Game of Thrones: A Feast for Crows [IC/Concluded]

[The Forsworn Knights]

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Princess Myrcella Baratheon. Princess of The Iron Throne and current heir to the Seven Kingdoms. Member of House Baratheon of King's Landing, daughter of King Robert 'The Usurper', and younger sister of King Tommen 'The Kind'.

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In the Gardens of Highgarden, The Reach.
Myrcella would seem reassured as the Targaryen King led her away from the others, relaxing her shoulders slightly. She would remain silent as they entered the flower gardens, strolling down the path.
"No Ser, Prince Doran and his trueborn family have treated me well- although I fear the Sand Snakes, as their contempt for my family and desire to kill anyone who flies a golden lion on any part of their sigil is frighteningly clear- although they have never harmed me." Myrcella would say. Her lips would curl into a smile as Aegon mentioned Trystane.
"Yes," She would say. "That is correct. My Grandfather betrothed me to Trystane and married my brothers to Q- Lady Margary in an attempt to secure your loyalty. I imagine that you know how that went for poor Ser Oakheart when you came." Myrcella would say, testing to see how much blame she could rest on her captor before hitting the limits of his tolerance.

[Nasaira]

HIGHGARDEN, THE REACH

"I did not know Ser Oakheart but only heard stories and tells about him. From what I've heard it seem he an honorable man. Pity that he died but such is war. My hope is this war will end soon and peace be restored to the realm." Aegon gave a smile at the young princess. "You do not have to fear the sand snakes here." Aegon told her to reassure her that she was safe within the walls of Highgarden.


OUTSIDE AEGONS CHAMBER

There was a knock and the announcement of lady Margeary. She wanted to know if she could escort Aegon to the tourney grounds. "Of course my lady." Wearing a dim colored golden armor with the sigil of House Targaryen in the breastplate Aegon took the lady Margeary by the arm and walked with her to the tourney grounds.

"Are you excited for the tourney it seems as if the whole kingdom has turned out for it." Aegon himself had never been to a tourney before. "Being raised by the golden company I never had time for tourneys as a boy, this too is a new experience for me." Walking through the gardens of Highgarden Aegon admired the beauty of the landscape and of the castle itself.

"You do have a lovely grounds, I can tell a lot of care goes into the gardens. So my lady what has brought you to my chamber doors? And why are we truly on this walk together?" While Argon wasn't rude he also knew there was more to this then just a pleasant walk and conversation.

[Kerloff]

Lord Randyll Tarly
Highgarden, The Reach

Randyll was not a young man, he knew. The days of his youth, when he still had the strength to face five men at once and prevail, were long past. Now he estimated he could take only three, maybe four on a good day. That thought was at the front of his mind as he stood in the gallery above the tourney field, watching his son as he went through his paces before the melee. Once he had been a fine melee fighter himself, taking the champions purse on more tournaments. But now he left the fighting to the younger men, contenting himself with strategy and tactics. He was very good at this, Tarly knew. Better than anyone in the Reach, if he did say so himself. Certainly better than that fat moron Tyrell. At that uncharitable thought he looked towards the Lord of Highgarden himself. There the ponce stood, swathed in billowing green robes and rocking on his heels like a child. Tarly did not respect his liege-lord, and was hard pressed to think of someone who did. Respect his house, his lands, his army, aye. But not the man himself. How dare he take credit for what was not his? The septons said that nursing a grudge was sin, but to the Seven Hells with them. Perhaps the worse torture was putting on a mask of friendship, and laughing at the mans shit jests. Even now Tyrell turned his gaze towards Tarly, and beamed at him as though he was his blushing bride. Tarly forced himself to give Mace a thin smile, and turned back to his son on the field. Dickon looked striking in his armor of green and red, which Randyll had payed for out of his own pocket. The boy better not let him down. Though at least he wasn't Samwell. For that, Randyll thanked the gods every day. Lord Tarly rarely if ever thought of his worthless eldest son, half expecting every raven he received to be the sad news that the boy had gotten himself gutted by a wildling or lost in a blizzard. He received many ravens, these days. No doubt there would a mountain of letters awaiting him when he returned to Horn Hill. He was not planning on staying for the lists, much to Dickon's dismay. There was work to be done. He had been set back, forced to renounce his title as Master of Laws, as bestowed by Kevan Lannister in King Tommen's name. Truth be told, he felt no particular loyalty to the Lannister bastard. Yet at least he had risen a bit under him. But no, the fat moron had to rush back into servitude of his Targaryen masters. Tarly had fought for them in the last war, aye, but had felt only contempt for the Mad King, even as he sent him the head of Lord Cafferen. Targaryens were a mad and decadent lot, he knew. Without their dragons they were less than nothing. Now he fought for another boy king, the supposed son of Rhaegar Targaryen. Tarly at least had felt grudging respect for the dead prince, but Aegon was brash and reckless.

Lord Tarly had much to ponder indeed, as he took a silver chalice from a wine bearer and knocked it back in one gulp, glowering into the dregs as his mind raced with possibilities.

[Warg the Immortal]

Ser Wilhain Storm, Mercenary Captain of the Shield Scorchers Blue Maniple,
Bastard of House Gower

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Short Hours Previous

Wilhain was pleased with the cordial greeting from King Aegon, as well as the announcement from Lord Tyrell; A tourney, a pity Lord Daegon isn't here for it, but perhaps I can impress some of the lovely ladies of the Reach. But without him and the other captains I may stand a chance of placing well in the melee, and if my skills have not left me, I may place well in the joust as well...provided I can find someone willing to loan me a horse. Suddenly Wilhain's attention was caught by a man in Tyrell colours walking the halls, he had a slight limp. Ah that must be Willas Tyrell, Lord Mace's heir, I've been told he is a wise man, perhaps he would be willing to loan some horses to us. Wilhain walked swiftly up to the man to introduce himself.

"Excuse me Ser, but would you happen to be Willas Tyrell?"

The man seemed startled by the sudden unexpected. "Yes, you would be correct sir, but I am afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Ser..?" Wilhain cleared his throat before speaking; "Wilhain, Ser Wilhain Storm, I am a servant of Lord Daegon Blackfyre, and a bastard scion of House Gower. I am here as a harbinger of my lord. Now, as you likely know from your illustrious father there is a tourney fast approaching, and one of the events happens to be a joust, an event I was rather good at prior to my travels in Essos. Unfortunately neither myself, nor my men are cavalry in Lord Daegon's company, and I find myself without a steed to utilize, could you by chance be persuaded to loan myself and a few of my men horses, so as to create a more eventful tournament?"

The Tyrell noble pondered a moment before replying; "I suppose my father would like as many competitors as can be mustered, very well, I shall loan you horses on the good faith that you will return them to us following the events of the tournament." Wilhain could not resist the smile that spread across his face, "Thank-you Ser, you are most gracious, and you have my word, they shall be returned to you as soon as the events of the tournament conclude. Additionally there is one more thing I would ask of you, when we first arrived, I alone was permitted entry to the castle by your sister, Lady Margaery, however now that other guests have arrived, all were permitted to bring in a small retinue of guards, I ask that I at least be allowed to bring in my fellow captain, and those among us who wish to compete in the tournament." The Tyrell sighed before replying; "Yes, thats fine, now if you don't mind Ser Storm, I am very busy. Is there anything or can I be on my way?"

Wilhain smiled tentatively. "Yes sir, only one thing more. My lord, Daegon, gave us a number of items to give as gifts to any Lords who gave us hospitality on our search to locate King Aegon. As yours was the first and only House to receive us, we would like to share the entirety with your family. For your mother, Lady Alerie Tyrell, the finest silks from Naath, for your father three casks of Tyrosh's famous pear brandy, for yourself and your brother Garlan, two bows of Goldenheart wood... there was a third for your brother, Loras, but due to his tragic and noble sacrifice, we shall be unable to give it to him, perhaps instead it should go to the King. Finally, for your sister, Lady Margaery, a necklace and matching earrings crafted from dragonbone. When I return from my camp with my men we shall deliver the gifts to your men, so as to ensure they arrive at their intended recipients." The Tyrell sighed slightly before replying, whether from remembering the death of his brother, or simply wishing to return to his duties, Wilhain could not tell. "Thank-you for the wonderful gifts, Ser Wilhain, I will ensure my men send them to their recipients, now if you will excuse me, I have business to attend to." The Tyrell turned and limped away, and Wilhain began to make his way to the gates.

...

Wilhain strode into his camp, making a straight line for his personal tent. Inside he found his Squire, Kenneth of Grassy Vale within...sleeping on Wilhain's cot. Wilhain scoffed, picking up Kenneth's smithing tongs and tossing them hard enough to wake him up, but not so hard as to cause undue injury. Kenneth jumped and yelled at his Captain; "Oi, ye may be my feckin' cap'n but don't think ah won't crack yer jaw, ye feckin' gobshite." Wilhain smiled at his old friend, before tossing the man more appropriate clothing for visiting with nobles. "Try and talk civilized when your speaking with the high and mighty of the Reach, now get your lazy arse outta my cot, I got a job for you. There's going to be a tourney held at Highgarden, and we've been invited, go through the camp and root out anyone who wants to compete from our lot." The burly armorer rose from the cot, scratching his beard. "Yer wish is my c'mand Sir Wilhain of the Gobshites." Wilhain punched the man on the shoulder as he made his way out of the tent, Kenneth mearly grunted and continued on at a lazy pace.

Wilhain then decided it was time to go get the colossus from Mantarys. He made his way from the camp of the Blue maniple to the Purple tents under the command of Basaran. He made his way through the lines arriving at the largest tent in the centre of the camp. Flinging the tent flap aside Wilhain was met with another sleeping form this, though this time it was the much more intimidating Basaran. The giant looked somehow more intimidating without his mismatched armour, and wicked scissor. Basaran was entirely muscle, and with his monstrous size he resembled more a bull than a man. One thing that surprised Wilhain was the utter lack of of scars on his body, other than the obvious stump at the end of his forearm and the wire holes that sealed his mouth shut. Damn he must have been one hell of a pit fighter, this guys less scarred than me." Suddenly a rasping voice from Wilhain's right broke the eerie silence. "Ah, captain Wilhain, so pleased we are to see you, do you have a message for my master or I?" Wilhain nearly jumped out of his skin, what he had first assumed to be a lie of unused blankets was actually a man clothed in crumbled robes, colored a pale yellow, which hung oddly on the man, giving him the appearance of a pile of rags when seated. Fuck! This must be the squire Basaran appointed, Sallow Toad, he's almost as frightening as his master. The short yellow man threw back his hood, revealing an almost sickly pale face below, the skin seemed unusually tight, like it had been stretched to fit his skull, his eyes were small, black, and beady, his hair was long and blonde with carved pieces of bone sewn into it. "Aye, there is to be a tourney ate Highgarden, you and your master will attend, and participate in at least one event. Try to dress in a more...presentable manner." The short man smiled wide and unsettlingly; "It would be my pleasure, Ser Wilhain, now if you would kindly vacate the captains tent, he has asked not to be disturbed until he has finished resting." Wilhain nodded and left the tent, only stopping to think after making it back into his own tent. "How in the fecking hells does a mute man ask no to be disturbed?"

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Handless Basaran, Mercenary Captain of the Shield Scorchers Purple Maniple,
Monster of Mantarys

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Basaran awoke to the sound of Sallow Toad humming over his books. The giant opened his pale blue eyes and rose from his cot. His squire smiled a toothy grin at him, and began speaking. "Master, Captain Wilhain has informed me that there is to be a tournament at Highgarden, we are expected to compete in at least one event. I myself shall perform my archery skills, I assume you shall take to the melee?" Basaran grunted at the small man, who somehow always seemed to know what his answer would be. "Excellent Master! I propose we get you armoured and make our way to the signups before the events begin." Basaran grunted and stood so the man could begin strapping on his collection armour pieces. On his left leg a chain mail stocking, his right a plate greave. Over his groin was fastened a steel codpiece with a lone spike in the middle, impaled upon it was a skull. The skull almost seemed human, yet the teeth were thin and needle like, the jaw too long and narrow, and the head itself slightly broader than would be normal. On his torso was a boiled leather shirt, followed by a scaled vest and finally a chest plate, back plate, and a pauldron over his right shoulder, carved to resemble a gaping fish. On his left arm was fastened the many lobstered plates that affixed the scissor in place, on his right arm was a chain mail sleeve under a gauntlet, finally on his head was a round topped featureless full helm, nothing breaking its smooth surface, save for two perfectly circular eyeholes.

Finally armoured, Basaran made his way to the castle, the gate now open. The guards visibly gawked at his stature, and unusual armour. He made his ay to a table where various other men lined up to enlist in the tournament. Basaran shouldered his way to the head of the lineup, any disagreement was met with a piercing stare or a guttural grunt. At the front of the line sat a diminutive man marking down names of entries. He stared up at the man, oddly not intimidated by the colossus before him. "Give me your name and present a sigil." The man asked Basaran. Sallow Toad wove his way between knights and sellswords to stand beside his master. "Our names are Basaran of Mantarys and Sallow Toad the Yellow, we have no sigils." The man sighed in exasperation. "No sigil, no entry. The judges and viewers need some way to identify contestants, so come back later when you've come up with a sigil, or don't come back at all." Basaran grunted and began stalking down the halls of the lavish castle, stopping when he found what he was looking for, a purple curtain. With a sharp tug he ripped it down and handed it to his squire, who reached beneath his thick robes to produce a knife, and began expertly cutting the curtain into two banners. Reaching back within his robes he produced small trips of cloth and items for sewing. In short time the two of them held their own personal sigils, Basaran's a pair of bloodshot, pale blue eyes on a field of purple and Sallow Toad's a golden toad splayed out on its back.

Returning to the signup table, Basaran once again approached the man jotting down names and sigils, handing him the cloth banner alongside his squire. The man looked skeptically at the crude banners, before responding. "Accepted, now what events shall you be participating in?" Sallow Toad once again spoke up; "I shall be participating in the archery competition, while my master, Basaran shall show his mettle in the melee." With that Basaran grunted and made his way out into one of the gardens removing his helm and sitting under the shade of a tree.

[The Slavic League]

Ryon Carcarion
Greenshield, The Shield Islands

The lord of Saltward inhaled the fresh sea air. It was a damn shame, a storm had sent his ships astray while the rest of the Iron Fleet had payed the Iron Price for the Shield Islands. Ryon was glad that the Ironborn had taken the Islands, as it was one step closer to remaking the kingdom of the islands and rivers once again. But despite the victory, he was still upset with the results of the kingsmoot. He would have preferred Victarion, and would be accepting of Ashas rule, but Euron. Euron was a heretic, and a blasphemer. He killed was exiled from the Iron Islands, and here he has returned, and somehow fooled the other lords of the Ironborn that he should be king.

Ryon looked out to the Island his ship was sailing too. His father in law, Maron Volmark was recently rewarded with the fief for his bravery during the invasion. He could already see him. The lord of Volmark and Greenshield wore a seal skin cloak, and a chainmale gambeson. His raggedy, long hair and his stubble of a nearly shaved beard became clearer the closer his ship, Bloodfin inched closer to shore.

The large longship docked in the small warf of Greenshield. Ryon walked down the plank from his ship to the shore, Maron stood their waiting for him. "What is dead may never die, lord Volmark." Ryon stared him in the eyes, a mix of friendship and a bit of anger in his eyes. "But rises again harder and stronger." He responded. "Your new hold is well deserved," Ryon grinned, but then turned to a frown of disappointment. "It was a shame that I was not here to pay the Iron Price, myself." Maron crossed his arms. "Where were you? I do recall that King Euron gave you and order to follow Harras Harlaws ship and assist him in taking Greyshield." Ryon looked off into the distance, the storm he had traversed was still brewing on the horizon. "Storm God lead us astray."

"Unfortunate." Maron sighed. "King Euron will soon gather the Iron Fleet once more and this time take the Arbor." Ryon raised an eyebrow. "The Arbor? I trust he has no plan on keeping it, we would need farmers to use that Island properly, and we do not sow."

"I do not know what our king plans." Maron ushers his son-in-law to follow him. "I know that you are as upset as I am when Euron took the seastone chair. He seeks to bribe me away by giving me this hold that the Greenlanders will no doubt try and take from me."

"Aye, even the Greenlanders can pay the Iron Price. But you have fought alongside Euron only a few days ago, how is he?"

Maron frowned "He is a clever leader. But reckless, he ordered a smaller force to draw the defenders of the Shield Islands into the Mander. Needless to say they were slaughtered by the Tyrells, and the Tarlys."

There was silence between the two for a moment before Maron started a new conversation. "He took one of the lords daughters as a Saltwife, you know?"

"So what?" Ryon shrugged. Maron smiled at him. "The funny thing is," Maron stopped and turned to Ryon. "She wanted to be taken as a Saltwife."

Ryon chuckled. "Aye, even though the King is a crazy man, he seems to have a way with women." Ryons chuckles the turned to a frown. "Just look at Victarions wife."

Maron had a look of sadness on his face. "I am sorry about your Aunt. She was a brave girl. I can only imagine the hatred you have for both Euron and Victarion."

"I do not hate Victarion. My aunt was a wicked women, but she was still the aunt I grew up with. Besides, the way I see it, it was Euron who killed her. He knew that Victarion would go into a rampage, and he used that against him."

Maron was silent for a moment. "Speaking of wives." He turned back to the warf. Ivory Carcaron, daughter of Maron, and wife of Ryon was being escorted by two Ironborn reavers. Her black hair was done up into a single long braid that went down the front of her chest. She wore a dress made out of sealskin, and around her neck was a shark tooth necklace that Ryon had given her when they were both children.

"Father," she called out, as she ran up the hill to Maron, and embraced him into a hug. "I missed you." Maron returned the hug "I missed you as well, girl. Has lord Ryon treated you well?" The embrace ended but Ivories smile remained. She nodded "Aye, he does father. Saltward is nicer than I remember it from my childhood."

"Should I retire for the night, lord Volmark, so that you may speak with your daughter? We can speak of matters in the morning, or we can speak here now." Lord Volmark held his smile, and then turned to Ryon. "Aye, you must be tired from the trip Lord Carcarion, we may speak in the morning."

"Good," Ryon said to himself. "That storm made me exhausted."

[The Valyria Empire]

Event Post (This character is unclaimed and this post is only here to continue RP)

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His Grace, Euron "Crow's Eye" of House Greyjoy, Iron King, King of the Isles and the North, King of Salt and Rock, Son of the Sea Wind, Lord Reaper of Pyke, Captain of the Silence and Protector of the Realm.

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Euron got up from the cot in his cabin. A salt wife still laid in the cot. He grabbed his eyepatch and put it back on, over his black eye shining with malice. After leaving his cabin he stood out the deck of his beauty, Silence and silence there was, all but for the shuffling his mute crewmen and the sound of the waves. Euron's black hair flowed in the wind, Euron's small fleet is stationed off the coast of the Westerlands. While they watched the Reach reclaim the Shields, Euron had bigger plans. His political enemies were either death or captured by the Reach, thus frowned upon by their fellow Ironborn for failing to hold the Shields.

Euron's men had caught word of another Targaryen in the world. Aegon he was called, and he would fit into Euron's plans perfectly. Victarion had set sail already to Meeren with the Iron Fleet, while Euron's fleet of twenty three were doing some minor raiding of the Westerlands. Euron continues to remain where he is, for the moment the Reach marches on the Iron Throne he shall take the Arbor, then Oldtown, finishing with Highgarden. Once Victarion returns he will also have a dragon as his command, then the world will sow.

[Tyr-Basiliscus]

SANDOR "THE HOUND" CLEGANE, CAPTAIN OF THE HOUND'S BITCHES
NEAR STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS

It was raining, damn it. Raining so damn hard I could feel my bones all wet and soggy under my skin. The small fire in front of me and Crag Jenkins, my Second Man, did not do much to to warm us up, and after a few minutes burned out.
Crag sighed, a deep and rumbling sound. He was a tall man, almost like me, but he was quick where I strong, making blurry motions where I made them powerful.
His choice weapons was a small war hammer in one hand, and an unusually long dagger in the other. I just used greatswords or axes. "So, Hound. What will the Bitches do now? Riverlands 'ave been raped time n' time again by us and other groups like us... where do we go now?"
I'd always hated the Riverlands. So miserable and war-torn, always. And now, they were also empty of loot. Leaving was gonna make me happy.
"You been livin' in a hole recently, Crag? You haven't heard of the Dragon-fucker who's in the Reach now?"
He looked at me with eyes wide open. "We joinin' the Targaryen, the eunuch and the stoneman?"
"Don't forget the fat Tyrells, the Snakes and 'alf of damn Westeros."
The two chuckled... and then went to sleep on hard straw beds. "Tomorrow, we'll inform the Bitches. I wanna be on the winnin' side of the war." said Sandor as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep...

[The Independent Hazerls]

HIGHGARDEN, THE REACH

"I did not know Ser Oakheart but only heard stories and tells about him. From what I've heard it seem he an honorable man. Pity that he died but such is war. My hope is this war will end soon and peace be restored to the realm." Aegon gave a smile at the young princess. "You do not have to fear the sand snakes here." Aegon told her to reassure her that she was safe within the walls of Highgarden.


OUTSIDE AEGONS CHAMBER

There was a knock and the announcement of lady Margeary. She wanted to know if she could escort Aegon to the tourney grounds. "Of course my lady." Wearing a dim colored golden armor with the sigil of House Targaryen in the breastplate Aegon took the lady Margeary by the arm and walked with her to the tourney grounds.

"Are you excited for the tourney it seems as if the whole kingdom has turned out for it." Aegon himself had never been to a tourney before. "Being raised by the golden company I never had time for tourneys as a boy, this too is a new experience for me." Walking through the gardens of Highgarden Aegon admired the beauty of the landscape and of the castle itself.

"You do have a lovely grounds, I can tell a lot of care goes into the gardens. So my lady what has brought you to my chamber doors? And why are we truly on this walk together?" While Argon wasn't rude he also knew there was more to this then just a pleasant walk and conversation.

Lady Margaery Tyrell, Betrothed to His Grace Aegon VI Targaryen
Highgarden, The Reach

It was indeed time for Margaery to speak truly to the Targaryen youth. "Your Grace, you are right, I wished to speak to you."
She let Aegon take another few steps before continuing talking. "We are to be married, and you cannot understand how happy that makes me. In these days, I believe I haven't been good to you; we haven't walked, we haven't spoken, and more than anything, we haven't loved." With that, Lady Margaery turned quickly to face the King. It took him aback, but he was positively surprised, it seemed.
"My king, I believe we should get to know each other better now. Would you care to tell me some more about your years in Essos?"

Ser Willas Tyrell, Heir to Highgarden
Highgarden, The Reach

Willas hated tourneys. He used to love them, until when he was thirteen.
Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, was up against him in a tourney for Prince Joffrey's name-day. Willis had been good for his age, but that day, something went horrendously wrong.
His horse, Wind of the Sea, had been killed by the same fall that crushed Willas' leg. Since then, Willas could not stand watching the damn things. So when Ser Wilhain came asking for horses, Willas had seemed angered with the man. It wasn't that, it was simply his loathing for these days that everyone else saw as of feast.

[Tyr-Basiliscus]

SANDOR "THE HOUND" CLEGANE, CAPTAIN OF THE HOUND'S BITCHES
NEAR STONEY SEPT, THE RIVERLANDS

I woke the morning after and, to my great pleasure, the rain had stopped coming down in buckets. It was reduced to a soft drizzle, silent and quick. I woke up Crag, who was still snoring loudly in his cot. He had grown up in those areas, and was used to war. As I started shaking him, he pulled out a short knife from his belt and pointed it at my throat... he took no chances.
"Oh, it's you." he said, putting away his blade. "'Aye, 'tis me. Now get your arse outta bed and let's go get the Bitches."
The man got out after me, and we assembled our sellsword company in the muddy plain near there. Stoney Sept could be seen in the distance. The Hound's Bitches were 300 men (former soldiers, farmer, carpenters and what-not) who had given up their past life to join me in search for money and treasure... and a good bit of vengeance. We did not seem much, but against a host of even 500 we could fight; and win.
"Good morning, my lords. 'Tis my opinion that this little shithole the Riverlands have become isn't givin' us much to live by." I saw heads nod in agreement in the crowd.
"So, me thought it'd be better for all of us, if we went off to join a certain army in the South, led by a certain Dragon-fucker."
Murmurs reached me: He means the Targaryen army? The Young Griff and the Tyrells, aye.
"We will march to join 'em, and there we'll find a good deal of coppers, silvers and golds in the war to come."
Roars of agreement came up, all in unison, and no more than two hours later we were off... off to reach the army of Aegon Targaryen.

[Nasaira]

HIGHGARDEN, THE REACH

Aegon walked with the lady Margeary talking with her and sharing his stories of Esso. About all the sights he had seen and even telling her about his visit to old Valyria and the mysteries that lay in the ruins. Aegon listened to what the lady had to say and replied to her questions until she said "we are to be married"

Aegon found himself to be a little stunned by the remark." My dear lady your father have not offered me your hand" the thought of marrying Margeary was a pleasant thought as she was a beautiful young woman and would make a good match, helping to secure the alliance to the House Tyrell.

"My lady I will have to talk to your father about this matter." Walking into the tourney grounds where the competitors had gathered. It had turned into a huge event with knights from all the Reach and Dorne had settled. Aegon walked into the private stand with the Lady Margeary by his side, raising his hand to silence the crowd Aegon made an announcement to all who had gathered.

"My friends and loyal vassals, the dragon has returned! We will crush our enemies and bring peace back to the realm. This tourney is a celebration of the peace to come. I Aegon of the House Targaryen have decided to wed Margeary of House Tyrell. In honor of this I enter the tourney."

[Eraus]

Axel Blacken, Lord in exile, Capt of Dark Swords

Late Last Night

The remaining members Dark Swords came and found where the Members of the Dark Sword's had set up their Tents. Along with 50 Men they brought the remaining Gift's Axel promised the Tyrell's which included a Box full of Silk for Lady Margery and wines for His Grace. At this point Axel greeted his men and helped them with whatever they needed.

"I have to rest...I've got a Tourney to win." Axel said as he went back to his tent to rest before the big day.

Today

Axel had gotten up early and put on his Blacken Armor. This was the Armor that he used as a Template to create the Dark Swords armor. Axel liked to describe it as if the forger took a piece of the Night's sky and created his Armor. As Axel walked out of his tent he was sure that he would get knocked on his ass during the first encounter. "Tip, Is the Beast Ready?" He said with a smile.

Tip was young about 14 or 15. He joined the Dark Swords on their Trip in Meeren after his parents were killed and Axel took him in. "Yes, The Beast is....How many of these people have seen a Zorse?" Tip said to Axel

"Not many, We only got ours after our horses were killed by those Raiders. I had to pay a leg and a foot for most of us to get'em" Axel said remembering his trip to Central Essos as he and the boy walked over to the man signing people up. "Axel Blacken" He said as he cut the line "and here is my Sigil, he said as he showed the man his personal sigil (http://imgur.com/a/WvfVv) that is based off his house's sigil. "Also, Make sure they announce me as Dark Wolf" Axel said to the man.

"Alright,What are you participating in?" the man said.

"Archery, Jousting, Melee" Axel said as the man motioned for him to go. Axel began to enter when he spotted Lady Margery with Aegon. He smiled but knew that she didn't see him. Axel started to look for the place he was to head to and that was when he heard that Margery and Aegon are to be wed. Axel put his Helm on and keeped walking as trying to hide his fear. I slept with Aegon's Wife.....Shit..I'm dead Axel said as he continued to walk around.

[The Valyria Empire]

---

His Lord Paramount, Jon "Snow", of House Stark, Lord Paramount of the North and Lord of Winterfell

---

Jon's forces had a hard time marching to Widow's Watch. They had an even harder time evading the Karstarks from spotting them. Finally in the distance, they saw Widow's Watch and standing outside the gate was Lady Lyessa Flint along side an emissary from House Manderly. Jon rode out ahead from the group along with Tormund, Val and Edd. Once they reached within ear shot they stopped. "Lady Flint, it is good to see you. I haven't seen you since I was a boy. You have condolences for your son, Robin. He served my brother proudly, he was a true Northman." Jon proclaimed to Lady Flint.

"Thank you Lord Stark. It is good to hear those words. My son, he died for your brother and yet no one has honored him. Even after all that he did. Before he was killed by those damn Freys..." Lyessa exclaimed before coughing. "I am quite sick and with child. The Manderlys have told us that you were coming, for The North Remembers. We will assist you Lord Stark, in return I ask that you honor my fallen son and should I die giving birth see to it my child becomes a good lord." Lyessa said, a tear ran down her cheek.

"As a Stark you have my word. Robin will be remembered, for he died fighting for Robb, for his King."

With that Jon, Val, Tormund and the Manderly emissary rode off from the castle. The emissary was the first to speak. "Lord Stark, it is good to see you. Lord Manderly desires to speak with you immediately. He has something you'll want to see." The emissary paused, "Lord Manderly has already proclaimed to assist you. He asks that you wait till his son is returned home. That is when we will strike at the Boltons. He has also asked that you see to House Blacken. They have seemed on edge lately and with one cadet branch of Stark working with the Boltons it could be likely a second one might join too." The emissary explained before riding off towards White Harbor.

"Alright, you heard the man. We march for Castle Blacken!"

---

Later that night while they were camped Jon was looking over his blade, Longclaw with Ghost. That's when a voice came from outside his tent. "Jon, might I have a moment." The voice was feminine. It was Val.
"Come in." Jon replied as he sheathed the blade. Val then walked in, she wore all white: white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. She wore her blonde hair in a braid across her left shoulder.

She sat down across from Jon. The two were quite for a moment before Val spoke. "I hear your King promised me to you. He has no right over me, for he did not steal me."

"Aye, he doesn't. I will not force you into marriage, as such is your customs." Jon replied as Ghost got up and left the tent to hunt.

"However, Jon. Your king did not steal me, you did." Val spoke as she got closer to him.

"Val, I don't mean disrespect. You are a beautiful woman, however I've already loved a woman."

"Ygritte, she was a good lass. I know how much you loved her fiery hair. I know how much her death brought you pain."

Jon looked down, he hadn't thought of Ygritte for quite some time. He always had his mind on other things. Now however the memories were flooding back. When he first had his knife to her throat and let her go. The night in the cave. When they climbed the Wall.

"However, you must move on Jon. There are many other women in this world. Your King thinks that I will bring peace between the North and the Wildlings....I will accept this foreign custom you southerners follow. I will wed you, for you a brave and resourceful man. I will also do it for my people, so that they are safe."

Jon looked up at her, he looked into her pale grey eyes and her high sharp cheekbones. She was quite a sight and then Jon felt his hand reach for her bosom, followed by them embracing.

[The Independent Hazerls]

HIGHGARDEN, THE REACH

Aegon walked with the lady Margeary talking with her and sharing his stories of Esso. About all the sights he had seen and even telling her about his visit to old Valyria and the mysteries that lay in the ruins. Aegon listened to what the lady had to say and replied to her questions until she said "we are to be married"

Aegon found himself to be a little stunned by the remark." My dear lady your father have not offered me your hand" the thought of marrying Margeary was a pleasant thought as she was a beautiful young woman and would make a good match, helping to secure the alliance to the House Tyrell.

"My lady I will have to talk to your father about this matter." Walking into the tourney grounds where the competitors had gathered. It had turned into a huge event with knights from all the Reach and Dorne had settled. Aegon walked into the private stand with the Lady Margeary by his side, raising his hand to silence the crowd Aegon made an announcement to all who had gathered.

"My friends and loyal vassals, the dragon has returned! We will crush our enemies and bring peace back to the realm. This tourney is a celebration of the peace to come. I Aegon of the House Targaryen have decided to wed Margeary of House Tyrell. In honor of this I enter the tourney."

Queen Margaery Tyrell, Wife of King Aegon VI Targaryen
Highgarden, The Reach

Aegon's announcement brought great relief to Margaery's mind. She smiled at him and embraced his young and muscled body. They were now man and woman, husband and wife, King and Queen. The whole crowd clapped and cheered, and Margaery could see her father and two brothers, near to tears of joy. She had made it! Her wonderful night with Axel hadn't compromised anything, and her father's offer had been accepted by the Targaryen.
"My king, I wish you the greatest of luck in the tourney to come. You will surprise everyone, I feel it."

Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, High Marshal of the Reach, Warden of the South and Hand of the King
Highgarden, The Reach

My dear child, my dearest Margaery. Mace kept thinking as he clapped and looked up at his daughter, standing proud next to King Aegon. Willas' words brought him back to reality, with a jest: "Father, hopefully this wedding goes better than the other three."
Some men around them laughed, but Mace didn't even hear him. He realized he had important work to do, and so went off, running.
Sitting down in his chamber, Lord Mace started writing:

Your Grace Euron Greyjoy, King of the Iron Islands,
I hope you are fine, Lord Greyjoy. I come to you with an offer; one that hopefully will make you happy.
What happened on the Shield Islands made me deeply sad, but I do hope we can leave it behind us. As you certainly know, Westeros is going to war. House Tyrell will follow King Aegon Targaryen in this conflict, as he is our rightful ruler. All I ask of you is to join our alliance, and help us fight Houses Lannister and Baratheon.
In exchange, once the war is over, His Grace Aegon will let you remain King of the Iron Islands, and of part of the Westerlands, which you will also gain fighting with us.
I hope my raven flies fast and true, and look forward to your reply.
Kindest of Regards,
Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, High Marshal of the Reach, Warden of the South and Hand of the King

"Maester Gormon, send this to Pyke. Use your fastest bird."
The man bowed and went off with the paper.
Hopefully he will like that, reflected the Tyrell lord afterwards.

[The Slavic League]

Ryon Carcarion
Greenshield, The Shield Islands

The lord of Saltward awoke to the sounds of shouting and of blades clashing. He took a moment to get his bearings before a man kicked down the door to his room. A lightly armored man, with a mace charged at lord Ryon. Ryon rolled out of bed, and onto the floor, grabing his blade from under his bed and lifting it up into the assailants abdomen.

He took a moment to look at the tabard of the deceased man on his floor. Sanguine, with a bulls skull at the center. House Hunt? No, House Bulwer. He was still waking up, but lucky he was waking up quicker than he usually does. Adrenaline will do that to a man. He turned to his doorway to see if anyone else was coming. Four Ironborn Reavers, three Carcarions, one Volmark. "The men of the Reach wants their island back it seems. The island is surrounded, m'lord."

"Maron, and my wife, where are they?" Ryon grabbed the collar of the closest man. "Your wife was captured, the chivalry of the greenlanders saved her live. Lord Volmark is in the throne room, holding out. The Fosoways, and the Kidwells are at our front gate, while the Bulwers, Serrys, and Costaynes are on ladders, climbing our walls."

Ryon let go of the mans collar, and then put on his shirt, chainmale, and gambeson. He did not bother buttoning it this time. "What of our ships?" He asked once he was finished. "Burned, we have no way off the Island, unless we capture one of their ships." Ryon cursed under his breath. "Surely a secret exit is located somewhere in this castle?" The guard shook his head. "None that we have discovered. Perhaps we ca-"

The man was interrupted by a door down in the hallways swinging open. "Ironborn, five of them, get them!" Eight men with halbards charged down the hallway. The Ironborn drew their swords, and readied their shields. The spear charge left the Volmark dead on the ground, and a spear was thrust into the breast of one of the Carcarions. The others dodged in enough time. The Ironborn used the dodge to their advantage and swung into the faces of the attackers. Two greenlanders were not lieing bloody on the ground. Lord Carcarion swung his broadsword with great might, and decapitated one of the invaders.

"They are outnumbered, kill them!" The Ironborn continued to swing violently, and now four additional greenlanders were left on the ground with oozing wounds. "Pull back, they are to skilled with the bla-" The sergeant was cut off suddenly by an arrow striking into the back of his neck and emerged out of his throat. Several more arrows hit the greenlanders before none of them remained alive. The Carcarions looked towards the arches, all of them Volmarks. "Head to the throne room, lord Volmark will be holding out a last stand."

"I hope lord Volmark knows what he is doing." Ryon considered finding a way out of the keep, but then realised that the island was surrounded from all sides. The Ironborn got moving quickly, only running into a single, small group of Serrys, but the Ironborn dispatched them quickly with only one casualty.

When they reached the throne room all hell was breaking loose. Men lie dead on the ground, and those that were alive were fighting like wild dogs for their lives. Ryon and his men quickly joined the fight, but it was hopeless. Reachmen were rushing through the front door quicker than they were being killed. The Ironborn continued fighting for a good minute, untill lord Volmark called out.

"Enough! Ironborn put down your weapons. We need not die this day." Several of the Ironborn kept of fighting despite lord Volmarks orders, but many of the Ironborn dropped their swords. Ryon and his men were the last to drop their swords. With a great grunt of anger, Ryon threw down his broadsword, and the Carcarions soon followed.

It was then that Ryon realized that surely Euron would have come to assist the Greenshield by now. No, he thought to himself. Euron abandoned us.

[Danceria]

Axel Blacken, Lord in exile, Capt of Dark Swords

Late Last Night

The remaining members Dark Swords came and found where the Members of the Dark Sword's had set up their Tents. Along with 50 Men they brought the remaining Gift's Axel promised the Tyrell's which included a Box full of Silk for Lady Margery and wines for His Grace. At this point Axel greeted his men and helped them with whatever they needed.

"I have to rest...I've got a Tourney to win." Axel said as he went back to his tent to rest before the big day.

Today

Axel had gotten up early and put on his Blacken Armor. This was the Armor that he used as a Template to create the Dark Swords armor. Axel liked to describe it as if the forger took a piece of the Night's sky and created his Armor. As Axel walked out of his tent he was sure that he would get knocked on his ass during the first encounter. "Tip, Is the Beast Ready?" He said with a smile.

Tip was young about 14 or 15. He joined the Dark Swords on their Trip in Meeren after his parents were killed and Axel took him in. "Yes, The Beast is....How many of these people have seen a Zorse?" Tip said to Axel

"Not many, We only got ours after our horses were killed by those Raiders. I had to pay a leg and a foot for most of us to get'em" Axel said remembering his trip to Central Essos as he and the boy walked over to the man signing people up. "Axel Blacken" He said as he cut the line "and here is my Sigil, he said as he showed the man his personal sigil (http://imgur.com/a/WvfVv) that is based off his house's sigil. "Also, Make sure they announce me as Dark Wolf" Axel said to the man.

"Alright,What are you participating in?" the man said.

"Archery, Jousting, Melee" Axel said as the man motioned for him to go. Axel began to enter when he spotted Lady Margery with Aegon. He smiled but knew that she didn't see him. Axel started to look for the place he was to head to and that was when he heard that Margery and Aegon are to be wed. Axel put his Helm on and keeped walking as trying to hide his fear. I slept with Aegon's Wife.....Shit..I'm dead Axel said as he continued to walk around.

Ser Derren "Rosethorn" of Duskendale, Hedge Knight and Heir of House Darkwood
Highgarden, the Reach

---

Derron woke early and donned the only distinguishing portion of his armor, a blue cloack with a pattern of trailing thorn covered vines down the back, clasped on by his personal insignia. A white sword thrust upwards through a blue rose, with a stark black background. He breathed and washed his face in the murky waters to wake him up, before walking out of the tent he shared with the Dark Swords. The tales of Essos were enough to have him dream of sailing across the Narrow Sea to places unknown and still wild.

During the morning, Derron was ecstatic and radiated confidence. Today was a tourney, and he was determined to knock every man into the dirt. Last night he heard many new nobles had moved in, Prince Trystane of Dorne and his betrothed, Mrycella Baratheon were there. I wonder if she would still recognize me, after all this time... the young man thought to himself as he made his way to the armorer, as Derron's armor had obviously seen better days. To be knocked down because of something so simple...! That would not do... Though, it'd be better not to... the Knight's smile curled to himself Wouldn't want t' make Prince Trystane jealous...

He had overheard the squire speak with Axel "Lord Blacken!" Derron grinned and strode over "I'd reckon I'd take out tha' streaked beast o' yours. It reeks of shit, but it doesn't give any. Much like it's master." he laughed, enjoying once again the friendly boasts and japes between knights and tourneymen. How he wished times would be so simple "I apologize for arrivin' so late, th' rose must plant itself where it can hear th' most. An' much I heard from th' nobles. Seems e'en those under the wounded paw of the lion's cub flock to this gathering. With the late King Robert passing, Gods rest his soul, an' with Jeoffrey 'Alf-king gone, there ha' been less an' less tourneys. People could use a good rest once in a while..." he turned to the squire "You there! Could ye find us an armorer an' a stable and run back t' me? Lord Blacken an' I 'ave...business to discuss." with a wave, the young squire departed and the Hedge Knight lowered his voice "I 'eard ye had an offer... an' I do apologize fer not attendin', but I was lookin' see. Lookin' and listenin', ta' find out who would be th' first to die in this great war. Wi' all these folks makin' there bets on their favorites, I might as well make mine. But enough o' that, what was yer offer. Speak now an' speak quickly."

[Warg the Immortal]

Ser Wilhain Storm, Mercenary Captain of the Shield Scorchers Blue Maniple,
Bastard of House Gower

---

Near to the Beginning of the Tourney

Wilhain sprinted into the halls of the castle flanked by the men of the Shield Scorchers who planned on joining him in the tournament, his squire, Kenneth had failed to wake him when he specified, and now they were on the verge of being late for the tournament. "For the Seven's Sakes Kenneth, could you have cut it any closer?! You said you would wake me before the tournament, your exact words were 'Don't worry Willy, I'll wake you up in time for the tournament.'" Kenneth ran beside him, affixing Wilhain's armour in place while moving. "Cool yer steel there bucko, we ain't late yet!". AS the shield scorcherer made their way towards the tourney signups Wilhain breathed a sigh of relief as he saw the signups were still open, he called over his shoulder to the men behind him; "All right, since jousting is the first event I want those who plan on competing in it lined up behind me!" He was met with a resounding "Aye, sir." Glancing behind him before he reached the table he saw the men who had come in jousting gear, immediately behind him was one of his serjeants, Sivert Pyke following him were the two other Shield Scorchers participating in the event, Brick Flowers and a newer recruit by the name of Eddard "Ed" Storm.

Upon reaching the table Wilhain presented his banner, the arms of House Gower with reversed colours and silver trefoils as opposed to the usual gold. "I am Ser Wilhain Storm, I shall be participating in the joust, melee and archery competitions, and I shall be announced as the 'Knight of Silver Trefoils'." The man jotted down his name and yelled loudly; "NEXT!"

Sivert Pyke followed his captain, giving his arms, the reverse colours of House Saltcliffe of Saltcliffe. "I am Ser Sivert Pyke, shall participate in the joust and the melee. Please have them announce me as the 'White Serpent'." Wilhain and Sivert walked off to the tourney grounds, leaving the two remaining shield scorchers to enlist in the joust.

[The Independent Hazerls]

Queen Margaery Tyrell, Wife of King Aegon VI Targaryen

With the tourney only minutes away from starting, Queen Margaery decided to leave her king to his preparations, and went to seek out other people she would be wishing luck to on that day.
First of all she came upon her brother Garlan. As always before a joust, he was reading a book. "Brother! Good luck!" He stood up and went to hug her. "Who is your first opponent?" She asked, sincere concern in her eyes.
"Well, sweet sister. I do not know yet, but it will either be Ser Derren or some sellsword... a Jackard I believe. Nothing to fear either way..." He looked at her reassuringly, and then went on to ask: "Has good dear Aegon asked about your popped cherry yet? Just to know..."
"Garlan! Be considerate, I beg you." She then said in a hushed voice, "we are never safe with so many people around, let us not talk of that now."
They hugged again, and then Margaery left. She had two other men she wished to see, and first of the two she found Ser Wilhain Storm of the Scorched Shields.
"Ser Wilhain!" He seemed happy to see her. "I wish you the greatest of luck... who will you face first?"
He smiled up shyly, and informed her it would be a Ser Appleton. "Good luck, my ser. We will speak again later..."
And finally, she seemed out that lover of hers, the mysterious Northerner Axel Blacken. He too was readying, quietly grooming his steed. When they saw each other, they almost ran to embrace, but decided it would seem suspicious.
"Axel, who do you face, dear?" "The heir of House Rowan, an amiable lad. Thank your caring so much..." he whispered, a smile on his lips.
"Axel dear, please do not worry. I am now Aegon's queen, and he will never know of what happened that night. You have my word." His face turned to a mask of pure relief.
"And my Ser Blacken, if you wish to do it again, well I certainly am!" She then laughed, and went to take her place in the audience. This will be interesting... she thought as she gazed down at where the jousts would take place.

Lord Garlan Tyrell "The Gallant", Lord of Brightwater Keep
Highgarden, The Reach

His sweet sibling Margaery had come to wish him luck, and now Garlan was alone again in his tent. He decided he'd read enough for one day, and went off to find Ser Derren, the "Rosethorn."
The two had never met, really. Still, the younger Tyrell brother had some kind of deep admiration for the Duskendale's man. He wished so badly to have a word with him...
And he found the Hedge Knight engaged in conversation with Axel Blacken, his sister's "flame." It always made him chuckle, thinking of his sweet sister loving this wild and yet handsome man.
For all his years Garlan had had a deep, deep secret buried inside of him: he loved Margaery. Since when they'd been no more than children, he had gazed long at her naked body in the evenings, or when taking a bath, or swimming in the sea. He loved her so much, he would never tell her or try anything with her. It would have brought such deep shame to the House, and to her. Garlan didn't agree with his alias, the "Gallant," but when thinking of Marge, he would never go further than imagining her up against his body, loving. Maybe that was an excess of gallantry.
He then reached the two men, and waited for a pause in conversation. That was when he spoke to the Knight: "Ser Derren, it delights me to see you and Ser Axel. You two cannot even try to understand how much I look up to you, and in the conflict to come it honors me, truly, to know I will fight alongside you. It would please me greatly if we were to become friends..." he then smiled, and waited for them to speak back.

[Danceria]

Lord Garlan Tyrell "The Gallant", Lord of Brightwater Keep
Highgarden, The Reach

His sweet sibling Margaery had come to wish him luck, and now Garlan was alone again in his tent. He decided he'd read enough for one day, and went off to find Ser Derren, the "Rosethorn."
The two had never met, really. Still, the younger Tyrell brother had some kind of deep admiration for the Duskendale's man. He wished so badly to have a word with him...
And he found the Hedge Knight engaged in conversation with Axel Blacken, his sister's "flame." It always made him chuckle, thinking of his sweet sister loving this wild and yet handsome man.
For all his years Garlan had had a deep, deep secret buried inside of him: he loved Margaery. Since when they'd been no more than children, he had gazed long at her naked body in the evenings, or when taking a bath, or swimming in the sea. He loved her so much, he would never tell her or try anything with her. It would have brought such deep shame to the House, and to her. Garlan didn't agree with his alias, the "Gallant," but when thinking of Marge, he would never go further than imagining her up against his body, loving. Maybe that was an excess of gallantry.
He then reached the two men, and waited for a pause in conversation. That was when he spoke to the Knight: "Ser Derren, it delights me to see you and Ser Axel. You two cannot even try to understand how much I look up to you, and in the conflict to come it honors me, truly, to know I will fight alongside you. It would please me greatly if we were to become friends..." he then smiled, and waited for them to speak back.

Ser Derren "Rosethorn" of Duskendale, Hedge Knight and Heir of House Darkwood
Highgarden, the Reach
Moments before the Tourney

---

The Hedge Knight turned and bowed "Milord Garlan, as I would seem to be in th' employ of His Grace, an' by extension, his Lords, it would be folly not to know of each other." Derron laughed.

No finer comparison or companionship would be made than between the Northerner and the man from Duskendale, for the two were both such opposites. Axel was like a surging rapid: cold, dark, brooding, and fierce. No matter whether there is shallow water or deep water, he carried all in stide and with force, that force resonated in the Northerner's dark icy blue eyes.

Derron's green eyes on the other hand, bespoke of a calm stream or river in summer. Warm and laughing, lazily inviting all to enjoy their presence...but more often than not, people drown in calm waters because of misjudgment rather than the obvious storms...

Those eyes recognized the Tyrell, and of his reputation for being a finer swordsman than Loras, but not nearly as interested in tourneys or fame. "So what brings the secondborn son of Highgarden to our lowly camp? Fancy yerself a contestant in th' tourney? If so, I'm fightin' in th' melee an' the jousts." he paused and hollered at the man in charge of the brackets and announcements "Call me the "Knight of Thorns", got tha'?!" he cleared his throat. "Pardon me, sire, but if ye're lookin' fer th' seats, there o'er thar." he gestured to where Lady Tyrell and Prince Aegon were seated, along with other members of the nobility, one of whom the Rosethorn recognized "By th' Seven! It's 'er!" he beamed and cried out in recognition.

[The Independent Hazerls]

Lord Garlan Tyrell "The Gallant", Lord of Brightwater Keep
Highgarden, The Reach

Puzzled, Garlan's gaze followed that of the Hedge Knight up to the stands. "Ser Rosethorn, may I ask who you have noticed in the audience? It seems you have met an old acquaintance. Oh and by the way, His Grace Aegon will be participating in the joust; he will come down from up there very shortly."
As he waited for a reply from the man, he spotted his sister glancing at Axel. She'll need to learn to be subtle if she wants to keep all that a secret, he reflected sourly as he looked on. Finally, the girl lowered her eyes.
Garlan could start to feel the surge of excitement that always came to him before a tourney, and wondered who he'd crown Queen of Beauty if he won. It couldn't be his sister; that would anger Aegon. It might be Ellaria Sand, or his cousin... who knows.

Queen Margaery Tyrell, Wife of King Aegon VI Targaryen
Highgarden, The Reach

Sitting there next to her King, Margaery remembered of the wonderful gits she had received from Ser Axel. She beckoned over a servant, and gave him instructions:
"Find Ser Axel Blacken, and thank him for the wonderful gifts he made. Say the thanks are from His Grace Aegon, my lord father, and me."
The servant nodded and raced off, eager to do his lady's bidding.

[Warg the Immortal]

Ser Wilhain Storm, Mercenary Captain of the Shield Scorchers Blue Maniple,
Bastard of House Gower

---

Wilhain was walking lazily in his custom armour, the light reflecting off the eight carved trefoils that decorated his arm protection and the one that dominated the center of helm, which was tucked under his arm. He was chatting lightly with his most trusted serjeant, Sivert Pyke, an Ironborn bastard from House Sivert. Suddenly he caught glimpse of a collection of various men, all garbed in preparation for the joust, he indicated for Sivert to follow him and the two began making their way to the group. As they got closer they were able to see that the men before them were non other then two of the men involved in the fight earlier in the entry hall, as well as Ser Garlan Tyrell, the man favoured to win the joust. Clearing his throat as he walked up to them Wilhain began introductions. "Greetings Sers, I don't believe I have been introduced to the two of you." turning to Ser Garlan he continued; "Ser Garlan, I trust you are doing well, did you receive the gifts that I sent to yourself and your family?" Sivert elbowed him suddenly, clearly upset that he had not been introduced, Wilhain rolled his eyes in response. "Forgive me Sers, allow me to introduce Ser Sivert Pyke, son of Maron Pyke, Bastard of Saltcliffe. He shall be entering the joust as well."

[The Independent Hazerls]

(Image)
Ser Wilhain Storm, Mercenary Captain of the Shield Scorchers Blue Maniple,
Bastard of House Gower

---

Wilhain was walking lazily in his custom armour, the light reflecting off the eight carved trefoils that decorated his arm protection and the one that dominated the center of helm, which was tucked under his arm. He was chatting lightly with his most trusted serjeant, Sivert Pyke, an Ironborn bastard from House Sivert. Suddenly he caught glimpse of a collection of various men, all garbed in preparation for the joust, he indicated for Sivert to follow him and the two began making their way to the group. As they got closer they were able to see that the men before them were non other then two of the men involved in the fight earlier in the entry hall, as well as Ser Garlan Tyrell, the man favoured to win the joust. Clearing his throat as he walked up to them Wilhain began introductions. "Greetings Sers, I don't believe I have been introduced to the two of you." turning to Ser Garlan he continued; "Ser Garlan, I trust you are doing well, did you receive the gifts that I sent to yourself and your family?" Sivert elbowed him suddenly, clearly upset that he had not been introduced, Wilhain rolled his eyes in response. "Forgive me Sers, allow me to introduce Ser Sivert Pyke, son of Maron Pyke, Bastard of Saltcliffe. He shall be entering the joust as well."

OOC- Sorry for the bad format but I'm on my phone

Lord Garlan Tyrell "The Gallant," Lord of Brightwater Keep
Highgarden, The Reach
Garlan, his lazy talking with the Rosethorn and Ser Axel finished, turned to meet the coming Sers Wilhain and Sivert, both men of the Blackfyre lad.
They greeted him, and Storm asked if the Tyrells had received the gifts the Scorched Shields had brought for them.
"Ser Wilhain, Ser Sivert; it is a true pleasure to meet the two of you. Yes, my relatives have received their gifts, and I am surprised to see they have not yet thanked you... but I will for them. You and your men have been most kind since when you arrived, and it would be an honor for all of us to have Daegon Blackfyre's men at our sides when we gut them Lions..." All those present chuckled at that, but he then noticed Ser Derron was to leave, for he had to prepare for his joust, and so Garlan left as well.

[Tyr-Basiliscus]

SANDOR "THE HOUND" CLEGANE, CAPTAIN OF THE HOUND'S BITCHES
NEAR HIGHGARDEN, THE REACH

We walked for days, leaving that damn rain behind. As soon as we entered the Reach, the sun started shining and a smile came even to my sour face.
The day we came to Highgarden, I was riding at the front of the column near Crag. A couple of our scouts came cantering back, yelling: "There it is! Highgarden! Highgarden!" The news, and the prospect of a warm keep, made us all go quicker, and in no less than three hours we reached the massive portcullis of the Tyrell castle.
Not wanting to seem weak, I ordered all my 300 men to march with me to the gates. There stood five household guards, eyeing us suspiciously.
"For what business do you come, ser?" They asked, and Crag bellowed with laughter.
"Seven Hells! What is it with everyone thinking I'm a knight? Can you not recognize me, boy? I'm the Hound, whom everyone thought dead. Yet here I am, now let me in to talk with this Targaryen."
The sentries' eyes grew wide with fear, and one said: "His Grace Aegon Targaryen is to participate in a tourney, he cannot speak now."
That made all of the Bitches screech with laughter, and I asked: "A fuckin' tourney? Damn Tyrells go to war and then waste their time with fuckin' tourneys? Let me and this man in," I continued, turning to Crag, "and we'll swear fealty, bend the damn knee, and do whatever this Griff wants us to do."
Grudgingly, the men raised the portcullis, and us two stepped in. "You," he said, looking at a Dornish soldier, "where's the Targaryen?"
The man kept silent and pointed to where the tourney was about to start. "Seems I'm missin' out on all the fun" I mumbled to myself as we walked off.
As we reached the silver-haired King, Crag spoke again: "Your Grace, we are company captains wishing to join your forces, as we recognize you as the one true ruler of the Seven Kingdoms."
All bollocks, naturally. Neither Crag, nor I, or a single man in our company gave a damn fuck about who sat on that ugly chair; it just seemed that this one was winning and paying well.
Nobles around started whispering, and I overheard a Lady say: "That one's the Hound. A vicious, sad creature, thought dead."
I turned to face her, my disfigured face pointing straight at hers: "Yes, milady, I am the Hound. Now tell me, milady, does it differ to you if it is the Hound or the damn Gallant, or someone else entirely, who is winning wars for you?" She remained silent, and I turned to face Aegon again.

[Danceria]

Ser Derren "Rosethorn" of Duskendale, Hedge Knight and Heir of House Darkwood
Highgarden, the Reach
The Tourneygrounds

---

Derron smiled "The lady who gave me my namesake..." he gestured to Mrycella Baratheon "Though who's th' Dornish boy next to 'er? Is it Quentyn or Trystane? They both ha' the Martell sigil behind 'em. It will be a story I'll tell ye another time..." The "Knight of Thorns" pondered "So, the little Griffon fancies himself a bout. If ev'ry man from Essos is as tough as Axel an' Willhain..." he holstered his armor, trying to hide his worry behind his winning smile "Well, tha'll be for the jousts...wish me th' best o' luck. An' if yer plannin' on joustin' me, pray that ye land softly." Derron smiled as he made his way to the stables, ready for the next match.

He mounted his steed, and asked a nearby squire about his opponent, a "Tom Jackard". He was a lowborn, strong arm, fast rider, but not very experienced in jousting. A look at his armor confirmed it. Sigil of a hammer behind a horse, not the most professional, same sort of armor that he rode in with. Worn, battered, a "stuffed bear" as the Northerners would say. All offense and intimidation and barely any defense or actual experience. But sometimes, luck favors the inexperienced, so they get experience.

The "Knight of Thorns" was introduced first, with a professional lift of the lance and beaming smile. When Jackard or "The Hammerer" was announced, he simply smiled and rolled up his lance a bit. An ambitious nickname, Rosethorn thought but one that doesn't suit him, his technique is sloppy. I'm willing to bet tha' he hasn't held a lance more than a fortnight...

As custom, the knights made their pass to salute each other, and Rosethorn numbed himself to the cheering of audiences. He was analyzing his opponent, by his demeanor, by his armor, by the way he steered the horse and the lance. The boy was a good horse-rider, but never had a suit of armor on him. When they passed, they said the usual pleasantries, but Jackard remarked that Rosethorn was a "Ser, and a flowery one. Might not be able to handle his words." Derron asked curiously what those words were, Jackard replied with "I'm going to knock your arse off, dirty your flowery cloak, an' be on me merry way." Bold, but Derron was bolder. With a pleasant smile, he laughed as he steered his horse to the opposite end of the course. There was no better way to intimidate a man than by smiling.

It began, if Rosethorn was numbing out the crowd before, they were silent in his mind as time slowed when the horses raced out of the gates at breakneck speeds.

Twenty seconds. Notice how Jackard attempts to swing the lance like a baker with his peel? While it would make sense to work with the momentum to knock a knight clear off, a precision strike would work just as well by holding higher, and more professionally.

Fifteen seconds, he draws it back, is he really confident in his technique? Jackard moves his shield wide out, to bring the horse as close to the divider as possible. Clever move, but leaves him wide open. Jackard's leaning in to compensate. Time for a glancing blow on both their parts.

Ten seconds, Rosethorn angles his shield upwards slightly, and tilts it to match the lance's straightforward path

Five seconds: Moving his waist and his lance to Jackard's stomach. There's an open spot.

Four...Gods forgive me sins

Three...Let me lance strike true

Two An' may we both emerge alive an' for th' better.

Impact

The bottom half of Rosethorn's shield was torn clean off, splintering its opponent's lance. Against the gut of Jackard, Rosethorn's own lance splintered and Jackard's horse whinnied and railed under the impact, but Jackard stayed on and rode to the other side. Derron slowed down and looked over his shoulder at his opponent, who was winded and realized that racing horses was different than jousting with them. Jackard gruffly demanded another lance, as his shield was untouched. Perfect. A squire asked if Rosethorn wanted a new lance or shield. He declined. Jousting wasn't simply about knocking another bloke off of his horse, it was about strategy.

Another round, and the crowd murmured at how a knight would manage with a broken lance and shield. This was Derron's favorite trick, and under his helm, he was grinning ear to ear.

Out of the gates the two knights rode.

Twenty seconds: Jackard rode fast and hard, he was mad, but hasn't changed his technique.

Fifteen seconds: Jackard did manage to bring his shield across his lower and exposed stomach, as an open piece of armor was a deadly weakness, allowing his horse to ride full ahead without need of reigns.

Ten seconds: Rosethorn gauged the angle of which Jackard's lance was coming, and brought his broken lance back.

Five seconds: Silent prayers were said, breaths were taken, and time slowed.

To the audience, what Rosethorn did was a miracle, but to Rosethorn, and to many trained knights, it was unique, but expected. Derron simply realized that the lance, much like Jackard, was a force that could not be stopped, however, it could be redirected. The actual skill was in the top of Derron's shield catching the lance as it swung underhand, and tilting the flat of his shield so that it would slide harmlessly out of Jackard's hand. With his opponent sucsessfully disarmed, Derron used his broken, and thereby lighter, lance and directed it at the portion of the armor that would carry the most weight: the sternum. Derron's first lance-mark was a wound, a test to see how his opponent would respond, and he fell right into his hands. Too late did Jackard realize this, too perfectly did the splintered tip of the lance snake its way just over his shield and connect with the upper portions of his body, and too soon would the hopeful horseman be carried off of his horse and straight onto his arse. It was probably a mercy that he reacted so slow, had his shield met the splintered lance, his neck could have been snapped.

With a sickening chorus of exclamations of pain, rich curses, armor clamoring on itself, and a low snap of some bone breaking around the lower portion of knight's armor: Tom Jackard lost the tourney, sliding on his arse through the mud. The crowd cheered as Rosethorn triumphantly thrust the broken lance into the air. The Maesters, Septons, or Lords who knew well the meaning of House Tyrell's words would relate them to the Hedge Knight. A rose, while seemingly harmless, can be deadly when it finds a nook, and to the careless.

Derron turned his horse around, and dismounted, hearing not the proclamation of his victory, but instead focused on helping up the fallen horseman. He bellowed at the two squires to take him to the Healers, and exited the circuit with the sound of cheering crowds behind him. The Knight of Thorns won this round, but as he knew, there were other, more fiercer rounds afterwards.

[Kerloff]

Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill
Western Marches, outside Horn Hill

Fortunately, the ride to Horn Hill was a short one from Highgarden. Or perhaps, not so fortunately, all things considered. Like an ivory fist it rose from the hill that gave the keep it's name, an endless blanket of verdant green surrounding it. As he rode up with his retinue, the smallfolk on the muddy road and in the rolling fields bowed their heads before him. He was a hard-handed lord, but fair with them, and they both feared and respected him. Tarly paid them no mind as he rode forward, eyes locked upon his ancestral home, the land of his fathers before him.

His parting from Highgarden had been mercifully uneventful, as he begged his condolences to see to the affairs of his keep to both the Fat Flower and the dragon-boy. The grooms had been in the middle of saddling up his horse when he had learned that the Lady Margaery would be marrying the Targaryen. It surprised him little, but everyone else at Highgarden had been in a celebratory mood. As had Dickon, in fact. Now though, as he cast a subtle eye at his chosen heir beside, the boy had sobered up considerably. Randyll had shared nothing with him regarding his plans, and though Dickon had come to accept that it seemed that he was trying to pick up on his father's moods. Clever boy. Most knew Randyll to be a man of ferocity and iron, but he respected a sharp mind when he saw one. But not overly sharp. That thought threatened to resurface memories of his eldest, so he clamped down on them with practiced ease.

It was not long before he passed the portcullis and entered the courtyard, dismounting with his men as the grooms rushed over to take care of the horses. Randyll unstrapped Heartsbane from it's place on his saddle and slung it over his shoulder, making his way to the entrance of the main keep. There stood Melessa, a smile on her pretty face as she beheld their party. She met him with a courteous nod that he returned with a grunt. Tarly was not a man to display his affections in public.

"How was the tourney?" She asked, as she led him into the Great Hall for something warm to eat. Before he could answer, Dickon piped up beside him,
"I came in second in the melee, mother! You should've seen it! But Father had us leave before the tourney". Melessa's eyes widened in surprise, and then just as quickly narrowed at Randyll. She didn't want him to fight in the melee, felt he was too young for it. He had hoped to keep it a secret, but some things could not be helped.

"The boy should learn to fight. He'll need experience if he wants to be Lord of Horn Hill," Randyll intoned. Melessa looked like she wanted to debate that, but she was too well raised to question her lord husband publicly. No doubt he would be catching hell later, though. No matter. She would come around. She always did. It was how things should be.

He enjoyed his meal and the company of his daughters. He sat and let them present to him their hand embroidered banners of House Tarly. He spoke with the master-at-arms, and with the stewards about the trivialities that he knew to be the heartblood of governance. He wondered what they would all say to him if they knew what he was considering.

Then, when all this was done, it was time for real work. His study was small, but well anointed, with all the parchment and ink a man could desire. He bolted the door behind him as he entered, even checking to ensure no one lingered in the hall. He sat down on his ironwood chair, cracked his knuckles, and spread out the parchment on the desk. With a dip of the quill into a pewter bottle of fine black ink, he wrote, carefully considering every word. When he finished, he signed it Hunter and sealed it with red wax. No stamp, he could not risk that. He knew for a fact he was not suspected, for he had done no wrong yet, but the mark of excellence is thoroughness. He gave it to the maester, and told him to send it to King's Landing, to Kevan Lannister. Maester Ethan looked confused, but knew better than to question Randyll Tarly. He had decided, and he expected his order obeyed. As the maester hurried off, Lord Tarly finally permitted himself to sink into his chair, and rub his tired eyes with his hands. There was a long battle ahead of him, but he would not permit himself to falter. Nor anyone under his command. It was how things should be.

[Warg the Immortal]

Ser Sivert Pyke, Mercenary Serjeant of the Shield Scorchers Blue Maniple,
Bastard of House Saltcliffe, the White Serpent

---

Sivert walked calmly through the crowd of people watching the tourney, it was time for his joust. Apparently the previous one had the crowd screaming, the Knight of Thorns had put on quite a show against some no-name sellsword, who had to be carted into the castle for medical attention. But Sivert paid no attention to that, he had a man to unhorse. Some free rider from the north by the name of Frederick Horn. He'd seen the man's personal sigil, a gaudy thing, two rearing unicorns facing one another, gold, on a field striped orange and purple. Sivert scoffed before putting on his tabard, black with a white snake nine times headed. Finally Sivert placed his helm upon his head, it resembled a snake with an open mouth, the visor resembled a blank face, giving the appearance of a head being swallowed by the helm. As he reached the tournament grounds he clambered into the saddle of the black gelding that Willas Tyrell has loaned him. It was a fine horse, though he would have preferred a stallion.

As the two men took their places for their pass of salutation Sivert flipped down the visor of his helm, opting to ride past silently. The man began his pass and offered some greeting, but Sivert paid it no mind. Then began the actual joust. The free rider directed his land in a most painfully obvious way, right at the false opening that Sivert had left him. Sivert himself aimed low at the man's stomach, a ruse which worked perfectly. The free rider held his shield low, exposing part of his pectoral and shoulder.

The moment before they met Sivert blocked the path of Frederick's lance, at the same moment adjusting his aim to hit the man below his collar bone. With a crash the two collided, though only one lance broke. With Sivert's adjustment, Frederick's lance had glanced harmlessly away, while Sivert's own lance caught the free rider in the top of his breastplate, sending him flying diagonally off the back of his horse. The free rider's foot caught in the stirrup and he was dragged on the ground for fair few meters before breaking free of the stirrup, much to the amusement of the crowd.

Done in one pass, Sivert couldn't help but smile beneath his visor. Bringing his horse to a halt Sivert clambered down and began searching for a wineskin, the bout, short as it had been, had brought a great thirst to his mouth.