A Song Of Ice And Fire: The War of Five Kings (IC)

[Romus Maximus]

This WILL be loaded with spoilers. You have been warned.
Less than one week ago Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, the Warden of the North was executed in front of the Great Sept of Baelor. In the weeks before and since five kings have risen to replace the late Robert Baratheon, first of his name. You are a lord/lady from a small family serving one of these kings in what will become known as the War of Five Kings.

OOC
The Map of Westeros, with PC castles.

[Romus Maximus]

Datherion was sitting upon his throne, musing over recent events, when a guard ran into throne room.
"Sir, we have word that Lord Eddard Stark was executed, rather than sent to the wall. The Lords Stannis and Renly have both declared themselves king and claim that King Joffery is the inbred bastard of the Kingslayer. The North has declared Eddard's eldest boy King in The North. Whom do we declare loyalty to mi'lord?"
Datherion continued to sit and think, although this time on to whom his loyalty belonged. He curtly dismissed the guard and called a meeting of his advisiors, including his wife and mother. He left his much younger sister to play with his son, as neither were old enough to attend the meeting.

[Palonitr and Howland]

Dayrk Lastoak
Last Tree, Great Hall

As one of the more minor lords of the North, Dayrk had not attended the meet in Winterfell and stayed in Last Tree. When he had heard of Robb Stark's decision to march south, Dayrk had called for his levies and had immediately situated them in little forts hidden in the forests alongside the border between Last Tree and The Green Fork readying to defend from Lannister Invaders. He had also sent riders to meet with the King and a company of archers to Moat Cailin. Dayrk looked over his map of the 7 Kingdoms, worried about the Lannister hosts that were ravaging the Riverlands. He looked out of his window and saw his knightly son, Eddard training the most recent group of levies. Dayrk sighed and mourned for all those who were dead and were about to be.

[Great Franconia and Verana]

Hycroft Fortress, The Reach
Lord Curthalion, second of that name, Lord of Hycroft and Head of House Losgar, sat on his throne, adorned in white and silver robes. His elaborate mask sat emotion less on his face, covering wounds untold, and offering a visage that would unnerved even the most iron of will. Before him, in the high ceilings of Hycroft, stood his courtiers, and his beautiful wide, Marya, last of the House Targaryn in Westeros.

Their three children, 10 year old Eserys, was the Lords son and heir, played on the ground with his toy soldier, while Jarya, 14, and Nyra, 12, stared at the court as a lady was to do.

News of the Execution of Lord Eddard Stark came as a sad surprise to the court at Hycroft. Curthalion had fought with Aerys Targaryn during the Baratheon Rebellion, and despite being on opposing sides, Eddard and Curthalion had coke to respect each other as opponents, on the few occasions they had met in combat.

Curthalion blue eyes pierced into the hall, the only part of his face showing from behind his mask. The pain never truly went away, and the Lord knew that he would never be as active as he was once. Yet, even scarred as he was, his intellect was keen, and his sword arm strong.

"Curt," Marya said, leaning in carefully so as to avoid hitting the Lord with her elaborate headdress. "Are you alright? You have not said anything for some time, since Ser Carion began his presentation on the current state of affairs in Kings Landing."

The Lord looked down at his devoted wife, scion of a long house.
"My love," his voice came muffled and quiet from behind the mask. "Ser Carion would not know his ass from a horse, why should I trust him on the affairs of Kings Landing, a place infinitely more complex than Carion is used to."

Eserys looked up, sharing his father's ice blue eyes.
"Are you thinking of something..." He asked keenly, adding a swift my Lord at the end to follow the proper protocol.

"A true Lord is always thinking, even when he gives the impression that he couldn't care less."
Behind the grave mask, Curt smiled.
"One day you will learn Eserys, one day, you will sit on a chair far greater than the one you are on now. For you are of Losgar, and Targaryn, and will one day be Lord of Hycroft. One day, you will learn."

[Woodstovia]

Ellena Lucifen

In the main hall of Eastbloom a peasant stood nervously before the lady of the castle, who was scarcely more than a child. The peasant was a barrel of a man, a farmer with a square head and plain features. The lady stared down at him from her seat at the top of a few steps with nothing but contempt.

"My lady I wish to make a complaint about the taxes-" the man spoke every word slowly and nervously, every word it seemed like his voice would break. "I am considered wealthier than most and yet I am barely able to-" the lady broke out into a loud yawn which cut through the hall.

"It's much more important that your lady is able to maintain this castle and is able to pay her own taxes to the crown than you and your friends having a few extra coppers." the lady said. The peasant tried to get a word in but was promptly cut off. "Now kneel before me to show your proper respects and leave my hall."

The peasant man seemed like he was about to argue for a second, but caved in and sunk to his knees before being escorted out by a guardsman. Ellena rose from her seat and began walking to her chambers, hounded by her maester.

"My lady, I think it would be wise to put more consideration into the views of the smallfolk. After all they are the ones who have payed for all of this." the maester said motioning to the lavish decorations and furniture around the castle.

"What's for supper?" Ellena asked, clearly not caring about the matter at all.

"I think the cooks were preparing an exquisite roast boar among other-. Well anyway I have dispatched your letter of support to king Joffrey."

"Good, he'll easily slay those northern barbarians." Ellena said. She had been conflicted between choosing Joffrey or Renly but from what she had heard Renly was not a cruel or vengeful man and Joffrey's forces were much closer to Eastbloom. "Now go and get the cooks to send me something light." she instructed, walking into her chambers and flopping onto her featherbed.

[The GAmeTopians]

Castle Syrynsong, The North
Syrak sat on his simple throne of wood and leather as his advisors came up to him with messages.
"Sir, Eddard Stark has been executed! The North itself is now ruled by his eldest son!"
Syrak nearly fell out of his seat.
"Send word to the Bonefort saying that we will remain neutral in the fights that will surely follow this event. Quartermaster, double the guard on the walls and at the gate, recruit from the village. Start raising the army as well."
The men rushed to comply, and a messenger sent a bird for the Bonefort.

[-Fedora-]

Lord Orwen Lily's Private Study, Castle Brightblossom, the Reach
"One thousand nine hundred and fifty seven, one thousand nine hundred and fifty eight, one thousand nine hundred and fifty nine..." Orwen sat in his study counting the revenue from the most recent tax collection when an envoy, resplendent in Royal livery, entered his chambers, puffing and panting. "My *puff* lord *pant* I bring urgent news *puff* from *pant* King's Landing," Orwen raised his right hand and addressed the messenger, whilst continuing to count under his breath. "Is it not one thousand nine hundred and sixty customary one thousand nine hundred and sixty one to knock one thousand nine hundred and sixty two before entering one thousand nine hundred and sixty three in King's Landing?" The envoy's expression became one of confusion before his momentary lapse in politeness dawned upon him. "My sincerest apologies my lord, I have travelled from KIng's Landing, riding for four days and four nights, with little pause for rest and respite, but this is no excuse for my poor manners," Orwen smiled. " Well then, you must be very tired, I will see to it that you are provided with a warm meal and a bed before you have to begin the arduous journey back." He stood up and, moving swiftly, had laid a hand on the messenger's back and ushered him to the door. Orwen opened it, ignoring the protestations of the envoy. "But my lord, what about the news I came to deliver?" Orwen emitted an exasperated sigh "What? That Ned Stark, the Hand of the King, is dead? I already know, now run along boy," and with that, he closed the door and went to return to his work.

[The Intergalactic Russian Empire]

Inferno Stronghold
Edmund was sitting down, eating when a man came running into the room shouting "M'lord! M'lord! Urgent news!" Edmund set his fork down and said "Have you ever heard of knocking? Speak quickly, before I throw you out." the man said "Sir, Ned Stark has been executed by Joffery Baratheon!" Edmund looked at the man and said "You mean that small, blonde, inbred bastard? That Joffery?" the man said "Who else is named Joffery Baratheon?" and the king growled "Times up, get out." the man ran out as fast as he could. Edmund then started planning.

[Kuhlfros]

Long Lake, the North
Lord Darrick and his young son Bennar trotted along the coast of the Long Lake, The towers of BlackOak Keep could hardly be seen over some towering sentinel pines near the lake, They were quiet for the most part silently look across the lake or into the woods, a quarter way around the lake they turned their horses around raced back for the Logging and Fishing Village on the lake that swore as his vassal, Darrick glanced to his son who was racing only slightly behind him on his horse grinning wildly and laughing the whole way , as they began to slow down near the village Darrick too began to laugh as they allowed their horses a snack and led them to the stable posts of the wooden stables and walked together to the Keep, BlackOak was a Fortress built by the Firstmen, atop a forested hill, surrounded by trees and the Long Lake, it was a smaller but efficient fortification, it and its towers seemingly towered from the ground like a tree would, House Teague held this land for centuries, for sometime swearing to the Umbers before the Umbers swore to the Starks, now House Teague was one of the Lesser Vassals of the Starks of Winterfell, meaning they were not unfortunately invited to Winterfell like the High Lords, At the front gatehouse, a Tall dark wooden gate with iron holding it together swung open to the Lord and Lordling and they took thier walk up the hill to the main keep, where their Maester, Connin, hustled over to them, Connin was a slight young man, perhaps 4 years younger than the Lord Himself, clutched in his palm was a letter, while the raven he obviously had taken it from flapped and squawked annoyingly from its cage near the Lord's Chair, Before Darrick had a chance to speak he hustled through the letter, "Our Liege Lord, Robb Stark, has called upon his ancestral Birthright as King of Winter and declares independence from the Iron Throne and the tyranny of the Lannisters, whom had his beloved father, our previous Lord, Eddard Stark beheaded, this Tyranny cannot go unpunished therefore he has called upon his vassals to bring about the Men of the North to join him on his march against the Iron Throne. Signed Maester Luwin of Winterfell." Darrick nodded and said, "Connin, get me Master or Arms Phyre immediately, I expect him to be in the Village Tavern," Connin mumbled hurriedly "Right away My Lord," and rushed away nearly tripping and stopping to a dead halt, spun around, grabbed the raven in the cage and hurried away again, Darrick mentioned to Bennar, "Poor man, A southron man who is so nervous of failing or angering me he bumbles around and refuses to look me in the eye for fear..Still a good and intelligent man nontheless, but a frightened doe..."

[Romus Maximus]

With has family and advisors assembled, Lord Datherion stood and walked to the large war table behind the throne and waited for them to move into their positions. He placed five flags around the map before speaking.
"These five flags represent the four Kings of Westeros. The question is which do we support?"
His most loyal knight quickly spoke up, "We support our good King Joffery Baratheon and show him that the Stormlands is still loyal to the Baratheon name, of course."
His head of personal guard was quick to respond, "You do realise that three of the kings carry the name Baratheon, you idiot. We have Joffery, Stannis and Renly."
His head scribe chimed in, "Not to forget King Stark. And Greyjoy will probably try to rebel again, the old fool is like a mule."
He lowered his head before speaking again, "My question still stands. Who do we support?" As he looked around the table each of them looked to each other and he realised that they all had the same choice. Eventually his mother spoke up and confirmed his suspicions.
"My son, we only have one real option. We must ready our armies and try to remain neutral. It will be hard but it must be done for the better of House Crex. There is no clear use of injustice yet other than King Joffery's choice to behead Lord Eddard, and we cannot side with King Stark until they push past the Riverlands, so we must wait. We Howl For Justice."
"Of course mother. Any in agreement say Aye." There was a chorus as the ten at the table said Aye and he nodded and dismissed them, thanking each personally for his or her time.

[Of the Quendi]

The Reach
Highgarden, On the River Mander
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros

---

Willas Tyrell, Heir to Highgarden

---

Though the gentle summer warm wind blowing from the south through the tranquil gardens of the grand seat of his ancestors was among the most soothing and calming sensations Willas Tyrell knew it could not quite suppress the frustration and anger in the scholarly heir to the seat of the Tyrell's weary heart. Resting on a marble bench gazing upon the wondrous beauty of the gardens of the castle he would one day rule Willas could not close his ears to the laughter and cheers escaping the great hall behind him.

That Lord Mace Tyrell had made his decision against the cautious counsel of his heir and sharp admonishments of his mother and in favor of the gregarious charisma of Renly Baratheon and the pleadings of Mace's favorite son Loras was clear to the heir. No proclamations or announcements needed to be made, it was clear in the eyes of Lord Mace when he spoke with Renly. Clearly, Willas mused, Mace saw a king in Renly. Willas saw only a jester, a fool. A boy pretending to be a man, leading the Reach to ruin by his posturing. House Tyrell deserved better. Margaery deserved better.

Willas felt a swelling behind his eyelids as a tear formed. The cheerful little sister he remembered reading nighttime stories to was a woman grown. Aye she needed a man, but one who would love her in a way Renly never could. Father failed to see it but Willas needed but cast a single gaze on Loras when he spoke of the man he already called king to know the truth of it. Renly would make a poor king and a worse husband.

With a sigh Willas reached out for his crutches and, slowly, got up from his bench with their aid. Despite the pleasant weather the evenings where growing colder and Willas felt it in his crushed leg. "Winter is coming." He mumbled to himself, pondering the fate of the man whose words those where. Perhaps that was Renly's great claim to kingship. Thus far the Queen Regent and her brood made for an appalling alternative.

Hobbling away from the sounds of festivities escaping the great hall Willas headed for the library tower. If he was to suffer further talk of war and alliances and kings and fealty from the mouthes of his father, youngest brother and, however much against his will, king, he would need the comforting presence of wise maesters addressing him from beyond their death through ink on paper.

[Alderann]

BREAKER CASTLE, WESTERLANDS

Lord William Hawthorne sat in the study of his castle. The head and last surviving member of House Hawthorne, he had great responsibility as lord. Reading the many books in the library to future his education.

William is a very athletic young man of 25, with short light brown hair and ice blue eyes, standing at 6,2". He is one of the most well off bachelor's in the westerlands.

Sitting by the fire in his study with a book just trying to stay warm. The sun was setting and the breeze from the ocean was chilly.

In the courtyard of the castle a commotion started. People gathered and it seemed to be big news. Sitting up in the study William could hear the roar of the crowd that was growing.

Listening to the crowed outside when all of a sudden there was a knock at the door.
" Enter "

The servant walked in excited about something.
" milord I bring news from Kingslanding. Lord Edward Stark has been executed by order of the king for treason."

William was shocked by the recent events of what happened.
" I doubt that Lord Stark was guilty of treason. My father fought with that man, I knew that man. What news about sansa?"

The servant replied. " milord she is still in Kingslanding "

" Then she is in danger. Ready me a company of men. We ride for Kingslanding ."

[Dernland]

Alderth Keep, Westerlands

Athen rode through the streets of Alderth Keep. He wore no finery, had no guards, and did not carry any decorative weapons and he did not expect such things. In his eyes, he was just a man, a peasant with no rights to lordship. But the people thought different. He was the first to stand up the tyrannical Lord Byron Lannister, and had been the one to slay him in the battle of Alderth Village. Now the people of Alderth treat Athen as a lord, calling him the White Lion. His young eyes held a tint of worry when he saw the streams of smoke rising from outside the palisade. Alderth keep was besieged by Byrons son, Ser Willam Lannister.

Athen's head jerked around when a sudden clang of the bell tower shattered the near silence of the street. A tall watchtower, made of wooden poles and rickety planks, was where the bell was kept. The watchman was hammering the bell with a large mallet. Men rushed from their houses with clubs, axes, spears, pikes, bows, and even a few swords. "TO ARMS, TO ARMS!" Athen cried into the din, "The Lannisters want a fight, they'll have one!"

Within minutes, bowmen were firing from platforms on the palisade. Militia formed battle lines behind the walls to the beat of drums, a familiar beat. Athen muttered the words under his breath, "And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low..."

[Romus Maximus]

Events in the Realm
The Stormlands
King Renly Baratheon sends messengers to all of the Stormlords, asking them to rally in his name to defeat the usurpers Stannis, Joffery and Robb Stark.
The North
The armies of the North begin to march south, passing many castles along the way. They are heading towards Moat Cailin and then to the Riverlands to protect their allies and defeat the Lannister armies.
The Reach
Ser Loras Tyrell has returned to Highgarden, requesting that the Lords of The Reach aid King Renly Baratheon in the coming war. His sister Margaery is to be queen.
The Crownlands
The head of Eddard Stark is placed on a pike as a warning to others that treason will not be tolerated.
The Riverlands
The Lannister armies continue to ravage the Riverlands and the river lords are suffering heavy casualties.
The Vale
All is quiet in the Vale.
The Westerlands
The Lannisters are mustering as many men as they can to defend the crown from the usurpers.
Dorne
Dorne is as always very quiet, as if they don't know of the outside world.

---

Datherion read the letter from the so called 'King' Renly and then burned it from disinterest. He walked the halls of his castle and pondered on whom he thought to be the justiciar of the new 'kings'. As he pondered he knew that he could not serve either Renly or Joffery as one didn't even come close to the birthright, while the other was an egotistic boy king. He came to the conclusion that Stannis was all about justice, while Robb Stark was fighting for justice and knew that he would have to make his choice soon. He soon went to his quarters to sleep off the afternoon.

[Mnar Secundus]

The Bonefort, Dorne

Lord Agravaine Morholt was holding court atop his gold-encrusted ebony throne in the Bonefort when the news reached him. More precisely, he was watching his eldest son and heir Gareth hold court. The young man, all of fifteen, was sitting on a smaller ebony chair on the large steps leading to his father's throne; he looked much like Agravaine, but a very pale-skinned Agravaine with his mother Alice's aquamarine eyes. Agravaine sometimes worried about Gareth: the lad was proving himself a talented swordsman with a drive for all things knightly, but his studies lagged behind. Lord Morholt stirred on his throne as he read the message brought by his squire distractedly, remembering his own youth as he studied the figure of his son and heir before him.

Agravaine had always been better at academics than at playing around with sharp tools. When he was but a child, his father had sent him out on a long voyage all over the known world, with his maester for main company; he had traveled from Braavos to Slaver's Bay, from Slaver's Bay to the Summer Islands, and he had gone as far as Asshai by the Shadow, establishing relationships with local men of note for the late Lord Gawayn Morholt to use. It had been a risky enterprise, of course, lasting several years and fraught with perils, but then again, Agravaine had originally been a third son - an acceptable piece to wager by all accounts.
When he had finally come back to the Bonefort, he had found his House ruined: both his brothers had died on the battlefields of Robert's Rebellion, and his parents had fallen victim to Tywin Lannister's troops at King's Landing. Agravaine had taken things into his own hands and managed to secure House Morholt's safety through the skills and the network of connections his travels had given him: by that point, he had found friends in the Iron Bank of Braavos, trained as an alchemist in Lys, made a private fortune bringing back exotic spices and merchandise from Asshai, established favorable trade routes with Pentos and Norvos ... He spoke over half a dozen foreign languages fluently, could get by in a good dozen more, and could make allies everywhere in the known world - when he didn't have them in place already.
After a couple of years of hard work, extraordinary strokes of luck and convenient accidents, Agravaine had restored House Morholt to its former glory; a few more months, and he had made it strong enough to allow his marriage to Lady Alice Yronwood. That gave him a power base in Northern Dorne, not to mention the ear of one of the greatest lords in the realm; the fact that Agravaine and Alice quickly turned out to genuinely love each other was, of course, a welcome bonus. At this point, after years upon years of efforts, House Morholt was this close to real power ...

Agravaine's reddish eyes sharpened in a heartbeat. Joffrey Baratheon had done what?

Without betraying his excitement, he glanced over the throne room, a vast and formerly austere space with its bone-white walls now covered in colorful Norvosi tapestries, taking notice of the people he'd have to hold council with. His wife, of course, willowy and pale-skinned with ink-black hair and clear aquamarine eyes in a heart-shaped face, who was already walking discreetly towards him; his uncle Ser Bors, powerfully built and balding; two of the three maesters - young Maron and middle-aged Arys, old Robert would stay to assist Gareth; Qatho Vesper, the envoy from Braavos, a short and lithe man with a long, straight nose who worked for the Iron Bank; and a couple liege lords of note. He stood up and said, "My lords, an urgent matter has been brought to my attention. I will retire to my solar." Then, adressing the people he had singled out: "I would have you come with me. The court will be held by my son." And he walked off into his study, his councelors in tow.

Once they reached the solar - an airy and comfortably furnished room overlooking the crops Agravaine was trying to grow within the Bonefort's walls -, he explained the situation in a few words: "My lords, have a seat. I'm afraid I have dire news." He sat down himself and poured himself a glass of Arbor red, putting it down on the table for everyone to share. "Apparently, Joffrey Baratheon - the first of his name, king of whatever and so on and so forth - has had the ... original idea of publicly beheading Eddard Stark on charges of treason." He smirked. "On the steps to the Sept of Baelor, no less." He took a sip of wine.

The lords and lady in the room looked at each other with various degrees of bewilderment. They understood the message, of course, but those were smart people: they failed to comprehend why Joffrey would be allowed to do that. It was just plain ... plain stupid. Eventually, Lady Alice spoke up. "How have the great lords of the realm reacted?"

Agravaine looked into his glass as he answered distractedly. "Robb Stark is on the warpath, as could be expected. We can safely assume that he's walking down the kingsroad as we speak, heading for Moat Cailin with the intention to support his allies in the riverlands - those are Tully lands, after all. Stannis Baratheon is mustering what meager strength he has, and his brother Renly seems to be intent on claiming the throne for himself. He's rather more of a threat: I expect most of the Reach to answer his call, since he appears to be betrothed to Margaery Tyrell. The Greyjoys haven't made a move yet, but we can expect Balon to rebel once again; he isn't the kind of man who learns from mistakes." Agavaine still remembered the battles of the Greyjoy Rebellion very well. I wonder what Syrak will do up there in the North. Probably stay neutral at this point. "The Lannisters are busy rampaging all over the riverlands and growing their own armies, and Lady Lysa of the Vale doesn't seem to be doing anything in particular. As for our Lord Doran, well, it's unsurprising that he hasn't made his move yet."

"I won't believe that Lord Stark commited treason," rumbled Bors Morholt in his baritone of a voice. "The man was fanatic about his honor, not to mention that King Robert was his childhood friend."

"Yes, it's fairly obvious propaganda," said Agravaine after taking another sip of his Arbor red. "Not that the truth matters. I think we can all agree that Joffrey isn't exactly what one would look for in a king ... But then again, we can't possibly move against our lord Martell's will, now can we?" Everyone in the room smiled derisively. They respected Doran Martell, but they all knew that Agravaine Morholt wouldn't let things like loyalty get in the way of his scheming. The lord drank the rest of his wine in one go and put the glass down delicately. "Uncle."

Ser Bors understood right away. "I'll have Ser Arthur gather our men. He's probably training, that's all he ever does."

"Have them stand by for the moment." As his uncle walked off, Agravaine adressed the Braavosi envoy. "Qatho, I think we might need to move the plan in Braavos forward a bit."

"Agreed," the man answered in a strangely melodious voice. "I'll dispatch a messenger. How soon then?"

"I want Elia and Koreo here in two months, with the other arrangements taken care of." Qatho strode towards the door, draping himself in his black cape as he walked. Once Koreo Fregar was here, Braavos would support Agravaine fully - especially if the other arrangements worked out as planned.

"I'll be moving to Yronwood tomorrow ... With Gareth, I think. It's past time he had a taste of real politics. Alice, could you take care of things here?" She nodded with a smile. Agravaine, smiling back thinly, issued a few more commands before pouring himself another glass of wine. Now ... let's wait and see.

[Palonitr and Howland]

Dayrk Lastoak
Last Tree

Dayrk had been running around the neck for the past few days, securing villages and holdfasts as well as preparing Moat Cailin for the arrival of Robb Stark and his host. He had also intercepted much of the Lannister men that had for some reason been roaming the north, they had a band of 50 men running for the Twins, looking to escape the incoming Northern host. Lastoak bannermen had managed to intercept this band and engaged them in a short skirmish, a ambush that had caught the Lannister men by suprise. And now a exhausted Dayrk Lastoak had to deal with the Lannister men.

Dayrk approached the dungeon cell door that held the head of the captured men, a unlanded knight of no importance. He arrived at the dark room and spoke to the chained man, "Ser Harrion Hill, am I correct? What are your objectives here in the North?"

The man spat onto Dayrk's boots and grunted, his face showing no signs of betrayal. "Like I'll tell any of you frog eaters anything. You better start praying to yer old gods, for when Tywin Lannister get here, the North will burn."

Dayrk raised his eyebrow and kicked the man. He sighed at the misconception that the Lastoaks were crannogmen. They had no hate for the crannogmen but it was frustrating to be known for what they were not. He sighed once more and left the dungeons, looking for his chair. He was extremely tired.

[Palonitr and Howland]

Meanwhile...
Ser Eddard Lastoak
Kingsroad along the neck

Eddard had been sent by his father to meet Robb Stark's host along with 20 Lastoak calvalrymen. He had been sent to Moat Cailin to help prepare it for the coming host before coming for Robb Stark. As night fell, Eddard and his men saw the large camp that held much of the North's Army. Eddard started slowly approaching the camp, greeting the guards and asking for directions to the commander's tent. He dismounted his horse and went to find the Stark.

Eddard approached the war council and spoke as eyes looked onto him. He gulped and then spoke, "Greetings Lords and Ladies, Lord Stark. I am Ser Eddard Lastoak, son of Dayrk Lastoak. My father and I had been preparing the Neck's defenses and Moat Cailin. Moat Cailin is now manned by a company of archers. We also have 200 hundred men-at-arms ready and waiting at Last Tree. Though we wish it to be on a less unfortunate situation, we welcome you to the Neck." Eddard bowed towards Robb Stark.

[Great Franconia and Verana]

On the Road
"Nearly there," was all Curthalion could think as his horse began the steady march into Dorne. With the sun beating down on him, and his retinue, Curt could only think of how hot it was in his wife's Cart.

Curthalion chuckled behind his mask, smiling to himself. Marya likely didn't mind. She had a natural resistance to temperature, her own husband could not join her in her baths due to the heat at which she had them poured. The blood of the Targaryens, or just Marya being Marya. Either way, Curthalion loved her.

With her light violet eyes, and bright platinum hair, her beauty stunned the Reach Lord. He still remembered the day, still remembered when he first saw Marya. Before the War, before...
Curt reached up and felt his mask, tracing the fine engravings.

The Lord turned away, banishing the thoughts from his mind. His task was simple, and for his family, he must see it through. Hycroft would be fine, the administration that went on daily was carried out by Curts council most days in any case.
The Lord looked back, and saw the bright blue cart within which his wife and son sat. Marya was always afraid of Robert Baratheon. Afraid that one day, the Kingsguard would storm Hycroft, and tear apart the Family. Who could blame her? Robert was a brute, a womanizer, and a drunk, and he ordered the execution of most of her family, even if they were just distant relatives. That was a factor in the very naming of their son. Curt had always valued tradition, and desired a strong name, of Targaryen roots.
Marya wanted none of it. Eserys was as proud a name as she could go. After all, very few people knew of the survival of Marya's line, and almost no one thought that there were any Targaryens left in Westeros.

"Good thing I chose the middle name," Curt grinned, gripping his saddle. "Eserys Aegnor Losgar. A name to be proud of."

Across the deserts and plains of Dorne, the caravan was strung. In such a fearful time as this, Dorne was one of the few safe places. Even Hycroft would soon be in the line of fire. That is why this trip, and this mission, must be done now.

"Whoa," Curt said, pulling back on the reigns slightly. "Ser Baliol, where is the nearest Castle, or town? We need rest, resupply, drink. We can't make it to Sunspear straight away."

A young man on the Horse next to Curt turned to his Lord. An adventurer of sorts, Ser Baliol was well acquainted with Dorne.
"A castle lies just over that ridge My Lord, Bonefort. Held by House Morholt."

"I will go," Curt said, drawing his white cloak over his sky blue tunic. "Along with my Guard. Ser Keyser, Ser Balda, please organize the Caravan into a defensive circle. God knows, in these times, what could happen."

With that, Curthalion and his small retinue of guards turned away from the road, and began to ride towards the location of Bonefort. The slopes turned from sand to rock as they drew closer to the mountains, and as they came over a small rise, Bonefort came into view.

"Impressive," Curt admitted, admiring the unyielding, slanting walls.
The group trotted forward, the mask for the Lord glinting in the sunlight, as they drew nigh upon the Gates...

[Of the Quendi]

The Reach
Highgarden, On the River Mander
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros

---

Willas Tyrell, Heir to Highgarden

---

The splendor of the banners in their hundreds, nay thousands, waving beneath the outermost wall of Highgarden above a vast host of spear, of sword, of bow and of horse in the livery of Reach and Stormlands was an awe-inspiring sight Willas had to admit. Fox-and-flowers, red apples, green apples, striding huntsman, oak leaves, crane, cloud of butterflies, nightingale, quills, green sea turtle, griffin, quartered-sun-and-moon, golden tree, waved in the winds above the great host, and above all other banners and sigils the golden rose and the crowned stag. From his high vantage point on the balcony of the guest tower in the inner courtyard of Highgarden could not deny that the host beneath was formidable to behold.

Yet what Lord Mace and King Renly, for now it was so the young Baratheon lord had crowned himself before gods and man and for House Tyrell there would be no turning back now, did not see Willas saw as well. The absence of tower, grape cluster, three stars and flour-de-lis. That no hosts had come from Oldtown and the Arbor was expected, even if they where the mightiest of the vassals of House Tyrell. But the absence of House Losgar and House Lilly was not.

Willas furrowed his brow, disturbed by the recalcitrance of those two houses. Even House Florent had not dared not to come even if they where ever a treacherous bunch eagerly coveting Highgarden and the Reach for themselves. If a house so treacherous had answered lord Mace's call how wicked would not Losgar and Lily need be to refuse the call?

Worse merely then absence however, Willas had received disturbing news Lord Tarly. His castellan at Horn Hill had sent a raven announcing that a party of Losgar retainers had ridden into Dorne. Dorne had never been a friend of the Reach. Willas was not so proud and blind that he could not see that the reasons had at least as much to do with the Reach as with Dorne but whatever the case a Tyrell bannerman preferring to send men to Dorne at a time when the Tyrells where calling their banners at Highgarden rather then answer said call was bordering on treason.

A quiet cough interrupted Willas's musings. "You called Willas?" Maester Lomys spoke. Turning away from the spectacular sight of Renly's army, Renly's first army as new forces where already being raised throughout the Reach, the young king had decided not to rush his advance on King's Landing, Willas's furrowed brow gave way to a warm smile when he greeted the maester. "Yes Maester. I have a letter I need sent to Hycroft Fortress to remind the good lord Curthalion that attendance at Highgarden for the muster is not an option but a command." Willas said, handing his letter to the maester.

Lomys nodded slowly, ponderously, as was his fashion, yet his eyes quickly and keenly skimmed the open letter he was handed. "And you are certain this is wise My Lord. Mayhaps Lord Curthalion has good cause for his delay?" The maester proposed. "Mayhaps." Willas conceded. "But his lands sits at the mouth of the river Manderly as the second line of defense for Highgarden against a seaside assault. His lands borders not only Highgarden's own but also that of the Florents, making his loyalty vital for the security of my father's domain. Further I have heard it rumored that the masked lord has himself lead his men into Dorne. On this hour of war I will not stand idly by why the lords of the Reach plot with men who are no friends of House Tyrell." The Highgarden heir proclaimed.

The maester once more gave a slow ponderous nod. "Very well then. What of House Lily, will you write them as well?" He inquired, receiving a headshake from Willas. "Thus far I will afford them a bit more patient. They may have just been delayed and be here in a few days, their seat is further away than Hycroft Fortress." Willas concluded.

To his lordship, Curthalion Losgar, Lord of Hycroft Fortress, Willas, first son and heir to Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshall of the Reach and Warden of the South, sends his greetings,

My Lord,

Ill can it have escaped the notice of House Losgar of Hycroft Fortress and its illustrious lord that war is upon the Seven Kingdoms as many a man now claim to sit a throne suited only for one, and iller still can it be news to thine Lordship that the Reach is mobilizing at Highgarden. As no man would deny that thou art a both loyal and diligent vassal, devoted in his service to my family in both word and deed as a true knight and bannerman ought be it, I find myself both surprised and perplexed to find you absent from the hosts that now gather at my father's seat and know not what to make of rumors that thine lordship has chosen this hour of need for thine liege lord to venture beyond the borders of the Reach to Dorne, a land of unknown loyalties and allegiances.

Hence I shall request that thine lordship, or whichever castelan or steward at Hycroft Fortress who may receive this my missive should it be true that thine lordship is indeed in Dorne, immediately call the banners of House Losgar and march a host that ought not count but a man under two thousand of horse and foot, to Highgarden for the muster of King Renly's grand army.

Consider, I beseech thee, what thou owest mine noble father, pay heed to what I demand, and thus I conclude my letter.

[Dernland]

Alderth Keep, Westerlands

Athen spurred his horse away from the sounds of impending battle, riding to the raven post. Word had reached him of fighting in the North, with Robb Stark fighting the Lannisters. He quickly penned a letter to Stark's army, and sealed it with his seal. The letter was short and to the point, humbly requesting aid. Athen tied the message to a raven's leg and it flew off to the north. He stood staring after it, but was roused to his senses by the sound of cracking wood. He mounted his horse, spurring it to a gallop back to the battle lines.

Ser William had broken through a section of the palisade, and soldiers bearing the golden Lannister lion swarmed through. The peasants counter-charged, meeting the Lannister soldiers man for man. Screams began to be heard, screams of the dead and dying. Athen charged into the fray, his great-sword swinging. The battle was stagnant. A Lannister fell here, a villager fell there.

On a hill looking over the battle, Ser William Lannister saw the red haired youth, the one who had killed his father. "Slay them all, but their leader is left for me!" he shouted as he led his horse down the hill and towards the town.

[Kuhlfros]

BlackOak Keep, The North
Warhorns blew as a flotilla of transport ships left from the docks of the Fallenoak Village, which sat on the coast of Long Lake, the transport boats, where slim shallow hulled ships, made for river and coastal sailing, It was Darrick's idea that riding the river from Long Lake to the fork White Knife would give his host the chance to unload and join up with the King Robb's Host before they reach Moat Cailin.

Men waved to their wives and children, Including Darrick who waved goodbye to his wife, two daughters, and younger son, his eldest son was to service as a "squire" of sorts for him, and before he had left, he gave his wife Castellenship of BlackOak Keep and their territory

Later on they made their way down from the lake into the river, in-between the WolfsWood and the Lonely Hills and his master at arms, whom had gathered his host together gave his liege their forces and list of provisions he said "Mi'Lord as you can tell we have the host made and these boats are constructed well enough, and all able bodied-men are onboard or garrisoning home with the grey-beards and Green-boys, as it is currently, we have 100 Levied or professional Spearmen, 70 Long Bow Archers, 50 Men-At Arms, 20 Northern Cavalry which service as your guard, and a Contingent of Wolfswood Hunters, as wells as a small amount of mountain clansmen who arrived not a fortnight ago, we have enough bread and dried meat to last us a month, as unlimited source of water as we sail down the river, So in conclusion if all things go to plan mi'lord, We will have reached King Stark's Host by then." Darrick replied to him "Excellent Phyre, I expect you to keep the men under control and disciplined while we are at sea, I do not need a fights and thievery while on these vessels." And as Master of Arms Phyre walked away, Darrick continued to overview his map which consisted of Westeros, tracing with his finger a line from Long Lake to the Fork of the White Knife, as well as tracing a line from Winterfell to Moat Cailin.

[Mnar Secundus]

- snip -

Ser Arthur Sand, illegitimate son of the late Lord Gawayn Morholt, was patrolling his brother's lands with a company of three dozen men when he saw the caravan making its way into Dorne down on the road. He did most of his patrols by foot, as did his men: House Morholt's lands were mostly rocky mountains, completely unsuitable for horses, which was why the family had never developed a large cavalry force. Agravaine, on his return from that improbable world trip of his, had promptly started training his soldiers in horsemanship with the aim of developing an army of mounted archers. The experimental force couldn't be used in most of House Morholt's own lands, but presumably it was functional, though it hadn't been tried on an actual battlefield yet - there simply hadn't been a suitable battle.

Doubtless it will come soon enough, ser Arthur thought distractedly as he led his men down in an encirclement maneuver towards the intruders and the detachment they were sending towards the Bonefort, using hand signals to avoid shouting commands. All the soldiers who patrolled with him were wearing steel mail and a brigandine over a gambeson and a steel kettle hat and had an arming sword, a dagger and a buckler at their belt; a third of them were men-at-arms carrying halberds, while the rest were archers and a few crossbowmen holding their weapon at the ready - the archers of House Morholt used composite recurve bows from the East, convenient for mounted shooting and excellently suited to the dry climate of Dorne, while the rarer dedicated crossbowmen were equipped with small all-metal weapons.
Ser Arthur himself wore his full plate armor, as always; the only concession he had made to the sun was removing his helm and replacing it with a kettle hat. He almost never took his armor off; he slept in it, ate in it, would have wenched in it had that been possible. The steel was like a second skin to Arthur Sand. His longsword and his rondel dagger hung at his hips, and he held a pollaxe, his best weapon. As he crept down the rocky slopes to the approaching horsemen, he noticed their banners and, calling his men to a careful halt, stood to hail the intruders in a powerful bass voice.

"Lord Curthalion Losgar, I believe!" Arthur walked down to the steel-masked man - yes, that could only be Curthalion the Scarred - and his retinue, half a dozen soldiers in tow, his archers and crossbowmen spreading out silently behind him with their weapons readied. The knight took off his helmet, showing his face for the men to see, before resuming. "I am ser Arthur Sand, in service to Lord Agravaine Morholt, the ruler of these lands. If you come to see my lord, I'm afraid you're a day and a half late. By now he should be at Yronwood - these are troubled times, as doubtless you know, and we have to defer to our overlord after all."

Arthur marked a slight pause, putting his kettle hat back on to protect himself from the glaring sun, then continued. "I suppose you'll want to stop at the Bonefort anyway? My lady Alice Morholt has been entrusted with the keep in my lord's absence. She will welcome you, and handle everything you may have wanted to discuss with him if needs be. However ..." He glanced meaningfully down at the rest of Lord Losgar's caravan, then gestured vaguely towards the man's steed. "The slopes of our mountain are quite unsuitable for horses, not to mention carts. There is a proper road, of course, but it comes from the direction of Yronwood; from here, it'd take half a day to reach it, then that much time again to get to the Bonefort itself. If you are pressed for time, we can detach men to escort your retinue through the long road while the rest of us accompany you to our hold by foot."

[Great Franconia and Verana]

Hycroft Fortress
"They are at it again." This was all Ser Julien Flower thought, rubbing his bright blue eyes with an open fist. In his other hand, he clutched a crumpled piece of parchment, inked with the pen of Willis Tyrell. Golden hair danced across his face, as he sat at council. As the bastard son of Lord Curthalion, Julien was his trusted confidante, and advisor. Yet, he resembled more his mother, or so was said. Fair of face, handsome, and tall, Julien looked a Lord, sitting in his father's large, oak chair.

But he was no Lord, simply a placeholder for his father. It was humbling really, to be treated as less a man by the servants, by the council, by the people. The all loved and respected Curthalion, but the mere fact of his birth denied him the same affection, no matter how lordly he acted. He was a Bastard. And no amount of favour from his father, or tolerance and kindness from Lady Marya would absolve him of this sin.

"This is madness!"
Maester Loris cried, slamming a fist onto the large, octagonal table that now stood in the Great Hall.
"The Banners have been called, Lord Mace is assembling and army. As I said he would! Why have we not yet marched to Highgarden?"

"Because, my dear friend," a silky voice replied, the snake like noise moving across the lips of Bresius, a former servant of King Aerys II. "All of Westeros is at war, or soon will be. Renly Baratheon is a mere boy, a fool. Not a King. And our Lord Tyrell was taken in by his Charms, and now marches to a conflict, supporting the losing side."

"I had no idea that you had the power of clairvoyance," Loris shot back.

"Not clairvoyance, Maester Loris, such a gift I do not possess. Yet you might find common sense infinitely more valuable than the sooth sayers."

"You insolent..."

"Gentlemen," Julien said, standing from the chair. "The fact remains, we are at War. And Lord Tyrell has called the Banners. My father entrusted me with the command of this Keep, and of our Lands. No doubt, if he were here, the answer would present itself. But he is not, he is on a mission that we all know is far more important than your petty squabbles."

The Bastard sat back down, and crossed his legs, allowing his silver robe to cascade about him. He raised the note.
"It is one thing, to delay the summoning of our forces when the call to arms is purchased forth. It is another entirely. When we are summoned, directly, and independently, by the Lord's son himself. We all know, what is at stake for my father, and Lady Marya. By staying silent, by ignoring the Command of Lord Tyrell, we endanger their very lives, and the plan that has been 17 years in the making."

Julien shook his head.
The fact the the Tyrell House now knew his father had left The Reach was worrisome. Dorne and the Reach had long held a mutual enmity, and in a time of crisis such as this, it is illegal advised to be seen in the lands of those with whom you have quarreled.

Bresius stroked his beard, and nodded.
"Your Lordship," he said, looking at Julien. "It is your will then, that our forces be summoned."

"Not my will, and I am not the Lord of this Keep. But while my Father is gone, my will, is an extension of his will. Assemble to knight, Bresius, and gather the men-at-arms. Maester Loris, pen a letter. We march for Highgarden."

To: Willis Tyrell, First Born and Heir to Lord Mace Tyrell

Ser,
Not without reason has the delay of House Losgar been. The Lands governed by his Lordship Curthalion are large, and populous, and his troops many. Armour, weapons, and supplies needed to be gathered, and the great might of House Losgar marshaled. We must ask forgiveness for our tardiness, but innfew days hence, you shall see upon the horizon the blue banners of House Losgar, and the men of Hycroft, clad in their bright raiment and armed as warriors of the Reach. We look forward, O Lord, to joining the host of House Tyrell, as is our duty by our Oath.

Signed and Sealed in the name of Curthalion II, Lord of Hycroft and head of House Losgar,
By Julien Flower, Lord Regent of Hycroft.

The letter made no note of the absence of Lord Curthalion, and even as the ink dried, Julien prayed to the God's that Willis Tyrell not look too deeply into the missing Lord.

Dorne
"Your hospitality is welcomed and thanked, Ser Sand," Lord Curthalion said, bowing his head in thanks. "My Retinue may set up camp along the road, we would not wish to overburden you. However, these 6 men of my Guard, and my wife and son, would accompany me to see Lady Alice."

The Lord looked around at the Dornish scout that now surrounded his men. Stout men, able warriors, Dorne had always been a place of immense strength, arguably, the strongest in the 7 Kingdoms. Marya remembered it well, living in hiding, in a small Manor House just south of Sunspear.

"Alain," the Lord said, dismounting his horse. "Please take Our charges back to the Caravan, and summon forth my Lady Marya and Eserys, if you would."

The men followed his orders, and the 6 Guards of his Household dismounted, silver armour reflecting the light of the sun and their sky blue cloaks billowing behind them."

Curt marched up alongside Ser Arthur, and gestured for him to lead on.
"If you would, Ser Sand, we have traveled far, and have more a distance to go to Sunspear."

[Mnar Secundus]

- snip -

"Very well then," Ser Arthur answered with a slight bow towards Lady Marya and young Eserys. "The walk will take a few hours, but we will be sure to take the easiest access routes. Come along." There was no harm in showing Lord Curthalion the relatively easy accesses to the Bonefort: an army couldn't use them efficiently, and in times of war they would be littered with traps and ambushes anyway. He ordered an archer to run back to the hold and explain the situation to Lady Alice, that she may have their guests' room and covers prepared, then started walking up the steep and irregular slopes of Mount Morholt, his soldiers around him and his guests in tow.

As expected, the walk took them until sundown; it was tiring but not very difficult, as the wind was exceptionally weak today and the ardent sun soon covered by a rare number of clouds. Arthur studied his guests distractedly as they went, with a soldier's gaze: the men-at-arms were well-equipped and, judging by their composure under these unfamiliar climatic conditions, well-trained too. Lord Curthalion himself was no slouch either. Their horses had been fine, and their defensive formation around the caravan was surprisingly well suited to the area considering that these were men of the Reach. Then again, it'd make sense for out traditional enemies to have some adapted tactics figured out.

Finally, as the sun was disappearing over the horizon in a blaze of gold, purple and orange, the soldiers and their noble guests reached the Bonefort. The keep stood alone on a tall and flat rocky outcrop, separated from the rest of the mountain to the North and West by a gaping chasm; the sole access to its high, bone-white walls was a steel and wood bridge spanning the maw at its tightest point, its entire structure removable and protected by a small outpost with lower and thicker walls - one of Agravaine's recent additions.
Two dozen men held said outpost at the moment. Even in these relatively peaceful times, they were alert and vigilant, drawing their bows from atop the rampart as soon as they saw Ser Arthur's group approaching and only relaxing once they had clearly recognized him: there were no bandits in the area since Agravaine had put them down on his return years ago, but the lord liked to keep his men tightly disciplined and battle-ready at all times, and Ser Arthur couldn't agree more.

They raised the portcullis and opened the gates, letting Arthur's party walk by underneath a murder hole, then closed everything back as soon as the group had gotten onto the bridge. The thing was narrow, allowing passage for two horses abreast at most, with steel railings that protected against falls but very little against arrows and the like; directly behind it, there was another portcullis, then a fortified corridor that led over a few dozen feet to the portcullis of the castle proper. Well, the first one, at least. The Bonefort had two ramparts, hence two gates, both heavily fortified and at different ends of the castle: Ser Arthur and his group were swiftly admitted through both and reached the dungeon without issues. Lady Alice was waiting for them with half a dozen guards and as many servants.

"Lord Losgar," she said in her high contralto, curtseying elegantly. She wore a long gown of bright yellow velvet emphasizing her tall and willowy silhouette, with long black sleeves embroidered in gold, a black silk kirtle revealed by the gown's V-shaped neckline and a wide sable and gold belt; there was a discreet hairnet on her head, highlighting her waist-length black hair with specks of gold. A thin gold necklace adorned with a small tear-shaped blue diamond completed her outfit. "And my lady Marya, of course, without forgetting your son. Eserys, I believe?"

She paused slightly, a few heartbeats to take the measure of her guests. Curthalion was not a man to be underestimated, she knew that much already; but he was also a lord of the Reach, and it was curious for him to be in Dorne on his own with war looming and House Tyrell calling their banners.
Eserys Losgar - Didn't he have a middle name?, she thought distractedly - was but a boy as of yet, though as alert and intelligent-looking as any.
As for Lady Marya ... As Agravaine said. Blood of the dragon. Marya Losgar came from an obscure branch of House Targaryen which had been overlooked by King Robert's purge, presumably because they didn't carry on the family name and had the good sense of laying low. Nevertheless, the signs were there: her appearance aside, the lady seemed to have a very highly unusual resistance to the heat she had walked under for several hours. Alice - born an Yronwood - had met several Targaryens as a child before Robert's Rebellion, to the point of striking up a close friendship with little Rhaenys, and she had often noticed their unnatural tolerance towards extremely hot climates.
Suddenly, she had a thought. If Marya Losgar was a Targaryen ... She has a claim to the throne. Alice almost smiled less than graciously. Have I seen through your plans, Lord Curthalion the Scarred? It would be extremely ambitious, but there were good chances that Lord Martell would support a Targaryen candidate to the throne. Moreover, if they got Dorne on their side and won the war, then they could make Dornish law apply, cementing Lady Losgar's claim for good. I'll have to write to Agravaine about this ... In code, obviously.

Of course, none of these thoughts appeared on her face as she had her servants relieve the guests of their burdens and guide them to their rooms. "Dinner will be served in half an hour," she told them as she left them before their quarters. "I will write to Yronwood to inform my lord husband of your passage, if you do not object; I hope you will do me the pleasure of attending me at my table - and afterwards in my lord's solar, if you have anything to discuss with me."

[Great Franconia and Verana]

Bonefort
"Lady Alice," Curthalion said, including his head toward the noble woman. "I must thank you for your hospitality. The road has been long, and longer still it stretches toward Sunspear."
The Lords sky blue cloaks fell about himself elegantly, and his silver mask reflected the rooms torchlight. White cloth hung from the back of the mask, falling to just below his shoulders, showing no hair nor skin above his hads. In all, the head dress had an unnerving air about it.

"So too am I honored of your knowledge of my House, might I present, Lady Marya Losgar, my beloved. And my son, Eserys Losgar."

Marya stepped forward first, bright blong hair cascading around her thin face. Her angular features and oddly colored eyes brought with it an exotic beauty, perfectly complimented by her sky blue silk dress.

"A pleasure, Lady Alice."

Eserys was next, the young lordling adorned in a blue tunic beneath a fine leather corset. Threads of silver range through the Dark leather like vines, and his hair was match to that of his mother's. He was handsome, for his age, and tall, yet thin.

"Lady Alice," the boy said in a high voice, bowing at the waist in the traditional style of the Kings Landing Court. Curt had demanded he be taught such etiquette.

As his family stepped forward one by one, Curt noticed the Lady Alice eye his wife and child, as if taking their measure. Her keen eyes were vigilant, and no doubt Curt realized, hid a cunning intellect and a strong mind. Despite his understanding, her well trained calm did not betray any of her thoughts.

Marya stepped forward, and The Lord smiled a hidden smile, behind the engraved steel of his mask.
Few inches Realm know of Marya Losgar, or he true parentage. Fewer still would even think to look for the Targaryens for a champion in such a time. All focus was on the schemes and plots of the House Baratheon. What did the Kingdom receive from Roberts victory of Aerys II? A drunken King, speared by a boar, and a host of family members all at each others throat.

"Foolish," Curthalion thought, eyes still peering into the room.

The Masked Lord was brought from his reverie by the offer of dinner from Lady Alice.
"Your Ladyship is too kind, I could not think of a finer table from here to the wall nor one I would rather sit at. And do please write to your Lord, if it is your wish. Our coming into Dorne was not in secret, and we would not wish to hind our presence from the man who we owe this hospitality."