Westeros

Jamie, with the cold fury burning in his soul drew Memory from where it was belted upon his hips. The valyrian blade left the scabbard with it's accustomed silent hiss. Holding the blade before him in a slightly angeled stance he considered running the wildling woman through, he was in no mood to answer anyone's question.

" She isn't to blame Jamie,killing her would be no more right then Lionel killing your lovely bard." Eilis said from his position to side of all this, he wasn't tempted in the least to intervene. He had a brother in the Night's Watch, kin that had sworn an oath to forever escape the influence of the royal family. Even so he knew Jamie was as a cache of wildfire, killing Nuala would only be a spark. And wildfire was next to impossible to put out once it got started.

If Jamie had heard his guard commander he didn't put the valyrian blade away, but a subtle shift of his stance spoke volumes to the veteran soldier.

" I don't know anymore Nuala, I don't know anymore." Jamie answered the wildling's question with fire in his green and gold flecked eyes." Not so long ago I could have told you but now, well now is something I have no clue about."

Lowering Memory Jamie strolled from his place in front of the window to the room's door, his steps flowing with the swordsman's mid-battle grace. The door was a solid oaken affair, more then likely to able to withstand the strikes of a heavy battle axe. But the keen nature of valyrian steel defeated all other materials. And so Jamie thrust Memory clean through the oak door, then sliced upwards. Twisting his wrist at the apex of the upwards swing he brought the valryian blade downwards in a cleaving blow that left the oak door in shambles. The attack upon the door had taken all of a few heartbeats.

" All I know is that one day I will destroy Red Keep, stone by stone I'll bring it down on the heads of the Damian family. Any that still serve House Damian when that day comes will meet the same fate." Jamie added looking right at Nuala then the splintered remains of the once strong oak door. " And that is a promise to the Seven, the drowned god, and your old gods Nuala."

Sheathing Memory in it's direwolf scabbard Jamie strolled back to his window, passing well within spear range of Nuala. Then to gaze out at the storm brewing. " And I am everything your eyes accuse me of and more Nuala. But I aim to change that. So go ahead scowl, lecture me. I don't care a damn what you or anyone else thinks. If you disagree with me so deeply come at me with your spear. I'll prove I'm more then you could ever handle wildling."

Eilis stood up a littler straighter at that comment, his hand upon his own sword.

"No Eilis, she wants a piece of me she is more then entitled to it. I have done everything she is accusing me of and more." Jamie said shaking his head at the commander of his personal guard actions." So what are you waiting for Nuala, neither of us is getting any younger. And I don't have all that much time left in Kings Landing."

As Adelaide spoke, Lionel couldn't resist smirking broadly. Ooh, trying to put up a fight, aren't we?, he thought as she declared her refusal. It won't work, Adelaide. I was three steps ahead of you. I've always been three steps ahead of you. It didn't matter what Adelaide said, not after Father had made the marriage proposal public. Should she accept, House Winsler would be ripped apart. Should she refuse, House Winsler would have reason for offense…and any ghost of a political tie between the Houses would be broken. War's coming, whether you like it or not, sweet sister. Better get ready. He was in the best of moods as he shared the goblet with Leliana. With the help of his father, Lionel had engineered completely chaos, and escaped a less-than-desirable marriage on top of that. Now it's just a simple matter of figuring out which Greyhardts are still loyal to us, and we can set about crushing the Winslers at our leisure. Lionel was just attempting to read the expression on Ser Greyhardt's face when his lady mother opened her mouth and ruined everything.

So he was a bastard, was he?

Well. That was…a wrench in his plans, to say the least.

If Lionel was stunned, then he didn't show it. Granted, it was a surprise. For countless times during his childhood, Lionel had wondered why the Queen always showed favor to Raban and Adelaide over him, but passed it off as his father's doing- after all, a true king wasn't allowed to depend on anyone. But if he wasn't really Morgana's son, if he was just some bastard that she'd been forced to raise in order to save his father's royal face…Lionel couldn't believe that he'd never thought of it before. Now that he thought of it, Adelaide and Raban did look slightly different; their skin was a shade paler, their features soft and pleasant where Lionel's were hard and angular, their hair more of a deep brown than black…For a second, he wondered if Morgana were simply fabricating tales to oust him from the throne in favor of her better loved son, but one look at his father's face revealed the truth.

He sat back in his chair and turned to Leliana, eyebrows raised. "Trust me, 'Mother' is the last thing you'd ever want to have to call her. And now, we really have to go."

The great hall erupted into chaos. Five or six knights of House Damian closed in on the table at once. They were men Lionel had grown up with, men he had known well and even liked. Well. Maybe liked was taking it too far. Regardless, they were supposed to be Damians, his own kin, his cousins and uncles and second cousins…but if they were going to try and shove him in a prison somewhere, they had better think twice. Lionel leapt up out of his seat, Night out and whirling frenziedly in the air. Ser Henrik Damian made a move to seize him around the neck as Master Syrus had, but Lionel brought Night backwards over his shoulder with a shove, and Ser Henrik ended up receiving a not-too-pleasant sword to the face. One down. But that still left another five to contend with…arrogant as Lionel was, he was not about to take on five armed men when he was armed with nothing but his scabbard. However, his light tunic did give him freedom of movement, and he could worm his way through Ser Ydric, around Ser Lloyd, over to the door where he could head straight for the stables…

And what of Leliana? his conscience questioned before he could tell it to shut up.

He'd forgotten about that. Alone, Lionel had a fairly good chance of escaping the red keep. If he had to drag a girl along…he briefly considered simply leaving her behind. A week ago, that's what Lionel would have done. But somehow, he just couldn't bring himself to-

Here's an idea. Ducking Ser Ydric's axe, he dragged Leliana out of her seat by her shoulders and held her in front of him. "Attack me and you attack the Greyhardts," he shouted. "The wolves will have your blood if you so much as scratch Lady Greyhardt." Ser Ydric and Ser Tommas halted, giving Lionel time to edge away from the knights until he was standing behind his own family- and closer to the door.

Ser Lloyd, however, was undaunted. "And why should we care about your whore?" he demanded, lunging forward with sword in hand.

A frontal attack contains the most power, but is the one that is most transparent and easily blocked. It was the most basic lesson of swordplay. Lionel shoved Leliana away from him, put two hands on the side of Queen Morgana's chair, and pulled. Ser Lloyd's sword hit its target with a loud thud.

"Pity," Lionel said from behind Morgana's chair. He eyed the horrified look on Ser Lloyd's face, slightly amused. "Look, now see what you've done? You've gone and killed the queen. Now if you'll excuse me, me and my hostage are going to leave before anyone else tries to take my bloody head off."

Ser Lloyd was frozen in shock, fingers still wrapped around the hilt of his sword…the other end of which was buried firmly in the Queen's belly. It was such an exceedingly comical scene that Lionel would have loved to stay and make snide comments, but another group of guards was running towards him from the other side of the hall, which didn't leave him with much time.

"Come on," he told Leliana, nodding towards the door. "Out that door and to the left."

As he passed behind Adelaide, he leaned over the chair and pressed Night against her neck, stooping downwards to whisper into her ear. His eyes gleamed red. "Don't think I'll forget you, sweet sister. You'd best keep a close eye on little Rab, because I'll be coming back to take the Iron Throne, and when I do…" He increased the pressure of the blade just slightly, eliciting a single drop of blood. Lionel removed the blade, pushed his sister away from him, and laughed. "You can't keep him safe forever. Take care, Ada."

Lionel would have aimed a parting remark at his father before running out of the hall, but he found nothing to say- no jape, no snide comment, no taunt. There was nothing to say. For once, everything they thought of each other had been laid out clear on the table, and as expected, nothing constructive had come out of it.

His plan had been to slip out of the castle, steal two horses from the stables, and depart from the Red Keep for good, but that was ruined when he say just how many guards there were in the hallway. Damnit…His father's security system was better than he'd thought. Then again, perhaps stabbing the queen- albeit indirectly- did tend to set off a lot of alarms. He looked around frantically for an unguarded exit, but found none. The only open path was the one that led up the stairs, and up the stairs was the last place Lionel wanted to go. That flight led to the tower by the sea, where there were no tunnels, no exits, save for out the window- and it was doubtful that anyone could survive the dive. But Lionel was not about to simply stand around and let himself be captured. The stairs it is.

Adelaide simply glared at her mother, narrowing her eyes in disgust. Her mother was falling into the trap. War was going to be brought upon them by her father's actions. Deep down, she knew she must obey what her father had already declared, but she was not willing to do so without a fight. She was more than update with the politics, even if they were unaware of this. Henry's actions were going to cause havoc and he knew it. It's what he wanted. No, it was what Lionel wanted. He wanted a war and he was going to get it. The fact that it was Lionel who was managing to orchestrate it through their father angered her even further than before. Once again, Lionel manipulated things to get what he wanted. Childish brat! She thought furiously as her mother continued to speak.

“I can expect such insolence, as it was not my womb from whence he crawled.”

Frowning, a look of shock crossed her face. Lionel was an illegitimate child? He was not destined to take the throne after all. Looking for his reaction, a smirk crept onto her face as she arched an eyebrow. So the little Prince was about to lose his crown. Perhaps he shouldn't have listened to his heart after all. It had cost him his position in the court, his standing amongst them. And now Raban was set to be King. She glanced at her brother who was off in the corner, playing alone. He was so young to have this befall his shoulders, especially with everyone on the brink of war. He would have a lot to take on now that Lionel had managed to ruin everything in his path. She was even more shocked to see that Lionel barely reacted. But she knew better. He was putting on a show, a farce in front of everyone within the room. This would destroy him. Or so Adelaide hoped anyway, for the sake of herself and Raban. She knew that Lionel would come after the Damian family now.

Chaos erupted and Adelaide took her seat, watching the confusion without wanting to get involved. Then Lionel was there beside her, with his blade to her throat. The young girl had failed to notice the incident involving her mother and what had happened to her. Had she seen it, she would have perhaps stopped herself from answering Lionel back. She glared up at him, never once showing a bit of fear. Undoubtedly her confidence had hit a high recently. "Watch your back Lionel. There will be a lot of people out to get you now. I only hope that I get there first," She whispered after he had directed his threats to her. Their parting words were promises. One would destroy the other. Getting to her feet, she cast a dark look at her father. "You've doomed us all." She said in a cold voice, turning and walking briskly from the hall. Now that Lionel had left the family, he would want them dead. She needed to know how to defend herself. If she could only find someone willing to teach her, without letting on to her parents at what she was up to. But who would be willing to teach the Princess?

Kervall.

Of course, when he had recovered from his injuries. Changing her course, his chambers was now where she headed. He would be the only one who would help her. He understood her. He knew that she was more than everyone made out. It didn't take her long and she ran the last few steps, before bursting into the room. Her eyes found him on the bed, covered in bandages and looking more than a little worse for wear. She gave him a soft smile, before launching into a huge speech.

"My father has just announced our betrothal to one another. Your father is spitting venom. Lionel is an illegitimate child and has taken off with Leliana. We're on the brink of war. And I need to learn how to fight. You have to help me." There was a pleading to her voice as she seated herself on the edge of his bed. Taking Kervall's hand, her eyes were full of worry. "I tried to decline the marriage, but no-one would listen. It's not that I don't want to marry you, just that...It'll bring war if we accept. It'll tear your family apart and mine. I'm scared for Raban because now he's going to be crown prince and Lionel will want his head. Will you help me? Obviously when you've recovered from Lionel's beating. I tried to stop him...I really did, but he doesn't listen to me."

Kervall was awoken from his dreamless sleep in a slow rouse, the fog lifting from his eyes after several moments of reorientation. Grimacing, the young man lifted both hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes, when he realized what had woken him. There was quite a commotion going on outside. Shouting, running, armour clanking as guards ran by, and quieter footsteps as servants sped along their way. Something big had happened, as he predicted. Sighing, Kurt eyed the door, wondering if it was worth trying to get there to stop someone and ask them what had transpired. Thankfully, he was saved the trouble as the door burst open.

"My Lord! You won't believe what happened!" Flynt Cavanaugh burst into the room, his visage pale and drawn. Kervall insisted he sit down first, then listened very carefully as Flynt told him the story. The young Winsler's face grew grim as he heard everything his retainer had to say, but before he could respond, the doors flung open a second time.

The smile that lit Kurt's face when he saw the princess was nothing short of heart-warming, and Flynt stopped mid-sentence, seeing the look shared between the two. Suddenly he understood the seemingly random and rash announcement of marriage that King Damian had announced earlier. Kervall listened, once more, quietly noting the minor nuances that Adelaide had managed to learn that differed from what Flynt had reported. He gave her hand a squeeze when she took it, and nodded. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, but it carried in the small room between the three of them, despite the bustle going on outside. "Thank you for coming straight to me with this, dearest Adelaide. Ser Cavanaugh here had just finished his report, as well."

Flynt nodded, but was squirming slightly in his chair. He could see the energy passing between these two nobles, "Erm... yes. Shall I... leave you two alone? I don't mean to ... er... intrude."

Kervall shook his head, his hand still linked with Adelaide gave another squeeze. "No, Flynt. Please stay. I trust you with everything, and I would be comforted by your presence in this mess." The young knight beamed, eyes shining with pride, but Kervall went on, "And you by the door, you can come in. Mary, was it? Come on, don't be shy."

Startled, Adelaide's serving girl abashedly pushed into the room, closing the door behind her quietly. "My Lord, I... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I saw the princess and I wanted to tell her, I mean I had to, er... I was so worried...!"

Flynt stared at the young Winsler, stunned that he had not only noticed the girl hovering at the door, but also had even known who she was before she had shown herself. Kurt waved a hand dismissively, wearing a mien of gentle acceptance, juxtaposed oddly with his physical condition, "Please, it is alright. I have a feeling things are going to only get worse from here, and Adelaide and I will need allies. Ones we can trust with our lives, who may move quietly where we can't." He eyed the two of them, and Flynt was awed. If there was anyone worthy of following on this gods-forsaken rock, it was this man, who could instill loyalty and trust simply by offering them as a reciprocal. He glanced up at Mary, and saw that she, too, was humbled and honoured. Mary fell to her knees in humility, and Flynn fumbled out of the chair, then did the same.

"I hereby pledge my fealty to you, my Lord." The young knight spoke, fist to his heart over his armour. "My life is yours." Mary nodded along with his words, eagerly agreeing.

Kervall waved hastily again, and was actually blushing. "I accept, I accept! Please, get up. There's no need for that." He cleared his throat, turned his gaze back to Adelaide, and smiled again, "For now, there is not much we can do. You are right about one thing. I am unsure what your father's true intentions are, but you are right. It would most definitely cause a rift between Father and I, and Jamie would probably never forgive me, either. Maybe we can get the Queen on our side, here." Kervall chewed on his lower lip as he thought.

Mary's face suddenly went ashen, her eyes flicking between Adelaide and Kervall, "Oh, no... have you not heard? I hate to be the one to tell you this, my Lady, but I fear..." She swallowed, and moved to put her hands gently on Adelaide's shoulders, "I fear the Queen has been killed. It was that wretched boy. He pulled her in the way of a guard's that was attacking him. I'm sorry, princess."

Kervall sighed deeply. It has begun. War is upon us, and there are already losses. Setting his jaw, Kurt pushed himself up to a reclining position. It hurt like hell, but his pain was nothing in the face of what Adelaide has just been told. One arm supporting his weight behind him, Kurt reached up brought his fingers to her face, pulling her gaze gently to his, then meeting it, his eyes filled with compassion. "Ada, I am so sorry. I am here for you, for what it's worth. And yes, I... we shall make you stronger. Regardless of what your father thinks. I vow it."



"Haa!" With a satisfying squelch!, the severed half of the target dummy toppled into the mud at his feet. Panting and wearing a grin that split his face from ear to ear, Raban paused to admire his handiwork. His foes were vanquished, cut easily in twain with the help of his new sword. It had been almost too easy. Granted, the thing was still a bit large for him, but that only meant he would have to practice harder to get used to its weight. And that, he was determined to do.

Soaked through to the bone from the rain, Raban fell back to sit in the muck, hopelessly soiling some of his finest clothing, but apparently apathetic. This was so much better than sitting around in that stuffy room with all the adults and trying to pay attention as they talked about politics. He'd pieced together what he'd heard, and figured out most of it. Lionel had apparently liked the other Greyhardt sister more, so Father had let him marry her, instead. That was good, wasn't it? Also the King had announced his sister's betrothal to Kervall. He wasn't sure about that one. Ada had mentioned to him a couple times that she dreaded the day Father would marry her off, and that seemed to be reinforced by the fact that his sister had almost immediately renounced the declaration, stating she would not marry. Rab felt bad for her. Maybe he could plead with Father - or even with Lionel - to see if there was any way he could get them to change her mind. He didn't want to lose Ada already. Maybe they could wait a couple years, or something.

Pushing himself to his feet, Raban hefted the sword again and stared at it. It still needed a name. Rain? Nah, boring. What about Storm? That was a bit better. His ruminations were cut short, however, as movement caught his eye. Nearby was a long hallway which had a line of windows along the wall facing the training field. There were no doors in that wall, but it was useful for watching men in the training field without the fear of getting in their way, or being exposed to the elements. Now, however, a large patrol of guard was running down the hallway towards a set of doors. The doors burst open and there was Lionel, followed quickly by Leliana Greyhardt. For some reason, Leo had his sword drawn. Why would his brother draw his sword against guards of their own faction? Oh! They must be playing a game! Rab loved games.

Sheathing the sword on his back, Raban ran over to the window nearest Lionel and pounded on it a few times to get his attention. When Lionel was looking, he pressed his face into the window, crossed his eyes, stuck his tongue against the glass and blew, puffing his cheeks out. "Bweeeeeeeeeh!" The anger in Lionel's eyes was fierce. Not to mention priceless.

Giggling mercilessly, Raban backed away from the window. He noticed one of the guard peel off and run down the hallway for a door that would lead to the courtyard. Oh, so they want to play with me, too, huh? Well, I am good at this game! Rab took off in the other direction, laughing. He plowed into the nearest door, nearly bowling over a maid. "Sorry!" He called over his shoulder, and ran on. Everyone he passed seemed to want to talk to him, or try to stop him, but he wasn't falling for it. Lionel must have everyone in on this one! He ran on, plunging through another set of doors when he realized he was back in the great hall, which for some reason seemed a lot emptier and yet busier at the same time.

Rab was already looking for the next exit when his eyes ilghted on something and he skidded to a dead halt. In the chaos, no one had yet removed the sword from Queen Morgana's belly, and there she remained, unmoving and limp. The image of her death mask was burning itself into his mind as Raban stared, unable to comprehend, or look away.

"M... Mother...?"

Ulfred was deep in his cups when it happened. Lionel, like any cornered beast, made more than a few desperate and irrevocable decisions. Kinslayer. Two of House Damian's sworn knights fell before Lionel. He was a dangerous swordsman. The hedge-knight lost sight of Lionel in the chaos as various members of the gentry blocked his view.

Namos stood and made for the door, most likely to arm himself. He spied Ulfred and stopped, "There has been enough bloodshed this day, Ser Ulfred."

Wiping his face with the back of his face Ulfred nodded. "We shall postpone our duel for a more appropriate time then, Lord Namos."

Namos turned and exited quickly, his hangers-on in tow and with determined looks. Namos called out, "I'm forming a party to hunt down the Kinslayer, if you value the honor of our kingdom you will follow."

Many knights made for their chambers to gear for a hunt, their expressions were grim and determined. Lionel may have bitten off more than he could chew, soon bounty hunters and knights looking to make a name for themselves would quest for his head. Ulfred would guess that if the King did not make a decree concerning Lionel and send questing knights after him then the Princess Adelaide would take it upon herself.

With a grunt Ulfred stood and steadied himself against the table. He half stumbled over to the main table. A large crowd had gathered since the incident and the household guards were livid. The young Damian boy, the new crowned prince, was standing transfixed in the door way. Ulfred felt a severe pang of sympathy for the boy, seeing the violent manner of your mother's death at that age was something no one should go through. Once again the innocent paid for the actions of the nobility. Ulfred pushed past the crowd roughly and stood between Raban and his mother. "Come on, lad. I think it best if you go to your rooms. There's been murder and worse tonight, let us not make things worse."

One of the House guards stepped forward with a threatening look, his sword drawn. Ulfred raised his hands to show he was unarmed and then knelt in front of Raban, looking him the eyes like he would an equal, "Trust me, lad. You need to be elsewhere."

Still in between the boy and his mother, Ulfred extended his hand.

Adelaide's eyes flickered to Mary, as she shook her head in disbelief. "That can't be true..." She whispered, tears welling in her dark eyes as she stared at her serving girl in utter horror at the words that had fallen from her lips. "Lionel would not harm our mother. He's awful, but he is not a cold-blooded killer. No, I cannot...will not believe that he laid a hand on her." But she did. Deep down, she knew that Lionel would have stabbed her, if only to prove a point. As Kervall moved her face to look into his, she felt the tears cascading down her cheeks. They were warm against her paled skin. Shaking, she couldn't stop them. They simply fell, almost endlessly. Kervall's words calmed her somewhat, but she could still feel the tears, the pain that felt like a hole had been torn into her chest. Taking deep breaths, she tried to stop herself, but they soon turned into sobs, as she buried her face in her hands. She had to go straight to her mother and see if she was as grievously wounded as Mary had said. Could it be possible that her mother was dying?

Looking up at Kervall, she choked back her tears and whispered. "I'm going to kill him." She vowed, a look crossing her eyes. "If he has harmed any member of my family, I promise I'm going to kill him with my own hands. If he dares to lay a hand on Rab-" The words caught in her throat. Her little brother. He had been absent from the hall, but what if he had returned? Was he watching their mother die whilst she cradled him? "Raban." Getting to her feet, she leaned towards Kervall pressing her lips fleetingly to his, for just a moment, before she pulled back, resting her forehead against his. "I have to find my mother and Raban. I'll be back the moment I find him, you have my word. But if I don't then I...Thank you. For everything. You're even willing to take a chance and protect me. You're an amazing man. There is a chance that Lionel is still trapped somewhere and I already know he wants my head." Glancing at Ser Cavanaugh she graced him with a bow of the head. "It was a pleasure. In my absence, I will trust that you will ensure his safety. Mary, thank you as well."

"Adelaide, wait, you have my word that I shall stand by you. It may not mean all that much but-" Mary managed to get out as the princess hurried towards the door. She turned and pulled the blind girl into a hug.
"It means everything to me Mary. It really does." She whispered and with that, she released her and disappeared from the room, her skirts flying behind her.

*******

Adelaide felt numb. She felt completely cold. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. There was chaos inside the hall with many crying, screaming even running to get away. But she only had eyes for one thing. Her mother was laid on the floor, many gathered around her, a sword violating her body. So it was true. Lionel had driven a sword into Morgana in the hope to take her life. It looked as though she was still alive, but in a critical way. A sob caught in her throat and her hand flew to her mouth, just as Raban reappeared on the scene. He looked just as shocked as she felt. She started towards him, but halted as another man offered him a hand.

Before she could even reason with herself, Adelaide had walked quickly to her brother, sweeping him into her arms and holding him close. "Stay away from him," She said harshly to Ulfred, stepping in front of Raban, as though to protect him. "We don't know if we can even trust you. How dare you..." Her words stopped there as a tear tracked down her cheek. How dare he what? Offer Raban kindness and attempt to remove him from the sickening situation that he befallen all of them? Adelaide didn't know what she was accusing this man of, but her emotions were high and she just wanted to protect her brother. Somehow, she still managed to give the man a dark look, despite the sadness that resided in her eyes. They could no longer trust anyone.

"Raban, come, we must see to mother. She is in a bad way." She took his hand in her own, giving him a brief smile. "I just want you to know this...I love you little brother. No matter what happens after this moment. I will always love you." Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, she took him to their mother's side, where everyone else was already kneeling or standing. Lionel would pay for this...

Nathanial turned to his brother and was about to answer his question when further revelations were revealed and if the hall had seemed chaotic before it was nothing to the bedlam that ensued.
So Lionel is a bastard, that certainly changes things Nathanial thought going over various strategies in his head on how to handle this new development but before he could much more then consider his options. The hall erupted into outright violence as Lionel, clearly realising the danger he was in, began to try and fight his way out of the hall. Nathanial was on his feet immediately and he had his sword out ready to defend his lady wife and Isabel who still sat almost frozen in their seats. Older he may be but Nathanial was still leader of his pack and a formidable opponent with a sword. But Lionel seemed hellbent on reaching the doors and ignored the grayhardt's at first. But when he grabbed Leiliana and used her a pawn in his escape Nathanial tensed ready to fight to the death if need be to aid his eldest daughter. Foolish, selfish and immature she may be but she was still his pack and wolves defended each other with ferocity. But soon enough it became clear that Leiliana was a willing partner in his escape and Nathanial watched in disbelief as they rampaged through the room the queen getting killed in the process. He stood feeling helpless as his daughter disappeared out of the doorway and knew that she was forever lost to him and his family.

As much as that pained him he knew he had to be strong and think of the welfare of the rest of his family and he had come to the realisation that the only way to do that was to continue to support the remaining Damien's. As much as he hated King Henry for his manipulation he understood that this was the safest course for his house. He did not want to ally with anyone, if he had the choice he would simply return to Winterfell and leave the Damien's and Winslers to fight it out. But war was coming and he was not so foolish as to believe it would leave him or his pack unscathed. SO he would support Henry and Raban the new Crown Prince and in so doing he would lose Leiliana. She was now a traitor and on the opposite side of the impending war.
"May the Seven stand with you my daughter for we cannot." He murmered quietly.
He turned to his brother again. "We stay at the Red Keep and support King Henry and Crown Prince Raban." He told him quietly. "Leiliana is lost to us." The pain in his voice was clear for all to hear.

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

Birgitte watched the events unfold as thought they were happening to someone else, she felt numb as though wrapped in a cocoon of ice that nothing could penetrate. She saw Lionel fight his way out, saw the Queen brutally killed and watched as her eldest daughter, that she had birthed from her own womb, abandon her family and follow the Kinslayer for that was how he was surely now be known as. She gripped the arms of the chair trying to feel anything through the numbness. She needed her wits about her and could not afford to go into shock now. Digging her nails into her palms she slowly began to be more aware of her surroundings. Unfortunately with that came the pain that was like a knife to her belly. Her pack, her family had been torn asunder and would forever be so. She too like her husband understood well the ways of the world they lived in and Leiliana could no longer be welcome in their House. As much as it pained her Birgitte knew that she had to think of her other children first. She could not see Richard and she prayed with all her heart that he would not follow Leiliana. She did not know how she would bear it if she lost two of her children.

She heard her husbands words to Quincel and although she wanted to rage against them she understood that Nate was doing the only thing he could to salvage the situation and ensure his family's safety. She would as she had always done stand by her husband's side and support him with whatever choice he made.

OOC: This post is a collaborative effort between Ama and Winter. Have fun reading, kids. The whole knifey thing at the end has been approved of by all involved parties. /thumbs up/ We decided to make it angsty.

~~~NUALA~~~
“I do not lecture. Merely inform.” She told him, shaking her head when he invited her to take a hit at him. Nuala walked over to him, her movements non threatening, spear held as if it was a walking stick and not a weapon.

She stopped in front of him and glared hard for a few moments and then shook her head again. “You talk too much.” Nuala came up into the tips of her toes -- Jamie was much taller than her -- and laid a brief kiss on his cheek. “

Nuala pulled away and took a step back just as disorder erupted outside in the hallway as many people began to rush by. She caught oddments of exchanged words and did not at all like what she was so far hearing (or thinking she was hearing). Nuala moved away from Jamie and out into the hall. She reached out and grabbed a hold of the next person coming by: a maid.

The girl let out a shriek of fear and tried to wrench away. “What is the commotion?” Nuala did not relinquish her grip on the maid’s arm. She snarled at the girl, twisting her hand hard (it would leave a fair bruise by morning).

“The Queen’s been killed, mum.” The maid managed to blurt out as she tried to get away from Nuala -- her eyes kept going to the sharp edge of the spear Nuala held in one hand.

“Who killed her?” Nuala gave the girl a vicious shake.

“The Crown Prince, they say, mum! Please, I had nothing to do with this!” The weakling girl began to cry and Nuala let her go with a snarl of disgust. The girl let out a squeak of fear and ran off, feet padding against the stone floor in earnest dread.

What had to be done next was plain as day for Nuala. Taking one last look at Jamie in his melancholic rage, a flicker of an apologetic smile passed her lips, the barest hint at one she had expressed in years, “Someday you will understand,” and left. There was nothing else to be said as she picked up speed; soon she was running, moving with the ease of someone who had been running all her life, past guards heading the other way and ignoring the general commotion around her.

Her debt had been given and she still had one to repay. A new one. Nuala was not keen on carrying it out. A poor debt it was, one which would not gain her any honor or pleasure in repaying. Nevertheless, a debt was a debt and Nuala was obliged by it.

---

Pain was such a curious feeling. Morgana’s hand shifted down to skim across the side of the sword embedded into her lower abdomen, the one that was pinning her into her chair.

“No, no child of mine...” she whispered beneath her breath and then dissolved into a fit of coughing. Morgana brought a hand to her mouth to cover it, as it was very rude to be coughing in public, and when she drew her hand away she was surprised to see that it was red. Vaguely she realized she must have been coughing out blood.

Out of the corner of her eyes she saw the Dornish guard rushing off after Lionel, a throwing knife firmly held in one hand. Her vision was beginning to blur on the edges, head spinning from the loss of so much blood. Truly, was it not fascinating how crimson it was and how it continued to gush as if there was nothing that could ever stop it?

There were hands attending to her but she could not quite appreciate exactly what they were doing in her current state. Someone was pressing something that felt like a rag firmly to the wound to stop the bleeding.

Morgana found herself turning her head in a somewhat desperate attempt to lean into human contact – needing something to grasp for, even if it was a stranger.

“Henry,” his name was on her lips and she reached out an arm to where she knew he would soon be. “Henry, I-” she was stopped from speaking by another cough and another trickle of blood that made its way out from her mouth.

She felt the heady delirium of blood loss settling over her and did her best to just keep breathing, clawing on to the last vestiges of her life so that she would be able to say final goodbyes to her family. Her head was beginning to spin, but she blinked back the reeling images in front of her eyes. Slowly things came more into view and she saw Adelaide and Raban coming towards her and soon they were there by her side.

This was the last she would see of them before she drifted away to the Gods and she had to make as much of this remaining precious time as she possibly could. “Ada, Rab,” she was smiling with a warmth that she only had ever allowed her husband to see in private, a warmth that she at times wanted to extend to her children but had always known that it would be imprudent to do so. They had to learn to be strong and coddling would not have helped them in that.

But this was not the time to lecture them on propriety, certainly not when her life’s blood was pouring out from within her and staining all it touched incarnadine. She reached her arm upwards and cupped Adelaide’s chin, running the pad of her thumb affectionately across her daughter’s cheek.

“I remember the day I first held you, you seldom cried,” she let out a gurgling laugh and more blood came bubbling out of her mouth, making her choke on her words. “I told – I told your father you would be a real lady, a strong wife and mother...a strong woman.”

There was more blood and the paralyzing agony of taking in another breath. She would not last long and she knew this well. Her hand moved from Adelaide to Raban, blood-soaked fingers stroking through his hair. “Promise me that you will slay any Other who comes to face your blade,” she said with a small, tender laugh.

“I loved you both from the day I knew you to be mine,” she looked between them as best she could, vision blurring and melting before her eyes before stabilizing again. “Perhaps the Mother was merciful to prevent me from bringing another child into this war,” her other hand touched at her wound, the one that had certainly ripped through her womb.

“Henry,” she breathed her husband’s name out next as she dropped her hand away from Raban’s hair, unable to gather the strength to hold her arm up any longer, “Henry, I’m dying.” More blood and the soft, dark oblivion was beginning to sing to her its song full of the promise of relief. A sweeter sound Morgana had never heard.

---

Leliana hiked up her skirts to facilitate running and sprinted after Lionel as best she could, but trying to take in full breaths in a corset was near impossible. She knew that she had to get herself out of this contraption or surely she would fall behind or be caught. However, there was not time for stopping while they were being chased by guards who would surely not hesitate to stab them both after than stunt Lionel pulled back in the feasting hall.

Momentarily they stopped in front of a flight of stairs and as Lionel was trying to decided were to go next, Leliana grabbed her skinning knife that she always carried on her person and set herself to quickly trying to cut her way out of her skirt. She shoved the blade through and circled it around as best she could, nicking at her skin here and there as she did.

This was no time to be careful, this was a time to be fast and efficient. When Lionel finally decided that they should be going up the stairs, Leliana had managed to cut around the waist of her dress and the skirts fell away. She jumped over them and ran after him up the flight of stairs, being able to move with much more ease no that she had no fabric in the way of her legs.

The corset was still pinching her in all the worst ways possible, but she did not want to try and cut it off while running up stone steps, as that would very likely result in her stabbing herself in the chest.

The room that they came into was a dead end and Leliana was about to say as much, that is, until she noticed the window and made her way over toward it. Peering out, she saw that below them were the waves of Backwater Bay, and quite far beneath at that.

“We’re jumping,” she declared as she shifted her skinning knife and slid it between her breasts and down the length of her torso to cut herself out of her corset. Then, tucking the skinning knife into her teeth, she wrestled her way out of the remaining upper half of her dress and threw it aside. Left standing there in nothing but a chemise.

She took her skinning knife back out of her mouth and, holding tightly unto the blade, moved over to the window and clambered up unto the ledge. Leliana glanced behind herself at Lionel and jerked her head at him to follow. “There’s not other way, come on!” With a howling shriek, she launched herself forwards, long athletic legs pushing her body out into the air.

Leliana hurtled downwards to the brackish water, straightening out her form to facilitate a dive – arms out in front of her in a makeshift point and legs held together.


~~~DANTE~~~
The uproar caught Dante by total surprise. First thing he knew was that he was picking at his nails without interest and then the next thing he was aware of was that there was pandemonium in the room and all around him. Queen Morgana had a sword through her and the Princess Adelaide had a sword to her neck, courtesy of her brother.

Dante did not think. He merely whipped a knife forth. It sailed through the air and struck at the spot where ‘Prince’ Lionel’s head had been (the bastard had moved away just at that moment, lucky for him).

Dante took off after Lionel -- who he noticed was being willing followed by Lady Leliana -- Dante grimaced to himself as he ran after them (he hated having to hurt or kill women and so hoped that he would not have to have to do such a thing to the redhead).

He lost sight of them as a crowd barreled past him, swerving him into a side corridor from which he had to get out if he was ever to get to the fleeing ‘Prince’ on time. He ran all the harder.

He saw them taking a flight of stairs up, having nearly taken another hallway before stopping himself and turning back to ran after them to those very same stairs. When he got to the base of the stairs he ascended them two at a time and pushed himself to go faster.

Dante barged into the tower-room just as Lady Leliana had dived out the window. Lionel was still there. Dante grabbed hold of a knife and took his aim: ready to throw it and strike the bastard down.

Just as Dante was about to let go of the knife something slammed into his from behind with the force of a charging bear. Yet, somehow Dante had managed to let go of the knife and it whipped through the air towards Lionel Damian. Dante doubted this would be a killing shot as his aim and force had been greatly skewed by whomever it had been that had just rammed their body into him.

As he tumbled to the ground Dante saw that the knife had indeed hit Lionel Damian: directly in the eye. Dante scrambled to get up and attempt to throw another knife. Before he could so much as move to his knees, the form of a fur-clad woman had thundered past and pushed Lionel Damian out the window and then had jumped out herself.

Dante got to his feet and ran to look out at the two of them as they half-dived and half-fell towards the water. As Dante stood there he wondered why, by the Seven, Nuala had just done that.

Lionel eyed Blackwater Bay with considerably more hesitation. He wasn't an ironborn, like Leliana; he'd never dived into a body of water for his entire life. The extent of his experiences with water were lessons from the arms master in the pond at Casterly Rock. Wildcats were not wolves; they were not made for water. Besides, how the hell were they going to survive a fall from this high up? The impact was going to shatter their bones to pieces, he was sure of it.

"Jumping? Are you insane?" Granted, they were trapped up in the tower, but Lionel would have rather clawed his way out by stabbing as many men as possible than jump. It was only what, fifty knights? He could handle that, as long as they only came two or three at a time…which wouldn't be a problem, considering how small the tower room was. And Lionel's skill with a sword was unparalleled amongst those at the Red Keep. He could feel the berserker's rage coming on; he would destroy the knights, leave a bloody mess for his father to find while he escaped on a horse's back. A mad plan, but better than jumping.

And then the Dornishman stepped through the door, his knife gleaming through in air.

That's not a knight.

Lionel felt a brief lurch of panic, and then pain exploded through the right side of his head. Half of the world disappeared from sight, cloaked in red. Blood sprayed everywhere. His blood. Lionel scrabbled frantically at his eye, trying to pull the knife out, but the stabbing, burning pain overwhelmed him in waves. He had suddenly had no control over his weak, stumbling legs; he collapsed to his knees, howling as deep rivulets of blood streamed through his fingers. The knife clattered to the ground, and pieces of what had one been Lionel's right eye came away at his fingers…his eye. The fucking Dornishman had half blinded him. That fucker is about to get it... Feeling as if his limbs were made of lead, Lionel struggled to climb to his uncooperative feet, fingers scrabbling blindly across the stone floor until they closed around the hilt of Night- and then something large, something strong slammed into him and knocked him off his feet, straight out the window.

He was briefly aware of a falling sensation, the wind whistling around his ears, and then everything disappeared. He didn't even feel the impact as they hit the water.

"Lionel!"

"Wha-oomph!" Lionel tumbled to the ground, hard, forced down on both sides. Laughing, Adelaide and Raban pulled him to his feet. They were standing in a sunlit, grassy meadow beneath one of the hills of Casterly Rock they'd played at as children. His siblings looked young, Ada no more than ten and Rab just a little child…Lionel towered over them, wondering why he was fully grown when his siblings were so little.

"Play with us," Adelaide said sweetly, her face lighting up.

"Yes, play with us!" Rab insisted, tugging at Lionel's tunic. "We can train my new pup! You promised you'd teach me how…"

Lionel knelt down beside them, ruffling Rab's soft, dark, hair, but was suddenly reminded of some pressing affair at court he had to be present for, some order of business that was more urgent than frolicking about in the courtyard. "I'm sorry, I can't, I have to be at court."

The sunlight disappeared. Rab's face darkened. Stricken, Lionel wanted to take his words back, but it was too late.

"Fine," Raban said, letting go of his tunic. "I knew you'd say that anyways. Have fun at court, Father." He turned to Adelaide and took her hand.

Lionel's heart lurched. He reached out for his brother. "Wait, don't-"

But they turned into a swirling flock of crows and flew away, leaving Lionel standing forlorn in the middle of the meadow with one painful word echoing through his mind.

Father?

"Father…father…" The crows cawed as they circled overhead.

"Stop it!" Lionel roared, picking up a rock. He slung it as hard as he could at the whirlwind.

"Father…" The crows stopped circling and dove downwards, whistled through the air and flew straight through Lionel's eye, ripping his head apart…



"Lionel?"

"Leo…"

"Lionel…brother…"

The whispers in the darkness assailed him from all sides, giving a voice to the terrible pain that stabbed his head.

"Where are you? What are you?" Lionel shouted, swinging Night madly in the blackness. He didn't know where he was or what he was doing, but he had to find the voices, had to make them stop so the pain would end…

"Brother…"

"Rab? Ada?" He whirled around frantically, sword in hand. His voice shook. There in the darkness, Lionel experienced for the first time what feelings he had always subjected others too. Fear. He was afraid. "Where are you? Rab, please-"

He stumbled over something large, something soft and wet. Lionel groped around on the ground and let out a cry of terror. It was a wildcat- a huge, dead, wildcat, bleeding from wounds all over. He scrambled away from the wolf on all fours, unaware of anything else but the overwhelming desire to get away from the thing, only to find his way blocked by more objects on the ground, dead animals from all sides…Rab's murdered pup, Adelaide's canaries, the decorative carp he'd found so amusing when he pulled them out of their bowl and watched them writhe and die on the stone floors…

"Leo…" The shadows found him. Soft, wraithlike hands ran across his skin, clutched at his eye and pulled at it, fingers digging themselves into his socket...

"Kinslayer…"

"Get away from me!" he shrieked. He hacked at the shadows with Night, but the Valyrian blade swung straight through thin air, finding nothing to cut. "Stop-"

"Lionel Damian…Lionel…bastard Lionel..."

"Lionel Storm…"

"Kinslayer..."

"Stop it," he begged, dropping his sword. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, just please…" But the fingers didn't relent, ignored his anguished shouts, just pressed harder into his eye, clawed away into his brain until the darkness exploded in a flash of red. He flailed wildly, trying to fight his way out of the darkness, but it pressed in on him, smothering him, he couldn't breathe, couldn't move…

One last whisper found its way to Lionel's ears before the darkness overwhelmed him.

"You deserved it, Kinslayer."

Quincel nodded, though the thought of abandoning Leliana left a bitter taste in his mouth. It is suicide, he thought silently. Did the two young fools truly intend to take on the combined force of House Damian and Greyhardt? Them and what army? Would they be rogues, then? Hiding eternally in the woods? No. The ex-prince himself had said that they would be back to reclaim the throne. Would they take the ship? Even if they decided to take the ship, there would be no one to man it, and well built though the Greyhardt gift ship was, two people could not single-handedly sail it. A single ship, no matter how great its captain (and he deeply suspected that Lionel was no seaman) or how swift and fierce the ship was, (and what fools would the Greyhardts have been if they had given their best ship to the Damians?) could not defeat the great Greyhardt fleet. The Sea is Ours.

Quincel wondered how they would survive. The kingdom held little love for Lionel and would hold even less now that it was revealed that he was a bastard. He was a savage introvert, and too many feared him. Perhaps his ragtag army would be built of people he intimidated into joining. But truly, an army built of craven men would fell no holdfasts.

"Leliana will be cut down like a doe before a legion of hunters," he said bitterly. "Let me go to them. Perhaps there is still chance that Leliana is not fool enough to see that there is no way out of this alive. Perhaps I can bring her back and she will be spared while the traitorous bastard is slain for his crimes."

He truly did not care that Lionel had slain the queen and the mysterious bard. They had been minor characters in this game, and neither had done anything but create conflict and chaos. If anything, he might have been glad of their demise. What crime Quincel was speaking of was the theft of their dear family member Leliana. Introverted man though he may be, Quincel would not stand quietly while his family, especially his young neice was threatened. They might call her She-wolf, but in his eyes, she was yet a pup. A fearsome pup. But even the fiercest pups cannot bring down kingdoms.

(OOC: editted this. Sorry guys.)

Without waiting for a reply, he stood up and drew his sword. Seabound winked at him as he did so, and indecisive Quin felt reassured by its familiar gleam. As he did so, several of the sea-knights bound to Greyhardt's fleet and service rose with him.

"The Greyhardts will cut off their escape from the sea," he told the royal guards who tried to hold them back. Under the guise of joining the Damian royal guard's mission to thwart Lionel from exiting the castle, they made their way toward the city's dock, moving fast to keep up with the action. Quin felt a tug of guilt, and he looked back uncertainly at his brother. It may have looked like betrayal, but truly, he wasn't planning on going against them. Just stop the girl... just stop Leliana. That was his only mission. Yet why did he feel the need to run back, to apologize and say farewell? If all went well, they should be back soon. This omnious feeling pursued Quin as he and his men at arms found their way into the cooler night air.

He swallowed hard. "Our objective is to thwart any attempts made by Leliana and the bastard prince to escape by sea. You two stay on the dock. Watch to see that the pair of them don't get on the ship from the port. Ser Warren, gather the crew that brought our war galleon gift here. We'll take it back and guard it against the Kinslayer. If at all possible, do not harm Leliana. Our primary is to get her back. Do you understand?"

The men acknowledged him with nods and started off quickly, each to their own duties. The crew was rounded up quickly; most of them, lowborn men, had been busy having their own celebrations on the ship. The whores and entertainers were quickly chased off, the food and beer were forgotten, and each man went scurring to their respective posts. Luckily, the night was still young, and the crew had not gotten too deep into their cups. The ship started up quickly and the men rowed her out from the dock, far enough that it would be an inconvenient enough swim to get to it.

Quin kept a wary eye on the castle, certain that his trustworthy men were keeping good watch of the dock. He was unhappily surprised when he saw two forms leaping out from a high window in the castle.

"Light the lanterns! Quickly, get the boat over there before one of them drowns." He had no doubt that Leliana could easily survive the dive and be able to swim to the boat. He wasn't so sure of Lionel though. And that was were the problem was. He knew Leliana was a strong girl. But you needed to be very strong indeed to save a drowning man.

Why did you say those words? Henry thought as he stared at Morgana's dying, bleeding figure. Years ago, she had sworn to him that she would raise Lionel as her own. How well he remembered those days! She had lost her own son, and Lionel was only a few days old ... born in secret to a serving girl who had briefly been his mistress in the weeks before their marriage. It had seemed so perfect ... they were unsure if Morgana would carry another child, unsure if the secret of Lionel's birth could be concealed. It had seemed the perfect solution. And now it had ended with this chaos.

The world had narrowed. He made no move to follow or call after his eldest. Instead, he dropped to his knees before Morgana, his hands grasping for her own. There were tears in his eyes, but they would not fall. He would not let them. Could not.

"No," he said, his voice rough. "I command you not to."

She was with child, he realized. That was the reason for her knowing looks, her distant smiles, the way she had touched her abdomen in that strange, comforting way of late. Even were she to live, that child, their last child, was beyond his grasp.

How could Lionel have done this?

The rage, the politics - it would come later. For the moment, his heart was bleeding and dying, just as much as Morgana began to fade away from their world.

~

Jane did not laugh when the Winslers' bard turned her back, but Benjamin did: a full, hearty laugh, with his head thrown back and his shoulders in shakes.

That was not wise, she thought. One never turned their back one of royal blood, at least not without dismissal, especially not when that royal blood was in the veins of a Damian. She did not see the killing blow, but she heard the reaction, and looked up only to have her lady-in-waiting faint across her lap.

"Addie!" she hissed and shook the woman's shoulder.

"I will not have a bastard and a slut take the throne!"

"I said he was a bastard," Benjamin said, his voice eerie in the silence after those words.

"Addie, you must wake up," Jane whispered. "You're being a goose, fainting--"

He used the Queen as a shield. The whole collection of tables seemed to gasp as the sword plunged into Morgana's belly and Jane covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes wide and her lady-in-waiting (who then began to rouse) forgotten.

"Whore," Benjamin decreed, his voice low and ominous. "Let the pups suckle elsewhere."

Jane looked at him. "The youngest, the boy, is hardly more than a child."

"And mine were hardly more than babes when their mother was taken."

You bitter, stubborn old man, she thought. It was a common train of thought for Jane. Benjamin was dear to her, much like a second father, and she loved him - but she could not bear his unshakable opinions, his solid mindset.

"Where is your heart?"

"Dead. With my wife."

His eyes were like flint. "And I suppose our Houses should leave, lest we be slaughtered when the King makes his declaration of war. For you know he will, Lady Strake."

"War?" she cried. "For what reason?"

"Because I declare it. Because his son is a bastard and a murderer, because he murdered a bard of my House, because--"

"She turned her back!"

"Does that justify such a death? Are you doubting your loyalty to Winsler?"

"Reason, Jane," her father had said when she became frustrated. "Reason is the sister of Peace."

"I do not doubt," she said. "But I have no wish to be dragged into a pointless war. I've nine sisters to think of, my Lord, and none of them a warrior to defend---"

"Then marry and have a son," he said harshly. "You've hips built to bear a child."

Jane's fingers dug into the palms of her hands.

How easy it is for a man to speak those words.

Jamie's suddenly numb fingers touched the spot where Nuala's lips had kissed his cheek. He looked on in shocked silence, seeing and hearing the words she spoke as she ran out of the room at full speed. The memory of her smile seemingly the only thing he could think of as the commotion of men at arms,knights, and servants running about like chickens with their heads cut off filled the hallway.

A kiss had been the last thing he had expected of the wildling,even quick and fleeting as those lips upon his cheek had been. He had in all honesty expected a fight, though he despite his oath held no desire for combat at the moment. Instead after the shocking news of the Queen's death at the hands of Lionel no less she ran off, determined no doubt to fulfill her oath despite the death of her charge. It was something the now disgraced knight could respect, but he also felt as keenly the touch of her lips. He had his lusts as any male did, had acted on them occasionally. But the savage grace of Nuala, her bluntness, and her scowls had effected him far deeper then mere lust. He did not know if it was love but he did respect the wildling as being of both honor and honesty. She was no noble born woman hiding behind smiles and words, she was a warrior in every sense of the word.


Finally after a few moments of shocked induced numbness the reckless knight they called the Dragon chased after her. But she ran as swift as the deer, with the determination of a fighter, and the grace of one born to race the wind itself. Jamie long legged and strong though he was lost sight of her at times, only to have the stares of the Damian men at arms and knights to show him the way. The twisting staircase in particular was a good blaze, the people tossed aside in her haste proof she had only recently went past. A few moments later he came to top of the stairs, a long hallway with a window set at it's end over looking Blackwater Bay. The Dornishman of earlier was on his knees trying to draw a throwing knife as Nuala crashed into Lionel and sent the both of them flying out the window.

Jamie could only gaze in shock once more as the Dornishman abandoned his knives to run towards the window.

" Damn it Jamie, old men aren't meant to run this fast." Eilis said as he stopped at his side breathing heavily after no doubt chasing after his charge when the Winsler nobleman had charged after Nuala. Then the former hedge knight noticed the expression on Jamie's face. Coupled with the Dornishman's position the veteran of countless battles put two and two together. Running to the window the grizzled commander of Jamie's personal guard caught the ripples of the two who went over had landed in the water. Water it may be but it was one hell of a drop. Eilis knew at this height the force of hitting the water would have smashed out the air from the lungs if not break bones. It would take a divine miracle of the Seven to save the jumpers, and Eilis wasn't holding his breath on that.

Suddenly the arrival of several angry looking armored men wearing the colors of House Damian made the former hedge knight reconsider staring out this particular window. Grabbing his charge's shoulders Eilis half dragged him down the stairs before the Damian men at arms decided to detain them for questioning,a likely event given the bard's actions. Jamie coming to his senses then realized this and all but outran Eilis.

Their headlong rush took them out to the stable yard where the horses and wagons of House Winsler and the lesser houses sworn to Winsler lay ready for the quick departure Jamie had ordered of them. Several of the lords and ladies of the Vale looked equal parts amused and angered, with some showing shock. They knew like Jamie, indeed like everyone that war had bore it's ugly multi-headed face.

" What are we waiting for?" Jamie demanded of a servant, burying his angst in the duties of a commander.

"Several lords and ladies are still not present Ser Jamie. We are also awaiting the arrival of Master Kervall and Master Teralo not to mention Lord Winsler." The beleaguered servant answered, with the rapid packing there was simply no time to catch one's breath. Then the was the constant news updates, first the death of the bard, then of the queen, the outrages of Lionel and Leliana during his queen slaying. It simply was not the poor fellows day.

"By the Warrior you lot test my patience." Jamie roared with the reckless anger he was famous for. He really didn't feel it,Jamie was simply trying to ignore the sudden emptiness in him as he considered Nuala's likely fate.

Someday you will understand. The memory echoed in his head. Jamie fervently wished it would be so. Too much had happened in such a short time that he had no understanding of. The most pressing was Nuala though, followed closely by the red headed bard. Had Jamie avowed enemy of the conniving ways of his noble birth been suckered into playing the game of thrones. You know the answer, what else was the bard if not your move upon the chessboard of this grand game. His inner voice lectured him, mocked him even.

The world seemed darker and smaller, as if the walls of his existence were tightening, constricting about his mind like a tourniquet restricting the flow of blood. His breath became ragged as he stared at the Queen with a sword protruding from her belly. Guilt blossomed from a distant thought and quickly took root. He hadn't been there. He'd been off playing games, fooling around and doing something he knew was wrong. Had Lionel been chasing her killer when he'd seen him just now? Why hadn't he protected her, instead? The boy's hands balled into fists, his eyes still trained upon the unmoving figure of his mother, her blood running down the bottom half of her dress freely, staining the silks a deep crimson. You should have been there to protect her. You weren't there. You could have tried to stop it. He knew how absurd these thoughts were as they came to him, but they were coming unbidden, guilt flowing easily upon the tide of despair gushing through his soul.

There was a man looming over him. His face was unfamiliar, but his words were kind; an unmitigated act of kindness within a swirl of chaos that was making less and less sense every minute. Rab almost took the man's hand when his sister quickly whisked him away. He blinked up at her, the knight momentarily forgotten. "A-Ada? Mum... mum is..." He blinked again, his eyes wet and shimmering as he stared up at his sister helplessly. But apparently she wasn't quite gone yet. Adelaide hauled him over to where she was still sitting, and there she had a chance to say goodbye as he knelt before her to get close. He quickly rubbed the unfallen tears away and told himself not to cry. He was nearly an adult, now, and crying was for children and for girls. He leaned into the queens hand as she ran it through his hair - but only slightly - and stared up at her with what he hoped was a brave and calm demeanour. He nodded as she spoke to him. "I will, Mother. The foes to the house of Damian will fall by my sword." He watched her a few moments longer. While she had already show him small hints at her softer side, enough to make him aware of the feelings she truly felt as a woman - as a wife, and a mother - it occurred to him that she had been at least moderately happy with her family. For that, Raban was glad.

Rab stood woodenly, looking around the great hall wearing a visage of stony resilience as if searching. Most of the people still left looked confused or helpless, and suddenly Raban wanted nothing more than to be away from all of this. Everything reminded him that he had not been there to protect his family when they had needed him. Who could he talk to, now? He'd always gone to Mother, before. Father would be a horrible choice, Ada had her own problems, and he was a fool if he went to Lionel. Then his gaze found one man standing in the middle of the room awkwardly, looking like he didn't know what to do with himself. It was the knight who had offered to help him earlier.

"Trust me, lad. You need to be elsewhere."

Raban couldn't agree more. Silently, he walked over to the man, still a bit stiff, and reached up, taking the man's hand. His gaze, as he started up at the knight, was plaintive in its silent plea for help.



Kervall flushed slightly as Adelaide kissed him, clearing his throat and giving her arm a squeeze as she stood. He smiled at her as she glanced at him, though the genial visage disappeared the moment she left the room. He wanted to be strong, wanted nothing but the best he could possibly do for her, but this was a time for action. Stuck as he was in bed, he would have to trust Flynt to carry out what needed to be done. Setting his jaw firmly, he looked up at the young knight, whose attention turned back to him.

"Er... My Lord? Is something wrong?"

"Ser Cavanaugh. A moment ago you pledged your life to me. I would not have you risk that life unjustly, however I may, on occasion, ask you to do things you may not understand, and in so doing, you may also be privy to information that is not to be shared. Can you comply?"

Flynt's demeanour hardened, and he stood up straight, nodding quickly and sternly. "Aye, m'Lord. I am your man, completely."

Kervall smiled, though there was little humour behind it. "Good. Hearing that comforts me. For now, I wish for you to follow the princess, and ensure no harm whatsoever comes to her. But there is something else I wish of you while you do so..."

OOC: Winter gave me permission to puppet Nuala. She said she would be posting tonight after she figures some things out plot-wise.

OH AND - WHAT UP, R'HLLOR? :D Come on, tell me you guys totally got the implication of that very last bit.

---

She broke through the water and took in a deep breath, sweet air filling her eager lungs. And then she dove back down again because she knew that Lionel would be needing help.

She grabbed hold of him and kicked upwards, struggling to drag the both of them up to the surface. But Lionel was a flailing weight in her arms, dragging her downwards. Why did men have to be so bloody heavy?

Strong arms encircled her waist and Leliana felt herself being pulled upwards at a speed that guaranteed that whoever it was who was pulling her and Lionel out could easily keep two people afloat. Along with Leliana's own kicking legs, she and their savior once more broke through the surface. Leliana gasped out for air and hefted Lionel upwards, the weight of his suddenly less than a third of what it had felt like as the person who had heaved her upwards went to steady him.

It was then that Leliana realized that it was the Wildling woman employed by the Queen. For a moment she was afraid that the woman was going to tow them back to shore and throw them over to the guards. But would it not have been easier to drown them instead? The Wilding was strong, strong enough to have helped Leliana pull Lionel out, as well as pull Leliana herself. But there was nothing about the woman that suggested her to be hostile, only a scowl which she more or less seemed to show to everyone. Though, if Leliana looked close enough into the woman's eyes, she could sense the inner battle going on behind them - almost as if the Wildling was attempting to decide between a duty and the desire to shirk said duty.

"If you're here to help, then do so. The Drowned God only knows how much we need it," she said as she ducked her head up under Lionel's arm and kicked her legs to stay afloat. And then she saw that he was bleeding from a wound in his eye which she figured was inflicted by a knife. How Lionel had managed to get his eye gouged out in such short time eluded Leliana, but this was not the time to be asking questions.

When the war galley glided into view and she saw that it was manned by her uncle and other men sworn to House Greyhardt - men who she had sailed alongside and who she knew liked her well - Leliana felt a spark of hope.

"Lass, hold on!" Old One-Legged Walter's voice carried over to her and Leliana felt relief like sweet honey pouring through her. Someone was on there side! She doubted that they would want to kill her. But what of Lionel? We'll cross that bridge when we get there. All that matters is getting out of the water and patching up the wound. I'll bloody do it myself - it should be easier than removing an arrow - I can bind things if I try.

She did not let go of Lionel even as they were hauled out of the water and unto the deck of the war galley, along with Lionel's sword which he had been able to keep a grip on during the ordeal. Leliana did not yet appreciate the miracle of how she had avoided kicking into the blade underwater and slicing her leg open. She did not wait for anything to happen or anyone come help and immediately slipped her arms under Lionel's shoulders and heaved his body over to herself so as to settle his head into her lap. There, now she had good access to the wound. "I need bandages and gauze for the near future. Right now I just needs someone's shirt," she did not say anything but that, simply allowing those hurried words to tumble out as she set herself to the task at hand.

Leliana prodded around the wound, her fingers gentle yet firm as she tried to gauge how much damage there was.

"Lass, here," Old Water heaved a sigh and handed her a clean rag. She took it gladly, glancing up only for a few seconds to offer Walter a wavering smile.

"You silly lass, what were you thinking?" Old Walter untied his heavy cloak and draped it over her shoulders as she ripped half of the rag into strips and folded the other half into a thick pad. She wiped away at the gore surrounding his eye with one wet sleeve before pressing the padded rag over-top of the hole were Lionel's eye had been short moments before. She then proceeded to bind it into place with the strips of the rag she had torn, working quickly and methodically, and also as gently as she could.

"I don't know, Walter, I never think," she said as she finished the job and tied the knot. "I have poor impulse control," Leliana let out a weak peal of laughter as she carefully brushed a few stray strands of hair away from Lionel's brow. She lifted her head slowly and locked eyes with her uncle, all the while cradling Lionel's head and shoulders in her lap.

"Uncle Quin, please," she begged him as she shifted the cloak Walter had draped over her and used half of it to throw over Lionel - he was wounded and catching a chill would not help in the slightest, "if you take us back, we'll both be killed. Uncle Quin, please, please don't abandon me. I know what I did was stupid and, as usual, I wasn't thinking - I just...I like him. I really, really like him. Please, please don't..."

---

"Some things cannot be commanded, Henry," she told him in a voice which sounded clearer than she felt. "Some things...must be left alone." She struggled to bring a hand up to his cheek and wiped away at the tears that had formed in her husband's eyes - the ones she knew he would not wish to fall. "Hush, love," she whispered with the last breath her body allowed her to take, "hush..."

Oblivion was sweet. Sweet and silent and welcoming, - like the arms of a mother that one could melt away into. And there was light and warmth all around. And something, or perhaps someone, reaching and calling out to her. Morgana followed, soul slipping away from the mortal realm to never walk it again.

The night was dark and full of terrors...but darkness was only the absence of Light.

Adelaide knelt beside her mother, biting her bottom lip to prevent the sobs. She had to be strong now. Any sign of weakness and it would upset Morgana. And so when a hand was rested upon her chin, she smiled gently down at her mother, though there was a deep sadness in her eyes. As she spoke, Ada could only listen for she feared that her tone would give her away. The last words they had shared at the feast had been awful. Adelaide deeply regretted all the things that had been said by them both. Now, she realised her mistakes. She had allowed Lionel to get to her and blackened her thoughts and feelings. Just as he had intended.

"I will mother," She whispered, placing a hand on Morgana's arm. "We'll make you so very proud of us. You have my word." It was then that the tears began to fall. They streaked unshamedly down her face, as her mother spoke her last words to them. "I love you..." It was a choked sob and barely audible, but she had said it. As she took her last breath, Adelaide bowed her head. She had been with child. Lionel had killed their sibling as well as their mother. He was going to pay if it killed her. She would ensure that he paid for this. His blackened soul was hers. Adelaide already knew everything she could about posions and vemons. Now she needed to know how to fight. Entwining the two would be deadly. It was her only hope of killing Lionel, for she would never be strong enough to take him alone.

Lionel was laughing as he rolled down the bank towards the river. Tumbling and falling, he crashed down the hill. The wind shook the trees carelessly. The grey clouds were looming above, threatening a storm. But the three siblings laughed and played upon the bank.

"Lionel watch out for the-" Ada called to her brother, but it was too late. He rolled straight in the river. She watched with baited breath until he surfaced and then burst into laughter.

"My turn!" Raban was practically bouncing up and down. He was only young then, as was Ada.

"Ok, I'll race you," Ada grinned, sitting on the ground, tugging her skirts up to her knees. "Ready....Go." They both tumbled down the hill, giggling madly. When they hit the water, they only laughed harder. Lionel splashed at them madly. But his grin faded when a knight appeared at the top of the hill.

"I have to go." He muttered, swimming towards the bank. Ada and Raban stopped, watching him leave them. It had been one of the last times they had all laughed together like that.

Now, it was a distant memory.

"Father," Adelaide looked to him and his own tears. "We need to get everyone to the throne room. It is now that we have to see who is loyal to us and who is willing to flee from this war." She rose to her feet, clearing her throat before she began. "It is dark times which befall us when a member of our kin so willing turns upon us. But it is such times that only bind us tighter together. It is with a heavy heart that we grieve for Queen Morgana and the other knights that fell to the sword of Lionel this evening. But now we must not fall apart, if we are to be strong after this tragic event. If you would kindly make your way to the throne room. King Damian has a few words to say to you all." She bowed her head. In her speech, she sounded like her mother and it made her chest swell with pride. Someone had to take control after Lionel's departure and young Raban had already disappeared. She could understand why. He had just witnessed his mother's death. Even she wanted to hide...

~~~NUALA~~~

It was moments like these when Nuala truly questioned her reasons to sticking to her promises. The Wildling way was clear enough: if you swear a debt and the one you swear it to is killed before the debt can be repaid, then you must pay that debt to the killer. It suited very well the general Wildling mentality of 'survival of the fittest.

"I saved his life. I owe nothing more." Nuala pointed out without a care for what else was going on. Her debt was as good as paid, though she felt as if she had gained nothing good from paying it in full. She had lost her spear when she had dived into the sea. The weight of the weapon and of the two bodies she had pulled to the surface had been too much for her to handle and she had been forced to let go of the spear. All to pay a debt she had not even wanted to.

Nuala threw a vicious scowl at anyone who would even consider stopping her before stalking over to the side of the ship and vaulting over the railing back into the water.

She hit the water feet-first and went under. Going back up served no problem and was much easier now that she was not trying to help save someone who was saving another person from drowning -- in essence pulling two bodies along. Nuala's head broke out of the water and she took in a breath before turning to swim towards the docks. She was not the best of swimmers but she was able to hold her own in the water (though she did not particularly enjoy getting herself soggy).

When she got into reaching range of one of the wooden walkways, Nuala reached up and grabbed a hold of the ledge. One hand, then the other. Nuala then pulled herself upwards with a grunt, water dripping and rushed off her as she rolled over unto her side on the solid ground and then again to her feet. She stood up and spat out a mouthful of sea water and wrinkled her nose at the feeling of the salt stinging her eyes.

Now all that was left was to head back to the Red Keep with the burden of her debt paid and gone and replaced by the nagging feeling of having done something that chafed her morality. Nuala was a cold and hardened killer, able to take a man's life as easily as look into his eye, yet she knew the meaning of integrity.

She walked all the way back and snarled at anyone who passed her by. She still had her axe on her (as it had been strapped to her back and not half as heavy as her spear had been) and she had taken it out. Nuala despised not having a weapon at hand. Being unarmed was as bad as forsaking a debt.

She made her way into the stable yard. Every step she took reminded her body that it had dived a long distance into cold water and her limbs ached without mercy.

Nuala spotted them there -- House Winsler and their horses and wagons -- and Jamie. Nuala did not pause. There was only so much that could have been taken into consideration and she already knew the outcomes associated with them. With that in mind, she made her way over to Jamie, water still dripping off her and her boots making sopping noises with every step.

"Either they kill me," she told him with her usual scowl (referring to the guards of House Damian), "your lot kills me, or you let me live and be useful. Pick one." Her words were gruff and bluntly to the point -- as they usually were with her. Nuala never saw any reason to be overly descriptive.

Returning to the Red Keep would only be walking to her death and Nuala was not one to make a waste of her own life. She had crawled her way past the Wall and running straight into the swords of the Damian guards would be counter-intuitive. It was either run or turn to someone she thought would be willing to see her uses as a warrior and that someone happened to be Jamie Winsler.

'Not just that.' An inner voice prodded at her. 'You are also fond of him.' Fine, and that too.

Quincel looked them over. He carefully kept his emotions under control. If he brought them back, he might have to watch Leliana fall to an executioner's blade. He did not want to bring that tragedy back for Nathanial and Birgitte to witness. On the other hand, he would have to turn against the Damians, and the Greyhardts had already pledged their support. Siding with the two young rogues would mean siding against the rest of his family. Nathanial's words rang hollowly in his head. She is lost to us. Quin had been a fool.

Perhaps they would grant him mercy to Leliana for retrieving the Kinslayer. He highly doubted it. King Henry was a ruthless man, and clearly, he wanted to provoke them into war. Nathanial might be able to keep his emotions in check for the rest of their family, but Quin would not.

"The boy isn't even breathing. You might want to remedy that," he said simply.

He turned to confer with his captains (those that had followed) in a low voice. They genuinely liked Leliana. She had sailed with them often, and had over and over proved capable on deck. And, they like her bawdy jokes. To command them to turn the girl over to the king would leave them with bitter hearts. True knights did not stand to watch the young pay for the follies of youth. He desperately wanted to bring the Kinslayer to justice, yet doing so would condemn Leliana as well.

He looked back at the castle and his heart sank. I'm sorry, Nathanial. I can't bring her back.

The Firestorm turned out toward sea.

From his study in the highest tower of the Red Keep, Grand Maester Syrus watched as guards stormed from the great hall, hot in pursuit as they chased the former crown prince, the man who would from now on surely be known as the Kinslayer. He watched as the anguished faces of the Damians crumpled in grief as the queen bled to death on the floor. He watched as Leliana Greyhardt so willingly turned her back on her family in pursuit of a freedom she'd never known. He watched as Lionel fought his way through the castle, snarling like a cornered animal.

He watched, and he wept- for the dead queen, for the wretched king, for the child in Morgana's womb who would never come to be, for young princess and prince who had been given a burden no child should have to bear. But most of all he wept for, Lionel, the Kinslayer, the boy he'd treated as his own son, the boy he'd tried so very hard to comfort and calm when the King turned his back. Why, child? Why couldn't you let go of your anger and forgive? Why did it have to come to this? But he already knew the answer. Lionel wouldn't have survived a day as king, not where he had so many enemies and so little political talent. But in chaos, in war…that was where the prince had thrived. That was where people would follow him, for the enemy of their enemy was their friend. No, it had not been an accident on Lionel's part. He had always wanted enemies. Needed enemies.

He expected they would come for him now. Although he had provided tremendous aid and advice to the King over his fifty years at the Red Keep, it was no small secret that, despite his many faults, Lionel had been much beloved to the old man. They would suspect him of being an informer, a traitor. It pained Maester Syrus's heart to know that it would come to this- especially as he did not know who he would support, if things came to it. He was a servant to the Red Keep, but if Lionel came back to the Red Keep, demanding the heads of his siblings…Maester Syrus truly did not know what he would do. He still saw Lionel as a child- a corrupted, pained child, but one that was not beyond salvation. If only the boy were ten years old again, and Syrus could simply sit him down at a desk and make him recite his lessons until his rage had cooled…but he was seven years too late for that. Lionel had become who he was, and it was impossible to change him now- if he had survived the fall at all.

But he was not about to sit around and let himself be arrested. He would go downstairs and offer what comfort he could, if only to do a last deed of service before the king passed judgment on him.

The servants were gathered in a huddle in the great hall. Several were weeping, others were stony-faced and stoic, while some ladies in waiting had completely lost their heads.

"He's going to kill us all, he is," Megaera cried, tears streaming down her face. "The Kinslayer will kill us all in our sleep."

"Don't be daft," a pug-nosed serving boy said. "The Dornishman stuck a knife in his head and shoved him out a window. They found his body shattered on the rocks."

The words pained Maester Syrus's heart. Were the rumors true? Had Lionel died at the hands of the Dornishman? But the chatter of servants was prone to wild exaggerations and half truths, and he did not put much stock in the word's of a weeping boy. Maester Syrus ignored their squabbling and directed the nearest wench to go prepare several cups of hot, strong wine with a splash of dreamwine, to calm the royal family.

Queen Morgana was an awful sight, lying limp on the floor in a dark pool of crimson. Maester Syrus did not have to check to know that the woman had died; there was no saving her, no healing from the violent blow that had taken her life and her child's. Sprawled near the throne was Ser Henrik and Ser Ydric, both two more victims of Lionel's savagery. Lionel, oh Lionel…what have you done? But now was not the time for tears. Maester Syrus kept his emotions in check and silently wrapped the three bodies in their cloaks. The Silent Sister would tend to the corpses and make them fit for a burial.

And now to attend to the living…

The King seemed more shaken than Maester Syrus had seen him in years. Adelaide, despite her tears, was attempting to bring some order to the situation, trying to be strong in her mother's stead. Raban simply looked shell-shocked. Syrus's heart went out to the two of them. He had always pitied them, always tried to convince Lionel to be kinder to them…Lionel had always been so cruel. He'd taken their freedom, taken their pets, taken their most precious objects, and now he had taken their mother. You monster, did you never feel a shred of remorse for how you treated them? You terrorized them and made their lives a living hell, just because you envied them. Just because they dared to stand up to you.

"Your grace, Prince Raban will need guards. Many of them," Maester Syrus said to King Henry quietly. He doubted the man was in the mood to listen to advice right now, but his words had to be heeded if the Damians didn't want to lose another of their kin. "Lionel will be out for his blood, if he's alive." Speaking of which… "Find the Dornishman who's rumored to have killed the former prince and question him as to what really happened," Syrus said to the closest servant.

The doors to the great hall burst open. A watchboy ran in, wide-eyed. Syrus looked up, wondering what more ill tidings there could possibly be.

"Your Grace. The Greyhardt's fleet. The ships are moving out to sea- one of them, at least."

" Jamie, yelling at servants isn't going to make anything better. And it won't bring the wildling back." Eilis said with a calm soothing voice as Jamie kept on berating the servants in his attempt to ignore both his own disgrace and the fate as he saw of Nuala. Eilis truly felt for the seventeen year old knight, despite being all but forced to serve as commander of the nobleman's guard he thought of Jamie as both a friend and a son. He saw in Jamie what he had been 20 years ago, the world saw a reckless young man. They saw his lofty height and muscle and thought the Dragon invincible. Eilis on the other saw the child barely more then a babe looking at the body of his mother.Lady Winsler had been the crown jewel of House Winsler, a calm and lovely woman who knew exactly what to say and when to say it. Jamie after that day hid behind his height and muscles, showed the world nothing but his anger. The Winsler had mastered every combat related art thrown his way, vowing one day to do what he had failed to do so long ago, to protect those he loved. And to avenge the death of his mother.

You always said you should have been there, you should have tried to protect her. Jamie.. Eilis thought with that same sadness he always felt when he thought of his charge's past.


"I know Eilis." Was all Jamie would reply with although he did stop his berating and merely focused on making sure his own horse, a massive black stallion he had yet to name. The horse like him shared a size uncommon to his age and none of the names he had come up with suited the raw strength and speed the animal was capable of.

"your lot kills me, or you let me live and be useful. Pick one."

It couldn't be, that blunt and straight to the point tone could only come from one source. Turning from his saddlebags Jamie saw what he thought was at first merely the same madness that plagued his father. There she stood, dripping seawater and wearing her accustomed expression. She had never looked so captivating then at the moment, for his sense of honor had chafed at the Damian yoke around her shoulders.

"Why would I ever kill a woman like you Nuala. House Winsler is going to need all the warriors it can get." Jamie jested in reply although there was every bit of truth in the statement. The lords and ladies of the Vale were not exactly the richest nor the most numerous. Their armies constituted of little more then conscripted peasants and the odd smattering of sellswords. Too few knights were sworn to them and too few of those knights were of high quality. House Winsler had an impressive enough army considering their near worthless fief, and Jamie still had enough gold left over to hire a fair number of sellswords as did the Winsler treasury itself. But the Damians sitting on the Iron throne as they did commanded far greater resources and the Greyhardts despite the rather abrupt events would likely support their Damian masters. For whipped dogs knew little else.

" Besides it would be such a waste." Jamie said turning back to his horse." If you can ride Nuala there are several spare mounts around, all the horses without a crest on their saddles are remounts. So pick one. If you can't ride try and find a place in a wagon, because we are going to be leaving as soon as my family decides to show up."

His horse ready and more then willing to run Jamie gazed once more upon Nuala, feeling a great deal less stressed and that empty feeling had went away." It looks like your going to need a new spear, I'll see what I can do once we are back at the Eyrie."

The Eyrie,that lofty fortress set at the head of the vale. A castle no attacker could hope to take, the approaches that funneled men single file where they were prime targets for archers. The lofty heights were the castle was built against the cliff face that no man could climb. House Winsler could indeed simply sit the war out, or let House Damian waste it's forces trying to conqueror them, then ride out once no one was left to oppose them. But Jamie knew were attack would fail, siege would succeed. The Eyrie was both a safe haven and a trap, an opposing army could simply starve them out. It would not take all that many men to seal off the Vale and surrounding countryside.

No the only viable tactic was to blitzkrieg the Greyhardts lands, the North was a good place to have. The soil was worthless and only offered up meager harvests. But the people of the land were hardy, suited to war and easily swayed. For they despite their warrior ways wanted nothing more then peace and to be left alone. Jamie knew House Winsler's forces could win a ground war against the Greyhardts, they were sailors not soldiers. But Winterfell was an impressive fortress in it's own rights as well. And the very vastness of the North meant it would be hard to patrol and even harder to secure. But staying in the Vale would only prolong their fate, and attacking the Damians directly at Kings Landing would be suicide. So that left only the Greyhardts and their houses. But Jamie did not believe for a second such a move would be easy, the northerners built castles and holdfasts in numerous quantities. Each would have to be secured and quickly. Speed was of the essence for if they took too long House Winsler would find itself between the hammer and the anvil of Damian and Greyhardt forces. In reality the best bet was probably a direct strike against Winterfell, surround it then chuck rocks at it using siege equipment. And find some way to knock down the gate quickly.

By the Drowned God! She had forgot all about the most essential part, having gotten so caught up in bandaging up Lionel's bleeding eye and putting on a show of utmost regret for her uncle. Letting out a string of curses that she had picked up on the deck of a ship at the age of nine, Leliana shifted around, placing Lionel's head back on the deck off her lap. She then scooted around till she was crouching by his side.

This was far from over. They two of them may have won their right to live and some facet of freedom, but they were no better than two hostages atop the deck of this ship - surrounded by men of House Greyhardt. But she knew all of these men, knew them and liked them well. They would not throw her to the executioner's blade. Leliana would have to play her cards extra carefully. But, with time and effort, she knew she would be able to secure the freedom she so coveted. She did not even notice how she had begun to plot, turning her interests all the more inwards to that which she wanted, but she begun to nonetheless. Leliana could play the part well - if they wanted to hear her apologies and think her the foolish girl who did not know what she was doing, then she would give them just that. She did mean some of it, but by far not all, because she knew that the best lies were the ones filled with truths.

"Byron, we need fresh clothing and bandages," Leliana said over her shoulder at one of the sailors. "I know you never come unprepared," she paused and grinned at him deviously, "except for that one time..." She was already pulling on the strings of friendships, invoking situations and jokes that she was sure would make these men that she had spent so much time around feel all the more inclined towards aiding her.

And with that joke made - because she knew well enough that it would be jokes that got them through - Leliana set herself to the task of getting Lionel to breathe. "Sebastian, come here, I need you to do the pushing," she said as she put both her hands on Lionel's chest and pressed down twice to force the air out. She then pinched his nose and took in a deep breath before lowering herself down to press her lips firmly to Lionel's. She blew air into his mouth so as to get it to pass into his lungs.

Sebastian did as she had asked and came to crouch on the other side of her. After all, helping a young woman clad in a soaked white chemise was more or less something no man should ever refuse. Plus, Leliana was not taking any no's as answers at that moment in time and the look in her eyes said just that. As Leliana broke away from Lionel to take in another breath, Sebastian put his hands on the bastard Prince's chest and pushed down in three quick pumps. The wheeze of air coming back out and the gurgle of seawater were good sounds and Leliana grinned as she repeated pressing her mouth to Lionel's and forcing air inside.

Finally, after going back between Sebastian pushing down on his chest to get the air and water out and Leliana breathing air inside, Lionel seemed to be coming to.

"You should thank the Drowned God, for that," she said as she leaned over him, lips spread outwards in a grin, "maybe become a Priest in his honor, hm? What is dead can never die, but rises again, harder and stronger...or so the Priests say. Ah, I jest, you'd make a shoddy poor job of being a Priest, no offence meant."

She looked up from him and over to her uncle, her expression softening back into a miserable little smile. “Thank you,” she told him, and this time it was not simply what she figured he wanted to hear, but what she meant, “I knew you wouldn’t throw me to the axe.” Her eyes travelled over the other familiar faces there – she knew all of their names; “I knew we were friends.”

The moment most of the water was pushed out of his lungs, Lionel returned to consciousness with a start, hoarsely gulping in air. He awoke to the worst pain he'd ever felt. The saltwater that had seeped into his open wounds burned like wildfire, hurling him into throes of agony that almost made him wish he hadn't survived the fall. His entire body ached from the impact, his skin red and sore where he had hit the water. But his eye was the worst. Colors exploded in his brain, red and black where once before there had been sight. The scope of his world had been cut in half, and there was no getting it back. He didn't have to reach upwards to know that his head was a bloody mess; the vision in his intact eye was clouded by rivulets of blood, he could taste it on his lips.

"...I jest, you'd make a shoddy poor job of being a Priest, no offence meant." He could faintly hear Leliana's familiar voice overhead, and he focused on it so as to avoid losing consciousness to the pain again. So we've been rescued... But by who…? He reached upwards to wipe the blood out of his left eye, and Leliana's face above him was thrown into sharp focus. She was alive, unhurt from the looks of it. For some reason, he had never felt so relieved.

"Screw the Drowned God. I need more air." Acting completely on impulse, he pulled her head back down and kissed her. It tasted like blood, his blood, but he couldn't really care. "Your chemise is transparent, by the way," he heard himself saying. "But by all means, keep it on."

The color was coming back to his face; Lionel no longer looked like a drowned corpse. Using his good arm, he propped himself up to a sitting position, cradling his bloody arm in the crook of his elbow. He had never enjoyed feeling vulnerable, and lying down on the deck of the ship while being forced to look up at everyone was more humiliation than he could stand. The poultices had washed away in the ocean, and the gashes in his arm were opening up again. Even Lionel knew that the seawater would only make the infection worse. Hopefully, there was a good healer amongst their rescuers. He didn't want to emerge from this fiasco as a one-eyed, one-armed cripple.

He leaned against the side of the ship, unable to stand up for the moment. Rain was pouring freely from the skies, which had erupted into nothing short of a thunderstorm. It was cold, but at least it served to wash the blood and saltwater away. His fingers brushed against the cool, metallic hilt of Night and he clenched the sword tightly, glad that he hadn't lost it. Without his sword, Lionel would be worse than a one-eyed, one-armed outlaw. He was more of a sword arm with a man attached than a man with a sword; if he couldn't fight, then he'd be nothing.

The cold, bleak skies matched how he was feeling inside. For a long time, he was silent, staring up at the pouring skies while the Firestorm made her way out of Blackwater Bay. Whoever had pulled them out of the water was clearly not interested in returning them to the Red Keep, but Lionel didn't care too much about his fate at the moment. His claim to the throne was lost, thanks to the past follies of his father and that witch he'd called a mother for seventeen years. Granted, it was not a position he'd ever wanted, but it had made him who he was. His life had revolved around it. Everything he did, everything he sacrificed, everything he became…it was all because he would someday sit atop the Iron Throne. He had viewed it as a burden, had always wanted to escape from it. And in a way, he had. He'd finally obtained the freedom he'd been longing for.

So why did he feel so empty?

He could hear the sailors around him discussing the recent turn of events, and it was clear that they held little love for him, however much they enjoyed the company of Leliana. "Kinslayer", they were calling him now. Kinslayer and other worse things.

It had been a brash action, Lionel had to admit, but it didn't make him the monster they were claiming him to be. Morgana had acted first, ordering the guards to seize him. Everything Lionel did was out of self-defense; he hadn't gone on a killing rampage, he'd only harmed as many as were necessary to get out of the keep. He had only wanted to escape with his life- his and Leliana's. But now, apparently, there was a bloody royal sentence on his head.

And that was why he hated politics.

No- that wasn't entirely true. Lionel loved politics- when he held all the cards. But he'd had no idea that Morgana had a trump like that up her sleeve- if he did, he would have acted with more caution in dealing with the Greyhardts.

But despite all that, he'd wanted a war. And now he had one…although when he was planning things, he had assumed he would have all of House Damian's force to back him. The present situation changed things a little, to say the least. But even if he had lost all of his pieces, he refused to stop playing the game.

I'll take back the Iron Throne myself, he decided. Even if he didn't want to rule, it was better than leaving his father on the throne- or worse, the Winslers. And if Lionel took King's Landing, he could choose whoever he liked to rule the Seven Kingdoms. Not that he had someone in mind, but that was a bridge to be crossed later.

"We'll go to Highgarden," he said suddenly, turning to Leliana and Ser Quincel. The Tyrells were one of the oldest families in the Seven Kingdoms, and Lord Jon Tyrell had had more than one disagreement in the past. House Damian held an uneasy alliance with the Tyrells, at the very best. "Jon Tyrell 's always preferred me over my father, and his daughter Gynna's besotted with me. He might not lend us his entire fleet, but I doubt he'll refuse us shelter. We can restock there and figure out what we're going to do next."

OOC: For Dante I wrote of him telling King Damian about what happened in the tower. In Tigger's post it was implied that the Damian's would be in the throne room soon (or something) so I just wrote that. I hope that's okay and I can edit it if you'd like, Erev Lace.

~~~NUALA~~~
“Then I will return shortly.” She said when he told her that she would be welcome to stay and that she should go find herself transport. “Yes, a new spear would be a fine thing to have. You have my thanks.”

Nuala wasted no time in doing what Jamie had suggested. She was capable of riding a horse and went immediately to find herself one (while simultaneously looking around for a change of clothing). Though Nuala was never bothered by the cold, it was the wetness of the material clinging to her that felt very disagreeable.

As Nuala stalked over to the horses she spied a series of wagons that looked as if it was full of supplies. Maybe here she would be able to get herself something else to wear. Nuala stopped by one of these wagons and found an aged woman who looked as if she worked as a maid or a servant. Having a tall axe-wielding Wildling step up to her only made the old servant blink once in surprise and then give Nuala an almost motherly smile. “You are with use, dear?” She looked Nuala up and down once and tapped her chin with her index finger. “Sopping wet, you are. That’s no good at all. Quickly now, let’s get you something clean and dry to wear.”

She did not have to say a single word as the old woman bustled about. Nuala watched as she yelled at a younger maid to obtain clothing and, under what felt like five minutes, Nuala was being handed a stack of dry leathers and a pair of boots.

“You don’t look like a girl who’d be comfortable in a dress.” The old woman told her with a smile. “Got you some of the spare men’s clothes. Pair o’ pants, a tunic, and a leather vest. A cape’s in there too, and the boots. You can change behind the wagon.”

Nuala bobbed her head once in thanks and slipped around the back of the wagon in order to strip off her wet leathers and furs and put on the dry and clean ones. Once she was dressed (the clothes hanging a bit off her as they were made for a man) Nuala wrung out her sopping wet furs and quickly folded them up. She then went in search of a horse.

Finding a spare mount was easy enough as there was a group of them farther down with the rest of the wagons. Nuala chose for herself a sturdy-looking sorrel mare and approached her, cooing soft words to the animal in order to not spook it. When she reached the mare Nuala reached out to pet her nose. She had always been far more gentle with animals than she ever was with people -- at time a good horse was worth more than the life of a man or a woman.

When she was sure that the mare would not bolt from her, Nuala went and put her folded up wet clothing into the empty saddle-bag. She then walked over to the side of the mare in order to get atop; one foot braced in a stirrup and the other swinging her body up and into the saddle.

“Tk-tk.” Nuala made a clicking noise with her tongue against the roof of her mouth and guided her mare out away from the other spare horses and over back up to the front of the Winsler procession to where she had last talked to Jamie.

~~~DANTE~~~
He returned to the throne room to give his reports to the King. As he had been the one who had last seen Lionel Damian, have thrown a knife at the Prince’s eye, he would be the one to account for what had transpired. Dante was not quite sure what exactly he would be saying -- he believed that he had managed to kill the Queen’s slayer but he could not be sure. His aim had been faltered because of Nuala but he was not sure if any of them even survived that fall into the water.

Ah, details, details. ‘I’ll just tell them I am mostly sure he’s dead and sort of not.’

This was what Dante was thinking about as he made his way back down the stairs and through the hallways to the throne room. Though he had last seen the Damian family in the Feasting Hall, Dante was sure that they would have quickly and efficiently moved everyone. It was no good for guests to remain around the body of the dying (most likely dead now) Queen.

He entered the throne room and sidled around to stand behind and a bit to the side of the Iron Throne -- which was had been a few steps to the left of his previous spot when he had stood behind the chairs of Adelaide and Raban

“Your Majesty,” Dante said as he stepped up from behind the throne to speak to the King and not have anyone else hear. In that spot few would see Dante or that he was speaking to the King. “My knife caught him in the eye, though my aim ruined by the Wildling woman. The two tumbled out the window into the water. He appears to be dead though I am not completely sure.” With that said Dante stepped back away from the throne and resumed his position from where he could keep a safe eye on things.

"The hell we are," Quincel remarked dryly. Lend a fleet? He couldn't possibly be planning on war... "Just back from the brink of death and already you plan on raising an army. My men and I came here to rescue Leliana, not to kneel to the command of Lionel Damian, ex-prince though he might be." Unless the great Kin -Queen?- slayer knew the secrets of sailing across land, sailing all the way around Dorne to the mouth of the Mander River and navigating up to Highgarden would expend ever resource they had upon the ship and give the Damians and Winslers enough time to mass an inpenetrable defense. Well. Unless they stole more of Lord Nathanial's ships. But that would be outright treason, and Quin would never stand for it.... oh Others take him, were they following them? They were. Upon seeing all the ruckus on the Firestorm, (and it didn't help that they had lit all the lanterns to rescue Leliana) a couple of the other ships that the Greyhardts had brought had also struck out, and were now trailing after the Firestorm like puppies after a bone.

"Extinguish the lanterns. We've already been spotted, but we don't have beam a beacon out for al lto follow. Someone find Kern the priest to attend to the boy and the girl. And pray stop with all this familiar talk, Leliana. Trying to buy favor will get you nowhere on this ship." Quincel ignored the fact that the ship technically was Lionel/her newest lover's. The crew was under his command. Or at least, was supposed to be. "Until you give me good reason to go to war against my brother and my king, you are still my prisoners."

Never mind the fact that not turning them in immediately had qualified him and the rest of his commendable crew to be a traitors as well. War was not the only solution. It was probably madness. They could flee to the Free Cities, to take up new identities in their anonymity in the far away lands. Even the Targayaens Daenerys and Viserys had fled there once.

Surely, it was not that easy for Morgana to slip away from him. Dumbly, Henry turned her palm over in his hands, feeling the warmth ebb away from her skin. The bleeding had stopped. Her eyes were open, empty, but there was the ghost of relief on her face .... happiness? No. She would have never found pleasure in leaving them here, leaving him the father to a motherless son and daughter. Adelaide's voice cut through the fog in his mind, clear and strong, and he looked at her.

Your mother's daughter, he thought. What if it had been he dead on the floor of this room? Morgana would have mourned him and then she would have carried on. He would do that much for her. They could not afford for him to abandon himself in grief. May the Seven forbid that he ever become a man like Benjamin Winsler.

"Yes, Adelaide," he said and got to his feet. Blood stained his hands and his breeches from where he had kneeled beside Morgana. Before he could speak, the bodyguard returned. Ha. Bodyguard. How bitter it was to know that Morrie's precautions were justified. Then again, Lionel had killed no one but the bard ... his hand was not the one who had slain the Queen. He could easily have killed, but he did not.

"In the eye," Henry echoed. He tried to imagine a knife in his son's eye, tried to imagine the blinding agony of it, and the terrible sensation of weightlessness in his fall. This man would die, Henry decided, but not now. He could perhaps be a bit more useful before then.

Quickly, his mind began to work once more, to process all that he had been told.

One of the Greyhardt ships has moved out to sea. Raban will need more guards.

"Had he wished to kill his brother, he would have," Henry said, "and I believe it is Winslers the boy needs more protection from than his own kin. I want his guard dou --- no, tripled. Enough of this roaming about outdoors nonsense."

Winslers. Damn them. Damn them.

He looked at Maester Syrus and wondered what thoughts were inside the man's head. After all, he had been much closer to Lionel than he had ever been. It was a thought that made him jealous; a little angry. Other important officials had filtered into the room, their eyes going from Henry to Morgana to Raban at turns. There was a new heir to the throne. Maybe.

"We will mourn the Queen and send her to the Seven," he said to them. He put a hand on Adelaide's shoulder. "And then we will declare war on the House of Winsler and their allies." The hand squeezed.

"In the event ... of my death, Prince Raban will be your King. You will act as his counselors,in equal authority, until he reaches his majority, may the Seven prevent such a disaster." He hesitated, then continued: "The Princess Adelaide will be her brother's regent in name."

In name only, and with no power of her own, he thought, but the men understood.

"The House of Greyhardt may be providing safe harbor for Prince Lionel and Lady Leliana. The girl's fate is inconsequential, but if you are to find the Prince ... I want him alive and whole."

The room seemed colder than it had before. Empty. Reeking of death.

"To war," he said, his voice quiet, his eyes dark.

Jamie watched Nuala take off then went to search for a spear amongst his belongings. He had brought numerous weapons with him, which surprised no one really. Eilis knowing exactly why his charge was digging around in the near armory worth of weapons the nobleman had brought with him smiled and shook his head. It was true House Winsler would need all the help it could get and the wildling while most likely only a year or two older then Jamie was also likely a very good addition to their forces. His brother, a ranger with the Night Watch spoke highly of the unorthodox method the wildlings waged battle with, saying that the wildlings always struck where you thought yourself the strongest. And the Warrior knew House Winsler would need that kind of thinking, not that Jamie did not have his fair share of tactical tricks. Jamie had thrown out every lesson taught to him about tactics, a event that angered their master of arms. But Jamie then wrote his own tactical manuals, the originality of which caught off guard nearly everyone. They worked which was even the bigger surprise, these tactics devised by a seventeen year old.


" Hmm...what do you think Eilis." Jamie said holding out a glaive, the shaft was nearly 2 meters long and crafted of ash. The head was 45 cm long, curved ever so slightly with a hook on the reverse side. The head was crafted of castle forged steel and shone from it's polishing. Jamie took care of his weapons for he trained with them all, believing only a fool relied on a single weapon. As a result Jamie himself was a master of arms, able to wield spear,sword,bow,lance,axe, and any weapon you cared to put in his hand with equally deadly skill.

" I think it may be a bit too long Jamie, a man's spear should not be any longer then they are tall. " Eilis replied although he knew this wasn't strictly true. Jamie's lances were eleven feet after all but a spear meant to be used on foot shouldn't be all that much longer then you were tall. "Besides her last spear looked more the thrusting type the slashing a glaive is."

With a shrug Jamie put the glaive back in his wagon before digging around once more, coming out with a spetum. Like the glaive it was 2 meters long featuring a 45 cm blade. Though the shaft was crafted of dragonbone reinforced ash this time and the same castle forged steel head. Jamie looked vaguely bothered by it's length, being 6 feet 6 inches the knight had weapons of comparable size made to fit him. Unlike the glaive though the head featured a straight and wide head designed to punch through nearly any defense with side prongs sticking out at the base of the main blade. The side prongs being only sharp on one side were well suited to knocking aside blows and parrying sword thrusts. The spetum was favored among those with the strength to wield it effectively as it's efficient design was suited to both single combat and the rank and file of battle. It was a somewhat hefty weapon designed for the brutes that found themselves front and center of every charge were their strength and the spetum's design enable smashing through shielded infantry. With practice it was also a deadly anti-calvary weapon able to knock a man out of the saddle or kill the horse itself.

Jamie was still holding the spetum when Nuala came riding up on a sorrel mare.

"Good choice that, mares are good riding horses. Calm and easy to control but I've always preferred stallions myself. A proper war horse should have a bit of fire in it's belly." Jamie said indicting with the spear he held his black horse. It was most likely a Percheron, though the breeder he had it bought from could not say with any certainty it's exact breed. The horse had been wild stock caught out in the plains of the south. But it's black coat, lacking any other color, combined with it's features gave it the image of the Percheron. Although it's size standing at 19 hands and weighing nearly 2200 pounds meant there was likely some other blood in it's veins.

He also took in the wildling clothes which obviously had been someone's spare clothes, most likely a man judging from the loose way they hung over her frame. Though was also apparent the man whom had given up his spare clothes was not much bigger the wildling woman. Though with the rain coming down it seemed pointless to change one's clothing as the soaking they were all receiving would go to the bone soon enough.

"Where in the bloody hell are they." Jamie muttered to himself as rain dripped off his direwolf cloak and soaked his black leather breeches. He was only glad that he was not wearing armor, for this soaking would mean a sleepless night polishing the rust off it. But he wanted to be gone from this accursed place before his disgrace came back to mind. "You there, Harold was it." The servant he called to nodded his head." Send word to my family that we are ready to depart right now and make sure they understand." The young boy nodded his head before running off to his appointed task.

"You and You." Jamie said shouting at a couple of his personal guard a distance away checking last minute details as ordered. There was always much to do when departing with such a large crowd as they had brought with them despite his cracking the whip to make the useless lords and ladies of the Vale hurry up. The men clad in partial plate and wearing surcoats with the Winsler sigil looked at him awaiting his orders. " Get a litter prepared and get Kervall on it and into a wagon."

The Winsler men at arms saluted him before rushing off amid much clanking of metal, they had little time to pad their armor with the cloth all soldiers did to stop the noise. " I can't leave this place fast enough." Jamie muttered once more to himself although the sight of Nuala did much to comfort his frame of mind. At least all the work involved was keeping his mind off the events so recently happening. He could find no pity for the Damian children though, they knew the crimes of their father. As far as Jamie was concerned the Damians were simply reaping what they had sown, Lionel was the spark true enough but a mere spark did not start a blaze all by itself. King Damian had played with wildfire as it were for so long it was only a matter of time before it burned him to cinders as it was now doing.