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Orys Baratheon

"Ours is the Fury"

0 · 1,711 views · located in Our World

a character in “Crowns, Empires & Swords”, as played by Bromander Shepard

Description

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Name: Orys Baratheon

Age: 24
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Appearance & Build: Orys of the House Baratheon, black of Hair, blue of eye. A strong young man even as a child Orys has always been powerfully built. A burly child who grew into a muscular man. As is many of his House Orys is a tall man, broad of shoulder with bright eyes. He has shoulder length black hair with a beard growing in. There are many who call Orys the Shadow of Axel for it is often said he resembles the infamous Axel the Conqueror who, like Orys, is described as large, muscular and ferocious. Orys Baratheon is often remarked as to take more after his uncle King Robert of the House Baratheon in his youth more so than his father Stannis of the House Baratheon in appearance if not temperament. Unlike his uncle Renly or even his favored uncle King Robert to some degree, Orys' choice of attire favors more on the practical side much like his father Stannis who is not a man for pomp and pageantry. When riding or hunting for example Orys often chooses simple, yet choice, leathers instead of the field doublets most nobility wear. In combat Orys truly earns his reputation as the Shadow of Axel and some say he is Robert come again for when he takes the field in his magnificent heavy steel plate and antlered helm wielding his massive two handed battle axe or viscous maul he reminds the people so of their beloved King in his youth when he fought during the War of the Usurper in which treasonous lords led by Lord Argilac Krios, the vile serpent lord, thought to steal away Roberts kingdom.






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Personality: Stannis is the ice, Robert is the fire. An old saying spoken by the boys wet nurse when the Future King of the South Pacific and his future Lord brother were still babes. If this is so then Orys would be a song of ice and fire . He has the temper that all Baratheons have but like his famed uncle King Robert he can be driven by it, his fury is a double sided axe that cuts both ways and cuts deep. Prone to flights of fancy and driven by his emotions Orys is not a man who shies away from his feelings or desires. He loves hard, he hates hard but it is in the ice, in the temperament gained from his calm as still water father that Orys finds his gift for true leadership. A skilled battlefield commander is a blessed thing as any can tell you. Both King Robert and Lord Stannis are gifted and proven generals in the field but it is off the field where Stannis and consequently Orys excel. Orys has his fathers patience and long memory, not to mention his unwavering sense of justice and duty. Orys' lady mother said he was blessed by both great men of the House Baratheon. His uncle's passion, strength and kindness, and his fathers indomitable will, intelligence and patience. Orys has also proven himself, much like his uncle Renly, to be quite affable when the mood is calm and the wine is flowing. Friendly, flirtatious, more than a tad boastful, funny and warm Orys can and is a man who enjoys good food and good drink with all. One aspect of Orys Baratheon's personality that is not a widely known fact is his great love of all things Andalusian. As a boy growing up in Storm's End little Orys was constantly reminded of his duty to the Storm Land's, of his responsibilities to the Lordship he would one day receive. Orys was a child of little joy for his was to be a life of service to others before himself and while he accepted his charge readily his heart lied elsewhere. As with many young men Orys craved adventure and wonder. After reading a book entitled "The Great Wonder that is The Jewel of the South." Orys was in love. He was enamored with the Andulasian culture and people, their beliefs and teachings, the fantastical accounts of the rare and amazing creatures and magic that lived there and above all else, the beauty. Said to be a land of such beauty men weeped openly at the sight of it Orys yearned to visit the land that captivated his heart so but alas his was to be a life of duty and his duty was in the South Pacific. His only release was his books that he read often of the world he would never see.

Where they live: South Pacific Kingdom in the Baratheon's ancestral seat of Storms End but at our tale's start he is on the Kingsroad with one hundred of their Houses retainers, lesser Knights and squires to attend the Kings mysterious Tourney in Kingslanding to which they were personally invited by way of Raven.

What/ who they are: Orys is the son of the Kings brother Stannis of the House Baratheon. He is currently the only son of the House Baratheon as the King's wife is thought to be barren, some even whisper cursed, and his other uncle Renly has yet to marry of father any children. Orys is also seen and spoken of as a sort of hero who single handedly stopped the invading Dothraki horde one year past by slaying their Horse Lord in single combat before his massive Khalasar.





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History:"Ours is the Fury, these are the words of the Black Stag of Baratheon, a battle cry echoed throughout the land when my glorious nephew Orys Baratheon son of my brother Lord Stannis Baratheon marched against the savage Dothraki hordes. Those monstrous horse men have long been an annoyance to the realm and a threat to the small folk who live in the fringes of our lands yet never before since the days of my ancestor Axel Baratheon had the Dothraki marched in such great numbers. Led by a beast of a man known as Khal Jinn the horse men had grown bold and without fear of reprisals from the true lords of the South Pacific. My nephew showed them why the horse men of old knew to fear the Black Stag of Baratheon. When the Horde began looting, pillaging and burning our fields far to the west, stealing our live stock and enslaving our women and children it was time to act but for the first time in a generation it was not I nor my brother Stannis who marched off to defend our land but the future of our line, my nephew Orys who rallied the men. He marched and met the Dothraki invaders in open ground, a fools choice as said by some, a bold move said by others. His knights armed, armored and trained leagues better than the savages had little trouble cutting through rider after rider but they were out numbered ten to one. It was not until Orys spotted the Dothraki Horse Lord amidst the fray and issued an open challenge to him that the tides changed. 'Fight me!' He bellowed. 'Fight me and match horse to stag!' He called. Haha, that's my lad! So the fool Jinn met my nephew in single combat while the battle muted around them. They came at each other again and again, bringing axe against those queer looking curved swords the Dothraki carried. It is said the brutish Horse Lord was so large he wielded two at one time yet the bastard could have swung six it would have made little difference. They went from horse back to slogging through the mud and it was there that Orys planted his axe firmly in Khal Jinn's chest. Their famed Horse Lord, the Stallion that mounts the world, mounted nothing but a shallow grave that day. Demoralized and broken the Dothraki horde lost any sort of ability to fight together with their leader stiff as stone. Orys led the Baratheon host to crush what remained of the savage horde and secured our realms peace and security. It was that victory that earned my nephew the love of the small folk and nobility alike. It was then when all the realm looked to Orys and knew that he was the future, my boy..."

~~ These are the words of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the South Pacific Kingdom and Protector of the Realm.
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Skills: Orys is a trained knight, from the second he was old enough to grasp the pommel of a sword or the shaft of an axe he was swinging it. A master at nearly all forms of weaponry including sword, sword and shield, lance, spear, axe, mace, war hammer, bow and arrow. Yet it is with the large, two handed weapons in which Orys excels, favoring a large battle axe to wade into the fray with, Orys is a titan on the field. Donning heavy, masterfully crafted steel armor with a battle axe in hand he a veritable force of nature in combat. His battle cries echo across the field rallying his men to further victories. He fights with a savagery and tenacity that can be down right fearsome to behold using his great strength and size to his advantage by overpowering his foes with viscous strikes that fell most an opponent in one or two swings. Orys is also a gifted battlefield commander as well as strategist. Learning the arts of war nearly all his life by his father and uncle, the king, Orys is bred for war and bred to lead. When he is not leading men into battle he can often be found hunting where he rather enjoys the peace and tranquility nature provides and the thrill of the hunt.

Other:
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So begins...

Orys Baratheon's Story

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King's Landing, seat of power for the King of the South Atlantic Kingdom and the House of Baratheon for centuries. Ever since Axel the Conquerer landed there and swept across the land uniting all under the Stag Banner, King's Landing has been home of the King and the most prominent city in all of the realm. Approaching the city on the King's Road from the north was a long party led by their Lord, his son, a dozen knights, twice as many men at arms, their retainers and squires. Flapping in the cool morning breeze was the proud Black Stag of Baratheon held by the standard bearers at the head and rear of the column. The first to set eyes upon the capitol city was the man who commanded the entire party, the Lord of Storm's End and the Storm Lands, Warden of the North and brother to the King, Stannis Baratheon.

Standing upon the final hill of the King's Road that would descend to King's Landing Stannis was garbed in chainmail and plate adorned with the etched sigil of the House Baratheon on his chest. Fastened around his shoulders was a black cloak adorned with steel studs and clasps. Stone faced as ever Stannis scowled as he bore witness to the great city of kings looming before him. He set his jaw in iron determination, still with the kingly summons sent to him commanding he arrive at King's Landing with his son Ser Orys Baratheon within a fort night at the King's pleasure to attend a tourney unlike the realm has seen before. Stannis was not one for tourneys or pomp. He never saw the point of playing at war. Stannis had been known to say that the only time he'd ever point a lance was to drive it through another man's heart. Beyond that Stannis never liked King's Landing as a whole. Full of liars and schemers, traitors and back stabbers, the very prospect of entering into that murky world of theirs set Stannis' teeth on edge.

His only son and heir however looked upon the infamous city with considerably more favor. While his father was dressed in darker, drab colors Orys wore fine, albeit, rough leather mixed with chain mail over a thick padded jerkin and atop it all he wore a masterfully crafted steel chest plate. Upon the chest was emblazoned the infamous horns of the stag that ran up his chest and up towards his shoulder pauldrons which too shined from dutiful polishing by skilled hands. Draping down his broad shoulders and back was a long, thick black bear pelt over a finely woven wool cloak died the yellow of Baratheon with a black stag prancing proudly in intricate detail. While his father only entered the city's high walls under direct command of the king or in times of war Orys had come to and from many times. Visiting his beloved uncle to go on hunts, compete in a joust for which he was an accomplished and acclaimed tourney knight or merely enjoy the company of his father's royal brother. King Robert bore great love for Orys and thussly always rejoiced at his arrival. Having no children of his own Robert put all of his fatherly love into his nephew. There were some that said Robert showed more pride in and more affection toward Orys than his own Lord father did but Orys paid no heed to such talk. The fact was Stannis was not a man to flaunt his emotions so a cold look to some could speak volumes to those who knew the rigid man well and Orys knew him better than any.

Beside Orys was his father's sworn shield, Ser Davos Seaworth, formerly Davos of Flea Bottom. Orys turned to look upon the one time smuggler and could see the pride in his eyes. This was the first time he'd been back to the city the bore him since he'd been knighted all those years ago. It was a joyous homecoming indeed when considering the prospect that the man left a lowly criminal and return's a knight. Davos' eldest son Mathos had even been made squire to Orys' Lord father for the salvation Davos provided at the Siege of Storm's End when Orys was just a child. Orys was too small to remember the hunger during the siege, the fear and constant threat that loomed from the rebel forces. Nor did he remember the tiny black sail boat with the onions Davos snuck through the blockade. What he did remember is the man that had always been there since Orys was small, the man who was never far from his father and always willing to lend aid and honest council.

Turning back to the city before him Orys moved his destrier up to trot to his father's side as the Lord of Storm's End stared at the city that was home to his own brother with a resigned scowl.

"Careful father, I hear your face can get stuck like that."

Orys joked casually as he toyed with the reins in his gloved hands.

"Your jokes are not appreciated."

Came his father's stoic reply. Most men would have stopped right there for fear of further angering the Lord of Storm's End but Orys knew his father well enough to know the difference between frustration and anger, even in a sour sort like Stannis.

"You say that like you appreciate any of my jokes."

Orys shot back smartly. Stannis turned to look at his son with an incredulous stare.

"I laughed at your jokes before."

Yet it was Orys who laughed, booming and loudly.

"When have you laughed?"

"I have."

His father replied defensively. Orys just shook his head causing his father to further attempt to defend his sense of humor that was near to non existent.

"There's that one you told me about the queen... You know the one. The queen and the boar."

Orys chuckled in memory of the bawdy tale he'd regaled his father with over supper that he'd heard from a pikesman one night.

"Ah that one."

Orys said still quietly chuckling at the joke as his father took a long sigh of resignation while he turned back to look at the city in the distance.

"I tell you Orys, Ned Stark had the right of it. Leaving the way he did, I would have done the same were I Hand."

Orys shook his head as he spurred his horse forward and got the column moving again with his father right beside him.

"No you wouldn't have... You would have had the Queen's head first."

And Stannis laughed.

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Esme
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The dust was beginning to settle. And Esme pinched her nose to stop from sneezing and making a sound. Yet the sound of hoofs beating the ground still echoed and she wasn't sure if it was her ears ringing or whether the horses were still galloping. In all her travels she couldn't remember a time where she had seen so many horses or men together. An army surely.

Banners and sigils fluttered in the breeze. Bright and eye catching. Esme watched, hidden below the rise of the hill. Trying to hold onto the squirming bundle in her hand. KiKi wanted to greet the strangers but Esme was not sure if she would recieve a warm greeting in return. It wouldn't be the first time, the Ferret was called a rodent and soon found herself dodging daggers and swords. It didn't help the creature had a pension for taking things and hiding them.

"KiKi! Stop!" She tried to shush the creature. "You're going to get us caught! I swear, if you get away, I won't come and save you!" She lied to the animal, looking back up at the endless row of fine equine.

They all appeared to be heading to King's Landing, as was Esme. She had run into a Kumpania who had mentioned a Kumpania very close to the description of her own in King's Landing. She had never before in almost ten years heard anything about her clan since she had been separated from there. The Gypsy tried not to raise her hopes. They were travelers and most likely gone. But maybe she'd be able to get more information about where they were heading. Esme could only hope.

She frowned up at the army. They were halting her progress to the city and thus to reaching her Kumpania. The Gypsy girl was not naive enough to reveal herself to army. She had come across Gadjo many a time. They did not hold the same respect of women that Gypsy men did; for all that the Gypsy's were called animals. They were much more civilized than Gadjo's.

KiKi continued to squirm and Esme was finding it harder to hold onto her. She only wished they would move on soon, so she could be on her way to the city too.

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The column made short work of what remained of the King's Road. They trotted along at a brisk, yet casual pace. As they went along they found it full of new arrivals to the city, no doubt due to the King's mysterious tourney to which none knew the cause nor reason for such extravagance. Mummers from as far as the Mediterranean and Philippines, jugglers and acrobats from Pentos, ravishingly seductively courtesans from Lysene could be found traveling to King's landing on the same road as the party from Storm's End. Skilled duelists from Braavos sauntered along, and beautiful dancers from Anansai in their flowing silks made their way to the city of Kings. Masterful craftsmen from Myr hauling their foreign wonders and exceedingly wealthy nobles from Volantis in their garrish silks traveled side by side which was a wonder in an of itself.

Many had heeded the call of the King of the South Pacific either for gold or glory or duty, they came from far and wide yet also they came from nearby. As Orys rode beside his father he saw the golden lion of Lannister emblazoned on the banners of knights riding into the city, shoving pilgrims out of the way as they made their approach. The grey direwolf of House Stark was a welcomed sight as it's knights rode into the city as well, obviously suffering in the heat in comparison to their frozen south. Orys had found it quite cool this morning. The wondrous and beautiful knights of the rose rode in as well from High Garden. Orys recognized many faces from the tourney fields he'd previously competed in or from battles he was a participant of. There were even a few familiar faces he had marched with in the North Pacific on the other side of the world.

As the column made it's approach they passed a group of fresh arrivals and in the crowd Orys caught sight of a beautiful woman dressed in silks with deep black hair and a foreign allure.

"Eyes front son, that ones a gypsy. Thieves the lot of them."

Stannis grunted harshly. Orys gave his father a perturbed glance but after casting one last look at the foreign beauty he did as his Lord father bid and set his sights ahead of him. Passing through Old Gate the Baratheon party traversed Chataya's way and crossed Rickard's Row. They rode down the Street of Steel with it's endless smithies and crossed Cobbler's Square. After rounding the Great Sept of Baelor they arrived at the Red Keep and seat of the King. It was here Lord Stannis and Ser Orys along with Ser Davos and his son Mathos dismounted to be received by the King.

Their mounts were quickly collected and led to the stables to be brushed and fed while the Lord of Storm's End and his heir marched up the stairs and crossed through the long marble halls to reach the throne room. If the King's Road was congested and the city was busy the keep was a veritable bee hive of commotion. Servants raced here and there with casks of fine wines and ales, food for the feasts on the morrow with everything from boar and venison to every sort of foul one could imagine. Great barrels of glacial ice for the cooling of drinks and sweets were carted about as squires carried arm loads of arms and armor for their respective lords.

Yet as they neared the throne room Orys smirked while Stannis grimaced. They could hear him, hear him already. His booming voice, the impatient roaring of the Kings voice could resound off the walls and travel for what seemed like miles. It wasn't until they were nearly outside the main doors to the throne room could they make out what was being said.

"...Seven Hells! Where is he?! He should be here by now!"

Stannis gave his son a knowing look and gestured for the door.

"He's waiting for you."

Orys gave his father a nod and a smile before putting a hand on the door and pushing the heavy wood braced with iron. Lord Stannis fell in line beside him quickly as Ser Davos and Mathos fell back several paces and proceeded after their lords. The Throne room of the King was a grand room indeed. Towering pillars of the finest marble, etched with prancing stags supported the room and granted it depth while exquisitely intricate tapestries depicting great battles or scenes of grand hunts gave it texture. Stained glass forged around a Seven Pointed Star in honor of the Faith of the Seven, the chosen faith of the monarchy, gave the room an almost magical lighting as the sun streamed through. Yet whenever anyone entered the throne room all eyes always fell upon the Iron Throne. That massive, metal marvel forged from the swords of all the conquered kings that had bent the knee to Axel the Conqueror centuries ago and now served as the seat for the ruler of the South Pacific. Equal parts terrifying as it was beautiful, it was a wonder to behold. Every time Orys laid eyes upon it he could not help but wonder about all the great kings that shared his blood who have sat upon it all the way from Axel on down to uncle Robert. Forged to be uncomfortable and even dangerous as Axel Baratheon felt no king should sit easy, it was the perfect seat for a king.

"There he is! Orys my boy!"

Came the booming, welcoming voice of his uncle King Robert of the house Baratheon first of his name, as he rose to his feet at the arrival of his nephew. The king with his golden crown of forged antlers was not a small man in the least. Gone was the chiseled and muscled frame of his youth as it was now covered in a thick layer of fat from years of drinking and feasting. Robert's beard had gone rather unruly as of late and streaks of grey dotted his black hair and beard showing signs of his encroaching age. Yet the fire in his bright blue eyes burned as ever, especially at the sight of his nephew.

"God's you've grown since last I've seen you! Shadow of Axel indeed!"

He boasted proudly. By now Orys and Stannis had reached the landing before the steps leading up to the throne and both bent the knee to their king in respect as they spoke in unison, the father and son.

"Your Grace."

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"On your feet. I'll not have my nephew and my brother bow and scrape like the rest of them."

The King grunted as he descended the steps quickly. Robert had never been one for the formalities of court, especially when family was concerned yet all knew it was better to have the king tell you to rise then assume you need not kneel. Orys smiled and cast a quick glance at his father as he got to his feet.

"Let me have a look at you boy."

Robert said with a happy, prideful smile as he put his hands on his nephews broad shoulders. Orys stood a few inches taller than his uncle who was himself a tall man. Broad of shoulder Orys was built powerfully, strong arms and a strong back he was titan of a young man. Orys had once boasted he could lift a fully armored knight in heavy plate. No one believed him until he lifted one of his fathers banner men over his head and tossed him in a pond. Robert laughed so hard that day he'd nearly pissed himself.

"You look good Orys, damn good. Reminds me of me at your age. Any children yet?"

"None yet, uncle."

Orys replied casually. Robert nodded with a grunt.

"Ah it's too early for you anyway. Just hope you have better luck than I when you're ready, aye? What with my shrew of a wife."

Robert chuckled at his own joke before turning to look at his brother Stannis who hadn't spoken a word since rising to his feet. The King stepped in front of the Lord of Storm's End and stared into his eyes with a challenging look. Lord Stannis returned his brother's stare with a unafraid stare of his own, all pride and strength. The two brothers of Baratheon glared at one another before finally the King broke the silence.

"You've gotten old since last I saw you and your hairs thinning."

"Least I still fit in my armor."

The air in the throne room chilled to a deathly cold as some of the kings retainers and courtiers turned to stare at Lord Stannis in awe. No one dared speak to the king in such a manner and expect to survive unscathed. Orys on the otherhand just smirked before Robert broke out into booming laughter and embraced his brother who managed a smile of his own.

"God's Stannis I've missed you here at court. All the arse lickers and money grubbers, why do you think I've gained all this damned weight?"

"Why do you think I stay in the North?"

Stannis replied back smartly to which his brother laughed a second time. Turning back to his nephew the King threw a playful, yet forceful punch to the young knights shoulder.

"So, you ready for the joust tomorrow lad? I've told all those damned high lords how my nephew was gunna toss everyone flat on their arse."

Orys shrugged and slid his thumbs in his sword belt.

"Well I didn't come here to lose."

The King erupted in roaring laughter as he clasped his nephew on the shoulder proudly.

"That's my boy! You sure this ones yours Stannis?"

"Reasonably, Your Grace."

Stannis replied with a subtle yet equally proud smirk.

It was then that the King's squire and the Queen's cousin approached the three Baratheon men like a kitten among wolves.

"Y-Your Grace."

He stammered out. Orys turned to look at the young squire from the Westerlands. Lancel Lannister was thin as a twig with powdery smooth skin and long, golden hair that seemed to shine so brilliantly and flow so elegantly the boy must have brushed it everyday. No older than fourteen or fifteen he was dressed in soft velvet and rich satin's all the deep crimson of the House Lannister. Orys' uncle grimaced at the very sight of the boy who served only to frustrate the king.

"What is it, boy?"

He snarled dangerously. Lancel swallowed hard before answering.

"The Q-Queen is here, Your Grace."

Robert stared at him like he had three heads.

"She lives here you fool. Where else would she be?"

"N-No Y-Your G-Grace, n-not t-that Q-Q"

"Out with it boy!"

The King Roared in frustration as his patience snapped. Lancel jumped and looked near to tears. Orys would have laughed it wasn't so sad.

"Queen Amelia Stormborn."

Came the young squires terrified answer. Orys cast a quick glance from his uncle to his father then back again. He hadn't seen the Queen of the North Pacific since he sailed across three oceans with his Uncle, his Father and the entire might of the South Pacific to help her win back her kingdom. Those were some of the finest battles he'd ever been in. He remembered when his uncle had called the banners. Tales of this mysterious exiled beauty, a princess with moon colored hair who had captivated the nation with her tale of sorrow and loss, of strength and destiny. Orys felt he never fought better than when he had on her shores.

The King looked ready to strike the boy.

"Then what are you doing here?... See her in!"

Lancel nearly tripped over himself he sprinted out of the room so fast. Robert's mood brightened the second he was gone.

"God's be good, my two favorite people in the whole damned world come to see me on the same day."

He said cheerfully as he turned to ascend the steps to once again sit on the iron throne.

Orys casually glanced at his father as he stepped forward.

"Does my father not make the list uncle?"

"Seven Hells, he's my brother. I have to love him."

The three men shared a laugh before Robert ushered them up to stand on either side of his throne to greet the Queen of the North Pacific along with him. Lord Stannis took up position on the right of the throne while Ser Orys stood on the left, waiting anxiously to see the beautiful young queen once again.

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Awaiting the King's word Amelia waited outside the castle with her men. She knew it wouldn't be long before the young squire returned with word from King Robert summoning her presence before him. Kneeling down beside the large white dire wolf she ran her dainty hands through Ghost's thick all white pelt showing the wolf affection. The young wolf stood at exactly five feet on all fours making him only three inches shorter than Amelia herself and was still growing. Ghost had been by her side since he was a pup and hadn't abandoned it yet. Ghost being as extremely protective of Amelia as he was had his keen eye on all who passed them by. Canny enough to recognise friend from foe Amelia trusted the wolf with her life and had taken to going off of its judgement when it came to people.

As the stablehands arrived to take the horses to the stables Amelia sensed the hesitation of her khalasar. Horses in Dothraki culture were everything. It was their deity, a means of transportation, a source of food, power and wealthy. Most Dothraki wouldn't even cross an ocean because they distrusted the "poison water" that horses wouldn't drink. Amelia knew her men and knew that they would not allow their horses to taken from them so she asked if her men could untack and care for their own horses. Of course not going to argue with the Silver Queen the stablehands agreed and the special carrier crates that held the dragons were unloaded the Dothraki and their horses were led away to the stables. To make sure her men behaved themselves she sent Doreah and Ser Barristan Selmy to watch them and keep them in check for her.

Only a few minutes had passed after that that the young squire returned looking like he'd just finished running uphill. He looked to only be a few years younger than the Queen herself and was noticeably winded. He took a few moments to regain his composure before straightening up. When he was ready he straighten up and spoke to the Queen of the North while avoiding eye contact.

"Y-Your Grace, K-King Rob-bert ..."

Amelia stopped him short placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. As he spoke he had avoided making eye contact with the Queen of the North and his stuttering was pitiful.

"Take a moment. Relax and breathe."

The squire did as instructed by the Queen. Closing his eyes he took several long and deepening breathes. Amelia could feel his body ease under her touch and had a soft smile upon her face when he reopened his eyes.

Removing her hand she spoke encouragingly, "Now start again."

"Y-Your Grace, King Robert request yo-ur presents."

Although it wasn't prefect he had done a lot better than he had the first time so Amelia just nods as the squire leads the way into the castle. Jorah, Ghost and the Unsullied with men carrying the dragons carriers follow their Queen as she heads into the castle. Ascending up the stairs the walk across the long marble halls until they reach the throne room. The squire pushed open the heavy double doors and Amelia walked through and couldn't help but smile seeing the familiar faces of the Baratheon men in front of her.

The Silver Queen wore a beautiful red and blue gown that hugged her figure perfectly. Her hair cascaded down to the small of her back and soft waves. Curtsying in respect to the King and his relatives she rose slowly.

"Your Grace. It is an honor to be in your presence."

Looking at the father and son duo who stood on either side of the royal King she smiled, "Milords, it is a pleasure to see you both again. It's been awhile."

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn Character Portrait: Captian Robyn Sheva of the Harbinger
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"Honor is it? I'm a fat old, man Amelia. And my brother here is an ugly, stone faced gargoyle. Why if it wasn't for my nephew what with that chiseled jaw of his and all them muscles to improve the scenery for you I'd fear we'd insult you."

Robert said, his deep voice rolling through the hall and echoing off the high walls. Orys couldn't help but allow a smile to touch his lips as his father shook his head with a sigh. Robert only chuckled the deep hearty chuckle of his as he got to his feet and descended the throne. Ever since Amelia's visit she'd always held a special place in the kings heart. She saved him once though she probably didn't know it. Her arrival was fortuitous for the King as much as it was for her.

Eddard Stark was Warden of the South and Robert's closest boyhood friend. At the time he was Robert's Hand but years of infighting with the queen had left him tired and frustrated. He felt, and not unjustly, that the Queen was corrupting the small council as well as several other royal offices with her influence either through bribery or intimidation. The honorable Eddard Stark tried as he might to fight back the tide of royal misconduct but to no avail. While noble and good intentioned Ned Stark could not play the game. Too honor bound to lie, to noble to cheat, Cersei danced around him for this was her game not his. When Stark could take more more he resigned his post and returned to Winterfell leaving Robert without a hand and without a friend.

Robert turned to drink to cope. Strong ales and wines coupled with a different whore or two every night he was fast descending down a self destructive road that many feared ended darkly. That was until the silver queen arrived with her noble cause and her war to wage. She reminded Robert of the blood they shared through their ancient ancestors of Aegon and his half brother Durren before telling him of her plight. Robert jumped at the opportunity to aid her. His country became enamored with this beautiful, young exiled queen and her tale of woe and of courage. Robert's banners flocked to him from all over the realm, including Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Robert had everything he'd ever wanted. He had a war to fight, a noble cause to fight it for, his best friend back at his side, his brothers along with him, his beloved nephew, no wife to hound him and a beautiful woman to marshal his war horns to.

"Come here."

He said as a father or brother or even uncle would say to daughter or sister or niece. He embraced her warmly with his big, burly arms. The tiny woman nearly vanished within the grasp of the large, rotund king. He stepped back with a smile before turning to the ever present Ser Jorah Mormont.

"Mormont, you old bear, you're not dead yet?"

He asked in greeting with a friendly smile as he shook the knights hand heartily. Turning back to Amelia he took a moment to drink in her beauty.

"God's be good girl, you'd make The Maiden herself jealous such a beauty you are. You must have those high born lads in the North Pacific clawing their eyes out for you."

Ever the prideful uncle Robert flashed a mischievous smirk before turning to look up at his nephew who was still standing to the left of the iron throne.

"Isn't she a beauty Orys?"

Orys smiled knowingly and nodded. He was no fool. His uncle would no doubt die of happiness should he and the queen wed. Like all young men however the prospect of being pressured into marriage abhorred him, no matter how beautiful his prospective bride was.

"As lovely as ever, Your Grace"

Came Orys' reply, his voice so alike Roberts' as it rolled out and filled the hall.

While King's greeted Queens in the throne room a former smuggler paid a visit to a former pirate. Ser Davos Seaworth took a seat on the floor before the iron bars to Robyn Sheva's cell. She looked almost like a caged animal, crazed and hungry. His heart broke for her but he could do no better for her. This was the greatest salvation he had been able to win for her. He had spoken to Lord Stannis upon his return from the trap he'd sprung on the pirates' ship a few years ago. He had been ordered to deal with whatever pirate vessel had been attacking merchants ships heading to or from King's Landing. To his dismay after the setting and springing a rather ingenious trap for the sea raiders he discovered the captain of the vessel had been an old and dear friend of his from his days in Flea Bottom. To spare her life he'd appealed to Stannis and convinced him that alive the infamous Crimson Lady would serve as a better warning to other pirates than a corpse that would rot away and be forgotten. Yet looking at her now Davos was unsure of whether or not he'd done her a kindness at all.

"How you keeping, Lass?"

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn
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"Honor is it? I'm a fat old, man Amelia. And my brother here is an ugly, stone faced gargoyle. Why if it wasn't for my nephew what with that chiseled jaw of his and all them muscles to improve the scenery for you I'd fear we'd insult you."

Amelia suppressed the laughter that threatened to escape her body as she covered her mouth with her dainty hand. As Robert chuckled that deep hearty chuckle that he was well known for Amelia gave into her own laughter. Robert's laugh was probably the most contagious thing she had ever come into contact with and it made her happy to hear the King in such high spirits. Regaining her composure her hand fell to her side and she smiled, "The presence of Baratheon men could never be seen as an insult. At least not to me."

During the Last War Amelia had spent much time getting to know all of the Baratheon men and by the end of the war she had developed a bond with each of them. A bittersweet feeling had swam over Amelia once the victory had been won. While she couldn't have been more happy to have finally reclaimed her kingdom watching the people who had become like family to her sail away filled her with sadness. She had never known her parents or eldest brother and her life with Viserys had been a nightmare. The Baratheon line was the only connection to relatives she had and she considered them to be as much blood of her blood as she did the Dothraki.

Rising to his feet Robert descend his throne and walked to her, "Come here." More than happy to oblige with the order Amelia wrapped her arms around the King's midsection as they embraced each other. Robert's arms that were at least double the size of her own pulled her close and engulfed by his frame. Stepping apart after a moment Robert looked to Jorah who was standing dutiful near the Queen.

"Mormont, you old bear, you're not dead yet?"

Jorah chuckled shaking his head "Afraid not, Your Grace."

Amelia smiled as Robert looked back at her, "God's be good girl, you'd make The Maiden herself jealous such a beauty you are. You must have those high born lads in the North Pacific clawing their eyes out for you."

"If you'd think that than you are terribly mistaken. I am a the mother of dragons and I have a dire wolf that acts as a guard dog. The high born lads of the North are kept well at bay."

Amelia noticed the mischievous smirk claw onto the King's face as he looked to his nephew who still stood beside the throne. "Isn't she a beauty Orys?"

"As lovely as ever, Your Grace"

Amelia giggled shaking her head knowing exactly where Robert wanted things to go and he wasn't the only one who wanted the Queen to be wed. To every throne they had to be an heir and before the North Pacific could gain an heir Amelia needed to find a husband. While Amelia understood her kingdom's need of an heir she didn't want to focus on finding a husband. Her heart had not yet forgotten Drogo and in truth Amelia was wary about entrusting it to someone new. Plus, being the Mother of Dragons was not just a title to her. Her dragons were her children and they alone would be her only children until she felt otherwise.

"And you are looking as handsome as ever Orys." Amelia responded paying the man an honest compliment. "Am looking forward to this tourney tomorrow. I've been trying to convince Jorah to take part to no avail. Perhaps you men could help me persuade him."

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn
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Robert impatiently waved his nephew and brother down from beside the throne before turning to Jorah with a disbelieving stare.

"What's this then? You don't want to ride?"

Robert seemed to scarce understand the sentiment, as if the man had been reported saying he didn't want to breathe.

"He is the Queen's sworn shield, Your Grace. His duty is by her side, not playing at war."

Stannis said dryly as he reached the landing and shook Jorah's hand.

"Ser Jorah."

He said, giving the man a firm shake and a nod though not unkindly. Robert looked at his brother with little understanding.

"Piss on that! Sworn Shield. She's as safe here as if she was in her own keep, safer."

The King protested. Orys extended his hand to Jorah shortly after his father.

"Ser Jorah, I certainly hope you reconsider. The competition has gotten a bit stale of late."

He said as he gave the man a strong grip and a friendly smile.

"If you are concerned for Her Grace's safety I assure you my uncle has the right of it. Every man in the South Pacific would raise up a sword in defense of Her Majesty should she ask it. She has no enemies here yet to err on the side of caution I'd be happy offer the best swords from our own house hold guard. She'll be as safe as if you were standing right beside her."

Orys continued, offering a resolution as he casually slipped his thumbs in his sword belt. Before Jorah could answer however the King seemed to make up his mind for him.

"Agreed, it's settled then. The Queen will have Storm's End's fiercest men at her command for the duration of the joust and Jorah will mount up."

The King's tone ended the debate then and there, the decision had been made, Robert would hear no more on the matter.

"Now Amelia, you've had a long journey and no doubt wish to settle in."

Reaching out a hand he gripped his nephew's shoulder and gave it a good squeeze.

"Orys here will escort you and yours to your chambers, I've cleared out an entire wing of the Red Keep for you and what retainers you've brought."

Turning to Stannis he slapped his brother on the shoulder and motioned for him to follow.

"Now my brother's going to help me finish sorting out this business of this tourney. Damned council has had me counting coppers all week. Come on Stannis."

With one final farewell from the King and his Lord brother they were gone leaving Orys with Ser Jorah Mormont and Queen Amelia Stormborn.

"Well, it's just this way Your Grace."

He said as he led Amelia out of the throne room and began the casual stroll to the wing in which she'd be residing during her visit to King's Landing. As they walked the congestion of the entry way had not spared the lesser corridors. Servants hurried about trying to make ready for the morrow's festivities. Orys had been in many a joust yet this one was turning out to be one of special magnificence. His mind began to wonder as to the cause of such a spectacle but decided to shelf the thought for later less he brood in front of his uncle's guest and appear rude.

"The whole city rejoices at your visit, Your Grace."

Orys said, making casual conversation as they walked.

"I heard tell that the Street of Sisters begun sewing dragon banners the moment they heard that you would be attending the King's tourney. We should no doubt get to see their hard work tomorrow at the joust as Ser Jorah takes the field."

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn Character Portrait: Moloch Markus
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Few people in Drake City loved the Sea. The Sea was treacherous, chaotic, and cruel, serving the whims of the fickle sister of Kiel, Calypso, goddess of the Sea and the most feared deity in that people's pantheon besides Mandos, Lord of the Dead. It was natural for the Drake people to fear the Sea. They were people of earth and fire, born on the rich soil of an ancient dragon graveyard. Yet, there were some among that people who braved the Sea as merchants or mariners in the city-state's/small kingdom's fledgling navy. These men, while wary of the Sea, did not hate or fear it as a normal Drake citizen did. Indeed, from what Moloch could see from his position on the ship, Calypso's Mercy, he could see that the mariners before him seemed to bear some sort of affection for the Sea, though he failed to understand why. Then again, Cyrus always told him that he would command the element as Kiel did from his throne in Heaven if he could and the Sea was something even he could not conquer. Nonetheless, Moloch admired the ship. It was not as grand as the flagship of the neighboring kingdoms' navies, but it was fast and deadly in its own way.

"Blehg..."

Moloch glanced over at the side of the ship in amusement to see a normally stoic woman losing her lunch over the deck. He hid a smile. Eirene, his Captain of the King's Guard was the most skilled warrior he had ever seen and was rumored to be favored by Bellona herself. Yet, this form of travel had made her as helpless as a green recruit.

"I am not sure that Calypso would appreciate you polluting her home like this," came an amused voice as an old man stepped beside her, as tranquil as ever. Cyrus did not appear to be bothered by the endless depths of water they traveled upon. Rather, he munching on an apple as pleased as a mouser who caught a mouse.

"Calypso can fuck herself..." Eirene groaned, steadying herself as a few mariners around her murmured a few prayers to place the Sea Goddess, "I do not know why you chose to travel this way, Moloch."

Few people were permitted to address him so casually. Eirene and Cyrus were the only two on this vessel permitted given their friendship with the king. Moloch sighed.

"This ship is the newest and fastest vessel in the fleet. I wanted to see how it sailed for myself. Furthermore, I do not want to show weakness to King Robert Baratheon or his court by traveling over land when sailing is faster. Foreigners know Lady Calypso's and her realm's reputation among our people well. Also, given its speed, it is more than capable of ferrying us away should the unpredictable happen in King's Landing or Kallias does something exceedingly foolish."

"Your brother will do fine, Moloch. You give him too little credit," Cyrus told him. Moloch frowned.

"Be that as it may, I would have you there with him."

"And leave you in King's Landing with no one but this brute to protect you from Queen Cersei's schemes and other parasites in that hornets' nest they call a capital? I think not," Cyrus replied, ignoring the glare Eirene sent his way.

"Incase you are unaware, I am perfectly adept at scheming and intrigue, Cyrus," Moloch noted.

"Yes, that is true. But you are used to holding all the cards. This is not your city."

Moloch nodded in acknowledgement. Soon enough, the ship had reached the dock at King's Landing and the king summoned a messenger. Said messenger was a page of noble birth. He looked ot be of the House of Peleus. To his credit, he did not appear sea sick.

"Inform King Robert that we have arrived for his tournament."

The page bowed before leaving, rather eagerly judging from the way he stepped onto dry land at last.

***

Finding the King and what what appeared to be a noble of high standing after convincing the guards of his identity, citing a token that permitted him into the Citadel of the King in Drake City as proof, the page bowed clumsily.

"Your Grace. King Moloch, the Chosen of Kiel, King of the Gods, the brother of Lord Mardu and Lady Bellona, God and Goddess of Wisdom and War, Conqueror of the South Atlantic Lords and Defender of the Drake Kingdom extends his greetings and thanks you for your invitation to your august kingdom," the page announced, having forgotten his orders to omit the traditional divine titles of the Monarch of Drake City.

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn
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"What's this then? You don't want to ride?"

Robert's incredulous stare was fixed on Jorah. The King was far from pleased with Jorah's decision to sit out of the joust. While Jorah was a skilled knight he felt that he was well past his prime when it came to such games. Besides with so many foreign visitors in attendance to Robert's tourney Jorah had to be on top of everything. He was sworn to protect the Silver Queen and he couldn't risk anything happening to her because he was off reliving his youth. Amelia was the last Stormborn in existence she had to be protected at all cost.

"He is the Queen's sworn shield, Your Grace. His duty is by her side, not playing at war."

Jorah was happy to hear that someone in the room was understanding to his position. He meant no disrespect to the King but he had a duty.

"Ser Jorah."

Taking the Lord of Storm's End extended hand he shook it with a smile, "Milord."

"Piss on that! Sworn Shield. She's as safe here as if she was in her own keep, safer."

It was clear that Robert was not letting this go easily. Shaking Orys hand after his father he repeated the same shake and smile.

"Ser Jorah, I certainly hope you reconsider. The competition has gotten a bit stale of late. If you are concerned for Her Grace's safety I assure you my uncle has the right of it. Every man in the South Pacific would raise up a sword in defense of Her Majesty should she ask it. She has no enemies here yet to err on the side of caution I'd be happy offer the best swords from our own house hold guard. She'll be as safe as if you were standing right beside her."

Jorah sighed as it looked like everyone aside from Stannis was determined to see him compete tomorrow. Jorah had no time to object before Robert spoke up again, "Agreed, it's settled then. The Queen will have Storm's End's fiercest men at her command for the duration of the joust and Jorah will mount up."

Just like that all had been decided. Whether Jorah wanted to or not he would be mounting up tomorrow and competing in the joust and Amelia couldn't be happier. For as long as she could remember Jorah had looked after and her and taken care of her. She wanted him to forget his sworn duty to her just for a moment and enjoy life.

"Now Amelia, you've had a long journey and no doubt wish to settle in."

Amelia nodded and smile "Of course, Your Grace."

"Orys here will escort you and yours to your chambers, I've cleared out an entire wing of the Red Keep for you and what retainers you've brought."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

"Now my brother's going to help me finish sorting out this business of this tourney. Damned council has had me counting coppers all week. Come on Stannis."

With one final farewell from the King and his Lord brother they left the room leaving Orys with Amelia and her men.

"Well, it's just this way Your Grace."

Amelia smiled and followed Orys lead following him out of the throne room. Although it had been over a year since Amelia had been in the Red Keep things were still familiar to her. She had never stayed in the wing of the castle that Robert had emptied for her so Orys assistance was most appreciated. The castle was as busy on the inside as it was on the outside if not busier. She figured Robert tourney was going to be one extravagant affair. She was defiantly looking forward to the festivities that were to come.

"The whole city rejoices at your visit, Your Grace."

"Do they now?!"

Amelia couldn't help but smile at his words. There was a mutual love shared between Amelia and the people of the South Pacific. It was nice to known that after her long year year away from the kingdom that this had not changed between her and the people.

"I heard tell that the Street of Sisters begun sewing dragon banners the moment they heard that you would be attending the King's tourney. We should no doubt get to see their hard work tomorrow at the joust as Ser Jorah takes the field."

Looking back at Ser Jorah Amelia smiled at the man who was clearly still displeased about being pushed into competition.

"Do not pout Ser Jorah. To compete tomorrow will be a great honor to the North Pacific. If your lucky you may even defeat the great Shadow of Axel."

Amelia said the last part jokingly as she looked at Orys with a smile as they reached their destination. Coming to a stop she looked at Ser Jorah.

"Go to Ser Barristan and Doreah. Once the Dothraki have finished with the horse escort them to this wing to settle."

"Yes, Your Grace."

With that Jorah left to do as Amelia had commanded. Turning her attention back to Orys she smiled graciously, "Well thank you milord. I shall see you again soon." Taking her leave she ascended up the stairs and her people followed behind her.

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Moloch Markus
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In the small council chamber of the Red Keep King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, was thoroughly enjoying the company of a young king whose father had helped him win his crown and who, years later he'd helped in return to defend his own. Robert had just finished greeting both of Moloch's councilors when the King of Drake mentioned Orys.

"Tell me, How is Orys? I am certain he is the tournament's favorite if my memory of his prowess is correct."

"Aye that he is, I tell you true Moloch my boy's going to win the whole damned thing. There's not a man in this kingdom who can out ride or out fight Orys Baratheon."

Putting a warm around Moloch's shoulder and leading him to the window that overlooked the tourney grounds Moloch could see the sprawling field where the jousting would be held on the morrow. A sea of tents and pavilions had been erected and still more were being raised in every color imaginable. Many in the colors of the great house of the South pacific so there was more than a few Casterly crimsons, Stark whites, Tyrell greens and surpassing them all was the yellow and black of Baratheon. Banners flew in the air magnificently and people swarmed about giving the entire grounds an almost magical yet appearance.

"You watch him out there Moloch, you watch and see. Your friend, my nephew will show them. He'll show them all. Isn't that so brother?"

Robert asked in more of a shout than he may have intended as he turned around to look at Lord Stannis who was still well at work budgeting the whole affair. Without even looking up Stannis gave the king his reply.

"That it is, Your Grace."

Robert seem satisfied enough and turned back to Moloch with a smile and a laugh.

"Now I don't want to keep you. You had a long sail I hear. Go settle in, there'll be time to talk later. You'll be sitting with me tomorrow. We'll drink our fill, eat our fill and laugh until we burst as Orys unseats man after bloody man."

With that Robert bellowed for his squire who rushed in panting and pale faced. Robert snarled at the lad for taking too long before ordering him to show the King of Drake to his chambers. As he had done with Queen Amelia, King Moloch had been awarded the same courtesy due to his close friendship with King Robert and thus had an entire wing of the massive Red Keep cleared out for his use and leisure.

While the King of Drake was being showed to where he'd be residing for the duration of the tourney, the suspected favorite was on his way back to his father and uncle when he was detoured by yet a different uncle.

"Well if it isn't the Shadow of Axel himself."

Orys turned around to that honeyed voice of his uncle Renly and erupted in a joyous smile. Renly did the same and the two embraced in a warm hug.

"Uncle, how have you been keeping?"

Renly Baratheon was the youngest of the Baratheon brothers. Only six years Orys' senior the two were more like friends or brothers than uncle and nephew. The primary difference was in their character. Where Orys was fierce and battle hungry Renly saw little use in bloodletting. Killing seemed beneath him and a bore. Hunting was tiresome, jousting was something to bet on but never compete in, sword fighting had its uses but was better served by hiring others to risk life and limb for you. Renly loved finery and wealth. He favored the richest cloth and the finest wines. Succulent foods and good company was more important to all the glories of all the battles to Renly Baratheon. Standing a head shorter than his large nephew Renly was nowhere near as broad or muscled as Orys. Where Orys spent most of his days in the training yard of riding out to some skirmish or another Renly spend many of his days and nights either in a council chamber or feasting with friends. He was slender but not skinny with a well groomed thin beard and that trademark black as coal hair of the house Baratheon. Despite the grandeur of Orys steel plate and cloak of wool topped with bear fur he looked near a pauper when compared with Renly's finery. He wore a jerkin made of the finest dyed silks from Pentos with golden fastenings bearing the image of stag's antlers. His sword belt was exquisite, supple leather with golden inlay that bore resemblance to interwoven vines, growing strong. Hanging of his hip was a valyrian steel dagger with a dark, almost black, dragon bone hilt.

"Master of Laws keeps me busy but I'm enjoying myself as ever."

Orys looked confused at his uncles reply.

"Master of Laws? Last I'd heard you were Hand of the King?"

Renly let loose a droll, sighing chuckle.

"That I was, for a fort night. There's much you don't know. Come, walk with me."

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Captian Robyn Sheva of the Harbinger Character Portrait: Deacon Lesseth
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#, as written by Arik223
It was a long and exhausting trip from the Arctic Lands. King Deacon led a group of some of his finest man, along with Leon, the general of Fuaria's army, and Syrus, the head of Deacon's secret battalion. Syrus's squad held everyone from assassin's to spy's. Leon and Deacon had been close since they were children, Leon was of noble birth and his family was very close to the Lesseth family, so naturally they are close friends. It was quite a change of scenery from the Arctic lands to the south pacific kingdom. The snow slowly turned to grass, and the temperature was slowly rising. Its been quite some time since the Fuarian's traveled this far south, since they are usually restrained to the Arctic Lands. King Deacon saw the tourney summons as an opportunity, he had elaborate plans for every nation on the map, he just needed the opening to execute. Besides Deacon, Leon and Syrus were the only two that knew of true intentions of the Lesseth King.

After the long and tiresome journey King's Landing was finally in sight. Deacon and his company have not stopped for a minute throughout the entire journey, so naturally King's Landing was a welcome sight.

"Would you look at this southern shit hole..." Deacon finally spoke up. "King Robert better have something entertaining for us to watch."

Deacon, Syrus, and Leon were leading the group of man, the Fuarian soldiers and some of the Secret battalion followed a few steps behind so it would be impossible to hear any conversation the three were having.

"Ah, it will be worth it my lord. I have received reports that the Crimson lady may be easier to get to than previously thought." Syrus replied.

Deacon's face was unchanged. He simply nodded his head. "Syrus, your first priority is to talk to the pirate."

"As expected my lord." Syrus had a grin on his face. The group continued their way towards the front gate, with the Fuarian's banners raised up high. There were still many people making their way into the city, but they all seemed to move out of the way for the Fuarian King. The Fuarian's never had the best reputation, they were known as brutal killers and sometimes even barbarian, but years of peace seemed to calm those rumors a bit. Deacon and his group approached the front gate and were let right in. "Its courtesy to meet the King my lord." Leon suddenly said. "I'm well aware. Send a rider to inform King Robert of my Arrival." Leon nodded in reply and sent one of the Fuarian squires to run to the palace.

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While Baelish pressed the issue of cost and Hightower pressed the issue of security Robert grew increasingly frustrated. If it wasn't for Stannis he may have struck one of his councilors, if not both of them. Robert had only his wine to soothe him and his brother to placate him and even that meager solace was wearing thin. Despite the difficulties and constant bouts of shouting the meeting was nearing an end. All parties seemed satisfied and the tourney would go on as scheduled, with no interruptions or delays. The break of council couldn't come a moment sooner for King Robert who was near to hurl the lot of them through the window. Baelish left first, gathering up his account books and scrolls and bowing to the king before making his exit.

Robert downed his last cup of wine to calm his nerves before getting to his feet. No sooner was he on his feet was another member of his council making his way into the chamber at a mind numbingly slow place.

"Gods... What is it now?"

Robert asked, the frustration evident in his growling voice as he plopped himself back in his seat. Grand Maester Pycelle was still in the doorway as he began to mumble out his greetings to the king and to announce the reason for which he had come.

"Apologies, Your Grace, to disturb you so soon after the closing of council. I had only just arrived after the long walk from the rookery with this correspondence and my old bones are not what they once were. Why I remember when I was a boy that I could-"

"Gods be good, Stannis, take the damned note before I kill somebody."

Robert said as he slammed his fist down on the table while his patience danced on the edge of a knife. Stannis crossed the room quickly, his booted feet echoing off the quiet in the chamber now. He took the tiny scroll from the Grand Maester with an irritation that showed his patience was thinning as well. He read it quickly before turning to his brother.

"Queen Tenanye of Anansai is on her way Your Grace. Should be here soon. She makes some mention of forging a friendship with the South Pacific. Sounds like she wants something but what, I cannot say."

Robert grunted and got back to his feet.

"Doesn't everybody?.... Well fine then let her come. I'll greet her myself when she arrives. Now no more damn you all, no more. I'm going to enjoy the rest of my day in peace or by any gods listening someone will die today."

"Y-your Grace."

The chamber filled with a tense silence as they all turned to look at the king's squire standing in the doorway. The look he received from Rober Baratheon could have broken bone. Lancel Casterly seemed keen on pissing himself.

"Speak..."

The King snarled dangerously. Lancel swallowed hard before stuttering out his fearful response.

"K-King Deacon Lesseth has arrived, Y-Your Grace."

Robert stared at him blankly.

"Who?"

"The Fuarian ruler from the arctic lands."

Stannis answered for him, looking none too pleased with the news of the new arrival. Recollection struck Robert and his face contorted as if he smelled something foul.

"Who invited those bloody savages?"

Robert asked to the chamber as a whole but received no response which only seemed to irk the King further.

"Fuck all, let's go meet this savage king then."

The King barked in anger as he began to stomp towards the door.

"Not alone your not."

Stannis said suddenly, his voice cracking like a whip. Robert paused and turned to his brother incredulously.

"The Fuarians are little better than wildlings and this Deacon is said to be little more than a brute. Lord Commander, assemble the Kingsguard in force and escort the king personally. I will round up an appropriate number of Gold Cloaks to line the throne room to ensure the barbarians remain civil during their meeting with His Grace."

Lord Commander Hightower nodded obediently and was off to do as he was ordered.

When Deacon Lesseth was finally led into the throne room he found The King seated on his infamous iron throne, his Lord brother standing at his side with all seven of the legendary knights of the Kings Guard positioned around the base of the throne and members of the city guards Gold Cloaks positioned at regular intervals between each column in the chamber with spear in hand. An impressive show of strength to be sure and one to give any would be warrior pause.

While his uncle set to meet with kings from the frozen north Orys Baratheon walked the garden of the Red Keep with his other uncle Renly Baratheon. The two had been discussing the state of the realm and the capitol city for over an hour now and each truth Orys learned seemed to trouble him more.

"Surely this cannot be so uncle."

Orys said in disbelief. Renly only sighed with a shrug as they passed by a hedge wall of roses.

"If only it were not. Robert has not had a steady Hand since Eddard Stark."

"But without a hand everything will go to pieces."

Orys stated.

"Of that I am well aware nephew yet does Robert care? Little if at all. He's been appointing new Hands and consequently dismissing them as fast as you change your trousers. I think every member of the council has served once, none for more than a few days. Cersei was Hand once but she didn't last till nightfall. I was chosen twice. Your father was even appointed once."

"When was this? I don't remember my father becoming Hand of the King."

To that Renly chuckled.

"Ah that is because, dearest nephew, that your uncle Robert changed his mind before the raven was sent off to Storm's End."

Renly paused to give a chivalrous bow to one of the noble ladies that so seemed to populate the garden like butterflies in a meadow.

"Robert drinks more than he should, shouts more than he needs and has lost all semblance of patience.'

"But why?"

Orys asked, cutting to the heart of it.

"He's restless. This is how it was before the Last War. Fortunately last time however Amelia Stormborn arrived with her big beautiful eyes and her dragons and her war and she gave Robert something to sink his teeth into. Now all the enemies are dead or too weak to threaten him. That's why this tourney of his has struck everyone as so strange. It was the first liveliness we've seen out of the man in months. I don't know what Robert has planned but whatever it is I can assure you this Orys, we'll not soon forget it."

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The talk with Renly had left Orys feeling unsettled. The knight had never seen his uncle as anything but strong. Perhaps a little careless and slothful but strong, stronger than any man he knew. The knowledge that he was so weak of character as to allow his country and duty as king to come as a second priority to his desires caused storm clouds to rumble within Orys' heart. It angered him, should his uncle have been anyone else he would have told him to stop this foolishness and due his duty. The whole business frustrated Orys. A whole city full of people and none dared to tell his uncle the truth. They bowed to the king, knelt to the king, said "thank you, Your Grace", "will there be anything else, Your Grace" but did any of them serve him faithfully enough to tell him the bloody truth? No. Not a one of them, the cowards. Too fearful to lose their position in that damned game of theirs. The politicians in the capitol talked about the governing of the realm as if it was a chess match that everyone was engaged in at the same time. A pawn move here and whispers are told. A knight move there and somebody dies. The King moves and the realm bleeds.

Orys sighed with something of a frustrated growl as he ran his hands through his hair. It was then that he realized where his walk had taken him. A serene smile began to show on the knights face as he looked out onto the tourney grounds. Here things were simple, this was his game, and the only he wished to play. Orys walked the sea of pavilions some made of cloth and others of silk but all beautiful in their own way. Each tent was erected to display the standard and colors of it's owners respective house. The notable great houses were in attendance in force of course but there were so many others. The Twin Towers of Frey and the Black Bat of Whent were there as well was the Silver trout of Tully on their blue and red striped field. Orys spotted the White Sunburst of House Karstark and the Hounds of House Clegane. House Dustin and House Tarly, House Arryn and House Santagar. Too many to count. It seemed like all the realm showed up and all their colors soared in the wind turning the tourney field into a sea of color.

Orys felt alive here, alive and free. His cares drifted away and life was simple. No worries or doubts, the fears for his uncle the king, the worries of his father, the duty and responsibilities of being a lordling vanished like smoke. Here he needed a strong horse, a sturdy lance and the courage he bore to win the day. Feeling at ease Orys reached his own pavilion, a relatively large tent in comparison to some of the others given his status as a member of the royal family. His was a strong canvas of that rich yellow that so often was mistaken for gold of the House Baratheon. On the top of the tent, above the entrance was painted the black stag of his house. Just outside of his tent was his massive black destrier that he would ride on the morrow. Hair black as night with a fiery temper it was a fitting mount for the future lord of Storm's End. Orys approached the beast while one of his squires was giving it a brush down. Orys nodded at the boy to continue his work before he caressed the war horses muzzle. The horse seemed to enjoy the touch and nuzzled closer for more praise. Smiling Orys complied and gave the thick, heavily muscled neck a good pat before leaving the squire to his work. Orys entered his tent to relax a bit before his uncle sent someone to fetch him for supper.

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#, as written by Arik223
It didn't take long for King Roberts summons. Deacon and his men were led to the castle, were Deacon instructed everyone besides Leon and Syrus to stay outside. Deacon and Leon would go see the king, and Syrus would go down to the Black Cells to begin the first step in their plan. Deacon and Leon were led into the heavily armed throne room. It was obvious the southerners expected little manners and civility from the Fuarian's. The Fuarian's were not seen in this part of the world for centuries, and the image of them have just gotten worse over the years. The first time since they left Fuaria King Deacon had a smile on his face, it was crucial that Deacon showed a sign of friendship. Deacon and Leon approached the king and both bowed. "Your Grace." Deacon smiled at King Robert. "Firstly I must apologize. When I heard of your tournament I seized the opportunity to come and talk to you personally. Fuarian's have stayed far from the south for centuries, but I assure you we are not as barbaric as we may seem. We come as friends not enemies." Deacon glanced at the heavily armed man around the throne room.

"As a sign of my friendship I have a gift for you, your race." Deacon nodded at Leon and Leon nodded in return. Leon reached into his satchel and pulled out a golden goblet wrapped in cloth. "This your Grace, is an ancient Fuarian goblet, for you to use as you see fit." Deacon smiled a somewhat sinister smile as Leon approached King Robert and bowed. "And again my utmost apologies for coming uninvited, but I do believe we both have a lot to benefit from a mutual friendship." Deacon didn't want to sound misleading, he wouldn't make alliances that he could somehow break, but in his mind the fate of this Southern Kingdom remained undecided.




Syrus knew the way around the castle, his spies gave most accurate reports. He made his way down to the Black Cells, telling the guards he is on important business from the King of Fuaria who is currently meeting with the king. Syrus made his way down the hall and approached the cell of the Crimson Lady. Somehow, locked in a cage like an animal she didn't seem as frightening as the stories tell, but Syrus knew otherwise. Before being captured she herself took over Fuarian merchant ships it seemed unlikely that a cage can hold her for long. "Captain Sheva." Syrus said to capture her attention. "My name is Syrus Feraldi, an adviser to King Deacon of Fuaria, and Commander of his secret battalion." Syrus didn't talk a lot, but he was smart and scary in his own way. He wasn't called the Shadow for nothing. His Shadow Crawlers, could appear from nowhere, if King Deacon wanted someone dead, that person would surely die by the hands of the Shadow. In Fuaria he was the second most feared person after King Deacon himself. "This may sound odd my dear, but I am here to help you. Fuaria comes to you as an ally with a certain offer we have to give. Firstly, you must know that whether you choose to take or deny King Deacons offer, we are willing to help you escape in any way possible. Along with completely erasing the Fuarian bounty on your head."

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Captian Robyn Sheva of the Harbinger Character Portrait: Moloch Markus Character Portrait: Deacon Lesseth
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"Well, Robert was the same as always," Cyrus commented with an ironic grin on his old face as Moloch, himself, and Eirene acquainted themselves with their new quarters. The older king had been generous in giving Moloch and his party a whole wing to themselves. Even with the knights, pages, and guards that would be living in this wing of the palace with them, there would still be plenty of room.

"Is it me or has he gotten fatter?" Eirne asked. Cyrus only shrugged.

"We all have our vices. I have a feeling that he can still raise his hammer."

"Oh, there's no doubt about that. However, it is his skills off the battlefield that trouble me," Moloch mused. He stepped towards his suite's window, which allowed him a magnificient view of the city. King's Landing lacked the magnificient white stone and the ordliness of Drake City's buildings and streets, but it had a charm all its own, "Did you notice the gazes of the nobility as we walked in and Robert's manner? There are many plots within this city and a king who can no longer bring himself to care."

"Doubtless, Cersei has her fair share of plots," Eirene noted in distaste. Moloch hummed in agreement.

"Still, it makes things easier for us. Cyrus? Can you contact our mutual friend?"

"But of course, your majesty. We cannot have you palling around with that sort where someone might see you," the old magi commented dryly as he left the room. Eirene raised an eyebrow.

"What are you planning, Moloch?"

"Our navy is small and the mercenaries we made use of in the last war are becoming arrogant. Who better to bring a pirate fleet in line than another pirate?"

***

When the average person thought of magic, they thought of thunderbolts, wind, and flame, but there were many other abilities a magician could master. Cyrus over the course of his many adventures had learned to walk unseen by human eyes. This, of course, did not stop him from being heard or smelled and even the most inept guard could notice a door opening by itself. Thus, Cyrus contented himself with following guards until he found himself in the dungeons. He was rather fortunate to find a man heading towards the same cell as himself. He smiled at the irony.

"Captian Sheva. My name is Syrus Feraldi, an adviser to King Deacon of Fuaria and Commander of his secret battalion.This may sound odd my dear, but I am here to help you. Fuaria comes to you as an ally with a certain offer we have to give. Firstly, you must know that whether you choose to take or deny King Deacon's offer, we are willing to help you escape in any way possible. Along with completely erasing the Fuarian bounty on your head."

The Crimson Lady snorted a laugh. "I can escape this place without your assistance."

" and you should realize by now, I have bounties on my head in atleast 70 different countries, nations and or city-states. I tend not to take them seriously."

"Oh, good. A bidding war. I haven't been in once since arriving at this city of Robert Baratheon's," Cyrus announced brightly, appearing beside the man who had spoken, "I happen to be named Cyrus myself and my lord can offer far more than King Deacon is able to. Besides the gold, there is your pick of a ship, a fleet of like-minded individuals such as yourself, and a port which would allow you to sell your ill-gotten goods provided that you remain... Discreet. After all, its generally bad business for both the pirate and her patron for the enemy to find out where said port is."

***

After a rather heated discussion with his Captain of the Guard regarding the untrustworthiness of pirates, Moloch had decided he could use a walk. Thus, he made his way through the castle and out onto the tourney grounds. As luck would have it, he spotted his old friend, Orys, and made his way to his tent, a couple of his guards following him. Sure enough, Orys' own guards stopped him at the entrance. Moloch smiled slightly.

"Is Prince Orys availabe or is he frequenting a paramour that I should know about," Moloch asked, making sure his voice carried into the tent so his friend could hear.

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The throne room of the Red Keep was silent as a crypt. The Fuarian dignitary knelt before the steps to the iron throne and consequently the line of Kingsguards, with an ornate looking jewel encrusted golden chalice. King Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, sat unmoving on his iron throne. His face was an unreadable mask that could be mistaken for displeasure or mere annoyance. His kingly stare flicked from the goblet to the foreign king and back again. Resigned to accept the gift Robert motioned for the cup and it was brought to him by one of his Kingsguard who inspected it carefully before handing it over to his Majesty. Robert gave the item a cursory glance before casually handing it to his brother who stood stoically at his right.

"I was told you were bloodthirsty, savage and thoroughly devoid of any semblance of courtly graces. You can imagine my disappointment at finding nothing more than nobles that wear leather instead of lace. Very well. I accept your gift, Your Majesty is too kind."

Robert said utterly bored with the entire preceding. He got to his feet, rising from the iron throne to loom over the hall like a great shadow.

"We have meat and mead in plenty. You are guests in my city and given your station are entitled to one of the estates just outside of the Red Keep reserved for guests of the crown. Boy!"

He barked calling for his squire. The young, place faced Lancel Casterly rushed to his kings side in an instant.

"Y-yes, Y-Your Grace?"

"Show the king and his men to the Manse by the sea. Should do them well for their stay."

"At once, Your Grace."

Lancel said respectfully before rising to his feet and escorting the foreign king and his retainers to the mansion that overlooked Blackwater Bay. Once the Fuarian's were gone Robert would hear no more matters of state. He would eat, drink himself into a stupor and enjoy the remainder of the evening in peace or there would be hell to pay.

Meanwhile on the tourney field in a pavilion of yellow and black Ser Orys Baratheon sat in an oaken chair, coated with with wolf pelts reading a book. He had removed his armor and was in a simple yet richly made quilted tunic. The color of the fabric was black as a crows wing.The only color breaking up the monotony of black was the golden stags that adorned the tunic as buttons. Orys had a fire growing in the braziers within the tent to cut the chill that was coming with the setting of the sun and he had a glass of Arbor Red Wine beside him that he had been casually sipping on as he read about the fantastical Caliphate of Andalusia. Orys was in the middle of a chapter describing the mighty rhinox which were massive beasts used as mounts by the Andulasian knights.

It was then that a familiar voice pulled Orys from the flat lands of the east and back to the tourney field of King's Landing.

"Is Prince Orys availabe or is he frequenting a paramour that I should know about,"

Orys shouldered past the guards standing outside his tent. His thick, heavily muscled frame caused the gold cloaks to nearly stumble from the rough bump. Orys set his sights on the king of Moloch before breaking into a wide smile and embracing the man as a friend and brother.

"Moloch!"

He said as cheerfully before releasing the king from his grasp and taking a step back.

"It's good to see you again, how long has it been?... Or should I say how long has it been Your Grace. Come, come, have a drink with me."

Orys said waiving the King of Drake into his tent where he set out a couple of mugs and filled them both with strong honeyed mead so the men could talk and catch up. It wasn't long before drink wasn't enough for the two men and Orys sent for food to be brought to them in his pavilion. Choice cuts of boar with lemon seasoning and spiced potatoes along with three roast quails, a leg of lamb, a cask of ale, a bowl of blueberries and raspberries, and finally a few sweet cakes for desert were laid out for them at their leisure and the old friends feasted and laughed joking all the while as night descended on King's Landing.

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn Character Portrait: Moloch Markus Character Portrait: Deacon Lesseth
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Night came and with it King's Landing slept. The commotion of the day muted to a low hum and the city of King's rested for the day ahead. The moon stood it's vigil as always and when it's watch came to an end the sun returned with a new day and promise of a spectacle like none the realm had seen before. Golden trumpets sounded as knights from all over the realm marched their magnificent warhorses to the tourney field. In the early morning hours the jousting pitch was already packed with spectators eager to see the arrival of the days champions. The tourney field was a length of sanded earth, packed down with a wooden fence separating where the jousting knights would come charging at one another. Along one side of the pitch was the finely crafted wooden stands, where the King, his Queen, his court, courtiers and royal guests would sit and witness the days events. On either end of the stands were massive carved stags prancing proudly with their magnificent antlers adorning their wooden heads like crowns. The other side of the field bore no seating but was open to the public and all members of realm who wished to bear witness to the days spectacle.

The crowned stag of Baratheon was everywhere from the massive tapestry sized banner that flew from over the kings seat in the center of the stands to the high standard poles on either side of the carved stags. Beside the royal sigil came all the others that earned high honors and respect. There was the golden lion of Lannister on it's crimson field and the grey direwolf of Stark on it's field of white. The golden rose of Tyrell amidst it's sea of green and the silver trout of Tully swimming through it's rivers of red and blue were there granting their beauty for all to see. There was the black hounds of Clegane on their yellow fields and the white moon and falcon of Arryn on a sky blue field. So many banners and colors the tourney goers no doubt felt as if they had stepped into a fever dream the sights and sounds of the tourney were so wonderous.

Then came fourth that which all had come to see, the knights in all their splendor. Champions in their brilliant, shining plate it was a beauty to behold such radiance. The high lords and ladies marveled at the warriors beneath their steel as did the small folk. The column of knights had men from all corners of the South Pacific. One of the first knights to be recognized was the well known Ser Beric Dondarrion in his black, heavy plate armor of riveted steel. Emblazoned on his chest and on his shield was the purple lightning bolt of his house. Down his back was a massive cloak of fine embroidery that depicted a nights sky with stars and lightning arcing down. Next came the monstrous Ser Gregor Clegane, so large he was called The Mountain That Rides. Following behind his brother was Sandor Clegane who was often called The Hound, no doubt for the sigil of his house and the ferocious helm he wore that had the appearance of a snarling hound.

As the Clegane brothers rode by the kings grace some heard Lord Petyr Baelish begin to take wagers that The Mountain would win the day. Next came Ser Hugh of the Vale, a young knight of only twenty who wore wonderfully enameled blue steel with a falcon helm and a magnificent sky blue cloak. After him was the only knight not from the South Pacific, Ser Jorah Mormont who served as the sworn shield of the Queen of the North Pacific Kingdom. She was seated just below King Robert Baratheon himself and Queen Cersei. On her right sat the King of Drake Moloch Markus who at the moment was listening to the King rave about his nephew who was no doubt soon to ride past.

At the end of the procession came the two men who were most expected to win the entire week long tourney. First was the knight of flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell. Where some knights were strong and others were cunning Ser Loras was above all beautiful. His armor was the finest plate many have ever seen, with forged roses adorning his shoulder pauldrons and vines that descended down to his gauntlets. His helm was wreathed in silver roses so masterfully crafted they appeared to be living plant made of shining metal. Flowing down his slender shoulders was a cloak of hand woven roses of varying colors giving it an almost rainbow appearance. Many of the lady's in attendance and maidens swooned as he rode past granting them a chivalrous nod or a wave that sent their hearts a flutter.

Then he came, The Shadow of Axel, Robert come again, Ser Orys Baratheon and with his entrance the people erupted in a deafening roar of cheers. Clearly the favored to win and the crowds chosen champion. He wore heavy steel plate of the highest caliber that shined in the morning sun. The plate was enameled beautifully with stags prancing proudly up his chest. His large frame posed a heroic figure atop his massive destrier whose coat and mane were black as obsidian. His helm was adorned with fearsome looking stag's antlers and his large shoulder pauldrons had the images of charging stags hammered in with exquisite detail. Flowing down his broad back was a cloak of yellow and black so long it covered much of the war horse he rode upon. The king leapt to his feet cheering loudly and pointing proudly as Orys rode by. So excited he was he spilled his wine all over the Queen's fine crimson dress and hardly seemed to notice, even as she walked off fuming.

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Captian Robyn Sheva of the Harbinger Character Portrait: Moloch Markus
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Moloch listened patiently as the King went on and on about his nephew. It seemed to him that his suspicions were being confirmed at this very moment. King Robert Baratheon had no trueborn children. All the children that he had had by Queen Cersei had been miscarried, contributing to the tension between the two. Orys, however, was healthy and a proven warrior and leader. His kinship with the king was beyond doubt. Orys was the obvious candidate to succeed Robert should he die, but Robert had not named him his heir. If he did not name him an heir before he died, it was likely that the Casterly's would attempt to take the throne through a document conveniently drafted by the king shortly before his death giving Cersei the crown matrimonial. This would give the queen and her future descendants the legal right to reign, not his kin, should she outlive him. He doubted Robert was aware of this, however.

"I do not know, Robert. There is no greater soldier in my service than Eirene and I gave her leave to compete if you recall," Moloch noted. Following Orys was Eirene, dressed in dark plate armor forged from fossilized dragonbone emblazoned with gold. Her helm matched her armor, a long gold dragon curving over the top. She did not draw as much acclaim as Orys Baratheon, but her gender and clear foreign nationality seemed to draw some interest.

"I would wager 100 dragons on her winning the tourney and 150 dragons on her winning the melee," Moloch offered with a slight smile, "Though, I have to warn you. She is still angry from a... Disagreement she and I had."

"Hmph. That's putting it mildly," Cyrus chuckled from his right. Moloch smiled slightly. Today had been interesting.

Cyrus undid the spell, allowing Moloch to appear from the shadows so that he could talk to the pirate. He looked thoughtful as he examined the pirate. She was beautiful, he noted, despite being trapped in this dungeon for so long, but she looked fierce, like a dragon ready to tear his heart out.

"It is not often that I grant the requests of one who acts so presumptiously. But I am intrigued. I had thought my offer was a generous one, but this is better. With both Cyrus and I here, we can create a magical contract between you and myself."

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The King erupted in roaring laughter as he clapped Moloch on the back. The Dragon Knight, in her fearsome dragon bone armor struck an intimidating figure indeed, even for a woman yet Robert was ill convinced any knight here assembled could pose a legitimate threat to his beloved nephew.

"I'll take that bet! I'll take it and your money when it's over."

Robert leaned forward and put one of his big, meaty hands on Moloch's shoulder as he pointed to his nephew who was riding out to prepare for his first match of the tourney against Ser Devon Tarly.

"See there, lad? Not a man living who can fight better, ride better or kill better. Listen to them."

Robert remarked motioning to the crowd of onlookers. Noble and commoner alike rose in applause and cheers as Orys took the field. His massive black destrier, armored like his rider in bright, shining steel and sporting the colors of House Baratheon seemed to enjoy the praise and brayed proudly. Robert was well into his cups but he was not so drunk as to be speaking complete nonsense, the crowd did love Orys Baratheon.

"Hear how they call his name? Chant for him? The shits love him. He's won already."

The crowd fell into a still silence as The Knights charged. The galloping horses, weighed down by heavy armament thundered down the field. The lances bore fourth like lightning bolts ready to clash. The silence before impact was deafening, the roars after were maddening. Ser Devon Tarly of Horn Hill was struck cleanly in the chest with such force he was thrown from his saddle to crash into the dirt. Ser Orys Baratheon took his victory lap with pride and dignity as the crowd assailed him with cheers. He paused for a brief moment to look at his uncle the king and salute, raising his lance in the air and nodding before riding off to rest for his next match.

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Captian Robyn Sheva of the Harbinger Character Portrait: Moloch Markus Character Portrait: Deacon Lesseth
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#, as written by Arik223
Syrus made his way out of the cells, just in time to see his king being led to their estate. Syrus nodded to his king and rejoined their delegation. The place they were given surely had its charm. Once they were all settled, Deacon called Syrus and Leon into the room. "How did it go with the pirate?" Deacon said sternly to Syrus. Syrus had a sort of grin on his face. "She was just as I expected. She doesn't work for anyone, her free will is far too powerful for anyone to contain. Although my lord, King Moloch also has his eyes on the pirate." Deacon gave Syrus a serious look, this could either be very good or very bad. "King of Drake. Of course he is up to something. Although he may be beneficial to my cause.".

"King Moloch may be a good ally my lord. He can be a good tool for us to use. Although he is stronger then he may seem, and his young age may be misleading." Leon spoke from behind Deacon.

Syrus nodded his head. "On that note my king, I must go. She will surely show up at the inn, and I am sure you and Leon have the tourney to attend to." Deacon nodded at Syrus at the man was on his way.

Deacon and Leon left with the group early in the morning, making their way to the kings tourney. This city did have a certain charm, not that Deacon cared much about aesthetics. Deacon his man did arrive a bit late, most of the knights had already entered and the crowed roared for them. Deacon and Leon made their way to congratulate King Robert on a fine show. Deacon's theatrics would have to last a little bit longer, there was still business to be taken care off, and many more kings and queen's yet to arrive and to speak too. Moloch was one of them, and Deacon noticed the man right away next to King Robert. Deacon wasn't exactly sure where he would sit to watch the show, since he wasn't "formally" invited. "Your highness." Deacon said behind King Robert. "Thank you again for accepting me in your city. Marvelous knights in your land." Deacon turned to Moloch with a smile. "King of Drake." Deacon bowed to Moloch. Surely the man Moloch sent has warned his king of Deacon's plans.




Syrus made his way to the inn as soon as the Fuarian Delegation made way to the tourney. Syrus's hunches were rarely wrong, he knew the pirate would be there. His offer was most intriguing, and he always knew how to choose his words carefully. Syrus walked through the front door, he wasn't surprised that the pirate didn't much to hide herself. The tourney would require most of the king's man, she couldn't choose a better time to escape. Syrus took a seat next to Captain Sheva. "Glad to see you made it out okay, but then again, I had no doubts in your skills."

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"See there, lad? Not a man living who can fight better, ride better or kill better. Listen to them."

Moloch smiled slightly at the kings' words as the crowd cheered for his friend. Orys already possessed the people's love. Now, he would just have to prove his strength and in that, the king's nephew did not disappoint. He knocked down his first opponent to the sound approval o the crowd.

"Oh, I do not doubt that. But how will he fare against a woman?" he mused. He watched as match after match was won or lost by the combatants. He smiled slightly as he saw Eirene unseat a man twice her size from his horse, to the crowd's approval. He smirked at Robert.

"The crowd may love Orys, but there is nothing like and up and coming newcomer. They haven't faced each other, yet, however. You may back out of our best if you wish," Moloch stated.

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Kenna Caitlin Character Portrait: Davina Mikaelson Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn
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Davina wasn't a big fan of the games. It was nothing against King Robert as the festivities he presented to his guest were of the highest form. However, she didn't really see the point in two men on horses charging at each other with lances attempting to knock each onto their arses. Now maybe if the lances were replaced with actual swords and there was some blood or better death involved she would find the sport a lot more entertaining.

With no interest in the games going on before her she let her eyes and ears wander. She listened to bits and pieces of other peoples conversations going on about her. Not that she needed to listening very hard to hear the King booming voice of shouts, rants and praises all being about his grand nephew. While she hadn't been paying much attention to the jousting in particular she was aware of how well Orys Baratheon was performing in it.

One thing that did catch her interest was a silver haired beauty. Surrounded by men with spears and swords ready to attack and kill anyone who dared to threaten the young Queen. Davina had heard many storied of the woman who was reborn in fire. The unburnt mother of dragons. In the year the South Atlantic had lost a piece of their home she had won back hers. The tale of Amelia Stormborn's life was truly inspiring and well known across the lands.

"What are looking at? Its clearing not the joust." The voice of her queen drew her back in as she turned from the Silver Queen and looked at the woman sitting beside her. "The Queen of the North Pacific. Otherwise known as the mother of dragons. She just recently reclaimed her throne and if we are seeking new allies she maybe a good place to start. A new queen with a new kingdom may also be looking for new alliances."

Kenna listened to the advice giving to her by her lady in waiting. She had come her with one purpose that being to make some new allies for her kingdom. To have the mother of dragons as one of those new allies would be a great thing for the South Atlantic. Taking a deep breath she rose from her seat and approached the queen of the north. As she neared the Queen the Unsullied armed themselves spears pointing at her she froze. "Um...Your Grace. Might I have a word?"

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon
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Orys Baratheon was in his pavilion tent, though without a squire he was having considerable difficulty reaching the clasps and buckles positioned on his back. He grumbled in frustration as he struggled, going so far as to knock over a food tray in his fumblings. As the tray hit the ground with a clatter Orys cursed and kicked a nearby chair ready to roar.

"My Lord..."

Came the quite, timid voice. Orys whipped around expecting his squire, incredibly late but his squire none the less, but instead found a young boy he didn't know. Skinny for his age the boy had shoulder length deep brown hair that looked clean and brushed, a lord's son no doubt. He wore a simple woolen doublet and stood rather meekly in the entrance to his tent.

"Whose this then?"

Orys asked as he knelt to pick up the tray he'd knocked over.

"Brandon Stark, My Lord."

Orys looked up in surprise.

"Stark?"

"Yes, My Lord. Your squire Robert Arryn woke up this morning with a terrible fever. I was sent in his stead."

Orys rose to his feet and walked over to the boy. "Gods he's small." Orys thought to himself. The son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell was not the one he was familiar with. He knew Robb well, considered him a friend. The two had hunted together on many occasion. Then their was Sansa, the beautiful eldest daughter of House Stark. He'd met her at a feast once that Robb had attended. But the youngest three children, Arya, Bran and Rickon he'd never had the pleasure.

"You ever squire before Bran?"

Bran shook his head.

"No, My Lord."

Orys grunted with a smile.

"Ever help your father or brother out of his armor before?"

Again Bran shook his head and again Orys smiled.

"Well, come then. I'll show you. Here, climb up on this table. That's it."

Bran did as Orys instructed and clambered up on the table where his cloak was laying. Orys turned around so Bran could reach the clasps on his back.

"See those buckles little wolf? I need you to undo those."

Bran's little fingers set to the task and Orys could hear the boy grunting with the exertion of working the hard leather.

"I almost got it, My Lord."

"That's good Bran... And Bran?"

"Yes, My Lord."

"I'm not a lord."

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Character Portrait: Orys Baratheon Character Portrait: Kenna Caitlin Character Portrait: Amelia Stormborn
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Amelia can see why Robert boasted about Orys to all. His nephew dominated his competition and at the moment she was second guessing her decision getting Jorah involved in the joust. The man's youthful days were far behind him and she just didn't want him getting hurt. Which a fall from atop of a horse looked pretty painful. It was already too late for that now as Ser Jorah was up next and getting ready in his tent. Barristan has left her side to go help out an old friend which Amelia was happy he did. It wasn't like without her two knights she was lacking in protection. Robert had made good on his word and along with the Unsullied to protect he's men were also on guard.

"Um...Your Grace. Might I have a word?" Amelia couldn't see who spoke to her from behind all the men who wished to protect her but the voice was youthful and sweet sounding. "Let me through." She ordered as she stood up and the men spilt apart so that she could see and step between them. Now that she could see the woman who spoke to her she had to say the girl was gorgeous. She looked to be the same age as Amelia herself and was clearly a woman of stature. Not in the sense of height as she was the only girl Amelia had every met being shorter than herself.

"Come and sit. We can have all the words that you wish." Amelia took the girl's hand in hers and lead her past the guards and to their sits. Ghost moved himself from were he was lying before to sitting by Amelia's side. He was always wary of strangers and he would settle back into ease until he knew who this new person was. Sitting down Amelia motioned to the sit beside her, "What do you wish to discuss?"