Westeros

The long column of Winsler retainers and guards snaked southward along the Kings Road. The column had just that day finished the crossing at Harraway and was slowly making it's way south towards Kings Landing. The column, laden with supply wagons, the few meager gifts that Lord Winsler had conceded to give, and the carriages of the lords and lady's of the eyrie, caused the column to move slowly. The slow and steady pace set was perfectly fine for Teralo and his older brother Kervall, but Jaime was growing more and more impatient every day. At the merest hint of a fight, Jaime would take off, charging into the woods or across the plains with his guard to hunt down whatever the trouble was. He would return later that night, sometimes bloodied from a fight but more often then not empty handed and angry about not finding his game.

The large column of the Winsler family and their sworn houses and all their guards was not overly large, but 250 men, women, children, and soldiers snaked down a road do spread out widely. The large honor guard had been their father's idea, it was to be a show of pride and to 'outdo those bastard Damain'. Teralo thought it was a bad idea but it was a point he was not going to win and a fight he did not want to give, his standing with his father was too low with him as is. Plus, Teralo had already angered the Lord Winsler enough after his father had found out that Teralo was letting Emaya come with him.

The rolling hills of the southern grasslands continued to pass them as the Kings Road swirved around them. Every once in awhile a small village would come into view behind a hill or distant windmill could be seen peaking above the hills. Jaime thought it was terribly boring, and so did half the men probably, but for Teralo and Emaya it was beuatiful. They had been studying the animals and plants of the area and each night they had sneaked out to collect a certain flower or shrub, snip a sample or press a flower into a notebook, or perhaps to light a lamp and sit in the grass to draw a sketch and write observations. Honestly no one knew about it yet, and if Jaime did only the gods would know what kind of prank he would pull on them. Still, one of the wagons in the train belonged to Teralo, it stored their belongings, several books on topics of the south, and about 12 blank notebooks. Lord Winsler did agree to him taking Emaya, but only on the condition that she was his 'problem'.

Teralo was riding his horse at a slow walk, Emaya was sitting in front of him in the saddle. Jaime had already been by and laughed at them but Teralo just ignored him. The saddle was not meant for two people and Emaya was all but sitting in Teralo's lap, but Teralo didn't mind and his horse was definitely strong enough for it. So far every time the column passed through a town or village, Emaya would gasp and giggle and point out anything and everything that she found interesting. This had been Emaya's first time out of the Eyrie and almost everything was new and exciting to her. Teralo himself had never been this far south and many times he shared her enthusiasm.

"Hey Tera," Emaya said, her soft voice carrying to Teralo but not much farther. Teralo glanced down to look at her, her head cocked up to look at him. Teralo to an extent did love Emaya in a protective way but he was sensitive, soft you could say. Emaya was still the cutest person in the world to him but her clouded eye and fresh scar still wounded him. He still believed he had failed her that night and still blamed himself for what happened to her. "What's that building over there?" she said pointing to a large windmill. Though they had passed others she had her head stuck in a book or was too busy staring at something else to notice it.

"That building is wind mill. It harnesses the wind..." Teralo went into a lengthy explanation of windmills, how the work, what they are, popular designs, and even where they are generally built. Emaya listened to his explanation carefully and storing the information in her brain. She was a very smart girl and honestly Teralo and Emaya were very similar. Another thing Jaime and others made fun of, but they never hurt them and the two of them ignored their words. The two of them viewed themselves as different, separate form the rest of the world, not better but separate. About a month ago while they were sitting in the library, the two of them wrote a short poem together about it.

They leave us so to the way we took,
As two in whom they were proved mistaken,
That we sit sometimes in the wayside nook,
With mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look,
And try if we cannot feel forsaken.

The column snaked ever southward, the slow moving miles slipping away beneath the boots of men and the creaking of wagons. And in their midst a rider and a small child shared the saddle of a horse, a mischievous, vagrant, seraphic look shared on their faces. The two of them could have been the only two on the road in their minds, and in that shared moments, Teralo believed they were.

The retainers bothered Jamie a great deal, mostly due to the fact they strained his patience. This as any who knew the headstrong young knight was quite the dangerous situation. For his patience was razor thin at the best of times and with this trip's goal being in essence kissing the royal ass of the King, it was far from the best of times. For the second son of the Winsler family had no love for House Damian and wanted this pointless charade over as quick as possible. The Damian's knew House Winsler hated them, House Winsler knew the Damian's knew they hated them. And both sides by large wanted nothing more then the complete annihilation of each other. Or at least Jamie believed this to be the case, he after all was neither the politician his older brother was nor the scholar his twin was. His mindset was that of the warrior pure and simple, the subtly of the situation flew over his head completely. All he cared for at the moment was stewing over the fact he and his personal guard could cover the entirety of the trip in half the time this useless column was covering a quarter of the distance. For he knew the roads and paths of Westeros like the back of his hand, the life of a tourney knight being a far ranging one.

But at least the slow pace coupled with the few gifts they were bearing tempted the more bold and stupid of the highwaymen,robbers, and occasional brigand. And this help keep him if not overjoyed at least satiated and somewhat placated. Of course his duties to said useless column prevented him from chasing the quarry too far and often he returned empty handed.

Even so Jamie managed from losing it all together. Even the presence of his twin and his as Jamie guards liked to call it 'rather young lover' did little to rob the willful young man of the joy of combat. He settled himself to the odd mocking laugh and occasional joke. Even if the rumors concerning Teralo and Emaya were true Jamie nonetheless respected his twin because of Emaya. It proved Teralo had at least some of the backbone a Winsler was suppose to have. Then again Jamie never went to any length to inform his twin of this.

As for the presence of his older brother and heir apparent to their father Jamie was mixed. Kervall was a skillful politician, with nearly the same martial prowess of Jamie and nearly the same intelligence of Teralo. Jamie had to admit it was a good mix for the next head of House Winsler, even if he didn't care for politics personally. But his obvious, one would almost say sympathies, connections with House Damian troubles him to no end. He just hoped this trip didn't end up with them being sworn to House Damian.

But such arduous thinking was not a normal past time for Jamie so he abandoned it. Instead he kicked his horse, a huge black warhorse, into a trot riding past where Teralo and Emaya were talking and laughing about something. It disturbed him in a subtle way but he did not explore the feeling. Scanning the terrain he tried to deduce possible ambush points, an old pastime of soldiers on the march. But the terrain being rolling hills of the southern grassland held little danger from an ambush. At least when they were still among the mountains of their fief Jamie's martial skills had been of more use. For the Vale and the mountains that surrounded had been home to rebellious mountain clans since time out of memory.


But barring an Earthquake it appeared for now all they had to worry about was Jamie's patience finally snapping. At least he comforted himself with the fact they were also riding to a tourney, even it was in honor of Lionel Damian's engagement.Something else he took comfort it in if only because the reckless warrior found it highly amusing.

" Do you know Ser Eilis, we ride to honor the engagement of Lionel Damian, heir of House Damian?" Jamie asked the commander of his personal guard Ser Eilis with a barking, contempt ridden laugh. A grizzled veteran knight who was both grey haired and weary eyed. Despite that the knight had found himself appointed commander by the young Jamie. A commission he had little choice but to acquiesce to. Though if nothing else he was a loyal soldier of House Winsler.

" House Damian is nothing but liars,traitors,and whores who give birth to liars and traitors milord." Ser Eilis answer loyally, if a bit crudely. He had been a hedge knight before swearing service to House Winsler in his youth.

"Well put Ser Eilis, remind me to buy you a round when we get to the next tavern."

And here the young knight chuckled quietly to himself as he sat in the saddle of his charger. Sometimes the bother of travelling slowly was worth it.

Wisps of dark hair blew around her pale face as Adelaide Damian stared with her brown eyes across the city below her window. She could feel the beat of the soft morning sun against her bare arms, the gentle breeze that shook the whispering trees. The blue sky above was crystal clear without a cloud to be seen. A smile illuminated her red lips briefly, before it faded just as quickly. It was a beautiful day and Adelaide should of been out riding on her horse Storm, but there would be no time for that today. Behind her there was a shuffling somewhere in the depths of her room. She ignored it completely, her eyes drawn to some rearing horses, clearly spooked by something or someone. Their handles were whipping their hindquarters in fury. Shaking her head, she could only watch the scene unfold. That's not the way to handle them... She thought bitterly to herself, absent-mindedly tugging at a fine string that hung from her under-garments for her dress. The horses were for the tournament. The one she was being made to attend. To be seen, but not heard as her father carefully put it. With a roll of her eyes, she roughly pulled the heavy curtains across the window and sat down heavily at her dressing room table. Instantly soft hands were running through her hair, twisting, turning, pulling, doing all that they could to tame the wildness of it all. Her father had explicitly implied that he wanted her in her best and her mother had added that if she were to find a fine gentlemen....Adelaide had stopped listening at that moment. Finding a "fine gentlemen" as her mother put it was the last thing that Adelaide was interested in. Marriage was not top of her list when it came to her favourite things.

Staring blankly into the mirror, Adelaide watched in silence as her maid, Mary, pulled her hair back and plaited it elegantly so that it would fall over one shoulder. She expertly tied it at the bottom with a fine silky ribbon. She tucked the last few strands of hair away so that they didn't stick out. Adelaide herself hated the plait and would take it out the moment she had left the room. "There Ada, I'm sure you look beautiful." The white eyes of her maid had never worried Adelaide, but it was the blindness that put her on edge. She had grown attached to Mary, a young maid with a wave of long blonde hair that was always secured tightly in a bun. Due to an accident that she would never mention again, Mary was blinded, but still maintained her job castle as Adelaide's maid. It caused the young girl to worry about her and her welfare, even though she was reminded on a constant basis that Mary was fine to continue working. "Your mother suggested you wore the green dress today." Mary was bustling through the dresses that hung ready to be assessed by the Princess. "Or the blue one. You know, the light ones." By some miracle that Adelaide never understood, she picked out the exact one that she meant. Shaking her head, she turned on her chair to watch Mary.

"I would like the red one with the cream lacing please Mary," She said in a quiet voice, getting to her feet. Mary's head snapped up and she frowned, but without question took a hold of the red one and proceed to carry it to the screens, where she helped Adelaide to dress every day. If she being made to attend this stupid tournament, well she would wear what she wanted to wear. With a smile that the maid could not see, she joined her and did as she was told whilst Mary tightened her corset, pulled on her dress and did varying other things that Adelaide would have never known how to do. Once she was ready, she gave herself a quick look in the mirror, smoothing the dress so that it lay flat around her thighs. It was a beautiful dress, given to her by some potential suitor, who Adelaide had believed to be slimy and disgusting, much to her mother's disappointment. When her hair was tied in a plait, she looked so much younger and more vulnerable. It made her angry. She didn't want to be seen as vulnerable or weak in the eyes of a man. She could defend herself well enough and probably better than a lot of men. However, she would never be allowed to show this. Oh, her father would have her ousted from the Kingdom faster than she could blink. It deeply saddened her that she was not allowed to do half the things her brothers could. Jealousy was a big problem from Adelaide, but she did not love her brothers any less. In fact, she loved them and would do anything to protect them.

"Thank you Mary. You can go now." She told the maid, who bowed before leaving the Princess alone with her thoughts. But it was only moments later that Adelaide, too, left the room and began to walk the corridors of their castle, in the hope of catching sight of some of the arrivals so that she could judge them herself. Her only hope was that she didn't bump into her father or mother before everyone assembled in the throne room....

They were finally on their way south. Just the thought of it for the past several weeks had tied an enthusiastic thrill of a knot in his gut that had made the wait that much harder. But here they were, on the road, traveling towards King's Landing. It was the first time he'd been this far south, as well, though he had been as far as The Twins, he'd never yet seen the glorious royal city. Many emotions jostled for contention within him: nervousness, excitement, foreboding, even wariness. For it was the first time that their entire family would meet with the Damian family face-to-face, and, being the pragmatic young man he was, he had been going over the possible political implications and opportunities in his mind for weeks. Of course, their Lord father would toss their measly choices for gifts at the feet of the king, make a crude comment or two and be done with it, but Kervall truly hoped he could land an audience with the Lord Damian himself. He truly had no idea what would become of such a meeting, but he was eager to have a go at it. He was not intending to do anything so foolish as to propose fealty, or even an alliance, but perhaps he could raise the stature of the Winslers by ingratiating himself to the royal family. It was a small thing to swallow his personal pride if it meant more prosperity and potential for his kin.

Therefore, a portion of the trip, Kervall spent deep in thought, planning possibilities for the upcoming visit. Letting his mind wander also had the added benefit of momentarily forgetting that he'd been astride a horse for days on end, which only served to make him edgy and uncomfortable. His father knew of the accident with the mare that had nearly killed him, and, appreciating the fact that his son was trying his best to combat the fear by riding without complaint, allowed the boy a few hours of each day in the women's carriages to help untangle his frayed nerves in a rare act of lucid sympathy. Kervall was surprised and thankful for the reprieve, and though it caused more than a few snickers within the guard, he gladly took advantage of the time to waylay his fears. As a result, the boy's positive outlook on the trip was unmarred.

When riding, Kurt tried to spend some time moving up and down the caravan line, lending aid or company to the many retainers and servants of house Winsler and their families. He traded bawdy jokes with the soldiers, used his knowledge of geography to plan places for rest and spots for the women to do their cleaning and laundry, and rode with his father to give him an ear to whom he could trash the Damian name - not that he wouldn't do so to anyone who would listen, but Kervall was under the impression Lord Winsler enjoyed mouthing off to his sons, especially.

He spent a good deal of time with his brothers, too. Though his excitement to reach King's Landing was slightly different in nature from Jamie's barely constrained boredom, they shared an antsy itch together. So Kervall commiserated with his taller brother about the endless hours spent on the road and the lack of anything interesting to be found upon it. He challenged the boy to a few races and lost terribly, but it was a good way to kill time and have some fun. A few times, he even joined Jamie on his bold excursions, though at first to make sure his sometimes rash brother stayed in line, he started to look forward to the times he could get away to accompany him. Once, they managed to track down a wild, rampaging boar. The two of them spent hours rustling it from its hiding places and Kervall nearly got gored badly by it, but Jamie's timing was impeccable, and they were successful in killing it. Though it required a hard ride back to the road to catch up before darkness fell, the two of them were absolutely glowing with pride and exhilaration of the experience. They ate well that night.

Kervall's time with Teralo and Emaya was equally enjoyable for him. Though he could not see the splendour of knowledge in the mundane the two of them seemed to expound, his own satisfaction came from watching the two of them. It was clear that they shared a very special connection, though he wasn't crude enough to think it was merely sexual. Once or twice, Kervall even managed to sneak his and Teralo's horses out of the procession without anyone noticing, and lead them to something interesting his studies in cartography had taught him. He took them to the God's Eye, to catch a glimpse of the mysterious and wondrous Isle of Faces, and what was left of Harrenhal in the distance. In hindsight, that had perhaps been a mistake, as he had practically had to drag the two away from the shore and they had been late getting back to the column. He caught some flak from Lord Winsler for that one, but it was worth it. He stole them away again later in the week to bring them to a set of hills that was particularly tall off to the east of the King's Road. Emaya was quite happy with just finding this rather tall hill covered in trees and gopher holes, but the real surprise was the view from the top. To the east of those modest heights, the land lowered significantly as it went off towards the Narrow Sea. From there, on a clear day, you could actually see Duskendale and the large castle in Rosby. It was a wonderful vista, and the look on Teralo's face was worth the trek. Emaya was simply too cute for words, sometimes, though he felt bad for the poor thing and her crippled vision.

All in all, Kervall considered himself quite lucky during the trip. In fact, he figured he was probably enjoying it the most out of nearly anyone there. His nearly bursting anticipation aside, he abused the free time to bond with his brothers and to get into a little mischief here and there with them. Life was good, if you let it be.

"Ha! Yah! Take this!" Raban lashed out once, twice, three times with the Valyrian steel blade, but the Other parried with its cold crystal sabre, blocking each stroke, a high-pitched keening rending the air whenever their weapons crossed. Laughing, Raban danced around his foe and harried it with a flurry of swift, sharp blows. The Other defended the first five, but on the sixth it was too slow and Steelsong bit into its milky armor, tearing a long gash in its pale flesh. The Other threw back its head and screamed an alien cry to the heavens.

"You may shout all you please, foul fiend," declared Raban, "but nothing and no one will help you now! I am Raban, of the House Damian, the wielder of Steelsong! I will avenge my family and drive back the demons of the Long Night! Look upon my blade and despair, for it shall be the last thing you ever do!"

"Raban!" The sharp, unforgiving voice shattered Raban's daydream, and suddenly he was no longer in the Haunted Forest, but in a training room in the castle. The Valyrian steel blade in his hand was nothing more than an old short sword, and the Other a mere battered training dummy. He looked up guiltily and saw the figure of Septon Timon framed in the doorway.

"So this is where you've been, you incorrigible boy!" Timon shouted. "Have you any idea how long I've been waiting in the study, hoping to finish your Economics lesson? You told me you were going to use the privy! You neglected to mention that you would spend two hours at swordplay!" Raban blushed and dropped the short sword back onto a weapons rack as though it was red-hot. "And I see you've ruined your new silk tunic, too! That was ordered especially for the feast!" Looking down, Raban saw to his surprise that he had indeed managed to get mud all over his new emerald tunic. Even worse, the hem was in tatters.

At last Septon Timon lowered his voice. "Oh, Raban," he said, shaking his head and folding his arms. "This kind of behaviour is simply unacceptable. You are a dozen years old now, and a squire to your brother Ser Lionel. It is time you stopped playing the boy and shouldered the burden of your responsibilities. You know what I should do, do you not," the septon said, shaking his head sadly, "I should really tell your lord father about this."

The threat worked. Panic blossomed on Raban's face and he approached the septon, babbling desperately. "Please, Septon Timon, don't tell Father! I've been trying, truly I have! You know I've been working hard these past few moons. I didn't mean to lie to you, I was just walking past the training room and saw the short sword on the table and... well, with this tournament coming up, I'm so excited that I shall see a real royal tourney, with jousting and duels and gallant knights from all over the realm. I won't neglect my duties again, I swear it, only don't tell Father. Please."

"We-e-e-ell..." said the septon, drawing out the suspense while Raban waited on tenterhooks. "Very well," he said at last, "but henceforth you shall dedicate yourself to your studies without fail, my prince. And we will make up that Economics lesson. Now, you've wasted so much time, you shall have to go and bathe and make yourself presentable at once. After that you will meet the King and Queen, Ser Lionel and Lady Adelaide in the throne room and prepare to receive the guests."

Raban went back to his room, swinging an imaginary sword in his hand as he walked, casually decapitating imaginary grumkins and snarks as they leapt at him. Next time he would slay the Other before Timon interrupted, he promised himself. When he got to his chambers, he found that a great wooden tub had been set before the fireplace and filled with hot water. His serving boy Pippin helped him to strip off his clothes, clamber into the tub and perform his ablutions. On Timon's orders, Pippin watched carefully to make sure that Raban cleansed himself thoroughly with the soft horsehair brush and the bar of sweet-smelling soap. Pippin was a quiet, gentle boy, and Raban had been able to push him around until Timon had scolded Pippin and ordered him to keep a strict eye on Raban. The serving boy might be scared of Raban, but he was more scared of Timon and the King, so he now kept a close watch on the prince and insisted that he follow the septon's orders.

After the bath was over, Raban was powdered, perfumed and dressed in a deep blue tunic and black vest decorated with the pure white wildcat of Damian. A pair of sable breeches and an ebony cloak, trimmed with aquamarine and embroidered with seed pearls, completed his outfit. He inspected his reflection carefully in the dressing table mirror, before sweeping from the room and majestically striding through the corridors towards the throne room, the cloak billowing behind him.

He felt a frisson of excitement in his stomach at the thought of the tourney ahead. Of course, he wouldn't be able to take part as a knight, but he was a squire now and would be very close to the fray. He would be allowed to stay in his brother Lionel's pavilion, and he would be in charge of seeing that all of Lionel's equipment was in order, tending to his horse and refreshing him between his bouts on the field. Raban had been to tournaments before, but this was his first one since becoming a squire, and being on the green made it that much sweeter than watching from the stands. The other special fact about this tourney was that it was being held in the King's name, a great honour that would attract the most accomplished knights from all over the kingdom. It would be the most remarkable spectacle that Raban had ever witnessed.

His only worry was that Lionel would not accord him the respect due to a squire. It wasn't fair, but although Raban did his utmost to serve his brother well and true, the crown prince was not the kind to show knightly affection nor brotherly love. At the last tourney Raban had served in, Lionel had lost a bout and returned to his pavilion in a black temper. When Raban had approached him to bathe his wounds, he was rewarded with a kick that sent him flying into a corner and left him bruised for weeks. He only hoped that Lionel would be in a sweeter mood this time. Otherwise Raban might have to have a word with Adelaide. She was the only one who truly listened to him, and he didn't feel ashamed to ask her for help. Lionel heeded her words, too. Last time she had spoken to him, he had gone easy on Raban, at least for a while.

Outside the throne room, Raban met Septon Timon, who was wearing his best robes, official septon's hat and the largest, most brilliant seven-sided crystal in his possession, depending from a cord around his neck. The septon cast Raban a critical look before nodding his approval and gesturing for him to enter the throne room. "Remember your manners in front of the guests," he said severely. "These are high-born from all over the realm. You must not disappoint the King and Queen. These are politically delicate times."

Raban didn't have to ask what the septon meant by that. Today, the principal members of the three most powerful Houses in the realm, Damian, Greyhardt and Winsler, with their lords bannermen and select warriors, would be dining under the same roof. And between the Damians and the Winslers, at least, there was no love lost.

Raban took a deep breath, assumed the proud bearing appropriate to a Damian and entered the throne room. He was relieved to see that apart from the King and Queen and their attendants, the room was empty. He advanced to the head of the chamber and took his place beside his mother.

The weather thankfully was warmer than it had been in a while and Birgitte uttered a small thankyou for small mercies. This undertaking was fraught enough without having bad weather to contend with. She glanced around her as the column moved slowly, inexorably towards its destination. Everything appeared to be in order and she allowed herself a small sigh of relief as she had been expecting more trouble than had actually happened. As the Lady of Winterfell it fell to her to organise all aspects of the trip to King's Landing and she was relieved that it had all gone relatively smoothly though that was in no small part thanks to the loyal and experienced servants of the Grayhardt family. It had taken Birgitte and the household the better part of the last week to get everything ready for their departure including deciding on appropriate gifts for the royal family. That in itself had been no easy task and Birgitte hoped that the gifts they brought with them were acceptable as it would not do for them to be seen giving anything less.

She smoothed down the lines of her gray riding dress as her thoughts turned to the reason for this excursion, the Damien's were hosting a royal tournament and of course all were expected to attend. Birgitte if she was honest would much rather have remained at Winterfell as she was not fond of the Royal Court with all its political machinations and subtle intrigue. She was practiced at fending these off but found it wearying and tiresome. But remaining behind wwas not an option as her husband was expected to have his Lady with him, besides she would never leave her family to fend for themselves in such a dangerous environment. Thinking of her children she glanced at her daughters and felt a glow of pride, whilst differing in temperament, both had grown into fine young women and she was confident that they would do her proud. Though at that moment she doubted Leiliana her eldest daughter was interested in whether her mother was proud of her or not, she was slightly put out with her mother over the outfits she had with her. Birgitte despaired of ever getting her to like formal attire and much cajoling had ensued to insure she would be appropriately attired whilst guests of the Damien's. Isabel her second daughter was easier in that regard having no objections to dresses and all that came with them. But regardless of their differences Birgitte loved them both dearly, as well as her son Richard who had become a fine young man if a bit serious.

Her son rode with the column riding up and down its length taking his responsibilities very seriously, she was aware that he felt he needed to prove to his father that he was worthy and whilst she understood this was something all sons felt sometimes she worried over how much it mattered to him. She had gone to great lengths to reassure him that he was worthy of the name Grayhardt and that he was a fine man but she felt that her approval was not the one that really mattered to him. Sometimes she wanted to knock her husbands head against a wall for his lack of reassurance for his only son but she knew that neither was likely to change. Perhaps this tournament might show both of them more about each other and perhaps Richard might finally discover his worth, she could but hope.

Though having little to do now the column was underway Birgitte found that she could not relax. The weather was fine and the scenery around them was beautiful with the flowers blossoming and the trees in full green but Birgitte could not appreciate it. She felt on edge and no matter how she tried to distract herself her thoughts always returned to the coming stay and King's Landing. Whilst House Grayhardt had thrown its support in with the Damien's it was still not an easy time to be at court. She knew the Winsler's would also be attending and there was no love lost between the Winsler's and the Damien's and she fully expected there to be friction. No doubt the Winsler's would try and sway her family from their support of the Damiens and no doubt the Damien's would do much to ensure the Grayhardt's would stay loyal. Her husband would have to be very careful in order not to become embroiled in the feud between the other two Houses. She hoped they would be able to maintain their position in all of this as she did not want this visit to culminate in conflict. As she and her husband were in complete accord over their wish for violence to be avoided at all costs. It was why they preferred to stay at Winterfell where they could choose not to get involved.

She glanced beside her at Isabel who sat with her in the carriage, her daughter looked lovely and Birgitte was pleased with her choice of garb. The colours of her dress brought out her eyes and made her hair seem even more lustrous.
"Are you looking forward to our stay at King's Landing, my dear?" She asked.

Lionel pulled the silken cloth off the blade and wrapped long, strong fingers around the cool, curved hilt of the sword, giving it an experimental swing. Although he'd been warned enough times by his father not to practice with his sword indoors, Lionel couldn't resist the beautiful weapon. It had arrived from the forge yesterday, a gift from his father to commemorate whatever occasion today was. Lionel had forgotten. He didn't put much stock in the going-ons of court or the politics of the day; it was all useless mummery that bored him to the point of tears. He was good enough at politics; half the lords of the court still thought Lionel was the kindest, most gallant young man in existence, while the other half was so scared of his family that they dared not challenge him to his face.

The blade whistled through the air, one, twice as he twirled the sword around him, coming dangerously close to lopping the posts off his bed. Balanced. The steel rippled slightly on both sides, allowing for increased surface area and versatility. Natural. It was light, excellently forged, yet heavy enough that Lionel had some form of control. Nice to look at. The hilt had been inlaid with the signature black stones of the Damian family- obsidian and onyx, worth just as much as gold in its own, dark way. There was not a trace of gold in the hilt- or anywhere on the sword, for that matter. The blade was Valyrian steel, the hilt silver and iron. Lionel knew as much as anyone what that signified. The time of the Lannisters is over. House Damian now holds the Iron Throne. In short, a good sword.

It deserved a name. Lionel looked at the cruel, dark blade, wondering what word captured the essence of the weapon. The obsidian hilt was chilling enough to send shudders up his page's spine. Even Lionel, incapable of moral feelings as he was, could sense the sword's cold maliciousness when he swung it through the air. It was not a noble sword, it was an evil one. It both frightened and suited him. It was a sword which no man could wield without fearing losing his soul. "Night", he decided. It would be named Night.

Too bad he couldn't use it in the melee held later today.

"You must demonstrate your valiance at this tourney," his father had told him insistently earlier that day. "Don't disappoint me. It was about the only time his father talked to him, when there was some political objective to be achieved or when Lionel had somehow failed to meet standards. And there were so many standards Lionel had to meet today- he was required to to win the tourney, to declare Isabel Greyhardt the goddess of love and beauty, to win her hand before the lords of the Seven Kingdoms, to forge a political alliance that would cement his father's hold on the throne for as long as the Greyhardts were alive...

All things that Lionel had absolutely no interest in doing.

It was little wonder that the Damian heir was such an embittered, abrasive individual. He had spent half his life trying to live up to a role that he didn't want, without getting any proper recognition from his father in return for his efforts. King Damian cared more about the throne than he did his children, and had never once taken notice of Lionel other than to scold him for what he was doing wrong. He had to be kinder to their political allies, had to stop smirking in that impudent way of his, had to cut the "goddamn improper mane of hair", had to learn more about the economy, had to delegate military campaigns to other individuals and focus on how to rule from the throne. Lionel hated it. He wasn't a barbaric, warlike individual, but he loved the strategy and manipulation that went into fighting a war. Running a kingdom? Not so much.

Throwing a coal-colored cloak over his shoulders, he headed into the throne room where his mother and father were already waiting- and Raban as well. Lionel hadn't been too happy when their father had made Rab his squire; in his opinion, Rab was too distracted, too disinterested, and too goddamn kind. It was something Lionel could never understand about Rab- or Adelaide, for that matter. They were so emotional, so demanding of love and affection. As the first Damian child, Lionel had been raised to fulfill his role as the heir. He didn't have the patience for economics or history, but despite his numerous please to quit, to let Rab rule the kingdom if he could just lead the army, King Damian had always forced him back to his seat. At first, it had hurt, the fact that his father couldn't care less what he thought. But then Lionel had realized that it didn't matter how he felt, or what he wanted to do; his feelings had always been repressed, ignored, to the point where Lionel concluded that he shouldn't have to care about other's feelings either. He'd learned to look at the world through cynical, mocking eyes, never taking anything for granted. And Father thinks its my fault that I'm so rude.

He slouched in his seat next to his father's, resting his chin on one hand. I'm going to give it three, two…

"Straighten up," his father snapped, shooting him a glance. Lionel reluctantly pulled himself upright. Two seconds. That's a record.

But the king wasn't finished. "You are the heir to the throne," he said in that deep, sharp voice of his that always made Lionel feel like killing someone. I could do it right now, just reach up and slit his throat. Kingslayer, they'd call me. Wouldn't that be ironic? But no, that wouldn't do me much good...the gods hate kinslayers, as irrational as it is.

"What happens when the Greyhardts see that they're about to marry their daughter off to some long-haired, rebellious idiot who can't keep his back straight?"

A wry frown twisted across Lionel's face. "I don't want to wed Isabel Greyhardt," he grumbled, tapping his fingers on his armrest. He really didn't want to be here. Damn the tourney and damn Isabel Greyhardt. "The stupid wench reminds me of a sheep. And why does she smile all the time? It's weird."

King Damian made an impatient noise. "And you're a fool. Isabel Greyhardt is regarded by many to be the most beautiful maid in the Seven Kingdoms- she'd suit you much better than the whores you're likely to wed if you had your way."

Lionel's face flushed with anger. Sometimes he wondered if it would be better to be completely ignored, like Raban was, than to face this constant criticism. Lionel was a mere seventeen- old enough to be married, yes, but not old enough to be interested. Wedding Isabel would bind him to a life of misery, a life where he would have to pretend daily to be kind and gallant and everything else that the Greyhardts would expect him to be. And if he left her too long while travelling on a military campaign, then she would mope and send him annoying letters. If he came back from a military campaign, she would throw a feast for his return and shower him with affection. And affection made Lionel very uncomfortable. He didn't know what to do with it. And heavens forbid any talk of children…the annoying little bastards…

It was all just so annoying.

"And be civil at least to the Winslers," King Damian said sharply while he still had his son's attention. "We don't need another brawl between you and Jamie."

Lionel rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, Father." He fixed his eyes on the empty hall, listening alertly to the sounds of footsteps a short distance away. Let's just have them come here and get the formalities over with. Then the tourney could start, and Lionel could lose himself in the blind rage that always came with fighting. One could only hope that he didn't accidentally kill anyone.

The gown was itchy. Out of all the things that her mind could have been focusing on right now, it was the fact that the bloody gown she had been clad in was itchy. Leliana was fighting her immense desire to hike up her skirts and set her nails to use - but it wouldn't be possible to get beneath the bodice without cutting it open...and mother would kill her for that, surely.

And so she endured, feeling very much the martyr in the situation. Leliana was always more comfortable clad in britches and a tunic, or form-fitting leathers, than gowns. Useless, annoying, terribly itchy gowns. However, the two small victories which she had earned for herself was not having to put powder and rouge on her cheeks, as well as being able to wear a pair of comfortable leather boots beneath her skirts.

All in all, Leliana felt as if she was being paraded about like a fool in motley. Leliana had the distinct feeling that her parents would be hoping to marry her off to some noble prat in the near future.

Marriage and children, Gods! Leliana would much rather eat shard of glass than ever consider those things. Why could she not merely continue to lead a life of sailing and hunting and bed whomever she chooses to as she already did? She knew her mother would be looking to wed her off to some noble lord who would not mind the challenge of taming the Greyhardt She-Wolf. Leliana scoffed at the thought - as if that would ever happen. Not likely, not if she could help it.

And, almost as if the Gods wanted her to prove her point for all to see, Leliana spied a hare darting off into the underbrush. Without thinking, her action more of a reflex then anything else, Leliana reached for her bow – the one which was strapped to her saddle and in easy reach.

She slipped an arrow out of her quiver – also strapped to her saddle – and notched it with expert care, her eyes focused on the spot where the rabbit was muddling about.

“I will see you dead, foul villain!” She shrieked as she loosed her arrow, watching it fly from the string in a deadly streak. When her arrow hit true, felling the rabbit as it darted back out of the underbrush in an attempt to run away, Leliana let out a whoop of joy.

"Aiieyaaa!" Leliana drove her heels hard into the flanks of her horse and the mare reared upwards. Letting out a shriek that caught the attention of many, Leliana's clamped her thighs down hard against the sides of the mare to keep herself from falling off. Laughing as the horse stilled herself, Leliana attempted to settle herself back down. She longed to ride off, vault from her horse, and get down on her knees to take care of the prey she had just slaughtered.

“Mother, may I gut it?” Leliana asked, turning to smile over at her lady mother with an expression which was very far from innocent. “I’d be careful and I shan’t get too much blood on my hands and skirts! Look at that poor rabbit, Mother, ‘tis practically begging for me to skin it!” The fires of amusement danced in Leliana’s eyes – oh, how much she would rather be hunting or sailing! She would have given her right thumbnail to be able to do so right now rather than be in this itchy gown, may the Others take it!

---

Queen Morgana Damian, clad in a gown which accentuated all that the Gods had given her, was quite content with everything at that moment in time. Everything was going rather according to plan and she was very appreciative of that. She sat to the other side of her husband, back straight as a rod as she was schooled and bred, and silently surveyed the throne room before her.

After the exchange between her son and husband was over, Morgana looked over at her son, knowing full well how he must have been feeling at that moment in time. Ah, but it would be his duty to face the day what it would bring them all like a true Damian.

"Are you ready to brave the day, my son?" Morgana stated rather than asked, her dark eyes boring into him as she sized up his appearance and, after a few moments of scrutiny, gave a curt nod of approval.

"The Greyhardt girl is said to be beautiful, though as to whether her company would be pleasant is a whole other matter," the Queen spoke frankly and openly when in the presence of her family, but she kept her voice down so that only they may hear, not caring to make her opinions known. Of course, when the Greyhardt's and Winslers would arrive, she would immediately transform herself into the very image of a genteel hostess. It was her way and her duty.

"Be glad it was not their eldest we agreed to wed you to," Morgana's nose crinkled in distaste. "That fool girl goes about acting the sailor and the hunter, knowing next to nothing what it means to be a proper lady. Be glad, my son, that your future wife will not trade you in for a well-strung bow nor the grimy deck of a ship. Be glad that this wolf-bitch would be an easy one for you to tame. Better a sheep, as you have called her, than a she-wolf."

A small smile pricked at the Queen's lips and gave her son another curt nod. “You will make us proud, Leo, as you always do. I know it to be so.” And with that, she turned to her other son, to Raban who had taken his seat to the other side of her.

“And have you been felling many of the Others today, Rab?” She asked, her voice quiet so that only he may hear her words, so as not to shame him. Her voice held much pride for her youngest. She knew he would grow into a fine man. She heard the things Septon Timon had to say about her imaginative boy, and rather than make her angry that her son was not paying as much attention to his studies as he should, it invoked some feeling of motherly pride. “One day you too will ride in the tourney and, just as your brother will, fell all those who stand before you.”

However, her daughter had yet to join them, and whatever it was the Queen would have said to her would have to wait until her arrival.

Running a hand through her silky locks, Adelaide was hurrying towards the throne room. Long ago she had given up her search for the new arrivals, as it was obviously clear that there were none present at that moment. But a frantic looking maid had informed her that it would not be long before the three Houses were joined in the throne room and it wouldn't be a good idea for her to be late, especially seeing as her father would be there. Adelaide was fully aware of that fact that this tournament meant more to him than he was letting on, not to mention the fact that it was more important than his sons' lives. If either of her brothers' won the tournament, but died afterwards, well their father would be more pleased about the winning than the loss of his son, Adelaide was sure of it. Swirling behind her, her skirt whipped as she turned the corner sharply. Her dark eyes scanned the corridor before she strode towards the heavy double doors that led into the throne room. Pausing outside, she ran her hand over the rough wood, taking a deep breath in preparation. Adelaide wasn't looking forwards to this. She would have rather been out riding with the sun beating down upon her fair skin, but instead she was confined to the castle grounds due to some battle that was still raging between the three Houses. When Lionel was King, Adelaide would assist him in ending this nuisance, but for now, whilst her father wouldn't listen, Adelaide would be silent and look pretty as she was supposed to.

Pushing the doors open, Adelaide strode into the room, her brown eyes, glinting green, upon her brothers and mother, but not her father. His ignorance and incompetent ways annoyed her deeply and his blatant disregard for her feelings hurt her more. Shimmering in a dark sheet, her hair blew behind her. Smoothing her dress down as she walked, Adelaide prepared herself for the encounter with he family that was bound to end badly. As she drew to a halt, she curtsied to her father, though it looked more like a twitch, before turning to her brothers with a brilliant smile and finally her mother and though it faded somewhat, it was still a bright.

"I trust that all the plans are in order," She said, her voice sweet and gentle, but with a hint of steel behind it. "I know you're going to do absolutely fine today Leo. And Raban will be competing against you before you know it." She ruffled her brother's hair in an affectionate way. Her father would disapprove, but Adelaide didn't really care. She thought greatly of her two brothers and she always would. In the light of throne room, the Damian family was together, but Adelaide believed deep down that they would never be united as a family, not as long as their father was King. He cared for them in his own way, but the throne meant more to him. She only hoped that Lionel would won the tournament and not bring shame and their father's anger upon the family...

Isabel Greyhardt was restless.
It wasn't her blue gown http://images.complete-costumes.co.uk/common/get_image.php/item/00000947/thumb/1/Ladies-Medieval-Renaissance-Costume.jpg, although the dress was rather itchy. She had only chosen it because she'd been rushed, having spent the entire morning training with her warhorse, Whitefire, and grabbed the first gown available to her.
It wasn't the consistent rocking of the carriage or the fact that she was required to ride in the carriage because her dress had prohibited her from actually riding her own horse. She usually had no problems with royal attire, but at the moment she honestly despised the thing. She wished for a moment she'd have protested to riding along in the cart as Leliana had. But it was too late now.
So what was bothering her?
Her fiance.
It wasn't that she didn't care for him, she did. But he always blew off any emotions or contact towards her at all. It seemed all that interested him was the battlefield. Isabel, in all her studies, (and that was a plentiful number), had never understood the bare reason of war. Millions of people, dead. And what did it accomplish? Nothing that all the leaders, if they ever consented to at least speak to one another, couldn't solve. She sighed, and almost didn't her her mother speak. She paused, a habit of hers, and considered in silence before she spoke. Honestly and without restraint. She hated lying. "It will be disastrous!" she finally exclaimed. "The Winslers' and Damiens' within a slap's proximity from one another!" She shifted in her dress, running a hand through her long black hair warily. Either way, she was looking forward to meeting the other Damian family members, as well as Winslers'. Perhaps she would meet someone and they could keep in contact. She was very good at that, getting others to like her. Without trying much. Many people respected the Princess, but she had an ominous feeling about the meeting. She tried to shake it. When Leliana shot the rabbit, she sighed again. She didn't like eating anything she hadn't killed with her own hands. It felt like cheating.

Richard rode his horse along the length of the column. His mail shimmered in the sunlight, and the pale blue cloak he wore, bearing his house sigil, flapped lazily in the breeze. He was anxious, tired, sore, and nervous. The column had been moving for some time and now the end was finally in reach. The closer they got, the more he wished to be there. Soon enough they would arrive at King’s Landing, and all Richard wanted to do was turn around. Over all he had mixed feelings about the whole trip. Part of him wanted nothing more than to get to the tourney. Part of him could not stop longing to return to the forests around Winterfell. And part of him wished they could have made this boring, monotonous, tiresome journey by sea. At least on a ship he would have had something better to do that ride up and down the column checking in with all the guards and carriages. Of course he didn’t let any of this show. No, it wouldn’t do to let anything but determination show. He headed for the head of the column for what seemed like the thousandth time.

“Anything new, Simon?” Richard queried as he came upon the head of the forward guard.

“Nothing yet, Sir,” the man replied. “It’s been a rather uneventful trip so far, hasn’t it?”

Richard paused for a moment but decided to let the conversation continue. “Indeed it has. We’ve seen, what, eight or nine bandits this entire time?”

“My thinking is, they recognize our banners and turn back in fear. Few men dare oppose a Greyhardt. And those who do are fools.”

The guardsman was obviously being a suck-up, trying to get a bonus or even promotion. Normally Richard wouldn’t stand for it. Men should earn their ranks by proving their worth, not kissing the feet of those in power. But for now he would just try to enjoy the little conversation.

“’A wolf will fight to protect its own, and fight hard at that…’ right? Be sure to let me know when our destination is in sight. Cary on.” Richard turned his mount about and stopped on the side of the trail.

Slowly the caravans rolled past. To each he nodded, taking a rough count of the people as they went by. Though his current duties as leader of the guard did not require it, Richard felt this important. As the women’s carriage went past, he made brief eye contact with his mother and younger sister. The Queen Greyhardt had been ever kind to her son, and Richard thought back to all the times she had reassured him of his worth to the family. He knew his mother was proud of him, even if it still seemed that his father felt differently. Yet that was of little concern at the moment.

His younger sister was to be wedded on this trip. And to Prince Damian of all people. Richard understood the political reasoning behind it, but the whole thing still bothered him. The family breakup he could handle, though he cared much for Isabel, and he knew that she would be able to cope as well. And it wasn’t that he hated the Damian boy, sure they didn’t get along that well and were favored opponents in tourneys, but he could be dealt with. There was just something about his rival marrying Isabel that bothered Richard. Regardless, he no longer had a say in the matter. Besides, there was a tourney to take his mind off things and he had duties to attend to now.

He had just reached the end of the procession when he saw Leliana draw her bow. At her shout, Richard prodded his horse into a gallop. Silently he begged for something interesting to be happening. A gang of highwaymen or a pack of wild dogs. His hopes were dashed as he saw the skewered rabbit. He sighed.

“Leli, Leli, Leli… You can put her in a dress, make her look like a lady, but you can’t suppress the huntress,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. He slowed his horse and returned to patrolling the column.

Birgitte sighed as her eldest daughter took down a rabbit she had spotted and wondered if that would be another dress she would have to replace. It was not that she did not take pride in her daughter's skill with a bow. Far from it as she felt immense pride at just how skilled Leiliana had become, many could not best her now in contest. She just wished her daughter would show a little more interest in her feminine side and learn to like being a woman but she despaired of it ever happening. Leiliana was Leiliana and she would most likely always be so, Birgitte had learned to accept the differing traits in all her children though sometimes they did vex her. Like just then when Leiliana was asking her if she could gut the rabbit knowing full well that Birgitte would rather she did not.

"Leiliana I will not have you ruining that dress before we reach our destination. We are due to arrive there shortly so I am afraid that rabbit will have to remain with its skin intact. I will not have my daughter looking like she has crawled through a slaughterhouse when meeting the King."Birgitte said firmly but softened the sharp tone with a smile. "I am sure there will be plenty of time for hunting and the like once we reach King's Landing."

She turned to her younger daughter knowing full well the look that Leiliana was very likely directing her way at that very moment, no doubt the girl would find a way of doing exactly what displeased her mother. Often she would return from some outing or another with her dress in tatters knowing full well that her mother would be most irritated with her. Sometimes Birgitte wondered if it would have been easier if she had birthed only boys.

"I do not think it will be quite that bad, Isabel though I do agree that it will not be easy. But you are a strong, intelligent woman and I think the Damien's won't know what has hit them!" Birgitte said smiling.

Out of the corner of her she saw her eldest son Richard riding past and waved at him as he headed up to the head of the column. He looked a little bored and Birgitte felt for him as she understood just how chafing a journey like this could be. She was a woman of action herself and was unused to such prolonged bouts of inactivity. There was always tasks to be done when running a household and it felt odd that she was not about those tasks. But as she saw the outlines of buildings in the distance she sighed in relief knowing that they had almost reached their destination.

That was not a proper curtsy, Henry thought as his daughter swept into the room, but he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to reprimand her. Beside him, the conversations of his wife and children were muted, distant. How would Lionel fare in the tournament? There was much riding on his victory - not the throne itself, no, but the symbolism of it. He was sure of his eldest's skill, but, always, like a tiny seed in the back of his mind, were the what ifs. What if Lionel were to fall? A cold, tight band seemed to tighten and squeeze around his heart. He had no wish to bury a child. Yet he could not deny that Raban ... I am a king before I am a father; a struggle that Henry had endured for years.

"The daughter of Greyhardt may be beautiful," Henry said, not caring what conversation he might have interrupted, "but I am sure she does not compare to our daughter."

The king turned his dark eyes to Adelaide. Praise never came easily from his lips, and it was almost always tempered with more expectations to fulfill.

"You have many suitors, and all of their hearts breaking for just a glance from those pretty eyes."

So much like my mother's eyes.

Hopefully, Adelaide had begun to grow past her rebelliousness. It seemed that all of his children had problems with their station in life (and in the succession.) He attributed it to their youth. Years ago, when he had been fifteen and young enough to know all that he needed of life, he had resented and feared his father. Age had wizened him and would that it have such an effect on these.

"Are you ready to brave the day, my son?"

Lionel scowled. Since when have I not been prepared for anything? Of course I'm- Before he could burst out at his mother, his sister spoke.

"I know you're going to do absolutely fine today Leo. And Raban will be competing against you before you know it."

"Stop calling me Leo, you prat," Lionel said violently, shooting an irritated look at his sister. "By the gods, you women are ridiculous. I don't need your encouraging words, so just shut up and look pretty like you're supposed to." While he usually found Adelaide's input helpful (or at least tolerated her usual prattling), Lionel was now in a foul mood thanks to their father. And when Lionel was angry, the only solution was to give him time to cool off. Any show of affection or concern only further annoyed him, especially as Lionel viewed it as a display of vulnerability.

"I'm ready to win the bloody tournament again, if that's what you're worried about." Lionel was referring to a tourney held at King's Landing last year when Lionel's prodigious skill as a knight had been made painfully obvious for all to see. He had reached the later rounds of the jousting competition, but had finally been unseated by a knight from a lesser house sworn to the Greyhardts. That same knight had then gone on to jeer at Lionel when they faced off again in the melee tournament. Driven into a cold fury, Lionel had attacked the knight relentlessly, continuing to hack away at his opponent even after he had won according to tournament rules. In the end, the knight had been curled up in a fetal position on the ground, screaming for mercy and bleeding from various places. It was only then that Lionel decided justice had been done. "If Richard Greyhardt or Jamie Winsler think they're going to storm in here and outfight me, I'll cut them down as easily as any other wight."

He shot a cold glance at Raban. "And Raban won't be competing against anyone anytime soon if he doesn't learn to armor a man properly," he said testily, crossing his arms. Admittedly, Raban was usually competent in his duties, but he had nowhere near the devotion and skill that Lionel's previous squire had possessed. But no…one little incident with some whore and that squire had been sent to the Wall, where Lionel had been stuck with his stupid little brother for a squire.

It was becoming painfully obvious that the crown prince was in a foul mood, although thankfully Lionel remained seated and slouched, looking as if he were bored. A torrent of negative thoughts, however, were flooding through his mind. He had no desire whatsoever to marry Isabel Greyhardt, and as the hour of her family's arrival drew nearer, Lionel was floundering as to what to do. There was nothing he could do about it, no one he could talk to- Lionel didn't know how to confide in people, first off. And his father was unlikely to listen to him anyways, given all the past examples. The truth was, Lionel was scared. Isabel, admittedly, was beautiful- or as beautiful as humans got. But Lionel found beauty in the victory found on a battlefield, the curve of a blade as it whistled through the air. Isabel, with her smiles and books, represented an entirely different world which Lionel had always regarded from the sidelines, curious but always skeptical. And once he married her, he would be forced to enter that world. He didn't want to bind himself to it. He wanted to be independent. Free from the politics. Free from…this.

Raban tensed when he saw Lionel enter the throne room. He could see from his brother's face that his irritation over the upcoming marriage had lessened not a jot. When Lionel was in one of his moods, he quarrelled with Father and made life miserable for the whole family, which Raban hated. He knew that at times like this it was best to keep his head down and pray that nothing bad would happen. He smiled when his mother asked him about slaying the Others. It was an embarrassing, childish game, but his mother had seen him playing it since he was old enough to stand on his two feet and hold a wooden sword, so he felt no shame in speaking of it with her. When his mother reassured him that he would ride in the tourney soon, he felt his thoughts turn towards the future.

One day he would ride in the tourneys as a brave and gallant knight. He would be as strong and swift as Lionel, but unlike his brother he would act as a true knight should, upholding his vows of chivalry taken in the sacred sept. He would swear to defend the helpess, love honour and uphold virtue. He would treat his parents and sister with respect and kindness, and challenge anybody who offended their dignity. He would put down rebels and bandits and turn back pirates from the Narrow Sea. He would even defeat his brother Lionel at joust after a hard-fought bout. And perhaps then Lionel would respect him, and his lord father would look at him with pride in his eyes.

Adelaide made quite a sight when she entered the room, clothed in all her finery, marching up to the throne and curtsying to their father somewhat stiffly. She was unhappy with the festivities as well, and Raban knew why. Once Lionel was wed, she would be next in line. And after her... perhaps Raban. He was young, but it was not uncommon for princes his age or even much younger to be married off for strategic purposes. It was a thought he didn't care for, so he pushed it away.

Ada smiled when she saw him and ruffled his hair, saying that he would be competing against Leo next.

"Stop calling me Leo, you prat," Lionel spat. He went on a tirade, abusing his mother and sister, the Winsler and Greyhardt princes, and finished by insulting Raban and mocking his squiring capabilities. Raban lowered his gaze to the floor, anger, fear and hatred seething through his veins at his brother's outburst, but there was nothing he could do. There was never anything he could do against Lionel.

"Ah, my sweet lady mother, if that is your wish then I am due to comply!" Leliana replied, figuring she could act proper for at least part of one day - but Gods, that rabbit needed to be skinned! Her hands itched to slice open its underbelly and take out the innards and then proceed to deftly rip the skin off of its tender red flesh.

Instead, she diverted her attentions elsewhere. "If I may speak frankly," Leliana said, completely butting into the conversation between her mother and younger sister without a wink of shame, "I think he's nice to look at. Have you not heard what people say of his swordsmanship?"

Leliana was unable to stifle the next words that came pouring out of her mouth in a tirade of bawdy humor. "And, look at it this way Isabel, if he can handle his sword out in the courtyard then surely he can handle his sword in the bedchamber," she said this all with a straight-face, almost as if there was nothing devious at all which her words were intoning, "if he can drive it into the gut of his opponent, I am sure he can drive it just as easily into you."

Leliana nodded her head with pretend-wisdom, as if to wordlessly say 'listen to big sister, and learn from her words'. In truth, Leliana was merely making more jests.

"Although, when you find out, you simply must tell me what sort of sword it is! Shortsword? Longsword? ...Broadsword? Oh, Gods, it would be hilarious if t'were a dagger!" And that was where she finally broke out into laughter, her voice carrying out into the wind without the slightest bit of shame. Truly, there was very few things which could shame Leliana.

If she had half a mind to do so, she would be perfectly fine with walking around the halls of King's Landing naked as her name day and not give a fig about anything anyone said. However, as she was sure it would give her poor lady mother an attack of the heart, she would refrain from doing so.

And they were getting very close to their destination - it would only be a matter of hours now before they got to the palace. She shuddered at the thought of more itchy gowns and having to keep up her polite public face.

---

Morgana chose to ignore her elder son's words, knowing full well his moods. T'would be best to let her angry child calm down of his own accord.

"Adelaide, lower next time - and your back must be straighter," Morgana said once her daughter had risen out of her curtsy. The girl had to learn that even when the situation seemed to be informal, her duties as a woman and a lady of House Damian always had to be upheld - and that included proper curtsies.

But when Henry spoke of how their daughter's beauty by far outdid that of their eldest son's betrothed, Morgana could not help but allow for a small smile. "Truer words have never been spoken, milord," Morgana replied as her husband made comment upon their daughter's beauty. "The radiance of the Greyhardt's youngest daughter pales and wanes in comparison to that of our fair Adelaide."

She was proud of all her children in her own way, though she did not often extend to them the hand of motherly care. Before, back when her two eldest were younger, she would have doted on them more in her own way - in the same way she still at times doted on Raban. But now they were grown and life was no longer a game and they had to learn to survive in the viper's nest of courtly politics.

She reached out and briefly put her hand on Raban's forearm to give him a reassuring squeeze - an indication that she believed in him and knew he would do well - before taking her hand away and replacing it into its previous position in her lap.

The day, such as it were eventually came to close. And with the fall of night House Winsler and it's retainers were forced to camp. Something Jamie found distasteful, for his personal guard and indeed all the soldiers and knights accompanying could have covered quite a bit more distance before retiring for the night. But the Lords,Ladies, and other useless folk weighing them down forced an early stop while there was still bright sun in the sky. While the headstrong young man usually approved of his Lord Father's decisions, only because they brought him nearer to his plan's fruition, this was not one of the approved decisions. He frankly found the man half-mad, then again the same could be said of him at times. There was no strength or glory represented by the Lords and Ladies of their holdings. If anything it stank of weakness, this parading of their nobility.

In the end though it didn't matter, what mattered was the plan. And if he had to put up with the useless folk of this column then so be it. And so he quieted his disgust and helped the servants, soldiers, and cooks set up the evening camp. Dismounting his charger the reckless knight left it in the care of the groomsmen and stable boys accompanying them. Then he saw to the placement of the sentries, saw that the servants had all they needed to fulfill their duties, even helped the hunters bring down a fine batch of graceful deer so that there was no need to eat the preserved provisions they had brought with them.

All this only added to Jamie's impatient attitude, well the hunting was always good fun. But he comforted himself by fancying he could smell the stench of Flea bottom from here. For he had been to King's landing once before, a year past to scout the place out so to speak. Unlike his twin Jamie put little stock in books and reports, preferring seeing things with his own eyes. Officially he had been on his way to a tourney being held in the Dornish Marches at Lord something or another's castle. But what his family didn't know wouldn't hurt them. Overall he had been underwhelmed by the experience. King's Landing was in his eyes little more then a cesspit were the nobles and King pretended they couldn't smell the shit overflowing from the sewers.

Then again his stay had been brief, and the very nature of it meant he couldn't use his noble status to explore further. And so he left the cesspit of King's Landing and went to the Dornish March Lord's tourney. Where he had won second place, a rather hefty chest of money. First prize had been the Lord's daughter's hand, something Jamie had no interest in so in the final round he had yielded after giving the crowd a good show for formalities sake if for nothing else. After all the knight he had been facing Ser Gungthir or something like that obviously was head over heels for the girl and she for him. Reckless he may be but Jamie was still a knight and firm believer in the code he swore to up hold. Besides what was second place compared to doing a little good for two people. The Seven knew he would need that kind of goodwill once the plan was put into motion.

Shaking his head clear of such thoughts he returned to the tasks his body had been doing while his head was lost in the clouds. This keeps up I'll be writing poetry next He chided himself as he saw to the raising of his own tent, a red and black thing set with his houses sigil and flying the banner of House Winsler. This being done he decided to relax and enjoy the calm and serene night. The cooks had saw to it their Lord master's son and his guard were given the choicest portions of the deers he and the hunters had brought down. Jamie, ordering a small cask of Dornish wine to be broached, made good on his word to Ser Eilis.

" Tis a good night tonight." Jamie spoke as he and his guard sat to dinner, sitting around the fire that had been kindled in front of his tent. Every few bites he word take a sip of the Dornish wine, surprised as always by it's nature. Fortified though it may be it nonetheless was a tasty brew and far better then the barely beer favored among some. He had never grown accustomed to it's taste.

"How so Ser." Eilis asked a questioning tone in his voice as he preferred clearly the drinking of the wine to the vension, for he supped little and drank two goblets to Jamie's half a goblet.

"Because we'll reach King's landing tomorrow and half this snail's journey will be over. And I can show the Damian's what I really think of them, while doing all that political crap Kervall says I should try."

"You'd be referring to your little gift, aren't you?"

"Yes indeed Ser. They won't see it coming and it'll be the prefect start to my plan."

"I suppose your Lord Father approves?" Eilis asked with some hesitation. He was after all the commander of Jamie's guard but at the same time his so called true loyalty lay with Lord Winsler.

"I haven't told him a damn thing Ser. My father would likely soil himself if he knew how much this little gift cost in money alone. But it's not like I emptied the vault."

"Your twin is a clever man."

"Indeed he is Ser. Teralo is no warrior but a more intelligent man you could not find. He took my tourney winnings and made me a rich man. And made possible the first step of the plan."

With that the headstrong knight fell silent as did his guards. For there was no more to say. Realizing this Jamie sent for a bard and one was sent. A tall and long legged woman of great appeal. While she sang sweetly and skillfully the young knight was willing to wager his golden armor that her beauty was as much a reason for her fame as her skill at her chosen craft was. But be that as it may the willful young man merely sat in silence, listening to the songs, till one caught his attention.

" And who are you, the proud lord said,
that I must bow so low?
Only a cat of a different coat,
that's all the truth I know.
In a coat of gold or a coat of red,
a lion still has claws,
And mine are long and sharp, my lord,
as long and sharp as yours.
And so he spoke, and so he spoke,
that lord of Castamere,
But now the rains weep o'er his hall,
with no one there to hear.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall,
and not a soul to hear"

The bard was looking right at the young knight, no doubt gauging his reaction. Many of the others had no idea of the meaning of that song. Although no scholar Jamie knew that song, knew it by heart. It was quite the metaphor and gave Jamie an other idea, a new step in the plan.

" That was well done milady." Jamie said clapping lightly.

"You mock me with a noble's style your Lordship." The female bard said in a tone of mock injury.

"All by no means I don't. There is something I would like to discuss, if you would care to come into my tent. Ser Eilis if you would be so kind I am feeling tired." Jamie said with a wink to veteran knight. Eilis like Jamie knew that song and unlike the rest of the guard knew Jamie wasn't inviting the bard in for such crude reasons.

So Eilis and Jamie's guard made themselves scarce with much laughing and ribald suggestions. Jamie for his part entered his tent being closely followed by the bard who closed the entrance flap as Jamie lit a few candles to provide some light.

"I knew my boldness would catch your eye your Lordship." She said with a saucy twist of her hips.

"It's just Ser and you can drop the act no one else is around." Jamie replied with a smile despite his words, the woman was quite beautiful, with none of the demure manner of the noble women he was use to. It was a refreshing change for the young knight.

"I think my Lord likes the act nonetheless. But business before pleasure they say."

And with that Jamie discussed the next step of the plan, the two working long into the night to smooth it out. But when dawn came it found the two inevitably sharing the same sleeping roll. She had been quite the bold one and left unashamedly in the predawn light wearing rumpled clothing. Jamie for his part left his tent a few good minutes after she did wearing a freshly pressed black silk tunic, brown leather breeches tucked into black knee high riding boots, and his valyrian steel blade Memory girt upon his hip. Sometimes camping early had it's advantages.

Searching out his twin he found Teralo outside his tent with his inevitable escort of sorts, the young Emaya. Sending a nearby servant to find Kervall the reckless knight approached his brother with last night's smile still fresh upon his face. It was partially simply the aftermath of such things but also the pleasure of seeing his plan come together so well.

"Hail mighty Teralo, bane of assassins everywhere. I hear the Faceless Men have put a bounty on your head that would tempt even our Lord Father." Jamie gave his twin a few seconds to react to that before launching into his real reason for coming here." But all kidding aside Teralo I have something I would like to show you, something I need your opinion on. Don't look so shocked it's not the first time I've asked you for advice. If you would follow me I'll take your right to it."

And so Jamie turned a sharp about face and with his long legged stride headed towards the wagons. And in particular the wagon assigned to him. Jamie being Jamie the wagon was full of weapons, armor, and supplies needed to look after weapons. Then again he did plan to compete in the tourney unlike Teralo.

Adelaide shot her brother a dark, cold glare as he ranted at her, their mother and just in general. His temper was a reminder of their father's temper and it annoyed her somewhat. Lionel tried so hard not to be like their father, but when it came down to it, they were far similar than he would ever realise. Ever since they were younger, Adelaide had noted Lionel's short temper, much like she had noted her father's. Whilst the anger was directed at her, she held her tongue, fully aware of her place in the family and the court. She would not give him a reason to shout at her further and she noticed that her mother had chosen to ignore him as well. But when he turned his fury upon Raban, she was ready to jump to her younger sibling's defence, for he would not protect himself under Lionel's harsh words. Opening her mouth, she intended to respond with force, until her father's words halted her own. Surprise flickered across her face for a moment, before a true smile tugged at her red lips and she turned to her father instead. It was not often that her father graced her with a compliment and even though she was aware of the implications behind it, she was grateful. Rebellious as she was, she longed for her parent's love and attention.

When her mother added her own compliments, Adelaide smiled further, which lit up her dark eyes. "Thank you father," She whispered, bowing her head slightly to him and then turning to her mother. "And thank you mother." Again, she bowed her head, her sign of respect to her parents. With a sudden realisation she decided that today was not the day to show her family up. With the Winslers coming, there would be enough to worry about, without a rebellious teenager with an attitude problem. For now, she would fulfill her duties as a Princess in the correct manner and with the honour that her family held onto. Another glance at Lionel, indicated that she hoped he would behave equally as well, so not to show their parents up. Although Adelaide was keen on politics and wanted peace between the families, she held a fair dislike for the Winslers as well. She had not come across one yet that had been pleasant towards the Damian family, though she had met very few in her years. For the sake of her family's honour, she would bury everything she felt, if only for the length of the tournament.

"Have we had news from them? Are they close?" She directed the question to her father, where she would have normally asked her brother instead. But after his furious outburst, she did not think it appropriate to talk to him.

When Isabel heard her mother speak, she smiled. "Thank you, Mother. They won't indeed. I'll be sure to startle them out of their wits with my good looks and sure charm," Isabel chuckled. She reached behind her into the coach seat. She was glad she'd had the foresight to pack the items she would probably desire near the coach seat. All she had to do was rummage around in a few bags. She hadn't brought much, just enough to keep her satisfied for their stay. She wasn't sure how long the tournment would last and wished to be prepared. It wouldn't do to run to the Damians' for proper extra clothing. How humiliating!

She pulled out an old, leather-bound book from the bag and flipped it open to the most recent page. She kept recordings of everything she'd seen, as well as anything deemed important. Over one hundred pages were already filled, and she'd only gotten it a year or so ago. It was smeared with the remains of wet ink and scribbled on. She began to write, everything from landmarks to the names of the servants and such that she'd memorized. It was always handy to know one's name, instead of adressing them by the derogotory "Servant."

She was just giving thanks that the carriage hit no potholes on the way when Leliana began to tease her about Lionel. She kept her demeanor until Leli had finished. "I'd enjoy seeing things from your point of view, sister, but can't seem to get my head far enough up my ass."
She smiled, silently hoping her mother wouldn't chastise her too much for the "unladylike" words. It was all in good humour.
When the carriage finally paused, the sun just setting, Isabel stepped out onto the soil, grateful. It'd been a while since she streched her legs, and she leaned back a little, reassuring herself she hadn't ruined the dress with rubble flung from the horses' hooves.

When a hunting party was set out so as not to damage their emergency funds, Isabel didn't ask to go. If she did, guards would presume they had the right to accompany her, being the royalty she was, and their clanging would frighten away most of the prey.

She sent for a tent and a tent arrived, larger than most of the families' there. She thanked the servants and bid them away and perched on the edge of her sleeping bag, content to read away the night by candlelight.

The cool bite of the early morning crept through the camp, latching on to every soul who wakes with the dawn. None were excluded from its nip and to with chill there was no lord, son, or servant. To the morning chill it was just one flesh to chill, no different from the other flesh or from the squirrel in its hollow home and the doe laying its head in the glistening dew coated grass. The silent wicker of a horse pierced the coolness, its breath leaving a little cloud and startling the poor stable hand that had woken to tend to the horses for this final morning of travel.

In one nondescript white walled tent, two figures still lay asleep, the pair huddled together and their warmth keeping the penetrating chill away more then any blanket ever could. The pair, an oddity in their own right, a young man and a small child, lovers many say under the cover of whispers or simple jest. Perhaps truth rang in what was leveled as joke, but if so the love was purer then most and shared equally, fully, knowingly.

The young man stirred, waking early morn had been drilled into him from the cradle. His eyes, blue as the sky itself, lingered lightly on the small form curled against his chest, the tinges of a smile upon the corners of his face. Eyama, his little savior, scars and all. The small form moved slightly in her sleep, her sweet voice whispering lightly in her sleep "Tera" she whispered silently. Teralo smiled to himself, bending down he lighted a small kiss upon the top of her blonde head. "Dream well little one" he whispered before carefully escaping her embrace and settling the blankets around her body. Lord Father knew that Eyamo was a close friend to Teralo, but if he knew how Teralo truly felt about the young girl. He shuddered at the thought, no he would not think of such things.

Teralo moved quickly, despite being so far south, the air still contained a chilly bite to it and he wanted to be dressed as quickly as possible. After a minute or two of fumbling with his slowly numbing fingers, Teralo was dressed in a pair of simple dark brown breeches and a simple white shirt. The sides of the tent were coated with a light layer of condensation but Teralo exited quickly and stepped out into the light of the morning.

The sun had not yet passed the horizon but already its light was beginning to burn off the thin layer of fog that had collected over the camp at night. Teralo was not alone in his movements around camp but it was quite possible he was the only person of 'noble' blood awake. His steps brought him quickly to a small coral that had been erected every night for the sole purpose of the small mare he had brought with him. The unnamed horse was still young but it's body was already well toned with muscle and even asleep it seemed to radiate power. The mare was a proud stallion purchased at more then a fine mountain of coin. It was to be Teralo's gift to Crown Prince Lionel. Father was stingy to say the least in his gifts, but Teralo and Jamie had agreed that a suitable gift would be needed. Though Teralo did not know what Jamie's gift was. Jamie had come to him a year ago with a considerable sum of gold and told him to turn into a fortune in trade and investments. Both Teralo and Eyama had gone through a considerable amount of work in finding the best investments and trading options for Jamie, but it had been fun their minds and in the end Jamie had his fortune and spent all of it on something for this trip. Teralo would e lying if he said he was not interested in whatever that gift might have been, but his mind was on his own gift. His proud little Drothaki Stallion.

The Mare woke at Teralo's steps and backed away as if ready to charge until Teralo held out his hand and filled a small trough with food for the mare. It still would not let Teralo get too close to it without trying to take one of his fingers off. The horse had the biggest spirit in an animal he had ever seen; honestly it was almost a shame to have to give her away. Still, she was a warhorse through and through. The mare would not be happy unless a warrior rode it her proudly into battle.

Teralo stayed with the Mare, admiring her beauty in the early light before heading back to his tent as the camp slowly began to come alive. He did not walk back to his tent as fast as he had in getting to the young mare to feed her, instead he took his time casually picking his way over tent ropes and stakes. Somewhat lost in thoughts about what was to happen that day at King's Landing, Teralo walked clear past his tent and was forced to double back after realizing his mistake some five minutes later. Entering his tent quietly so as to not disturb Emaya, he was surprised when he walked in to find her already awake and currently in the middle of dressing herself in a small blue dress he had purchased for her last birthday. Both their faces blushed, it was not the first time such an occurrence had happened but it was embarrassing none the less. "Ah, I'm sorry" he said turning away clumsily away. Eyama's face was hot with embarrassment and she turned away too. "No...It’s fine." she said lightly. "Can you help me with the back; I can't seem to tie the back up." It was true; the dress was a little big for her as he had purchased it for her expecting a growth spurt that still had not come. There faces still red with embarrassment, Teralo tied up the back of the dress, trying to make it tight but not uncomfortably so. When he was finished the two shared an awkward smile before Emaya gave him a cute little hug with a word of thanks.

The two began to pack up their belongings, all the while the two of them went on with each other nonstop about the places they would visits. The Red Keep, The great sept of Baelar, The Guildhall of the Alchemists, most of all however they talked about the Dragonpit. Dragons, they were one of the small fascinations that the two shared and even more so since the apparent rebirth of the Dragons by Daenerys. Both of them had described a want to visit the site and even explore it, they dreamed of finding a dragon egg there and even as far as of hatching it. Of course they would have to keep it out of Jamie's or their Father's hands but that was their dream.

As they placed a few small books they had been leafing through in a box filled with about fifteen other books, Emaya fell silent. "Hey Tera...." she asked, her voice having lost it's normally upbeat atmosphere. "I had a dream last night...... I was in a dark forest and I was lost and afraid.... I tried to find you and I called for you but no matter what I did, you weren't there." Her face had a look of loss and sadness it in, one that reflected by Teralo's almost he had left her this morning, but only for a few minutes. Surely that could not have brought on such a bad dream. Emaya visibly shivered, despite what she told him. Teralo did not believe she had yet recovered completely from the attack that had cost her eye. It had been shortly after she had been allowed to leave her bed that she had come to him the first night, asking to sleep with him. Since then it has become a common occurrence and every once in awhile she would awake from a dream such as this.

Teralo kneeled down so that he was able to look her in the eyes and placed a soft hand on top of her head to try and comfort her. "Shh, it was only a dream. I'll never let you go; I care about you too much to leave you." He gave her a large comforting smile but she still seemed a little troubled. "Tera....can I ask you a question?"
"Of course you can Emaya, you can ask me anything."
"Do you love me Tera.... I mean not a brother sister love, but do you Love me?"

Teralo's hand stopped running through her hair lightly. He was taken aback by the question. He knew Emaya knew about love and relationships but he had always thought of her as a little sister, sure a few times he thought of her as...well more then that. But he had always just brushed those aside. Now she had brought all those brushed thoughts to the front of his mind. Did he truly Love her? Of course he did, but she was so young and his father would be unpredictable at best. His mind raced but finally he resigned himself to the unadorned truth, "Yes... I love you more then anything else... You saved me from myself when I first met you and I've loved you for years now. That's why I'll never let you go Emaya. I love you." his face was red and she was certainly looking much happier now, relief flooding into him. He did not like to see her unhappy. Suddenly he felt her small hand on the side of his face. "Tera I... I love you too, more then anything. I don't know when I first felt this way....but I feel safe near you, all my fears leave me and all that's there is a fluttering in my chest and a want to feel your arms around me."

Teralo was touched; anyone else would have scoffed at the words of a girl who was a foot shorter then you and but a child. However, for Teralo who had lived with her and shared his life with, would have died for her, these were heartfelt words given to him by the person whom he loves. He noticed in alarm that there were tears in her eyes though. "I knew you had gone to see the horse...but I was so scared after that dream I..." Teralo wrapped his arms around her small frame and pulled her close to him, to hold her tenderly, an embrace of love and comfort. Teralo wiped a tear from her eye. "Don't cry Eyama. Don't ever be scared, I love you" GODS it felt good to be able to say that. It had been bottled up inside him for so long and now the cap was burst open by her own small hands. "I'll never let you go, I am here for you."

A smile burst open on Emaya's face, a glow lit that the sun could never compare and her cheeks colored by the same blush painted on Teralo's face. "Tera... Please..." her eyes darted away lightly, her face growing considerably redder "Will you kiss me." she mumbled out, the barest whisper of her voice falling into Teralo's ears. His face colored almost more then her own now scarlet cheeks, but he smiled and brushed a loose strand of her hair from her eyes. "Of course I can." he said softly. He brushed the side of her face with his hand and placed his head until there foreheads were touching. Teralo's hand tilted Emaya's head up slightly and their lips met, locking themselves in a deep kiss.

Several seconds past but it felt like a lifetime to the two lovers before their lips parted. Their eyes held each other as each tried to digest what had just happened, of how this innocent kiss would change everything. Their faces were deep scarlet and if not for the cover of the tent then word would already be spreading swiftly across camp, the rumors proven and knew ones already underway. "Th...Thank you Tera" Emaya said somewhat stunned, as if even she had not expected him to actually return her feelings, let alone kiss her.

The sound of heavy footsteps on the cold ground could be heard approaching the small tent and both Emaya and Teralo quickly broke apart and grabbing several different items and clumsily exiting the tent at the same time to place the items in their wagon and give the semblance that they had been busy packing. Though it was clear on their faces and they way their eyes kept glancing toward the other that this was obviously not the case. Teralo had nearly run into his twin Jamie in his rush to clear the tent with Emaya and he gave a silent curse at the footsteps having to belong to his brother of all people.

"Hail mighty Teralo," his brother called in jest, "Bane of assassins everywhere. I hear the Faceless Men have put a bounty on your head that would tempt even our Lord Father." Jamie gave his twin a few seconds to react to that before launching into his real reason for coming here."

Teralo gave a forced laugh though both Emaya and his faces were covered in a scarlet blush. He was just glad that his brother was too busy with some idea to bring voice to some other jest. Though he did glance at Emaya's scar during that jest, it was all in good fun for Jamie but that scar represented something that he had failed her in Teralo's mind, something that weighed all to heavily on both of them. His brother gave a small pause to laugh but continued wholeheartedly with what he wished to discuss. "But all kidding aside Teralo I have something I would like to show you, something I need your opinion on. Don't look so shocked it's not the first time I've asked you for advice. If you would follow me I'll take your right to it."

Honestly Teralo was surprised, it was rare for his brother to seek help or advice though Teralo was usually the first person whom his twin came to on such occasions. Plus something told Teralo that he was about to have his questions about what Jamie had purchased with his considerable fortune. He nodded to his twin. "Very well Jamie. Lead the way, I would like to help you with whatever it is you require advice on." Teralo tried to flash a smile but it was difficult at best to even pretend that he liked being in his brother's company. He did indeed smile at Emaya though. "I think were about to find out what our little trade with the Free Cities was all about." Emaya grinned, the eagerness for knowledge back in both their eyes and their embrace not moments ago put to the side, if no where near forgotten or out of mind.

Jamie, with Teralo and Emaya in tow strode towards where the wagons had been sequestered, it was currently a beehive of activity as porters reload goods back onto them. Meanwhile stable boys were seeing to the horses that pulled the heavily laden wagon. It being early dawn the air still had a bite in it and the breath of everyone formed a white steam with each exhale. The reckless young knight loved this time of day, were the sun shone all red and gold and shadows made sharp contrasts. One could also hear the first of the morning birds beginning their song.

And if he noticed his twin and Emaya had blushed redder then the rapidly raising sun he made no comment on it. Then again had he noticed he most likely wouldn't had said anything. The gods knew Jamie Winsler was no innocent in such matters and he actually in a way all unique to him supported whatever relationship Teralo had with Emaya. But then again he hadn't fixated as he was on his rapidly maturing plan. The gifts, the Dragon had seen the horse his twin had purchased. And a finer stallion he had never seen, it was almost a shame that it was for the Crown Prince Lionel. More so the surprise was that his brother knew the difference between a good horse and bad one, a skill he thought solely the warrior's. Then again Teralo was rather on the far side of extremely intelligent. But he knew his gift was going to truly shock perhaps even his knowledgeable brother let alone the half wits of House Damian.

Upon reaching his wagon Jamie, with the help of a nearby porter carried out a richly polished case of ebony, the size of a coffin it was set with the crest of House Damian and their motto. Setting it down careful so as not to scuff it's gloss Jamie stood a little straighter, as a herald would before announcing the match up at the joust.

"Ladies and Gentlemen I present to you a sight you'll never see ever again. In this box is an item of fantastic proportions, a gift even the Gods would be amazed at. And so without further ado I present to you The Dragon's gift to House Damian, and in particular our Crown Prince Lionel Damian, long may his line prosper." He spoke, somehow keeping a straight face when praising House Damian. And true to his word he opened the coffin sized box, the hinges pure silver that was polished to a blinding sheen so as to appear white.

Inside this richly made box ,nestled in the finest black silk, was a suit of valyrian steel armor. From elaborate scroll-work to the dark gray rippled patterns of the valyrian steel it showed itself to be armor fit for a warrior-king. Were valyrian steel swords were considered treasures this armor made of the near mythical metal was one of a kind. The sheer cost of it's production was no doubt mind blogging.

"Pretty impressive what a few mountains of gold will get a person these days. This armor was forged in Qohor, the only place that has smiths capable of reworking Valyrian steel. It took them 6 months to craft it. And so great was their shock when I placed the order that I had to pay the entire price upfront. Do you think Prince Lionel will like it? I ordered it to be adjustable so that should he gain either height or weight the armor will still fit him."

Here Jamie simply let his twin and Emaya take in the sight of the armor. For he had been speechless when he first saw the complete set. It was simply a master piece, the warrior who wore this armor would be blessed indeed. He had been tempted to keep it for himself, but it was part of the plan so he had the case made for it and packed it away against this day.

"So Teralo, I bet the entire cost of this armor you were wondering what exactly had I spent my fortune on." He spoke with a laugh, no need to spill the beans just yet. Let his twin and Kervall think he had turned over a new leaf." And what about your Lady, do you think Lionel will like it young Emaya?" Once more another laugh rang from his lips. It unlike his plan was no act. He was genuinely happy, this was the beginning of great things.

"Were is that laggard Kervall, I'll tan that servant's hide if he forgot about summoning our brother." Even these words were spoken with some mirth, especially the part about tanning the servant's hide. For Jamie had treated the servant's with nothing but kindness and indeed usually didn't bother them with much.

Henry felt the calm, sudden urge to slap his eldest son, but restrained it. These days, it seemed, the boy was incapable of doing anything beyond pouting about his good fortune. It was disgusting; a prince, an heir to the throne, behaving like a spoiled child when his seventeen years should have made him a man. The old, familiar worry rose up in the back of his mind: let the Gods watch over House Damian and see to it that its heir did not blunder his way through kinghood. Still, there were years before that time would come. Henry was only thirty-seven and, unlike his own father, had not waited until he was old to beget his heirs. Perhaps marriage and children would temper Lionel. And yet he could not help but feel a sense of pride in his son's quick, sharp tongue. If he learned to reign in his bursts of anger, it would be as fine a weapon as his sword.

Still a boy, in so many ways, he thought.

Adelaide was another picture. She bowed her head in respectful modesty to the compliments given her and there was the twitch of an approving smile on his face, if only for a moment. How disappointed he'd been at her birth, when he'd hoped for his second son. Of course, Raban had happened along soon enough afterwards, and Adelaide had won him over with ease as she grew. Daughters gave you less trouble, didn't they? They didn't try to war with brothers and cousins for the crown. And they didn't make you sick with worry, wondering if they would fall in battle or shame their House in defeat.

"They will be here soon enough," Henry said and cast a glance towards Lionel. "Let us hope that Lionel has decided to stop playing the pouting, slouching child when they do."

Lionel raised his head, an unfathomable expression on his face. He turned to his father and smiled sardonically, eyes a little too wide open to be considered completely sane. "Indeed, Father! However I fear I'll be playing the part of a pouting child for just a little longer. It's the only way you'll care to hear my opinion, you see. Of course, I'm sure you'll ignore it anyways, but at least this way you get irritated while doing it. But don't worry- I'll behave myself when the Greyhardts arrive. Your political influence must really be waning if you have to marry me off to one of our longtime allies to ensure they won't break their vows. I guess people just don't want to follow you. Perhaps your seat on that throne isn't as permanent as you thought." Lionel knew that would set his father off; one of King Damian's greatest fears was losing the crown. House Damian had fought a long and bitter battle for it, and the king would not let go of his position easily. Lionel, on the other hand, didn't give a shit about ruling. He'd be content with serving as a hedge knight, for all it bothered him. As long as he had a sword in his hand and men to command, the Seven Kingdoms could fall into ruin and Lionel wouldn't even blink.

Lionel noticed as Raban lowered his head and gazed at the floor without responding to his harsh criticism. That meant Raban feared him. Adelaide hadn't responded to him either. Good. Lionel would be nowhere without fear. Fear and darkness. He looked at Night, just able to make out his own scowl in the dark obsidian pommel. Something red flashed in the reflection. Lionel knew what it was. His eyes were glowing red again, just like they always did when the sun shone into the throne room from just the right angle. All of the Damian children's eyes changed colors when the sun hit them, but Raban and Adelaide's never flashed such a brilliant, malicious crimsons as Lionel's. It was only one of the many ways by which they were different. They were so very different.

"You must be kinder to your brother," Maester Syrus had told him, seven years ago when Raban had just turned five. Raban was in their mother's room, sobbing his little heart out at Lionel's latest atrocities- butchering the pup their father had gotten Raban for his name day and hanging the mangled corpse from the rafters. It had seemed so unfair to Lionel at the time. He'd begged for a pup for his own name day barely a month ago, and his father had instead given him a sword on the premise that Lionel would benefit more from learning how to fight. Lionel had been disappointed, but never complained. And now he was being punished for trying to teach Raban the same lesson. He just couldn't understand it. Why would Father give Raban what he wanted and not Lionel? Wasn't he the eldest son? The heir?

"I hate Rab," Lionel told Maester Syrus. "Raban and Adelaide. I hate them. They talk to each other all the time. They laugh together. And Mother laughs with them. " They don't laugh with me, Maester."

Maester Syrus heaved a sigh and put a hand on Lionel's forehead, knowing full well that the boy would just slap it away. Lionel did. "It's because they're scared of you, my lord."

"I haven't done anything to them!"

"The very fact that you are the crown prince means that you are in a position that will never be offered to them," Maester Syrus said sternly. "It may not seem like it, Lionel, but your father will protect you at all costs. In his eyes, they are expendable. They are second and third, backups to ensure that he has a second chance. But you are the first. Your mother knows that. That's why she takes further measures to shield your younger siblings from any harm that may befall them."

"Harm from what?" Lionel demanded.

Maester Syrus was silent for a moment. "Harm from you."

Lionel didn't respond, just glared at the maester for an explanation.

"You won't understand this very well now, but there are always conflicts among the children in line for the throne. The best a king can hope for is a strong, able son to avoid losing the crown. Thankfully, he had you, Lionel. But your Father was still in a double-bind. If he didn't have more children, then should something happen to you, the line would have been lost. However, if he did have more children…the chances are high that they would attempt to eliminate each other in a battle for the crown. Damians are well-known for their ambition, and it is obvious from your success that you are no different. It's quite possible that your mother believes you would…ah…"

"But I don't even want the throne!" Lionel protested.

Maester Syrus took him by the shoulders and shook him once. Hard. "Don't say that. Never say that. It is not up to you whether you want the crown. You are fit to rule, you are able, so you will take it. Any remark otherwise on your part will be seen as a weakness to your father's political enemies, and trust me, they will exploit it. Do you understand?"

Lionel nodded once, and the maester released him. He wanted to cry, but he didn't. Father had told him never to cry.

He wanted so much to just be like Raban and Adelaide. He was envious of them, jealous of the careless lives they were free to live. But if he remained in a state of envy, then he wasn't Lionel Damian. Lionel Damian always had to be better than those around him. And so he took the maester's words and internalized them. He was the crown prince. They were not. He would rule. They would not. That made him better than him, put him in an entirely separate world from them. They could laugh and hug together all they liked, talk about him behind his back, but he wouldn't care. He didn't need them. Ever.

And so he started to terrorize them, started to do everything he could to make sure they knew he was a cruel monster that would never show them kindness. They didn't fight back- they couldn't. Adelaide was intelligent, yes, she could think on the same level he did, but she was still a girl- younger, weaker, and with less of a standing in the court. Raban couldn't resist at all; his only defense was hiding behind Adelaide's skirts. Lionel taunted them, teased them, found out their fears and weaknesses and exploited them, destroyed their toys, killed their pets, ruined their clothes, did whatever he could to make them hate him. Eventually, it started to make Lionel happy whenever they walked past him fearfully, trying not to set him off. It made him feel secure. Because in a court where half the lords wanted him dead and the other half wanted him to grow up faster, nothing else did.

Kervall had barely slept that night. There was just too much to do! Gift preparations to finalize, court protocol to brush up on, new gossip to study, and a hundred other things, including making sure his equipment was sound and ready for the tourney. Besides, how could he sleep knowing that that very day - within hours! - he would be in King's Landing for the first time. He felt he would soon explode with excitement, were it not for the stolid rein of self-control he kept tightly about that emotion. It only slipped a few times, mostly around his father or when he was alone, but his father understood - even approved - and he grinned like a buffoon when no one was around. Like now, as he was checking his equipment. Tempest nearly sang as he drove the whetstone across her edge. He loved the sound the sword made as he sharpened it, it always calmed him down, and now more than ever, reminded him of his mother.

There was noise outside. He lifted his head and brought himself from his reverie, leaning forward to move aside a flap of his tent and spied servants and soldiers moving about, breaking the camp. He wouldn't need to pack much, as he had barely unpacked. Letting that grin out again, Kervall slowly and near reverentially placed Tempest back in her sheathe, and moved to the armour stand whereupon his custom leather jerkin sat. His hands started to move through the familiar motions of caring for it, keeping it properly oiled and adjusted while his mind wandered. The look on his father's face when he'd seen Kervall packing the light armour had been heart-stopping. In his opinion, wearing such light protection during such an open brawl as the tourney melee would be suicide. Kurt had promised to wear more during the joust - wearing anything else than a full metal breastplate would be completely foolhardy - but when it came to hand-to-hand combat he never felt comfortable in heavier equipment. He loved the freedom of motion that the light, reinforced leather gave him, and it could still turn aside a blade. They had argued for a while, but thankfully Lord Winsler had gotten distracted with something else and Kervall had gotten away with not promising anything more. He knew he would do well in the melee, and if things started to get dangerous he could always back down. Jamie might tease him, but it was certainly not worth his life.

One of his servants opened the tent flap and started at seeing Kervall sitting there caring for his armour with his bedroll not even opened. Kurt took his breakfast from her - a steaming bowl of porridge - and asked her to finish up his packing. He wanted to take a walk. Bringing the porridge with him and eating as he went, the young man walked through the camp lazily, his mind already on the city, wondering at how much free time he would have to explore it, when a breathless messenger spotted him across a bustling group of soldiers and disappearing around a corner. Sprinting to catch up to him and vaulting over a weapon rack, the boy skidded to a stop in front of a very surprised Kervall and bent over double, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

"Goodness, boy! Is something wrong?"

After a few panting gasps, the messenger shook his head, still fighting for his breath. "N-no, my lord . . . but master Jamie . . . has sent for you. I was having trouble . . . finding you!"

A touch of shame hit Kurt then, and he laughed, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'm sorry for making you chase me around the camp, then. Once you've caught your breath, go back to my tent and get some rest, tell the girl I said it was okay. Also, the porridge they made us is excellent. You should try some." He winked. Kurt got Jamie's whereabouts from the sputteringly thankful messenger and sent him scurrying off towards his tent while heading to the meeting spot at their personal wagons.

"Good morning, Teralo, Emaya!" He shot them both a smile as he finally got there a little while later, then turned to Jamie, "I'm sorry to make you wait, brother. I was wandering around the camp and made your poor boy practically chase me about the eastern campsite." He grinned, half playful, half bashful, "What was so important that you wanted me t--" He finally clued in, and followed all their gazes to see what they were staring at, and fell silent momentarily. He blew a low, appreciative whistle. "Jamie, it is exquisite!" He approached the sepulchral box, moving a hand to run gently over the gauntlet, "Valyrian armour! You shall look quite imposing indeed wearing this at the tourney next week." Once his brother informed him of its inevitable journey into the hands of the Damians, Kervall yanked his hand back as if the steel was hot. He turned and regarded Jamie with an openly dumbfounded gaze, before his visage broke into a warm, genial smile. "Brother, I am impressed, and truly humbled. What a wondrous gift!" He turned back to admire it once more, "Does this mean you are willing to forgive House Damian?"

Henry frowned. What did he mean, the only way you'll hear my opinion? The boy was free to speak to him whenever he wished, providing the king was not busy with affairs of state. It did not enter his mind that Lionel could resent him for the years spent mostly ignored, without a word of affection. After all, it had been done for Lionel's benefit, to prepare him as a king and warrior. Yet for all that he did not notice, Henry was not stupid and he could catch, just beneath the surface, what felt like a thread of pain. He was ready to ask how he could possibly feel he was ignored (being heir to the throne, after all) when Lionel spoke the words that a lesser man of the court would not have dared.

"You impudent, stupid boy," Henry growled and rose from his throne. His hands trembled.

Had a servant dared to speak thus, he would have struck him down. Perhaps even a nobleman. Even now, he felt the killing urge in his veins. He looked at Lionel and the urge died, retreated to disappointed anger. For all the trouble he caused now, Henry could remember him as the newborn infant, the child that he had bragged of to all who would listen, that he had nothing but the highest of hopes and dreams for. Where, along those seventeen years, had he become this?

"You will marry a Greyhardt because it is tradition to marry one's allies. Were you to pay more attention to your tutors, you might know that. It is not because of any fear or weakness. But you are correct in that my seat on this throne is not permanent. When I die, you will rule in my place. And when you die, your son will rule. All that is permanent is that it shall belong to the House of Damian."

Suddenly, he remembered Raban. How easy it was to forget his youngest.

"Is this not true, Raban?"