Game of Thrones: The Rising Sun ((IC/ASoIAF/GOT RP/Open))

[Elepis]

House Baratheon-Donddarion of Storm's End

Renly Baratheon-Donddarion, at Black Harbour

Renly smiled at the Lord-Mayor "I don't know about that my lord. Have you ever seen a Stormlander fight? With these picked men-at-arms and knights, I could take any fortress in Westeros, Essos, Ulthos and the Summer Isles." The Lord said, smiling as he did and waving a hand back towards his troops. "Those halberds and the men holding them could but the fear of the Gods in to the Warrior himself." He unslung the heavy war-axe from his back "And with this weapon, I could cleave open the gates of all Seven Heavens." The young Baratheon said, laughing slightly. Renly liked this young Lord, he seemed funny and clever, but most of all he liked the position of his town and the ships he could muster.

Renly looked out in to the Blackwater Bay "I have never seen so many ships in my life. After all, few ships dare to sail the waters of Shipbarker Bay, and with good reason. I wonder how many ships you have here?" he said, then almost to himself, but just loud enough for Lord Lyric to hear "I wonder how many could fight...". Since Renly had been old enough to hold a war-axe he had been indoctrinated with a hatred of the Martell's, and quite rightly so. How many castles had they taken from the Baratheons? How many Stormknights had been rendered homeless but Martell edicts? and most of all, what glories and power had been stolen from the Baratheons by the Dragon Queen? Since Renly had known what war and tactics were he had been planning ways to get back what was rightfully Baratheon, both the lost Castles...and more, much more.

Lord Renly turned from the Rush back towards the Lord-Mayor "I am afraid I and my six knights will not be able to stay the night. I had hoped we would be able to stay but my timetable is constricted and I will have to sail for Winterfell tonight. However my best friend, closest adviser and half-brother, Edric Dondarrion, Lord of Griffin's Roost and rightful Lord of Blackheaven, and three other Stormknights, Ser Robb of Greenstone, Ser Jon of Darkhall and Ser Jaime of Mistwood, as well as their men-at-arms shall stay here for two nights to enjoy the pleasures of you town." . Lord Renly slapped the Lord-Mayor on the back and stepped on to the waiting Longboat to take him to the Bar Emmon war Dromond. "Now, my knights and Lord, to Wintefell.". Renly saluted the Lord-Mayor of Black Hrbour and said "I shall invite you to Storm's End, it is time you saw a real fortress" he shouted, laughing and smiling as he did.

---

House Baratheon-Donddarion of Storm's End

To: Dearest Brother, Garlan Tyrell

I will be more than happy to host you, and I am sure my Lord husband feels the same. Whenever you need it, Storm End is yours. It has been seven years since we last saw each other and I am most looking forward to seeing you again. My son, your nephew, Stannis, is also very excited at meeting his famous uncle.

My husband will be at Winterfell as well with his greatest knights, I hope you too meet and get along.

Love you elder sister,
Lady Elinor Baratheon-Dondarrion-Tyrell, Lady of the Stormlands and the Reach.

[Of the Quendi]

The Vale of Arryn
The Eyrie, in the Mountains of the Moon
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros

---

Maester Mallor

---

A laconic grunt was the response of Ser Robert Hardyng to the letter from Arianne Martell. For a brief moment Mallor wondered if the heir to the Eyrie had understood it. Then the gruff man spoke; "I knew not that great uncle Edmure had died." A burst of laughter erupted from Lady Catelyn who had unashamedly claimed her mother's chair besides her father's throne and insisted on sitting next to her older brother when he presided on the weirwood throne. Ser Robert glared coldly at his older sister. "Do I amuse you Catelyn?" He drily asked.

Lady Catelyn gave her brother a coy smile. "Very much so, little brother." She confessed cheerfully which did not make Ser Robert seem less glum. He shrugged, turned away from his sister and glared at Mallor with his cold humorless blue eyes. "Write this Dornishwoman and tell her that my father has gone north and if she has things to discuss with him she can write to Winterfell or White Harbor." The heir declared. Mallor, secretly a bit terrified by the perpetually somber demeanor of the heir, nodded quickly. "Yes My Lord." He replied.

But before he could leave to do as bid Lady Catelyn began talking. "The king is getting older." She said. "No mere boy anymore he may have already mounted that dragon of his, if not he might soon enough." She mused. Then she chuckled. "Dare one say it? The dragon might be awakening." She suggested. Ser Robert sighed. "Pray tell sweet sister, is there a point to your words?" He drily asked.

Catelyn nodded. "The point, dear brother, is this; Dornish spears is no longer all that faces those who falls out with the crown. We need a plan for dealing with the dragon." She declared. Ser Robert nodded. "True." He conceded. "But it will be up to father to make that plan." He then declared, turning back to Mallor. "You have my words Maester, send them." He ordered.

To the Princess Arianne of House Martell does Ser Robert Hardyng offer his greetings,

My dear lady. I regret to inform you that your letter to my father Lord Harrold Hardyng, Lord of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale and Warden of the East has arrived at the Eyrie at a time when my father is absent from his seat. Lord Harrold has journeyed north to Winterfell and is unable to answer your summon. Upon his return I shall notify him of Your Ladyship's letter.

Given at the Eyrie in the Name of Ser Robert Hardyng

---

The North
White Harbor, on the White Knife
The Seven Kingdoms of Westeros

---

Sansa Hardyng

---

As the North came out of the cold mists Sansa Stark's, nay Hardyng, hand clenched the rails of the bow of the ship Seven Seas firmly. Even if it was just Seal Rock and the landscapes of White Harbor that appeared out of the mist it was the North still, and the river White Knife ran north from White Harbor to Cerwyn on the King's Road north of which lay Winterfell. Lay home. Was it still home, Sansa wondered as she silently stared at the lands ruled by her forebears for thousands of years. She had never appreciated Winterfell when she dwelled their, dreaming foolish childish dreams of King's Landing and knights and other follies. Now it was lost to her. The people that had made it home was long gone. Father had died because of her dreams, Robb and mother had been betrayed and murdered by men they trusted. Bran had perished north of the Wall and Rickon had died south of it, and what became of Arya, alone wondering the roads of Westeros, no one knew. They existed now only in Sansa's memory, a memory that grew stronger as Wintefell came closer.

Sansa sighed shaking her hooded head and turned away from the vista of the approaching city looking behind her at her family. Harrold, her husband, was prancing impatiently across the deck of the Seven Seas eager to reach land. Despite his age he remained a strong and active man and confinement aboard a small ship did not agree much with him. Eddard and Harrold the Younger, Sansa's younger sons who reminded her both painfully and sweetly of her lost brothers was similarly tired of their long confinement and eagerly talking with each other about the tourney of the Karstarks like the boys they still very much where despite their years. Jehanne, the poor thing, was under the deck, seasick and feeling terrible and praying fervently to the Seven for reprieve while a strangely ponderous and absentminded Arya had joined her twin. Rowena, Sansa's youngest daughter, was like her mother gazing ahead at White Harbor. Her eyes sparkled with excitement and curiosity where Sansa's was filled with sorrow and grief. Sometimes Sansa feared that her youngest took too much after her mother.

Soon the Seven Seas got close White Harbor and Sansa's family prepared themselves with Arya emerging from under deck with a tired and exhausted Jehanne in her arms. The sailors aboard Seven Seas rushed to bring the ship into the port of White Harbor ahead of the other ships of the Vale flotilla that brought the Hardyngs and their banner houses Royce, Waynwood, Hunter, Redfort, Belmore and Templeton to the North. As the ship docked, Harrold offered Sansa his arm and together they walked ashore, their progeny and retainers in tow. For the first time in nearly two decades Sansa was setting foot on Northern soil.

[Majestic Draconia]

First in Battle

Ser Garth Tarly
Queen's Landing

Garth entered the room. "Hello, Ser Garlan." By all rights, Garth could have addressed the man as cousin. But, he had never known the man well and decided to follow Garlan's lead. Garth took several glances around the room taking in the decor. He turned to Garlan when he mentioned an offer.

Before Garth could inquire as to what kind of offer a servant, that had gone unnoticed by Garth, stepped forward bearing a fine spread of local cuisine. Garth took a glass of lemon water, its cooling taste soothing his parched throat. Garth realized for the first time in the day how hungry he was. As Garlan continued to speak, Garth took a bit of the beef chewing as he listened to what the man was proposing. His interest was truly piqued at the mention of a tourney. It had been nearly a year since Garth had rode in the lists and he looked forward to the chance to do so again.

"It would be no obligation, ser. I have never been to the North and would relish the chance to see the vastness of it for myself." He took another sip from the glass. "Though I understand time is a matter of importance, I would like to take the next day to prepare." He ran over a list of things he would need in his head. He'd brought one of the finest destriers from Horn Hill and his armor was in fine order. Though, the only lance he'd brought was capped with a steel point and not suited for tourneys.

"I'll need a tourney lance, as I've brought none with me. Finding a lance should be no problem in the capital, though getting it painted may take a while." Perhaps, a few gold dragons could entice a man to work through the night. "And I'd like to bid my sister and your fair sister and brother goodbye. If this is all agreeable I would gladly accompany you to meet the Karstarks."

---

Lady Meggan Tarly
Queen's Landing

The godswood was quaint. At least Meggan thought it so. She had only seen one other godswood, deep in the forests around Horn Hill. Her time there had been short before being chased off by a woman she and her siblings had dubbed the "green-witch". This time her experience was much more peaceful. Few kept to the old faith south of the Neck and even fewer south of the Dornish Marches. Meggan was sure few except gardeners spent any time in here. An excellent place to escape prying eyes and listening ears.

"It would seem as though we are, my lady." Meggan looked about only confirming her assumptions, as the only movement was the swaying of branches in the breeze. Meggan's eyes soon found the heart tree. It's face was disturbing to Meggan, it seemed almost like a wailing man. She quickly looked back to Maragaery, though she could still feel the tree's eyes upon her.

"In all honesty," Meggan began. "Trystane seems like a kind-hearted boy. Though I must say his kindness seems to bleed into naivety. I had assumed with the death of his mother still fresh in the memory, he would be wary of personally greeting every commoner from here to the Neck. Though, the smallfolk seem to appreciate his efforts." Meggan was quiet for a moment. She had spoken very boldly about the king, could she trust Margaery to keep her confidence. The best way to keep secrets is to tell no one. The second best is to exchange them. "And yourself, my lady? How do you feel about his grace?"

---

Ser Randyll Tarly
Horn Hill

Randyll sat in his father's chair, a throne in the past when the Tarlys ruled as petty kings. Before him knelt a man in chains and shabby mail. This man was flanked by to knights, their hands gripping his shoulders firmly. Randyll looked at the man, a scowl crossing his face. Randyll looked away from the man and to a grizzled knight standing near his seat. "Ser Aberath, read the charges."

The man nodded and unraveled a scroll. "The 'knight'," Aberath sounded as though the word caused him anguish as it crossed his tongue. "known as Ser Jon of Rosetown is hereby charged with the following: brigandage, rape, murder and defiance of the king's peace."

"What do you say to these charges, 'Ser' Jon?"

The man looked up from the ground for the first time since being dragged in. His face was dirty and bore cuts and bruises from his capture. "I am an innocent man. I am an anointed knight."

Randyll turned and nodded to Ser Aberath who called out to a guard at a door. The man opened the door and half a dozen men and women walked in. None of the women could look at the knight and the men cast only quick glances. One by one they recounted their interactions with Jon of Rosetown. Each was different yet equally as horrible. Jon had led a group of brigands who had terrorized smallfolk along the Reach's eastern marches. They had robbed merchant and traveler alike. Raped any woman they could get their hands on and slit most of their throats. The few who had survived these men were gathered now in the Hall.

The last man said his peace and stepped back leaving Randyll to sit in silence. "Ser Jon. I give you one last chance to admit to your crimes and be granted mercy."

Ser Jon looked to the smallfolk and back to Randyll. He grinned. "Fine, I did it. I raped these women and a hundred others. I cut down man, woman, and child. I burned their little fucking houses and cattle. And do you know why?"

Randyll rose to his feet and interrupted the man. "I don't care why men like you enjoy such depravities. And I will give you no further leave to sully this hall with your tongue." Randyll nodded to the men at Jon's back.

"Listen here boy..." Before the fallen knight could utter another word his head was jerked back and a rag shoved into his mouth. He continued to cry inaudible insults at everyone in the room.

"Ser Jon of Rosetown. In the name of my father Dickon Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill, I sentence you to die." He looked back to the guards. "Take this man to the courtyard, his sentence shall be carried out now." The two lifted Ser Jon to his feet, still shouting through the rag. As he was dragged away Randyll turned to Ser Aberath. "See to it these folks are found homes in the village." Aberath nodded leading the group from the hall through a door opposite the one Jon had been taken through.

Randyll stood from the chair. He walked slowly towards the courtyard. His grandfather had always dispensed justice with his own hand. This tradition had passed to Dickon who had passed it to his sons. Randyll knew he had to swing the sword himself, or face his father's disappointment.

The light shining in the courtyard blinded Randyll as he stepped outside. The men had already brought out the headsman's block and Ser Jon knelt over it, seething with rage though thankfully silent. Randyll approached the block to see the rag from Ser Jon's mouth laying on the ground before him. A man-at-arms approached carrying a wicked looking greatsword. Randyll nodded to the man as drew the sword from its' sheath. It was heavy in Randyll's hand, though not so heavy as to be unwieldy. Randyll rested the sword on his shoulder and looked down to Jon.

"Do you have any last words, Jon of Rosetown?"

"Fuck you! Fuck your fath..."

His vulgarity was cut short as Randyll brought down the blade, cleanly separating his head from his neck. Randyll picked up the rag to wipe clean the blade as he returned to the hall.

[Krugmar]

Robb Tully
Lord Paramount of the Riverlands
Riverrun

It was the day of the funeral, and Robb had dressed himself in his finest armour, as per Tully tradition. All male members of the family were clad in their unique scaled armour, holding fish shaped helmets and displaying a fine red and blue tunic harbouring the sigil of their family. Standing next to Robb was his wife, the Lady Celia Mooton, ready to greet the various lords as they entered the garden to witness the event. Servants milled around, giving wine to those who had already arrived and fulfilling their needs, while the Riverrun guards stood on ceremony, in armour similar to their lieges.

Down by the river, on a rack, was a finely crafted bow next to a fiery trough complete with several arrows. All knew the Tully funeral tradition, and it was up to Robb to perfectly place the flaming arrow in his fathers boat. He had buried his emotions about the day deeply, appearing courteous and stoic to those arriving, but there was no denying the hint of sadness in his voice.

Several minor Riverlords arrived, greetings Robb and his family generously before entering. Robb turned and saw Addam Marbrand speaking with one of the guests, a Riverlord who he likely did not know, they seemed to be getting along but it was likely a formality. The Marbrands had arrived an hour previously, and Addam had been accorded a rare honour, to push the boat out with another nine specially chosen people. It was a way to show that the rift between the Riverlands and the Westerlands had been healed, and for Robb to try and gain leverage over one of the richer men in Westeros.

Now he awaited patiently for the rest of the guests to arrive.

To his Lordship, Ser Garlan Tyrell

I too look forward to meeting you at the tourney, I have heard many good things about your person and I believe that they are all true. I wish you a safe journey to the North, I hope we shall be able to joust together and face each other in the melee like true knights of old.

May the Warrior keep you safe, and the Father look over your every effort
signed, Lord Robb Tully of the Riverlands

Ariphos Merryweather
Captain-General of the Company of the Rose
Pentos Encampment

"What does this mean?" said Lorenos Malsuri, a Qartheen warrior who had risen through the ranks to become one of the captains of the company. His question was directed at the letter that had arrived from the Tyrells, hinting at possible conflict in Westeros.

"What do you think? Westeros will likely fall back into civil war and they want to hire the best to win it for them. If I recall my Westerosi knowledge correctly, the Tyrells have one of the largest armies in Westeros" said Ariphos.

"Not the fiercest though, that goes to the Northerners" said Bjarik, a former wildling who had been forced into exile due to his love of pillaging and fighting.

"I don't care about how fierce an army is, discipline is far more precious to me. Proper organisation and a brilliant battle plan will always win over a ferocious mob of an army." replied Ariphos.

"This is the second message from Westeros we have received, things must be dire. Which side do we choose?" said Lorenos, forgetting the golden rule of sellsword companies.

"The highest bidder. Now you may leave my tent, when the messengers arrive send them straight to my tent, I shall do the talking" commanded Ariphos, ending the meeting and sending his captains off to rest. The offers had caused his army to stay in Pentos for the time being, though he had sent some scouts to the Myrish town to find out its defences and the general layout of the area.

[Phalnia]

Ser Corlys Velaryon, Lord Regent of Driftmark
East of Riverrun

Ser Corlys rode hard. The hooves of his horse pounded on the stones of the riveroad in unison with those of his companions. There were a dozen altogether, knights from house Velaryon bearing tunics of sea green. They had left the New Valyria anchored off the coast of the Saltpans, to await their return. Corlys urged his horse on as they drew closer to their destination. Corlys refused to miss the ceremony. He had traveled too far too quickly to miss it now.

After several more hours of riding a great castle began to rise in the distance. It was Riverrun. The sandstone walls seemed to rise sheer out of rivers that flowed past the castle. They drew closer and details about the castle became clear. In a short amount of time, they arrived at the moat of the great castle. The men dismounted their horses and gave the reins to stableboys who stood nearby.

Ser Corlys followed behind a servant towards the gardens, where the funeral was to take place. Behind him walked his knights, all with their helms held in their arms. Corlys thanked the servant as they entered the garden. Corlys found the man who he recognized to be Lord Tully.

"Lord and Lady Tully." Corlys bowed his head as he stood before the Lord of Riverrun. "I am Ser Corlys Velaryon, of Driftmark. Please accept my deepest sympathies for your loss."

[Arlye Austros]

Ser Arlan Whitehill.
White Harbour.

Arlan thought about Highpoint when he noticed the banners that approached the shore. He saw runes, crossed stars, bells, crossed arrows and a fort, among others. But the field of red and white diamonds was the one that caught his attention. He shook off the last memory, the dying Ludd Whitehill, passing his titles to Torrhen, his Father, and whistled, moving his mount to the dock he noticed the ship of the Hardyngs would land. The retinue, four knights of House Whitehill, plus himself, five sworn to house Manderly, and seven riders belonging to various families across the north, rode slowly thought the cobbled port to the dock. Arlan noticed the family that descended, and made a sign for them to stop. Ser Lionel Snow, his half-brother, displayed the banner of House Karstark. Arlan rode forth. And bowed his head once he stopped, remembering his orders.

“Lady Hardyng, my name is Ser Arlan of House Whitehill. Welcome to the North.” He gazed upon Sansa. She had been pretty once, but in Arlan´s eyes she was now far too old. He never liked them old. It was a pointless thought. “I have been appointed by Lord Torrhen to escort you and your family to Winterfell, as a personal guard and a token of the honour you are to the North.”
The rest of the bannermen and nobles that came with the Valemen descended and started to gather their horses and gear, among other things. White Harbour had a predominance of the Faith of the Seven, so the sigils displaying the New Gods made no impact in the population, and the sight of a septry nearby probably gave some religious comfort to the travellers, Arlan guessed. Lord Hardyng was nearby.
“Lord Harrold. I also welcome you and your family. It is my honour to be appointed with your protection for the way. I presume you may be tired of your trip through the Bite. House Manderly offers its hospitality until you are willing to continue along the White Knife. Of course, we can depart right away of you wish.”

Lady Alys Karstark
North of the Twins

Alys´s legs were numb and in a terrible pain, and she could feel her back protesting to the continuation of the ride. The Green Fork grey. She had been riding without rest, and even surprised her guards. At some point Alys considered them a problem and only Ethan of the Moat was able to continue, as the others were dismissed. Ethan was young and strong, and had no issues to follow Alys.
Her flight from the North had given her enough experience about movement, and she considered herself strong, and many more did.

The road would lead her near Seagard, and then to Fairmarket and Riverrun. If she was right, the Funeral would be taking place around that day when the ruins of the Twins were at sight, but her orders were not to arrive to the funeral, just to arrive. Still Alys considered the dull travel too monotonous, and preferred to be done with it fast.

Ethan Forrester, Heir to Ironrath.
Wintertown

Ethan´s horse was unbearably dirty. Spots of mud covered its back, but also nodes of hair and insects filled the legs, and its hair was overgrown and complicated. He didn´t mind it, but it was better to show some dignity there.
Ethan was named after his uncle. Lord Ryon chose the name of the brother that protected him against the Bastard of Bolton. After Rodrick died of his wounds while the Forresters exiled South to Moat Cailin, Ryon became the Lord of Ironrath. Ethan was a good fighter and Ryon, feeling ill, sent his son and heir to represent the House. He was instructed to bring the issues between them and the Whitehills before Lord Karstark, and to send his best regards to his brother Roilan. The boy had been away for over a year now, and Ethan wondered if he had grown too much in that time. He was also tasked to see how the Ironwood was used in the affairs of this Gathering.

His retinue looked to the Kingsroad, and so did he. A horn blasted the air. A day before the retinue of the wildlings had arrived, but Ethan had not seen them. This time, the blue cloth and silk of House Velaryon danced in the wind that rose from the east.
“I see we are neither the first, nor the last.” He said with a smile.
“I´ve never seen a southerner, My Lord.” A rider called Glafford mumbled.
“Don´t be scared, man. They are no different from you and I… Just odd.” He climbed his horse and headed to meet the group that arrived. He recognized the lamb of Stokeworth.
“Welcome to Winterfell, Sers. Though I am just arriving as well.”

Beren Reed.
Gulltown.

“Two coppers for the apple, boy.” The lady mumbled. She had a horrible wart in her nose and Beren wasn´t sure if he paid for the apple or to get out of her sight. She reminded him of the lady next to him the day he was sold in Lys, though this one was seemingly tired and was obnoxious, while the earlier one was experienced, awaken, and tried to calm him down with kind words in an unknown language.
He took a bite off the apple and walked through the streets. Gulltown was a meagre city compared to his memories of Lys, Pentos or Volantis. Yet the Westerosi architecture brought him memories of White Harbour.

He walked through the portcullis north of the city and headed to the stables located there. He asked the price of a horse, but it was too far from his budget.
“How about that donkey?” He pointed at a seemingly old animal chewing grass by a fence.

“That ass? It ought´a die soon, he is.” The old man answered, with a smile. “I´d prefer to get him off my hands and get myself a final profit.”
The words caused him shivers, and he almost killed the man, he felt the impulse rushing through his veins, pushing his muscles to the neck of the man. But he didn´t moved, he took a deep breath, trying not to think of the same words his master spoke the night he escaped.
“I could buy it, is you wish. Say… Two stags?” He played with both of the coins in his fingers.
“Hmmm… Place eight coppers more and it´s done.”

Beren searched in his coin bag and paid the price. In minutes he jumped on the animal and slowly traversed the road north from Gulltown.
It was not a terribly busy road, but he had to go through it. All ships would wait many days to leave North, and he considered better to reach the Neck from the Vale, and not the Harbour. A part of him wanted to about the city too. Some people appeared from time to time between the hills, and passed by Beren giving odd looks. He stopped two hours or so later, and chewed dry meat, passing it down with water from his old hose. He looked at the donkey, and wondered.

The grass was not tasty, a bit dry. And it smell barren. Yet he was hungry. Beren could barely stand it. The ass was a clear reflection of its reputation, resigned to its fate and doing nothing about its time. He nearly jumped out of it.

The darkness descended, and the darkness burned his courage. He was lying on the floor, tied in his wrists and feet. A door opened.
“Get up, you bastard!”

“Get up… Or you are going to die now?”
His mouth was tense and in pain, and his lungs bursted in warm pain. He had stopped breathing for a while at least. He felt his wet cheek when his mouth finally moved. A figure was looking at him. He saw the sigil, but didn´t recognized it.
“That has to be the most strange act I´ve ever seen, trembling and all… You possessed by some demon?” The man was barely a man. Beren raised his back and laid on his butt before looking at him again. Probably two or three years older, blond hair and weak jaw. He smiled, amused.

“It´s a sickness, or something, I don´t know. ” Beren had to breathe slowly.
A green shine came from behind the knight´s leg. He thought it was iron, but noticed it was steel. Scalepiercer danced in the air, moving as a bell from the knight´s hand.

“Give it back.” Beren muttered.
“This? T´is mine. I´ve owned this blade for years.”
Beren just looked at it. “Lier… Drop it.”
The knight didn´t smiled anymore.

“Is it yours then?” He raised Scalepiercer, up to Beren´s face. The northerner watched the steel moving side-to-side in front of him, but he could barely move, he was still weak.
“I think you are right. This sword was in your power. But I don´t think a foreigner lowborn scum like you could own such a magnificent blade. Valyrian Steel and all.”

Beren laughed within. Valyrian Steel? The blade clearly attempted to copy the Steel of the Lost Kingdom, and was certainly of excellent quality, but it was not even near the Valyrian Steel.
“It is a gift. Drop it.” He said patiently.
“You know what I think?...”
“I don´t care!” He felt his patience dying out.
“I think you stole it.” The blade moved up to his neck. “I think your sinful sorry ass stole it and probably with demonic help. You must have killed a noble and now I am going to make justice.”

Beren reacted finally, and kicked the knight in the groin.
“You cunt!” His foe fell down and rolled, but kept the grasp of the blade and slashed the air about. Beren got up and moved away, the jumped on him.
Both rolled, Scalepiercer swinging from his hand. When they finally stopped the knight still held the blade, and Beren tried to stop the steel from cutting through his face, as the weight of the Andal pushed it down. He rolled once more, and now Beren was above, but the Knight was stronger, and pushed Beren away.

He fell on his back and his head whiplashed. He managed to notice the knight rose back and raised the blade even higher, as a green flame in the swirling darkness. He noticed the grass now.
<<Kick>> he thought. <<Kick or it will kill me!>>

He jumped away from the donkey´s skin once more, repulsed, and opened his eyes. The knight seemed stunned. “You are clearly a demon or something.”
The blade started to descend, but then it stopped, and floated in the air before falling back, falling harmlessly in the grass near Beren´s side. Had the knight vanished? No, far from it.

The animal´s hoof had made a crack in the knight´s chest. His sigil was now beyond any recognition. It was covered in blood, and a lone bone glimpsed to the world between the blood. He noticed the young man tried to breath, and opened his eyes, desperate for air among that blood filling his throat. Beren stood up and grabbed the sword, then walked to him.
“You are dying. I guess you deserve it.”

His eyes seemed to ask for mercy. “What mercy? I´ve seen slaves wounded less than you, and my masters put them out of their misery. That´s all the mercy I can give to you. Consider it a kindness, Ser.”
He pushed his sword, both hands on the grip, against the knight´s chest, right in the place the hoof had made the hole. An even thicker stream of blood came out of the mouth of the knight, and his eyes opened wider, but looking at nothing. He kicked a bit before he stopped, and Beren pulled Scalepiercer out.


“You, stop!” A pair of horses rushed to him, both men sword about. “Murderer!” The one ahead screamed. Soldiers, or knights. Bloody knights.
The boy had to act fast, and rushed to the horse left by the dead knight. He jumped on it and sink his ankles on the side of the animal. The horse rushed forward, and for a while there was a chase, but an arrow passed by, and stuck to a nearby tree. The horse was frightened, and Beren was pushed aside.
“We got you now!” The man yelled. The horse rose up again and rushed away from Beren´s grasp. He tried to fight back, but the knight was strong and fast. The fist sent him to a dark dream once more.

[Liriena]

Lord Sylvester Lannister
Lord of Casterly Rock and Lannisport

Riverrun, Riverlands

There had been many ruins to be seen as the Lannister retinue had ridden up the river road, the fields riddled with crumbling castles, half-burnt villages and withered orchards as far as the eye could see. Even now, after all these years, the scars had not faded. Even with Tywin Lannister long dead and the Tullys ruling once more from Riverrun, the sights had remained, like silent accusations against the visitors from the West, with their golden lions and crimson cloth.

The people had been no different, glaring without speaking, gently refusing accomodation in those few nights when Sylvester's frail body had yielded to exhaustion, nausea or fever. All innkeeps had taken his gifts, as had the castellans of every keep, and the septons had promised to pray for their safety, but none had offered them food or beds. Instead, they had slept on the fields by the Red Fork, lying on the soft grass for lack of tents, feasting on trouts, wild fruit, and some of the delicacies the young lord had brought as gifts for the Tullys.

The long ordeal had left Sylvester's body sore and exhausted from the hard riding and lack of sleep, but his spirits had suffered the most. Left and right he had been faced with the consequences of his family's actions, really understanding at long last why, despite all his efforts, his father had not lived to see House Lannister regain the trust and respect of its peers.

Throughout the entire journey, however, his smile had not faltered, and his words towards noble and common folk alike had been as kind a always, his placid mask sturdy even when confronted by harsh looks and mass graves.

Now, as he finally gazed upon the tall sandstone island that was Riverrun, surrounded by roaring rivers, the Lord of Casterly Rock and Lannisport could not help but release a joyous sigh, laced with awe and relief. Still sitting on his red mare despite the pain, he rode to the front of his retinue and towards the main gate, Jaime and Tyrek by his side, eager to look upon the famous seat of House Tully and bring an end to their arduous journey. His men, though dutiful, had not attempted to conceal their own tiredness, and Sylvester wanted them well-rested, content and alert, now that they had arrived.

The guards at the gate proved to be far more accomodating than Sylvester had expected when he approached, speaking to him with dutiful politeness as the portcullis was raised. Their stares seemed to be reserved for the red priest, still in the middle of the retinue, which was not surprising, and did not concern the young lord too much. Shiren was not likely to instigate any scandals himself.

The Lion Knights of the Rock entered with their lord, filling the courtyard beyond the portcullis with the red and gold of the Lannisters, their polished armours bright under the daylight, and their halberds tall and sharp. The rest of the retinue came moments later, as Jaime and Tyrek were helping Sylvester climb down from his mare, Olenna stepping out of her carriage in a red and green dress, embroidered with golden lions and golden roses, her brown hair tied back, save for a few long strands at the front, framing her comely face and green eyes.

Jaime was as gentle and meticulous as always as he sat Sylvester on his wheeled chair, making sure that his lord was comfortable, and that he looked the part of a great lord, before letting Tyrek start pushing it towards the gardens where, according to one remarkably helpful servant who would guide them, Lord Tully and his guests awaited. Olenna walked with them, mimicking Sylvester's smile, while the red priest remained with the rest of the retinue, helping the servants with the baggage.

As they passed by the castle's many buildings, they exchanged a mere handful of words, Sylvester feeling rather nervous in this place, so far away from home, meeting the Tullys for the first time, and knowing that Lord Marbrand would be here. He had recovered from his nausea and his fever, but he still felt very weak and in pain, and it worried him that he would not be able to conceal it throughout the funeral, as he exchanged pleasantries with his peers, handed them gifts, and sought potential suitors.

Seemingly noticing his concern, Tyrek placed a hand on his bony shoulder, his thumb tenderly rubbing circles on his skin through his crimson cloak. It soothed him somewhat, but not completely, and his eyes looked over every inch of the castle, his smile unbroken as he searched for signs, be they reassuring or suspicious. Beneath his cloak, his gloved fingers were tightly intertwined, to keep them from fidgeting.

Seeing the gardens, however, definitively calmed the nervous fluttering inside him, feeling at home in the company of the blooming flowers and verdant trees, and his smile grew wider and sweeter, even as some of the Riverlords present stared at him with morbid fascination and little tinges of scorn. He bowed his head to all as he passed by, and when he saw Addam Marbrand amongst them, he gave his liege a warm, familiar smile to accompany the bow. He did not ask Tyrek to stop in order to properly greet the man, for his green eyes were set on a small group who, given the designs of their armours, could only be the Tullys themselves, along with a knight of House Velaryon. It took him a moment to elucidate which one of them was the new Lord of Riverrun, and once he did, he signaled Tyrek to take him the man's direction.

If it was indeed Robb Tully, Sylvester had to admit that he was somewhat impressed. The man looked like a proper lord in his fine armour, and it was not hard to believe that such a man could have ruled over the Riverlands for many years, while Lord Edmure's health waned. The Velaryon knight, on the other hand, piqued Sylvester's interest in a different fashion, and as he glanced at Olenna, he saw her share that interest, her smile becoming a discreet little smirk for a second, before reverting back to its original form.

"Lord Tully, Lady Tully, I have come to offer you my most sincere condolences." He spoke softly once he and his companions were as close as courtesy dictated, bowing their heads as he softened his smile. "I am Sylvester Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. My father, Lord Tyrion Lannister, spoke fondly of your father. His honour and virtue were beyond dispute, even amongst his enemies. Any man would be proud to be son to such a man."

[Krugmar]

Robb Tully
Lord Paramount of the Riverlands
Riverrun

"You are most kind Ser Corlys, I am honoured to welcome you to Riverrun. The servants are distributing the Guest Right, and I must tell you that such vows are taken seriously here in the Riverlands" Robb responded. It felt necessary to emphasize the Guest Right due to the Red Wedding, an event which had happened in the Riverlands. The custom had been greatly damaged by the cowardly act, but thirty years later it had significantly recovered. He would never think about breaking it, even to fulfill any ambitions or goals he would strive towards. Many said that honour had led Eddard Stark to his death, but Robb knew that honour was worth dying for, without it one would be remembered in a negative aspect, like Roose Bolton or Walder Frey.

Celia smiled at the knight of Driftmark, "You must have traveled a very long way in such a short time, Ser Corlys, such an action speaks highly of your character" she said. Celia rarely met with guests, her habit of drinking too much had led her into trouble with her husband and left her shunned from several events. Yet this was an event that was too important for her to miss, and she had proved to Robb over the years that she could control herself. She could still feel his eyes burning into her every time she accepted another glass of wine from a servant though.

A servant quietly whispered into Robb's ear and he quickly took a look at the Lord of Casterly Rock in his wheeled chair. The device was not unknown to Robb, knowing that Doran Martell had used it due to his gout, but it was still fascinating. His mind was focused on the news of a red priest who had remained with the baggage, an ill sign. Robb disliked their religion, but hated when they produced flaming swords and yelled about burning heretics to their Lord of Light. Several had been with the Brotherhood without Banners before their destruction, and Robb had personally fought with one. It was a difficult fight but he had managed to overcome the crazy fanatic, though several scars on his arm remained from the encounter.

"You are too kind Lord Sylvester. I was saddened to hear of Lord Tyrion's passing when the news arrived, our fathers worked hard to end the enmity between our families and I hope that we can continue to do the same" he replied. It felt strange, hearing the praise heaped upon his father now that he had passed. They all knew that Lord Edmure had been in bad health, but most thought it a simple wasting sickness of the body. It had been a carefully guarded secret that his mind had completely snapped, leaving a proud man broken and depressed for almost a decade. Robb deeply regretted having to lock him in his room, with only the view of the river to keep him company most nights, yet the strength of a Lord Paramount was needed.

[Phalnia]

Ser Corlys Velaryon, Lord Regent of Driftmark
Riverrun

"I am honored to be here Lord Tully." Ser Corlys replied as he and his men took bits of bread and pinches of salt from a passing serving girl. "As they are in the Crownlands, I assure you." With that Corlys and his men ate their share. As Corlys did so he remembered the tale of the Rat Cook. His father had learned the legend in his time fighting in the North. As a boy Corlys had heard the tale a hundred times. Once invoked no man, be he king or cook could violate this sacred tradition or suffer the wrath of the gods. The Freys had learned that truth at the end of a sword.

Corlsy smiled back at Lady Tully as she addressed him. "You are too kind good lady. The feat was not as grand as that. The tides and winds in the Bay of Crabs did most of the work. And a good horse can not be discounted." Corlys took a cup of wine from a passing serving tray. "Though truthfully, I would be shamed to miss the funeral of Lord Edmure. You're good-father was a fine man I've been told." He sipped from the cup before continuing. "I've also been told the funerary customs for House Tully are truly unique. Can you tell me what I should expect, my lady?"

---

Ser Jacaerys Velaryon
North of Winterfell

Jacaerys led nearly a dozen men through the thick wolfswood. They were clad in all black and rode stout garron horses. Jacaerys felt his presence here was a punishment. A week prior he had returned from his ranging and reported to Lord Commander Snow. Jacaerys had presented Jon Snow with a blade they had taken from slain raiders. It was a fine blade, probably castle-forged, rare that far north of the Wall. The commander had seemed uninterested in the sword and presented Jacaerys with a message from Winterfell.

Lord Karstark had announced a tourney at Winterfell and Lord Commander Snow had been personally invited. For reasons unknown to him, Jon Snow had chosen to send Jacaerys in his stead. Perhaps Jon Snow felt his presence needed at the Wall. This was possible, though Jacaerys had a more likely idea. Snow was the bastard son of Ned Stark, once the lord of Winterfell. His claim to Winterfell and the whole of the North was strong, but his oaths kept him from it. Jacaerys assumed the commander was unsure of his ability to keep his vows in the presence of such temptation.

Regardless of the reason, Jacaerys had been chosen to ride south and represent the Watch. A mockery in the Velaryon's eyes. He had joined the Watch to serve the realm. To stand atop the Wall and defend from the menace that lay beyond. Yet here he was sent to watch as men fought for empty glories and praises from old men. He could have remained at Driftmark to watch tourneys. But, he was a sworn-brother and would do his duty til the life left his body.

As the men rode on the trees became sparser and sunlight flooded through. Jacaerys looked to the men about him. He knew none of them, though they seemed a good bunch. Before long the trees disappeared entirely and they were in the hills north of Winterfell. These soon gave way to and the castle rose in the distance. Jacaerys took the horn from his saddle and raised it to his mouth. He fired out a short high sound. One blast for brothers. He thought as the men awaited a reply.

---

Lady Wylla Velaryon
Winterfell

Lady Wylla tipped her head to the men who approached them. She saw their sigil flying as the wind rolled past it. An ironwood tree. She had learned the sigils of North as a girl, her maester insisting it was a noble lady's duty to know the houses she would deal with. These were men from Ironrath holders of the greatest supply of ironwood in the realm.

"Greetings, my lords. Allow me to extend the greetings of my lord husband as well. I fear his work in Queen's Landing prevents him from attending himself. I trust your journey through the wolfswood was peaceful?"

[Elepis]

House Baratheon-Donddarion of Storm's End

Renly Baratheon-Donddarion, at White Harbour



WIP

[Arlye Austros]

Ethan Forrester, Heir to Ironrath.
Wintertown

“It was, as always, my thanks for asking. We had some issues with pine cones, though.” He giggled and looked at one of his companions. The man had been struck by a falling cone while asleep, and had the nose covered in blood for the entire day. But he responded to the look with an angry gaze, and Ethan chose not to go further with the joke.
In the meantime he recalled Wylla Velaryon was related to the Manderly, and she had probably passed through her home in the way to the North.
“I believe that your cradle-family has already attended, My Lady. I saw the Merman dancing over a hall in Wintertown. It will be my delight to guide you there.”

A horn blasted from the north, by the way they had followed through the Woods. Ethan turned, hoping not to see the white mount on dark blue and stars he disliked so much. But instead he saw no banners. A small group of men rode through the hills. They were dark, black, and moved like shadows in the day.

“Ah, those must be the men of the Night´s Watch. Would you like to wait for them, Lady Velaryon?”

Lady Alys Karstark, Regent of Karhold.
North of Riverrun

The mud was something Alys had a distaste for. The north was cold, and you didn´t need to see mud if you didn´t need to look for it. But in the Riverlands it was everywhere. A region that earns its name, she lost count of the rivers, streams and waterways they crossed not too long after the Twins. The Red Fork offered, along its northern banks, a line of rather dry land they could follow, but it was nothing compared to what laid beyond, the Riverroad was at sight, but she could not ride through the waters and follow it.

But now she saw the fortress. Riverrun was a sight, as large as Winterfell, perhaps, and it stoop in an impressive place. The confluence of two rivers provided a defence on two sides, and the third, she had heard, could be flooded to grant further protection.
“We made it!” Ethan claimed. The Crannogman seemed relieved, as their march had been at an incredible speed, galloping hard through the land many hours a day. Alys felt the need to be done fast with the trip.
“We did. But we would have made it anyway. Let´s approach the gate.”


They came under the shadow of the hills and trees near Riverrun. There were villages around, but not a unified settlement, and a network of roads intertwined around the stone keep as a web of a spider, a huge one. “My Lady…” Ethan started.. “…We may have even arrived before the funerals of Lord Robb. We have moved very fast.”
He was right. The people around seemed excited and in mourning at the same time, and it seemed there was urgent work to do, but nobody really wanted to do it. Alys only then realized how tired she was, and probably injured due to the effort. Idiot! She could have taken her time.

They came to the entrance, and a pair of riverlanders, covered in steel mails and holding pikes, crossed their paths.
“I come in the name of Lord Karstark of Winterfell. I bring my Lord´s words for Lord Robb, and I request passage to meet him.” She said to the guards.

[img=http://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/thumb/5/5f/House_Karstark.PNG/104px-House_Karstark.PNG]
Osric Karstark, Heir to Winterfell and the North.
Winterfell

Another horn! Osric had heard at least two earlier, and two more just now. He leaned to the window with haste and clinged to the edge, pushing himself up to look. Where that Stark so tall to build the windows up there?
He saw nothing but a group of riders passing to the north, and quickly hiding behind some trees.
The door opened and Artos looked inside. “More riders!” he yelled, and rushed down the hall. Artos was an active little one. Yet Osric rushed behind him and they both raced down the stairs. He had to grab his brother when he slipped down. Galbart was laughing at the bottom of the stairs.

“You and y´er brother can barely walk like a drunken mule!”
Osric frowned. “You´r the drunken mule, Galbart! Have you eaten?”
“No. I am waiting for that cabbage to be over. I don´t want your mother forcing me to eat that.”
The two brothers and the skagosi headed down to the kitchens to take a look at the doings of the servants. Apparently there was still many a cabbage, and they sent Artos to sneak in and steal some bread and butter and thin sliced of meat. They then headed to the courtyard near the well to pass their breakfast down with some water. They laughed until they saw Lord Karstark. Osric walked towards him.

”You look worried, father.”
The Lord seemed a bit stressed, and managed to fake a smile to his son.
“Your mother was looking for you. Oh never mind. Whitehills and Forresters… They will always bring me trouble. And those Ryswell as well. Remember son, diplomacy is a thing, master your vassals, that is pure art.” Torrhen walked about and turned behind a corner of the building, and towards the Godswood.

The three finished their meal and headed to check their weapons. Roilan Forrester hoped he would squire for some knight, and they found him by the armoury getting his weapons clean and shiny. Lord Torrhen may ask him to be a squire, though Osric remembered his father was no knight. As for himself, he considered the option to disguise himself as a squire, some orphan boy, and get himself under the wing of a landless knight, a joke he remembered some king had done in the past, though he forgot his name, Aerion, or Aerys.

While Roilan carried on and Artos headed out for more food, Osric and Galbart played with some training swords outside the armoury.
“So what do you know about that wildling boy? Brynden?” Osric asked Roilan.

“Apparently he is rude and all. The kind of things you can expect from a wildling.” He placed his sword inside the scabbard, with some over-baked pride. “I wont be surprised he and his thugs get themselves killed.”
“Oh, don´t be like that, Roilan. Remember I am half Wildling.” Galbart laughed and thrusted the sharpless-blade towards Roilan´s shoulder. The boy stood up and rubbed his shoulder, then tried to kick the skagosi, but failed. Yet he answered. “You are at least smart, and you were educated as one of us. This Brynden however is a savage.”
Osric laughed. “To the southerners that are already coming everyone is a savage. Gods spare me if they don´t call savages each other when they have the need to stick their swords into a fight.”

“I would make them squeal like savages if they tried to fight me. I wonder if there is something more interesting we can do in this feast, tourney, or whatever it is, than sit and watch.” Galbart questioned while checking his training sword. “Damn the rock! It´s chipped.”
“I know what you can do. I will be serving some knight or something. Maybe you can laugh at what I will have to say about those southern savages. In the meantime, try to play a joke on that Brynden, would you. I want to laugh myself at the misfortune of that bloody sav…”
His words were silenced by the sight of the huge Wildling passing by. He heard it, didn´t he? Osric wasn´t sure, but the bodyguard that served Brynden had glanced at them as he passed by.

There was a silence inside that noisy courtyard, as the warrior walked away, seemingly busy, and after he walked at some distance all of them looked at Roilan, who seemed pale.
“You are dead now, friend. Can I get your sword?” Osric broke the silence and they laughed at Riolan, who frowned.
“No, you can´t, My Lord.” It took a minute till he smiled too. “I wonder where he is.”

Osric knew who he asked for. Brynden was probably doing wildling things he could barely imagine. But his father had insisted most of the things he thought about wildlings were lies, as he kept asking questions last night, such as if the wildings would leave their children in the nights of winter for the animals to eat them and not the parents. Torrhen came to strike him when he asked if they mated with their sisters and daughters.
“Never say that again, hear me Boy? Who told you such things anyway?”
“I heard mother once saying it… I am sorry.”

His cheek still remembered the pain, and Osric chose to keep quiet about further rumours of wildlings or the sisters of the wildlings, at least until this was all over. While Roilan said something about his brother coming to Winterfell, Osric kept looking at the crossed march of soldiers, noble born and some lords that passed by every once in a while, asking for his father. He even say Brynden at some point, and looked for a while at him, wondering if he would stab some poor man for the sake of blood.

[Liriena]

Lord Sylvester Lannister
Lord of Casterly Rock and Lannisport

Riverrun, Riverlands

The golden-haired lord's smile widened as the Lord of Riverrun spoke, and bowed his head again with humility. Beneath his cloak, his hands tightened their hold on one another, trying to keep his body's many discomforts at bay.

"I thank you for your kind words, Lord Robb. I too hope that, together, we may bring a definitive end to the animosity between our houses." His green eyes never leaving his fellow lord, Sylvester nodded towards Olenna, who stepped forward and curtsied with practiced grace. "This is the Lady Olenna Lannister-Tyrell, daughter of Tommen Lannister and Margaery Tyrell. Just as I, she was saddened by the news of your father's passing, and insisted on coming with me to pay her respects in her own name, and that of her parents."

"I am sorry for your loss, my Lord. The Seven Kingdoms have lost a hero." Olenna said, her expression as seemingly grief-stricken as her voice. As she rose, Sylvester could see her glancing at Ser Corlys, and not as discreetly as before.

His smile unfaltering, he slowly picked a piece of bread as it was offered by a young servant with a silver plate, nibbling on the crust while Jaime and Tyrek each took a sip from the cup meant for him. Their thoughtful expressions as they tasted the wine, searching for foul flavours, almost made Sylvester chuckle, an urge he stiffled by taking a few more bites out of the bread.

As he swallowed, the cup was handed over to the servant, and then placed in his open, still gloved hand. From that distance he could feel the wine's scent, and knew that it was not the sort of vintage that his father would have cared much for. Nevertheless, he pressed the rim of it against his lips, and let it trickle past them and over his tongue, trying to ignore the taste and the slight discomfort in his throat as he swallowed.

His eyes watered a bit while he gave the half-empty cup back to the servant, and it took a little coughing for Sylvester to regain his smile and talk again. As he did, he nodded towards Jaime, who handed his helm over to his brother and disappeared from sight.

"Lord Robb, as I mentioned in my letter, I wished to send you a gift, as a symbol of my desire to build a lasting friendship between us, as well as my house's help in whatever endeavours you may lead in the future." He said, offering one hand for Olenna to hold, which she obligingly did, and gesturing with the other towards Jaime's general direction, as the knight reappeared with a coffer in his hands. "This is my gift to you, Lord Robb: saffron bulbs from Yi Ti. My maester has assured me that saffron can be grown in the Riverlands with the proper care."

[Phalnia]

Lady Wylla Velaryon
Winterfell

Wylla looked to the man that Ethan Forrester had. Dried blood and an angry look proved the man's story. She only smiled as Ethan continued.

"Yes, I would appreciate..."

She was interrupted by the sounding of a horn. Wylla's attention however was drawn to her side. Ser Stokeworth's horse had tossed its head at the sound, but the man calmed it with soft words and touch. Wylla looked from the knight to the origin of the sound.

No banners. All black. She had first seen the men of the Night's Watch as a girl in White Harbor. They had been forced from the Wall and a number had stood with the defenders from the New Castle. And her son. Jacaerys. He had left years ago to take the black. His last letter had been sent shortly after he had taken his vows.

She remembered many of the men at White Harbor said they cut ties with their families. It made it easier to live on the fringes of the realm to forget what was at home. But, she had never thought that her own son could do it.

Before she had time to dwell on it, Ser Stokeworth whispered to her. "Do you think he could be among them, m'lady?"

"I don't know." She whispered back, before turning back to the Forresters. "Yes, I think that would be for the best, Lord Forrester."

Jon craned his head to see the men that everyone was so interested in. "Who are we waiting for."

Ser Stokeworth turned the boy's head forward. "Just wait and see boy."

Ser Jacaerys Velaryon
North of Winterfell

They continued on. The trees had gone save for those kept near the huts of smallfolk or those passed up by the wood cutters and the last hill had been crested. Now they had a clear view of the Wintertown and Winterfell. Countless banners danced in the cold wind. Most were from the North, though all the regions of the realm seemed to be represented, save the Iron Islands. The men had made a game of naming all the banners they could see. Even the lowborn among them made fair work of it. The Shiedhall at Castle Black was as good as any maester on matters of heraldry.

"Karstark." Called out a ginger man.

"That doesn't count, it's their bloody keep." Replied an older man with grey hair.

"It's still a banner. And I haven't heard you name one."

"Fine." The man scanned the horizon and pointed. "There, Kingsblood."

Another man spit at the name. A common occurrence at the Wall. Many still held bad blood with the wildlings, even if they took their vows after the Wilds were joined with the realm. Jacaerys shot the man a deathly serious glare.

"I'll have no blood spilt here, unprovoked. All of your swords should stay in their sheaths, unless they come at you." Jacaerys looked to all the men there. "Am I understood."

The men all nodded and continued on. Two new pairs of banners appeared in their field of vision. A white ironwood tree on black. Forrester? Jacaerys was unsure. It was a small house, though he was sure he had seen a shield with the ironwood tree at the Shieldhall. He turned to the other banner and his heart stopped for a moment.

A white seahorse on sea green. Is it him? No he's serving in the court. Corlys? Mother? Jacaerys wasn't sure which he was more worried about seeing again. Though he kept a stone face as they went. He wouldn't let them see him in such a state.

The ginger pointed again, this time to the two new banners. "Stane and..." He stopped himself and looked quickly to Jacaerys and back away.

Jacaerys had seen him and just stared ahead. "Stane is a brown tree, bare."

After a few minutes they had reached the place where the two groups had met. Ser Jacaerys was chosen by Lord Commander Snow to lead this group so the others waited for him to speak. He rode his horse closer. He stared straight ahead to the Forresters, though he couldn't help but see her out of the corner of his eye. She looked just as she had when the left home those many years ago. Elegant, yet strong. But, the girl in her lap and the twin boy with the lamb knight. Who were they? Surely not her's? Corlys'?

He couldn't ask now. It would have to wait. "Lord Forrester." He bowed his head to the man and turned to his mother. "Lady Velaryon." He bowed in likewise fashion and turned away from her gaze. He could see her smiling, but it felt wrong. "I am Ser Jacaerys, ranger of the Night's Watch. Lord Commander Snow sends his regards."

[Krugmar]

Robb Tully
Lord Paramount of the Riverlands
Riverrun

"The boat containing my good-father shall be pushed into the river by ten of those chosen, usually prominent riverlords and family members, then the new Lord Paramount" she said, gesturing towards Robb, "shall send a flaming arrow into the boat. It should be spectacular to watch, but it weighs heavy on the heart when one remembers that it is caused by the loss of a good man".

"Lady Olenna, I thank you for kind words" replied Robb, noticing the looks she threw towards Ser Corlys. Her grief was likely fake, as were her words, a mixture of Tyrell and Lannister made Robb instantly distrust her. That meant little though, Robb trusted very few people these days. Ambition was a wild disease plaguing all of Westeros, every now and then it afflicted the powerful and created hell for those unfortunate enough to be less so. An endless cycle of death and destruction, yet somehow the Houses endured. Well, most of them.

The gift given to him by the Lannister was surprising, he had been expecting useless jewelry or fancy clothes fashionable at court, yet the gift was far more precious. Robb could not help but give a small smile, "You are most generous, I shall make sure it is grown throughout the land to symbolise our new friendship." he said, before his mood darkened once more. "Now, I believe the ceremony is to begin, if you would excuse me" he continued, making his way towards the boat and motioning for the servants to collect the chosen guests.

"M'lady, right this-" said the guard, before pausing as a horn sounded out from one of the towers of the castle. "You'd better hurry M'lady, I believe the ceremony is about to begin" he continued, before hurriedly escorting her inside and into the gardens.

Robb stood on the pontoon, his family standing close to him, as they watched the boat containing the body of Edmure holding his sword being pushed into the river. Lord Mooton and Mallister were amongst those chosen, along with several other riverlords and surprisingly Lord Addam Marbrand. It was an honour to be given the chance to perform this part of the ceremony, and Robb could see several riverlords disgruntled at their place being taken by a westerman, though slightly relieved that it was not a Lannister.

He glanced at one of the flags, noting the direction and strength of the wind, before turning his attention back to the boat. He waited patiently for it to slowly drift downriver, before releasing the flaming arrow. It soared through the air silently until it met its mark, puncturing the boat and sending it up in flames. A silence fell upon those gathered as they watched the boat slowly sinks, ashes drifting away and smoke flying high into the air. The last veteran of the dreadful wars that had wracked Westeros was now completely gone, a link to the past broken.

"We shall now feast in his honour, tables have been set up in the main hall, if you would make your way there" declared Edmure, breaking the silence. He made his way towards the castle, intending to change into something more appropriate for dinner.

[Phalnia]

Ser Corlys Velaryon, Lord Regent of Driftmark
Riverrun

Corlys listened as Lady Celia explained the events to come. The thought of a burial at sea stirred memories in the knight's mind. Despite the tradition of burying the bones of house Velaryon's dead, a great many had found watery graves. Some had sailed beyond the horizon and never been seen again. Others had been aboard ships sunken in some of the greatest naval battles. And two had been swallowed by the sea, sitting astride fierce dragons.

Corlys thought of all these men and their tales, but one stuck out. Three decades back his grandfather, a fine man by all accounts, had died a truly horrible death. He had sailed under Stannis Baratheon at the Battle of the Blackwater. And for his trouble he and his entire crew were consumed by wildfire and what few among them that didn't burn surely rested under the dark surface of the Blackwater Rush.

Ser Velaryon felt it unnecessary and inappropriate to vocalize these similarities and simply nodded along with Lady Tully. "I see. Truly a sight to witness. Thank you for your time, m'lady." Ser Corlys' eye was drawn from Lady Tully to another.

She was a pretty girl in a dress bearing lions and roses. Corlys was sure he had seen her glance in his direction though now she looked towards Lord Tully. Corlys bid farewell to Lady Celia and returned to knights from Driftmark. He stood in such a way that he could still see the woman, though not be accused of staring.

She was much prettier than he had thought when simply glancing. Her eyes were a lovely green and her hair lay ever so neatly about her face. Having taken in the woman Corlys looked to her companions, a great many men in bright red cloaks and shining gold armor. Though one among them drew his attention more than others. He was a young man, maybe even younger than Corlys. Though his body seemed more fit for a man near his eightieth nameday.

Corlys knew of the man. Lord Sylvester Lannister of Casterly Rock and Lannisport. In another world these titles would have gone along with that of Warden of the West. Though in this world the Lannisters bent the knee to the Marbrands and Lord Lannister bore titles spoken in hushed tones even in the taverns on Driftmark. Before Corlys had time to further examine these Westermen, servants began to usher them towards the river.

Ser Corlys and his men stood back, allowing the riverlords an unobstructed view of the ceremony. Corlys watched as the small boat slowly floated down the river, though he found his eyes drawn back to the woman in roses and lions. Her brown hair and embroidered roses led Corlys to assume she was a result of the formerly royal marriage between Tommen Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. After the burning of King's Landing and the exodus of its king, Corlys could not recall his maester ever mentioning Tommen and Margaery.

He looked back to the river. The boat had floated far down the river and Corlys wondered if Lord Tully could make the shot. His curiosity was slated when the man raised his bow and let a single arrow fly down the river and hit its mark. Not long after the ship was a blaze as it began to slip below the surface of the river. Corlys marveled at the feat, he was unsure he could make such a shot and was relieved he would never be called upon to do so.

Ser Velaryon and his men made their way from the river towards the hall. Corlys just now realized he had not eaten anything this day, except the crust of bread. As they made their way he spied the Lannister girl again. A smile crossed his face.

[Liriena]

Lord Sylvester Lannister
Lord of Casterly Rock and Lannisport

Riverrun, Riverlands

As he watched the small boat drift downriver, the flames spreading over its surface and reaching high into the air, the Lord of Casterly Rock and Lannisport felt a peculiar melancholy, one that weighed heavy in his chest. There was a dignity in this Tully ritual that his own father's funeral had sorely lacked, an aura of pure, sober respect that almost made him forget all the tales he had heard regarding the last day's of Edmure Tully's tragic life.

Tyrion Lannister's funeral had been a somber, lifeless affair. A short, perfunctory parade of minor lords, all seeking his successor's favour, had passed through the Hall of Heroes, in Casterly Rock, and given the young lord a fitting handful of short, perfunctory words as condolences. Only Addam Marbrand and the man called Bronn had expressed sincere grief for his death, and had not taken advantage of the plentiful feast that had come after the funeral, or tried to subtly demand Lannister gold as a recompense for their coming. The closing of Lord Tyrion's small marble tomb had marked the quiet, almost forgettable end of that pathetic ordeal.

As the fire turned to smoke on the horizon, Sylvester thought that he should have done with his father's corpse what Robb Tully was doing with his own father's. Not having a tomb deep in the bowels of the Rock, waiting for him to visit, would have been better.

He ceased his musings as the new Lord of Riverrun made his way towards the castle, inviting the other lords to a feast in the main hall. He forced himself to smile softly again, and signaled Tyrek to start pushing his chair in that same direction. Olenna walked beside them, still throwing glances in the Velaryon knights' general direction, her smile playful.

That Robb Tully had smiled at his gift gave Sylvester a bit of hope. Lannister gold would have been a potential misstep, and though perhaps saffron bulbs were no less ostentatious, they had the added quality of appealing to the fertility of the land that had made the Tully's kingdom coveted coveted by so many.

As they left the riverside and passed through the gardens once again, the fragrances soothing him as he breathed, a servant approached them with a letter in her hand. She was rather homely, but well dressed, and despite her blatant nerves she walked with a modicum of grace.

"Pardon me, milord." He muttered with a bow, not looking any of them in the eyes. "The maester received this letter from Lannisport before you arrived. It is for you."

Sylvester gave her a reassuring smile and lifted his hand towards her, gloved palm upwards. The girl quickly understood the unspoken command, and gently placed the roll of paper on the young lord's hand, bowing again as she stepped back, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her dress.

"Ser Jaime, give this kind lady a dragon." Sylvester said, glancing one last time at the servant before he began to unroll the letter. He barely paid attention to the riverwoman's cries of gratitude as he began to read, his feigned smile suddenly faltering. For a moment, his green eyes widened, and his lips parted slightly.

Many breaths passed in silence, before he looked at Jaime and Tyrek. He was not smiling now, but his expression concealed any underlying emotion. "It's from your mother. She says a raven from Dorne arrived at Casterly Rock..."

He turned to Olenna then. "And my castellan there did not see fit to send it here."

The young woman said nothing at first, but when she did, there was a tinge of amusement in her eyes. "There is only one reason why my sweet father would forget his duties."

"Arianne Martell is offering the hand of one of her daughters in marriage... and that of her heir, Garin." Said Sylvester, his eyes returning to Mycella's letter. It was left unsaid what both were thinking: Margaery had heard of this letter, of course, either from her husband or the maester of the Rock, and had decided that no relative of hers would marry a Dornish, let alone a Martell. How Myrcella had heard of the letter at all, Sylvester could not fathom, but he was glad she had.

"So..." Olenna said, tearing Sylvester's attention away from his cousin's fine writing. "Are you going to agree?"

Sylvester looked at her, and his green eyes showed glimmers of a plethora of thoughts and feelings, foremost amongst them satisfaction and agitation. He was excited and scared, truly, at the prospect of marrying one of Arianne Martell's daughters. Such a union would cause ripples throughout the Seven Kingdoms for sure. Nobody could be indifferent to it, least of all Addam Marbrand. But if he did it, he would have what his father never had, despite his years of labour: a real opportunity to see himself seated in a position of great honour, as befitted a Lannister.

And if he married Arianne Martell's daughter, then maybe, just maybe, Sylvester Lannister would be able to further his family line. He would have children with his Martell wife, children who he could raise into proper heirs, who would follow in his footsteps and dedicate their lives to the preservation and growth of their house.

"I... I will. It is high time I married and produced an heir, and this is likely to be the best offer I shall ever receive." He said at last, still unsmiling, hands carefully folding the letter into a perfect square. "As for her son... You are a woman grown, Olenna. I cannot force you to marry a Martell."

As he gazed into her eyes, he saw that Olenna was lost deep in thought. Her apprehension was greater than his own, that much was clear. How could it not be? At the end of the day, she was half a Tyrell. It was in her blood to have reservations about the Martells, clever and practical though she was.

She pursed her pretty lips, much like Sylvester himself was wont to do, and he did not fail to notice the quick glance she threw in the direction of the Velaryon knights. Sylvester had heard the name of the knight she seemed to be fixated on, and he knew she had as well. Ser Corlys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark. A handsome man, with the fine features that came with the blood of Valyria, he looked exceptionally gallant wearing his armour with the colours of his house. With such an appearance, it would have been easy for anybody else to forget that the knight had fathered bastards, but not for Sylvester, and surely not for Olenna.

"If you would prefer to be the Lady Paramount of the Claw, rather than the Princess of Dorne, that is your choice." The lord whispered from his wheeled chair, taking Olenna's hand in his own, rubbing circles on the soft skin with his thumb. He was smiling again. "I trust your judgement. Besides, I don't need all my relatives to marry a Martell. I suspect it is me who she wants to marry into the Martell line the most."

Olenna smiled back at him and kissed him on his pale cheek, before she departed, giving Sylvester a final, mischievous glance as she walked towards a pot in which white flowers bloomed, a few feet away from the Velaryon knights.

The blond lord released a long withheld sigh as he looked on, shuddering as he felt nausea strike in his insides hard. He hoped he was not making a mistake.

"Tyrek, go to the castle's maester and have him send a letter to your mother. Tell her that I will marry Nymeria Martell, that I will gladly do whatever the queen regent desires to bring this union to fruition. Then, go to Shiren and tell him the news. I want him to gaze into those fires of his and tell me what comes next."

"Yes, my lord." Tyrek nodded, bowing his head and taking a step towards the castle, before stopping and looking back. "Do you want the red priest to attend the feast?"

"Knowing him, he will eat with the servants, and it's probably better that he does. I would rather not have people staring at me more than usual during the feast." Sylvester answered, smirking a bit as he waved Tyrek away. As he left, he felt the other twin's hand on his shoulder, and sighed again.

"Do you think... he... will hate me for it? For marrying?" He suddenly said, hiding his hands beneath his cloak again. His smile barely hid the worry in his features.

"Tyrek?" Said Jaime, bewildered, as he pushed the wheeled chair towards the main hall.

"No." Whispered Sylvester. "My Andros."

---

Lady Olenna Lannister-Tyrell

Riverrun, Riverlands

Half a lioness and half a rose, Olenna was not a woman wont to delude herself. Ser Corlys was very handsome and, if she did not marry him, at least she would get to spend her time in Riverrun in the company of an attractive man who, if the rumours were true, had a penchant for pleasuring women outside of marriage. And she had felt his eyes on her, and seen the smile that had crossed his face while he spied her after the funeral. But it was not the prospect of bedding a knight with Valyrian blood that drew her towards the man.

Fingers firmly intertwined over her navel, she leaned towards the flowers with effortless, though insincere grace, feigning a soft pleasure as she relished their fragrance. She despised pretending to be a coy, blushing maiden, preoccupied only with flowers and dresses, but she knew that it was necessary. Being an exemplary, courteous young lady had almost earned her mother the Iron Throne once, and Olenna had learned much from her experiences, as well as the lessons that the Queen of Thorns had taught her before her passing.

Thus, the young lady with brown hair and green eyes, dressed in golden lions and golden roses, chose to conceal her sharpest thorns behind the mask of the typical Tyrell maiden as she moved closer the heir to the Claw, still pretending she was smelling the flowers and herbs. When she stood in his line of sight, she let out a sweet sigh, and smiled joyfully as she held one of the flowers between her fingers, caressing the petals with the tips.

He had seemed handsome from a distance, but now she could see it all more clearly, and though she could not say she outright desired him, she did find herself looking forward to whatever would follow. His face was not that of a foolish young knight, and there was a certain wisdom in his blue eyes.

She suspected that she would not find the same if she ever looked upon Garin Martell's face, and even if she did, she was not sure that she would marry him either way. With a Martell as his wife, Sylvester would already have a Lannister foothold in Dorne, and both knew he could use another in the Claw.

Looking up from the flowers, Olenna held one of them in her hand and lifted it towards her nose. As she closed her eyes and breathed in, she smiled, knowing that Ser Corlys would see. And when she opened them again, she glanced in his direction, her green eyes playful, and gave him a small bow with her head.