Westeros

[Ffffffffff, long post. >___o /huffs/ I have somewhere to be now, but I'll be back in the evening. :3

Warning: Torture scene in Sirena's post. By Aesir's and Ama's suggestion, apparently Raban has sent a man to follow Sirena and Ammon. He gets caught... and well. Tee hee. >:3]

Teralo had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping and had to put his fork down and put his napkin over his mouth to stop from looking like a fool. Oh the seven... He's serious. Teralo wished his father was not serious, wished it more then anything else. He could not fight in a battle, Teralo was barely even a decent swordsmen and his father expected him to destroy the Damain force. Emaya was even visibly shaken. "Tera..." she said quietly, "You can't..... I mean... You..."

Teralo patted her on the head and ruffled her hair, trying to remain calm himself. "I have too." he said before turning back to his father. "Father, if you expect me to fight then you are wrong. I am not a soldier and I would not survive for long in battle. But I will do as you say on these conditions." He paused for his father's approval before continuing. "One, you will not question me about having Emaya with me, she is as much family to me as you are. Secondly, I need your promise you will not take the soldiers and blindly charge straight at the Damain army. If you want this done my way then we ARE doing this my way. We have too few soldiers to risk them in such a move."

After dinner was finished, Teralo and Emaya returned to their rooms to sleep. Both were quickly in bed but neither could sleep. Teralo was too busy worrying about tomorrow, of what he had just accepted to, and what it would mean for his future. Emaya couldn't sleep because she was afraid for Teralo. Perhaps an hour passed before Emaya spoke up. "Tera..... are you awake? she asked quietly.
"Yes I'm still awake." he whispered in return.
"I'm scared Tera..... I... you.. You...." suddenly Emaya burst into tears. "You can't fight tomorrow. You can't, if you were to die then I would have no body left... Tera Please, don't go... I..."

Teralo almost broke at her tears. Reaching over Teralo pulled the young girl close to him and tried to comfort her. "Emaya, please don't cry. I'm not going away from you, I won't die. I promise I won't even go into the fighting. But I have to go, I'm the only one who can do this Emaya."

"I know but It's too much Tera... I can't take it.... I just can't... I can't lose you."

Teralo leaned over and kissed Emaya lightly on the forehead. "You won't ever lose me. So stop crying, alright? I'm here for you, and I'll be here after the battle as well. Your too important to to me."

Emaya's tears slowed and she sniffled but didn't let go of Teralo. "I trust you." she whispered.

[[OOC – Warning throughout this post for implied rape as the ending to the torture scene – as well as for Ammon hitting on drunken Kervall at the end.]]

So, it had been Prince Raban who had sent this man to shadow them in hopes of garnering more information. “Perhaps it would be best to offer the Prince a silent lesson of what happens to those who shove their noses into business which is not their own.” The Prince’s little ferret was going to make a lovely example – and nobody but the young boy would suspect a thing. Ammon and Sirena were very careful about their killing jobs.

Ammon’s arms caught the man Sirena had shoved at him and he immediately shoved the poor sod up against the nearest wall, moving in behind him. With one hand shifting to hold the man against the wall and the other going up to thread itself in the man’s hair, Ammon leaned close to whisper in his ear. “Valar morghulis,” he whispered into the man’s ear and licked a long strip of skin along the man’s face, trailing his tongue up from jaw-line to temple.

Ammon kicked the man’s legs apart and used the hand that had been grasping at the man’s hair to aid himself to unlace both of their britches. The poor sod let out a gurgling cry of protest that was muffled when his body was suddenly unceremoniously shoved down to the ground – Ammon had decided to switch positions up a bit as he hadn’t had anyone face down into the floor in a little while.

The both knew what was coming, Ammon and this poor dear who had been unfortunate enough to be tasked with following Ammon and Sirena. After all, a fool had to pay for a Prince’s mistakes.

~

Ammon found himself laughing out loud when Sirena shoved the man out of the tower window and he craned his neck out to watch as the poor lug flew down to the ground beneath and, a few moments later, splattered against it. Moments later, Ammon tossed two bottles of wine which he had filched out of the wine cellar out the window and after the man. He watched as the bottles crashed in the bloody spot of the man’s body, doubtlessly soaking him in wine.

There, and now it would only look like the foolish accident of a drunken man.

“Let us be off quickly, lest anyone catch us here,” Ammon said with a grin after he had pulled out of the kiss that Sirena had turned to give to him. And, with one less thorn in his side and the taste of Sirena on his mouth, the day seemed that much brighter.

~

They had made their way down into the gardens, expertly plucking themselves back out of the situation. Neither Ammon nor Sirena had a speck of blood on either of their bodies and they had readjusted their clothing and appearances so that nobody could even begin to guess at what exactly they had committed together. Ah, well, sooner or later someone would come across a blood body and reason that the silly man that had been killed must have simply fallen out of the tallest tower after a round of drinking.

The man had fallen face-first and his splattered brains and crushed skull and face would make it impossible to determine what exactly had happened to his mouth beforehand. A few teeth would have been knocked out by a fall like that and that which Sirena had done would be perfectly masked.

An artistic and believable death – an ideal murder.

As they walked out into the courtyards and into the royal gardens – it was a nice day for a stroll and they had to look the part of civilized people, anyways. As they rounded up one of the walkways, Ammon spied some fountains and was about to suggest that he and Sirena go sit by one of them for a little while when he spied a rather delectable sight.

Ammon saw a blonde man of about his own height ambling about in the palace gardens, looking very much as if he had just imbibed more alcohol than his body knew what to do with. For a few moments Ammon simply found himself watching with interest, a faint smirk playing about his lips as he took in the exploitable sight before him.

The man sat down in the grass before one of the fountains and Ammon knew then and there that he had to take advantage of this Gods-given state of affairs.

“Sirena?” He turned to the gorgeous brunette who had so deftly been able to pull out a man’s teeth from his mouth – that had been quite sexually arousing, Ammon had to admit – and now he was feeling the itch to rut. “Would you mind?” His previous smirks at the man’s amblings blossomed into a full-fledged grin. He knew that he did not even have to ask, seeing as Sirena never minded anything and the two of them were together on a ‘friends with benefits’ basis, in any case.

He leaned over to place a kiss on her lips, winked, and then left her side.

~

“Having troubles with something?” Ammon purred as he slipped in to sit beside the man who looked to be trying to curl himself up into a seated ball – knees drawn to his chest and arms encircling them, blonde-haired head resting on his forearms. Delicious.

“Did something bad happen to you, love?” Ammon sidled closer, half of his chest pressing firmly into the man’s side as he slipped an arm around the man’s back, drawing him ever closer.

Ammon had set himself to achieving this drunken conquest. He was, after all, quite in the mood after all that had went on down in the cellar with the spy that had been sent to tail them by the Crown Prince. Sure, he and Sirena always had one another for this sort of thing, but it was always amusing and good fun to bed strangers. Ammon figured Sirena may indulge herself in some fresh palace sweets that night as well, so it would not be as if he was suddenly leaving her out in the cold. That was the fantastic thing about Sirena that set her apart from so many other women – she simply did not care if Ammon slept around or not – because she did so as well on many an occasion.

Ammon tilted his head to one side as he looked down at the man that he was half-cradling with his own body. Men tended to only get drunk and mope by themselves in one of three situations – and one of those situations involved a woman. “Heartbroken?” Ammon inquired as he brushed the blonde’s hair out of the way. He then slid his hand up beneath the man’s chin and gently lifted up the blonde’s head so that he may have a better look at his face.

Ammon had to admit to himself that he was rather impressed – the bloke was a handsome fellow. And are we ever going to have some fun! Oh yes, sweetling, yes we are.

He kept his eyes transfixed on his conquest-to-be, the pad of his thumb running gently across the man jaw-line in repetitive, stroking motions. “You know what helps when this sort of thing happens?” Ammon said, his voice still very much a lilting purr, low and decadent in what it promised, “talking about it helps, sure…but company makes everything so much better. Why dwell on something which causes you grief when you can melt away and forget it.”

Ammon’s lips curled into an enticing smile and he shifted the course of his thumb so that it ghosted up and over the man’s lips. “I could help with that, mhm.”

And when Ammon wanted something – by the Gods! He got it.

This can be consensual, love. Or it can be a struggle. Were the words that he did not speak aloud – but the ones that were ever so clear in his dark, stormy grey eyes.

"Lionel is no threat to us. He is my son and your brother and his actions have been those of a stupid, misguided boy."

Adelaide had willing accepted her father's comfort until those words fell from his lips. At that moment, she shrugged his hand from her shoulder and stepped away, her eyes narrowing. She shook her head, the tears gone from her eyes. Instead they were once again replaced by anger and rage. Now the hurt she had felt was coupled with fury. After everything her father was still supporting Lionel, still taking his side. How could he? How could he side with the man who had killed his wife? Well, not quite killed, but assisted in killing. It almost tore her heart from her chest even more. His lies were becoming too much for Adelaide. She knew that he lying. The only reason he wished for them to marry was because he wanted a war with the Winslers. Well, he wasn't going to get one.

"He is not my brother!" Her voice was low and dangerous, her cheeks reddening fairly quickly with anger. "He will never be my brother again. He was the reason our mother died....Your wife. Don't you remember that?! He used her as a shield in order to escape. He's the reason she's dead! He might as well have killed her with his own hand." Her voice rose again as she distanced herself further from their father, throwing her hands into the air and shaking her head. "You have lost your mind if you are willing to take back that traitorous bastard child. And I will say this now, if I lay eyes on him ever again, I will hold no mercy. He held no mercy for mother, nor us when he treated us so badly as children."

"Lionel! Don't!" Adelaide cried, tears streaming down her cheeks as her brother took the beautiful bird her father had lately given her in his hand. There was a crack as he wrung its neck without a second thought.
Adelaide threw herself at him, barreling into his chest, hitting every part she could find. For a moment, Lionel looked surprised. He grabbed her wrists stopping her and making her look at him.
"I'm sorry Ada," He whispered, chewing his bottom lip. He sounded genuinely sorry, but Adelaide refused to forgive him so easily. Instead, she looked away, tugging her wrists from his grasp.
It was five days before she spoke to him again.

"He will kill Raban to take that throne." She whispered, her eyes almost pleading with her father. "He knows what he's doing. He is a threat to us! He told me that he'd come back for us. I do not trust him." Why couldn't she make her father understand? Because Lionel had always been the children that their father had been close to. Although he loved the rest of his children, Lionel had been his pride and joy, even if he was a bastard. It only angered Adelaide further that her foolish father could not see past that.

((OOC: Same warning as Ama. If manluv sexytimez makes you squeamish, you're probably better off skipping this post.))

Kervall couldn't help but wonder if everything was going wrong for a reason. It just didn't make any sense, otherwise. He never asked for much in life, but a couple months ago he could have never predicted where his life would have taken him, and now where was he? Stuck in this Gods-forsaken keep with enemies surrounding him on every side, and the one good thing that had possibly made it all worthwhile was turning to ashes between his fingers. Were the Seven punishing him for some horrible transgression he'd forgotten? Why was he suffering? Why did his damn heart have to pick the princess, of all the girls he'd met before?

Thankfully, the young Winsler's self-pity didn't go much further. Hearing a voice, he looked up and actually jumped. There was suddenly a young man he'd never seen before getting very - very! - close to him. He thought he knew all the faces of the court in the general area, and this young man was definitely no servant. For whatever reason, the man seemed quite keen on touching him. Before he'd even said anything, he felt the warmth of the stranger's body as he was held close. Not that he minded, exactly...

"I'm havin' somethin' of a rough day." His words came out somewhat slurred, as Kervall ran a hand through his hair, his gaze fixated at the fountain before them, "I seem to have fallen for the wrong girl." He smirked sardonically at his own words - how trite they seemed when spoken aloud. He felt his new compatriot bring his face around and as their eyes met, Kurt's breath caught momentarily. This young man was fair to look at, no doubt, and was probably quite popular with the ladies. But what arrested his attention was the look in the man's eyes. The turgid lightning captured within those fair features, the glint behind the eyes the colour of an impending storm was both frightening and exhilarating. They were a dare, a promise that life was to be led by example and to the fullest.

Heartbreak indeed. Even through the strange fog that still persisted, the pain in Kervall's chest throbbed like an angry wound, worse than any of the ones inflicted by Lionel. Worse still, they were only so raw because she had feelings for him, as well! "Talk. Bleh. Talk is cheap. I don't wanna talk." For a moment, fire danced in Kurt's gaze, anger and passion swelled into a heady burst of emotion, but he banished it. He didn't want to be comforted by meaningless platitudes or advice. He just wanted to forget, and maybe the pain would let him be.

The warmth of their bodies so close to one another, and the gentle touches on his face felt surprisingly good. Maybe this young man was right, and the good company of a friend was what he needed. In this place he didn't really have of those, mind, but for whatever reason this stranger seemed willing to help. Feeling the unexpectedly intimate touch against his lips, Kervall tensed briefly, and he stared up at this man who had come out of nowhere and appeared to be exactly what he needed. "Who are you? I don' think I've ev'r seen you b'fore. Mebbe it doesn' matter. You were right, though. You c'n jus' be comp'ny, fer now." Giving Ammon a small, quiet smile, Kervall then shifted yet closer to the young man, and curled up against him, laying his head against Ammon's shoulder and closing his eyes, his free hand coming to rest against the mercenary's body. A small voice in the back of his mind told him this wasn't exactly the smartest idea - putting himself in such a vulnerable position to a complete stranger who could be an assassin for all he knew. But honestly, he didn't care, and his warmth felt good. If this man slipped a dagger between his ribs now, well, it would at least end the pain. After what he'd been through in the last couple months, he figured he deserved to feel good a little. Right?

Kurt's eyes opened again and he stared up at the sky. Could this day get any weirder?

[OOC: Crap post is crap. x.x]


“Maybe not yet,” Kenneth replied, “but I’m sure Julia was able to sneak something out to the King. She’d always been the most like our Mother with her trivial plots and intrigues.”

But she can’t marry him. That would challenge the integrity of Cavanaugh to House Winsler. Then, once the King figures out that I’m alive, he’ll probably have me imprisoned or worse. And Jane…I don’t want to think about what he wouldn’t mind doing to her if she stood in his way alone.

Kenneth sighed and rubbed at his forehead as Jane asked her next question.

"I must ask you, Lord Cavanaugh ... is there a reason I've been under the impression you were dead for, oh, fourteen years? Does it involve you being a blacksmith?"

This day was turning out to be too complicated for Kenneth. What he really wanted to do was rewind time. He wanted to go back to the day Beth asked him if he wanted children, and he wanted to tell her that he didn’t mind having her all to himself. He wished that he’d said that a legacy of heirs didn’t define a successful marriage and that he was perfectly content to begin and end his days with her alone for the rest of their lives. Five years of marriage wasn’t enough to share their love, and four years apart only just enough to dull the pain.

He looked at the woman sitting down at his table, waiting for his answer with a calm he rarely saw in people. He admired that calm because he wished he was able to have it, and it was her quiet, non-judgmental attitude that steadied him and enabled him to answer.

“It’s getting late, so how about I give you the shortened version? You can ask me about the details later as you get curious about them.” He didn’t wait for her consent. Her question was a fair one, and it was her right to ask the basics since they were allies, but some of the details were raw enough to hurt if they were probed at.

“Do you remember the ball my brother, Matthew, orchestrated at Winsler because I was coming home from my training to be made a Knight and swear fealty? That was supposed to be a great moment in my life. I hated the court and politics with a youthful passion that has turned into a man’s resignation, but it was all going to be made right as soon as the sword touched my shoulders. That night after we’d danced awfully and all the guests had laughed, even and especially Matthew, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I knew that he’d thrown us, the worst two dancers in nobility, together to embarrass us and show me that I was on my own amongst family and friends. I knew he’d rather have me gone than be a threat to him the way he was to Mother and Father, so I made a decision later that night that I would be a true second son and go away to make my own life. Matthew agreed and threatened my life for real if I ever came back. I traveled for a while and finally settled in a coastal town where I knew he wouldn’t have influence over me, apprenticed to a blacksmith, inherited the smithy, married and became a father for the shortest of times, and then received Julia’s letter to come home.”

Kenneth realized that he’d given a longer version of events than he’d wanted, but he was compelled to at least mention everything, even Beth, to Jane. Even in her silence, the flicker of candlelight made her seem very warm and understanding to a man that needed warmth and understanding from someone right now.

He looked into her eyes and said, “I’m not sure what you make of all that, either, but I have to say that it is late, now. I’ve got to be up early to try and fix some of Julia’s household messes, and I wouldn’t want to keep you from your companions.” He rose from his seat, stepped over to her, picked her hand up and briefly kissed the back of it, all while wondering how much of a fool he’d made himself seem tonight.

“You and yours have my permission to go wherever you like, so don’t feel that you have to stay cooped up in your rooms,” he offered as he released her hand. “Good night, Lady Strake.”

As he walked back to his rooms he found himself wondering why he’d kissed her hand. He was almost certain that his actions had been against protocol unless the pair was more familiar with each other than Kenneth and Jane, but oddly, he felt more at home with her here than he had yesterday without her.

I’ll ask Beth what she thinks of all this tomorrow morning at sunrise.

ooc: This post is shit.

(OOC: Sorry for the long stream of useless input, trying to get a feel for Jamie. Feel free to skip down to the important part.)

Flames. Jamie was riding through a sea of flames. They beat wildly at his face, licked up the legs of his horse. For a single moment, he wondered at the seeming courage of his horse. But then he realized that he was not directing this horse at all. There were no reins in his hands. His hands were tangled in the horse’s red mane, and he was clinging tenaciously as the fearful horse plunged through the endless stream of flames. It was screaming, leaping, trying desperately to flee, though its strength was waning. The foam that speckled its mouth was red from the gnashing of teeth and gum. Its heaving neck and sides sizzled softly as the heat of the flames burned away the sweat.

“Turn around!” he demanded, kicking at the horse uselessly. The air at his back felt a great deal cooler than the heat on his face. That must be the way out. Jamie turned around and realized why he and his horse were plunging into the flames. Behind him rode a great host. They pursued him, and were they rode, the ground turned to ice beneath their horses’ feet.

And suddenly he had reigns in his hands. He wheeled his horse around by sheer brute strength. Jamie was no craven. He would not die fleeing. And as he laughed a great army rose from the flames behind him, crying out his name. “The Dragon! The Dragon!”

Without his command, the two armies clashed together. Fire met ice with a hiss, equal in strength and virulence. And Jamie laughed. Beautiful! The destruction was perfect.

But when it was still, when the last of the battle fizzled away, there was nothing left of the two armies, nothing to show for the great battle except for a vast wasteland studded with swords and spears. Jamie stood in the middle of it all, empty and alone.

A few heartbeats later, a form appeared in the distance, walking toward him. Jamie raised his sword dripping with snowmelt and flame. And she laughed.

“Kill me again, Jamie, why don’t you? You killed me the first time, didn’t you?” It was the bard from, gods it felt so long ago, the feast at King's Landing. The woman that had sung the Rains of Castamere and turned her back on the king.

Jamie dropped his sword. Memory clattered on the other abadoned swords hollowly. “It was not me, but Lionel. And he will pay for it, I swear on my life.”

She bent to pick up Jamie's sword. “We do not forget. The words of House Winsler, are they not?” She laughed and opened her mouth. And out poured a song, a song of life and a song of destruction, a song of hope and a song of despair, a song of cold, and a song of warmth a song of light and a song of night. A song of ice and fire.

Jamie closed his eyes to remember the words, words that would give him strength and courage in the days to come. But when he opened it, it was not the bard with song he saw.

Nuala stood there, and blood, not song, flowed from her mouth. “Life means nothing, Jamie. Look how easily mine was taken!”

“Nuala…” Jamie reached out for her, but she cried, “You slew me, just as you slew the bard woman!” and burst, transforming into a thousand locusts that flew at Jamie’s face…

And he woke, heart pounding, breath shuddering. For a moment he wondered at the unfamiliarity of it, and then remembered that he was sleeping in the Lord of Highgarden’s chambers. He eyed the unfamiliar door warily. Good, he hadn’t cried out in his sleep. He got out of Lord Tyrell’s bed and dressed quickly.

The victory at Highgarden had been hard earned. He had been surprised by how few men Lord Tyrell had left behind. Even so, considering that his only plan was hitting Highgarden with brute force (and with an army of only cavalry and no siege weapons at all, it was a miracle they had even won at all. It was strange that most of the army had been massed outside the keep, but it was a godsend. Most of the Tyrell’s ships were gone, and none of the actual Tyrell nobles had remained. Pity, he could have ransomed them. However, the Highgarden’s larders and armory had greatly helped to replenish Jamie’s supplies and his troops’ morals. The mountain clans had all but emptied the armory, and the horses remaining in the stables had been divided among his ragtag little army. Though he suspected that Tyrell had taken the best of his horses with him, these were actual war trained horses, not like the flighty little cart horses he had taken from the supply wagons. It was a relief. But the price had been so high. Many horses had died against the Tyrell pike men. And for ever man that had switched sides to Jamie, he had lost almost two. Including Nuala.

Jamie had to admit, her death had left him a bit shell-shocked. He had burned her on a funeral pyre, as was the way of the Northern wildlings. He had resolved that nothing good could have come from a marriage with the wildling woman, but he often thought of her fierce ways, her fierce words, and her fierce kiss.

---
He broke his fast with the others in the Highgarden hall. While they rested and took stock of their losses, Jamie and his men had taken advantage of their conquered keep. No longer did they have to camp in the wilderness and eat base meals wrested off the lands. Here was wine and meat aplenty, and the cooks and servants would serve whoever lived within the castle walls. He ate quickly, disinterestedly, and went up down to the rookery to impatiently await the reply of his family.

They had sent a raven to the Eyrie bearing a message with news of Jamie’s victory. It had also detailed their losses and hinted that they might need reinforcements from the Eyrie. He didn’t know if he was addressing Teralo or his father, but it mattered little to him.

We have won Highgarden. They were supplying the Kinslayer, but we have ended that. Our small forces have taken a battering. Though 553 Tyrell foot soldiers have pledged allegiance to me, in the storming, we lost 832 men. Have you ransomed Kervall back yet? What news of the bastard, Lionel Storm?

Marching on Highgarden with just cavalry was a mistake that Jamie would learn from. He would have to solidify his troops as an actual army now, not just a guerilla attack force. He had gained some men, but had lost much much more. Those who were not on battle trained horses after they had seized all the Tyrell horses would be demoted to infantry (and it helped that many men were now horseless anyways). They would take some of the Tyrell’s smallfolk to drive supply wagons with the marching army. But… that was when he marched.

They had sent another raven to Sunspear to seek an alliance. Their message had requested an audience at Starfall, a good halfway point between Highgarden and Sunspear. Ser Edgar himself had given Jamie that idea. Jamie had taken Highgarden, the principle seat of the Tyrells. The Dornishmen had long held a feud against the Flower Knights. Perhaps now that the Tyrells had joined up with Lionel, Jamie could convince the Dornishmen to join him in bringing down the ancient old House once and for all. And that dammed Kinslayer along with it.

Adelaide's emotional plea touched Henry's heart, but not his mind. Her tears were proof enough that she was not thinking clearly, as were her silly claims. Lionel had treated them badly enough in their childhood to make them think him an eager kinslayer? The boy was given to black moods and a sharp tongue, but that did not make him a man to kill his own flesh and blood.

"Lionel will kill no one," Henry said, his tone and expression treating the conversation as being over. "Your mother died because of a foolish, impulsive decision he made. I do not doubt he regrets that action. And you will not raise a hand to him, your being a woman and his sister not the least of the reasons."

He paused, then tried to steer her thoughts away. "As for you and Kervall, I do wish for the two of you to wed."

One less nobleman I have to find a reason for to justify the kill. One way to tie the blood of Winsler, and Lannister, to Damian forever.

"There will be another wedding here, soon enough. You will have a stepmother; the Lady Julia Cavanaugh."


~


Do I remember that ball? Jane thought. How can I not remember that?

The abridged life's story that he gave left her with more questions: Matthew had been a threat to their parents? She remembered a rumor about Lady Cavanaugh being poisoned, but she'd dismissed it as people wanting to make something a little more exciting about a normal event. And he'd married and been widowed? Had 'briefly' been a father? She kept her curiosity to herself and tried to present a calm, interested face. The interest was real enough.

Kenneth kissed her hand and she smiled. "Good night to you, too, Lord Cavanaugh."

Her own rooms were calmer. Margaret was in bed, but recovering, and Katherine, as always, needed little more than a bit of warm food and a colorful cloth to make her content. Her sleep was troubled by dreams she could not remember and it was early when she woke and dressed - earlier even than Edwina, who was up before the sunrise. The dress that Edwina had managed to get for her had belonged to a kitchen maid and the woman was close to Jane in stature. It was plain, of a dark green shade, and, most importantly, clean.

Quietly, Jane began to take stock of the household. It was in disarray, that was clear, and understaffed. The servants went about with the air of people ready to be whipped with a crop. It started out with a question here, a suggestion there ... and then she was ordering people about just as she'd done at Strake. They listened to her. Being of noble birth helped, as was the evidence that she knew what she was doing. Nor was she a harpy. Breakfast was set out (though no one told her Julia ate in her rooms) and Jane busied herself with the scant number of maids ... and the alarmingly disproportionate number of cooks.

She was just coming out of the scullery, a basket of eggs on her hip, when she saw Kenneth at the table, surrounded by ledger books and breakfast.

Kenneth had just sighed in defeat and reached for another slice of bread when he saw her. He smiled and said, "Well, maybe I was right yesterday when I thought you were a serving maid."

The words were already out before he realized they could be offensive, but Jane only smiled and shrugged. "You wouldn't be the first. When the Damians' Knight Commander rode up to my doorstep, he told me to fetch Lady Strake."

"Seems like a compliment to me to be considered human, as opposed to above. I guess," he finished, brows furrowed, not entirely sure what he was trying to say. "Let's just say I don't consider being a noble the highest of callings."

"You try to make it high," she replied.

"How do you mean?" he asked, taking a bite of bacon.

She hesitated, acted as if she would speak, then smiled. "I can't rightly explain it. It's just a feeling I have. Doing good things? No, that's not quite it..."

"Well," he huffed, "I'll never be able to do good things until I reconcile these account books."

Jane perked up. "Account books? Let me see."

She came around behind him and leaned down. Her hair was caught up in a messy coiff and a lock of it came loose, landing on his shoulder close to his neck. Kenneth's writing hand fidgeted as he saw it.

"Yes, these are messy ... what gives you the most trouble?"

"All of it, really. I'm not good at mathematics. My old Maester couldn't get me to sit still in a lesson. And, honestly, I think he understood that I wasn't up to it."

"Let me have a go at them," she said. "Perhaps I can help sort it all out."

"You're sure? You've done enough already if I'm correct in assuming all the changes from this morning, including this breakfast, are by your hand."

"It keeps me busy," she said, watching him stack them to the side of the table. "I've a lot on my mind."

"Well, as long as it helps the both of us, I don't see why not. I'm out to show the stable lads how to handle the horses."

Horses, Jane thought. Great.

"Come find me when you're done," he said and stood. "I'll be there."

She nodded and took his vacant seat at the table.

~

Jane raised her skirts to her ankles as she tiptoed through the stables. The main account book was firmly pressed between her elbow and her side. It wasn't the hay and dirt that made her uneasy, but the sights and sounds of horses. She'd never liked the creatures, not since her early childhood, and she wasn't about to spend more time near them than needed. Kenneth was talking to the stable lads and shoveling a stall when she came upon them. She hurried towards them and was almost smacked by a shovelful of manure.

"Watch out there!" he said and put the shovel down.

"I've finished the account books," she said and presented the ledger to him.

He looked surprised. "In an hour?"

Jane smiled. "I did say I'm good with numbers. But horses ... not so much."

"Why not?" he asked and walked towards the horse in the opposite stall. "They're very gentle beasts." He ran his hand down the horse's neck.

"I was thrown from one when I was six."

"What kind?"

"...a brown one?"

Kenneth laughed. "It must have been a bad-tempered beast. I know of plenty that wouldn't throw a lady, mine included. We'll have to go riding sometime, so I can show you."

Jane looked visibily uncomfortable. "Ah, that ... that wouldn't be---"

"Or would you prefer a carriage?"

"I'm afraid that wouldn't be seemly, Lord Cavanaugh," she said, her voice low. "I'm in mourning."

"Was it because of the burning?" he asked, his friendly, open tone replaced by quiet sympathy.

"A plague came through not two months ago," she answered. "It took seven of my sisters. I only lost my lady-in-waiting to House Damian, but ... she was a treasured friend. Scattered," she remembered with a smile, "but a friend."

Kenneth frowned at the sadness of her story. He'd wondered why she'd not arrived with her passel of sisters, but he'd assumed they'd either have been married off before now or killed by Damian. He was glad that he'd let her speak about this in her own time, and he wanted to do something nice for her. She couldn't go picnicking or riding, so what could he do?

It was then that he remembered her gown was borrowed and that she had no more clothes of her own except the bloodstained dress she wore in her escape. She seemed like a very practical woman, so he hoped that his suggestion would be pleasing her to when he said, "I'm very sorry about all of your losses and my insensitivity to your situation." He cleared his throat in an attempt to dislodge the lump that had started to form there, and asked her, "Do those ledgers say there's enough to hire a seamstress? I think I remember that a noble is supposed to wear all dark clothes when in mourning, and I'd like to offer two or three dresses as a gift."

Jane looked taken aback.

He didn't want her to get the wrong idea about his suggestion so he hurriedly added, "from one friend to another, that is."

"I ... there is enough. And that's very generous, my Lord. Thank you."

As if to dispell the uncomfortable feeling in the air, she thrust the ledger books toward him. "They're all finished and up to date. Your sister was very ... prolific in spending money on chocolates and gowns, but she cut so many of the staff and sold so many things that the losses were able to cover the expense."

Kenneth was relieved that there really was enough in the coffers to be able to afford for Jane to have a few gowns. Finding out there wasn't enough would have been more embarrassing than her turning him down because she wanted to. When she thrust the ledgers toward him, he held up his hands in a defensive position, startling the horse he'd been petting with the quick movement.

"Oh no, thank you, but you've done a wonderful job with them. I'd like you to handle the ledgers for me while you're here. If you don't want to then you can show me how, and I'll do my best to keep things up. In fact, I think I've shown the stable boys how to properly shovel a stall, and I'm sure you're eager to return to the castle. Would you like to meet me in my study in, say, an hour from now? I'll clean up and you can try to show me what you've done. I also need to make a list of supplies to be ordered," he said with a smile.

She said earlier that she wants to be kept busy, and there's plenty around here that I can use her help with, he thought almost guiltily. I'll have to look at the ledgers with her, but I'll see if I can find her a dress in the green color she's wearing that makes her look so nice.

[Sorry about the shortness of Isabel's post. It's so...D8
And I'll have Sirena up tomorrow? ;w; ]

[[OOC – Note about battle of Winterfell --> Lionel&co are going to lose a whole lot of men while taking Winterfell (I would possibly suggest that Winterfell be retaken by the Greyhardts after Lionel&co move on in attempt, one that will fail in the end, to take King’s Landing or something).
Also, as for House Thorneir, I would suggest that they also lose a good chunk of their men.

The battle of Winterfell is not a cakewalk. It is as difficult as trying to chew nails to a pulp without breaking a single tooth. I am going to emphasize that in like, every sentence. XD

@Belynta – Right now, Lionel is definitely not fighting up against Nathaniel.]]

This battle was turning out worse that Lionel had first expected it to. Sure, things had gone well in the beginning – what with House Thoneir’s blitz attack and them forcing their way past the gate. But that was when things had gotten much harder than he had thought it to be. Damn it all, storming a Keep should never be this bloody hard.

He whirled in a rage, sword slicing at anything that so much as dared to step near him, though he did his best to not hit anyone on his side – but perhaps that failed once or twice.

And where the bloody damn was Leliana? Just as he had through of that, an arrow whizzed past his face and he jerked backwards, his head snapping in the direction it had come from. It was not her, but another bowman, who had most definitely nearly succeeded in picking him off from the fight. Leliana was nowhere in sight – Lionel figured she must have been in a different part, out of sight due to the massive amounts of men that seemed to crop up everywhere.

Though they were inching forwards into enemy territory due to the surprise-factor of their attack, every step forwards that the combined forces of Lionel’s disjointed army – if one could call that rabble of mongrels who hated one another to varying extents – felt like shitting needles. It was a tug of war between the two opposing forces, and so far it was unclear as to who exactly was coming out the victor.

And then, just when Lionel figured that they had the Inner Walls of the Keep, along with part of the Keep Courtyards and Proper, contested – they were being pushed back. Wintefell was a fortress in every sense of the word and the fortifications and defenses were definitely more than he had bargained for. He felt a brief and very sudden surge of worry and a thought crossed his mind – what if they did not win?

Best not contemplate that, he decided to himself as he pressed onwards, fighting to survive now more than anything. He thought of Leliana then, his mind wandering to her – had that been part of why she had acted so strangely last night? It was entirely possible that an attack on her home had affected her, but he had been too preoccupied to notice or even care. He would have to speak to her about this when it was all over, because it was not as if Lionel could suddenly put down his sword and seek her out right then and there.

No, he had a Keep to besiege and a battle to win – and, the Seven be damned, he was going to bloody do it one way or another – even if it meant him losing a good third or even half of his mean. He should have paid closer attention, possibly even spent more time pouring over maps and devising a better strategy instead of more or less waltzing in. Though, perhaps this was as best a chance as any as they would ever get at taking the Keep. They would have never been able to get this far without House Thorneir joining their side and wriggling their way past the gates and inside.

For a few seconds he had no idea what he was slicing at with Night, and then he forced himself to attempt to focus again. The Mummers had dispersed into a flurry of unorganized berserking which, though effective in its own way, was providing nothing of structure to their battle tactics. Things had become entirely too disorganized and Lionel was sure that if he did win, it would be by the combined numbers of his men and those of House Thorneir, and not any sort of planned out and organized set of steps.

It had more or less dissolved into chaos, but at least the Tyrell men where the ones who were keeping themselves ordered – that much he could be thankful for at that moment in time. This was going to draw out into hours, he was sure of it, judging from the way things were progressing. For every inch they won, they lost two – and then the situation reversed and it was the other way around. And then back again.

His head was beginning to ache. Lionel gritted his teeth and slashed his blade against his opponent – a nameless man with a face that he did not care to get to know before felling him.

---

Ammon tensed when the man suddenly cuddled into him in a manner which hinted more at the need to be coddled then the desire to be flipped over into the grass and given and broken in like a prized stallion. Ammon had to admit that he was beginning to feel incredibly uncomfortable at that moment in time, but he forced himself to relax and tighten his one-armed embrace.

He sat there for a few moments and then felt something in him gave way. Ammon shifted so as to better tuck Kervall’s head into the cradle of his shoulder, leaning himself into the touch of the hand on his chest.

“I am Ammon,” the words came out as a soft rumble as he continued to gently run his fingers along the chiseled line of Kervall’s jaw – a motion that now served to focus Ammon as well as to temper the drunken man in his arms. There was no more information that he was going to offer at that point in time, as it was unnecessary for him to be laying out things about himself that need not come out anyways. The less people knew of the truth, the better it was.

“And if you do not wish to speak – may I suggest other things?” He asked, a smirk coming to his lips. Ammons’ impatience was beginning to wear his nerves thin, but somehow he forced himself to keep those feelings buried deep down. “More drink, perhaps?” He leaned his head down to nuzzle the side of Kervall’s head and let out a chuckle of a laugh, his breath quite possibly tickling against the man’s skin.

He had the distinct feeling that the man in his arms had never before explored his own gender before and that he most likely would have to play this game a little more carefully – even given the drunken factor. Ah, well, sometimes effort had to be put into things.

Cautiously, almost as if he was afraid of startling a cat rather than getting himself laid, he leaned his face down and pressed his lips just shy of the corner of Kervall’s mouth, almost as if to ease the man into more physical contact bit by bit.

((Really poor post, but I wanted to get a post in before work!))

"He's as good as dead to me," Adelaide snapped, backing further away from her father towards the door. Shaking her head, her eyes widening when he mentioned her wedding Kervall and even more so at his latest revelation. He was marrying someone else?! So soon after her mother's death. A lump formed in her throat and her stomach twisted and turned, making her feel violently sick. Taking a deep breath, she tried to steady herself against those dreadful words that had just fallen from her father's lips. How could he expect them to accept this as well? He already know how much she despised the idea of a war and now he was getting married to some woman who she had yet to lay eyes upon. No doubt she was some harlot who had latched herself to the King and comforted him in his hour of need in order to get her leg over. That thought only made her feel worse.

"Then I shall hate her as well," She hissed, turning and striding from the room. However, paused at the door, looking back towards her father. "And I shall not be marrying Kervall. He politely denied my proposal earlier this afternoon. So it looks like you're plans to wage war with the Winslers will have to be looked at." Whipping around without another word, she left the room, more tears on her cheeks. Could her heart possibly hurt anymore? It felt like someone had shredded it and left her with only the pieces. First Kervall had kissed her after saying they could never be together. And now her father was to marry once again without even waiting for the death of their mother to pass. Her chest felt ready to exploded with all the feelings that it contained. Worst of all, it was her own fault. She shouldn't have stormed off and left Kervall in the woods like she did. Indeed, it was wrong of her to do so. She couldn't imagine just how he was feeling. Worse than her undoubtedly. Guilt was now added to the emotions and she felt her heart turn heavy with it.

Without realising where she was heading, she found herself in the gardens. Halting, she took a deep breath, closing her eyes. The sun was slowly setting and the sky was a brilliant pink, but Adelaide ignored all of that. Instead, she sunk to the ground against the wall of the castle. Placing her forehead against her knees, she allowed her body to shake with sobs. Her whole frame shook as she felt the tears stream. When she looked up, she realised the flowers closest to her were the ones that she often sent to Kervall. They were dying, for their time was over. Another lump formed in her throat. If that wasn't a sign then she didn't know what was. Adelaide let out a frustrated scream, resting her head against the wall. She had no idea how close Kervall was to her, just across at the fountain where they had first talked.

Birgitte stood frozen for a moment as she watched Isabel break free of Thoric's gentle grasp and run towards the doors, the guards standing in front of it did not seem to know what to do and before they reacted Isabel had slipped out of the doors. Birgitte felt the last of the ice around her crack as she watched her daughter run headlong into the battle and numbness was the last thing she felt at that moment. A fierce rage rose up inside her so great she thought she would scream with it, her whole body felt like it would break apart with the strength of it. It was as though all of the pain and rage she had felt since the ball at King's Landing had just been released from where she had inprisoned it.
How dare they! This is my home, my pack! These mangy curs will not harm my pack!
Without a second thought to Nathanial's orders for her to remain safe inside the Keep she walked purposefully back to the exit and to the two guards standing in front of it. She reached forward and gripped one of their swords and drew it in one motion. The guards did react then as the man still armed drew his sword but looked unsure whether he should be protecting the lady of Wintefell or stopping her and the second man still looked confused and yet was beginning to grow angry. He felt a fool for allowing himself to be disarmed so easily and was also angry that she would take his weapon and leave him without one. But then he saw the expression in her eyes and his anger faded, how could he begrudge her protecting her own? Thoric however was not so easily swayed as he was a man who followed his orders and he was not about to let Birgitte put herself in danger no matter the situation.

"My lady, I cannot let you go out there." He said quietly but firmly.
"Then you will have to force me to stay as I am going out there. My daughters are out there." Birgitte did not notice that she had said daughters and not daughter. If asked she honestly could not say if she would protect or harm Leiliana. But however much she and Nathanial had claimed otherwise to the king she was still very much their daughter, their blood and could not be forgotton.
Birgitte gripped the handle firmly and glanced back at Thoric questioningly a challenge in her eyes, Thoric sighed seeing that she would not be swayed and that he woule have to hurt her in order to keep her inside. His Lord would not accept that and so Thoric moved to stand in front of her and he removed her hand from the handle and gripped it with his own calloused hand.
"Form up." He snapped to the guards standing a little further back and they hurried to obey.
"If you insist Lady then we will keep you safe."

Birgitte nodded gratefully and once more stepped out into the chaos and carnage that was everywhere she looked. Immidiately her escort formed into a protective circle backs inward determined to let nothing through their guard. Birgitte sought Isabel and found her only a few steps from the doors, she seemed to be searching for something and Birgitte realised then that she was searching for her sister. Birgitte reached Isabel and the guards moved around her daughter to enclose her in the protecive circle, Birgitte clasped Isabel's hand in her own for a brief moment and allowed her to see the anger and determination in her own eyes.
"If this is something you must do daughter, then we will do it together."

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Nathanial was so tired and as he fought he began to wonder if this battle would ever end for it showed no sign of stopping anytime soon. He knew he should be glad as it meant that his men were making it very difficult for the bastard prince and the Thorneir dogs to win but at what cost to his own men? He angrily thrust his blade into the chest of a man who charged at him seeming to care naught for his own life, he had never wanted this, none of it. All he had wanted was to keep his family safe and give them a life of peace. How had things become so twisted? How had he failed as lord and father to have his family torn asunder and his home beseiged. And who did this bastard prince think he was that he could so easily take the Wolves in their own den? Yes he had a larger force but they fought with no order simply throwing themselves in however they wished. Whereas his men fought like a pack, organised and with clear orders and goals. His heart felt heavy as he was reminded then that it was Quincel who had drummed this into them not Nathanial. Yes the men followed him and were loyal but their true commander had always been his brother and that had worked well for so long.

He watched as the man he had just killed slumped to the ground with an incoherant gurgle and Nathanial wiped his blade disgustedly on the snow, war was such a waste of life and he hated the necessity of the battle he now fought. But this was his home, his heart and he would not abandon it. Let the Thorneir dogs try and take it and he would show them that they had made a fatal error in rousing the wolves's ire. If he won this then there would be nothing left of Thorneir as he would not allow their betrayal to go unanswered, they would pay for it in blood and tears. He was not normally a vengeful man but this time he had been pushed too far, been forced to endure too much pain and shame. Another ran at him and he ducked the man's wild swing before slashing at him with Wolfclaw, the man screamed as the blade sliced across his stomach and he dropped his sword as he vainly tried to keep his insides from falling out. He fell to his knees in his own blood and gore and Nathanial taking pity on him thrust his sword into the man's chest to kill him. Whilst he wanted these men dead he was not sadistic or vindictive and he had been taught since a child that stomach wounds were the worst kind and if you did that to your enemy and left them to suffer then you were no worse than they.

Several levels below the Red Keep was a room long and wide, built of white stone and marble. At the far end of the crypt, against a wall bearing images of the Seven, was a coffin with a glass lid surrounded by wreaths of flowers and tall candles burning on sculpted holders. This was the resting place of the Lady Morgana Damian.

The silent sisters bowed and took their leave as Raban entered the chamber and walked slowly to his mother's side. Looking down upon her still features, more peaceful than they had ever been in life, as though death had wiped all the cares from her brow, he felt nothing but rage for the one who had done this to her. The Queen was dressed in a simple gown of grey that hid the ruin of her belly. Her hands were crossed tranquilly over her chest, and there was not a spot of blood to be seen - the work of the silent sisters, who had cleaned her so expertly that she looked as if she were merely asleep and treated her body with herbs and ointments so that it would not decay.

Raban had come here every day since the night of that fateful feast to keep his silent vigil, sometimes staying to watch over her for hours on end. It angered him that no one else had come to see her; they had mourned her for all of a minute, it seemed, before going about their daily business of politics and revenge, but it suited him to be in that room alone with his thoughts and memories of the Queen. Soon, perhaps, he would have to ask the King about her funeral arrangements. There would be a grand, solemn procession through the palace, the bells of the Great Sept of Baelor would ring out their condolences, the people of King's Landing would mourn and wear black, and the Queen's body would be taken away to be interred in the catacombs with the others of noble blood. The funeral would be delayed for some time by the wars ravaging the land, and that suited Raban as well, for he did not want his mother to be taken away and shut up in a cold, marble tomb in the hard, stony ground. So long as she was here in this room, he could almost believe that she was resting through these ugly events, and that when they were all over he could shake her awake, and she would open her eyes and smile and call him her sweet Rab, her little crow, and ask him if he had missed her.

Raban bowed his head as the hours passed and the candles burned lower, but no teardrops wended their watery tracks upon his cheeks. He had shed all his tears in the first two days after she had fallen, and wiped them all away like a good Damian - spare us your tears. There were no more tears to weep now. They had all been wrung out of him, along with grief and fear and sorrow, leaving him cold and empty and clean as a polished bronze mirror.

Many changes had taken place in the days since. Raban was no longer the boy he had once been, neither on the outside nor on the inside. Perhaps it was the progress of adolescence, or the ravages of grief, but his face had grown harder and sharper, the cheeks less full, the brow less smooth and more serious, creased by long thought, the chin more prominent, his face altogether less boyish and more like a young man's. His slender, youthful frame was harder, bulkier from long hours of practising with sword, horse and lance. His hands, once fair and smooth, were roughened by callouses. Yet these changes were nought compared to what had taken place on the inside. It seemed that on the day Queen Morgana had died, Raban's boyhood had died as well. No longer did he have the luxury of being the babe of the family. Now the Crown Prince of a realm torn by war, he spent his days studying hard under Maester Syrus and Septon Timon, working at swordplay with his masters of arms, observing the King in affairs of statecraft, and if he did glance wistfully out the window from time to time, it was far less often than it had once been. Where before he had laughed and played games, now he was serious and seldom smiled at all.

Yet the biggest change of all? He wanted to kill his brother. The realisation had come as a shock to him, but the passage of time could not erase the memory of his mother dying in that feast hall nor his brother's mocking laughter. He hated Lionel with a fury and violence that frightened him, the feeling making his blood boil, pounding in his heart, coursing darkly through his veins. He wanted to hunt his brother down and hurt him the way Lionel had always hurt them. He wanted to make Lionel pay for what he had done to the Queen and to their family. He wanted the satisfaction of hearing his brother beg for mercy and say that he was sorry, admitting that he was wrong for doing the terrible things he had done. And he wanted to be the one to wield the sword, to break Lionel's arrogance, to deal the killing blow that slew the monster who had haunted their lives forever.

Wearily, at last, Raban raised himself from the hard floor. He looked down at his mother's face one final time before turning and walking out of the crypt. It was time for him to return to his chambers. He was expecting a report from Oliver, the man whom he had sent to gather information on the two escaped prisoners sent by Lord Winsler.

(OOC: First post. ^^ If there is anything wrong, I will fix it! >.<)

~~

Damon looked out the window of the carriage as they grew closer to the palace. He reached out and tousled Mordred’s dark hair, a smile on his face. He was his son, his and Rhiannon’s. He was supposed to act like his older step brother, but he already had a feeling that Mordred knew exactly who his father was. Intelligent boy. He glanced to Molly, with little Morgan in her arms. He too, was his own son.

He never stopped feeling guilty about betraying his father and taking his wife away from him, but once the attraction had started, there had been no stopping it. Rhia had fallen in love with him as just as hard as he had fallen for him. There had even been a time when he had tried to end the relationship, but that had not lasted long at all; he couldn’t bear to be without her, as cliché as that sounded. Damon may have felt guilty, but he knew that if he had a second chance, he would not have changed a thing. He did not regret anything.

His eyes then landed on Rhiannon, his lips curving warmly at the sight of her, his lover, his precious, the mother of his sons. The ‘grieving’ wife of his father. They would not be able to express their affections for each other in public, as that would become a large scandal. Rhiannon was the younger sister of the late Queen Morgana, and for her to love the son of her late husband…well, her reputation would be ruined. Damon loved her too much to let such a thing happen to her.

Their whole purpose of coming to court was so that Rhia could say her farewells to her older sister. She had been unable to ride two months back, because of Morgan. But now she had recovered enough to travel this far, and here they were.

Originally his wife had planned to come along. That woman was not exactly his favorite person to be around, as she was a horrible nag, and persistent at that, too. She found faults in each of his actions, no matter how patient and polite he was with her. He and his wife did not have any children together (he did not like to lie with her often), but she was still considered his wife. He had no love for her, but he had a duty, did he not? He did not mistreat her or ignore her, and she was still called the lady of the house. Now the reason she was not in this carriage and was not complaining her head off was because she had suddenly fallen ill. Damon had a clear inkling why and how she had gotten sick, but he didn’t call Rhiannon out on it; he was rather…relieved.

He turned his attention to Mordred, a grin on his lips. “You don’t remember court, do you?” he asked him, gesturing as the gates opened for them. “I think you’ll like it, lad.”

As they pulled into the courtyard and came to a stop, he saw that there were a few people ready to help them get off and unpack. He allowed Rhia to be assisted by a rugged looking man and jumped out of the carriage, reaching in and sweeping Mordred into his arms in a playful motion and setting the boy onto his feet. He watched carefully and assisted Molly out of the carriage, glad to see that Morgan was still fast asleep, face rosy.

Damon let out a breath and took in the sight of the structure, remembering the times he had come to court. He knew that right now was a time of war and chaos, with Prince Lionel betraying his family and the Winslers warring for control. The House of Bennett was loyal to the Damians, but he was not exactly raring to go to war.

He looked up in surprise as a young woman’s voice called out Rhiannon’s name, sounding happy and elated. She was a woman of petite stature, but a pretty thing to behold (but not as beautiful as his Rhia, of course), with light hair and sharp-looking eyes. Was she a friend of Rhia’s? She certainly did look happy to see her. He smiled, deciding to leave them to their own devices. It would be good to see Rhiannon in high spirits, especially after the death of her dear older sister.

From within the dark, cloying clouds of reality, Kervall was in his own little world. The closeness and warmth he felt from within Ammon's arms was deceptively comfortable, and he felt quite happy beneath the haze of his soused mind. From its relative safety, he was able to - at least temporarily - ignore the problems that were plaguing him only minutes earlier. Grinning in contentment, the young man could hardly believe his luck at having found someone so willing to provide the comfort he had so desperately needed. And he barely even knew the man! Regardless, he was enjoying their closeness for what it was, and the moment it was filling a void he'd given up on satisfying.

"Mm, actually, some more wine does sound like a good idea. Wait, how did you know that I... had..." The thought was quite appealing, but Kurt was distracted as he saw Ammon drawing closer. The kiss surely didn't surprise him - Ammon seemed to make sure of that - but he definitely wasn't expecting it. Slowly pulling back a bit, their eyes met and Kervall once again found his attention arrested by Ammon's gaze. Those steely, unreadable eyes hid a world he'd never known, and Kurt found himself spontaneously wishing he had the chance to delve into their depths. Led by his curiousity and perhaps the booze, Kurt found himself leaning back in towards Ammon, and didn't stop himself. Moving forward until their lips were touching in the barest whisper of an exploratory kiss, Kervall began re-experiencing the emotion he'd felt when he kissed Adelaide that afternoon. Letting his guard down, the young Winsler leaned further into Ammon as the kiss lingered on.

Without warning, a loud noise rent the still evening air and startled Kervall. He jolted from Ammon, spooked, and stared at the fountain across from them. "Wh.. what was that? Did someone yell? Is someone in trouble?" Suddenly feeling chivalrous, Kurt sprang to his feet as if to fend off the terrors of the unseen, approaching night. The wine still ran through his veins, however, and he stood up too quickly, making his vision momentarily blur and his head spin. Dizzy, he stumbled forward a step before falling back down to the grass. "Oof."

Rubbing at her eyes, Adelaide slowly got to her feet. She brushed the grass from her gown, running a hand through her tangled mess of hair. A little while ago, she had heard that Rhia, her mother's sister, was coming to visit them at the castle and to pay her respects to Morgana. Now she could hear a cart in the distance and her suspicions were that it was Rhia and her family as she wasn't aware of any other guests who would be visiting the court. Sweeping her hair over one shoulder, she intended to walk through the gardens first, but the moment she rounded the corner, she almost tripped over a body led on the ground. Recognising the blonde hair almost immediately and exclaimed softly. "Kervall!" There was another man sat by the fountain, but for the moment she paid him no heed. Turning Kervall onto his front, she sat him up, making him lean against the fountain.

"You're drunk," She said almost instantly, frowning at him. If she hadn't been hurrying off to greet Rhia then she would have stayed with him to ensure he reached his chambers safely. "I have to go. You," She looked up to Ammon, giving him a hard look. "I charge you with ensuring that Kervall here reaches his chambers without harm. If anything happens to him, I will hold you personally to blame." Looking back to Kervall, her gaze softened. "When you've sobered up, come and visit me in my chambers. I have something for you." She gently kissed him on the forehead, squeezing his hand. After everything that had been said or done, there was no denying that she still felt something for him and in this vulnerable state there was no point trying to talk to him seriously. And she had never invited him to her chambers before. It was one place that she felt secure in and even Kervall had never stepped inside.

Standing, she released Kervall's hand and gave him a small smile. Without another word she left them at the fountain, curious as to who the man with Kervall had been. She'd never seen him around the castle before now and it struck her as somewhat odd that he should have been sat there with a drunken Kervall. However, she assumed there was nothing to worry about leaving the eldest Winsler in his hands, he looked as though he could half-carry him to his chambers if it came to it.

Turning another corner, she found herself confronted with a large cart, with many people gathered outside, exchanging greetings. Rhia stood amongst them, smiling. Her breath caught in her chest as she laid eyes upon the woman who looked so much like her mother that they could have easily passed for twins. Adelaide looked a lot like her mother in her looks, but nowhere near as close as Rhia did.

Stepping forwards, a smile crept onto Adelaide's face. She had always been fond of her mother's sister ever since she was a child, though they had never been overly close when she had lived in the court. When Rhia had left, it saddened Adelaide, but the woman had a life to lead and it appeared as though she now had a new member to her family, a baby that lay cradled in her arms. Her smile widened slightly as she hurried to greet them.

"Rhia...It is lovely to see you," Her voice sounded very formal, as she knew not how to address the woman with whom she had lived so long ago. But a small smile was upon her lips.

There was a man before him who looked oddly familiar, but Lionel did not stop, he merely pressed forwards, sword in hand. There was no time to be paying attention to minor details – this was a time to stay alive and not lose this Gods-forsaken battle. He was cursing at all of this in his mind, even though he was fully aware of the fact that it had been his plan to begin with.

Blade met blade with the ear-stinging screech of scraping metal. They were slowly pouring themselves back past the Inner Walls of the Keep. Lionel felt something stinging his left arm and, with a guttural roar, sliced his blade outwards. It slashed through the neck of his opponent – taking the head clean off. And then he was moving onwards, the adrenaline pounding in his veins making him not notice the arrow shaft sticking out of his left shoulder. He had been shot by one of the Winterfell bowmen and it had yet to register.

Soon it would catch up with him, but not yet – not while the clamor of battle was everywhere and his blood was throbbing hard through him. His heart hammered against his chest like a hammer and for now he knew that he was still alive.

---

It was almost as if time had crawled down to a near stand-still as she watched the deathly sharp Valyrian steel blade of Lionel’s Night swish through the air. She followed its arcing path, her mouth going dry as she watched the blade’s edge bite into her brother’s neck. Leliana imagined hearing the clean cutting noise of blade through flesh and bone above the din and clamor of battle all around them.

And then Lionel was moving on to the next foe and it struck her that he probably had not even realized that he had just taken Richard’s life. She bit back the urge to giggle at the sight.

Richard’s head toppled off his body as if it were a pumpkin and he, a scarecrow. It hit the ground and she could have sworn the noise had thudded like a thousand drums which were suddenly pounding an odd rhythm in her mind – something which almost made her want to dance. She watched his head roll and then come to a stop, his dead eyes open and staring at nothing.

She walked through the fray towards Richard’s headless body – her lips pieced together to form an ‘o’. Leliana reached down and placed her hands on either side of Richard’s disembodied head and lifted it up from the ground and pooling blood as if it were made of glass.

“I missed you,” she told him as she cradled his head in her arms, her smile spreading warmly across her lips. She looked around, trying to find a spot where she could sit down with Richard to talk and catch up on the last two and a half months. There was so much to talk about!

She found a crate off to the side of a stone wall, in a nook more or less removed from the main area of the fighting. There Leliana placed Richard’s head in her lap and looked down at him into his dual-colored eyes, unable to keep herself from reaching out to brush the hair out of his wide open, staring eyes.

A man is like a deer because they have eyes and those eyes stare right back up at you.

“Are we playing a game, Richard?” She asked him, sounding more like a confused young girl than a pirate woman she had been playing at. “You know I always hated staring contests with you – I always blink first.” She did not understand why he wasn’t talking back to her. She blinked.

She wondered where Uncle Quin was – wouldn’t he also like to see Richard? But…hadn’t Uncle Quin been stabbed? Leliana looked back down at Richard and something like worry began to nag at her. There was something wrong about this situation, something that was disturbing her very deeply…but she just could not place her finger on it.

“Richard, Richard what do I do?” She asked him, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat and was refusing to go away. “My head hurts so much. It’s so loud, Richard. I-I can’t focus.” She rubbed at her temples with one hand, her face twisting into a snarling grimace. And then her features smoothed back out and she was looking down at her brother again. And she was smiling.

---

“Yes, milady,” Ammon said, his demeanor dissolving perfectly into that of a humble servant, “I will take the utmost care of him.” He bowed to the Princess and then watched as she departed with a playful smirk. Well, his ought to be interesting – the Princess clearly cared for Kervall. This made the situation even more satisfying for Ammon, because now he knew that he was exploiting someone’s romantic interest – and that was always leagues more fun.

He turned to Kervall. “As much as I would love to have you lying on your back with your legs splayed open just so, I can’t quite have you doing so out here in the open and on the grass,” Ammon commented as he raised a single eyebrow at the less-than-graceful amblings of Kervall. Ammon crouched down and grabbed the man by the arm, tugging him upwards and then slinging that same arm over his shoulders.

“Up we go,” he said as he heaved both himself and Kervall to a standing position with a grunt of effort. “Let’s get you to your chambers, hm? That sounds like a good plan, if I may say so myself.” A good plan indeed. Ammon grinned deviously as he began to guide Kervall towards the entrance back into the Red Keep.

---the next morning---

Ammon awoke not in his own bed, but in that of Kervall, lying on his back sandwiched between the sheets and the body of the man he had slept with. “Good morning, sweetcheeks,” Ammon said as he shifted himself upwards a few inches so as to have a better view of the naked man sprawled partly across him, “I think I ought to start calling you tiger. Hmm, what say you?” Ammon wiggled his eyebrows up and down and extracted his hand from wherever it had been previously sandwiched and gave Kervall’s cheek a pinch.

After having finished last night, Ammon had rolled off the man and then pulled him over him almost like a makeshift human blanket. They had more or less remained in that same position upon morning.

“For your first time with a man, you took it incredibly well,” Ammon continued to say and gave Kervall a nod of approval. “I should get you drunk more often.” He had to admit to himself that he had rather thoroughly enjoyed the events of the previous night, what with the torrid embraces and the creaking of the bed that had filled up much of the time.

This was, in Ammon’s opinion, a conquest well-won. He would have to make a joke later to Sirena about how he pillaged himself a village. Or something that sounded equally catchy.

Try as he might to discard Adelaide's feelings, Henry could not. She was only a daughter, just a political pawn to strength ties with houses, and he knew that she understood nothing about politics and warfare below the surface. Yet he could not cast her angry, tear-streaked face out of his mind. She refused to marry Kervall. She refused to believe that Lionel was anything more than a monster. And she was going to hate Julia Cavanaugh without any pretense to fairness. Did she think he wanted to marry the woman? Gods, no! Her personality not even considered, he'd never been fond of blondes ... they made him think of the Winslers. Which she might as well have been. The prospect of being Queen had made her turn her coat on them sure enough.

I am marrying her, he thought, as if he were speaking to Adelaide, to help us in this civil war. When the Strakes die, their House will, by birth rights, pass to us. And to wed the last Cavanaugh gives us the power of that House. Winsler will be crippled more than they already are. It will be easy to crush them. And my grandchildren, and their grandchildren, will never need to live in fear of civil war and unsurpation.

Henry knew that killing Kervall Winsler would turn Adelaide's heart from him completely and he hesitated at that. He'd no wish to see that in his daughter's eyes. What to do? Change her opinion of him? Unlikely. He buried his head in his hands. Who would want to be King? Ambitious fools. It was a terrifying expectation to be a good king, much less a great one. He thought of Morgana ... thought of her pale skin and dark hair, of the way her voice wrapped itself around him with her whispered advice and praise.

I would give anything to have her one more time.

[Bwagh, I'm tired. Isabel tomorrow. >__o

[OOC - Totally forgot to include this bit in my last post! This was supposed to be closure on Oliver for Raban.]

Two guards stood in the hall, clearly weary from the day - the both of them having long since given into chatting with one another rather than paying all their attentions to their work. "D'you hear? - the Bennetts came down, prolly to pay respects to the Queen. Lady Bennett was with child and they'd not been able to travel." One of the guards said.

The other guard perked up at those words. "Lady Bennett? That's the wench who looks like Her Majesty, our late Queen?"

"Shush, Bernard, n't so loud! You'll offend someone," his friend made a soft hushing sound. "But yes, that's the one."

"Anyone who beds that wench would feel like they're bedding the Queen, eh?" Bernard let out a guffaw.

“Shut it, you sod. Also - Oliver got into much trouble. Oliver, that dumb lug,” the first guard sighed and shook his head ruefully, “got piss-ass drunk and went ambling about the castle – fell out of the highest window! They found his body covered in wine – he smashed his teeth out when his head splattered the ground.”

The other guard groaned and rubbed his forehead. “I liked that man; he was a fun sport and good at cards, but a righteous drunk…” There was suddenly so many things to gossip about. The two guards hushed up when someone passed them by in the hall.

Raban glanced up from from the book he had been studying when he heard the knock sound outside his door.

"Enter," he said loudly, marking his page before folding the book up and sliding it back onto his dresser. He had been waiting for Oliver for almost an hour, and his patience was wearing thin; it was unlike the man to keep Raban waiting. At last he had sent Pippin out with instructions to find the guard and bring him back at once, and now Pippin had finally returned, though he had brought with him Septon Timon in place of the errant guard.

"Septon Timon? There are no more lessons scheduled for the day."

The greying septon bowed his dignified head and answered, "I have tidings for you, my Prince, some ill and some sweet."

"That will have to keep. I have business to discuss with one of my guards. I thought I had made myself plain to Pippin." He shot Pippin a sharp look, making the serving boy cringe and stare hopelessly out of his wide brown eyes.

"My tidings concern the guard you seek." Septon Timon looked grave. "It seems he met with an unfortunate accident. He drank himself into a stupor and fell from the Tower of the Hand. He was killed. I'm sorry, my Prince. I know he was a loyal servant."

Raban felt his blood run cold. Met with an unfortunate accident? Oliver was no stranger to taverns and whorehouses, but Raban knew for a fact that the man never drank while on duty. Raban had impressed upon him the importance of this task. This was no accident. It was those two sent by Lord Winsler, it had to be. Why else would Oliver die right after being sent to spy on them? Or perhaps... perhaps someone else had done it. Lionel's men? Winslers? Spies? Whoever had killed him, Raban felt certain of one thing: Oliver's death was no accident.

"When did he fall?" he said aloud.

"It seems his remains were discovered shortly after midday."

Would Oliver be wandering around the Tower of the Hand, drunk into a stupor at high noon, when he had been given solemn orders to observe the new arrivals?

Raban rose to his feet. "Where is his body?"

"It was... in bad condition. I believe his remains were taken by the silent sisters, no doubt to the man's family for burial." The septon's eyes searched Raban's face. "But why do you ask such questions, my lord? Something perplexes you."

"Oliver never imbibed while he was on duty," Raban said emphatically.

"Surely not. But it is common knowledge he was wearing civilian clothes, not his uniform."

Nevertheless, he was acting in my service. And I killed him. I didn't know it, but I sent him into danger and now he's dead. I may as well have slain him myself. Raban said, "I'm going to visit the Tower of the Hand, to see what happened for myself."

"Ah," Septon Timon said, "you had best wait until I give you the other tidings. Lady Rhiannon has arrived to mourn the passing of her sister the late Queen. I was walking by the courtyard when I saw her carriage arrive along with a procession from House Bennett. The news of her arrival will reach the King soon, and he will surely want you to greet your aunt."

"I haven't the time for this!" Raban said angrily. "A man is dead, and I... I was his lord."

"A true lord knows his duty. As does a true servant."

Raban blinked, almost on the verge of tears, feeling like a stupid, powerless little boy. "At the very least, let me visit his family and give them the blood-coin," he said in a small voice that was almost pleading, not at all like the commanding voice of a crown prince.

Septon Timon's face was gentle as he drew close to Raban and laid a hand on his shoulder. "No, my lord. Bennett is a powerful house and it will not do to slight them by offending the Lady Rhiannon, however unintentionally. Now the kingdom is at war, we need the support of our bannermen more than ever. It pains me to press you, yet I must. This is the price of duty. The maester's chain, the septon's cloak, the prince's crown, these are all heavy things. Yet we must bear them, though it pains us, for the good of the realm. Now come with me, and let us welcome the Bennetts. There will time for all these other affairs later."

Raban walked slowly from the chamber, his thoughts dull and muted. The last thing he did was issue an order to Pippin. "Tidy my rooms and guard the door. See if you can at least do that properly." Stupid boy, he thought viciously, as they left.

Adelaide frowned when Rhia curtsied to her, for the woman are surely family and she hated the tradition that they should bow to a higher member of the family. Though her smile returned when Rhia called her by the familiar of Ada instead of her full name. She run a hand through her hair, looking at the bundle in Rhia's arms, though she allowed her to speak before she asked after her own welfare. She had after all lost her husband and recently been through child birth as well. It was sure to be taking it's toll on the young woman and Adelaide worried for her. Although she looked bright enough, she didn't doubt there was pain underneath that mask of happiness, just like there was pain under her own mask. She knew she was putting on a show for her brother and father, though she would never let on to anyone other than Kervall that she was.

"They are doing well," Adelaide lied smoothly, with a half smile. Of course she would never admit that she believed her father to have lost his mind. It would be treason to utter such words, even to those that she trusted. And so she would keep her opinions to herself when it concerned the King and his affairs. She would also not mention to marriage to her. It was too soon after Morgana's death to spring something like that on them. But Ada didn't doubt that it would soon be old news and everyone would have heard about it. Her only hope was that it didn't upset Rhia or Raban as much as it upset her. "Of course it is a blow to us all, but it would appear that their war is more...I don't want to say important, but it does feel that way sometimes." A sigh left her pink lips as she shook her head sadly.

A glance towards the children replaced Adelaide's smile to her lips. Children usually got on well with the young Princess and the meeting of her newest cousin was exciting for her in those dark times. "Do not be silly Rhia. We did not expect you at all. You have been through an awful time yourself." She placed a hand on her arm, trying to comfort the older woman. "It saddened me to hear the news of course and my thoughts have constantly been with you and the children. How are you all?" Even Rhia's step-daughter was considered part of the family by Adelaide and she would have it no other way.

When Rhia offered Morgan to her, there was no hesitation for the young girl to take her cousin. Looking down into his eyes, her smile was at it widest yet. "He is beautiful," She whispered, shifting him into one of her arms so he could hold her finger with his tiny hands. She looked so natural with the child in her arms, as though she had done it hundreds of times before. When he squeezed her finger, she couldn't help but laugh gently down at him. "And such a wonderful name. She would have been so happy with it and so proud of you Rhia." Looking up at her, she stole a genuinely beautiful smile for just a moment, her eyes shining brightly. "We miss her dearly. As I am sure you do."

Biting her bottom lip, her eyes found the child again, who was smiling at her. "So very beautiful. I am sure you wish to visit the crypt now?" She asked, without looking up. Adelaide, herself, hadn't visited it since the day Morgana had been laid to rest there. She knew Raban visited almost every day, but she couldn't face it. Perhaps with Rhia by her side she could force herself to go down there.

"I would like to come with you. I haven't been since..." She trailed off, clearing her throat. "I can have Mary watch the children if you wish. She is extremely good with children and would much enjoy some company. Of course, I'll show you to your chambers as well and then we can go straight down..." Again her voice faltered, showing weakness in her mask, but she smiled quickly.

"Come, let's get you all inside. There is a chill in the air this evening..." She cradled Morgan, before stretching her arms out to hand him back to Rhia.