnly. But under the curtain of her thick hair, her full lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk.
Let the fun begin. Let us enjoy ourselves!
She exchanged a hidden smirk with Ammon as the gates opened and they were ushered inwards with the tired, slow horses. The guards were the easy part—fooling the King and the others of the court would be a different matter. Sirena raised her head and studied the majestic structure as they got closer and closer to it. In her opinion, it was too…well, it looked too uptight and stiff. She was much more suited to the more casual and comfortable regions of regular cities and ports, not to mention where the Bloody Mummers usually stayed. This place looked like it was full of rules and restrictions, just what she didn’t like.
But she supposed that she was in a more indulging mood than usual, so she would comply. Besides, if they were chased out right away, she wouldn’t have time to add things to her collection of whimsical, fine things—however, she swore to the Seven if anyone, anyone tried to put her in a frilly dress they would have Loreley slicing them to pieces. She chose her wardrobe, and she would dress as she pleased.
Sirena stayed quiet most of the time, relying of facial expression than words to convey emotion. She glanced away as Ammon mentioned her supposed ‘rape,’ as if she was ashamed and sickened by the idea. In truth, the thought of her being raped was rather humorous. She, one of the Bloody Mummers, being raped—ha! However they did not know their true identities, and she was determined to keep it that way.
Court seemed interesting—she had never been to a palace in her life before. She had seen plenty of riches that her father had brought home from his raids; gold, silver, fine jewels and beautiful trinkets. After all, she had been in a wealthy family, dressed well and fed well. At least that was how it had been before her father had disappeared. She was not dazzled by the splendors, but her interest was indeed piqued.
She was deep in thought about these little trinkets that would be all hers to filch when the writing table of the king was shoved into the air, flipped over by the outraged royal. Sirena didn’t even blink, though she kept her gaze down to the floor. An emotional response from the Bastard King’s father…yes, that was surely to be a good sign. He believed them. The old fool believed them. That was…much too easy. She could sense the anger furling outwards from the King, something that could be used well if they could keep up the farce, and something not so fortunate if otherwise. But Sirena was not worried.
The Bloody Mummers were mostly skilled criminals, scumbags, liars, drunks, and thugs. Danger was what they fed on to grow. “Thank you for hearing your humble servants out, Your Majesty,” she said quietly, head still bowed solemnly. But under the curtain of her thick hair, her full lips twisted into a self-satisfied smirk.
Let the fun begin. Let us enjoy ourselves!
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[OOC - @kaze - I hope you don't mind what Leliana did. If you do, I can totally edit that out! It made sense at the moment. :3 /hides/]]
“Your Highness, serving the Crown is all reward we need,” Ammon said, bowing as much as he was physically able to. Ammon felt contentment flood him as the final verdict from the King had been passed. The story they had told had apparently appealed to the King – and Ammon felt an inner surge of haughty pride at the thought, though none of that showed on his face. He still wore a humble expression, the sort that would be appropriate in such company and when delivering such ‘grave news’. He and Sirena had played their cards well and now all that was left was to maintain the ruse and reap the rewards.
He knew full well that the two of them would still have to tread carefully. The King was not a man with whom it was wise to trifle with, and Ammon had no intention of being found out and having their whole cover blown. Ah, but it would be more amusing that way, in any case – playing pretend was always a good way to spend the time, and so was frolicking about the Red Keep.
Ammon had never before set foot in this place and he was looking forward to being able to find out exactly what went on within the great stone walls. Mayhap there would be a pretty maid or two to have some fun with. He’d heard that the Princess was quite a looker – and if the wench was not too young, Ammon would be more than willing to show her exactly what she was missing by not hitching up her skirts and splaying wide her legs.
“By your leave, Your Majesty,” Ammon bowed to the King, this time avoiding going so low as to bring further pain to his side. Then he turned to the boy, who was quite visibly related to the King and thus Ammon determined him as being the Prince, “Your Highness.” Ammon knew his courtesies well enough. All assassins were, after all, actors and liars – and they had to know how to pretend in order to get the job done. This was the boy who Lionel had wanted dead. Ammon would surely have to explore the opportunity. He had no actual intention of killing the youth, as for now it brought neither him nor Sirena any sort of compensation, but that was not to say that Ammon was not generally intrigued.
So, that must be Raban Damian. From the looks on the youth’s face, he also believed what Ammon and Sirena had recounted. There was the briefest shadow of doubt there, but for the most part Ammon was sure that they had them hooked on their story. So far, all was well. He and Sirena exited the King’s Chambers, careful not to betray their jubilance. They would celebrate this, he was sure, but after they had seen a proper Maester and gotten themselves patched up.
He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eyes and grinned when he knew nobody was looking. It was a smile meant just for her, a devious little quirk of the lips that the two of them could share. “I would very much appreciate seeing a Maester first,” he said to her in low tones as they passed a few of the guards, “and then get properly dressed and cleaned up.”
His tone pitched towards being barely audible, “and then…”. There was a hint of smile to his words. And then, they would have their fun.
---
She leaned into Lionel’s side, tilting her head so as to rest it atop her shoulder. Leliana watched Gynna Tyrell with a devious smile, as if to wordlessly convey the message that she would gut the girl if she so much as made eyes at her betrothed. Leliana may have been dubbed a slattern by many, and for good reason, but she was inwardly possessive.
She was not quite sure if she had been this way before or had only recently become inwardly more controlling. For a moment Leliana wondered if she had always had such vicious, wicked thoughts. She certainly could not recall always thinking this way, and yet at the same time it felt as if this was the reality of what her inner thoughts always were.
For a brief moment of time there was nothing but confusion and she could make neither beginning nor end from the tangles of her thoughts. Following a thought was akin to attempting to untangle a ball of yarn that had been set upon by a thousand playful kittens. The mental image of that made Leliana giggle out loud – her laughter masked by Jon Tyrell’s laugh at something that had been said.
I’m just here because I’ve nowhere else to go – because so far this is the only way to survive.
You know, Leliana, if you tried – you could love him. Just like I do.
He frightens me. I liked him at first, but it all has gotten out of hand. He’ll kill Richard in the blink of an eye, I know it to be so.
I bet he’ll take Richard’s head straight off with Night.
You’re horrible. You’re awful. You’re the shadow of a shadow of a shadow of what you’ve once been.
Sweetling, I am you. Can’t we coexist?
Never. Never. Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s like half of me is gone.
That’s because you're the other half is me.
She drifted back to the conversation – something about her uncle fleeing camp. Something dark stirred within Leliana. A dark, spitting anger at anyone who would dare lay a hand on her family. And then the feeling passed and she found herself laughing and nodding along. “Yes, please do bring Uncle Quin back in one piece.”
~
She spent the next while informing Lionel of all the ins and outs of Winterfell of which she could think of and remember at that point in time. It was not until some time later that the tent flaps opened once more and in came Maryn, and her Uncle along with him. Her eyes zoned in on the way her Uncle was leaning against the man – at the blood dripping from the wound in his thigh. Leliana watched as her Uncle was unceremoniously dumped before Lionel.
She rose up from where she had been sitting, a small smile playing across her face as she looked at Maryn. “You have my thanks for fetching back my flighty Uncle,” Leliana looked over at her shoulder and smiled at Lionel, “we are due to reward Maryn, yes? Yes.” She turned back to the sellsword and walked over to him, her hand travelling to her belt as if to grab at a pouch of gold.
Without warning, her foot whirled up and outwards, catching Maryn squarely in the groin. Leliana felt an inward surge of happiness at the feeling of her kick striking home. “Maryn, he wasn’t your uncle to stab, now was he?” Her face twisted into a strange expression as she rounded on Maryn, the fingers of her right hand twitching as if to grasp the handle of a knife – a knife which she had lost back when she had dropped it in the dark two days ago.
“How is a man like a deer?” She asked him, her voice pitching low. She felt predatory and it both excited and frightened her. Thoughts were tangled again – she was not sure what exactly she was leaning towards – a tangled ball of yarn. “A man is like a deer because…come now, it’s not hard…” She looked at him in expectation, waiting for him to answer her. Surely, the answer was so simple. There were so many, many, many reasons.
“Your Highness, serving the Crown is all reward we need,” Ammon said, bowing as much as he was physically able to. Ammon felt contentment flood him as the final verdict from the King had been passed. The story they had told had apparently appealed to the King – and Ammon felt an inner surge of haughty pride at the thought, though none of that showed on his face. He still wore a humble expression, the sort that would be appropriate in such company and when delivering such ‘grave news’. He and Sirena had played their cards well and now all that was left was to maintain the ruse and reap the rewards.
He knew full well that the two of them would still have to tread carefully. The King was not a man with whom it was wise to trifle with, and Ammon had no intention of being found out and having their whole cover blown. Ah, but it would be more amusing that way, in any case – playing pretend was always a good way to spend the time, and so was frolicking about the Red Keep.
Ammon had never before set foot in this place and he was looking forward to being able to find out exactly what went on within the great stone walls. Mayhap there would be a pretty maid or two to have some fun with. He’d heard that the Princess was quite a looker – and if the wench was not too young, Ammon would be more than willing to show her exactly what she was missing by not hitching up her skirts and splaying wide her legs.
“By your leave, Your Majesty,” Ammon bowed to the King, this time avoiding going so low as to bring further pain to his side. Then he turned to the boy, who was quite visibly related to the King and thus Ammon determined him as being the Prince, “Your Highness.” Ammon knew his courtesies well enough. All assassins were, after all, actors and liars – and they had to know how to pretend in order to get the job done. This was the boy who Lionel had wanted dead. Ammon would surely have to explore the opportunity. He had no actual intention of killing the youth, as for now it brought neither him nor Sirena any sort of compensation, but that was not to say that Ammon was not generally intrigued.
So, that must be Raban Damian. From the looks on the youth’s face, he also believed what Ammon and Sirena had recounted. There was the briefest shadow of doubt there, but for the most part Ammon was sure that they had them hooked on their story. So far, all was well. He and Sirena exited the King’s Chambers, careful not to betray their jubilance. They would celebrate this, he was sure, but after they had seen a proper Maester and gotten themselves patched up.
He shot her a glance out of the corner of his eyes and grinned when he knew nobody was looking. It was a smile meant just for her, a devious little quirk of the lips that the two of them could share. “I would very much appreciate seeing a Maester first,” he said to her in low tones as they passed a few of the guards, “and then get properly dressed and cleaned up.”
His tone pitched towards being barely audible, “and then…”. There was a hint of smile to his words. And then, they would have their fun.
---
She leaned into Lionel’s side, tilting her head so as to rest it atop her shoulder. Leliana watched Gynna Tyrell with a devious smile, as if to wordlessly convey the message that she would gut the girl if she so much as made eyes at her betrothed. Leliana may have been dubbed a slattern by many, and for good reason, but she was inwardly possessive.
She was not quite sure if she had been this way before or had only recently become inwardly more controlling. For a moment Leliana wondered if she had always had such vicious, wicked thoughts. She certainly could not recall always thinking this way, and yet at the same time it felt as if this was the reality of what her inner thoughts always were.
For a brief moment of time there was nothing but confusion and she could make neither beginning nor end from the tangles of her thoughts. Following a thought was akin to attempting to untangle a ball of yarn that had been set upon by a thousand playful kittens. The mental image of that made Leliana giggle out loud – her laughter masked by Jon Tyrell’s laugh at something that had been said.
I’m just here because I’ve nowhere else to go – because so far this is the only way to survive.
You know, Leliana, if you tried – you could love him. Just like I do.
He frightens me. I liked him at first, but it all has gotten out of hand. He’ll kill Richard in the blink of an eye, I know it to be so.
I bet he’ll take Richard’s head straight off with Night.
You’re horrible. You’re awful. You’re the shadow of a shadow of a shadow of what you’ve once been.
Sweetling, I am you. Can’t we coexist?
Never. Never. Nothing makes sense anymore. It’s like half of me is gone.
That’s because you're the other half is me.
She drifted back to the conversation – something about her uncle fleeing camp. Something dark stirred within Leliana. A dark, spitting anger at anyone who would dare lay a hand on her family. And then the feeling passed and she found herself laughing and nodding along. “Yes, please do bring Uncle Quin back in one piece.”
~
She spent the next while informing Lionel of all the ins and outs of Winterfell of which she could think of and remember at that point in time. It was not until some time later that the tent flaps opened once more and in came Maryn, and her Uncle along with him. Her eyes zoned in on the way her Uncle was leaning against the man – at the blood dripping from the wound in his thigh. Leliana watched as her Uncle was unceremoniously dumped before Lionel.
She rose up from where she had been sitting, a small smile playing across her face as she looked at Maryn. “You have my thanks for fetching back my flighty Uncle,” Leliana looked over at her shoulder and smiled at Lionel, “we are due to reward Maryn, yes? Yes.” She turned back to the sellsword and walked over to him, her hand travelling to her belt as if to grab at a pouch of gold.
Without warning, her foot whirled up and outwards, catching Maryn squarely in the groin. Leliana felt an inward surge of happiness at the feeling of her kick striking home. “Maryn, he wasn’t your uncle to stab, now was he?” Her face twisted into a strange expression as she rounded on Maryn, the fingers of her right hand twitching as if to grasp the handle of a knife – a knife which she had lost back when she had dropped it in the dark two days ago.
“How is a man like a deer?” She asked him, her voice pitching low. She felt predatory and it both excited and frightened her. Thoughts were tangled again – she was not sure what exactly she was leaning towards – a tangled ball of yarn. “A man is like a deer because…come now, it’s not hard…” She looked at him in expectation, waiting for him to answer her. Surely, the answer was so simple. There were so many, many, many reasons.
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~~~DANTE~~~
“We’ll find your mother one way or another, Nasrin. There’re plenty of guards about who can do a well enough job of looking after their Majesties.” Dante’s lips quirked into a smile at what Nasrin said about his duties to protect the King’s children. “Quite frankly, I think the only reason I’m still around if because it was the Queen who hired me and the King is honoring her pre-death wishes. Something of the sort, at least.” Dante was speaking out of turn and his words, if heard by someone who wished him or Nasrin any harm, could be risky indeed.
In all honesty, he would much rather remain there besides her, nudging their strained relationship along. He had little idea of what exactly the two of them had. There was definitely something there between him and Nasrin that was brewing over each moment that they spent interacting with one another.
He had always fancied himself as being on the lookout for the woman who would be the right one. He had gone through woman after woman, always initiating the relationships himself and having them end it as they wished. Dante was looking for stubbornness and an ability to hold one’s own whenever he turned to a new lady who met his fancy. He was not simply chasing skirts because he wished to bed wenches as he pleased. Because, he had reasoned to himself more than once, if he went through many women then undoubtedly one day he would find the one the Seven had meant for him.
It was a childish thought and one that he would not every freely share (maybe one day he would, but he would not openly admit this to just about anyone).
“Is that your way of thanking me for the flower?” He could not help but laugh aloud at her statement of him messing up her hair. “You are a remarkable woman, Nasrin, do you know that?” Reaching out for her, he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture, yet one that held a surprising amount of intimacy.
His hand lingered by her face for a few moments, fingertips grazing against the skin of her cheekbone before he unwillingly withdrew it. “Tell me more about yourself, Nasrin. A dream. A fear, even. Tell me something I do not know and, in return, I will tell you something.” He took her hand again and slipped it through his arm, offering to continue to lead her though the gardens.
For now it felt as if they had the whole afternoon to themselves. Whatever was going on about in the castle was no longer a concern. All that mattered was the simple joy of the day and the way the fresh air carried with it the scents of musk and flowers that made up the sprawling gardens. Though the carefully kept flowerbed and trimmed trees were by far nothing compared to the unfettered beauty of an actual forest, they still made for a very agreeable day.
~~~NUALA~~~
A Past Memory
Etain ran alongside her, blonde hair whipping about like a tattered flag. Etain was laughing and even Nuala had somewhat of a smile on her visage. They were both sisters in a way. Not by blood, of course, as the two looked nothing alike. By something stronger. Some shared sense of togetherness that had held them near one another, some mutual understanding and platonic love which pulled them to one another like moths to a common flame. Or, if you will, both of them moths and both of them flames.
“When my husband steals me away, he’ll be strong enough to beat me in a fight,” Etain announced as she scaled a series of rocks and then turned back to look over her shoulder and down at Nuala. “I think I’ll give him three sons and a daughter. That way the boys will beat up all of the weaklings who look at their sister.”
Nuala laughed and set herself to climb up after Etain, settling herself down on a stretch of rock beside her friend. “I’m sure you’ll beat them more than those three boys combined ever could.” She nudged Etain. The blonde flung her arms around Nuala’s shoulders and squeezed her tightly.
“Our cubs will be strong. They would fight a lot if they grew together. Fight and play, and live.” Etain snuggled closer to Nuala. “Someday maybe they will cross the Wall. Someday maybe we will cross the Wall…and then they would live beyond it.”
“Etain?” It was more of a question to speak than anything else.
“Hm?” The response was muffled from the furs about Nuala’s shoulders, the ones into which Etain was leaning her head.
“Promise me you won’t name yours anything stupid?” Nuala let out a sudden laugh. Etain shoved her.
“We’ll find your mother one way or another, Nasrin. There’re plenty of guards about who can do a well enough job of looking after their Majesties.” Dante’s lips quirked into a smile at what Nasrin said about his duties to protect the King’s children. “Quite frankly, I think the only reason I’m still around if because it was the Queen who hired me and the King is honoring her pre-death wishes. Something of the sort, at least.” Dante was speaking out of turn and his words, if heard by someone who wished him or Nasrin any harm, could be risky indeed.
In all honesty, he would much rather remain there besides her, nudging their strained relationship along. He had little idea of what exactly the two of them had. There was definitely something there between him and Nasrin that was brewing over each moment that they spent interacting with one another.
He had always fancied himself as being on the lookout for the woman who would be the right one. He had gone through woman after woman, always initiating the relationships himself and having them end it as they wished. Dante was looking for stubbornness and an ability to hold one’s own whenever he turned to a new lady who met his fancy. He was not simply chasing skirts because he wished to bed wenches as he pleased. Because, he had reasoned to himself more than once, if he went through many women then undoubtedly one day he would find the one the Seven had meant for him.
It was a childish thought and one that he would not every freely share (maybe one day he would, but he would not openly admit this to just about anyone).
“Is that your way of thanking me for the flower?” He could not help but laugh aloud at her statement of him messing up her hair. “You are a remarkable woman, Nasrin, do you know that?” Reaching out for her, he tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. It was a simple gesture, yet one that held a surprising amount of intimacy.
His hand lingered by her face for a few moments, fingertips grazing against the skin of her cheekbone before he unwillingly withdrew it. “Tell me more about yourself, Nasrin. A dream. A fear, even. Tell me something I do not know and, in return, I will tell you something.” He took her hand again and slipped it through his arm, offering to continue to lead her though the gardens.
For now it felt as if they had the whole afternoon to themselves. Whatever was going on about in the castle was no longer a concern. All that mattered was the simple joy of the day and the way the fresh air carried with it the scents of musk and flowers that made up the sprawling gardens. Though the carefully kept flowerbed and trimmed trees were by far nothing compared to the unfettered beauty of an actual forest, they still made for a very agreeable day.
~~~NUALA~~~
A Past Memory
Etain ran alongside her, blonde hair whipping about like a tattered flag. Etain was laughing and even Nuala had somewhat of a smile on her visage. They were both sisters in a way. Not by blood, of course, as the two looked nothing alike. By something stronger. Some shared sense of togetherness that had held them near one another, some mutual understanding and platonic love which pulled them to one another like moths to a common flame. Or, if you will, both of them moths and both of them flames.
“When my husband steals me away, he’ll be strong enough to beat me in a fight,” Etain announced as she scaled a series of rocks and then turned back to look over her shoulder and down at Nuala. “I think I’ll give him three sons and a daughter. That way the boys will beat up all of the weaklings who look at their sister.”
Nuala laughed and set herself to climb up after Etain, settling herself down on a stretch of rock beside her friend. “I’m sure you’ll beat them more than those three boys combined ever could.” She nudged Etain. The blonde flung her arms around Nuala’s shoulders and squeezed her tightly.
“Our cubs will be strong. They would fight a lot if they grew together. Fight and play, and live.” Etain snuggled closer to Nuala. “Someday maybe they will cross the Wall. Someday maybe we will cross the Wall…and then they would live beyond it.”
“Etain?” It was more of a question to speak than anything else.
“Hm?” The response was muffled from the furs about Nuala’s shoulders, the ones into which Etain was leaning her head.
“Promise me you won’t name yours anything stupid?” Nuala let out a sudden laugh. Etain shoved her.
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Kenneth helped the tall woman off her horse, but he held onto her waist gently as she tripped slightly upon landing. The second he was sure she’d gotten her footing, Kenneth removed his hands and stepped back a respectable distance.
“Yes, of course. I believe the Lady Julia has kept her physician despite the many changes she’s made as of late. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” he replied to the rather forceful woman. It was odd how she spoke almost as a noble when she was just the maid of the little heiress child.
Speaking of, the poor thing had begun to cough. This sick little girl was all that was left of the Strake family. Kenneth remembered from his childhood that there had been more girl children in that household than a well stocked brothel, no disrespect intended towards any of the deceased however. It’s just that the number of children the late Lord Strake had fathered was well past Kenneth’s mathematical comprehension unless he sat down with ink and paper and allowed himself to make a tally. Even then, so many years had passed that he was fully certain he would forget more than a few of them. It wasn’t any wonder that the serving maid was overly fierce about her charge, then. A family’s entire heritage rested on the little girl’s, and therefore the maid’s, shoulders.
“Follow me and I'll situate you as best I can with rooms and hot water. Whatever you require, just ask,” he said to the group at large as he turned and led them into Cavanaugh Castle.
~
Hours later at a rather plain but hearty dinner, Kenneth sat down at the head of the long table in the Great Hall with a glass of water (Julia only allowed the staff to stock wine and Kenneth hated the stuff) while he and the refugee guests waited for Julia to make her fashionably late entrance.
Kenneth had gotten the small group taken care of before Julia popped out of her rooms sometime before noon to request a glass of wine and a platter of pickled bird's eggs. He’d told her then that they had guests and that he expected her to leave them alone while they spent the day resting from their journey. She hadn’t been please, nosy as she was, but he’d threatened to lock her in her rooms without anything to eat until dinner if she didn’t. As the day progressed, Kenneth saw that his minor threat seemed to have worked.
He could hardly take his eyes from the tall serving woman whom he sat two seats down from his right. The old man took right hand precedence. “Or should I have sat them on my left? Damn. Well, they aren’t nobility so I’m sure they’ll hardly notice,” he thought as he glanced away from her for a moment.
He wasn’t trying to be rude towards her, but the dress she’d obviously borrowed looked terrible. He felt some pity towards her that she had to wear that pink eyesore after having her home burned down and her charge almost killed. Kenneth took a sip of water. Blacksmith's didn't have to host guests at a dinner, even if this occasion was more casual than a ceremony. He didn't know what to say, so the silence at the table grew while he could only take drink after drink from his cup.
~
When Julia finally came down for dinner, she could only see the backs of their guests’ heads from her entrance point, so she didn’t recognize Lady Strake, at first. What she did immediately notice was that Kenneth was in her seat at the head of the table. Julia scowled for a moment before putting on her most gracious smile, the news she had for him would certainly earn her seat back and much more, or she would complain directly to her beloved about her poor treatment here.
Julia was daydreaming about King Henry’s love letter as she took a seat at Kenneth’s left. She almost didn’t notice when the servers came out bearing food, but the smell of a delicious roast reached her nose, and she forgot all about Henry and her news as her plate and cup were filled with food and wine.
It wasn’t until after the first course that Julia looked up at the other people at the table. She had been taking a sip of wine when she had spotted Jane Strake of all people, and in a darling gown that really didn’t suit her sallow looking skin.
“Dear Lady Strake!” Julia exclaimed. “Why in the world are you here at my home? Do you like my old dress? I’m sure the servants could have found you something more dour looking to wear. Pink really makes you look more awful than usual,” she finished with a big bright smile.
”This is wonderful!” she thought. I can upset two birds with one stone while that ugly thing is here.
Kenneth almost choked on a sip of water. He looked at who he'd assumed was the serving woman and said a little too loudly, “You are Lady Strake?”
“Of course she is Kenneth,” Julia answered before Jane could. “You can’t have been gone so long as to forget her. Why, her very height should have given you a clue. No other woman is so mannish in stature,” she grinned. “What fun that they don’t remember each other!”
Kenneth couldn’t react with anything more than a long stare at Jane. This moment was almost as embarrassing as the last time he’d seen her. His ears were as red as he remembered them being, anyway. He’d thought her dead in the fire with the others, especially when she called the child the Strake heiress.
Collecting himself, he snapped at his sister, “You will not talk that way about our guest, Julia. If you want to act like an adult who has some manners, feel free to stay. Otherwise, I’m sure I can find someone to escort you to your room.”
Julia’s grin faded to a look of anger. “You can’t talk to me like that, Kenneth Cavanaugh. No one can talk to their Queen like that!”
There, the news was out. The reveal wasn’t exactly how she pictured it, but that would teach Kenneth to be disrespectful when she’d only been trying to help. And that Strake woman should feel honored to wear the dress of a Queen, no matter how awful she looked in it.
”So there,” she thought as she pouted into her wine cup.
“Yes, of course. I believe the Lady Julia has kept her physician despite the many changes she’s made as of late. You are welcome to stay here as long as you like,” he replied to the rather forceful woman. It was odd how she spoke almost as a noble when she was just the maid of the little heiress child.
Speaking of, the poor thing had begun to cough. This sick little girl was all that was left of the Strake family. Kenneth remembered from his childhood that there had been more girl children in that household than a well stocked brothel, no disrespect intended towards any of the deceased however. It’s just that the number of children the late Lord Strake had fathered was well past Kenneth’s mathematical comprehension unless he sat down with ink and paper and allowed himself to make a tally. Even then, so many years had passed that he was fully certain he would forget more than a few of them. It wasn’t any wonder that the serving maid was overly fierce about her charge, then. A family’s entire heritage rested on the little girl’s, and therefore the maid’s, shoulders.
“Follow me and I'll situate you as best I can with rooms and hot water. Whatever you require, just ask,” he said to the group at large as he turned and led them into Cavanaugh Castle.
~
Hours later at a rather plain but hearty dinner, Kenneth sat down at the head of the long table in the Great Hall with a glass of water (Julia only allowed the staff to stock wine and Kenneth hated the stuff) while he and the refugee guests waited for Julia to make her fashionably late entrance.
Kenneth had gotten the small group taken care of before Julia popped out of her rooms sometime before noon to request a glass of wine and a platter of pickled bird's eggs. He’d told her then that they had guests and that he expected her to leave them alone while they spent the day resting from their journey. She hadn’t been please, nosy as she was, but he’d threatened to lock her in her rooms without anything to eat until dinner if she didn’t. As the day progressed, Kenneth saw that his minor threat seemed to have worked.
He could hardly take his eyes from the tall serving woman whom he sat two seats down from his right. The old man took right hand precedence. “Or should I have sat them on my left? Damn. Well, they aren’t nobility so I’m sure they’ll hardly notice,” he thought as he glanced away from her for a moment.
He wasn’t trying to be rude towards her, but the dress she’d obviously borrowed looked terrible. He felt some pity towards her that she had to wear that pink eyesore after having her home burned down and her charge almost killed. Kenneth took a sip of water. Blacksmith's didn't have to host guests at a dinner, even if this occasion was more casual than a ceremony. He didn't know what to say, so the silence at the table grew while he could only take drink after drink from his cup.
~
When Julia finally came down for dinner, she could only see the backs of their guests’ heads from her entrance point, so she didn’t recognize Lady Strake, at first. What she did immediately notice was that Kenneth was in her seat at the head of the table. Julia scowled for a moment before putting on her most gracious smile, the news she had for him would certainly earn her seat back and much more, or she would complain directly to her beloved about her poor treatment here.
Julia was daydreaming about King Henry’s love letter as she took a seat at Kenneth’s left. She almost didn’t notice when the servers came out bearing food, but the smell of a delicious roast reached her nose, and she forgot all about Henry and her news as her plate and cup were filled with food and wine.
It wasn’t until after the first course that Julia looked up at the other people at the table. She had been taking a sip of wine when she had spotted Jane Strake of all people, and in a darling gown that really didn’t suit her sallow looking skin.
“Dear Lady Strake!” Julia exclaimed. “Why in the world are you here at my home? Do you like my old dress? I’m sure the servants could have found you something more dour looking to wear. Pink really makes you look more awful than usual,” she finished with a big bright smile.
”This is wonderful!” she thought. I can upset two birds with one stone while that ugly thing is here.
Kenneth almost choked on a sip of water. He looked at who he'd assumed was the serving woman and said a little too loudly, “You are Lady Strake?”
“Of course she is Kenneth,” Julia answered before Jane could. “You can’t have been gone so long as to forget her. Why, her very height should have given you a clue. No other woman is so mannish in stature,” she grinned. “What fun that they don’t remember each other!”
Kenneth couldn’t react with anything more than a long stare at Jane. This moment was almost as embarrassing as the last time he’d seen her. His ears were as red as he remembered them being, anyway. He’d thought her dead in the fire with the others, especially when she called the child the Strake heiress.
Collecting himself, he snapped at his sister, “You will not talk that way about our guest, Julia. If you want to act like an adult who has some manners, feel free to stay. Otherwise, I’m sure I can find someone to escort you to your room.”
Julia’s grin faded to a look of anger. “You can’t talk to me like that, Kenneth Cavanaugh. No one can talk to their Queen like that!”
There, the news was out. The reveal wasn’t exactly how she pictured it, but that would teach Kenneth to be disrespectful when she’d only been trying to help. And that Strake woman should feel honored to wear the dress of a Queen, no matter how awful she looked in it.
”So there,” she thought as she pouted into her wine cup.
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The Dinning hall of the Vale was alive with the warm crackling of a fire. It was early evening and the sunset painted a colored wash along the stone walls. The room was mostly silent, Emaya was still grieving, as was always the case when the two off them visited her mother's grave. Teralo was mulling over not only her but also the safety of Jamie. It was understandably difficult to get word from the field and the extended times spent without word worried Teralo to no end.
A small meal of pork, potatoes, and some kale was finishing preparation for the two sitting at the table. Like usual a third plate was prepared, just for the slight chance that Lord Benjamin decided to escape his room and join Teralo for dinner. It was interesting, and scary for Teralo to think about how quickly his father became Lord Benjamin instead of Lord Winsler. It shouldn't have surprised him in the least, it was after all a well known fact that his father was no longer sane, but it did, and it was saddening. Benjamin was once a great man, a hard man albeit, but a good man. At one point in time he was probably one of the best lords this mountain fortress ever had, and he was smart. But when Mother died, Benjamin's soul died with her. Teralo was convinced that the only thing keeping his father alive was his need to avenge mother's death. Father, where have you gone.
A stack of papers was situated to the left of Teralo just within arms reach. It was never a good idea to work while sitting for dinner, but the work of a lord was endless, and Teralo needed it to keep himself from retreating away like his father had. Since his Father completely gave up on the duties of a lord, Jamie leading battles somewhere in the south, and Kervall a hostage in the Red Keep, the duties of the Lord of the Vale fell to Teralo's shoulders. It was difficult, sometimes boring work, but almost as necessary as Jamie was in leading the war. One aspect of the Vale that Teralo was ever grateful for though was the fact that the Lands of the Vale held little political intrigue. This was partly in cause because few houses were based in it's lands and it's populations were small. That was one of Father's greatest achievements, linking the people of the Vale together. As a result there was almost no aggressive political intrigue. Which was a godsend for Teralo, he was not Kervall, he could not maneuver politics. The collection of papers consisted of harvest notes, tax incomes, construction and reconstruction efforts, but most importantly war time preparation and stockpiling.
The hall's main door was opened and the surprising sight of his Lord Father striding into the hall. He seemed furious about something, but the look in his eyes showed Teralo that it had nothing to do with him or the fact that Emaya was once again eating with the lord family. His eyes, while angry, were still glazed over slightly. It was quite evident that his mind was not in the present, or more accurately only part of it was in the present. His ramblings and delusions had only become worse over the past weeks as Jamie pushed their father from his Lordship in all but name. Benjamin probably knew it but wouldn't acknowledge it, further adding to his condition. He needed to come back to reality. At least enough that Benjamin Winsler can help their family through the war they were in. Teralo knew plenty of military strategy, but he was not warrior, soldiers do not follow a bookish youth. They crack jokes about them. Teralo needed his father.
"Father, Dinner is about to be served. Would you care to join us?" Teralo said doing his best to make sure his words did not display his thoughts.
A small meal of pork, potatoes, and some kale was finishing preparation for the two sitting at the table. Like usual a third plate was prepared, just for the slight chance that Lord Benjamin decided to escape his room and join Teralo for dinner. It was interesting, and scary for Teralo to think about how quickly his father became Lord Benjamin instead of Lord Winsler. It shouldn't have surprised him in the least, it was after all a well known fact that his father was no longer sane, but it did, and it was saddening. Benjamin was once a great man, a hard man albeit, but a good man. At one point in time he was probably one of the best lords this mountain fortress ever had, and he was smart. But when Mother died, Benjamin's soul died with her. Teralo was convinced that the only thing keeping his father alive was his need to avenge mother's death. Father, where have you gone.
A stack of papers was situated to the left of Teralo just within arms reach. It was never a good idea to work while sitting for dinner, but the work of a lord was endless, and Teralo needed it to keep himself from retreating away like his father had. Since his Father completely gave up on the duties of a lord, Jamie leading battles somewhere in the south, and Kervall a hostage in the Red Keep, the duties of the Lord of the Vale fell to Teralo's shoulders. It was difficult, sometimes boring work, but almost as necessary as Jamie was in leading the war. One aspect of the Vale that Teralo was ever grateful for though was the fact that the Lands of the Vale held little political intrigue. This was partly in cause because few houses were based in it's lands and it's populations were small. That was one of Father's greatest achievements, linking the people of the Vale together. As a result there was almost no aggressive political intrigue. Which was a godsend for Teralo, he was not Kervall, he could not maneuver politics. The collection of papers consisted of harvest notes, tax incomes, construction and reconstruction efforts, but most importantly war time preparation and stockpiling.
The hall's main door was opened and the surprising sight of his Lord Father striding into the hall. He seemed furious about something, but the look in his eyes showed Teralo that it had nothing to do with him or the fact that Emaya was once again eating with the lord family. His eyes, while angry, were still glazed over slightly. It was quite evident that his mind was not in the present, or more accurately only part of it was in the present. His ramblings and delusions had only become worse over the past weeks as Jamie pushed their father from his Lordship in all but name. Benjamin probably knew it but wouldn't acknowledge it, further adding to his condition. He needed to come back to reality. At least enough that Benjamin Winsler can help their family through the war they were in. Teralo knew plenty of military strategy, but he was not warrior, soldiers do not follow a bookish youth. They crack jokes about them. Teralo needed his father.
"Father, Dinner is about to be served. Would you care to join us?" Teralo said doing his best to make sure his words did not display his thoughts.
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Maryn raised an amused eyebrow when it was the She-wolf who replied to him first. Everyone knew that the She-wolf had fallen out of the sky just like the Beggar King. If there was anything Maryn was good at, it was sniffing out gold. He was not fooled by her little hand going to her belt shenanigan. If anyone in this room (ok, tent) had money, it was the Flower-man. Quite possible even Lionel. He half expected her to draw a knife of some sort, like a cliché story.
“Aukagla-“Maryn uttered a strangled garble as Leliana’s foot connected solidly with his most important place. He was not surprised that she had vouched to injure him, but having taken no evasive action, it hurt all the same.
“Thank you,” muttered Quin from the floor.
“Ow! Ow ow ow ow oooowwww,” howled Maryn, drowning him out. He clutched at his man parts and shot Leliana a pained look.
“How is a man like a deer?” asked Leliana creepily. She had advanced toward Maryn eerily, almost ferally. Maryn hopped out of her kicking range, still holding his hands protectively over his Precious. Quin sat up in alarm, ignoring the throb of pain that came with it.
“Leli-“he started to say. Gee, so this is what happens when you take a three month mental vacation. Quin didn’t remember this Leliana.
“A man is like a deer because…come now, it’s not hard…”
Unfortunately for Maryn, he must have been born without a sense of fear, or else had misplaced it sometime in his convoluted life. He shot Leliana a scathing look. “Men and deer don’t kick each other in the freaking cock and balls. That’s a woman’s job!”
“Keep a leash on this wolf girl, man!” Maryn said sulkily to Lionel. And pay me, he beamed mentally.
“Aukagla-“Maryn uttered a strangled garble as Leliana’s foot connected solidly with his most important place. He was not surprised that she had vouched to injure him, but having taken no evasive action, it hurt all the same.
“Thank you,” muttered Quin from the floor.
“Ow! Ow ow ow ow oooowwww,” howled Maryn, drowning him out. He clutched at his man parts and shot Leliana a pained look.
“How is a man like a deer?” asked Leliana creepily. She had advanced toward Maryn eerily, almost ferally. Maryn hopped out of her kicking range, still holding his hands protectively over his Precious. Quin sat up in alarm, ignoring the throb of pain that came with it.
“Leli-“he started to say. Gee, so this is what happens when you take a three month mental vacation. Quin didn’t remember this Leliana.
“A man is like a deer because…come now, it’s not hard…”
Unfortunately for Maryn, he must have been born without a sense of fear, or else had misplaced it sometime in his convoluted life. He shot Leliana a scathing look. “Men and deer don’t kick each other in the freaking cock and balls. That’s a woman’s job!”
“Keep a leash on this wolf girl, man!” Maryn said sulkily to Lionel. And pay me, he beamed mentally.
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Jane noted, with satisfaction, that Julia had only grown more piggish in appearance over the years. The satisfaction disappeared when she realized that Lord Cavanaugh was not Julia's husband - he was, apparently, Kenneth, who she distinctly remembered having been dead for the past fourteen or fifteen years. He seemed just as shocked to discover she was Lady Strake. The insults she disregarded. They were the same flaws in her appearance she had always known about and she'd overcome her insecurities with age. And learned to use them to her advantage ... being tall, she'd learned, help to subtly intimidate.
No one can talk to their Queen like that? She fancied herself a little Queen now? Truly, it was another self-centered drop in judgment.
"What?" she asked, unable to hide the amusement she felt. "Have you been betrothed to King Henry?"
No, she expected. We are at war.
~
Benjamin did not notice Teralo until he spoke. The frown on his face disappeared and was replaced by the ghost of a smile.
"Of course, son," he answered and took his place at the head of the table. His eyes landed on Emaya and the frown returned.
"And who is this? I'll not have a servant at the table, Teralo. I've told you before."
~
Henry barely acknowledged Ammon and Sirenna's departure.
"Lionel," he said to himself and sighed, standing over the flipped table. His eldest's name brought his youngest to mind and Henry turned to look at Raban, still there.
"Watch yourself around that pair," he warned. "We cannot trust messengers so easily."
Even though he had. Even though he would. It was only his father's long ago advice that made him repeat the words.
"Things will be changing soon," he continued, acted as though he would speak more, then did not.
How best to tell your son he would have a stepmother less than a year after his mother's death?
No one can talk to their Queen like that? She fancied herself a little Queen now? Truly, it was another self-centered drop in judgment.
"What?" she asked, unable to hide the amusement she felt. "Have you been betrothed to King Henry?"
No, she expected. We are at war.
~
Benjamin did not notice Teralo until he spoke. The frown on his face disappeared and was replaced by the ghost of a smile.
"Of course, son," he answered and took his place at the head of the table. His eyes landed on Emaya and the frown returned.
"And who is this? I'll not have a servant at the table, Teralo. I've told you before."
~
Henry barely acknowledged Ammon and Sirenna's departure.
"Lionel," he said to himself and sighed, standing over the flipped table. His eldest's name brought his youngest to mind and Henry turned to look at Raban, still there.
"Watch yourself around that pair," he warned. "We cannot trust messengers so easily."
Even though he had. Even though he would. It was only his father's long ago advice that made him repeat the words.
"Things will be changing soon," he continued, acted as though he would speak more, then did not.
How best to tell your son he would have a stepmother less than a year after his mother's death?
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Teralo watched quietly, studiously as his father drifted into the room, at least that's what it seemed to him. Benjamin appeared more and more like a ghost every day. Still he smiled, a very rare occurrence for Benjamin. Father usualy only smiled when he was either remembering how happy his marriage had been, or after a Damain had embarrassed themselves. The ghostly smile did not last for long though and while the frown returned, his voice did not change much pitch. Something must have happened.
"And who is this? I'll not have a servant at the table, Teralo. I've told you before."
Teralo sighed. Father did not even remember who Emaya was, he truly was far in the past now. "Father, This is Emaya Harte. She's not a servant but a very close friend of mine. Her father was a sworn knight to you, he perished protecting House Winsler and her mother was only recently taken by plague. She is my charge now and I would allow her to share a meal with us."
As Lord Winsler sat down the meal was brought out to the three of them, the meal starting in silence. "Father, there is something on your mind, won't you please share it? I may be able to help."
"And who is this? I'll not have a servant at the table, Teralo. I've told you before."
Teralo sighed. Father did not even remember who Emaya was, he truly was far in the past now. "Father, This is Emaya Harte. She's not a servant but a very close friend of mine. Her father was a sworn knight to you, he perished protecting House Winsler and her mother was only recently taken by plague. She is my charge now and I would allow her to share a meal with us."
As Lord Winsler sat down the meal was brought out to the three of them, the meal starting in silence. "Father, there is something on your mind, won't you please share it? I may be able to help."
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Lionel had been lost in thought, imagining different ways through which he would storm Winterfell with his forces. Penetrating Winterfell's sturdy defenses had been posing a rather interesting puzzle, but with the aid of House Thorneir, things were going to be almost embarrassingly simple. They had a way in, and more importantly, they had a different army to do the dirty work for them. Like any experienced commander, Lionel knew that the primary attack always suffered the most casualties. The best strategies involved an equally strong force to clean things up behind the primary attack. With House Thorneir so willing to risk their necks, Lionel's forces were going to get through the battle with significantly lower casualties. It was a wild stroke of fortune, and Lionel was going to make the most of it. The situation for tomorrow was looking better and better-
-and then that Mummer just had to come in and dump Leliana's uncle in front of them, setting off a sequence of the weirdest events Lionel had ever witnessed. Ser Quincel was bleeding from a leg wound for some reason, the Mummer who'd caught him was saying the most idiotic things he'd ever heard, Jon Tyrell's eyebrows were raised, Gynna looked to be on the edge of giggling, and Leliana was- he didn't even know. It was with a mixture of confusion and irritation that Lionel rose from his seat and put both hands on Leliana's shoulders, preventing her from doing any further harm.
"We're storming Winterfell on the morrow," he said testily, pulling Leliana backwards. He shot Maryn an annoyed look. "I don't need to deal with this nonsense. Go take a walk somewhere and come back when you've found your mind." Not the kindest or the most sensitive words, but then, it was Lionel. His mind was solely on the upcoming battle; any considerations he might have had for Leliana's feelings had flown out the window in face of the excitement of battle. "Jans, come walk with me. There are some specifics we need to go over. Jon, I'll meet your forces before the castle tomorrow. Gynna, good night. And Maryn, who said you could go and stab him? I wanted him unharmed. Abide by my orders or, by the Seven, get the fuck out."
~
The invasion was going better than he could have hoped. House Thorneir had, surprisingly, actually done what their messenger said they would. Lionel had been expecting a trap, but the gates of Winterfell opened wide with embarrassing ease, letting the troops of House Thorneir storm inside. The Braavosi, as soon as they saw the scuffles near the gate, were raring to join in, but Lionel held them back. He didn't want to do more than he had to do, especially when his army was barely two thirds the size of the Greyhardt's. Let House Thorneir suffer the most casualties. We'll make it look like we were the ones that won the battle. It was a simple enough strategy, and a familiar one to Lionel. House Thorneir would struggle, and then they would begin to lose. But in the nick of time, Lionel's army would flood the gates and save their frostbitten asses. It would forever bind House Thorneir to their debt, and make them look stronger than they actually were.
"The gates are closing," Reuben called suddenly. The boy had shimmied up a tree to observe the battle, as Lionel's army was a good third of a mile away, far enough so that arrows would have difficulty finding them. "Catboy, the gates are-"
"I heard you." Lionel shouted back. Jans looked at him expectantly, but Lionel still made no move to lead the charge.
"The gates are closing really fast…"
"Let them close." Lionel said. Contrary to what his men thought, they weren't taking advantage of the gates to get into the castle. There were other ways- tunnels, windows, side entrances. They would gut Winterfell from within, striking from unpredictable angles while the main forces were concentrated around House Thorneir's troops. Give it three…two…
"House Thorneir's going to get slaughtered…"
"Alright, go!" Lionel shouted.
The sound the Bastard King's army made as it stormed through the forest was something akin to the rumbling of an angry giant. The Mummers had been directed to filter into the castle through passageways underground, reappearing on the other side like some sort of osmosis. Tyrell's men attacked the gatehouse; they would be the ones who appeared to be House Thorneir's saviours. The Braavosi lost control completely, shrieking with excitement. Fortunately, they didn't lose their heads to such an extent that they forgot the strategies Lionel had drilled into their heads. They launched grappling hooks over the wall after they circled around Winterfell and scaled quickly upwards, jamming their knives into cracks in the stone for a stronger hold.
Lionel followed the Braavosi. He was intent on only one person's head- namely, Lord Greyhardt's. Richard Greyhardt, of course, was a worry- but he had seen Richard engaging the Mummers in combat, and doubted that his interference would be a great help. The boy was a dead man, considering the sheer number of Mummers he'd been forced to take on.
Where is…
The Keep. The lord of the castle would be in the Keep.
"Lord Greyhardt! My father's favorite dog. Nice sword you've got there," Lionel sneered as he caught sight of Nathaniel Greyhardt. The Lord of the castle was the head of the snake. If he killed or captured Nathaniel Greyhardt, Winterfell was his. As long as the Greyhardts were alive and free, there would be resistance. But with them out of the way, the lesser houses sworn to them would have no leader to turn towards, no rallying point.
"Wolfclaw, I think it was called? Let's see how it fares against Night." Lionel unsheathed his hand-and-half sword in one, swift motion, letting the blade whistle in two circular strokes to gain momentum before he launched himself at Lord Greyhardt.
-and then that Mummer just had to come in and dump Leliana's uncle in front of them, setting off a sequence of the weirdest events Lionel had ever witnessed. Ser Quincel was bleeding from a leg wound for some reason, the Mummer who'd caught him was saying the most idiotic things he'd ever heard, Jon Tyrell's eyebrows were raised, Gynna looked to be on the edge of giggling, and Leliana was- he didn't even know. It was with a mixture of confusion and irritation that Lionel rose from his seat and put both hands on Leliana's shoulders, preventing her from doing any further harm.
"We're storming Winterfell on the morrow," he said testily, pulling Leliana backwards. He shot Maryn an annoyed look. "I don't need to deal with this nonsense. Go take a walk somewhere and come back when you've found your mind." Not the kindest or the most sensitive words, but then, it was Lionel. His mind was solely on the upcoming battle; any considerations he might have had for Leliana's feelings had flown out the window in face of the excitement of battle. "Jans, come walk with me. There are some specifics we need to go over. Jon, I'll meet your forces before the castle tomorrow. Gynna, good night. And Maryn, who said you could go and stab him? I wanted him unharmed. Abide by my orders or, by the Seven, get the fuck out."
~
The invasion was going better than he could have hoped. House Thorneir had, surprisingly, actually done what their messenger said they would. Lionel had been expecting a trap, but the gates of Winterfell opened wide with embarrassing ease, letting the troops of House Thorneir storm inside. The Braavosi, as soon as they saw the scuffles near the gate, were raring to join in, but Lionel held them back. He didn't want to do more than he had to do, especially when his army was barely two thirds the size of the Greyhardt's. Let House Thorneir suffer the most casualties. We'll make it look like we were the ones that won the battle. It was a simple enough strategy, and a familiar one to Lionel. House Thorneir would struggle, and then they would begin to lose. But in the nick of time, Lionel's army would flood the gates and save their frostbitten asses. It would forever bind House Thorneir to their debt, and make them look stronger than they actually were.
"The gates are closing," Reuben called suddenly. The boy had shimmied up a tree to observe the battle, as Lionel's army was a good third of a mile away, far enough so that arrows would have difficulty finding them. "Catboy, the gates are-"
"I heard you." Lionel shouted back. Jans looked at him expectantly, but Lionel still made no move to lead the charge.
"The gates are closing really fast…"
"Let them close." Lionel said. Contrary to what his men thought, they weren't taking advantage of the gates to get into the castle. There were other ways- tunnels, windows, side entrances. They would gut Winterfell from within, striking from unpredictable angles while the main forces were concentrated around House Thorneir's troops. Give it three…two…
"House Thorneir's going to get slaughtered…"
"Alright, go!" Lionel shouted.
The sound the Bastard King's army made as it stormed through the forest was something akin to the rumbling of an angry giant. The Mummers had been directed to filter into the castle through passageways underground, reappearing on the other side like some sort of osmosis. Tyrell's men attacked the gatehouse; they would be the ones who appeared to be House Thorneir's saviours. The Braavosi lost control completely, shrieking with excitement. Fortunately, they didn't lose their heads to such an extent that they forgot the strategies Lionel had drilled into their heads. They launched grappling hooks over the wall after they circled around Winterfell and scaled quickly upwards, jamming their knives into cracks in the stone for a stronger hold.
Lionel followed the Braavosi. He was intent on only one person's head- namely, Lord Greyhardt's. Richard Greyhardt, of course, was a worry- but he had seen Richard engaging the Mummers in combat, and doubted that his interference would be a great help. The boy was a dead man, considering the sheer number of Mummers he'd been forced to take on.
Where is…
The Keep. The lord of the castle would be in the Keep.
"Lord Greyhardt! My father's favorite dog. Nice sword you've got there," Lionel sneered as he caught sight of Nathaniel Greyhardt. The Lord of the castle was the head of the snake. If he killed or captured Nathaniel Greyhardt, Winterfell was his. As long as the Greyhardts were alive and free, there would be resistance. But with them out of the way, the lesser houses sworn to them would have no leader to turn towards, no rallying point.
"Wolfclaw, I think it was called? Let's see how it fares against Night." Lionel unsheathed his hand-and-half sword in one, swift motion, letting the blade whistle in two circular strokes to gain momentum before he launched himself at Lord Greyhardt.
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[Fuahhh, finally. >____o]
;; Nasrin Cavendish ;;
“Perhaps. But they might think you have betrayed them and gone over to the Winslers if you suddenly disappear.” She pointed out, not at all afraid of being caught talking of such matters. She was always bitter towards the nobles and royals, and said what she thought unless it was absolutely going to get her outright killed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the King has animosity towards you—you did throw a knife at his son’s face.” It seemed that he really did want to come along and help her find her mother. And why in the world would he want to do that? Why—why would be care?
His laughter reached her and she did her best to mask the corner of her lip that was being tugged at like a trout on a fishing line—she frowned, but it didn’t exactly have the most intimidating effect when she was trying not to smile.
“You are a remarkable woman, Nasrin, do you know that?” he grinned, and only then was she able to get her face under her regime again.
“No, I don’t,” she retorted, her expression flat. And in truth, she really didn’t—she was no remarkable woman, she was a stubborn one. No one in their right mind would call her a remarkable woman, not when she was head strong, outspoken, and not exactly the most kind lady one would encounter.
And yet she sucked in a short breath without even realizing it when he tucked a strand of her hair away, his fingers ghosting over her cheek tenderly. This time she did not blush, but stared back at him as if to bore holes into him to see what was inside. He confused her, and not a lot of people confused her, especially not men. She had always thought of him as nothing more than a scruffy womanizer, but his actions and words no longer sounded like the words of one. She didn’t know whether it meant she had been tricked into his charm like the others, or if he was not being a skirt-chaser anymore. Both explanations seemed unlikely, but she wasn’t sure what else to think.
He suddenly asked her to tell him something about her—something that he did not know. Nasrin was briefly without words to speak—what was she supposed to tell him? Nobody had ever asked her about things like that, except perhaps her mother—and that was nearly a decade ago. What were her dreams? What were her fears? She did not pull away when he took her hand and slipped it into the crook of his arm, either too deep in thought to care or used to his actions by now.
A dream…a fear… Her lips parted and words tumbled out before she really thought of them.
“I…I used to think that I could get away from being here at court.” She said quietly. “But now I fear it’s not possible anymore. Sometimes I feel…don’t you ever feel like the walls are closing in on you? Court is a goblet of poisoned wine that I have no choice to drink from to live and to die. Either dry up to death or be poisoned, but the end is the same. A death in a place I never wished to be.”
She had thought when she was younger that one day things would just amazingly go right—she wouldn’t have to be the heir, her father would stop being so demanding, her mother would be able to live with her, that she would be able to go home and live like she had wanted to. Just as a normal girl in the country, making through each day with honest hard work, not sugar-coated lies and corrupted intentions. She wasn’t sure when that dream had faded away, but Nasrin now thought it was not possible. She would end up being married to some detested noble and made lady of the household Cavendish, forced to act like a proper lady and forced to lie for their own benefits.
She looked up at him with her sharp inquisitive eyes. “There, I have given you both—a dream and a fear intertwined. What were you going to tell me?”
--
;; Isabel Greyhardt ;;
Isabel had been deep in her reading once more when pandemonium broke out. She stumbled up from her chair, eyes wide with a fear that was rapidly becoming reality—an attack—an attack, as she had feared. She rushed to the window, nearly tripping in her haste, and saw havoc. Her fair face drained of the little color it had left, and whirled around at the frantic knocking at her door. “Lady Isabel! Lady Isabel!” She flung open the door to see the middle aged handmaid, her eyes confirming the worst. “We are under attack! You father, he is out there, and all sorts of men are attacking us! These aren’t the Damiens or the Winslers!”
Isabel could not help but feel a tremble rip through her. “How could that be? Our gates—our gates!”
“I do not know, milady, I do not know! All I know is that we are all doomed—oh, the Seven, help us!” Isabel felt dread rising up in her, a sickness like the urge to vomit making her dizzy. She caught the older woman’s shoulders and shook them, trying hard to keep from panicking entirely.
Leliana. Was she here? Was she here, part of the attack on her own home? Trying to murder her own family? Trying to kill mother, Richard, father, and Isabel as well? If she could convince her sister—if she could try and stop her sister with reason, then all might not be lost. Did not her sister have a shred of love in her for her family? If she could win over her sister, Leli may be able to coax that damned Lionel to stop this.
“Kathryn! Listen! Listen to me! Leliana—my sister! Is she here? A-are there reports of her being here as well?”
“I know not…I do not know, milady,” Kathryn sobbed, face the color of wax. “The Seven have forsaken us…”
Isabel did not remain in her chambers to hear any more of the maid’s blubbering, rushing out of the room and making her way down the many, winding stairs despite Kathryn’s worried protests. She would find Leliana and make her see sense again.
She rushed past the panicking servants, trying to get outside. Leli was here, she was sure of it—she had to be here, as much as she wished she wasn’t.
---
;; Sirena D'Airelle ;;
Sirena’s smoky green eyes darted to the little boy at Ammon’s words, and quickly took in the sight of princeling they were supposed to kill. Such an innocent looking boy, though plagued with sadness deep within him. Such a pity he was born to this family—she almost felt bad for him. What was he, ten? He might be a bit older, but he was on the skinny side that made him look younger. She gave him a smile, a quick, fleeting one that he might have not even been able to catch. Were they going to kill him? Maybe.
Perhaps she and Ammon would flip a coin once more—that always proved to be entertaining.
She smiled devilishly back at Ammon as they left, a mischievous glint entering her eyes at his whispered words. Often they did not need to speak—they usually had a similar train of thought. And of course, it was the same this time as well. “Indeed. I have no intention of doing anything while my body aches.” No intention of celebrating until she was patched up and could stretch out an arm without wincing, anyways. “I am sure…this will all be worth our time.” Her words were soft, her lips barely moving at all to conceal their conversation. Sirena kept her head bowed though her neck hurt—she was not used to keeping her head down. She was always confidant, head held high with a devil-may-care smile on her lips.
Ah, but this would pay well in the end. In the end, she and Ammon would be the ones laughing, content with their deeds and trickery.
--
Feeling much better than before, Sirena cast a critical eye at herself in the looking glass, scrutinizing her appearance. Maesters were always good at what they did, and now she felt like she could win some brawls. The servants had been smart enough not to give her anything fancy—she was clothed in a simple dress of forest green, one that matched her eyes well. Her hair was done up in an equally simple style, and Sirena couldn’t help but feel almost nostalgic. Wasn’t this a lot how she had dressed when her father was alive? She did not miss that life—oh no. The life of a Bloody Mummer was for her, not the life of a wealthy little girl.
She pulled at the full skirt, not so happy about the long length. She was used to her short skirts and such things, not these long things. She liked having her legs free and without anything in the way—pure speed was a large part of her fighting style. Oh well, sacrifices would be sacrifices. Sirena would start pushing for her ideals on clothing soon enough when they had the King’s trust for good—for now she would stay quiet. For now.
Sirena reached up and fingered at her hair until some strands came loose to fall about the sides of her face. She liked her hair loose. She raised her eyebrows at herself in the mirror—she guessed she looked more like herself now. The maid next to her watched with disinterest, and Sirena turned to her. “Is my companion doing well?” Her voice, though humble, had an edge of a demand and the maid looked up at her, as if surprised.
“Well, I suppose he is dressing…” She blinked, but Sirena stared at her until the girl went to the door to look out into the hallway. “He’s out in here, miss.”
Sirena walked past the woman and out into the hallway, nodding at Ammon. “Well, you look much better,” she said to him, a hint of a smirk in her voice. It was probably the first time he had ever seen her in a proper dress, but that didn’t bother her. Loreley was not with her, but she had three daggers hidden on her person. Never go around unprepared.
“Perhaps. But they might think you have betrayed them and gone over to the Winslers if you suddenly disappear.” She pointed out, not at all afraid of being caught talking of such matters. She was always bitter towards the nobles and royals, and said what she thought unless it was absolutely going to get her outright killed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if the King has animosity towards you—you did throw a knife at his son’s face.” It seemed that he really did want to come along and help her find her mother. And why in the world would he want to do that? Why—why would be care?
His laughter reached her and she did her best to mask the corner of her lip that was being tugged at like a trout on a fishing line—she frowned, but it didn’t exactly have the most intimidating effect when she was trying not to smile.
“You are a remarkable woman, Nasrin, do you know that?” he grinned, and only then was she able to get her face under her regime again.
“No, I don’t,” she retorted, her expression flat. And in truth, she really didn’t—she was no remarkable woman, she was a stubborn one. No one in their right mind would call her a remarkable woman, not when she was head strong, outspoken, and not exactly the most kind lady one would encounter.
And yet she sucked in a short breath without even realizing it when he tucked a strand of her hair away, his fingers ghosting over her cheek tenderly. This time she did not blush, but stared back at him as if to bore holes into him to see what was inside. He confused her, and not a lot of people confused her, especially not men. She had always thought of him as nothing more than a scruffy womanizer, but his actions and words no longer sounded like the words of one. She didn’t know whether it meant she had been tricked into his charm like the others, or if he was not being a skirt-chaser anymore. Both explanations seemed unlikely, but she wasn’t sure what else to think.
He suddenly asked her to tell him something about her—something that he did not know. Nasrin was briefly without words to speak—what was she supposed to tell him? Nobody had ever asked her about things like that, except perhaps her mother—and that was nearly a decade ago. What were her dreams? What were her fears? She did not pull away when he took her hand and slipped it into the crook of his arm, either too deep in thought to care or used to his actions by now.
A dream…a fear… Her lips parted and words tumbled out before she really thought of them.
“I…I used to think that I could get away from being here at court.” She said quietly. “But now I fear it’s not possible anymore. Sometimes I feel…don’t you ever feel like the walls are closing in on you? Court is a goblet of poisoned wine that I have no choice to drink from to live and to die. Either dry up to death or be poisoned, but the end is the same. A death in a place I never wished to be.”
She had thought when she was younger that one day things would just amazingly go right—she wouldn’t have to be the heir, her father would stop being so demanding, her mother would be able to live with her, that she would be able to go home and live like she had wanted to. Just as a normal girl in the country, making through each day with honest hard work, not sugar-coated lies and corrupted intentions. She wasn’t sure when that dream had faded away, but Nasrin now thought it was not possible. She would end up being married to some detested noble and made lady of the household Cavendish, forced to act like a proper lady and forced to lie for their own benefits.
She looked up at him with her sharp inquisitive eyes. “There, I have given you both—a dream and a fear intertwined. What were you going to tell me?”
--
;; Isabel Greyhardt ;;
Isabel had been deep in her reading once more when pandemonium broke out. She stumbled up from her chair, eyes wide with a fear that was rapidly becoming reality—an attack—an attack, as she had feared. She rushed to the window, nearly tripping in her haste, and saw havoc. Her fair face drained of the little color it had left, and whirled around at the frantic knocking at her door. “Lady Isabel! Lady Isabel!” She flung open the door to see the middle aged handmaid, her eyes confirming the worst. “We are under attack! You father, he is out there, and all sorts of men are attacking us! These aren’t the Damiens or the Winslers!”
Isabel could not help but feel a tremble rip through her. “How could that be? Our gates—our gates!”
“I do not know, milady, I do not know! All I know is that we are all doomed—oh, the Seven, help us!” Isabel felt dread rising up in her, a sickness like the urge to vomit making her dizzy. She caught the older woman’s shoulders and shook them, trying hard to keep from panicking entirely.
Leliana. Was she here? Was she here, part of the attack on her own home? Trying to murder her own family? Trying to kill mother, Richard, father, and Isabel as well? If she could convince her sister—if she could try and stop her sister with reason, then all might not be lost. Did not her sister have a shred of love in her for her family? If she could win over her sister, Leli may be able to coax that damned Lionel to stop this.
“Kathryn! Listen! Listen to me! Leliana—my sister! Is she here? A-are there reports of her being here as well?”
“I know not…I do not know, milady,” Kathryn sobbed, face the color of wax. “The Seven have forsaken us…”
Isabel did not remain in her chambers to hear any more of the maid’s blubbering, rushing out of the room and making her way down the many, winding stairs despite Kathryn’s worried protests. She would find Leliana and make her see sense again.
She rushed past the panicking servants, trying to get outside. Leli was here, she was sure of it—she had to be here, as much as she wished she wasn’t.
---
;; Sirena D'Airelle ;;
Sirena’s smoky green eyes darted to the little boy at Ammon’s words, and quickly took in the sight of princeling they were supposed to kill. Such an innocent looking boy, though plagued with sadness deep within him. Such a pity he was born to this family—she almost felt bad for him. What was he, ten? He might be a bit older, but he was on the skinny side that made him look younger. She gave him a smile, a quick, fleeting one that he might have not even been able to catch. Were they going to kill him? Maybe.
Perhaps she and Ammon would flip a coin once more—that always proved to be entertaining.
She smiled devilishly back at Ammon as they left, a mischievous glint entering her eyes at his whispered words. Often they did not need to speak—they usually had a similar train of thought. And of course, it was the same this time as well. “Indeed. I have no intention of doing anything while my body aches.” No intention of celebrating until she was patched up and could stretch out an arm without wincing, anyways. “I am sure…this will all be worth our time.” Her words were soft, her lips barely moving at all to conceal their conversation. Sirena kept her head bowed though her neck hurt—she was not used to keeping her head down. She was always confidant, head held high with a devil-may-care smile on her lips.
Ah, but this would pay well in the end. In the end, she and Ammon would be the ones laughing, content with their deeds and trickery.
--
Feeling much better than before, Sirena cast a critical eye at herself in the looking glass, scrutinizing her appearance. Maesters were always good at what they did, and now she felt like she could win some brawls. The servants had been smart enough not to give her anything fancy—she was clothed in a simple dress of forest green, one that matched her eyes well. Her hair was done up in an equally simple style, and Sirena couldn’t help but feel almost nostalgic. Wasn’t this a lot how she had dressed when her father was alive? She did not miss that life—oh no. The life of a Bloody Mummer was for her, not the life of a wealthy little girl.
She pulled at the full skirt, not so happy about the long length. She was used to her short skirts and such things, not these long things. She liked having her legs free and without anything in the way—pure speed was a large part of her fighting style. Oh well, sacrifices would be sacrifices. Sirena would start pushing for her ideals on clothing soon enough when they had the King’s trust for good—for now she would stay quiet. For now.
Sirena reached up and fingered at her hair until some strands came loose to fall about the sides of her face. She liked her hair loose. She raised her eyebrows at herself in the mirror—she guessed she looked more like herself now. The maid next to her watched with disinterest, and Sirena turned to her. “Is my companion doing well?” Her voice, though humble, had an edge of a demand and the maid looked up at her, as if surprised.
“Well, I suppose he is dressing…” She blinked, but Sirena stared at her until the girl went to the door to look out into the hallway. “He’s out in here, miss.”
Sirena walked past the woman and out into the hallway, nodding at Ammon. “Well, you look much better,” she said to him, a hint of a smirk in her voice. It was probably the first time he had ever seen her in a proper dress, but that didn’t bother her. Loreley was not with her, but she had three daggers hidden on her person. Never go around unprepared.
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The spontaneously animate table scared the wits out of him, and Raban jumped as papers scattered everywhere. Worried, he stared at his father for a long while. The news of Lionel seemed to really upset him, and by now, he knew his father quite well. When he was upset, it was hard to get him to consider other options. Wise though he may be, he was nothing if not obstinate. He couldn't help but wonder what Father intended with Lionel. Did he still love the boy? Surely a parent could not be faulted for continually loving his son, no matter how twisted he became... or could he? Then again, Raban - and Adelaide, to an extent - had been at the receiving end of a much different behaviour from his brother, something the king would never have understood. The prince could not help but worry that his father's love for his estranged, illegitimate, clearly insane son was obstructing the proper reasoning; but he certainly couldn't blame him.
Sighing, Raban moved out of the way to let the servants start tidying up the room. As he moved, his gaze traveled to the parting pair and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something was up with those two. He couldn't quite place it, but something about them bothered him. Maybe it was the way their story didn't quite make sense, or how eager they seemed to leave the king's presence, or perhaps it was that creepy little smile that the woman just threw him which he only barely noticed. After nodding his assent to his father, he excused himself and decided to take action - he was the prince, after all, was he not?
For a few moments, nothing else existed in the world - it was just him, and the clearing, and Adelaide. It felt wonderful. Kervall allowed himself to indulge in this little fantasy, at least for a short time. The weather was beautiful, and so was the girl sitting before him. He took the goblet she offered him, opened the wine and poured some for himself and for Ada, then started to unpack the goodies hidden away in the basket. Then, of course, the princess had to remind him that the rest of the world existed. Sighing to himself as his little fantasy bubble popped, he listened quietly to her words. He knew she was right - similar thoughts had been plaguing him for quite some time.
Squirming somewhat in his seat, Kervall cleared his throat nervously before answering, "Yes. Well. I don't know if it would be... I mean, I'm hardly... er..." He tossed her another nervous glance, trying his hardest (and failing) to keep the flush from his features. Finally, he sighed, and his gaze fell to the half-unpacked picnic before them. "Adelaide. As much as marrying you would be like a dream, I fear you are right, as usual. Though I doubt Jamie retains any love for me, I am still a Winsler. We do not forget. Things will be changing very soon, and the choices I will have to make will be difficult and painful. If we are wed, as much as I am bound to you, you will be bound to me." Here, he finally brought his gaze up to meet hers. "And I could not stand to see you punished or hurt for any of those things I must do. You have become dear to me, Ada. And if I must escape the Keep tomorrow and lead my house, I would not want the repercussions of that to trickle down to you." He reached out, tenderly hooking his fingers around one of her hands.
Not for the first time, another thought came to him. If she were with you, you could protect her, and you could be together. As tempting as the thought was, he pushed it forcefully from his mind. There was no way he could ever ask her to leave behind all she had here. Her life was here, and her family. If someone asked him to leave his brothers and the Vale behind, he would turn them down without thought. Although, if that someone asking was her, he would have to cons--... No. This little tryst had most likely gone on far enough. It was all well and good to imagine and to wish, but when responsibility of the world came crashing down around your shoulders, decisions had to be made and the dreams had to end, to be replaced with reality. He hadn't even kissed her, yet!
That thought suddenly snapped him back to the present, and his heart rate quickened. They were alone, surrounded by a setting of such natural beauty that it would stir poets to motion. Their eyes met again, and this time he did not flush, but he stared deeply into her russet gaze as if searching, questing within her soul for answers. "Ada, I..." He stopped himself; there were no words he felt were necessary or were adequate to even begin to describe how he felt. He was now quite aware of how close they say, and realized that he only needed to lean forwards - like this - and the distance between them would become much more intimate. His gaze left hers only briefly as he lifted a hand to brush fingers along the soft skin at her temple, brushing away a lock of stray hair as an excuse. When their eyes met again, the world narrowed once more: there was only her, and him, and nothing else. Closing the final distance between them, he kissed her.
Sighing, Raban moved out of the way to let the servants start tidying up the room. As he moved, his gaze traveled to the parting pair and his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Something was up with those two. He couldn't quite place it, but something about them bothered him. Maybe it was the way their story didn't quite make sense, or how eager they seemed to leave the king's presence, or perhaps it was that creepy little smile that the woman just threw him which he only barely noticed. After nodding his assent to his father, he excused himself and decided to take action - he was the prince, after all, was he not?
=*=*=*=*=*=
For a few moments, nothing else existed in the world - it was just him, and the clearing, and Adelaide. It felt wonderful. Kervall allowed himself to indulge in this little fantasy, at least for a short time. The weather was beautiful, and so was the girl sitting before him. He took the goblet she offered him, opened the wine and poured some for himself and for Ada, then started to unpack the goodies hidden away in the basket. Then, of course, the princess had to remind him that the rest of the world existed. Sighing to himself as his little fantasy bubble popped, he listened quietly to her words. He knew she was right - similar thoughts had been plaguing him for quite some time.
Squirming somewhat in his seat, Kervall cleared his throat nervously before answering, "Yes. Well. I don't know if it would be... I mean, I'm hardly... er..." He tossed her another nervous glance, trying his hardest (and failing) to keep the flush from his features. Finally, he sighed, and his gaze fell to the half-unpacked picnic before them. "Adelaide. As much as marrying you would be like a dream, I fear you are right, as usual. Though I doubt Jamie retains any love for me, I am still a Winsler. We do not forget. Things will be changing very soon, and the choices I will have to make will be difficult and painful. If we are wed, as much as I am bound to you, you will be bound to me." Here, he finally brought his gaze up to meet hers. "And I could not stand to see you punished or hurt for any of those things I must do. You have become dear to me, Ada. And if I must escape the Keep tomorrow and lead my house, I would not want the repercussions of that to trickle down to you." He reached out, tenderly hooking his fingers around one of her hands.
Not for the first time, another thought came to him. If she were with you, you could protect her, and you could be together. As tempting as the thought was, he pushed it forcefully from his mind. There was no way he could ever ask her to leave behind all she had here. Her life was here, and her family. If someone asked him to leave his brothers and the Vale behind, he would turn them down without thought. Although, if that someone asking was her, he would have to cons--... No. This little tryst had most likely gone on far enough. It was all well and good to imagine and to wish, but when responsibility of the world came crashing down around your shoulders, decisions had to be made and the dreams had to end, to be replaced with reality. He hadn't even kissed her, yet!
That thought suddenly snapped him back to the present, and his heart rate quickened. They were alone, surrounded by a setting of such natural beauty that it would stir poets to motion. Their eyes met again, and this time he did not flush, but he stared deeply into her russet gaze as if searching, questing within her soul for answers. "Ada, I..." He stopped himself; there were no words he felt were necessary or were adequate to even begin to describe how he felt. He was now quite aware of how close they say, and realized that he only needed to lean forwards - like this - and the distance between them would become much more intimate. His gaze left hers only briefly as he lifted a hand to brush fingers along the soft skin at her temple, brushing away a lock of stray hair as an excuse. When their eyes met again, the world narrowed once more: there was only her, and him, and nothing else. Closing the final distance between them, he kissed her.
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(ooc just a short one as I wasn't sure if Lionel was editing his post or not.)
Birgitte had one last brief look at her husband before the guards closed and bolted the doors securely and then stood in front of it barring the way with their own bodies. She knew if anyone did manage to break down those doors they would die to protect her and her family, any other time Birgitte would have felt bad for them but not just then as all that mattered was keeping her family safe. Several of the guards came to stand either side of her and one whose name she knew was Thoric took her arm very gently.
"My lady please, we must get you further into the keep. I am sure that nothing shall get through those doors but your Lord Husband would not like you to be waiting here." His words were meant to inspire confidence and Birgitte knew how much it cost him to put on such a brave front. The battle was not yet lost as Winterfell had repelled worse than this but it would be costly and would take many lives.
She nodded in response to his words drawing her strength around her like a cloak, she was a Grayhardt and the blood of the Iron ran through her veins and she was not of the weak or faint hearted. A female protected her cubs against all odds and without fear and that was exactly what she would do. She was following the guards up the stone stairs when they came across Isabel running down them at full tilt. Thoric held out a hand to slow her as Birgitte looked at her daughter to see how she was faring. Pride grew in her breast as she saw the determination and courage in her younger daughters eyes. This was a true Grayhardt one who protected the pack and fought with courage.
"Daughter where are you going?" Birgitte asked. "You cannot go out there, your father has ordered us to stay inside the Keep."
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Nathanial had lost track of time somewhere between the gate being stormed and escorting his wife into the keep, all he was aware of now was the screams around him and the clash of weapons. The snow filled courtyard was now stained red with the blood of House Thorneir and Grayhardt alike and bodies lay scattered moaning or lifeless. Colm still lived thankfully and fought not too far from Nathanial fighting to keep his Lord safe as well as his Lords holdings and Nathanial was grateful for his support. As he thrust his sword into another of Thorneir's men he glanced at Colm and nodded briefly, colm nodded back and disengaged from battle so he climb the watchtower and see how the battle fared from a higher vantage point. He grinned at Nathanial and Nathanial felt a surge of relief. They were slowly, ever so slowly pushing the enemy back and he felt hope that they might actually win this fight after all. He could not see Richard but knew his son would be out there somewhere fighting like his father for their home.
I Leliana were here, the odds in our favour would be doubled
He remembered then that Leiliana was at the heart of their enemy and he had no doubt that she had been the one to convince Thorneir to betray their liege lord. He could of no other reason why they would turn on the Wolves who had protected them for so many years.
Birgitte had one last brief look at her husband before the guards closed and bolted the doors securely and then stood in front of it barring the way with their own bodies. She knew if anyone did manage to break down those doors they would die to protect her and her family, any other time Birgitte would have felt bad for them but not just then as all that mattered was keeping her family safe. Several of the guards came to stand either side of her and one whose name she knew was Thoric took her arm very gently.
"My lady please, we must get you further into the keep. I am sure that nothing shall get through those doors but your Lord Husband would not like you to be waiting here." His words were meant to inspire confidence and Birgitte knew how much it cost him to put on such a brave front. The battle was not yet lost as Winterfell had repelled worse than this but it would be costly and would take many lives.
She nodded in response to his words drawing her strength around her like a cloak, she was a Grayhardt and the blood of the Iron ran through her veins and she was not of the weak or faint hearted. A female protected her cubs against all odds and without fear and that was exactly what she would do. She was following the guards up the stone stairs when they came across Isabel running down them at full tilt. Thoric held out a hand to slow her as Birgitte looked at her daughter to see how she was faring. Pride grew in her breast as she saw the determination and courage in her younger daughters eyes. This was a true Grayhardt one who protected the pack and fought with courage.
"Daughter where are you going?" Birgitte asked. "You cannot go out there, your father has ordered us to stay inside the Keep."
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Nathanial had lost track of time somewhere between the gate being stormed and escorting his wife into the keep, all he was aware of now was the screams around him and the clash of weapons. The snow filled courtyard was now stained red with the blood of House Thorneir and Grayhardt alike and bodies lay scattered moaning or lifeless. Colm still lived thankfully and fought not too far from Nathanial fighting to keep his Lord safe as well as his Lords holdings and Nathanial was grateful for his support. As he thrust his sword into another of Thorneir's men he glanced at Colm and nodded briefly, colm nodded back and disengaged from battle so he climb the watchtower and see how the battle fared from a higher vantage point. He grinned at Nathanial and Nathanial felt a surge of relief. They were slowly, ever so slowly pushing the enemy back and he felt hope that they might actually win this fight after all. He could not see Richard but knew his son would be out there somewhere fighting like his father for their home.
I Leliana were here, the odds in our favour would be doubled
He remembered then that Leiliana was at the heart of their enemy and he had no doubt that she had been the one to convince Thorneir to betray their liege lord. He could of no other reason why they would turn on the Wolves who had protected them for so many years.
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Adelaide could barely nod. Her body felt numb, like there was no feelings left inside of her. Kervall was right. They could never be together. Even if they wanted to be. And she did want to be with him. But the hatred between the two Houses ran too deeply. The past had tainted how the two families viewed one another. They despised the idea of one another and always would. When he spoke of escaping, Ada couldn't bring herself to respond. And then he would have to lead his people into war. A war that was against her own House. Against her family. They would face the Winslers in war and would show no mercy. Not even upon the eldest Winsler who had become more of a friend than a hostage. The idea made her feel sick to the bottom of her stomach. Either way she was going to lose something dear to her. She had to choose between her family and Kervall. But there was no competition. It had to be her family. She would not leave them, least of all Raban. The young Prince had been through too much already. She would not betray him as long as she had any say in matters. Everything had been destroyed. Her mother was gone. Her brother had betrayed them. Kervall would eventually have to leave. And now her father had announced a war that would tear everything else from her. Even when she tried to prevent it, no-one would listen. Things had gone too far and now she would have to face whatever was thrown at her.
Squeezing his hand when he took hers, Adelaide could not bear to look up into his face. She feared that she would crumble under his gaze. When he finally softly spoke her name again, she forced herself to look up, holding his gaze. He was so close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. The sparkle in his eye glinted as she continued to gaze. Her heart practically stopped beating in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. The touch of his skin against hers. He was so very close. Before she knew what she was even doing, she lent in to meet him. The moment their lips touched, her chest felt as though it would explode. Taking her hand from his, she linked both of hers at the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his hair, moving her lips with his. A moment of pure bliss. It felt as though nothing could touch them, and that they could stay like that forever. Kervall was all that mattered to her in that single moment. He was her world and always would be. Forever. It seemed like an endless moment that would stretch through eternity.
Then she pulled away and everything fell around their shoulders. Reality returned. The cold harsh reality that they belonged to was even more painfully aware to Adelaide now. Ragged breath left her lips as she kept her eyes tightly shut, savouring the moment when they had kissed or even more simply, touched. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Tears sparkled there, as she removed her hands and got quickly to her feet.
"I-I just can't..." She whispered, her voice shaking. Spilling over, tears trickled down her pale cheeks as she turned away, lifting her skirts. She would not allow herself to become too attached to Kervall and have her heart broken by his leaving. They couldn't be together and they were fooling themselves into thinking that they could. Kissing him had been the final thing. It was foolish of them. But it had felt so right at the same time. No, she would not leave her family, or have Kervall leave his. It was not fair. They would simply have to give up the dream of being together. All because of this war. This ridiculous war that jeopardised everything in its path.
Untying Storm with shaking hands before Kervall could even reach her, she wiped at her tears, but they were replaced by fresh ones. It was useless. Clumsily, she clambered onto the back of her horse, who huffed angrily at being so suddenly disturbed. Her legs didn't seem to work and she struggled to get herself seated. Only when she was securely on his back did she dare look at Kervall. There was a deep sadness in her eyes when she did and it was a look she had given Kervall only once before, when she had discovered her mother’s death. The heartache she was feeling at that moment almost matched that.
"I'm sorry," She told him, her voice choking in her throat. With those departing words, she spurred Storm forwards quickly, between the trees. Within seconds, she was gone.
****
Adelaide threw the doors open, storming inside the room she knew her father and brother to be in. The look on her face was one of fury. Her eyes were wild and she looked a lot less groomed than normal, with her dark hair blown about. Stopping, she ignored the over-turned table, with eyes only for her father. But she was glaring with all of her might and it was venomous glare, one that reflected her mother so much.
"How could you?!" She demanded her voice an octave higher than it would normally have been. "This war...It's ridiculous! Why can't you see that?! You're putting your own life and Raban's in danger!" Her eyes flickered to Raban and though her gaze softened somewhat, it soon hardened again. "Lionel will stop at nothing to destroy us all! And you're waging war with the Winslers as well! How foolish can you be father? It's destroying everything!" Despite her apparent anger, Adelaide's rage was superficial. It was hurt that encased her heart, which felt like it had been torn into countless pieces, thrown on the floor and stamped on. Her father knew that she could never be with Kervall and yet he had planted the idea in her head and then used her to create a further rift between the two Houses. Even though she knew it was Lionel’s plan, he wasn’t there for her to vent her anger upon, only her father remained.
“How could you?” A sob left her lips before she could stop it and she realised her tears had returned. So not to look weak in front of her father and brother, she quickly brushed them away and straightened her back.
“Lionel knows all of your war plans, the Keep’s layout, everything…How do you expect to fight him off and the Winslers?”
Squeezing his hand when he took hers, Adelaide could not bear to look up into his face. She feared that she would crumble under his gaze. When he finally softly spoke her name again, she forced herself to look up, holding his gaze. He was so close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek. The sparkle in his eye glinted as she continued to gaze. Her heart practically stopped beating in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. The touch of his skin against hers. He was so very close. Before she knew what she was even doing, she lent in to meet him. The moment their lips touched, her chest felt as though it would explode. Taking her hand from his, she linked both of hers at the back of his head, tangling her fingers in his hair, moving her lips with his. A moment of pure bliss. It felt as though nothing could touch them, and that they could stay like that forever. Kervall was all that mattered to her in that single moment. He was her world and always would be. Forever. It seemed like an endless moment that would stretch through eternity.
Then she pulled away and everything fell around their shoulders. Reality returned. The cold harsh reality that they belonged to was even more painfully aware to Adelaide now. Ragged breath left her lips as she kept her eyes tightly shut, savouring the moment when they had kissed or even more simply, touched. Slowly, she opened her eyes. Tears sparkled there, as she removed her hands and got quickly to her feet.
"I-I just can't..." She whispered, her voice shaking. Spilling over, tears trickled down her pale cheeks as she turned away, lifting her skirts. She would not allow herself to become too attached to Kervall and have her heart broken by his leaving. They couldn't be together and they were fooling themselves into thinking that they could. Kissing him had been the final thing. It was foolish of them. But it had felt so right at the same time. No, she would not leave her family, or have Kervall leave his. It was not fair. They would simply have to give up the dream of being together. All because of this war. This ridiculous war that jeopardised everything in its path.
Untying Storm with shaking hands before Kervall could even reach her, she wiped at her tears, but they were replaced by fresh ones. It was useless. Clumsily, she clambered onto the back of her horse, who huffed angrily at being so suddenly disturbed. Her legs didn't seem to work and she struggled to get herself seated. Only when she was securely on his back did she dare look at Kervall. There was a deep sadness in her eyes when she did and it was a look she had given Kervall only once before, when she had discovered her mother’s death. The heartache she was feeling at that moment almost matched that.
"I'm sorry," She told him, her voice choking in her throat. With those departing words, she spurred Storm forwards quickly, between the trees. Within seconds, she was gone.
****
Adelaide threw the doors open, storming inside the room she knew her father and brother to be in. The look on her face was one of fury. Her eyes were wild and she looked a lot less groomed than normal, with her dark hair blown about. Stopping, she ignored the over-turned table, with eyes only for her father. But she was glaring with all of her might and it was venomous glare, one that reflected her mother so much.
"How could you?!" She demanded her voice an octave higher than it would normally have been. "This war...It's ridiculous! Why can't you see that?! You're putting your own life and Raban's in danger!" Her eyes flickered to Raban and though her gaze softened somewhat, it soon hardened again. "Lionel will stop at nothing to destroy us all! And you're waging war with the Winslers as well! How foolish can you be father? It's destroying everything!" Despite her apparent anger, Adelaide's rage was superficial. It was hurt that encased her heart, which felt like it had been torn into countless pieces, thrown on the floor and stamped on. Her father knew that she could never be with Kervall and yet he had planted the idea in her head and then used her to create a further rift between the two Houses. Even though she knew it was Lionel’s plan, he wasn’t there for her to vent her anger upon, only her father remained.
“How could you?” A sob left her lips before she could stop it and she realised her tears had returned. So not to look weak in front of her father and brother, she quickly brushed them away and straightened her back.
“Lionel knows all of your war plans, the Keep’s layout, everything…How do you expect to fight him off and the Winslers?”
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I don’t think we’d be able to find it – not even if we tried.
Find what?
Our mind, of course. What else?
She was pacing outside of the tents, her hands clenching and unclenching as all those thoughts swirled in on one another like hungry insects on a piece of putrid meat. The battle of Winterfell was approaching and she could not think straight. In fact, Leliana could hardly remember that last time she had had a linear thought.
~
Her head was pounding. The silent sounds of metal on metal filled the air… that air which held such an acrid taste that it caused Leliana’s mouth to swell tightly, causing bone to grind into muscle, meat, and more bone. Or, at least, that is what it felt like. In truth there was no sensation but the tip of her tongue grazing the backs of her teeth. As her eyes hesitantly opened to allow her brain to register what, exactly, was happening although you are all the more a fool for wishing to know the sight that beheld her was none too pleasant.
She wondered why her eyes had been closed in the first place – why she had been standing there with bow and arrow in hand and with both eyes firmly shut.
They were in her home, her safe place… Winterfell… and yet now even here they had desecrated with their inhuman shrieking and that incessant sound of metal!
Poor, silly Leliana… no matter how many times you have been helped… it still seems as if you will never learn. Not only that… no, not only that but you have also done a crime most foul.
I never wanted to! Don’t you dare put the blame on me! Don’t you dare make me feel guilty, Leli, when it was you who forced me into this. All you.
Leliana suddenly stood taller, her shoulders no longer slouching, and in the stance she took it almost seemed to her as if all of Winterfell could barely fit her. She quickly racked her brain as to what she could have possibly done as she stepped forward and let her notched arrow fly.
Twang. Squelch.
The sounds echoed in her mind like the sweetest of voices – the soft lullaby of a mother as she clutched her babe to her breast.
A harsh yelp caused Leliana to quickly glance away to only just manage to catch a glimpse one of the guard she used to know from a life which felt thousands of years away trying to limp off back beyond the gates, beyond which she couldn't quite see, with a colored trail that seemed far too much like blood to sit well in her heart.
A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man…a man…like…like a…I-like a…I don’t know.
You can do this, dear! You can answer it! I know you can! I know you know this! You have to answer this. It would all be so much easier if you did. Just follow along with the crowd and think of the answer. A man is like a deer because…?
But they’re all men…and they’re all deer…what do I do?
You shoot them down. Every. Single. One.
Aren’t some of them on our side…?
Trust me…not even we are on our side.
Leliana's inability to pay attention, however, was soon reacted upon by a harsh scream that sent a spasm of pain through her forehead, as if a finger had been viciously thrust in-between her eyes. She wondered who it was that had screamed so. It sounded familiar.
Filthy things should be seen, but not heard. I hate it when the deer scream. This statement was embellished with a harsh growl, a noise which came rumbling up out of Leliana’s chest, and she found herself whimpering in frightened disgust.
The poor unlucky things should never open their filthy mouths unless spoken to! No, no – deer should not even speak. Another shriek somewhere and Leliana began to snicker and giggle with a newfound glee that caused her to sneer as she let another arrow fly.
The moral of the story? – It is easy to take freedom for granted… especially when one never had it in the first place.
---
The Maester had patched him up very well, and Ammon was feeling very glad that he had been able to be tended to by the man – and so soon. His shoulder had, in fact, been dislocated, but that had been no problem for the elderly Maester who had set it back into place as if it was child’s play. He had, of course, offered Ammon some milk of the poppy to counteract the pain, but Ammon had refused. He had had faced worse physical pain than this and had been able to bear the resetting of his shoulder.
That was not to say that it had not been painful – which it had been, of course. He had winced only briefly though, biting back any noises and refusing to let it be shown that he had been feeling any sort of discomfort or soreness. Trained as one of the Faceless Men, Ammon had undergone far worse – and his threshold for pain had always been rather high. Still, having his shoulder dislocated was not something he wished to relive at any point in the near or far future. Best to leave all his joints safely intact and perfectly functioning, thank you.
Ammon had been waiting in the hall for Sirena, himself dressed in a fresh change of clothing – the sort that was fit for proper wear at court. Nothing too fancy of course, but nothing like the blood and dirt-stained leathers he had previously been clad in. His clothing had, of course, been lugged off to the wash and the maids had promised him that it would be returned to the room he would be occupying when he turned in for the evening.
Ammon had also left his sword behind within those modestly furnished quarters, but had slipped his twin sickles unto his person, hidden comfortable beneath his tunic and doublet. Only fools went unarmed. When Sirena walked out into the hall, Ammon flashed a grin at her and they soon were side by side.
“I could say the same to you – this is the first time I’ve seen you in a proper frock,” he cocked an eyebrow and looked her up and down, shamelessly taking in the sight of her body. He knew she would not mind, unlike many other women. Ammon had seen Sirena naked more times than he could remember and the image of her bare body was as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.
“What do you say, Sirena,” he said as he offered her his arm as a proper man of court should to a lady, “let us go and look at what the Red Keep has to offer.” He followed his words with a devilish grin and, after she had taken his arm, the two walked off. In truth, Ammon was not leading Sirena about, nor she him, the both of them simply walked there where their feet took them – their bodies and minds in sync with the places they wished to turn into and the hallways they wished to stroll.
They would have to integrate themselves well into the life at the Red Keep, and so far Ammon had to say that things were going rather well. Their story was believed and, from the guards and others of the Keep who had heard word of it, it sounded as if the other residents of the Red Keep also held it as the truth.
Ammon felt a sudden waved of unease. Not the sort to make him feel anxious, but the sort of put him on his guard. “We are being followed,” Ammon told Sirena under his breath, the sound of his words nothing more but a faint coughing noise to anyone who may have been listening in. Ammon had felt the presence long before he had casually glimpsed sight of the man that had been shadowing them for the past little while.
Anger welled within him at the gall of that man. Who did he think he was to follow them so? “A lesson, hmm?” Ammon said once more unto Sirena in a voice audible only to her. It never hurt to be too careful and it would be good for them to figure out exactly who was tailing them and why. And, if this man was somebody’s little messenger bird, it would do the both of them well to know who it was that harbored such interest towards them.
Ammon did not take kindly to those who thought to dupe him.
Find what?
Our mind, of course. What else?
She was pacing outside of the tents, her hands clenching and unclenching as all those thoughts swirled in on one another like hungry insects on a piece of putrid meat. The battle of Winterfell was approaching and she could not think straight. In fact, Leliana could hardly remember that last time she had had a linear thought.
~
Her head was pounding. The silent sounds of metal on metal filled the air… that air which held such an acrid taste that it caused Leliana’s mouth to swell tightly, causing bone to grind into muscle, meat, and more bone. Or, at least, that is what it felt like. In truth there was no sensation but the tip of her tongue grazing the backs of her teeth. As her eyes hesitantly opened to allow her brain to register what, exactly, was happening although you are all the more a fool for wishing to know the sight that beheld her was none too pleasant.
She wondered why her eyes had been closed in the first place – why she had been standing there with bow and arrow in hand and with both eyes firmly shut.
They were in her home, her safe place… Winterfell… and yet now even here they had desecrated with their inhuman shrieking and that incessant sound of metal!
Poor, silly Leliana… no matter how many times you have been helped… it still seems as if you will never learn. Not only that… no, not only that but you have also done a crime most foul.
I never wanted to! Don’t you dare put the blame on me! Don’t you dare make me feel guilty, Leli, when it was you who forced me into this. All you.
Leliana suddenly stood taller, her shoulders no longer slouching, and in the stance she took it almost seemed to her as if all of Winterfell could barely fit her. She quickly racked her brain as to what she could have possibly done as she stepped forward and let her notched arrow fly.
Twang. Squelch.
The sounds echoed in her mind like the sweetest of voices – the soft lullaby of a mother as she clutched her babe to her breast.
A harsh yelp caused Leliana to quickly glance away to only just manage to catch a glimpse one of the guard she used to know from a life which felt thousands of years away trying to limp off back beyond the gates, beyond which she couldn't quite see, with a colored trail that seemed far too much like blood to sit well in her heart.
A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man is like a deer. A man…a man…like…like a…I-like a…I don’t know.
You can do this, dear! You can answer it! I know you can! I know you know this! You have to answer this. It would all be so much easier if you did. Just follow along with the crowd and think of the answer. A man is like a deer because…?
But they’re all men…and they’re all deer…what do I do?
You shoot them down. Every. Single. One.
Aren’t some of them on our side…?
Trust me…not even we are on our side.
Leliana's inability to pay attention, however, was soon reacted upon by a harsh scream that sent a spasm of pain through her forehead, as if a finger had been viciously thrust in-between her eyes. She wondered who it was that had screamed so. It sounded familiar.
Filthy things should be seen, but not heard. I hate it when the deer scream. This statement was embellished with a harsh growl, a noise which came rumbling up out of Leliana’s chest, and she found herself whimpering in frightened disgust.
The poor unlucky things should never open their filthy mouths unless spoken to! No, no – deer should not even speak. Another shriek somewhere and Leliana began to snicker and giggle with a newfound glee that caused her to sneer as she let another arrow fly.
The moral of the story? – It is easy to take freedom for granted… especially when one never had it in the first place.
---
The Maester had patched him up very well, and Ammon was feeling very glad that he had been able to be tended to by the man – and so soon. His shoulder had, in fact, been dislocated, but that had been no problem for the elderly Maester who had set it back into place as if it was child’s play. He had, of course, offered Ammon some milk of the poppy to counteract the pain, but Ammon had refused. He had had faced worse physical pain than this and had been able to bear the resetting of his shoulder.
That was not to say that it had not been painful – which it had been, of course. He had winced only briefly though, biting back any noises and refusing to let it be shown that he had been feeling any sort of discomfort or soreness. Trained as one of the Faceless Men, Ammon had undergone far worse – and his threshold for pain had always been rather high. Still, having his shoulder dislocated was not something he wished to relive at any point in the near or far future. Best to leave all his joints safely intact and perfectly functioning, thank you.
Ammon had been waiting in the hall for Sirena, himself dressed in a fresh change of clothing – the sort that was fit for proper wear at court. Nothing too fancy of course, but nothing like the blood and dirt-stained leathers he had previously been clad in. His clothing had, of course, been lugged off to the wash and the maids had promised him that it would be returned to the room he would be occupying when he turned in for the evening.
Ammon had also left his sword behind within those modestly furnished quarters, but had slipped his twin sickles unto his person, hidden comfortable beneath his tunic and doublet. Only fools went unarmed. When Sirena walked out into the hall, Ammon flashed a grin at her and they soon were side by side.
“I could say the same to you – this is the first time I’ve seen you in a proper frock,” he cocked an eyebrow and looked her up and down, shamelessly taking in the sight of her body. He knew she would not mind, unlike many other women. Ammon had seen Sirena naked more times than he could remember and the image of her bare body was as familiar to him as the back of his own hand.
“What do you say, Sirena,” he said as he offered her his arm as a proper man of court should to a lady, “let us go and look at what the Red Keep has to offer.” He followed his words with a devilish grin and, after she had taken his arm, the two walked off. In truth, Ammon was not leading Sirena about, nor she him, the both of them simply walked there where their feet took them – their bodies and minds in sync with the places they wished to turn into and the hallways they wished to stroll.
They would have to integrate themselves well into the life at the Red Keep, and so far Ammon had to say that things were going rather well. Their story was believed and, from the guards and others of the Keep who had heard word of it, it sounded as if the other residents of the Red Keep also held it as the truth.
Ammon felt a sudden waved of unease. Not the sort to make him feel anxious, but the sort of put him on his guard. “We are being followed,” Ammon told Sirena under his breath, the sound of his words nothing more but a faint coughing noise to anyone who may have been listening in. Ammon had felt the presence long before he had casually glimpsed sight of the man that had been shadowing them for the past little while.
Anger welled within him at the gall of that man. Who did he think he was to follow them so? “A lesson, hmm?” Ammon said once more unto Sirena in a voice audible only to her. It never hurt to be too careful and it would be good for them to figure out exactly who was tailing them and why. And, if this man was somebody’s little messenger bird, it would do the both of them well to know who it was that harbored such interest towards them.
Ammon did not take kindly to those who thought to dupe him.
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~~~DANTE~~~
“Well, you should get used to the idea.” He told her as she curtly replied that she was not aware that she was, in reality, a remarkable woman. It was very clear that societal standards did not hold women of Nasrin’s vivid personality in the highest of regards, though she certainly was able to play her part in court if she needed to, of that he was sure. Her stubbornness and outspoken nature set her apart from the rest and it was in that way precisely that she was remarkable.
“When the walls are closing in, that’s when it’s time to get out.” Dante understood how it was that she must have been feeling. Though he was far from knowing what it must be like for a lady of the court to feel as though she was being trapped, he knew the feeling of entrapment and what it was like. That was one of the reasons he had chosen for himself to lead a life of crime and thievery, so as to distance himself from all the foolishness and the lies that surrounded courtly life. Stealing and crime was by far more honest and better work that what most nobles engaged themselves in.
He wanted to ask her why she still deigned it as the right thing to stay in this life that she so clearly did not wish to be a part of. He would have gone on to suggest that she part with it and seek for herself a different fortune; that she go and find her mother and take things from there, though that would be hard to manage in such war-ridden times.
Plus, it was Dante’s turn to speak to Nasrin of both a dream and a fear and his own questions for her would have to wait. It would be better to allow her to speak of her life on her own terms and not pressure her for answers and he decided that if he wished to know more, he would merely ask things vague and have her answer as she pleased. And, as he had rationed only moments before, it really was his turn to tell her something now.
“When I was a young boy of barely seven, I used to dream of becoming a Knight and participating in a great tourney held by the King himself.” Dante told her, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes at his own admission. “In my childish fancies I used to think that I would win the tourney and crown my older sister as the Queen of Love and Beauty. She was born a cripple, you see.”
That story had turned out to be dourer than he had intended it to and Dante found himself rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “As for a fear? To become world weary, that would be my answer.” Their walk would soon be drawing to a close. The both of them would without a doubt have to go forth and attend to their own matters; though Dante would happily recall this stolen moment which allowed the two of them to grow closer, but by bit.
~~~NUALA~~~
She never thought that she would be parted from this world by a single arrow. A strange thing, really, when considering how much she had been through at her eighteen (nearly nineteen) years of age. She had been through raids and fights and battles. She had braves the North since birth and crossed the Wall. She had travelled through Southron lands and got herself involved in Southron disputes.
Now it was clear that it was a Southron arrow that would fell her. Their siege of Highgarden had gone sour for her. She had been aiming her spear when the arrow had flown past her, ripping through her throat and causing her life’s blood to come bursting out of her in what felt like a never-ending stream of red.
She attempted to take in a breath but found herself choking on red and blackness. She would soon be with Etain (the thought came abruptly to Nuala and she felt herself smiling) and they would once more run through the snow and laugh.
“Well, you should get used to the idea.” He told her as she curtly replied that she was not aware that she was, in reality, a remarkable woman. It was very clear that societal standards did not hold women of Nasrin’s vivid personality in the highest of regards, though she certainly was able to play her part in court if she needed to, of that he was sure. Her stubbornness and outspoken nature set her apart from the rest and it was in that way precisely that she was remarkable.
“When the walls are closing in, that’s when it’s time to get out.” Dante understood how it was that she must have been feeling. Though he was far from knowing what it must be like for a lady of the court to feel as though she was being trapped, he knew the feeling of entrapment and what it was like. That was one of the reasons he had chosen for himself to lead a life of crime and thievery, so as to distance himself from all the foolishness and the lies that surrounded courtly life. Stealing and crime was by far more honest and better work that what most nobles engaged themselves in.
He wanted to ask her why she still deigned it as the right thing to stay in this life that she so clearly did not wish to be a part of. He would have gone on to suggest that she part with it and seek for herself a different fortune; that she go and find her mother and take things from there, though that would be hard to manage in such war-ridden times.
Plus, it was Dante’s turn to speak to Nasrin of both a dream and a fear and his own questions for her would have to wait. It would be better to allow her to speak of her life on her own terms and not pressure her for answers and he decided that if he wished to know more, he would merely ask things vague and have her answer as she pleased. And, as he had rationed only moments before, it really was his turn to tell her something now.
“When I was a young boy of barely seven, I used to dream of becoming a Knight and participating in a great tourney held by the King himself.” Dante told her, unable to keep himself from rolling his eyes at his own admission. “In my childish fancies I used to think that I would win the tourney and crown my older sister as the Queen of Love and Beauty. She was born a cripple, you see.”
That story had turned out to be dourer than he had intended it to and Dante found himself rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “As for a fear? To become world weary, that would be my answer.” Their walk would soon be drawing to a close. The both of them would without a doubt have to go forth and attend to their own matters; though Dante would happily recall this stolen moment which allowed the two of them to grow closer, but by bit.
~~~NUALA~~~
She never thought that she would be parted from this world by a single arrow. A strange thing, really, when considering how much she had been through at her eighteen (nearly nineteen) years of age. She had been through raids and fights and battles. She had braves the North since birth and crossed the Wall. She had travelled through Southron lands and got herself involved in Southron disputes.
Now it was clear that it was a Southron arrow that would fell her. Their siege of Highgarden had gone sour for her. She had been aiming her spear when the arrow had flown past her, ripping through her throat and causing her life’s blood to come bursting out of her in what felt like a never-ending stream of red.
She attempted to take in a breath but found herself choking on red and blackness. She would soon be with Etain (the thought came abruptly to Nuala and she felt herself smiling) and they would once more run through the snow and laugh.
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"Harte?" Benjamin repeated, visibly struggling to remember the name. "Ah, yes. Ser Harte. Very well."
Something unsettled him when he looked at the young girl's face. It was the mark she bore, but not the mar it made on her appearance ... no, it was a darkness that he could not bring to mind. He'd forgotten the assassin who'd tried to kill the two of them. The meal was served and he chewed on a piece of meat slowly, his eyes settled on Emaya.
"Strake is burned," he said and sipped from his wine. It was so diluted with water that he could barely taste the grapes. "The survivors have fled to Cavanaugh. We need Jamie here, not off cavorting in the mountains with the clans. I hope he's not sired some bastard on a barbarian wench. It's time you lot were married, besides. I need grandchildren," the last was finished with a discontent grunt.
He eyed another piece of meat. "We'll march on Damian in a few days' time to rescue Kervall."
~
Henry began to right the table after Raban had left, letting his mind drift away, empty and untroubled, as his hands gathered together what had been overturned. He didn't want to think: least of all about Lionel, and the troubles he had managed to get himself in. But not wanting to think about it made him think about it and --- the door burst open. At once, Henry's hand went to his side, but it was only Adelaide ... her face streaked with tears, her voice high.
This war is ridiculous? How easy it was for women to ignore the value in battle. Still, his heart softened, and he took a few steps towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders; a woman grown, but still a child in so many ways.
"I'm not waging war with the Winslers," Henry said, his voice pitched in a low, soothing tone. "Above all, I want peace. And I see that peace in betrothing you and Kervall. You're already fond of one another, that's plain to see." It was a fine mixture of truth and lies, so blurred that even he found it hard to see the lines anymore. "But if his family attacks me, I will not go unavenged."
He tried a smile. It looked strange on his solemn face. "Lionel is no threat to us. He is my son and your brother and his actions have been those of a stupid, misguided boy."
He did not mean for Morrie to die. He could not banish seventeen years of mothering in a moment.
Something unsettled him when he looked at the young girl's face. It was the mark she bore, but not the mar it made on her appearance ... no, it was a darkness that he could not bring to mind. He'd forgotten the assassin who'd tried to kill the two of them. The meal was served and he chewed on a piece of meat slowly, his eyes settled on Emaya.
"Strake is burned," he said and sipped from his wine. It was so diluted with water that he could barely taste the grapes. "The survivors have fled to Cavanaugh. We need Jamie here, not off cavorting in the mountains with the clans. I hope he's not sired some bastard on a barbarian wench. It's time you lot were married, besides. I need grandchildren," the last was finished with a discontent grunt.
He eyed another piece of meat. "We'll march on Damian in a few days' time to rescue Kervall."
~
Henry began to right the table after Raban had left, letting his mind drift away, empty and untroubled, as his hands gathered together what had been overturned. He didn't want to think: least of all about Lionel, and the troubles he had managed to get himself in. But not wanting to think about it made him think about it and --- the door burst open. At once, Henry's hand went to his side, but it was only Adelaide ... her face streaked with tears, her voice high.
This war is ridiculous? How easy it was for women to ignore the value in battle. Still, his heart softened, and he took a few steps towards her, putting his hands on her shoulders; a woman grown, but still a child in so many ways.
"I'm not waging war with the Winslers," Henry said, his voice pitched in a low, soothing tone. "Above all, I want peace. And I see that peace in betrothing you and Kervall. You're already fond of one another, that's plain to see." It was a fine mixture of truth and lies, so blurred that even he found it hard to see the lines anymore. "But if his family attacks me, I will not go unavenged."
He tried a smile. It looked strange on his solemn face. "Lionel is no threat to us. He is my son and your brother and his actions have been those of a stupid, misguided boy."
He did not mean for Morrie to die. He could not banish seventeen years of mothering in a moment.
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Teralo ate silently, waiting for his father to return the answer to his question. His eyes rarely left Emaya though and he seemed to be struggling with something. Teralo almost sighed, chances are his father had once again forgotten something once again. "Strake is burned," He said suddenly.
Teralo chocked on the piece of meat he was chewing and Emaya looked worridly up at him as Teralo managed to swallow the piece of meat.
"The survivors have fled to Cavanaugh. We need Jamie here, not off cavorting in the mountains with the clans. I hope he's not sired some bastard on a barbarian wench. It's time you lot were married, besides. I need grandchildren,"
Sighing, Teralo took a small sip of his wine, he was glad his father had not mentioned the wine as he had diluted the bottle heavily so Emaya could drink it. Still, he was simply amazed that his father could go from having his closest sworn house razed to the ground not but a day or two's travel from the Vale, to marrying his sons off. Emaya seemed to scoot a little closer to him after that comment none the less though.
"We'll march on Damian in a few days' time to rescue Kervall." his father said with the barest hint of detirmination. Teralo however could not believe the words coming from his father's mouth. He was much farther gone then Teralo could ever have imagined. "House Strake is burned by Damain....." he really had to think about that for a moment. Damain's forces were far more north then they should have been. th the lack of warning theyhad recieved, and Teralo had been sure to set up a system of scouts and informants upon their return, the group who attacked Strake could only have been a few hundred soldiers, maybe 300 at most. He was going to leave that marriage comment alone, even Teralo knew his father would forget it soon enough, and Teralo did not plan on getting married anytime soon, especially during a war. Plus, no lady of the courtht mind would want to be married to him.
"Father, we have less then 800 soldiers in the vale right now. Even with house Cavanaugh and the smaller loords sworn to us, The wale has maybe 1700 men fit for active duty. Most of these with little military training. Jamie has a few thousand under his command out in the south somewhere. But even with that our numbers would only give us a force of maybe 5000 men, if were lucky. If we tried to attack King's Landing, Henry would not even bother with a siege, he would just come out of the walls and attack us."
Teralo paused to let his words sink in, maybe something of Teralo's little speech would reach his father. If he had to he could just override his father's command. But that would make matters worse. "I think we need to send out riders and bring Jamie back, but our first priority should be destroy the Damain forces in the Eyrie." The words hurt, he was talking about the lives of hundreds of men and women here and a battle that was sure to happen. Oh how the words stained his consience. "Father, what do you plan to do. And please, attacking King's Landing would only result in our death's. Kervall would be used as a barganing chip, our surrender for his life. You know that as much as I do."
Teralo chocked on the piece of meat he was chewing and Emaya looked worridly up at him as Teralo managed to swallow the piece of meat.
"The survivors have fled to Cavanaugh. We need Jamie here, not off cavorting in the mountains with the clans. I hope he's not sired some bastard on a barbarian wench. It's time you lot were married, besides. I need grandchildren,"
Sighing, Teralo took a small sip of his wine, he was glad his father had not mentioned the wine as he had diluted the bottle heavily so Emaya could drink it. Still, he was simply amazed that his father could go from having his closest sworn house razed to the ground not but a day or two's travel from the Vale, to marrying his sons off. Emaya seemed to scoot a little closer to him after that comment none the less though.
"We'll march on Damian in a few days' time to rescue Kervall." his father said with the barest hint of detirmination. Teralo however could not believe the words coming from his father's mouth. He was much farther gone then Teralo could ever have imagined. "House Strake is burned by Damain....." he really had to think about that for a moment. Damain's forces were far more north then they should have been. th the lack of warning theyhad recieved, and Teralo had been sure to set up a system of scouts and informants upon their return, the group who attacked Strake could only have been a few hundred soldiers, maybe 300 at most. He was going to leave that marriage comment alone, even Teralo knew his father would forget it soon enough, and Teralo did not plan on getting married anytime soon, especially during a war. Plus, no lady of the courtht mind would want to be married to him.
"Father, we have less then 800 soldiers in the vale right now. Even with house Cavanaugh and the smaller loords sworn to us, The wale has maybe 1700 men fit for active duty. Most of these with little military training. Jamie has a few thousand under his command out in the south somewhere. But even with that our numbers would only give us a force of maybe 5000 men, if were lucky. If we tried to attack King's Landing, Henry would not even bother with a siege, he would just come out of the walls and attack us."
Teralo paused to let his words sink in, maybe something of Teralo's little speech would reach his father. If he had to he could just override his father's command. But that would make matters worse. "I think we need to send out riders and bring Jamie back, but our first priority should be destroy the Damain forces in the Eyrie." The words hurt, he was talking about the lives of hundreds of men and women here and a battle that was sure to happen. Oh how the words stained his consience. "Father, what do you plan to do. And please, attacking King's Landing would only result in our death's. Kervall would be used as a barganing chip, our surrender for his life. You know that as much as I do."
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Grimnir could hear the pandemonium in the courtyard as the Greyhardt army attempted to corner her bowmen, but sadly it was not going to be numbers that win this battle just tactics. The outer edges of the keep were flooding with white coats clashing to meet the armored bodies of those who opposed them. Grunting slightly Grim nocked an arrow pointing it at the Greyhardt mook in front of her firing at close range. As the man’s body was falling, she ran up jumping from his chest bending her legs under her. In the air, she loaded another arrow nailing a guard in his chest giggling as he spun off crashing into a wall. Her goal was to reach Nathanial as fast as possible but with all these men blocking her way it could prove difficult.
MAR! Get over here, we need to get past these men!
Mar rushed cutting down a warrior who approached his flank panting at Grims side nodding.
Should be easy enough right? These men are here like sheep for the slaughter.
Grim nodded plainly pointing at the wall of men forming along the stairwell.
I think it’s safe to presume that Nathanial rests behind those men, it’s time to get nasty!
Raising herself from the ground Grim ran behind her second line of bowmen yelling the targets to each of them. As they knocked their arrows, she chuckled thinking to herself that short-bows were much better at sieges then the longbow.
FIRE!
A hail of arrows poured from the sky avenging the deaths of the men in white. Soldiers fell from every direction but the oncoming rush never seemed to wane. This battle was becoming excessively difficult every second but Grim loved that it was! It was truly becoming a fight to the death, thinking to herself Grim plotted out a potential idea:
Nathanial seems to be hiding behind his men, it seems my beliefs on how weak he has become has surely come to fruition. Tonight he dies by my hand.
(Sorry for the small post but I am hoping some actual characters join the fight so I can go into more depth. Until then my posts will stay like this =/)
MAR! Get over here, we need to get past these men!
Mar rushed cutting down a warrior who approached his flank panting at Grims side nodding.
Should be easy enough right? These men are here like sheep for the slaughter.
Grim nodded plainly pointing at the wall of men forming along the stairwell.
I think it’s safe to presume that Nathanial rests behind those men, it’s time to get nasty!
Raising herself from the ground Grim ran behind her second line of bowmen yelling the targets to each of them. As they knocked their arrows, she chuckled thinking to herself that short-bows were much better at sieges then the longbow.
FIRE!
A hail of arrows poured from the sky avenging the deaths of the men in white. Soldiers fell from every direction but the oncoming rush never seemed to wane. This battle was becoming excessively difficult every second but Grim loved that it was! It was truly becoming a fight to the death, thinking to herself Grim plotted out a potential idea:
Nathanial seems to be hiding behind his men, it seems my beliefs on how weak he has become has surely come to fruition. Tonight he dies by my hand.
(Sorry for the small post but I am hoping some actual characters join the fight so I can go into more depth. Until then my posts will stay like this =/)
Setting
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Julia expected an apology for Lady Strake’s rudeness at the very least, especially considering she was a guest in Julia’s house, at Julia’s table, eating the food from Julia’s kitchen! And what does Lady Strake do?
"What?" Jane asked. "Have you been betrothed to King Henry?"
Said like she thinks it’s a joke! Julia thought.
Her pride pricked by the Lady Strake’s obvious dismissal, Julia wiped her hands on the table cloth as if to compose herself and said in her simplest tone, “Of course I am, Lady Strake! I received a letter from His Darling Highness professing his love and asking for my hand not very much before Princey, here, arrived home. Why, haven’t you noticed my absence today at all?” With this Julia shot a not so concealed dirty look at Kenneth. “I’ve been in my room all day composing a reply. I wanted it to be just right when I send it to him tonight. If the messengers make good speed, he’ll be reading it in…” her face screwed up as she tried to do the math, “Two weeks!” she beemed.
Julia paused to take a gulp from her wine glass and cleared her throat in a way that seemed very dainty to her but probably wouldn’t to Jane or Kenneth. “Obviously congratulations are in order, yes?” she asked her two table mates. Julia absolutely felt like the cat who was eating cream and getting a good belly rub, on a silk pillow no less! At least, she certainly smiled as if that was what she was feeling.
This is perfect! Plain Jane Strake still looks as terrible without the dress as much as with it, I’m going to be married (to a King! she mentally giggled) and she isn’t getting married to anyone. And I don’t have to waste my beauty and charm in this awful old castle anymore!
She looked back and forth between Kenneth and Jane and said with all pride and conviction, “Truly, I am blessed by the Seven.”
~
The entire time Julia had been speaking Kenneth felt as though fire would explode from his ears. By the end of her self-satisfied speech, he couldn’t take any more.
“Blessed!” Kenneth finally burst out. “How can you be blessed? You’re betraying Lord Winsler, plus the honor and memory of our family; and you call this stupid plot blessed!”
Disbelief echoed in his mind as he rose from the table and began pacing back and forth. “You aren’t possibly telling me that I gave up a life where I was happy to come back here and help you, take over the family legacy and save you, just so you can throw this- this double cross in my face?”
He stopped behind his skewed chair and laid a hand on it to steady himself. Looking at Julia he said, “You will not send him an acceptance letter. You will send him a letter declining on the grounds that you are not a suitable wife to him considering where your family loyalties lie. I don’t care if I have to write and send it myself,” he glowered. “Do you understand me, Julia?”
~
Julia didn’t answer him. As soon as he had yelled at her, the smile began to fade from her face. By the end of his speech she was in tears, and when he turned on her she left the table and ran crying to her room and the letter from her dear Henny.
She clutched the folded words of love and cried into her pillow like she used to when Matthew would call her fat in public and no one would disagree with him.
Why doesn’t he understand? she thought of Kenneth. I’ve done well for myself like Mother always told me I would. I’ve done better than she ever expected me to! And now he wants me to throw the letter in the mud like I don’t deserve to be Queen? I can’t!
She’d expected jealousyl and maybe even disapprova from Jane, that’s why Julia had made a point to rub it in, after all. Plain Jane didn’t matter. Kenneth’s reaction shook Julia, made her feel uncertain, and feeling uncertain always made Julia angry. Then, Julia got an idea.
Kenneth can’t stop the wedding if the King demands it. Henny could just lock him up until it was over or something like that. Henny would never actually hurt Kenneth as long as I ask him not to, and I’m sure Kenneth will be glad of the marriage once it’s over. He was probably just putting on a show for Lady Strake so she wouldn’t bring the Winsler son’s army down upon our heads, she reasoned.
Walking over to her seldom used writing desk, Julia sat down and picked up her reply to Henry. She scanned the three pages of excited questions about the wedding to remind her of what she would be gaining. On the very last page underneath her signature, Your Dearest Love, Julia R.~, she grabbed her pen and ink and wrote,
Post. Script. My brother Kenneth has come home and allowed Lady Strake to guest here at Cavanaugh. I told them the news, and they don’t want us to marry! Please send for me as soon as you can so I can become a loving Queen to match my devoted King.
J. R. ~
As soon as the ink was dry Julia readied the letter for sending. Calling to Tobias, who stood waiting outside of her door in case she needed anything, she handed him the letter and said, “Leave immediately and take this to King Henry’s messenger in the petitioners quarters. If he is not there, check the kitchen. He is to take this reply to his King at once. Tell Cook to give him some food to take if he complains about his dinner. Do not show this to Lord Kenneth or anyone else, or when I am Queen I’ll…do something awful to you,” she threatened. “Come back to me when the messenger leaves, are we clear?”
Tobias’s eyes widened at the seriousness and gravity in her voice. His mistress had never acted like this, and Tobias really didn’t want “something awful” to happen to him, so he nodded and said, “Yes, milady,” and ran off to complete his errand.
A little while later he came back to Julia’s rooms. “Milady?” he said to attract her attention, though her attention had been riveted to the door awaiting his return anyway. “It’s done. I saddled his horse for him myself and watched him off at a gallop.
Julia smiled graciously and walked over to her dressing table. She opened a box there and picked up something small. Walking over to him she said, “Hold out your hand,” and placed a square chocolate on the center of his palm. “Thank you,” she said. “You may leave me for the night. I believe I shall sleep well until the morning.”
That night she dreamed of her mother holding her baby self. They were bathed in a blue, calming light, and she felt that all would be well very soon.
~
When Julia ran crying out of the Great Hall, Kenneth felt by turns angry and guilty. He plopped down into his chair with a huff, and looked at Lady Jane. He still couldn’t help but feel bad about the dress, but she hadn’t complained of it once. She had a dignity about her that spoke of inner steel.
And her eyes really aren’t as muddy as I remember them. This morning when I helped her from her horse I thought they seemed…soulful.
Kenneth shook his head and came back to the matter at hand. “I can’t imagine what you think of all this, Lady Strake. The least I can do is apologize for acting like a blacksmith instead of a lord.”
"What?" Jane asked. "Have you been betrothed to King Henry?"
Said like she thinks it’s a joke! Julia thought.
Her pride pricked by the Lady Strake’s obvious dismissal, Julia wiped her hands on the table cloth as if to compose herself and said in her simplest tone, “Of course I am, Lady Strake! I received a letter from His Darling Highness professing his love and asking for my hand not very much before Princey, here, arrived home. Why, haven’t you noticed my absence today at all?” With this Julia shot a not so concealed dirty look at Kenneth. “I’ve been in my room all day composing a reply. I wanted it to be just right when I send it to him tonight. If the messengers make good speed, he’ll be reading it in…” her face screwed up as she tried to do the math, “Two weeks!” she beemed.
Julia paused to take a gulp from her wine glass and cleared her throat in a way that seemed very dainty to her but probably wouldn’t to Jane or Kenneth. “Obviously congratulations are in order, yes?” she asked her two table mates. Julia absolutely felt like the cat who was eating cream and getting a good belly rub, on a silk pillow no less! At least, she certainly smiled as if that was what she was feeling.
This is perfect! Plain Jane Strake still looks as terrible without the dress as much as with it, I’m going to be married (to a King! she mentally giggled) and she isn’t getting married to anyone. And I don’t have to waste my beauty and charm in this awful old castle anymore!
She looked back and forth between Kenneth and Jane and said with all pride and conviction, “Truly, I am blessed by the Seven.”
~
The entire time Julia had been speaking Kenneth felt as though fire would explode from his ears. By the end of her self-satisfied speech, he couldn’t take any more.
“Blessed!” Kenneth finally burst out. “How can you be blessed? You’re betraying Lord Winsler, plus the honor and memory of our family; and you call this stupid plot blessed!”
Disbelief echoed in his mind as he rose from the table and began pacing back and forth. “You aren’t possibly telling me that I gave up a life where I was happy to come back here and help you, take over the family legacy and save you, just so you can throw this- this double cross in my face?”
He stopped behind his skewed chair and laid a hand on it to steady himself. Looking at Julia he said, “You will not send him an acceptance letter. You will send him a letter declining on the grounds that you are not a suitable wife to him considering where your family loyalties lie. I don’t care if I have to write and send it myself,” he glowered. “Do you understand me, Julia?”
~
Julia didn’t answer him. As soon as he had yelled at her, the smile began to fade from her face. By the end of his speech she was in tears, and when he turned on her she left the table and ran crying to her room and the letter from her dear Henny.
She clutched the folded words of love and cried into her pillow like she used to when Matthew would call her fat in public and no one would disagree with him.
Why doesn’t he understand? she thought of Kenneth. I’ve done well for myself like Mother always told me I would. I’ve done better than she ever expected me to! And now he wants me to throw the letter in the mud like I don’t deserve to be Queen? I can’t!
She’d expected jealousyl and maybe even disapprova from Jane, that’s why Julia had made a point to rub it in, after all. Plain Jane didn’t matter. Kenneth’s reaction shook Julia, made her feel uncertain, and feeling uncertain always made Julia angry. Then, Julia got an idea.
Kenneth can’t stop the wedding if the King demands it. Henny could just lock him up until it was over or something like that. Henny would never actually hurt Kenneth as long as I ask him not to, and I’m sure Kenneth will be glad of the marriage once it’s over. He was probably just putting on a show for Lady Strake so she wouldn’t bring the Winsler son’s army down upon our heads, she reasoned.
Walking over to her seldom used writing desk, Julia sat down and picked up her reply to Henry. She scanned the three pages of excited questions about the wedding to remind her of what she would be gaining. On the very last page underneath her signature, Your Dearest Love, Julia R.~, she grabbed her pen and ink and wrote,
Post. Script. My brother Kenneth has come home and allowed Lady Strake to guest here at Cavanaugh. I told them the news, and they don’t want us to marry! Please send for me as soon as you can so I can become a loving Queen to match my devoted King.
J. R. ~
As soon as the ink was dry Julia readied the letter for sending. Calling to Tobias, who stood waiting outside of her door in case she needed anything, she handed him the letter and said, “Leave immediately and take this to King Henry’s messenger in the petitioners quarters. If he is not there, check the kitchen. He is to take this reply to his King at once. Tell Cook to give him some food to take if he complains about his dinner. Do not show this to Lord Kenneth or anyone else, or when I am Queen I’ll…do something awful to you,” she threatened. “Come back to me when the messenger leaves, are we clear?”
Tobias’s eyes widened at the seriousness and gravity in her voice. His mistress had never acted like this, and Tobias really didn’t want “something awful” to happen to him, so he nodded and said, “Yes, milady,” and ran off to complete his errand.
A little while later he came back to Julia’s rooms. “Milady?” he said to attract her attention, though her attention had been riveted to the door awaiting his return anyway. “It’s done. I saddled his horse for him myself and watched him off at a gallop.
Julia smiled graciously and walked over to her dressing table. She opened a box there and picked up something small. Walking over to him she said, “Hold out your hand,” and placed a square chocolate on the center of his palm. “Thank you,” she said. “You may leave me for the night. I believe I shall sleep well until the morning.”
That night she dreamed of her mother holding her baby self. They were bathed in a blue, calming light, and she felt that all would be well very soon.
~
When Julia ran crying out of the Great Hall, Kenneth felt by turns angry and guilty. He plopped down into his chair with a huff, and looked at Lady Jane. He still couldn’t help but feel bad about the dress, but she hadn’t complained of it once. She had a dignity about her that spoke of inner steel.
And her eyes really aren’t as muddy as I remember them. This morning when I helped her from her horse I thought they seemed…soulful.
Kenneth shook his head and came back to the matter at hand. “I can’t imagine what you think of all this, Lady Strake. The least I can do is apologize for acting like a blacksmith instead of a lord.”
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Kervall watched the princess leave the glade while his chest felt like it was filling with lead. He had seen the expression on her face, and it had cut him more deeply than any sword could have. For a while he sat there, his emotions wreaking havoc on his soul, demanding justice, resolution, or reason. None were forthcoming.
Heavily, Kurt pushed himself to his feet and limped over to Lilac, who was staring plaintively at him. Her unwavering calmness was soothing, and he laid a hand on her nose in thanks. She responded positively, so he gave it a little rub, and couldn't help but snicker when she snorted happily at him. Turning around he spied the unfinished picnic laying before him - the perfect image for the doomed love between two young nobles. Moving back to the blanket, he slumped to a seat on the ground and drained his goblet of wine in one motion. It was Dornish, an expensive bottle and actually very good. He poured himself another glass and drank deeply, picking through the assortment of foods Adelaide had packed while his thoughts remained with her. Their options were limited, as were his. Of course, technically he was outside the Keep's walls, and with a horse and a basket of food. But where would he go? Home? Alone to the Vale with two days' worth of food and a set of broken bones? No, for now, he was stuck here, and although the prospect had seemed at least somewhat agreeable at first, he was starting to realize what a fool he'd been in so many ways. In his mind, Kervall started to plan out how much longer he would need to stay in the keep before he felt well enough to leave, but his thoughts wouldn't stay focused. It may have been partially due to his inability to get his mind off of Adelaide, or it could have been because the bloody wine was distracting him. Well, it wouldn't get the chance to do it for much longer, would it? Damn bottle was empty. Stupid bottle.
Getting up once more - and leaning heavily on the walking stick - Kervall wobbled over to the bay mare still staring at him and put a hand on her flank. Why was she swaying back and forth so much? She had always been so still. Well, no matter. He should probably be getting back to the Keep. Except she didn't seem to want to let him mount. After several face-plants and more pain than he cared to describe, Kurt decided to walk back if Lilac was going to be so unobliging. How was he supposed to mount the horse if she wouldn't stay still? Stupid horse.
The walk back took him a while, and the sun was low in the sky by the time he arrived at the Keep's stables. The stable hands seemed much relieved to see him, though they kept giving him funny looks. He handed over Lilac and told them about the abandoned food sitting in the forest and asked them to send a servant to clean it up. The young man who had brought Lilac to him and Ada kept telling him to go up to his rooms and to bed, but he didn't feel tired. A little wobbly, maybe, but he blamed that on the crazy horse and her queasy walk that had zigzagged him all the way back to the Keep. What he really needed now was to think. His mind had always helped him out of any number of messes, and now more than ever he needed it. He had to break free of this strange fog that seemed to be clouding everything and devise some sort of strategy. Stupid fog.
Stumbling through the courtyard, Kurt soon found himself back in the royal gardens. The serenity and isolation of it all made him pause, and he decided to have a seat. Well, maybe not so much decided to sit as suddenly found himself seated on the grass before one of the fountains. That fountain... once again he found himself at the very place all of this had started, where he had stolen that time with Adelaide months ago, and now he regretted it. Pulling his knees up and folding his arms around them, Kurt tried to take his mind from the princess, but he couldn't. Had he really thought this could have ended in happiness? He hadn't really thought, though, had he? He let his head fall onto his arms and tried to steady his breathing while everything around him was coming apart at the seams. Stupid Kervall.
Heavily, Kurt pushed himself to his feet and limped over to Lilac, who was staring plaintively at him. Her unwavering calmness was soothing, and he laid a hand on her nose in thanks. She responded positively, so he gave it a little rub, and couldn't help but snicker when she snorted happily at him. Turning around he spied the unfinished picnic laying before him - the perfect image for the doomed love between two young nobles. Moving back to the blanket, he slumped to a seat on the ground and drained his goblet of wine in one motion. It was Dornish, an expensive bottle and actually very good. He poured himself another glass and drank deeply, picking through the assortment of foods Adelaide had packed while his thoughts remained with her. Their options were limited, as were his. Of course, technically he was outside the Keep's walls, and with a horse and a basket of food. But where would he go? Home? Alone to the Vale with two days' worth of food and a set of broken bones? No, for now, he was stuck here, and although the prospect had seemed at least somewhat agreeable at first, he was starting to realize what a fool he'd been in so many ways. In his mind, Kervall started to plan out how much longer he would need to stay in the keep before he felt well enough to leave, but his thoughts wouldn't stay focused. It may have been partially due to his inability to get his mind off of Adelaide, or it could have been because the bloody wine was distracting him. Well, it wouldn't get the chance to do it for much longer, would it? Damn bottle was empty. Stupid bottle.
Getting up once more - and leaning heavily on the walking stick - Kervall wobbled over to the bay mare still staring at him and put a hand on her flank. Why was she swaying back and forth so much? She had always been so still. Well, no matter. He should probably be getting back to the Keep. Except she didn't seem to want to let him mount. After several face-plants and more pain than he cared to describe, Kurt decided to walk back if Lilac was going to be so unobliging. How was he supposed to mount the horse if she wouldn't stay still? Stupid horse.
The walk back took him a while, and the sun was low in the sky by the time he arrived at the Keep's stables. The stable hands seemed much relieved to see him, though they kept giving him funny looks. He handed over Lilac and told them about the abandoned food sitting in the forest and asked them to send a servant to clean it up. The young man who had brought Lilac to him and Ada kept telling him to go up to his rooms and to bed, but he didn't feel tired. A little wobbly, maybe, but he blamed that on the crazy horse and her queasy walk that had zigzagged him all the way back to the Keep. What he really needed now was to think. His mind had always helped him out of any number of messes, and now more than ever he needed it. He had to break free of this strange fog that seemed to be clouding everything and devise some sort of strategy. Stupid fog.
Stumbling through the courtyard, Kurt soon found himself back in the royal gardens. The serenity and isolation of it all made him pause, and he decided to have a seat. Well, maybe not so much decided to sit as suddenly found himself seated on the grass before one of the fountains. That fountain... once again he found himself at the very place all of this had started, where he had stolen that time with Adelaide months ago, and now he regretted it. Pulling his knees up and folding his arms around them, Kurt tried to take his mind from the princess, but he couldn't. Had he really thought this could have ended in happiness? He hadn't really thought, though, had he? He let his head fall onto his arms and tried to steady his breathing while everything around him was coming apart at the seams. Stupid Kervall.
Setting
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Jane had (prudently) kept her tongue during the sibling argument, not that she could have found something to say. What reason would King Henry have to propose marriage to Julia Cavanaugh? She was his enemy and ... well, maybe he didn't know how unpalatable her personality was. She couldn't remember seeing them near one another at King's Landing, and she'd barely caught sight of Julia at all.
"I make of it that the King won't be sending any troops to raze Cavanaugh," she said.
And maybe she shouldn't write a letter of rejection ... if we want to keep our heads.
Not that Jane imagined the woman's tearful outburst would be followed with obedience.
And that brought her mind to another point. Here was Kenneth Cavanaugh, very much alive. He was taller and more sturdy than the boy that she remembered, but it was obviously him, down to the red hair with its golden tints. Just as handsome as he always was, she remembered. It was not a flirtatious observation, but a practical one. Jane appreciated pretty things.
"I must ask you, Lord Cavanaugh ... is there a reason I've been under the impression you were dead for, oh, fourteen years? Does it involve you being a blacksmith?"
~
"If I wanted to hear blatter about numbers," Benjamin groused, "I'd talk to Lady Strake."
Seven hundred men? Five hundred? What did it matter when their hearts were set on triumph? Oh, how he remembered the battles of his youth ... he'd ridden out with John Strake and turned the tide of a battle when they were outnumbered. Yet he did not remember it was an outnumbered battle, again, that had cost John his life.
"And when are you a soldier of a sudden?" The words were said with more pride than indignation at being questioned. "Well, then, and we'll do it your way. Let's see you give those Damians a thrashing!"
He brought his fist down on the table.
"I'll have you armored and geared before the day's out. We can start tomorrow!"
"I make of it that the King won't be sending any troops to raze Cavanaugh," she said.
And maybe she shouldn't write a letter of rejection ... if we want to keep our heads.
Not that Jane imagined the woman's tearful outburst would be followed with obedience.
And that brought her mind to another point. Here was Kenneth Cavanaugh, very much alive. He was taller and more sturdy than the boy that she remembered, but it was obviously him, down to the red hair with its golden tints. Just as handsome as he always was, she remembered. It was not a flirtatious observation, but a practical one. Jane appreciated pretty things.
"I must ask you, Lord Cavanaugh ... is there a reason I've been under the impression you were dead for, oh, fourteen years? Does it involve you being a blacksmith?"
~
"If I wanted to hear blatter about numbers," Benjamin groused, "I'd talk to Lady Strake."
Seven hundred men? Five hundred? What did it matter when their hearts were set on triumph? Oh, how he remembered the battles of his youth ... he'd ridden out with John Strake and turned the tide of a battle when they were outnumbered. Yet he did not remember it was an outnumbered battle, again, that had cost John his life.
"And when are you a soldier of a sudden?" The words were said with more pride than indignation at being questioned. "Well, then, and we'll do it your way. Let's see you give those Damians a thrashing!"
He brought his fist down on the table.
"I'll have you armored and geared before the day's out. We can start tomorrow!"
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View All » Add Character » 32 Characters to follow in this universe
Newest
Lord Grimnir Niflheimr
The Art of Death is mastered by the Heart it wields.
Kenneth Cavanaugh
I'd rather be a blacksmith than a Lord, but honor compels me.
Dagovere Baewhite
Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children...
Maryn
"Look, I like you and all, but hell, you just can't really compare to the Great Me."
Ser Ulfred Borander
Aye, I give you my oath. Your enemies are my enemies. Is that good enough?
Quincel Greyhardt
"There are three routes you can go about with this, each with their own consequences. The first is..."
Nathanial Grayhardt
"War is something to be avoided at all costs"
Kervall Winsler
"I'm not interested in what you want me to hear. Let's hear the truth, now."
Raban Damian
This good-natured, sensitive lad is ill-suited to being a ruthless Damian. But a proud Damian he must be, even if it breaks him.
Teralo Winsler
"A large wall can withstand the might of a thousand armies, but wind and rain will tear down the wall even if it breaks every army. The question remains, which streangth are you?"
Trending
Dagovere Baewhite
Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children...
Kervall Winsler
"I'm not interested in what you want me to hear. Let's hear the truth, now."
Lionel Damian
Is your face really that ugly, or is it only that way because I pounded it into the ground?
Teralo Winsler
"A large wall can withstand the might of a thousand armies, but wind and rain will tear down the wall even if it breaks every army. The question remains, which streangth are you?"
Ser Ulfred Borander
Aye, I give you my oath. Your enemies are my enemies. Is that good enough?
Kenneth Cavanaugh
I'd rather be a blacksmith than a Lord, but honor compels me.
Nathanial Grayhardt
"War is something to be avoided at all costs"
Raban Damian
This good-natured, sensitive lad is ill-suited to being a ruthless Damian. But a proud Damian he must be, even if it breaks him.
Lord Grimnir Niflheimr
The Art of Death is mastered by the Heart it wields.
Isabel Greyhardt
"Allow me a chance. I can prove myself many times over."
Most Followed
Lord Grimnir Niflheimr
The Art of Death is mastered by the Heart it wields.
Kenneth Cavanaugh
I'd rather be a blacksmith than a Lord, but honor compels me.
Lionel Damian
Is your face really that ugly, or is it only that way because I pounded it into the ground?
Ser Ulfred Borander
Aye, I give you my oath. Your enemies are my enemies. Is that good enough?
Raban Damian
This good-natured, sensitive lad is ill-suited to being a ruthless Damian. But a proud Damian he must be, even if it breaks him.
Isabel Greyhardt
"Allow me a chance. I can prove myself many times over."
Teralo Winsler
"A large wall can withstand the might of a thousand armies, but wind and rain will tear down the wall even if it breaks every army. The question remains, which streangth are you?"
Kervall Winsler
"I'm not interested in what you want me to hear. Let's hear the truth, now."
Maryn
"Look, I like you and all, but hell, you just can't really compare to the Great Me."
Quincel Greyhardt
"There are three routes you can go about with this, each with their own consequences. The first is..."
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Battle Maps
by Nanase on Mon May 02, 2011 2:38 pm
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- Last post by Nanase
on Tue May 03, 2011 8:34 am
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Battle Maps
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Ask A Character Board (ASOIAF RP)
1, 2, 3, 4, 5by Jacopo on Wed Apr 06, 2011 9:35 pm
- 97 Replies
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- Last post by yuri-chan1018
on Mon May 02, 2011 11:11 am
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Ask A Character Board (ASOIAF RP)
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ASOIAF Character Thought Thread
by Jacopo on Tue Apr 05, 2011 7:00 pm
- 7 Replies
- 919 Views
- Last post by yuri-chan1018
on Sat Apr 23, 2011 9:29 pm
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ASOIAF Character Thought Thread
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