Westeros

His entire world was pain. Kervall felt as if he were immersed, dozens of feet under the surface within the sea of his mind. Below him, a black hole of the deepest unconsciousness loomed, taunting him with promises of sweet oblivion. Above him shone recalescent, searing light, piercing every movement. Time seemed to drag on, and there seemed to be voices floating down to him from above the surface, but he could not understand them. He heard shouting, and recognized a few of the timbers. His father, his brother, perhaps the King.

Directly above him, through the dark murkiness, Kurt saw the face of Adelaide within a pulsing penumbra. It brought warmth to his heart, a beacon of comfort surrounded by nothing but brutality and cruelty. He swam upwards.

Every movement brought torture. Every masochistic stroke ignited conflagration through his every vein, but he forced himself onward, spurred by the face of the princess hovering before him. Onwards he pushed, moving slower and slower. He glanced below him, where the abyss beckoned with chilly fingers, offering the wonderful release of emptiness. He ignored it and forced himself to continue towards the surface, using every ounce of willpower within him to finally break his head above the waves. Light, sound, and agony exploded around him.


Kervall turned his head and coughed, spitting blood onto the grass, then moved his head slowly about, searching for Adelaide. He caught her gaze, and he smiled - actually smiled - when he saw her, some of his teeth stained crimson. He reached up a hand, and when she took it, he squeezed, his strength perhaps surprising giving his current condition. Then he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, and through all the commotion he hoped only she could hear him, "Adelaide. Please... please stop them. Please do not let them fight. I am fine." Then he laughed, though it was more of a coughing wheeze, "Or at least I will be." He grimaced, trying to shift his position, put an arm under him and actually tried to push himself up into a sitting position before she could stop him. His broken ribs were not exactly amenable to that idea, however, and a spasm of black torment bombarded his body, causing him to fall back to the ground. His eyes closed, and he whispered once more, barely audible above the shouting around them, "Tell my father... tell him I am sorry."

And then the looming, undeniable blackness swallowed him.

Lionel was barely aware of his sister hammering away at his chest. When he was calm, Adelaide may have been able to persuade him with her reasoning. When he had gone berserk, nothing could reach him. When they were young, Lionel had heard Raban and Adelaide talking about him behind closed doors. They talked like there was two of him. Good Lionel and Bad Lionel. Upon Maester Syrus's insistence, Lionel had bought Rab a new pup once, to replace the one he'd killed. Raban had wrapped his arms around Lionel and beamed up at him. "I'm glad you're back, Good Lionel." Lionel had pushed his brother away, stunned. After that day, Good Lionel had died. The world didn't need two of him.

It took three grown men to drag Lionel off of Kervall and hold him back to prevent another bloody onslaught. Lionel struggled furiously, trying to break free of his restrictions. Those who looked in his face could see his eyes gleaming bright, bright red in the sunlight. The entire crowd was shouting now. Adelaide was shrilling at him, Maester Syrus yelling hoarse words into his ear…none of it registered, none of it penetrated the bloody, red haze... until his father crossed the field himself and seized his right arm.

Pain shot up his wrist.

What the hell… He pushed himself away from the King, wrenched himself from the arms of the other knights, and reeled several steps back, breathing hard. To the relief of others, the look in Lionel's eyes cleared, and he was able to act with a little more sense. It wasn't simply anger that could have been controlled by another man with a stronger will. No- Lionel was more disciplined than that. He didn't know what it was, but it was dark, overpowering, and seductive. It was what Father expected of him. When he was little, Lionel had sometimes felt guilty afterwards for what he'd done, to the servants, to the animals, to Rab…but Father was always there, ready to push him back into the arena and chastise him for the weakness. So Lionel had numbed himself to the guilt. It didn't bother him anymore. He welcomed it. Because when Lionel lost control, Father was always pleased with the result.

But for now, the killing intent disappeared, replaced with confusion, exhaustion, and pure pain.

Lionel lifted his shield arm and realized it had been lacerated by the Valyrian steel; blood dripped through the metal and ran in rivulets across his skin. A dark pattern of blood drops had formed on the ground. Lionel knew that Valyrian steel was deadly sharp, but he had forced the arms master to try the armor on before the tourney, and the man had been unscathed. Kervall's blows must have driven the steel into my arm. Grumbling curses beneath his breath, he slid the gauntlet off and hurled it away from him, lifting up his arm to observe the damage. There were two deep gashes in his forearm, one at his wrist where the arm and hand blades connected, and the other up near the elbow. Shit.

Well done, Jamie.

"My lord…" Maester Syrus caught sight of Lionel's arm and gathered the situation from the bloodied, discarded gauntlet on the ground. "Come with me to my study. Cuts like that can easily infect. I can create a poultice-"

"No," Lionel said. "Bind it here."

"Lionel…"

"I'm to fight Jamie Winsler right now, and I won't be fleeing to your study," Lionel snapped. "Wrap it or something, just stop the bleeding until this match ends. Then you can apply all the poultices you like."

Maester Syrus's mouth set in a hard line, but he didn't disagree. Without another word, headed back to his pavilion, where he rummaged around for a roll of bandages before setting to work on Lionel's arm. When the Maester was done, Lionel's shield arm was stiff and tightly wrapped, with half the flexibility he'd had before. Thankfully, the Maester had left his fingers unwrapped. Still, this is clumsy… There was no hope of fitting the thing in the Valyrian gauntlet, but Maester Syrus quickly bound the arm plates of Lionel's old suit of armor around it. Lionel flexed his arm and winced as another jolt of pain lanced through his wrist. It was uncomfortable, and Lionel winced at the thought of taking a hit to his forearm, but he could bear it for at least the near future. I'd better end this match quickly, else Jamie will get the advantage.

By the time the Maester was finished, Kervall Winsler had been dragged off the field in a stretcher, and the other nobles had been herded off to give Lionel and Jamie room.

~

Maester Syrus saw the stumble in Lionel's step, saw the red disappear from his eyes, and realized that the match would not go well. Jamie had a good three inches on Lionel, and everyone knew a man with larger organs had more stamina. Besides, loathe as he was to admit it, Lionel's frenzied rages drained his energy quickly, and it was difficult to keep up for long periods of time, especially when he wasn't in an actual battle, where the adrenaline and exhilarating rush was there to keep him running on hatred and bloodlust. But this was different. This was a tourney. The rage had to generated, the danger artificial.
An exhausted Lionel against a freshly incensed Jamie could only spell disaster. He hated to do it, but the Maester knew that Lionel had to be hurled into a blind rage again if House Damian wanted a chance at winning the match.

Seizing the crown prince by the arm, he whispered a few choice words in Lionel's ear, and then thrust him forward into the ring.

~

Lionel seethed. Whatever Maester Syrus had whispered, it had worked. He could barely restrain himself long enough for Jamie to nod, signaling the start of the match, before he was charging across the field at his opponent, perceiving absolutely nothing but Jamie's vital points and the blade. He ignored the traditional opening moves of experimental thrusts and parries designed to test his opponent's fighting style, but instead launched straight into a frenzied flurry of blows, barely giving the Winsler a chance to get in offense of his own. Defense was lost on Lionel. His bandaged arm wielded the shield clumsily, so he kept it out of the way as much as possible, absorbing Jamie's blows with his body instead. Jamie must have gotten some blows in, but Lionel didn't feel them. There was only a target, and the sword in his hand. In Lionel's mind, everything had been reduced to the very basics of fighting, of hitting something over and over again until it finally gave way.

But unlike his brother, Jamie Winsler was strong of arm and a faster swordsman. Although many of Lionel's blows found their place, many more were blocked with a force that sent tremors through Lionel's arms. For once in his life, Lionel was fighting an opponent whose rage equaled his own, and the only difference was that Jamie could still see straight where Lionel could not. The crowd looked on, hushed, as the match raged on for many long minutes, the wildcat and the panther locked in frenzied combat, a swirl of black and gold.

And then something became painfully clear.

Jamie was gaining the upper hand. The Winsler was making strategic choices, holding back when it was clear that his blows would do no good and attacking when there was clearly an opening. Lionel's tactics were costing him the match; he was tiring fast, his attacks becoming weaker and slower as time dragged on. Murmurs circulated through the crowd as Jamie slowly but steadily pushed Lionel back; the Strakes and Cavanaughs grew louder in their cheers, and Maester Syrus was motionless where he sat.

A coherent thought finally made its way through Lionel's mind.

He's beating me.

A small flash of panic suddenly flooded through him. At this rate, he was going to collapse. His body couldn't sustain the speed that Lionel relied on, and without that, he was as good as dead. And if I surrender, if I lose, Father will…Father will… It was no good thinking about it. He couldn't lose. Losing was not an option that Lionel had ever contemplated. It was impossible.

He wouldn't lose.

There were certain rules of combat, certain tournament etiquettes that Maester Syrus had always drilled into Lionel's head. To fight is to honor the Warrior. To honor the Warrior is to honor your opponent. Every man deserves a fair match. Only a low-born bastard would break the laws of the Warrior. One must only use his swords. One could not kick. One could not punch. One could not throw dust in his opponent's eyes. Lionel had learned to follow those rules, but it had always been difficult. It seemed to him that there was only a straight line to victory, and that it didn't matter what one did as long as one won. Screw the warrior. He summoned up another hot flash of anger and launched himself at Jamie for another go. A barely perceptible kick here, an elbow to Jamie's unguarded side where it was too difficult to spot…the tables started to turn, and soon Lionel had the upper hand. His movements were too fast to tell, but Lionel knew he was cheating.

Then again, he was a Damian. What else was he supposed to do?

Despite Kervall's situation, he smiled at her, actually smiled. Though her eyes were full of worry, she returned it, but it was quick to fade. "You're going to be just fine," She whispered, squeezing his hand in return when he took hers. "I'll make sure you're fine. I'm not going anywhere." At his words of making them stop, she merely nodded. When Jamie had spoken to her the way he had, she had barely had to look up before someone had jumped to her defence. First her father and then her guard and finally the wild woman that her mother had hired. As Kervall passed out, she chewed her bottom lip, his hand limp in hers. But then the Greyhardt girl was there, asking for someone to elevate his arm. Automatically, she did as she was told, watching as she attended him. When Leliana placed a hand on her shoulder and offered her kind words, she nodded. Straightening and standing back so that he could be assisted by some others and taken off the field. Turning to the Greyhardt girl, she smiled slightly, glad that someone at least had offered her a kind word. "Thank you," She whispered, placing a hand briefly on her arm. As the girl left the field, Adelaide should have followed her.

Instead, she turned to the confrontation that was happening behind her. "Stop it, all of you!" She said as calmly as possible, though her voice was raised in pitch. As annoyed as she was, she was going to stay as calm as possible and not erupt as she had done before. However, what had annoyed her the most was everyone's sudden leap to her defence. She was more than capable of defending herself from the likes of Jamie Winsler, more so than most of the others stood there. She set her father with a glare, completely looking over Lionel, for she could find it in her heart to look at him. Finally she turned to Jamie and glared.

"If you could just pretend to be civil for just one moment," She said, her voice cold and angry when she spoke. Like her father, her temper was short, but when she came down, she knew how to reason fairly well. After all she'd be doing it to Lionel most of her life. Now would be no different. "Firstly, I can defend myself. Ser Jamie, I merely sought to help your brother as my guardian here suggested." She nodded to Dante, flashing him a brief smile. "Do abstain from calling one such disgusting names. Not all of the Damian family seek your blood and you should do well to remember that. I highly doubt that you would have preferred myself to stand back and let my brother tear yours to shreds? Because I don't believe that is the case." She paused, shaking her head and looking away from him. It came to something when not one Winsler trusted a Damian, even when they conveyed their help towards them.

"Secondly, none of you seem concerned with Ser Winsler, who is quite obvious hurt," At this she raised her voice ever so slightly. "There is unbelievable ignorance stood around here right now. And you'd all do well to see that it will be your downfall. All you're concerned about it when the next fight will be happening." She scoffed, shaking her head. "As if violence is the way to solve this problem. No, it's just going to cause more hate between the Damians and the Winslers." Finally, she'd been given an opportunity to make them listen to her. She was speaking out at last. And even if no-one cared for her words, well that was their problem. They would soon learn.

"Father," She turned to King Damian, chewing her bottom lip, refusing to meet his eyes. "I wish you'd listen to me as you listened to Lionel. I could help fix the politics with the other Houses. Because if this proved anything, it's that none of you-" at this she looked at the group gathered- "are willing to do anything to make it any better." Shaking her head, she glanced at Dante once again. "Thank you for coming to defend me." It wasn't as cold as her other words, but it was neither warm. "And father, I'm not a little girl anymore. I can't apologise for that, but...I am sorry."

The whole time, Adelaide did not once look at Lionel, preferring rather to skim over his form. This, for her, was the final straw in their relationship. Today she had witnessed the horror that was Lionel and it was with a crushing realisation that struck her. He had always been like this underneath. The Good Lionel was long gone, replaced by this war loving crown prince, whose eyes were firmly on the prize. To be King. She had been foolish to believe that he would listen to her once he was crowned King. He hated the Winslers as much as their father did. It was a lost cause. He was a lost cause. She had been stupid to believe otherwise.

Turning from the group, she hurried after the men who were carrying Kervall off of the field, not daring to even look to the stands. Tears tracked her pale cheeks as she walked, keeping her head bowed low.

Jamie stood in one of the courtyards of the Eyrie, it was the training yard for the soldiers and Knights sworn to Lord Winsler's service. The thump of arrows hitting straw butts could be heard, with the harsh clanging of swordsman training underscoring it. The future tourney champion was little more then a child, tall for his age but still young. In his childish features burned a anger that would one day lead to his reckless reputation.

" How many times must I tell you Master Jamie blind rage isn't going to get you anywhere in a real fight. I know what your going through and by the Warrior I know I'd be as angry as you are. But beating the sons of your father's sworn houses isn't going to bring her back. Now pick up a waster and try and pay attention." The hawk eyed master of arms Lord Winsler employed said berating the future knight in a cold and harsh tone that was betrayed by the sorrow in those hawk eyes of his.

" Uncontrolled rage, the berserker's fury is a fearsome enough sight. You've proved it yourself, beating those poor boys bloody. How many were there, 6 or 7 if I remember right. They couldn't do a damn thing to stop you could they. But afterwards the pain set in, so did the exhaustion right. Well in a real fight against real swordsmen that pain and exhaustion will kick in a lot sooner. And that kind of anger blinds you, you lose sight of everything but killing everything in front of you. You'll take a lot of stupid hits, and real swords cut Jamie. They sever the blood vessels so that you bleed to death, cut off limbs so you can't fight. Against a opponent with as much skill as you a unthinking fury will lead to your death."

And as the words left the hawk eyed master of arms mouth he moved forward bringing his sword, a real blade of castle forged steel whistling down to rest before Jamie's eyes. The child did not flinch, only looked more closely at the master of arms with those anger filled features of his.

" It's apparent I'll never teach you the true calm a swordsman should have Master Jamie. But by the Warrior I'll teach you how anger should be used. Let it fill your mind and body, like the rushing high of intoxication Jamie but like wine never let it go to your head. Use it boy and never let it use you or you will end up in a early grave. When controlled anger is in your veins Jamie it makes you invincible as any being of such frail flesh and blood has a right to be. It'll sharpen your reflexes and make you more aware of the environment around you.But never forget controlled anger is the lesser of all techniques, it is the resort of lesser men of weaker wills. It is barely higher on the tree of skill then a berserker's fury."


The lesson from so long ago never seemed more poignant then right now as the crowd cleared from the melee ground and his brother was taken away in a stretcher. He had almost given into the berserker's fury when King Damian, the thrice accursed dung heap, dared to soil the memory of a woman he killed. Had it not been for Eilis blood might have very well been shed here today, and it at Jamie's hand. Not that he valued Damian blood all that high, but Eilis was right this was neither the time nor place. The opportunity he had been awaiting for had not come yet, it would show itself when it was damn well and ready.

So he calmed himself down, though not to the level his old master of arms had spoken of. That hawk eyed swordsman had been right when he said Jamie would never truly reach that skill level. His past and memories simply forbid it, especially in the presence of the man who had killed his mother. So it was with glee he watched Lionel herded away by the Damian's Maester, noting the thrown gauntlet. Unlike the rest of the Prince's armor it was not black but dark gray, and had ornate scrollwork.

The valyrian steel armor I gave him, no wonder he could block so well with his arms. Jamie thought watching the armored fighting glove hit the ground.

Somewhat surprising were the wounds he bore underneath it. Lionel's arm was a mess, with deep twin gashes that bled quite well, such cuts were prone to infection given they healed slowly. The Maester and Lionel argued over it briefly with the prince winning. Leaving towards his pavilion the Prince was gone long enough for the crowd to return to their seats and for Jamie to let his anger suffuse him but not go to his head, it was the one mental technique he had mastered. His blood boiled but his eyesight did not go red as it did when the King insulted his mother's memory. He felt every sensation acutely yet distantly as if he was another person watching himself. The feel of the air, the stares of the Damian's, the flowing of his own blood and the beating of his own heart.

Jamie was ready and so was Lionel who returned with obvious bandages underneath what was most likely his old gauntlet. Jamie smiled, though it was hidden behind his helmet. The Dragon could have told him valyrian steel cuts through lesser materials with no effort. And given his foolish blocking with his arm and Kervall's strength it was no wonder the valyrian gauntlet had cut into his flesh. Still it was a wonder, he had not been expecting such a thing to happen.

The Herald had barely announced the match was on when Lionel came charging at Jamie, murder clearly his intent. The berserker's fury it seemed once more had claimed Lionel. But Jamie fighting as he did with his controlled anger met each attack cleanly although the force behind each was something else. He was reduced to feinting with his sword to tempt Lionel in attacking that area then if all went well blocking with a quick twist of his shield. Though the fury of Lionel made it difficult to say the least, for there simply was no way to predict which way his blows would come. Jamie had long given up trying to read Lionel and simply focused on the moving of the prince's body to predict where attacks were coming from.

Despite it all Jamie managed quite a series of clean hits upon Lionel, for his enemy simply abandoned defense. He was glad of the height difference between them as it gave him just a little bit longer of a reach.But it was like hitting a straw doll in the training yard. Lionel simply absorbed each blow as if nothing had happen to him, snarling like a possessed man.

But even the unthinking Lionel in his fury landed more then the fair share of blows as well. But unlike the lightly armored Kervall the Dragon was wearing full plate. Still even with the padded tunic underneath the plate the blows were felt keenly.

Realizing conventional strategies needed to be thrown out the window Jamie focused on defending, only striking when Lionel overextended himself. It was not a posture the normally aggressive Jamie took but in a match of fury Lionel would win. And little bit by little bit he was gaining the advantage, he was doing less defending and more attacking. Jamie finally realized the wisdom in the master of arms lesson so long ago . Lionel was tired, his movements were growing slower and his attacks almost became predictable, almost that is.

Now it was only a matter of time before victory would be Jamie's, the cheers of the crowd became louder, especially from the houses sworn to Winsler. He pressed his attacks further as Lionel realized he was losing, and even was beginning to lose heart.

But fate is a fickle mistress and when he could taste victory he felt a sharp jab to his body, a general sensation centered around his left ribs which weren't covered by his shield, then a kick to his knee. He glared at Lionel through his helmet's visor. This was outright cheating, but the motions were being covered by speed and attacks on Lionel's part. Despite the disadvantage it put him in Jamie refused to cheat himself, he would go down at least as honoring the code of The Warrior. Even if only he and Lionel knew that it would be enough for him.

And a disadvantage it was the kicks and elbows enough to foil masterfully planned attacks. His thrusts and parries spoiled by knees that bent with the force of Lionel's kicks for to tense up would mean a broken knee or shin. " Go ahead you low born bastard cheat if it makes you feel better. We both know you lost already." Jamie spoke as their blades locked together after Jamie abandoned his defensive posture for all out attack, his voice dripping with contempt.

Pushing off Lionel's weapon Jamie created a sizable gap between them. It was only a matter of time before Lionel's cheating ways won him this final round of the tourney but he would force the prince to earn his win. He wasn't going to surrender like Kervall had, no plea for a yield would cross his lips. The crowd watched in awe as what looked like a victory for Jamie turned into a hard fought likely win for Lionel.

" What are you waiting for you whoreson bastard, a bloody fucking invitation. Well come and get it if you have enough balls." Jamie shouted at his enemy loud enough to make the crowd gasp in shock. He then charged Lionel knowing it would not end well but determined to prove to the prince at least his honor was worth more then shit.

The ironic truth behind Jamie's words was unfortunately lost onto everyone. Lionel himself didn't hear a single word. Blood thundered in his head, drowning absolutely everything else out. The human mass before him needed to be defeated. The vague collection of limbs and muscles had to go down. Lionel would find some way to bring Jamie Winsler to the ground, no matter how craven or unfair that method was. It was the way things worked in a true battle, where one's only concern was preserving one's life and taking other's. There was no reason why a tourney should be any different. Rules of conduct were designed for fools who loved to prattle on about their honor, their warriors pride…bullshit. Unlike Jamie, Lionel had spent a great part of his childhood fighting battles. He had seen the look in a man's eyes before his life was about to be ended. Honor didn't matter then. Honor never saved anyone.

Lionel was now clearly gaining the upper hand. Jamie's attacks continually missed their target by inches, his parries were awkward and barely sufficient to block Lionel's wild swings. Still, the man refused to yield. Frustrated, Lionel's blows became more and more frenzied, until it was almost impossible to catch sight of his sword at a given time. Jamie was taller and stronger, but Lionel had hatred-fueled speed going for him, and in the subsequent mad whirlwind of attacks, it was impossible to tell that Lionel was breaking the rules of combat.

Charging Lionel was a mistake. If Jamie had wanted to win the bout, he would have done better to let Lionel gain ground, parrying blows where needed. Lionel would have tired easily, and by the time Jamie was too backed up to feel comfortable, it would have been an easy task to simply knock him over with a single blow. As it were, Jamie stepped right into Lionel's death embrace of furious blows and low stunts. The prince held his ground and engaged his opponent head-on, going in for a flurry of blows about Jamie's head while performing a complicated bit of footwork to put himself at a diagonal direction to Jamie's left side…or that was just what everyone say. In reality, Lionel's strategy was much simpler; he had only distracted Jamie with upper blows and then tripped him. From the sudden tilt of Jamie's body, Lionel knew he'd been successful in disrupting his balance. It only took another series of strikes, and then after a heart-stopping second of uncertainty, Jamie hit the ground.

Acting upon urgent orders from Maester Syrus, the herald immediately stepped into the arena as soon as it was clear that Jamie had fallen. "The victor is Prince Lionel Damian, Heir to Casterly Rock and the Iron Throne!" Loud cheers, filled with both relief and triumph, erupted from the members of Houses Brookhaven, Umber, Cavendish, Renlough, Bennett, Sigurd, Thorneir, Baewhite, and Orenson. The Strakes and Cavanaughs exchanged incredulous and doubtful glances, rather perplexed by the sudden turn of events. Lionel had performed his stunts so well that it was impossible to say for sure that the prince had cheated, but it has hard to believe that Jamie, who had been fighting so well for the greater half of the battle, had lost so suddenly.

Three knights from House Bennett started forwards and grasped Lionel about the arms, intent on preventing another massacre. This time, it wasn't necessary this time. The rage had disappeared as soon as Lionel had won. He had no energy left to continue. Below his helmet, Lionel was pale and shaking- the full brunt of Jamie's attacks were just starting to sink in. His eyes, however, had not lost their red gleam. After a particularly nasty and indignant glare, the Bennetts released the prince, who immediately stalked across the field to stand before his father the King, as was customary for the victor of a tourney.

"Your Grace," he muttered, bending down on one knee. "Father, the victory is yours." He stood up and left for his pavilion without another glance backwards. Lionel had given up hopes of obtaining his father's approval a long time ago. Trying to please Henry Damian was like draining a lake with a sieve; it never worked but you always kept doing it, in hopes that one day the holes would magically mend...

~

"A trip, Lionel? Really?" Maester Syrus shook his head in disbelief, helping Lionel pull off his bloodstained arm plates. "At least you did it without attracting attention. Thank the gods your father's allies do not know you're a cheater."

Lionel didn't ask the Maester how he'd known, if it'd been impossible to see. The Maester had too many secrets which Lionel would never understand unless he gave up his sword and became a man of the Citadel, which was not a particularly attractive option.

"The Warrior doesn't look kindly upon cheaters," the Maester continued. While Lionel had been fighting, he had been preparing poultices, knowing that Lionel was not a particularly patient person.

Lionel rolled his eyes, anticipating a lecture. "Save it, old man. I don't believe in the gods." He gritted his teeth as the Maester disinfected the wounds. Damnit, I am never wearing that stupid suit of armor ever again.

"What about the Stranger, do you believe in him?" the Maester questioned, reaching for another roll of bandages. "I believe you've always admired his moral ambiguity."

Lionel laughed. "You know me too well."

You've missed the point. But Maester Syrus just smiled sadly and finished wrapping Lionel's arm.

The party continued late into the night for Teralo. It was a glorious night filled with laughter and games. Teralo had been to balls before but this was the greatest of all. However like all things, the party had to come to an end, this end was brought along by Emaya. The poor girl had danced and laughed so much, and perhaps drunk a bit too much, that she was passing out quickly. Teralo was always attentive to his little flower and wrapping her up carefully in his arms, Teralo carried her back to their room. She mumbled thanks and gave a few more giggles before falling asleep in his arms. Teralo's face shown with one of largest smiles he had ever given and he carefully brought Emaya back to their rooms. She awoke for the smallest time to change before falling all but unconscious into her bed. Teralo was not far behind her and lighted silently into sleep in his own bed, the child’s quiet breathing from across the room carrying his eyes closed.

The morning found Teralo and Emaya too quickly for their liking but both struggled out of bed to ready themselves for the tourney. Teralo had to scold Emaya very quickly though she didn’t complain; it was very obvious that she was suffering a minor hangover from the wine she had snuck the night before. Emaya promised that she wouldn’t do it again, but Teralo knew that she would eventually, she had promised the same thing last time it had happened. The two left their rooms about an hour before the tourney was supposed to begin but they actually arrived an hour late. They had gotten lost…in a library and both carried armfuls of books that chances were, would never find their way back to the library.

The pair made their way to the Winsler seats, which amazingly enough were not located with the lower nobles for once. Teralo gave a small nod to his father who amazingly returned it; he had not even made any sign about having Emaya with him. “I think Lord Winsler has finally warmed to me.” Emaya whispered from her seat. Teralo smiled “I don’t think he was ever cold to you, he knows what you mean to me. He just too much of a stickler to admit it.” The pair laughed together as Jamie unhorsed another competitor from the joust and cheered him as he caught the man’s horse and gave it back. Jamie was a good man deep down, he was uncouth and frankly an asshole but he was a good man.

The day continued on and the constant pair of partners enjoyed the festivities immensely, especially the games, by the time the melee started, Emaya could hardly contain her excitement and sometimes Teralo had to hold her down to stop the girl from jumping up and down each time Jamie bested another knight. Finally the melee came down to the final two rounds. Teralo had no doubt that Jamie would win his bout with Richard Greyhardt, but Kervall would be fighting Prince Lionel, and that fight was far from assured. The fight was glorious and for a while it seemed that Kervall would actually win, however at the last moment something seemed to overcome the Prince. Lionel charged Kervall and attacked ruthlessly in a berserker rage, and the fight was over in seconds, Kervall yielded under the prince’s harrowing barrage. Lionel did not seem to hear though and he kept attacking over and over again. The crowd was screaming at Lionel and Teralo gripped the wooden banister in front of him hard enough for his knuckles to turn white with the force. Emaya had became quiet as well and she placed her small hand on top of Teralo’s as if o try to comfort him. Teralo looked over and could see Emaya’s eyes were narrowed in anger, combined with her scar she looked absolutely ferocious as if on the edge to jump over the railing and attack Lionel. Teralo placed a hand on her shoulder, startling her a little and bringing her out of the dagger glance. He could actually see a few tears in her eyes, that was difficult to bring. Teralo wiped a tear away from her eye. “Don’t worry, they got Lionel to stop…I’m sure Kerval will be fine.” Still both were shaking in anger that only became worse as Jamie fought Lionel.

Teralo had sharp eyes and every once in a while he could see a flash of a fist or a kick pummeling Jamie. “Lionel is cheating” Teralo whispered to Emaya who gasped, both of them knew Lionel’s anger but neither expected him to blatantly cheat. At the fight’s end both Teralo and Emaya left their seats to await for Jamie by the field.

His rage against Lionel's cheating ways was beginning to show in Jamie's actions in the fight. Normally a superb swordsman the Dragon was beginning to make stupid mistakes. The match was swinging in Lionel's favor, it was without question. His parries become sloppy, barely able to turn aside the frenzy of Lionel's berserker attacks and the less said about his attacks the better. Sometimes the Winsler nobleman forget he even had a shield strapped to his right arm.

" How many times must I tell you to harness the anger Jamie not the other way around." The hawk eyed master lectured a bleeding and beaten Jamie. Despite the progress the second son of Lord Winsler had made the unthinking fury consumed him at times.And as such the master of arms became harsher in his training of the man who would be called Dragon one day. "Look at you, all that height and muscles, all of it going to waste. Because you can't keep a level head. Now pick up your sword and lets try this again Jamie."

Jamie knew the wisdom of those words but he simply could not heed them. He was a mixture of honor, chivalry, recklessness, and most of all anger. His twin thought him uncouth and likely crude, his elder brother worried about the impact his actions would have.His own Lord Father, half-mad though he might be, saw little in this warrior son of his beyond a tool to strike at the Damians. And whence came is anger was that fact, the Damians,thoughts of his mother's funeral and his oath to one and all. And this Lionel stood in front of him, the embodiment of what his house was. Beasts without honor who deserved nothing but the sword, each and every single one of them.

Jamie no longer cared about the match, even losing it was no longer a concern. The Damians had showed the tactics they preferred, an insult against the Warrior himself. Well if that was how they wanted to play the game so be it.

His thoughts lost as they were in anger and plans were costing him what little chance he had at salvaging this mess of a melee. Had he cared to perhaps Jamie could have still won despite Lionel's cheating but the Dragon didn't care in the end. Lionel could have this false victory if he desired it that badly. His time would come on the battlefield, Jamie was no stranger to battle despite what anyone may think. Brigands and rebellious mountain clans plagued the Moon Mountains of House Winsler's fief. He had earned his knighthood on the field and that was more then most could boast of.

So it was with little surprise Jamie found himself on his back, unhurt for the most part. The expected bruises of course but nothing he wasn't used to. Unlike Kervall who though mere leather would protect him Jamie had worn a gambeson,chainmail, and full plate on top of that. a heavy burden for a man of lesser strength but light for Jamie Winsler tall and strong as he was.


Getting up underneath is own power the lofty knight quit the melee ground as Lionel went to speak to the host of the tourney as befitted the champion. Technically he should have congratulated his opponent in the spirit of sportsmanship, instead he walk off the melee ground, much to the shock of the nobles present. For such an action was considered an insult. But House Damian could howl about that all they wanted, he wasn't going to give Lionel anything but Death if he so much as looked at him again.

Jamie was barely winded, and his stamina was ready for another fight, this one with real swords. Briefly he thought of Memory, but Ser Eilis was holding that valyrian blade, after the near regicide attempt he did not trust Jamie with it. Something he had agreed with only unwilling.


What was done was done though, now it was time to walk the next step. And did that he did striding towards his pavilion where Teralo and his constant companion Emaya were waiting for him. He took them in, staring at them for a few moments through his helmet's visor before striding into the silken tent were Ser Eilis stood waiting to help him remove his armor.

"You can never trust a Damian." Eilis spoke up as soon as Jamie entered the pavilion, removing his helmet as he did. Glad to be rid of the golden thing finally, for in it he could only feel the rage of his inner self.

"You saw that too did you." Jamie replied as Eilis helped him with the breastplate, it's straps had been damaged in the fight against Lionel and proved to be hopelessly twisted.

" The whole fucking crowd saw it, anyone with half a brain realized Lionel was cheating the minute he started winning. You had him clean Jamie. Why didn't you give the brat a taste of his own medicine?" Eilis said as their combined efforts finally had the breastplate freed from it's twisted straps.

" The man who honors his opponent honors the Warrior." Was all Jamie would respond with as he went to work on his shoulder plates with Eilis working on the even bigger mess of his leg armor.

" Honor, bah the Damians wouldn't know honor if it shit on their faces Jamie."

" Indeed, now the Warrior will be displeased with me. If they want to fight dirty I'll bury them in the bullshit of their own crafting."

Jamie and Eilis then fell silent as they focused on removing the twisted straps of his plate armor. This day could not possibly get worse, unless Teralo decided to enter his pavilion or that wildling woman decided to lecture him some more. Jamie was not in the mood to entertain anyone. And if some herald from the Damian's came Jamie swore he'd kill them right here and now. Eilis divining this made sure to keep Memory far from the Dragon's grasp. Blood would be shed but till then Ser Eilis had a duty as Jamie's guard which included making sure the reckless knight lived long enough to become a true man. For only a true man could take revenge, and Jamie for all his height and muscles was only 17. Old enough to get married, to fight, and to know some sorrows in life. But young enough to lack the self control revenge truly took.

"The victor is Prince Lionel Damian, Heir to Casterly Rock and the Iron Throne!"

Benjamin had not taken his seat, merely stood and watched as Jamie and Lionel fought. Reluctantly, Jane had returned to her own, not sure which was more important: watching the fight or watching Lord Winsler. His hands clenched until the knuckles were white and the nails cut into his palms. He looked back at the nobles seated with him and it looked as though his fifty years had become seventy.

"Lord Winsler?" someone asked.

"He lost," Benjamin said. "We all saw that. Yet he won."

Silence. No one had seen the Prince break the rules of honorable combat. Then again, the Prince had moved in a blur, his actions frenzied ... something that should have guaranteed his loss. They all tensed, waiting for Lionel to attack further, as he had against Kervall, but nothing happened. Teralo and Emaya slipped away and Benjamin followed them with his eyes. There was something about those two. He could faintly remember being angry, but he was not sure for what reason.

"I will see to my sons," he said at last, his voice calm and even, as though he had forgotten his words of war only minutes before.

"Good day, Lady Strake," he said to Jane. Her expression troubled, she inclined her head, and watched as he left the stands.


~

The grin remained on Henry's face as Eilis restrained Jamie. He thought of laughing, but decided against it. The man's blood was as hot as Lionel's and he might complete forsake his common sense for vengeance. The press of people was exactly what he wanted. Let them see Winsler as wild and tempestous, unfit for the crown, and a danger to the delicate peace that bound the kingdom. Of course, Lionel's dishonorable actions had not made Damian without blame, but he was content to wait, to repair the damage that had been done. And, perhaps, there was the possibility of using Adelaide's affections for Winsler's heir to avoid the war altogether.

Or split the family.

What would happen were he to arrange a marriage between the two? The old man would not stand for it. Nor, did he think, would Jamie. He dismissed the thought of Teralo Winsler. The man seemed too concerned with his pale hands and serving girl to cause much trouble either way. If the family were to break, to turn against itself, how easy it would be to destroy them!

Adelaide interrupted his thoughts. She was glaring at him. He dismissed her words. They were the usual, pacifistic speech he had come to expect of women.

"Father," she said. "I wish you'd listen to me as you listen to Lionel. I could help fix the politics with the other Houses."

Henry considered her, wondering at how she might react were she to know the truth of the situation.

We are not here to fix, Addie, he thought. We are here to break.

She was not a little girl anymore ... how apparent it was, not least in the way her eyes lingered on Kervall Winsler. But there was not much time to think upon it. Lionel kneeled to him, offering him the victory, and he met eyes with the head of the other Houses, his allies, seated in the stands.

This is our power, he conveyed. We can hold the peace that Winsler threatens.

Without another word, Lionel departed, and Henry looked up to Morgana, looking down on them all.

Victory, he mouthed and winked, then set off after Lionel. He trusted her to take charge of the situation as the Houses would begin to disperse back to the castle. It was not hard to find him: too often, to find Maester Syrus was to find the Crown Prince.

"You left before you crowned your Queen," he said as he came upon them. "I suppose you will have to do so at the celebration feast."

A pause. "You were magnificient, Lionel. I think it is time I told you of my plans for Winsler."

Lionel's arm was burning. Since he was young, his right arm had been injured more often than not, but the bones and muscles had hardened from the constant blows, and he'd built up a resistance. But bruises were different from gashes, and Maester Syrus's poultices were not the cool, pleasant kind. No, the Maester believed in fire, burning the wound and infection away until the limb emerged new, healed. Granted, it was effective. Lionel's numerous injuries over the last seventeen years, all healed without scars, could attest to that. But well as it worked, it still hurt like hell. Lionel was running his fingers through his hair, trying to think of something to take his mind off the pain, when his father walked into the tent.

Maester Syrus shot him a glance and departed without another word. It was no small secret that the King disapproved of Lionel spending much time with the old man. Unlike Father, Maester Syrus allowed Lionel to act his age, to be vulnerable. Father couldn't stand that. But there was no wiser man in the Citadel than the Grand Maester, and it was solely for that reason he had barely avoided exile on numerous occasions.

"You were magnificent, Lionel."

Lionel raised an eyebrow, doubting what had just come out of his father's mouth. Praise? From King Damian? It was unheard of. But Lionel suspected it was only a trivial formality, and it was. The words were barely in the air before the King launched into his political plans and strategies. Lionel's brief glimmer of hope disappeared. Heaving an inward sigh, he sat back and listened to his father talk, adding in a brief eye-roll here and there to prove that he was still paying attention. They hadn't had a civil conversation in years; it was always Henry speaking or scolding, and Lionel attempting to be disrespectful in every way possible. For now, though, Lionel was too exhausted to put up much of a fight. He absorbed his father's plans, contemplating them. They were frighteningly similar to what was going on in his own mind, particularly the part about Adelaide. It's true, we really can use my sweet sister to divide the Winslers by marrying her off to Kervall… It sounded like a plan made in heaven. Adelaide would never refuse Kervall, or vice versa. And they were so adamant in their love that they would wed in spite of Lord Winsler's disapproval. Jamie Winsler would throw a fit, but that would just divide the House even more.

It was brilliant.

The skies were darkening rapidly. The tourney had lasted for nearly the entire day. The Houses had lunched outside under the tents earlier, but at night, the Red Keep would offer much more comfort, especially with the heavy clouds forming overhead. It was as if Lionel's victory had scared away the sun and summoned the rain. In the event of a thunderstorm, it would not do to let the lords and ladies soak their precious gowns, although most had so many anyways that it probably wouldn't make a difference.

Nevertheless, upon Maester Syrus's insistence, the entire company was moved indoors to the great hall, where the servants were already serving the first course of pork and leek soup, followed by freshly baked venison pie. This feast had been planned for months, and would be even more extravagant than the last; it was, after all, the feast of Lionel's engagement and the alliance of the two strongest Houses in the Seven Kingdoms. Behind the kitchen doors, a full twenty courses was being prepared, each more delectable than the last. Outside, the Maester's prediction proved true; a light patter of rain could be heard within the Red Keep, a shower which quickly turned into a fierce storm. In his seat, Lionel fidgeted and glared at the wreath of blue roses in his hand.

"Maester?" Lionel stood in the doorway of the study, dripping with water. Lightning crackled behind him, the thunder drowned out by the pouring of the rain.

Maester Syrus looked up from his scroll. "Come in and shut the door. And ohh! Keep your damp feet clear of those tomes, you wretched child! That's a fifty-year-old original, if you've gotten water on it I'll flay you alive…"

"Sorry," Lionel said hastily, skirting away from the bookshelf. Maester Syrus whisked out a chair for him before he could do any more damage. "Must we have lessons today? It's raining."

"That didn't stop you from training with the arms master," Maester Syrus retorted, raising an eyebrow at Lionel's sopping tunic.

Lionel wasn't fazed. "But that's actually interesting."

"Your words are daggers to my heart."

"Good."

Shaking his head, Maester Syrus riffled through the stack of scrolls on his table before pulling one out, setting it down in front of Lionel. Upon seeing the tiny text, Lionel began to protest, but the Maester put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "That's merely a record of Robert's Rebellion, also known as the War of the Usurper. An accounting of soldiers and resources. Very boring stuff, but just skim it over to get a basic idea of what happened. Since you seem unable to concentrate during a storm as you are any other day, I thought that perhaps a tale of a bloody battle would pique your interest."

"The War of the Usurper? What started that?"

"Ah." Maester Syrus's pale blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight. "And now we get down to the point of today's lesson. You've studied Rhaegar Targaryen, have you not? The eldest son of Aerys the Mad, the heir to the Iron Throne…get that blank look off your face, we only covered him last week."

"That was the week I got my first blade," Lionel said.

That would explain it. Maester Syrus refrained commenting and continued. "It was at a tournament at Harrenhal that Rhaegar gained the victory, and thus the privilege of naming one woman present the Queen of Love and Beauty. He had a Dornish wife, Elia Martell, with whom he had already borne two children. However, he instead crowned Lyanna Stark, who was betrothed to Robert Baratheon."

Lionel yawned. "So? Was she pretty?"

"You're missing the point," Maester Syrus snapped.

"What's the point?"

"The point is that wars are started with the smallest of actions. A wrong word, a wrong look- stealing the wrong woman, all of those will get you into a bloody mess that you'll regret for the rest of your life. Before Harrenhal, the Targaryens held everything. After Rhaegar's impulse, the Targaryens were slaughtered. It's a lesson you'd best keep in mind- especially you, since you don't seem to listen to much else I say."


Lionel got up out of his seat, aware that the eyes of everyone present were trained on him. Damian, Greyhardt, Winsler, Strake, Renlough…every House, every knight, focused on his actions. The bawdy chatter wavered and then died down completely, replaced by a silence that pressed down on Lionel's shoulders. His father and mother were absolutely still. All he had to do was walk over to the Greyhardts, put the damned thing on Isabel's head, smile and utter a few words, and the entire hall would erupt into cheers and laughter, an alliance with the Greyhardts would be forged, and Lionel's fate would be sealed.

Lionel walked slowly down the table until he stood before House Greyhardt. He nodded his head respectfully to Lord Greyhardt, Lady Greyhardt, and then turned to face the sisters. Isabel smiled demurely up at him, blissfully unaware of the events that had transpired last night.

What I do now changes everything.

Lionel swallowed.

The new hunting dogs were of a different sort, brought over from the Free Cities where the Braavosi did not train their animals to work in pairs, but rather forced them upon one another, until the dogs grew strong and cruel and lean from the constant fight for survival. When they arrived the Red Keep, the arms master had then locked up in separate crates in the stable, and they kept the entire castle awake all night with their barking and howling.

"I can't stand that noise," Lionel grumbled to Maester Syrus, unable to focus on his studies. "Why do the stupid dogs have to bark so?"

"Focus." Maester Syrus put a hand on Lionel's head and forced his face down closer to the book, until his nose was inches from the words. Getting the prince to study was not an easy task to begin with; the boy was not lacking for brains, but was easily distracted at every little commotion that came from below.

The text swam before Lionel's eyes, and he refused to comprehend. "Why?" he questioned again.

Maester Syrus sighed. "Dogs don't like crates. Now will you finish the chapter?"

From the look in the Maester's eyes, Lionel gathered that it would be wisest to obey. He reluctantly flipped the page and set his mind to it. "I'd bark too if I were in a cage," he couldn't resist saying. "I bet they wish someone would come and set them free."

Lionel stole out of bed early the next morning, slipping out of his room and dashing to the stables. The dogs had calmed down since last night. They were curled up in corners of their cages, and they looked mournfully at Lionel through clouded eyes as he peered at them through the bars. Several whimpered. Lionel stuck his hand through the nearest cage, and the dog licked his fingers. "I know," he whispered. "I know what it's like to be trapped.

When the servants finally found him, he was standing in the middle of the stable with dogs strewn all about him, the locks on the crates hacked through with a sword.

"What have you done?" Maester Syrus cried, aghast.

Lionel turned to look at him, a slightly bemused expression on his face. He lifted a hand a wiped a smear of blood, dog's blood, from his forehead, drenched from the toes up in splatters of gore. The moment they'd been set free, the dogs had set on one another, ripping each other apart in a frenzy.

"They wanted to go free. I set them free."

Lionel lifted the crown and put it firmly on Lady Greyhardt's head, feeling an enormous burden lift from his chest as he did so. He grinned and sank into a low bow before the woman of his choosing. "Lady Leliana Greyhardt, I name you Queen of Love and Beauty."

Adelaide had followed the men carrying Kervall, her head low, her eyes staring blankly at the ground. Her brother was a monster. There was nothing else to be said. He was a pure monster. And their father was no better. He would not scold Lionel for the humilation he had caused the family, because he would now go on to win the tourney and beat another Winsler. That would make their father extremely proud and any past mistakes would be forgotten. Her mistakes, on the other hand, would no doubt be brought to light after the meal that evening. Fully prepared for it as she was, she was in no mood to get into a screaming match with her brother. No, instead she was going to sit in full silence, without speaking a word, unless a question was directed towards her. It may had seemed somewhat childish, but she had long discovered that no-one listened even if she did speak. Actually, her mother would listen on occasion, but she doubted that she would today, after all she'd just publicly assisted a Winsler. In her mother's eyes, she probably should have left him to rot. So, no-one was going to listen to her today.

Except the eldest Winsler of course. At which she was staring. Some men were fussing around him, tending his wounds and such, but she paid them no heed. Stood at the back of the tent, she chewed her bottom lip, watching Kervall. If he died because of her brother, then she would never find it in her heart to forgive him. Kervall was not the typical Winsler and she knew deep in her heart that if peace was to made with the Winslers at any point, it would be through him and not his father nor brother, who were too caught up with war and the hating of the Damian House.

Word came that the Winslers were on their way to see Kervall. Adelaide needed to leave almost immediately, for they would not wish her to be there with him. Bending down, she planted a brief kiss on his forehead, avoiding the cuts and bruises. "I promise I'll be back. But your family are here." She whispered, not even sure he could hear her. "And I need to deal with mine as well." She rested a pale, warm hand on his cheek, before she turned and left, escaping out of the back door and away towards her home.

---

Running a comb through her hair, Adelaide barely had time to change he dress. The last one was stained with blood and dirt and not nearly presentable enough for the meal. Not that she really cared anyway. It would simply be to glorify Lionel anyway. Mary had informed her with gleeful eyes that he had won the tourney. She had grunted her response, uncaring for her brother's ghastly win. No doubt he cheated... She thought bitterly to herself, as Mary laced her dress. ...Or beat Jamie Winsler until he almost died. It seemed that Lionel didn't care how far he went, as long as he won the tourney. And he had. Which meant that their father would be so proud. Of a son that cheats and has to beat his victims to a pulp. Nice thing to be proud of.

Sweeping down to the hall, she was already late. Well, she was in enough trouble, why not add more? Striding to the doors that led into the hall, she didn't pause outside, she pushed them open and entered. Just as Lionel handed the crown to Lady Leliana. Surprise flickered across Adelaide's face before it faded. That was no surprise to her. None whatsoever. And now darling Lionel had put himself in a stupid position. He was jeopardising the alliance with the Greyhardts. This would displease their father intensely. For once again, Lionel was bringing humilation to them. Adelaide wanted to slap him hard across the face. He was acting like a child. A mere, pathetic child who had everything he wanted, but when he was told he couldn't have something, well he behaved like this. Perhaps their parents would be having stern words with Lionel after all. It was her hope that she was forgotten about.

The whole hall was silent. Not a single person clapped or cheered. Until Adelaide drew her hands together slowly, sarcastically. It echoed around the hall and many turned to look at her. "Well done brother," She said, though her eyes had a dangerous glint in them, one she shared with her mother. "We're all so proud of you." Her words were cold and without meaning as she took her seat. She didn't care anymore. The more she could do to shame Lionel, the better it was.

---

Mary entered Kervall's chamber silently. In her arms were a bunch of the crimson blooms that Adelaide had handed him before. She had instructed her maid on where to find them and to place them in his chamber. Leaving them on the table where they could be seen, the young maid smiled to herself. Slipping from the room, she disappeared down the hall...

It was not completely unexpected, not after what Morgana had told him the night before. Still, he could not help the hot rush of his temper, or the coldness that followed it.

What if he were to do something so stupid? he'd thought.

"Indeed," Henry said, his words slow and chosen with care. "We are. Betrothals are made and broken. It would seem that Lionel has found his heart snared by a daughter of Greyhardt ... if not the one his elders have chosen."

He looked at Birgitte and Nathaniel for a moment.

"Even my daughter defies the precedent of animosity between Damian and Winsler. I propose a new reason of celebration for our feast!" he called, his voice piercing in the silence. "The betrothal of my son to Leliana Greyhardt; my daughter to Kervall Winsler. What say you, Lords? Shall we end the unease amidst our Houses with a set of love matches?"

It was music to his ears when Lord Winsler leaped up from his chair, bellowing.

~

"Love?" Benjamin roared, sweeping away the plates and food in front of him as he stood up. "What does your murdering, unsurping House know of love? Whores, theives and liars, the lot of you! I'll not have my eldest marrying amongst you! And that prince," Benjamin spat, "that creature you call your son, that ... that ..."

His hazel eyes widened and his face seemed to bulge. The words were on his tongue, but he could not speak them.

"Calm yourself, Lord Winsler," Henry said. "You do know what you are say---"

"Answer!" Benjamin shouted and turned to his House.

Yes, Henry thought. Answer.

[[OOC - It is so damn late and this shit makes no sense. Deal with it. I love you all, but I am horrible grouchy when tired. I just typed whatever sounded good, so don't blame me if it reads really weird.]]

To say that Leliana was surprised would have been an understatement. When Lionel put the crown of blue roses atop her head rather than that of Isabel, she at first thought that he had somehow been mistaken, and yet there was no denying that which he had just done. She watched as he grinned at her and sank into a low bow before her.

There was really no way in which the situation could be improved, and Leliana was not about to relinquish the sentiment of what had just been given her, and so she rose from her chair and crossed the space between the two of them. "Thank you," she said with a grin, not about to let any sort of adversity or staring nobles bring her down, "I really appreciate the gesture. I've been having an awful run of a day and this certainly brightens prospects. See, deciding to live a little always works." And with that said, she took another step closer and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug.

There was silence all around them, as well as the sarcastic clapping of Adelaide, but Leliana did not really care much at all. At least now she would have something else to occupy her thoughts when her Lady mother and Lord father permanently locked her up in Winterfell without so much as a breath of fresh air to keep her company. Things were beyond repairing now, including her situation, and it was not as if anything mattered any longer. Or so she thought.

She deliberated on whether or not she should kiss his cheek for good measure as well, just to prove a point to her parents that she would not be so easily stifled, but decided against it. Leliana let go of him and took a step back, reaching up to rub the back of her neck in a very unladylike manner. "Though I do have to ask," she said in quieter tones and looked around at all the shocked pairs of eyes staring at them, "what now?"

This had been a political blunder of gigantic proportions and she knew not how it would ever be patched over. The relations between House Damian and House Greyhardt would not be going over quite well - considering the fact that Lionel had given the wreath of blue roses to the wrong woman, to his fiance's older sister, no less. It was supposed to be the joining of Lionel and Isabel in Holy matrimony that would have permanently tied their two Houses together; Leliana knew she should not have been anywhere remotely near the picture.

And yet there she was with the crown of blue roses resting atop her head. As selfish and foolhardy as her thoughts were, Leliana was feeling pretty damned good about herself right about then. Her eyes swept over the people around her and she could not help but given them all a wolfish grin before going back to her seat and settling down into it.

King Damian, on the other hand, apparently knew exactly how to salvage the situation, and he did so by announcing that instead of wedding her sister, Lionel would be wedding her. And Kervall Winsler would be wedding Adelaide. The announcement made Leliana's jaw unhinge, causing her to gape rather idiotically. Did I hear that correctly? Oh, shit. Shit. I would make a horrible Queen - but...this would mean that I would not have to be locked in Winterfell. And I really would not mind being married to Lionel, I rather like him. Leliana's previously dumbfounded expression blossomed back into a wide grin.

"Well, my unease has been ended," she joked and looked over at her mother, giving the woman a winning smile, there really was no other expression she could have made herself depict upon her face as she had begun to feel like her old cheerful self, "guess I won't be confined to Winterfell any time soon, hm?" She knew she must have sounded rather self-centered at that moment there, but Leliana merely incredibly happy at the idea of not being kept from hunting and sailing. Because, if she were to be a Queen - one that was sure to be horribly uncultured - she would be able to sail and hunt as much as she damned well pleased. Leliana could smell her freedom and it was the most wonderful sensation she had ever experienced.

She would have howled out in triumph had she not been surrounded by so many. In any case, she felt very much the rebellious teenager.


---

Morgana was outraged, but she could see the sense in the quick change of ties in which to politically bind House Damian to the Greyhardts and the Winslers. Though she did not approve of her Adelaide being wedded and bedded by a Winsler, Morgana had to admire Henry's capabilities of quickly twisting every situation into their favor.

"You forget in which company you find yourself, my most honorable Lord of Winsler," Morgana's cold voice broke through with the equivalent resounding of a snapping whip. Her head turned slowly from looking over at Lord Winsler to her husband, and then back to Lord Winsler again; there was nothing in Morgana's expression but a detached, if not unnerving, expectation. She too, awaited answers. Many partnerships were based upon politics, as had been that of her and Henry and in due time the two of them had fallen in love with one another. Morgana could only hope that the Adelaide would at least be content in her marriage - being given to a Winsler was perfectly horrid by itself.

As for Lionel and Leliana...the two would ruin the Seven Kingdoms if they did not reign themselves in. That whorish girl would make a poor example of a Queen. Why, she would don a tunic and britches the second a crown touched her head and go forth to stomp her feet upon a grimy deck. Morgana easily prevented herself from sneering in disgust.

Lionel grimaced when the only sound in the room that could be heard was Adelaide's slow, sarcastic clapping. Ouch. Didn't know I was this unpopular.

But in truth, he had. War was his intention, had always been his intention since he was a child. He couldn't fix so he broke, stirring up conflict and misery wherever he went. And he was good at it too. The events of tonight would not only split House Winsler, but House Greyhardt as well. Lionel had known for years that the Greyhardts were only a reluctant ally, backing House Damian not for moral reasons but for their own survival. By wedding Leliana, he would no doubt lose the support of some, but those who truly cared for Lord Greyhardt's daughter would offer Lionel unlimited support. In a way, Leliana was now his hostage…although he was sure she didn't mind.

On the other hand, as for Adelaide…the stupid little wench would get what was coming. She may have thought she was clever, attempting to humiliate him like that, but if Adelaide had learned anything in the past fifteen years, it was that Lionel always got his revenge. She and Raban had tried getting back at him before, only to realize that standing up to him was futile. Trying to defeat him was laughable. No matter what they did, Lionel would only take it and twist it and use it against them. And then he would be angry, and lash at out them with even more fury than before.

And this was a case in point. Adelaide thought she had the upper hand, thought she could shame Lionel with her words. But Lionel was always three steps ahead of her. He had conversed with their father, knew of the king's plans. She didn't. He knew the risks and benefits of choosing Leliana, and could easily trade half of House Greyhardt's fighting power for a war and a girl. Father wouldn't dare risk the humiliation of forcing Lionel to marry Isabel, especially not after Lionel had just won a tourney for him. But poor, poor Adelaide… Wedding Leliana would have repercussions, but wedding Kervall… If a war started, then Adelaide would have no one to blame except herself and her own foolish heart. If she had never displayed her affection, never given Father the opportunity, then House Winsler would not be in uproar.

He shot his sister a silent smirk, satisfied. I'm not the selfish, childish one. You are. House Winsler will declare war, and it's all…your…fault.

"What now?" Leliana had asked him. Lionel turned back to look at her, suddenly feeling very, very giddy.

"Now, we just sit down and wait for war to start." he murmured back, a grin on his face. "Want some wine?"

Jamie freed from his armor and the pointless need for subtly was organizing the packing of at least his luggage as his guard rushed around led by Ser Eilis to see to the supply train necessary for a quick exit. For after the events of the tourney and the next step of the plan the Winsler nobleman knew a quick exit would be needed.

"No rest for the wicked I see." A sultry voice said behind him.

Jamie clad in black leather breeches and riding boots with a direwolf skin cloak thrown over a red silk tunic causally turned around to take in the next step of his plan as the servants assigned to him ran about on their duties. His rooms were in an uproar as he prepared his exit from the Red Keep. The next step of the plan was no less then the hot blooded bard who had caught his attention with her boldness on the march to King's landing. Now garbed in a bard's tunic done in subtle shades of wine red she looked every bit the temptress, her blood red hair brushed to a high sheen. When she walked into the dining hall, harp in hand to join the musicians no man would keep their eyes off her. The fact she was tall and walked with a liquid grace didn't hurt either, visibility was the whole point of the endeavor after all.

" I am hardly a wicked person." Jamie retorted with the touch of bitterness left over from Lionel's cheating ways. The bitterness was betrayed however by the smile written large on his face as the Dragon took in the bard's curves. It was not the savage grace he found so captivating in Nuala but the southern beauty of warm nights and easy pleasures.

" Well this plan of yours seems somewhat wicked. The Damians are like to blow a thunderstorm when my little old song reaches their ears." She responded with that same sultry voice. Jamie didn't know if the bard was merely rehearsing her part or if she did indeed just take that tone of voice around him. Either way the Dragon found it hard to resist.

"If your worried I can send a guard with you, discreetly of course." Jamie offered, after all he was somewhat chafed at sending someone else to do his fighting so to speak. The least he could was offer the protection he was capable of offering.

"I wouldn't worry about that, I'm use to looking after myself. Besides there is more then one way out of the Red Keep." She replied waving her left hand in dismissal of Jamie's offering. Then taking a liquid hot glance at Jamie the bard in the red tunic of her chosen profession left the chaotic scene of servants packing as if their lives depended on it.


------------------------

She walked through the servant's entrance of the dining hall, noting the tense atmosphere in the air . War was in the making, even a illiterate peasant could have scented it upon the air. Once more the game of thrones was about to be played. Enemies would become friends, brothers would turn on brothers, and the crows would feed well. And nothing would ever be the same. She knew the history of Westeros for bards sung of it every day, the memory of countless people distilled into song and verse. Today was merely shaping tomorrow, and she was playing her part. All because of the fancy Jamie Winsler struck in her. He was tall and strong, a warrior to the core but blunt and uncaring as the weapons he wielded with such skill knights twice his age marveled at it. In the end Jamie was perhaps the most honest of all the noble born fools would play this game of thrones. His honor was without question, that was more then proved by his refusal to cheat even though it cost him the tourney today.

She had watched of course, hidden in the crowds dressed as a noble's daughter. She had cheered his victories and felt murder in her veins as Lionel began his cheating ways. Only the influence of his father had won Lionel the champion's honor today, his skill was inferior to Jamie. Had Lionel been nothing more then a mere knight he would have been thrown out of the tourney the moment he went crazed on Ser Gerjory.

But such backstabbing ways were best left to the nobles. She had a mission to carry out, and it's weapon was the harp in her hands. Strung with silver and gold it had a sweet tone that carried well, though the wear upon the wood showed it's owner's passion in playing it. Taking her place front and center of the musicians who looked at her strangely for she had not been expected. But now was the time to capture her audience and capture it she did.

She plucked the strings, her fingertips curving in to meet the palm of her hand. The first sweet notes hit the air and every male eye was soon upon her. Sometimes it was advantageous to be a beautiful woman and a bard, for her beauty attracted attention while her skill at the bardic arts kept it. Then her voice joined in the melody the harp in her hands sang under gentle encouragement of her fingers. Her voice carried well, and blended well with the sweet yet aggressive sounds of the harp.



The looks of dawning knowledge upon the nobles face were a sweet joy for her eyes. For these nobles were well educated and knew what song she was singing. Reveling in the shock they showed she kept singing and playing.



And the mission was done, a blow struck for the reckless knight that had captured her fancy and perhaps her heart. She stood up,proudly and defiantly. Her height of 6 feet and 5 inches drawn erect as she faced the Damian King and his family, the tense feeling in the air thick enough for a wooden sword to cut it. The gathered nobles gazed on is shocked silence, there was simply nothing to be said. They waited in bated breath to see the fate of this bold bard.

"Remember Your grace that no one is truly safe when they sit upon the Iron Throne. There is a reason the Conqueror crafted it out of the swords of his enemies. He wanted everyone who would come after him to know that no King sits easy, that a mere slip can cut to the bone." She spoke proudly and defiant as her stance. She then turned to make her exit, showing her back in contempt of the royal family.

Birgitte sat frozen in her seat unable to fully comprehend what had just happened. She could hear the words playing over and over again in her head but no matter how many times they did so she still could not fully accept them. The very thought of what had been suggested made her blood boil and yet made her feel very cold at the same time. Nothing was happening as it should, nothing was happening the way it was supposed to happen and Birgitte was at a loss as to how to repair such catasrophic damage. She stared at Leiliana and simply shook her head in disbelief, that one of her own children could betray their family in such a way withoutany thought for how it would affect them as a pack. They were Wolves of the North and their strength came from their unity. Yet here Leiliana was thinking only of herself and what made her happy. Birgitte had sacrificed much over the years to keep her family whole and the fact that it was all falling apart hurt her as nothing else could. She felt like an arrow had just been shot straight into her heart creating a hole that could never be healed, never be filled again. And what of Isabel? The humiliation she must be feeling as her betrothed rejected her for none other than her older sister. She tore her eyes awa from her dauhter and looked at the others trying to guage their reactions to the King's statement. The King looked pleased and she realised with a sinking feeling that he had planned this from the outset. Somehow he had manipulaed her family and they like sheep had fallen right into the heart of it. Lionel also looked pleased and it was clear he had known wha was to happen and Birgitte could not help wonder if Leiliana had been told as well. Oh she acted as though she had not but this new Leiliana who acted without thought for her family was unknown to Birgitte. It seemed as though someone else had replaced her daughter and Birgitte could not tell whether what this new version of her daughter said was lies or truth.

Just when she thought things could not escalate any further Lord Winsler reacted to the King's statement with fury and Birgitte could see that he had been manipulated too. The Damien wanted war but why? Why was everyhting in this world about what you could take? She was not innocent in politics far from it but she had always used her skills to avoid conflict not cause it. Yet Birgitte knew with a dreadful certainty that war was inevitible at this point and that nothing she nor anyone else did would alter that fact. As she was thinking on this another thought blossomed and this was so terrible that had she not already been seated she would have fallen from the pain of it. Her family, her pack would be torn apart. There was no way that she could support Henry, Lionel and Leiliana not after this and that meant that she and her daughter would soon be enemies. The question was who else would she lose? She was sure that Isabel would not support this but what of Richard and Quincel her lords brother? Ever had they both been loyal to her and her husband but would that still be the case? and what of her husband the man she loved with all of her heart and soul? She looked across at him and he met her eyes with his own. She felt tears as she saw the look, tears of relief as she saw that he was of the same mind as her. He looked angry, angrier than she had ever seen him and she knew that he saw the deliberate manipulation behind these events. She then looked at Isabel and hoped her daughter could see the pride and love in her eyes. In the look she sent the words Courage and strength my daughter

SHe was distracted then by the entrance of a bard and what a bard she was. A stunning creature with full lips and curves and her voice was hypnotic. Birgitte was entranced despite the turmoil in her heart and it was only partway through the song did she realise what the bard was singing. She kept her hands in her lap so as to keep them from trembling in expectaion of the aftermath of such a dangerous song being sung. And there would be an aftermath and explosive one. With an effort she started focussing her mind on damage control, on how to get those of her family ,willing to leave with her, to safety. It would mean flight for certain but then what? To that Birgitte had no answer.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

Nathanial managed to remain seated by sheer strength of his formiddable will. All he wanted to do was stand and wring some sense into his daughter. But in all honesty he had half expected something like this to happen. She had always been the same determined to go her own way and be damned the consequences. It hurt that he would have to leave her but he would do it for the sake of the rest of his family he would do so. Whilst at heart he was a family man, a man who wished to avoid conflict at all costs if conflict did happen he was not one to flee in blind panic. He was practical and logical man and together with his brother they made a formiddable team when it came to war. He began running strategies in his mind for how to get out of the keep alive and then on how to manage events afterwards. It never once occurred to him that his brother may choose not to come with him. Quincel and he had been loyal to one another all of thier lives and it was unthinkable to Nate that his brother would change now. He saw his wife look at him and read the pain and uncertainty in her eyes and he tried to convey to her his reassurance that in this as all things they were of like mind. He would not support that insane monster in his bid for his daughter and the throne nor his father who seemed just as eager for blood.

When the bard entered he could not help but admire her beauty and skills, she was certainly a looker and he wondered if that was why she had been picked to perform as she seemed to capture everyone's eyes and hold them on her whether they wanted it or no. Nate knew the song immidiately and if he had not already made up his mind to leave would have done so after tha song. There was no way that this feast was going to end peacefully and it was best to leave as soon as they could or get caught in the crossfire.

How quickly was chaos strewn! The Damians wanted war. And they would get it. But the one question remained. Why would they want war in all the three houses? He could see why they might want to do war with the aggressive Winslers, but why were they drawing House Greyhardt into this mess? Theirs was a tentative alliance, but it was an alliance. The Greyhardts did not love war, and always had tried to stay as far away from these bloody conflicts as possible. The Damians already had the Iron Throne, and the Grayhardts had supported them the whole way. Were they so greedy for conquest that they wanted Winterfell as well? Or did they just love the chaos of war?

And this is why Quincel hated politics.

He looked at Leliana. He was glad that she had found love, or at least a suitor that didn't turn tail and flee, but for god's sake! Did it have to be her sister's betrothed?! As much as he liked his viviacious young neice, Quincel did not like that cocky grin. Either she did not see the gravity of the situation, or she didn't care, but either way it made whatever sympathy Quin had had for his neice melt away like ice on a hot plate. He may be indecisive, but at the moment, he decided that he could not support someone that seemed to care so little, especially if when own family was threatened. At that moment.

He turned to his brother grimly. Quincel knew him well enough that to see that he was deep in thought and strategizing.

"What do you make of this, my Lord?" He enquired in a low voice. Brothers though they might be, Quin always remembered that Nathanial was the head of his house and Lord over him.

Shadows flickered in the light of the braziers, dancing along the curtains of the archway and across tapestries. Ser Ulfred's hair was combed and pulled back from his face with a leather thong, though his beard had received only a cursory trimming. He adjusted the neck of his brown gambeson and tried to stand straighter as the crier announced him to the gathering. "Ser Ulfred Borander, a knight of the realm!"

Whispers followed his footsteps, punctuated by the occasional and audible "Mongrel Knight." His lips drew across his teeth in an almost snarling aspect. He waved at a passing page. "An ale, boy. Make it quick, and keep them bloody coming."

He navigated through the mingling nobility with brusque gestures and apologies. It had been a few years, but he had expected to recognize more faces. Ulfred spied an open table, he sat down at it's foot and a squire brought him a plate and a tub of gravy. Ulfred's stomach growled. After pouring a moderate amount of gravy on the plate he went at it's contents with a will. The squire from earlier brought him a tankard of ale and soon after another. Ulfred ate three servings, each with a tankard of ale, much to the chagrin of more than a few ladies of the court, judging by the sounds of disgust. Taking the napkin from his lap Ulfred wiped his face and tossed the napkin on the table before standing.

Ulfred had almost forgotten the nobility of the Seven Kingdoms, how they each lived in their own world of plots and counter plots. Not every noble in Westeros shared this same outlook, but in a place such as this, with the deceit so thick as to make one choke, even the unwilling became pieces on a chessboard. Only this chessboard was a mess that could only be cleared up through battle or intrigue. That is where Ulfred Borander came in. He could taste the bile in the back of his throat as some dandy winked at him conspiratorially. The hedge-knight was a bottom feeder that relied on unrest and disunion to ply his trade. Ulfred was well read, and history did not look favorably upon the dogs of war.

A deep baritone silenced nearby gentry. "I see that the dog comes back home with it's tail between it's legs."

There was a pause and then Georg Namos, a lord now by the look of it, stepped forward. A small retinue of hangers-on stood behind him, mirth in their eyes. "Not that I'm surprised, a starved mongrel often returns for the bones from it's master's table."

Ulfred's hand went for his sword, but it wasn't there. The area around them was still, all eyes watching the exchange. "Your tongue slithers out of your mouth like a snake. I challenge you to single combat."

There was an audible gasp. Namos' face twisted with contempt. "Dawn. Melee. The hill to the west of the north gate."

"At dawn, then." Ulfred turned on his heel and stalked away. As he drew nearer to one of the braziers he waved at one of the squires that had served him before. "I think I'll need some more ale, lad."

“A war? Sounds exciting, I hope I get to ride out and fire arrows at idiots,” Leliana replied to him, unable to keep herself from grinning, “and sure, wine sounds great right about now.” The prospect of a war was at the same time discomforting and thrilling. After all, wars were much more interesting than being cooped up in a room full of those who endeavoured to talk only about politics and trading routes while chatting about history of the Seven Kingdoms. How utterly boring.

Leliana never understood why people bothered with things that did not bring about some form of gratifying profit.

“Lass, you’ve been getting much too hedonistic for your own good,” Walter said as he watched her hoist the sails on the small vessel. “You should be in the castle right now, sitting in on the meeting alongside your two siblings. Your Lord father and Lady mother would be very cross with you when you don’t show up. Even your Lord uncle will be there.”

She let out a laugh and tied the rope into a knot that would hold well. “Why would I want to attend something so positively dull? You cam with me to sail – it’s nice outside, so don’t nag at me for not being in some tedious meeting. You know me, Walter; I’m the lone wolf of the family.”

He let out a bark of a laugh and slapped his thick leg. “Or are you just making up excuses so that you can go take a tumble with the stable-boy when you get back?”

“He’s rather good at tumbling, Donovan is.” Leliana went to take up her place behind the ship’s wheel. “And there’s nothing wrong with stable-boys.”

Though she had always loved her family dearly, Leliana had over the years of her life developed a self-centered streak that had stemmed from all the wild romping that she so much loved to engage herself in. It was not often that Leliana endeavored to tell others the truth or show them her intentions, as it was always best to say things that she figured people would want to hear from her.

She had done this with her family members and strangers alike from time to time. Not on a continuous basis, of course, but whenever she felt like she had to get herself out of a tight spot. So far the only person that she had not seen any reason to lie to or tell half-truths had been Lionel. Leliana felt that he understood what it felt like to be caged and clearly he had little love for courtly bullshit and in turn she understood what he himself must have been feeling throughout everything. No, she would not lie to him, because she had no need to and because they could identify with one another.

Leliana turned to Isabel, reaching out to put a hand on her younger sister’s arm. “I’m sorry, this was all really surprising,” her fingers flexed in a comforting squeeze, “I don’t know what I should be feeling right now, and grinning like a fool is my usual response to everything. You know that, right Is?”

Except that she knew exactly what she was feeling. And, though she was surprised, she was far from sorry.

And with that said, she turned away from her sister and to Lionel. But before she could say anything, a statuesque woman with a harp had made her way inside and begun to sing.

The bard caught Leliana's eye and she found herself more interested in the woman than in the song that was escaping from 'tween her lips. The bard was a striking woman, with hair almost as red as that of Leliana's, but it was the muted red of blood rather than the striking red of fire.

In due time Leliana realized that the woman was singing 'the Rains of Castamere' and the bold political message from House Winsler was suddenly plain for all to hear. "Did that tall bitch just threaten with death? Shit, she did. I feel oddly offended, but she has gall." Leliana's grin had turned cynical as she spoke out more to herself than to anyone.

---

Anger was boiling in her veins with a fury that Morgana had seldom ever prone to. At first, the two engagements - Kervall with Adelaide and Lionel with Leliana. Though pairing Adelaide with Kervall did provide for possible political stability, the partnership of Lionel and Leliana would bring nothing good.

Beneath the table, Morgana's nails dug into her thighs, vicious enough to draw blood had her legs not been protected by thick layers of fabric. Lionel would ruin the legacy of House Damian, and do so with much greater ease with the wolf-bitch by his side.

As far as she was concerned, Raban would do a much greater and better job of things had he been the one who was the eldest. For a first, he would not have dallied forth with the older sister of his betrothed. For a second, he would not have been prone to rages nor being unable to comply with what was expected of him.

But what spurred Morgana even further on towards a blind, overwhelming anger was the Winsler bard. When the red-headed slut began to sing 'the Rain of Castamere', Morgana seethed on the inside. Her fingers curled like vices to clutch at her skirts beneath the feast table as she exercised every last bit of her willpower to prevent her shoulders from shaking in cold fury.

That daft, impudent, disgusting, Winsler cunt.

How dare the Winslers do such a thing? She knew it to be them. She knew it the moment those disgusting, treacherous words had begun to roll from the bard's mouth. But there was nothing that she could do, and so she resorted to sitting there and waiting for the response of her Lord husband. Because, unlike many women she could mention, Morgana knew her place.

Seeing as his own seat was halfway across the table, Lionel wedged himself in between Leliana and Isabel, shooting the noble Greyhardts a cheery grin as he did so. Despite the nerve-wracking tourney earlier, Lionel had never felt better as he poured out a goblet of hot, spiced wine for the two of them. His whole life had been a series of failed attempts at getting back at his father and breaking free of his bonds. King Henry had still managed to turn the situation to his own benefit, but for once Lionel didn't really mind, because he'd gotten what he wanted- freedom. And a comely lass to share it with.

He was well aware of the frosty atmosphere on the Greyhardt side of the table, and he reveled in it. After all, Lionel thrived in chaos. From the look of things, Lord and Lady Greyhardt are furious with their daughter…and Isabel doesn't look to happy about it either. Well, it wasn't really Lionel's concern, but he couldn't help but wonder if it would result in Leliana's excommunication. He suddenly realized that for once in his life he was worrying about someone else, and the prospect of it bothered him. It was…uncomfortable, to say the least. He didn't want to concern himself with someone else's pain, but somehow in this case, he couldn't avoid it. Then again…what had she said to him that night on the ship? A shared sorrow is half a sorrow? It was almost starting to make sense.

But he didn't have much time to reflect on it, because at that moment, a bard began to sing. Unlike others in the room, Lionel didn't perceive the singer's beauty at all- why bother, when he was sitting right next to Leliana? Soft, easy good looks had never appealed to him, but a raw sort of freedom did. However, the bard's song…

"Gall? More like a death wish," Lionel murmured, the edge of his lip curling up in a smile that can't have meant anything good. He raised an eyebrow as the singer turned her back on the royal family and began to strut out of the great hall.

She dares…

"Who hired that bard?" he demanded quietly to the nearest servant, although he had a pretty good idea already. The response he got- bulging eyes, a terrified shrug- wasn't helpful at all. Lionel turned to another servant, one who looked like he was higher up on the command chain. "Who hired that bard?"

The servant stammered, "My prince, we- I don't recall seeing her-"

The Winslers are becoming more and more of a pain in the ass.

Lionel pushed his chair back and stood up. The scrape echoed through the silence in the large hall, and the eyes that had been fixed on the bard turned to him. A question hung heavy in the air, the question, "What are you going to do?" The Bennets and Brookhavens looked terrified, knowing how the prince was prone to acting. The Renloughs and Umbers, who were made of stronger stuff, eyed him expectantly, silently demanding to see what their future king was capable of. The Cavendish's faces were calculatedly neutral. The Strakes and Cavanaughs…

Houses Strake and Cavanaugh were laughing.

That did it.

"A lovely song from a lovely woman," Lionel said sarcastically. His deceptively calm voice cut through the air, dripping with malice and contempt. "However, one must always keep in mind that the Iron Throne does not just pose a threat to those who sit upon it. Those who reach for it, scrabbling with their dirty hands, should keep in mind that they can be cut…" His hand moved towards his belt. "...just as easily."

The singer shouldn't have turned her back. With a smooth, fluid motion, Lionel hurled his dirk through the room. The blade whistled and spun in midair, passing dangerously close to one of the Cavanaughs, before embedding itself deep inside the singer's head. She died immediately, collapsing without a word.

Pity. She didn't even get time to to think about her wonderful Ser Jamie.

Adelaide froze where she stood, her eyes widening with utter surprise. Not only was no-one taking what Lionel had done seriously, but her father was happy about it. He had just given Lionel what he wanted by betrothing him to the woman that he was clearly in love with. He wasn’t being punished for his actions. No, of course he wasn’t. This was Lionel. Should Lionel be punished then it would be the end of the world. But Adelaide wasn't going to give in that easily. It wasn't the end for her. She had more brains that the rest of her family thought. She wasn't going to sit back and allow Lionel to get away with whatever he wished. This would be his end. The Damian family was not what it had once been. It was already divided with Adelaide almost standing alone. If that was to be the way, then she would go down with a fight, taking everything she could with her. But mostly, she just sought to destroy her brother and his war-loving ways. No harm was intended to the rest of her family, but now her father had seriously annoyed her.

On top of everything, he had just announced her own betrothal to one Kervall Winsler. Almost instantly there was uproar around the hall, including her own. But she fumed silently, simply glaring at her father. Lord Winsler had began shouting and he had every right. A Winsler and Damian marriage was an outrage in itself, let alone not consulting with the two families involved. It was clear from Morgana's face that it had not been run past her either. Kervall couldn't even refuse whilst he was in the state that he was. But Adelaide could. As much as she liked Kervall, this would put too much strain on the Winsler and Damian relationship. She wouldn't allow that to happen. And her father couldn't make her marry a Winsler, or else she would simply leave. However, there was no denying that the idea of marrying Kervall was...Well it made her believe that marriage wasn't such a bad option after all. Perhaps she should just do as she was told for once. Perhaps her father had her best interests at heart. After all, Kervall was a fine man and a much better suitor than any other she had come across. He would make her happy, she knew it to be true.

Adelaide caught the look that Lionel was giving her. Instantly it became clear. This was a plot. A plan conducted by the rest of the Damian family. They wanted a reason to aggravate the Winslers and she was their reason. None of them cared for her happiness, if anything, they were using her for their own means, putting her in danger. Fury bubbled inside of her and she clenched her fists at her sides. This was wrong. It was going to destroy everything. If she married Kervall and from it war erupted, she would never forgive herself. Adelaide was not stupid. If it hadn't been for the sly look that Lionel had given her, then she would have fallen for the trick. But he had tripped up there. Now, she would have to take matters into her own hands.

Before she could utter a word, a bard entered. Curious time for a bard to interrupt, when they were all arguing and screaming at one another. She frowned, glancing at the Damian table. It looked like they knew nothing of this either. And so she listened. Within seconds, she knew what was tumbling from the bard's mouth and she looked utterly surprised. She had some guts or perhaps a death wish. Her eyes flickered to Lionel. He looked furious already. As he rose in his seat, she glanced back to the bard before closing her eyes. She didn't need to see what was about to happen. Bile rose in her throat, as she threatened to be sick.

"Once again Lionel, you do us so proud," She whispered, opening her eyes and shaking her head. "War is clearly your only plan." It was said completely to herself. But she wasn't going to assist in helping it become a war.

Clearing her throat, she stepped up to the Damian table. "I will not marry Kervall Winsler." It echoed, as her words had done when she first entered the hall. It was aimed at her father, but she spoke it to the rest of the guests in the hall. "I do not mean to insult your family Lord Winsler," She even bowed her head low as a sign of respect. "But I think we are all aware of what such a marriage would entail and it is wrong for my family to even suggest it without consulting you. My apologies." Turning to her father, she lowered her voice so that only he could hear. "I'm not stupid and you'd do well to remember that before setting me up in a marriage that will bring uproar between the Houses. Do you not realise that a war will jeopardise your position? That a war will destroy our family?"

Two Maesters had fussed over him for what had seemed like hours, and now Kervall was laying in his bed, stripped to the waist with thick bandages wrapped about his midriff, his right hand, left arm, and about his head, which was swimming in a strange fog. The healers had told him there would be little permanent damage, which had been a godsend, but there would be pain. And pain there was. At first Kurt had tried to block it out - to employ discipline to ignore the aching, throbbing agony that assaulted him from nearly every part of his body. It had worked for a while, until he'd done something stupid.

He heard someone come into his room, and he asked for her name. She came over to the side of the bed, blushing and seemingly unable to take her eyes from him. He had no idea how bad he looked, but from the wide-eyed stare the girl gave him, it was clear he looked awful. She told him her name was Mary, and she had brought him something from Adelaide. Just hearing the princess' name had made him grin, and he asked to see what it was. Dutifully, Mary brought over one of the small, red flowers. Kervall took it, his heart suddenly lurching with worry. What would happen, now? Were there going to be political repercussions for Lionel's actions? There was supposed to be a feast tonight, wasn't there? He could feel in his bones that something terrible was about to occur, an ominous rumbling as clear as the storm outside. Kurt couldn't let his family, couldn't let Adelaide face this alone, while he lay in bed like an invalid. He was the Winsler heir, he had to do something.

Pleading with Mary, Kervall swung his legs over the side of the bed, and tried to stand, leaning some of his weight on the serving girl. She protested, but it was not exactly within her right to deny his request for aid. The pain was immeasurable. The very blood within his veins seemed to crawl with burning torture. Kurt gasped, but forced himself onward. Unfortunately, grim determination and a stubborn disposition were not analgesics of any kind. He got to the door before he collapsed, despite Mary's aid, and the girl ran to re-summon a Maester. Admonishing the young Winsler, the man told Kurt if he tried to pull another stunt like that he would be forced to lock the door. Sullenly, Kervall agreed to stay put, if only because the pain had seemed to take offense to his attempts to ignore it, and had returned three-fold. This time, the young man accepted milk of the poppy from the Maester, and now he lay in bed, drugged and pouting.

Soon after Mary left, Flynt Cavanaugh paid a visit to the recumbent Winsler. The look the young knight gave Kervall made him grimace. "Do I really look that bad?"

"N-no, my Lord! I was just... surprised to see... uh... so many bandages!" The boy sighed, and offered an apologetic shrug, though Kurt was actually grinning. "Alright, fine. You look like hell. Is there anything I can do for you, my Lord? The feast is going poorly downstairs. The tension seems thick enough to cut with a dagger." Flynt frowned, looking worried. "But I can bring you some food, if you like?"

Kervall shook his head. "I am not hungry, but thank you." He paused, trying to think - the poppy milk made it hard to stay coherent. "If you would, go back downstairs and watch what transpires. You shall have to be my eyes and ears, for now. Can you do that?" He offered a hopeful smile.

Flynt's chest puffed out with pride, "I will, my Lord. I will watch all, like a hawk! And report back to you soon." The knight turned to go, pausing to glance over his shoulder at Kervall, "Take it easy, alright?" With that, the boy left.

Kervall turned his head to stare out the clouded window and sighed. It was hard to think, but the only thoughts that came repeatedly were of Adelaide. He wanted to see her again. He even had considered asking Flynt to summon her, but worried what kind of trouble that might get her into, and that was the last thing he wanted for her, especially by his hand. His eyes drifted closed, and he allowed the blackness to consume his world, once more.



Things were really getting rather out of hand. Raban was really starting to worry. Everything his brother was doing seemed to go directly against what Mother and Father wanted, let alone himself or Adelaide. Why was Lionel going out of his way to be such a jerk? While it was true that Leo hadn't exactly been his favourite person lately, he had always thought that if things ever got messy, that Lionel would have their backs. What was that saying Father had told him a while ago? 'Blood runs thicker than water.' Father had said it meant that deep down, Leo loved them even if he didn't show it, much. Well, things were getting pretty messy, and Lionel hadn't changed. He even seemed to be getting worse. Rab had been so hopeful, too, when his brother had given him that sword yesterday. Every time he thought about it, Raban wanted to do nothing more than snatch it up and run to the practice dummies to start using it, but he hadn't had the chance, yet. He hadn't even been able to name it, yet, either. Father had told him once that it was bad luck to name a weapon before you had had the chance to swing it. Still, he had hoped, albeit briefly, that maybe it was a sign that his brother was finally getting better, that Leo didn't hate his guts, and that maybe they would get along again. Somehow, that was seeming less and less likely.

Thankfully, the tournament had gotten his mind off of his worries, at least temporarily. It been an absolute dream to watch - the only thing better than watching it would have been to participate, but Father hadn't allowed it, no matter how much he'd begged. So Leo had gotten a little scary when he fought Ser Gregory and Ser Kervall, but at least it hadn't been him, for once. He'd seen that look in Lionel's eyes, and it always frightened him. But he thought that maybe if they could focus that anger on their enemies then it wouldn't be quite so bad, right? But now Lionel seemed to be committed to making more enemies than he needed.

Raban didn't really understand most of the political intricacies that were flying around the great hall that evening, but Mother was furious. He was no master of intrigue, but Rab knew his mother, and he could see her anger for what it was. The boy wanted to say something to her, wanted to help her or to comfort her, but he couldn't think of anything that would help. So many crazy things were happening. Leo crowned Greyhardt girl the Queen of Love and Beauty - but wait, wasn't that the wrong girl? Then Father announced Lionel's marriage - again - but he also said Ada was to marry Kervall! But now she was refusing? Bored and confused, Raban squirmed in his seat. That Dornish guard didn't seem to be anywhere nearby, and Mother was clearly distracted, so the young Damian slipped out of his seat and wandered to the edge of the room. What he really wanted now was to steal over to the armory field and play--er... practice with his new sword, the thunderstorm outside not dissuading him in the least. No one's paying attention, though, right? Grinning with mischief, Raban sauntered quietly towards the doors that would lead him to the proper hallways. If no one noticed him, he could make a clean break, and have possibly hours before they found him.

Raban made it nearly to the doors without being stopped, and, suppressing laughter, bolted the last ten feet, excitement fueling his speed.

Leliana gladly shifted so the Lionel could take a set in between her and Isabel. All her previous pretences at feeling sorry left her when she accepted the goblet of hot spiced wine that Lionel handed to her and took a sip from it. She swallowed the mouthful of warmth and warm alcohol and settled more comfortably in her seat to watch the spectacle unfolding before her.

She observed with interest as Lionel rose up and gave the bard a piece of his mind. Leliana found herself nodding along, a smile playing across her lips. Not moments later, he had taken a dirk from his own person and launched it across the throne room at the back of the receding woman’s head.

When the blade hit, having struck deep and with enough force to punch through the back of a skull, Leliana let out a howl of excitement – the sort of sound she was prone to making when one of her arrows struck a perfect kill-shot into hunted prey.

“That was a bloody marvelous shot!” Leliana could not help but exclaim with glee as Lionel’s dirk felled the bard woman. The bard had deserved no less; singing that song and then turning her back on royalty and nobility alike had more or less been a death wish. The woman had practically been begging to get stabbed – or dirked, in this case.

Leliana had seen death more than once before, a few times that of people, but mostly the death of the animals she so enjoyed to hunt. For some strange reason the bard’s death looked more like the felling of an animal than anything else and Leliana found herself amused by it.

It had been a clean death and without needless suffering or torture involved. Simply the snuffing out of a life that had gotten itself into trouble – there was nothing more to it. Had the bard been tortured and had her bones broken, forced to bleed out writhing on the floor, then Leliana would have most likely felt the need to help or experienced remorse.

She pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to come to terms with how little she cared. All that mattered was that soon she would be free, one way or another. Leliana could practically smell her freedom – the heady rush of something sweet that encircled her being and made her feel all the more alive.

---

For Morgana, that had been the last straw. That was no manner in which the future King should act – did Lionel not know that there were guards about who would be more than capable of grabbing the bard and throwing her into the dungeons? The woman would have paid for her song by being sentenced as was due, and her sentence would have been passed by Henry.

Lionel was quickly forgetting his place and Morgana would have no more of it. The comment from Leliana Greyhardt about how well placed the throw had been did nothing but aggravate Morgana further. The two will butcher the Seven Kingdoms. Nothing but ruin will come of them if they took the throne.

“When did children of my own begin to disobey and act in manners so despicable?” Morgana rose out of her chair, her voice cutting through the atmosphere of the room as would a knife through flesh. “You, Adelaide, I cannot comprehend how you lips even dare form such words. Your Lord Father has bid you to marry, and the Seven help you, you will do as you are told, you insolent girl.”

Morgana’s voice rose in strength as she focused in on her daughter’s face, carving metaphorical gashes into flesh with the sheer vitriol of her glare. “No child of mine has ever disobeyed. From him,” she whirled and jabbed a finger in Lionel’s direction, “I can expect such insolence, as it was not my womb from whence he crawled.”

She could take no more of this. It had gotten to be too much and she had finally snapped and allowed the vicious fury that she had been hiding for so long to come pouring out in a tirade. “I will rather see myself die than have you and your wolf-whore on the Iron Throne, Lionel,” she hissed, her voice dipping low and dangerous. “This farce has gone on for long enough! I will not have a bastard and a slut take the throne!”

If the atmosphere had been tense before this, it had only gotten worse.

“I’m assuming I’m the slut here,” Leliana Greyhardt spoke out, that blasted grin never fading from her face, “ouch, and here I thought I would one day call you ‘Mother, dearest’.”

Morgana’s face twitched at those words but she maintained her expression calm, save for the fury that churned in her eyes. Morgana could not comprehend how that girl was able to respond to near everything with jests, but she was not about to take back anything she had just said.

It had been too long that she had put up with all this impertinence and she would much rather see Raban taking the throne than Lionel and his red-haired whore. She did not want him gallivanting about as the wild card of the family - which he technically was not even a real member of. And, with that in mind, Morgana pointed over at Lionel and yelled, "Guards!"

" Jamie, she's...." Eilis spoke his voice heavy with the sorrow of having to deliver such news before a wave of Jamie's hand silenced him. The Dragon then returned to his gazing out of the window at the storm ridden sky, a poetic omen if there ever was one. Normally not one for such things even the reckless knight had to admit the sky fit the events transpiring.

"Dead I know, a servant came by not two minutes ago with the news." Jamie replied with a dead and listless voice as he gazed at the dark rain clouds in their profusion. Eilis for his part looked taken aback, he had expected the towering rage his charge was famous for. Had half expected to be cut down trying to stop Jamie from charging into the throne room to slaughter the Damians. This listless tone of voice scared the former hedge knight more then the rage he had expected.

"I sent her to her death Eilis, I knew deep down inside myself something would go wrong. I should have sent that guard with her, should have tried harder to make her accept the idea. A innocent woman is dead because of my actions Eilis...." Here Jamie fell into a moment of silence, anguish clear upon his face. Jamie Winsler was a knight no matter what anyone thought, the code of honor he swore to was something he held in his heart despite his anger and recklessness. " I don't deserve the title of Ser, I've soiled the honor I so cherished once"

Eilis looked upon Jamie with new eyes. The former hedge knight had fought his fair share of battles, had killed and seen those he cared about die horrible deaths. He knew what this nobleman was going through, now was the making of a true man of Jamie Winsler. " It is always the innocent that suffer Jamie, no matter what the tales say. Honor and Chivalry are all well and good of themselves but they don't dull a sword's edge or bring back a widow's husband. You have to make sure what your doing is being done for the right reasons." Eilis spoke laying a hand upon the silent Jamie." The only question is what do you as a knight do, right here and now. You can't waste time with the past Jamie, only make up for your mistakes the best you can. So Jamie Winsler what do you do now?"

Jamie, son of Lord Winsler and the man they called the Dragon considered the words of Eilis, his emerald eyes sparkling with the grief he felt over his dishonor."What else can I do besides avenge her Eilis?"

"You walk in there and kill Lionel all you will accomplish is your own death.Your the best fighter I've seen Jamie but your not invincible. You could probably kill Lionel, the brat isn't half the swordsman you are but the guards will eventually overwhelm you and House Winsler will be the poorer." Eilis replied uncharacteristic anger in his voice as he advised and berated his charge." War is coming Jamie, there is nothing anyone can do to avoid it now. And House Winsler and the lords of the Vale will need you. Kervall is no soldier and neither is your brother. Both are good at their chosen fields but House Winsler will need a general. A man to lead their armies and your one of the best Westeros has seen in a long time. Lionel, he is a beast and couldn't lead an army if his life depended on it, and that is exactly why House Winsler will need you. Your a warrior Jamie something neither of your brothers can boast. Kervall, he'll make a fine leader in peace time but this is war. Teralo, I wouldn't trust your powdered twin to lead a troop of clowns let alone fighting men. Only a man who knows combat can lead and Teralo doesn't know one end of a sword from another."

Eilis then grabbed hold of both of Jamie's shoulders and spun him around so that they stared into each others eyes." Listen to me Jamie in his hey day Lord Winsler could have lead but we both know the man is half-mad, drowning in grief and unable to truly see what is around him. You can either march into the throne room and take your revenge, dying in the process, thus leaving your house defenseless against the coming storm. Or you can act like the man I know you can be and earn your honor back. I know it hurts to realize truth,honor, and justice don't always prevail in this life. We don't have to become monsters Jamie but we do have to be ready to fight them. The Seven do not interfere in our affairs, it is by our strength alone we make the world a better place. The Damians will pay, that is the one law of this world no one can break. You reap what you sow and the Damians have sown nothing but death and destruction upon House Winsler and Westeros itself to a degree."

Jamie looked upon Eilis with a new level of respect. Where had the grizzled and world weary man who commanded his personal guard gone. Who was this man whom stared at him with such passion that it burned in his hazel eyes. The words he spoke seemed a life line to this knight lost in the thought of his dishonor.

" I will live to fight another day Eilis. But I promise you this and to the Seven themselves. Lionel Damian will die a beast's death. He will beg for mercy and I will deny it to him. He will suffer for as long as a mortal being can suffer. His crimes will be punished by my hand and my hand alone." Jamie spoke a new zeal, the fury of cold anger burning a place in his very soul, the scar would never be healed till Lionel's life blood washed over his hands. The fury would live eternal, until he saw life leave Lionel's eyes.

"Well spoken Ser Jamie."


Jamie, a new vow sworn felt a lightening of his chest. The bard, her sacrifice, would always be remembered with shame. He had let another fight his battles and they had paid the ultimate price. Jamie Winsler would not forget it, hence his vow to the gods themselves. A clash of thunder rumbled in the distance before a single lightening bolt snaked it's way across the sky in a show of raw power. The metaphor was not lost on him as he once more gazed at the dark and shadowed filled sky, the storm raging in it's omnipotent anger.

" How long will this storm last?" The Dragon asked, a metaphorical twist to his voice.

~~~NUALA~~~
Nuala had exited the Feast hall and quietly made her way through the corridors to Jamie’ room after the bard had stopped her singing and been killed. Nuala paused outside when she heard voices. She stood there, listening to Eilis’ and Jamie’s from the shadows and not putting much stock into the things being spoken. It was clear enough that the bard had been Jamie’s doing and it did make her wonder why he would use others to serve his needs rather than deliver messages by himself. These Southron people, she understood them not.

“The storm will last until it is over.” She had entered the room as he spoke the last part of his words. Nuala did not care much for the company of Eilis and ignored his being there save for remembered where he was located in the chamber. She had come there to ask what Jamie was doing in his rooms while there was turmoil being stirred in the Feast hall.

Nuala went over to lean against the edge of a table and kept on surveying Jamie’ sitting form through dark eyes; she was not impressed in the slightest to see him acting this way. “You are moping.” She spoke her mind and put one hand on her hip while the other held the spear that was much like an extension of her physical body.

“Tch.” She made the sound from between parted lips and shook her head at the same time. Back in the North there was never time to sit around and bemoan fate, not when it could gore you in the side and rip out your entrails the second one decided to sit down. Yet here in the South nobody knew of that -- wherever she looked there would be another Lord or Lady lost in their own troubles and pitying themselves.

“She sang well,” Nuala went on to say, keeping her eyes on Jamie, “but why send a fox to do the job of a bear? There is little surprise to what happened.” To her it all sounded reckless and she found herself shaking her head again. Such strange games they played here in the South; strange games full of lies and many words.

~~~DANTE~~~
Dante had been instructed to keep an eye on things from a distance and his position had been behind the main table, lounging against a pillar out of view of the eyes of the guests. From this vantage point he had a perfect view of all that was occurring in the feasting hall. He could easily see the backs of the chairs occupied by Princess Adelaide and Prince Raban and all he had to do was stand there and watch them while keeping them in throwing knife’s distance.

To put things simply: the job was boring. Dante found himself yawning more than once and his thoughts drifting to think about how he would rather be conversing with Nasrin or playing cards with some of the palace guards. He did not give much of a fig for all the politics which were unfurling all around him. There was talk of engagements and other such trivialities and Dante found himself holding back a yawn.

He had not missed the Damian’s youngest son weaselling his way out of his chair and sneaking by. Dante could not blame the boy -- he would have most likely been trying to get out and do something more interesting had he been twelve and forced to sit for hours at a feast while adults talked of government. Dante considered going after him and actually doing his job, but decided not to. Young boys deserved to go about and have fun once in a while, Princes especially.

It would do Prince Raban more good to be able to run around on his own a bit and engage in play rather than be made to sit around. Children deserved to have time for fun and so Dante did not move an inch as he watched Raban slip off and bolt towards the door. Letting out a chuckle, Dante shook his head to himself and then half-heartedly returned to surveying the scene just as the beginning notes of ‘the Rains of Castamere’ began to echo throughout the hall.

That had certainly incited the sellsword’s interests. Spying the towering female bard, Dante took the time during which she sang the first few verses to rake his eyes across her body. The wench was a looker, that was for sure, but she was too tall for him to be willing to considering ploughing her fields. ‘Short little Nasrin would be so much sweeter...’

At some point the song ended. Dante picked at his fingernails. He did absolutely nothing as the Crown Prince hurled a knife at the bard who had turned her back and been walking away. A waste of a good woman, in his eyes, otherwise it was no loss for him. Dante did not know her and thus did not care.

The aim of the Crown Prince had been good -- not the best stance for throwing a dirk, though still very good as Lady Leliana had been thrilled to point out.

Dante went back to picking at his nails.