Darren
He awoke with a tender reoccurring thud in his head. Darren gripped the soft woollen blankets that covered him, stripping them off… more lazily. He opened his eyes cautiously, squinting as the light flooded into his vision, momentarily blinding him. He lifted his hand to shield the glare until his eyes adjusted.
He was in Heart’s Home, that much was clear. The natural light reflected off the glistening marble walls, darting around the room and revealing its contents. Darren was in one of the King’s guestrooms, a large suite consisting of everything a household required, only packed in to one room. Arguably, this room was large than half of the houses that the commoners lived in.
Darren pulled himself up, feeling weak and dizzy as he sat upright. His eyes travelled across the room, landing on a beautiful sight. Darren spotted his iron sword resting by his heavy shield, leaning against the marble wall. Beside that, a wooden armour sta… [view original content]
We don't know how much time has passed since he was beat up. He may still be recovering from his injuries. If that is the case, he might not be up for a trial by combat. Also both the king and the prince know that Tamarra is telling the truth. If they tell the septon this information, this is something he would definitely take into account when making his judgment.
Darren
He awoke with a tender reoccurring thud in his head. Darren gripped the soft woollen blankets that covered him, stripping them off… more lazily. He opened his eyes cautiously, squinting as the light flooded into his vision, momentarily blinding him. He lifted his hand to shield the glare until his eyes adjusted.
He was in Heart’s Home, that much was clear. The natural light reflected off the glistening marble walls, darting around the room and revealing its contents. Darren was in one of the King’s guestrooms, a large suite consisting of everything a household required, only packed in to one room. Arguably, this room was large than half of the houses that the commoners lived in.
Darren pulled himself up, feeling weak and dizzy as he sat upright. His eyes travelled across the room, landing on a beautiful sight. Darren spotted his iron sword resting by his heavy shield, leaning against the marble wall. Beside that, a wooden armour sta… [view original content]
Darren
He awoke with a tender reoccurring thud in his head. Darren gripped the soft woollen blankets that covered him, stripping them off… more lazily. He opened his eyes cautiously, squinting as the light flooded into his vision, momentarily blinding him. He lifted his hand to shield the glare until his eyes adjusted.
He was in Heart’s Home, that much was clear. The natural light reflected off the glistening marble walls, darting around the room and revealing its contents. Darren was in one of the King’s guestrooms, a large suite consisting of everything a household required, only packed in to one room. Arguably, this room was large than half of the houses that the commoners lived in.
Darren pulled himself up, feeling weak and dizzy as he sat upright. His eyes travelled across the room, landing on a beautiful sight. Darren spotted his iron sword resting by his heavy shield, leaning against the marble wall. Beside that, a wooden armour sta… [view original content]
Right, well I bring this vote to a close as the choice seems pretty clear. Darren will choose trial by combat. Easily the more interesting choice here, but arguably the most dangerous. We'll see how that unfolds in his next part.
Anyway, I have the next part ready for you all, it's a short one, but it goes to Wyllam. Now the last we saw of him was over a hundred pages ago (Wow!), and he was brought to the Qyle's favoured torturer: Rylan. Wyllam suffered Rylan's sickening hobby off-screen, and then was revealed to have escaped in Darren's recent part. This part shows Wyllam a few days after his escape.
Darren
He awoke with a tender reoccurring thud in his head. Darren gripped the soft woollen blankets that covered him, stripping them off… more lazily. He opened his eyes cautiously, squinting as the light flooded into his vision, momentarily blinding him. He lifted his hand to shield the glare until his eyes adjusted.
He was in Heart’s Home, that much was clear. The natural light reflected off the glistening marble walls, darting around the room and revealing its contents. Darren was in one of the King’s guestrooms, a large suite consisting of everything a household required, only packed in to one room. Arguably, this room was large than half of the houses that the commoners lived in.
Darren pulled himself up, feeling weak and dizzy as he sat upright. His eyes travelled across the room, landing on a beautiful sight. Darren spotted his iron sword resting by his heavy shield, leaning against the marble wall. Beside that, a wooden armour sta… [view original content]
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cupping the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked into his wavering reflection. A tortured stranger stared back. A large scar ran down his right eye to his upper lip, halting for a moment, only to resume from his bottom left lip to his jawline. The nerve tissue had been completely destroyed, and was visible through the thick beard that had covered and perverted the rest of his face.
Wyllam lifted his soaked hand, gently touching his dirty face. Grime was collected by the water as it streamed down his cheek and into his thick, unkempt beard. The man in the reflection represented this action with muddy tears, yet most was obscured by the greasy, dirty hair which fell down to his shoulders. His only saving grace were the beautiful silver eyes of his father, which looked passed the pain, yet reflected it all in its gaze. Wyllam pulled his other hand from the water, pulling the fur cloak tighter to his pale scarred body. Everything was numb, and cold.
He dreaded the man in the reflection, splashing the water and disfiguring the mirrored stranger. He shook his head, tears flowing down his cheeks as he searched for something else. The forest stood tall, consisting of pines and sentinels. The riverbed was stony, with patches of moss and snow. As it reached further into the forest, the moss overtook the soft muddy land, and a few berry bushes and shrubs arose from the soil.
Slowly, Wyllam lifted himself up, feeling the agonising burn in his legs from the walking. There had been little rest in his painful determined journey, and he was tired, yet paranoia refused to let him sleep. Wyllam groaned as he rose, clutching his thin cloak to his body. He was shivering. The moisture in the air thick and dampening his skin, Wyllam resumed his slow pace down the river.
His thoughts wandered, the thoughts of seeing his father again. Seeing Lexia again. He wondered if he would truly see them again, with what Jarden had reported to him. Wyllam clenched his fists. They’re not dead. He decisively reminded himself, pushing himself forward another few painful steps. His thoughts drifted to Robar, and the men that had headed to war against the Corbray’s. How ironic that Wyllam had made it there first, and suffered first.
The suffering led to regret, thick and heavy with the remorse of the Shett people. He had abandoned them, all in his selfish weakness to escape the pain of his tormenter. Rylan. He had manipulated his body in the most agonising of ways. Cracking bone with iron, ripping nails from flesh, opening skin with blades. The holes in his hands re-emerged with a painful reminder.
Wyllam walked, he wanted to give up, but hope pushed him forward. Yet even that source was beginning to diminish, as he was alone with only his thoughts, and his thoughts were no friend. Wyllam muttered some curses as he lost his footing in the rocks, stumbling, but collecting himself before the fall. It reawakened the pain in his body, however, which caused him to stop. Keep going, he urged himself desperately, but he couldn’t. The pain was too strong, and the motive too little.
He dropped to his knees, letting out a cry of agony into the drowning air. A flutter of birds escaped the branches from trees in terror, wildlife revealing itself, only to conceal themselves into the darkness of the forest. His echoed voice died coursed through the valley, dying in sound a moment later. Wyllam let his weight shifted into his arms, panting into the moss, mud and damp stone beneath him.
A soft sound of galloping hooves echoed from the distance, soft nickering followed. Wyllam rose, listening carefully for the sound again. The neighing of horses echoed through the valley, and the galloping grew louder. Wyllam’s eyes widened, instantly turning around and starting to run. His legs cursed him for such a drastic action, but there was no time to hesitate.
The stone-bashing hooves grew louder and louder, until Wyllam turned his gaze behind him to see five riders, one displaying the banner of the Corbray’s. Shit! Wyllam’s legs brought him to a halt, he was exhausted. He bent down, panting as the horsemen quickly approached with unsheathed weapons. Wyllam bit his lip, looking at possibilities of escape.
The river flowed heavily, and the current was strong, and in his directional favour. Yet there was one issue, the cold, he would not be able to last long in freezing water. Wyllam frantically scanned the environment. The trees had grown thick, shrubs and bushes thick abundant. They would possess great hiding spots, if Wyllam could outrun the horses. Wyllam’s gaze shifted from one option to the other. Time was up. He had to choose.
Well, it is a risk of course, but the way I see it, they have already spotted him if he has spotted them. If he flees into the trees, they will likely catch up to him and then they just have to wait until he comes down, or they'll shoot him down right away. The river might be uncomfortable, as in, really bloody painful, but it at least gives him a chance to escape, as small as it might be. I really think that the trees will lead to him getting caught for sure.
One thing I must say I'm a bit conflicted about is if I truly want Wyllam to escape. Of course, it would be better for him, but from Darren's latest part, it seems like his escape is part of Jorrhen's plans and if there's one thing for sure, it's that this sleazy bastard has nothing good planned. It's either that or Jorrhen improvised his plan on the spot when he framed Darren, which I doubt. I mean, Jorrhen seems like an opportunist, but something about him doesn't strike me as particularly smart. So, I am a bit unsure if Wyllam's escape is the better thing for the overall storyline here, even if I don't want him to be harmed personally.
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cuppin… moreg the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked i… [view original content]
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cuppin… moreg the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked i… [view original content]
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cuppin… moreg the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked i… [view original content]
It will be more difficult for the horses or the riders to catch up to him. If he tries to go to the forest, the horses could easily catch up to him. This is especially true, since he has already been spotted.
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cuppin… moreg the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked i… [view original content]
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cuppin… moreg the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked i… [view original content]
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cuppin… moreg the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked i… [view original content]
Alright, so I'll bring this vote to a close. Wyllam will flee into the river. Well, I'll let this vote talk for itself in Wyllam's next part
Apologies for it taking so long, I've been quite busy as of late with my courses, but I've managed to punch out a poor quality part for you lot It's a York part. The last time we saw York, he was introduced as a man descending the Mountain's of the Moon. As he approached the Redfort, he was met with hostility by the Royce soldiers encamped there, and was forced into a fight with some of the men. The brawl was called off by King Robar, who then noticed the perpetrator of the fight to be his uncle: York Royce. This next part takes place a couple of days after that, within the chambers of the war council. It's a short part, and all I could manage to do, so my apologies.
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cuppin… moreg the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked i… [view original content]
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark damp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a mystical attraction. She wore a simple red shirt, and black leather pants. The woman she had grown into was certainly not the girl York had once known back all those years ago.
Finally, beside Celesse stood a woman that York had never seen before. There was a dark, alluring attraction with her very presence, even if she only stared solemnly at the map before her. She wore leather gambeson beneath a sleeveless grey cloak, and swamp green scarf that tucked away her raven black hair. Her skin was pale, like it had been submerged in the ice and only thawed to the weak sunlight. Her eyes were like amethysts, glimmering in what little light reached the room.
“If we move our forces passed the Ironoaks, and through the mountains, we’ll be given a clear path straight to Heart’s Home. With our forces from the east, and the Belmore’s from the west, the Corbray’s will be left with nowhere to run.” Robar stated, picking up the heart-shaped stone and tossing it to the edge of the table. Ursula sighed.
“It is a matter of getting to Heart’s Home. The Waynwood’s have not responded to any of our ravens, and they will not open their gates to anyone.” Ursula informed him, and Barrock clenched his fists. “Then they’re against us.” He bluntly determined, receiving a disapproving glare from his daughter.
“They’re not opening their gates to anyone, Father. They’re neutral.” Celesse stated, and received a distasteful glance from her father. “If they’re ‘neutral’ then the bastards should let our forces through their gates, and let us further our cause. Instead, the cowards lock their doors and hinder our plans. If they stand in our way, they’re our enemy.” Barrock decided, bashing his fist against the table, causing the tokens to fall. Celesse shook her head.
“We go around then.” She suggested, but Ursula shook her head. “That will bring us too close to Old Anchor, and the Hammer of the Hills.” Ursula claimed, and Celesse frowned. “We don’t know if they’re allied…” Celesse tried to persist, but Barrock shook his head.
“They’re Andal’s, of course they’re fucking allies.” He growled, lifting his gaze to York. “Should we really be discussing this with him here?” He muttered, and Robar raised his gaze to York before nodding. “He was the master of war, before my council broke apart into some old babbling men.” Robar said nonchalantly. Barrock gritted his teeth.
“He’s a traitor.” Barrock reminded him, and Robar raised an eyebrow. “Is he? If I’m not mistaken, he was exiled for planting the foundations against the Andal invasion. Foundations which we are building upon, Lord Redfort.” Barrock’s expression was filled with ire, yet the projection of his anger was uncalculated and without aim. He seethed as he stared at York.
“I will not talk in his presence.” Barrock stated with defiance, excusing himself to the exit. Robar let out a heavy sigh, lowering his eyes back to the map on the table. “This council meeting is over.” He mumbled quietly. Ursula nodded, following after Barrock’s exit. Celesse reluctantly followed, leaving only Robar and York alone in the room.
“All I have received is disapproval and dispraise by allowing you freely into the Redfort. Why did you come back, Uncle?” Robar asked, a sound of defeat in his tone. York sighed, approaching the table. “I came back to finish what I started.” He assured him, and received a weak smile from his nephew.
“Honourable, but somehow I feel like that won’t be the case.” Robar regretfully informed him, causing York to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Robar sighed, picking up the rune that sat at the Redfort. “When we laid siege on Gulltown, King Gerold Grafton abandoned his seat, abducting my sister and sailing east.” He informed him, and York clenching his fists.
“Coward.” York muttered, and Robar nodded in agreeance. “I can’t keep you here, the men won’t stand for it. I want you to go to Andalos, and find Andrea. You will leave for Runestone in the morning. Ramses is acting lord there, he’ll give you the men and ships you need.” Robar notified him, and York found himself taken back.
“My place is here.” York stubbornly claimed, and Robar stood from the table, placing the rune back on the Redfort. “Prove that to me then. Go to Andalos, find Andrea and bring her back to Runestone.” He ordered, and York frowned. Robar turned and walked to the window, staring out at the Royce encampment. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but right now this is what I need from you. Will you do this for me?” York let out a small sigh and nodded. “I will.”
“Good.” Robar smiled, staring at York through the window’s reflection. “I’ve missed you, Uncle.” He finally said, and York allowed himself a small smile. “It’s been too long.” York admitted, but Robar shrugged. “Perhaps not long enough.” He poorly jested. York smirked, turning to the exit.
“Uncle.” Robar called, and York stopped for a moment, turning back to his nephew. “What would you do?” He asked, staring at the map intently. He was referring to the issue that had been brought up earlier, with the option of the Royce’s army’s mobility. Passing through the Ironoak’s was the ideal choice, yet perhaps unrealistic. A negotiation would be necessary, though that would take precious time. Going around would also take time, and they would be stooping into Andal territory. First Men land, York corrected himself. Perhaps the Melcolm’s of Old Anchor were not allied with the Andal king, the Hammer of the Hills.
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood] [Suggest going around]
I believe this is worth a try. It's always worth a try in my opinion. Of course, if Waynwood is truly not open for any negotiations, then this will be time wasted, but I found Barrock's argument that the Melcolm's are allied with the Hammer of the Hills to be a very strong argument, because well, even if it's not a formal alliance, I'm sure they are allied when it comes to their fight against the First Men. This one is almost guaranteed to not work out, whereas negotiating with Lord Waynwood has at least some chance of success. And if it doesn't work out, then the only thing wasted will be time. If they go around and walk into a trap, then there will be more lost than just this bit of time.
York
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark da… moremp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a my… [view original content]
York
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark da… moremp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a my… [view original content]
Hey guys, so I'm obviously not going to close the voting for York just yet, but I have the next part ready. It's a Jarden part. The last we saw Jarden, he had agreed to Lord Ethon Belmore's terms and gained an alliance with him. When preparing to begin their journey of return to the Redfort, Lord Ethon informed Jarden that his daughter: Lexia, would be accompanying them back to the Redfort. In turn, Jarden needed to leave one of his men at Strongsong to honour their deal. You chose to leave Paytan Hunter, the kingsguard. This part takes place a couple of days after then, being a day's ride from the Redfort.
Dew coursed down their bronze blades, Cedrick stood opposite of Jarden, positioned on a rock in a defensive form. He grinned, readjusting his grip on his longsword. “Come on, Northerner.” He taunted, preparing himself for an attack. Jarden studied his arm, then his face.
Taking a step, Jarden clumsily lunged his blade towards Cedrick’s leg, easily being parried. “Pathetic.” Cedrick scoffed, jumping down from his rock and swinging his blade at Jarden’s head. Jarden managed to block the attempt at his life, the full force of the attack surging through his arms as it clashed with his blade. A solid clang rang through the air.
Jarden brought his sword back, before thrusting it at Cedrick’s chest. Cedrick smirked, dodging the attack with ease and spinning around him. Jarden felt the pommel of Cedrick’s sword bash against his back, pushing him forward. Jarden spun around, lifting his sword for another attack. Cedrick grinned.
“Why do you persist, Frost? You’re hopeless.” He chuckled, spinning his blade in his hands. Jarden gritted his teeth, then charged with what little might remained in him. Bashing his sword against Cedrick’s with all the power he had, managing to make him stumble under the pressure. Unsure what to do next, Jarden continued smashing his sword against Cedrick’s, until the man lost his footing and fell into the shrub.
“Yield?” Jarden mocked him, and Cedrick smirked. “Not bad, for a studier.” Jarden rolled his eyes, extending his hand to the Redfort. Cedrick accepted his arm, and was pulled from the wet ground. “I’m not a studier.” Jarden mumbled, and Cedrick grinned.
“Of course not.” Cedrick jeered, hitting his arm. He bent down and picked up his longsword from the shrubs, before joining Lexia Belmore by the fire. They had camped overnight by a small rock pool, sheltered by the sharp boulders atop the Mountains of the Moon. They were a day’s ride away from the Redfort.
Lexia reached flipped the searing rabbits in the burning coals, revealing a crispy blackened side to their eyes. “My turn?” Lexia suggested, smirking at Cedrick, to which he rolled his eyes in reply. “All due respect, Lady Belmore, but I’m not going to fight you.” Cedrick claimed decisively, to which Lexia frowned.
“Afraid you’ll be beaten?” She taunted, and Cedrick simply shook his head, sitting himself against a boulder. “Afraid I’ll hurt you.” Cedrick corrected, and Lexia rolled her eyes, then turning her gaze to Jarden. “How about you?” She offered. Jarden bent down, catching his breath by the fire. Smoke entering his nostrils. He shook his head.
“Cowards.” She muttered, and Cedrick could not help by laugh. “How’s that hare cooking?” He teased, and Lexia shrugged. “Check it yourself, if you’re going to be such a gentleman.” Cedrick rolled his eyes, resting his back against the rock. Jarden dropped to his knees, absorbing the warmth of the fire in his skin.
“We’ll have to get moving soon.” Jarden stated, staring at the blackened meat. Cedrick sighed, pulling a rag from his pocket and rubbing it over his blade. “The horses need the rest, and to drink.” Jarden groaned, sheathing his sword. “Then make them drink.” He complained, grabbing one of the sticks of meat.
“Jarden, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force them to drink.” Cedrick remarked, chuckling at the philosophy. Jarden rolled his eyes. “What’s the rush, anyway?” Cedrick asked nonchalantly, it was clear he didn’t really care. Jarden let out a heavy sigh.
“There’s no rush.” Jarden assured him. “I just want to get off these mountains.” He explained, and Lexia smirked. “Afraid of the peaks?” She teased, and Jarden shook his head. “No.” He spoke in defiance, but Lexia giggled regardless. “You are.” She persisted stubbornly.
“Gods, Cedrick, I can’t believe it. I think I preferred Paytan’s wit over Lexia’s cruel remarks.” Jarden said bitterly, causing Cedrick to chuckle. Lexia stuck out her tongue, climbing a boulder. “Fighting words.” She shouted, her words getting caught in the wind. Jarden flicked the burnt crisps off the hare, revealing the golden tender meat. He took a bite out of it, the meat softly breaking apart in his mouth, juices running down his throat.
Cedrick joined him, grabbing one of the other hare’s. His dark brown hair covered his brown eyes, falling down to his shoulders. He had grown a thick brown stubble during their travels, which gave some texture to his otherwise plain face.
“Do you think it was the wisest decision to agree to the deal? You told me Wyllam Belmore remained in Gulltown.” Cedrick stated with monitored words, watching as Lexia scaled the rock. Jarden sighed, shaking his head. “It was the only way.” Jarden admitted, thinking back to old Ethon Belmore’s terms.
“Still.” Cedrick persisted, seeming unsure. “Lexia won’t be happy when she finds out.” He assured, and Jarden shrugged. “That’s another problem for another time. Robar wanted the Belmore alliance, we have that. Robar can arrange Wyllam and Lexia’s reunion himself.” Jarden justified, tired and stressed with the matter.
“Will you return to the North after this is all over?” Cedrick asked, and Jarden could only shrug, he hadn’t really thought about it. “Maybe.” He replied, unsure. “There’s still a lot more to Westeros than the Fingers and the North.” Jarden added, hoping it was a bit more of a sturdier answer. Cedrick frowned.
“You said that you were going to join the Night’s Watch, a little while back.” Cedrick suddenly brought up, and Jarden raised an eyebrow before nodding. “Yes, why?” Jarden asked, and Cedrick shrugged. “I don’t know. What was it like?” He asked, seeming somewhat fascinated. Jarden sighed, scratching his head as he took another bite.
“Cold.” Jarden answered, and Cedrick rolled his eyes. “It’s cold up here too, smart-arse.” Cedrick countered, and Jarden frowned. “It’s different.” Jarden admitted. “Yes, the majority of the men are those looking to serve, from all around Westeros. Some, like myself, were simply looking for purpose. Some were looking for safety, and the Watch gave that, or simply a better lifestyle than others. I would have joined, but…” Jarden stumbled on his words a moment, thinking back to the Wall. “But what?” Cedrick persisted.
“I befriended a steward there, a man called Teddy Estermont. He had been a victim of a framing for the Lord of Estermont’s life, and had fled to the Night’s Watch. Yet when I saw how his ‘brothers’ treated him. These honourable men of the Night’s Watch. I knew I couldn’t stay.” Jarden revealed, and Cedrick seemed a little disappointed with the answer, but did not bother to pursue the matter any further. Jarden sighed.
“Why? Are you interesting in joining the legendary Night’s Watch?” Jarden taunted, and Cedrick awkwardly chucked, shaking his head. “I couldn’t. I’m the heir to the Redfort.” Cedrick muttered, almost some disappointment in his quiet tone.
Lexia leaped down from the rock, stumbling on the ground before joining them by the fire. She eyed them both, noticing their sullen expressions. “What?” She asked, and Cedrick shook his head. “Nothing.” He assured her, grabbing the other bit of meat and offering it to her. “Eat up.” He ordered. “We leave when you’re finished. The horses have had their time.” Cedrick decided, and Jarden gave him a small nod in thanks. Cedrick simply lowered his eyes, brooding as he slowly nibbled at his meal.
-
The black wood portcullis rose as they approached the red walls of the Redfort, passing through the Royce encampment with ease. The three rode into the courtyard, welcomed by the stable boys, who attended to their horses when they dismounted. The three looked at each other awkwardly as the courtyard emptied momentarily. Then the doors of the Great Hall swung open, and three figures entered the courtyard.
Cedrick’s eyes widened as he noticed the girl beside his father. “Celesse!” He called, running to his sister and entering a loving embracement. Jarden and Lexia remained together awkwardly, as King Robar and Lord Barrock approached them.
“Jarden!” Robar greeted, raising his arms in welcome. Barrock showed no similar gesture. “It is good to see you have returned to us safely.” Robar said warmly, stopping before them. His eyes flickered to Lexia, who he briefly studied. “And who is this?” He asked. Jarden bowed.
“This is Lexia Belmore, daughter to Lord Ethon, Your Grace.” Jarden informed him, and Lexia gave a small bow. “It is a pleasure, my Lady.” Robar smiled, clasping his hands. “And where is Paytan?” He asked, his eyes searching the courtyard. Jarden took a moment, giving Lexia the chance to interrupt.
“Paytan Hunter has remained in Strongsong, as part of our arrangement.” Lexia informed him, and Robar raised an eyebrow. “Arrangement?” He asked, and Lexia nodded. “Jarden here gave his word to my father. In return for our alliance, once we have taken Heart’s Home, you will garrison a proportion of your men there to protect our people while we rebuild our homes.” Lexia notified him, and Robar raised his eyebrows, but did not complain. “We also want to see Wyllam.” She added, and a sorrowful look haunted Robar’s gaze.
“I had Wyllam remain in Gulltown with King Andru after the siege. My scouts have reported to me that Gulltown has been levelled.” Robar regretfully informed, and Lexia furrowed her eyebrows. “Levelled?” She asked, and Robar grievously nodded.
“It’s believed that the attack was conducted by the Hammer of the Hills, but with such destruction, we cannot be sure.” Robar frowned, running a hand through his hair. “For now, we must look ahead. Heart’s Home will give us the north Fingers, and a large advantage over our enemies.” Robar stated, but Lexia shook her head, tears streaming down her eyes.
“We will not march into war until we see Wyllam.” Lexia informed him decisively, and Robar’s frown grew heavier. “I’m sorry, my men are searching through the rubble as we speak. He’ll be given over to you when found.” Robar promised her, but Lexia simply shook her head, excusing herself.
Jarden stood awkwardly, watching as she entered the hall, quickly followed by Cedrick and Celesse. He frowned, feeling remorse for not telling her about Wyllam’s fate. He had not had the chance to have known the man all that well, but he had fought beside him, and knew him to be a good fighter. Lord Barrock let out a low grumble.
“So, Lord Ethon joins the fight then.” He announced, and Robar nodded. “Let us head inside.” Robar decided. “They days may be growing warmer, but gods know it’s still bloody cold.” Robar acknowledged, rubbing his arms. The three turned and entered the Great Hall, the doors closing behind them.
-
The King’s chambers were nothing to fancy, but it was the best Lord Barrock had to offer, and Robar certainly was not one to complain. Not from what Jarden knew of him, anyway. Jarden sat awkwardly in his wooden chair, a mug of ale on the table in front of him. Robar stared out the window at the mountain ridge.
“I received a raven from my brother, Ramses Stone, at Runestone a few days ago. An emissary from the Merling Stones had arrived with word from the ‘Short Merman,’ his name is Wyatt Manderly.” Robar stated, and Jarden furrowed his eyebrows. “What did he say?” Robar frowned.
“Lord Wyatt wishes to aid our cause, yet with compensation. He wants control of Witch Isle, and fealty sworn from the Upcliff’s, as well as official recognition of the Three Sisters being vassals to the Kingdom of the Seas.” Robar informed him, resting his head against his palm as he stared out the window. Jarden stared at him.
“So what’s the issue?” Jarden asked, and Robar let out a heavy sigh. “I do not know if Ursula will simply hand over her home to Wyatt. She has had some... history, with the Manderly’s. Yet an alliance would provide us with a furthering income through trade, and their fleet could prevent any further Andal invaders from settling on our shores.” Jarden nodded.
“So, what do you want me to do?” Jarden asked, and Robar chuckled, straightening himself and turning his gaze to Jarden. “Nothing.” He smiled, walking to the table and taking a seat opposite him. “Just your opinion. Lord Barrock is concerned that this is a First Men affair, and that Mermen should not get involved. Ramses made it quite clear in his message that we should accept these terms, and Ursula had been quite avoiding of the subject all together. So I want to know, what would you do?”
Hehe, this was a brilliant part. I must say, I honestly like Lexia. I wasn't too sure about her in the beginning, but she's been growing on me a lot, especially in this part. And I must admit that my weird imagination gave me a chuckle out of the name Ramses Stone. I know, I know, it does kinda sound like Ramsay, but the first thing that came to mind was an egyptian guy standing in the halls of Runestone Way to make me look forward for that guy if we're ever going to see him, even if he's not a pharaoh. Though, on a more serious part, I got a bad feeling that this whole Belmore situation could lead to problems if Wyllam doesn't return in time. Lexia took it as expected, yet still relatively well, all things considered, but there's no telling how Ethon is going to react, especially with one of Robar's kingsguards as his hostage.
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
I think it's easy for Jarden to say that he agrees. From his position, there are few actual downsides to this. Ursula is the one who gets the short end of the stick and she's the one whose opinion Robar should ask for. But Jarden himself, I don't see why he shouldn't agree. From his position, this is a good deal and an alliance with the Manderly's is going to advance their cause quite tremendously. Ursula's opinion and reaction should be interesting though.
Jarden
Dew coursed down their bronze blades, Cedrick stood opposite of Jarden, positioned on a rock in a defensive form. He grinned, read… morejusting his grip on his longsword. “Come on, Northerner.” He taunted, preparing himself for an attack. Jarden studied his arm, then his face.
Taking a step, Jarden clumsily lunged his blade towards Cedrick’s leg, easily being parried. “Pathetic.” Cedrick scoffed, jumping down from his rock and swinging his blade at Jarden’s head. Jarden managed to block the attempt at his life, the full force of the attack surging through his arms as it clashed with his blade. A solid clang rang through the air.
Jarden brought his sword back, before thrusting it at Cedrick’s chest. Cedrick smirked, dodging the attack with ease and spinning around him. Jarden felt the pommel of Cedrick’s sword bash against his back, pushing him forward. Jarden spun around, lifting his sword for another attack. Cedrick grinned.
“Wh… [view original content]
York
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark da… moremp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a my… [view original content]
Hehe, this was a brilliant part. I must say, I honestly like Lexia. I wasn't too sure about her in the beginning, but she's been growing on me a lot, especially in this part.
Well, I'm happy to see that you're liking her! She's not your typical first born daughter in Westeros, I think that much is clear I have a feeling she'd get along quite well with a couple of Caron's baring similar traits
And I must admit that my weird imagination gave me a chuckle out of the name Ramses Stone. I know, I know, it does kinda sound like Ramsay, but the first thing that came to mind was an egyptian guy standing in the halls of Runestone Way to make me look forward for that guy if we're ever going to see him, even if he's not a pharaoh.
My goodness, this isn't the first time you've linked my inspiration into a character without even having me mention it Indeed, Ramses is named after Ramses the pharaoh during the time of Moses. I've been watching a fair few of the Disney biblical story as of late, and in comparison to the Bible's depiction and Disney's depiction of Ramses, I instantly fell in love with Disney's portrayal So yeah, well done! And yes, there is a little Ramsay Bolton reference in there too We will indeed be seeing some more of him very soon, through York actually. However he will build up into a big character in Robar's retaliation against the Andal's, as we'll see later on
Though, on a more serious part, I got a bad feeling that this whole Belmore situation could lead to problems if Wyllam doesn't return in time. Lexia took it as expected, yet still relatively well, all things considered, but there's no telling how Ethon is going to react, especially with one of Robar's kingsguards as his hostage.
Well I'm getting the feeling it may be a little cruel for me to hold back the next Wyllam part until all of the characters have had a passing, so considering that I'm on a Vale roll, I might write that one out next. Indeed, there will be quite a lot of distrust from Lexia now, especially towards Jarden, who had arranged the deal in the first place. It really does put Robar's cause in quite a vulnerable position, being that if Ethon kills Paytan Hunter, then the Royce's will not stand for it. The Corbray's would potentially have a large chance in winning over the Belmore alliance in that case, which would truly change the tides of the war for Robar.
Hehe, this was a brilliant part. I must say, I honestly like Lexia. I wasn't too sure about her in the beginning, but she's been growing on … moreme a lot, especially in this part. And I must admit that my weird imagination gave me a chuckle out of the name Ramses Stone. I know, I know, it does kinda sound like Ramsay, but the first thing that came to mind was an egyptian guy standing in the halls of Runestone Way to make me look forward for that guy if we're ever going to see him, even if he's not a pharaoh. Though, on a more serious part, I got a bad feeling that this whole Belmore situation could lead to problems if Wyllam doesn't return in time. Lexia took it as expected, yet still relatively well, all things considered, but there's no telling how Ethon is going to react, especially with one of Robar's kingsguards as his hostage.
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
I think it's easy for Jarden to say that he agrees. From his position, there are few… [view original content]
Well, once again, I have written up a very short part for Wyllam. It shows the consequence of the last voting for his part, so I'll won't say anymore. I'll actually put it in this post, considering its length
-
Wyllam
He turned his gaze to the rapid flowing river, a soft sheet of ice still formed by the edge of the water. Wyllam gritted his teeth, taking one small step into the rushing river, the icy water spraying onto his leg, stinging him like shards of frozen glass. He turned his gaze back to the riders, who were almost amongst him. Fuck!
Wyllam took another few steps into the river, the water rising up his legs as he descended into the depths, flooding his boots and freezing his flesh. A violent shiver took him, and before long he felt his movement in his legs restricted. The river took him, pulling him from his feet. He was adrift, and picking up speed too.
The riders chased after him with bows and spears in hands, shouting curses as they tried to catch him. Wyllam could barely understand them, the uncontrollable trembling was one factor against his hearing, but the rapid flowing river was another. Trying to pull him down, his flooded boots slowed him until they slid off, engulfed by the riverbed.
Trying to keep himself above the surface, Wyllam could feel the icy water nipping at him, making his body numb. Wyllam’s teeth jittered when he was not gasping for air when being pulled under. Spears were hurled towards him, arrows shot at him, yet all seemed to disappear into the rushing abyss. Wyllam laughed in his frozen madness. His plan was working.
A fork split ahead in the river, presenting Wyllam’s escape. The riders chased him from his left, but their horses would not be able to cross the river. He had to take the right junction, it was his only chance. Wyllam tried to swim, kicking with what little strength he had, trying to direct himself to the right edge of the river. It was no use, the current was too strong.
The fork closed in on him, and the current pulled him to the left, forbidding him from an escape. No! He wanted to scream, furious and terrified, yet he could barely utter the word. The current dragged him down the diverted river, the horsemen riding after him. The cold started to take its effect on him. He could not feel his hands, the pain in his legs was numbed and he was no longer shivering.
He started kicking, trying to fight against the power of the river. I have… to get out… His legs lazily wavered beneath the water, his lifeless feet like stumps on the bottom of his stick legs. They faltered in movement, freezing stiff in the cold and flowing with the river, until one did not.
Wyllam’s body thrusted forward into the water, his foot catching onto something, hooking him down. He stared down at the smooth stone floor, water rushing by him in every direction. He screamed, the air from his lungs escaping is lungs quickly.
His gaze shifted to his leg, trapped between two rocks. He tried to free himself, but the power of the current was too strong. He tried to shout, to call for help, barely managing to pull his stiff arms behind him and above the surface. His lungs ran out of hair. He tried to breathe. Only the icy water met his lungs, suffocating him. His eyes widened, the stone floor staring back at his shock, his fear. What wasn’t numb was now senseless. His stiff arms stuck out from the river, pale and locked. Darkness had clouded his vision, darkness had clouded everything.
Hehe, this was a brilliant part. I must say, I honestly like Lexia. I wasn't too sure about her in the beginning, but she's been growing on … moreme a lot, especially in this part. And I must admit that my weird imagination gave me a chuckle out of the name Ramses Stone. I know, I know, it does kinda sound like Ramsay, but the first thing that came to mind was an egyptian guy standing in the halls of Runestone Way to make me look forward for that guy if we're ever going to see him, even if he's not a pharaoh. Though, on a more serious part, I got a bad feeling that this whole Belmore situation could lead to problems if Wyllam doesn't return in time. Lexia took it as expected, yet still relatively well, all things considered, but there's no telling how Ethon is going to react, especially with one of Robar's kingsguards as his hostage.
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
I think it's easy for Jarden to say that he agrees. From his position, there are few… [view original content]
Well, once again, I have written up a very short part for Wyllam. It shows the consequence of the last voting for his part, so I'll won't sa… morey anymore. I'll actually put it in this post, considering its length
-
Wyllam
He turned his gaze to the rapid flowing river, a soft sheet of ice still formed by the edge of the water. Wyllam gritted his teeth, taking one small step into the rushing river, the icy water spraying onto his leg, stinging him like shards of frozen glass. He turned his gaze back to the riders, who were almost amongst him. Fuck!
Wyllam took another few steps into the river, the water rising up his legs as he descended into the depths, flooding his boots and freezing his flesh. A violent shiver took him, and before long he felt his movement in his legs restricted. The river took him, pulling him from his feet. He was adrift, and picking up speed too.
The riders chased after him with bows and spears in hands, shout… [view original content]
Indeed, this was a choice with a big consequence which would not unfold well for Wyllam later on. Had he have fled into the trees, the bush and shrubs would have proved difficult for his perpetrators to follow on horseback, and he would have stood a stronger chance of survival in that case.
York
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark da… moremp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a my… [view original content]
Jarden
Dew coursed down their bronze blades, Cedrick stood opposite of Jarden, positioned on a rock in a defensive form. He grinned, read… morejusting his grip on his longsword. “Come on, Northerner.” He taunted, preparing himself for an attack. Jarden studied his arm, then his face.
Taking a step, Jarden clumsily lunged his blade towards Cedrick’s leg, easily being parried. “Pathetic.” Cedrick scoffed, jumping down from his rock and swinging his blade at Jarden’s head. Jarden managed to block the attempt at his life, the full force of the attack surging through his arms as it clashed with his blade. A solid clang rang through the air.
Jarden brought his sword back, before thrusting it at Cedrick’s chest. Cedrick smirked, dodging the attack with ease and spinning around him. Jarden felt the pommel of Cedrick’s sword bash against his back, pushing him forward. Jarden spun around, lifting his sword for another attack. Cedrick grinned.
“Wh… [view original content]
Wait a moment, did we just get Wyllam killed? Aw, hell no! That is... well, it's safe to say that this truly came as a shock. At the same time, something doesn't feel right. This felt so... I don't know, sudden. Maybe that was what you're going for, but for now, until someone actually sees his corpse, I will maintain the believe that he simply fell unconscious here and that someone else, likely the riders, have pulled him out again. I mean, he's not outright confirmed dead now, right? That said, I am curious how this will affect the other storylines. I keep thinking that, if Lorrhen truly had anything to do with his escape, he surely didn't want him dead, or else he would have outright killed him. It's a bit of a stretch, just like his possible survival, but maybe this has somehow harmed his plans, which is a good thing.
Well, once again, I have written up a very short part for Wyllam. It shows the consequence of the last voting for his part, so I'll won't sa… morey anymore. I'll actually put it in this post, considering its length
-
Wyllam
He turned his gaze to the rapid flowing river, a soft sheet of ice still formed by the edge of the water. Wyllam gritted his teeth, taking one small step into the rushing river, the icy water spraying onto his leg, stinging him like shards of frozen glass. He turned his gaze back to the riders, who were almost amongst him. Fuck!
Wyllam took another few steps into the river, the water rising up his legs as he descended into the depths, flooding his boots and freezing his flesh. A violent shiver took him, and before long he felt his movement in his legs restricted. The river took him, pulling him from his feet. He was adrift, and picking up speed too.
The riders chased after him with bows and spears in hands, shout… [view original content]
York
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark da… moremp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a my… [view original content]
Jarden
Dew coursed down their bronze blades, Cedrick stood opposite of Jarden, positioned on a rock in a defensive form. He grinned, read… morejusting his grip on his longsword. “Come on, Northerner.” He taunted, preparing himself for an attack. Jarden studied his arm, then his face.
Taking a step, Jarden clumsily lunged his blade towards Cedrick’s leg, easily being parried. “Pathetic.” Cedrick scoffed, jumping down from his rock and swinging his blade at Jarden’s head. Jarden managed to block the attempt at his life, the full force of the attack surging through his arms as it clashed with his blade. A solid clang rang through the air.
Jarden brought his sword back, before thrusting it at Cedrick’s chest. Cedrick smirked, dodging the attack with ease and spinning around him. Jarden felt the pommel of Cedrick’s sword bash against his back, pushing him forward. Jarden spun around, lifting his sword for another attack. Cedrick grinned.
“Wh… [view original content]
From Jarden's perspective, there isn't a real reason not too. Plus, we know from the wiki that Ursula stays with them to fight the Andals. Although, I'm not sure if Robar is too keen to listen to his advice, considering the predicament he put them all in.
Hehe, this was a brilliant part. I must say, I honestly like Lexia. I wasn't too sure about her in the beginning, but she's been growing on … moreme a lot, especially in this part. And I must admit that my weird imagination gave me a chuckle out of the name Ramses Stone. I know, I know, it does kinda sound like Ramsay, but the first thing that came to mind was an egyptian guy standing in the halls of Runestone Way to make me look forward for that guy if we're ever going to see him, even if he's not a pharaoh. Though, on a more serious part, I got a bad feeling that this whole Belmore situation could lead to problems if Wyllam doesn't return in time. Lexia took it as expected, yet still relatively well, all things considered, but there's no telling how Ethon is going to react, especially with one of Robar's kingsguards as his hostage.
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
I think it's easy for Jarden to say that he agrees. From his position, there are few… [view original content]
Indeed, this was a choice with a big consequence which would not unfold well for Wyllam later on. Had he have fled into the trees, the bush … moreand shrubs would have proved difficult for his perpetrators to follow on horseback, and he would have stood a stronger chance of survival in that case.
The voting is closed! York will suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood. This choice will give high influence to Robar and his council, so we'll likely see Robar heading off to the Ironoaks very soon. York however, will begin his new mission, to Andalos.
York
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark da… moremp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a my… [view original content]
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood]
I believe this is worth a try. It's always worth a try in my opinion. Of course, if Waynwood is … moretruly not open for any negotiations, then this will be time wasted, but I found Barrock's argument that the Melcolm's are allied with the Hammer of the Hills to be a very strong argument, because well, even if it's not a formal alliance, I'm sure they are allied when it comes to their fight against the First Men. This one is almost guaranteed to not work out, whereas negotiating with Lord Waynwood has at least some chance of success. And if it doesn't work out, then the only thing wasted will be time. If they go around and walk into a trap, then there will be more lost than just this bit of time.
Jarden
Dew coursed down their bronze blades, Cedrick stood opposite of Jarden, positioned on a rock in a defensive form. He grinned, read… morejusting his grip on his longsword. “Come on, Northerner.” He taunted, preparing himself for an attack. Jarden studied his arm, then his face.
Taking a step, Jarden clumsily lunged his blade towards Cedrick’s leg, easily being parried. “Pathetic.” Cedrick scoffed, jumping down from his rock and swinging his blade at Jarden’s head. Jarden managed to block the attempt at his life, the full force of the attack surging through his arms as it clashed with his blade. A solid clang rang through the air.
Jarden brought his sword back, before thrusting it at Cedrick’s chest. Cedrick smirked, dodging the attack with ease and spinning around him. Jarden felt the pommel of Cedrick’s sword bash against his back, pushing him forward. Jarden spun around, lifting his sword for another attack. Cedrick grinned.
“Wh… [view original content]
Jarden
Dew coursed down their bronze blades, Cedrick stood opposite of Jarden, positioned on a rock in a defensive form. He grinned, read… morejusting his grip on his longsword. “Come on, Northerner.” He taunted, preparing himself for an attack. Jarden studied his arm, then his face.
Taking a step, Jarden clumsily lunged his blade towards Cedrick’s leg, easily being parried. “Pathetic.” Cedrick scoffed, jumping down from his rock and swinging his blade at Jarden’s head. Jarden managed to block the attempt at his life, the full force of the attack surging through his arms as it clashed with his blade. A solid clang rang through the air.
Jarden brought his sword back, before thrusting it at Cedrick’s chest. Cedrick smirked, dodging the attack with ease and spinning around him. Jarden felt the pommel of Cedrick’s sword bash against his back, pushing him forward. Jarden spun around, lifting his sword for another attack. Cedrick grinned.
“Wh… [view original content]
Hey guys! So I realise it's been over week since I've done any writing, and I do apologise about that. I've hit a batch of characters which I need a lot of energy for considering their situation in the story so far, and I've also been super busy with school at the moment. I'm sure buying Overwatch on the PC also probably doesn't help either Well I'm regretful to inform you guys that I'll be absent for the next few days as well, so any PM's I haven't responded to won't be answered until Sunday most likely. However, with all this grim news I do have something that'll hopefully brighten your days up. I've skipped ahead a little and written out Alara's next part, which is... Well it is what it is I'll let you guys suss it out for yourselves
Anyway, the last time we saw Miss Alara Caron, she was settling an argument over religion, before King Theon came and stole her from that mess. The two strolled to the shoreline where Theon revealed the ships that would take them to Andalos. Theon also took things a step further by making his move on her, to which you guys decided it was best not to take things any further, as plans were set with Dromon Tarth, The First Dragon. This part picks up where her last concluded. Enjoy
His hands held hers by their side, his light grey eyes gently stared into her own. There was a small hopeful smile on his lips, and Alara’s heart sunk with the answer she was going to give him. She softly freed her hands from his, her expression saying all that needed to be said. A heavy frowned plagued his expression, exposing his wrinkles and age.
“I’m sorry.” Alara mumbled quietly, lowering her gaze. Theon took a moment before shaking his head, his hands clasping together, his gaze fell heavy on her. “The apology should be mine.” He added, but nothing else followed, other than a silence that pierced at their hearts. After a long moment that felt like hours of waiting, Alara finally spoke up.
“I think I should go.” She awkwardly suggested, and Theon remained silent, nodding. Alara took a few steps back, staring at the crushed twigs and bones that were scattered over the stony beach. She turned and headed for the tree line, back to what was left of the Stark camp.
She turned her gaze back only once, for only the slightest moment. Yet it was enough for a chill to crawl over her skin. A Hungry Wolf, preying at the waters, his fangs exposed in a bloodthirsty snarl. Only for a moment. Then only a man stood, closed fists by his side, and a maddened gaze staring over the lapping waters to the distant land. Andalos.
-
The fire reflected over the rushing Weeping Water, the night sky cloudless and covered with stars. Alara hid in the trees, staring at the pitched tent and small camp fire, a strong man kneeling beside the fire, spinning the roast he delicately cooked. His straw blonde hair fell over his face, blanketing his eyes from her view. He wore a simple blue shirt and black trousers, and Alara immediately felt stupid in her attire.
She looked down at the dress she had been gifted by one of the Valyrian silk workers during her time in the Freehold. She had carted it around with her ever since, and never even thought on wearing it, yet now she found herself in the night blue dress with silver linings. It was soft on her skin, and surprisingly insulating despite the fabric. The Valyrian’s had their ways, there was no doubt about that.
Alara gritted her teeth, looking at Dromon again before returning her gaze back to her dress. It was too late to change, and making him wait any longer would likely skewer their night. She took in a deep breath, adjusting the tie on her bun. Her hair was looser than it usually was, yet it suited the occasion, even if she now felt her whole look did not. She could not help but think of her sister, and her compliments on how beautiful she was. Alara rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Bethany was always the prettier one, and she knew it.
Exhaling, she revealed herself from the trees. She moved swiftly with silent steps, and before long she was a metre away from the First Dragon without him even noticing. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn back and change. Perhaps it wasn’t, yet her change in thought led to her demise, as she stepped on a twig. Dromon flung around, his gaze meeting hers with shock for a number of reasons. First fear, then pure awe at her beauty.
“Wow.” He marvelled, his eyes coursing up her dress to her face. He looked her in her deep blue eyes, now grinning, almost in disbelief. Alara blushed, feeling extremely embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to wear, and I…” Her words stumbled and Dromon began to laugh. He stood from his wooden stool, looking down at her with adoring sapphire-like eyes.
“You’re perfect.” He stated simply, and for a moment the two just stared at each other, smiling, until Dromon finally came to his senses. “Please, take a seat, my Lady.” He added, winking at her as he beckoned her to the stool. Alara rolled her eyes, taking the seat while Dromon attended to serving the meal. Alara’s eyes widened. “You’ve gone through a lot of effort.” She noticed, observing the searing pheasant and steamed vegetables. Dromon gritted his teeth.
“I hope it’s alright. I seldom cook for others.” He admitted, passing her a wooden plate and imported iron cutlery. Alara smiled, looking at the meal before her. “Nor do I.” She stated, and Dromon chuckled, serving himself now. Alara placed the plate on her lap, taking hand on the cutlery. Dromon’s eyebrows raised in a sudden realisation.
“Oh!” He suddenly mumbled, and Alara raised an eyebrow. Dromon lifted his finger, as if asking her to wait a moment, before disappearing into his pitched tent. Alara eyed the food suspiciously, before letting out a warm sigh. Her mouth was beginning to water. Dromon returned with two cups in one hand and a bottle of golden wine in the other.
“The Arbor’s finest, I’m told.” Dromon informed her with a grin, and Alara raised her eyebrows at him. “You’d best crack it open then.” She advised him with a flirtatious tone, and Dromon smirked. “Yes ma’am.” He obeyed.
Pouring the drinks, the two set into their meal with a toast. She sunk her teeth into the pheasant, the meet tender and sating her appetite. It was perfectly refreshed with the sparkling golden wine. The meal was over quickly, and their conversation topics flew with ease, it was comforting. Alara finished her first cup of the wine as Dromon was pouring his second.
“So tell me, Nightingale, what are your plans after Andalos? Will you stay in the North, or come south with me?” Dromon toyed, and Alara shrugged, taking a sip of her refilled wine cup. “Well actually I was thinking of cutting off all this hair and joining the Watch.” She suggested, coyly winking at the chuckling Tarth.
“Don’t go doing that.” He laughed, downing his cup in one gulp. Alara smirked, following his example. “Why not?” She challenged him, and Dromon grinned, reclining against the wooden stump as he sat on the ground. “Because then you’d be a total sociopath.” He chuckled, pouring another cup before offering the bottle. Alara raised an eyebrow.
“How do you mean?” She investigated, and Dromon smirked. “Don’t think I haven’t been watching you, and those habits of yours.” He stated with a booming voice, and Alara gave him a smirk in return. “Oh?” She eyed him with something unlike her usual self, something promiscuous. So he’s been watching me. It aroused some thoughts she had not endured in a long time.
“Your hair, it’s always tied up and away. No one’s business. Yet, in a sense, so are you.” Dromon theorised in his merry state. “Yet now, you’re all loosened up. So I’d say you’re somewhat comfortable with me.” Dromon grinned, placing his cup down. “Just not comfortable enough.” He mumbled, eying her loose bun. Alara smirked.
“You don’t think?” She challenged him, reaching the tie around her bun and freeing it. Her long, raven black locks of hair fell by her side, blanketing her shoulders and upper back. Dromon raised his eyebrows, letting out long drawn whistle. For a moment, he was at a loss with words, his eyes just staring at what he must have thought was pure beauty. Alara ceased the moment.
She left her stool, crawling over to him until she was on top of him. He was at her mercy now, and Alara took full control of her awestruck counterpart. Brushing her hands over his stubbled cheek, she leant forward and their lips met each other for the first time, and entered a passionate embracement. His eyes widened, but there was no complaint on his end. When they finally came to a conclusion, Dromon placed a hand around her waist, and Alara swore she could feel something moving beneath her.
“Shall we take this inside?” He suggested, nodding to the tent. Alara bit her tongue for a moment, shifting her gaze from him to the rushing water. Do I want this? She lowered her gaze down to Dromon’s admiring and passionate sapphire eyes. His hand ran up her back smoothly.
Comments
[Choose Trial by Combat]
[Choose Septon's Judgement]
We don't know how much time has passed since he was beat up. He may still be recovering from his injuries. If that is the case, he might not be up for a trial by combat. Also both the king and the prince know that Tamarra is telling the truth. If they tell the septon this information, this is something he would definitely take into account when making his judgment.
[Choose Trial by Combat] It seems for the best for Darren to put his fate in his own hands rather than someone else's.
Right, well I bring this vote to a close as the choice seems pretty clear. Darren will choose trial by combat. Easily the more interesting choice here, but arguably the most dangerous. We'll see how that unfolds in his next part.
Anyway, I have the next part ready for you all, it's a short one, but it goes to Wyllam. Now the last we saw of him was over a hundred pages ago (Wow!), and he was brought to the Qyle's favoured torturer: Rylan. Wyllam suffered Rylan's sickening hobby off-screen, and then was revealed to have escaped in Darren's recent part. This part shows Wyllam a few days after his escape.
Wyllam
The forest was thick, blocking out what little light the dawn had brought. Wyllam rested on his knees by the flowing river, cupping the icy water into his trembling bloody hands. He had been following the river for three days now. Nearly there, he kept telling himself, the thought of Strongsong warmed his thoughts, in an otherwise frozen corpse. Yet they were soon cooled with the recollection of Jarden Frost, who had informed of the destruction of Wyllam’s home.
Wyllam let the water escape through the gaps of his dirty hands. The icy numbness was a welcoming refreshment for his injured hands. Two gaping holes resided in the palms of his hands, merely covered by cotton and bandaged in cloth. They were agony, and any movement through his fingers was minimal. Any movement through his body was minimal.
He lowered his hands into the freezing water, he shiver running up his arms and tickling his spine. For a moment, he just looked into his wavering reflection. A tortured stranger stared back. A large scar ran down his right eye to his upper lip, halting for a moment, only to resume from his bottom left lip to his jawline. The nerve tissue had been completely destroyed, and was visible through the thick beard that had covered and perverted the rest of his face.
Wyllam lifted his soaked hand, gently touching his dirty face. Grime was collected by the water as it streamed down his cheek and into his thick, unkempt beard. The man in the reflection represented this action with muddy tears, yet most was obscured by the greasy, dirty hair which fell down to his shoulders. His only saving grace were the beautiful silver eyes of his father, which looked passed the pain, yet reflected it all in its gaze. Wyllam pulled his other hand from the water, pulling the fur cloak tighter to his pale scarred body. Everything was numb, and cold.
He dreaded the man in the reflection, splashing the water and disfiguring the mirrored stranger. He shook his head, tears flowing down his cheeks as he searched for something else. The forest stood tall, consisting of pines and sentinels. The riverbed was stony, with patches of moss and snow. As it reached further into the forest, the moss overtook the soft muddy land, and a few berry bushes and shrubs arose from the soil.
Slowly, Wyllam lifted himself up, feeling the agonising burn in his legs from the walking. There had been little rest in his painful determined journey, and he was tired, yet paranoia refused to let him sleep. Wyllam groaned as he rose, clutching his thin cloak to his body. He was shivering. The moisture in the air thick and dampening his skin, Wyllam resumed his slow pace down the river.
His thoughts wandered, the thoughts of seeing his father again. Seeing Lexia again. He wondered if he would truly see them again, with what Jarden had reported to him. Wyllam clenched his fists. They’re not dead. He decisively reminded himself, pushing himself forward another few painful steps. His thoughts drifted to Robar, and the men that had headed to war against the Corbray’s. How ironic that Wyllam had made it there first, and suffered first.
The suffering led to regret, thick and heavy with the remorse of the Shett people. He had abandoned them, all in his selfish weakness to escape the pain of his tormenter. Rylan. He had manipulated his body in the most agonising of ways. Cracking bone with iron, ripping nails from flesh, opening skin with blades. The holes in his hands re-emerged with a painful reminder.
Wyllam walked, he wanted to give up, but hope pushed him forward. Yet even that source was beginning to diminish, as he was alone with only his thoughts, and his thoughts were no friend. Wyllam muttered some curses as he lost his footing in the rocks, stumbling, but collecting himself before the fall. It reawakened the pain in his body, however, which caused him to stop. Keep going, he urged himself desperately, but he couldn’t. The pain was too strong, and the motive too little.
He dropped to his knees, letting out a cry of agony into the drowning air. A flutter of birds escaped the branches from trees in terror, wildlife revealing itself, only to conceal themselves into the darkness of the forest. His echoed voice died coursed through the valley, dying in sound a moment later. Wyllam let his weight shifted into his arms, panting into the moss, mud and damp stone beneath him.
A soft sound of galloping hooves echoed from the distance, soft nickering followed. Wyllam rose, listening carefully for the sound again. The neighing of horses echoed through the valley, and the galloping grew louder. Wyllam’s eyes widened, instantly turning around and starting to run. His legs cursed him for such a drastic action, but there was no time to hesitate.
The stone-bashing hooves grew louder and louder, until Wyllam turned his gaze behind him to see five riders, one displaying the banner of the Corbray’s. Shit! Wyllam’s legs brought him to a halt, he was exhausted. He bent down, panting as the horsemen quickly approached with unsheathed weapons. Wyllam bit his lip, looking at possibilities of escape.
The river flowed heavily, and the current was strong, and in his directional favour. Yet there was one issue, the cold, he would not be able to last long in freezing water. Wyllam frantically scanned the environment. The trees had grown thick, shrubs and bushes thick abundant. They would possess great hiding spots, if Wyllam could outrun the horses. Wyllam’s gaze shifted from one option to the other. Time was up. He had to choose.
[Flee into the river] [Flee into the trees]
[Flee into the river]
Well, it is a risk of course, but the way I see it, they have already spotted him if he has spotted them. If he flees into the trees, they will likely catch up to him and then they just have to wait until he comes down, or they'll shoot him down right away. The river might be uncomfortable, as in, really bloody painful, but it at least gives him a chance to escape, as small as it might be. I really think that the trees will lead to him getting caught for sure.
One thing I must say I'm a bit conflicted about is if I truly want Wyllam to escape. Of course, it would be better for him, but from Darren's latest part, it seems like his escape is part of Jorrhen's plans and if there's one thing for sure, it's that this sleazy bastard has nothing good planned. It's either that or Jorrhen improvised his plan on the spot when he framed Darren, which I doubt. I mean, Jorrhen seems like an opportunist, but something about him doesn't strike me as particularly smart. So, I am a bit unsure if Wyllam's escape is the better thing for the overall storyline here, even if I don't want him to be harmed personally.
[Flee into the river] I'm quite uncertain about this choice, but I guess the river is the more likely route to escape.
[Flee into the trees]
Horses cannot get into the trees and I guess it's easier to hide somewhere there, camouflage and such. I don't want him to go into hypothermia.
[Flee into the river]
It will be more difficult for the horses or the riders to catch up to him. If he tries to go to the forest, the horses could easily catch up to him. This is especially true, since he has already been spotted.
[Flee into the river]
[Flee into the river] It's harder to track if you go through the river , at least i think so ....,:)
Flee into the river
Alright, so I'll bring this vote to a close. Wyllam will flee into the river. Well, I'll let this vote talk for itself in Wyllam's next part
Apologies for it taking so long, I've been quite busy as of late with my courses, but I've managed to punch out a poor quality part for you lot
It's a York part. The last time we saw York, he was introduced as a man descending the Mountain's of the Moon. As he approached the Redfort, he was met with hostility by the Royce soldiers encamped there, and was forced into a fight with some of the men. The brawl was called off by King Robar, who then noticed the perpetrator of the fight to be his uncle: York Royce. This next part takes place a couple of days after that, within the chambers of the war council. It's a short part, and all I could manage to do, so my apologies.
York
“Uncle?” The title echoed in York’s head for a while, before the old man came to his senses. York’s eyes opened, meeting the dark damp red walls of stone. The Redfort’s war council chambers were nothing abrupt in size. It was a small room, consisting of a strategy table and a few windows.
York leant against the damp walls, staring at the men and women surrounding the table. King Robar stood at the end, overseeing the map that was weighed down with stone tokens. Inscribed runes for the Royce’s, and red-painted stone hearts for the Corbray’s. Lord Barrock Redfort stood beside his king, raising his gaze from the table only to glare in York’s direction.
Beside Barrock stood his daughter, Celesse Redfort. She was an alluring young woman, being only in her early twenties, there was much beauty to her. She possessed long, wavy locks of hair, a dark brown which verged almost on black. Her eyes were of a similar darkness, which gave a mystical attraction. She wore a simple red shirt, and black leather pants. The woman she had grown into was certainly not the girl York had once known back all those years ago.
Finally, beside Celesse stood a woman that York had never seen before. There was a dark, alluring attraction with her very presence, even if she only stared solemnly at the map before her. She wore leather gambeson beneath a sleeveless grey cloak, and swamp green scarf that tucked away her raven black hair. Her skin was pale, like it had been submerged in the ice and only thawed to the weak sunlight. Her eyes were like amethysts, glimmering in what little light reached the room.
“If we move our forces passed the Ironoaks, and through the mountains, we’ll be given a clear path straight to Heart’s Home. With our forces from the east, and the Belmore’s from the west, the Corbray’s will be left with nowhere to run.” Robar stated, picking up the heart-shaped stone and tossing it to the edge of the table. Ursula sighed.
“It is a matter of getting to Heart’s Home. The Waynwood’s have not responded to any of our ravens, and they will not open their gates to anyone.” Ursula informed him, and Barrock clenched his fists. “Then they’re against us.” He bluntly determined, receiving a disapproving glare from his daughter.
“They’re not opening their gates to anyone, Father. They’re neutral.” Celesse stated, and received a distasteful glance from her father. “If they’re ‘neutral’ then the bastards should let our forces through their gates, and let us further our cause. Instead, the cowards lock their doors and hinder our plans. If they stand in our way, they’re our enemy.” Barrock decided, bashing his fist against the table, causing the tokens to fall. Celesse shook her head.
“We go around then.” She suggested, but Ursula shook her head. “That will bring us too close to Old Anchor, and the Hammer of the Hills.” Ursula claimed, and Celesse frowned. “We don’t know if they’re allied…” Celesse tried to persist, but Barrock shook his head.
“They’re Andal’s, of course they’re fucking allies.” He growled, lifting his gaze to York. “Should we really be discussing this with him here?” He muttered, and Robar raised his gaze to York before nodding. “He was the master of war, before my council broke apart into some old babbling men.” Robar said nonchalantly. Barrock gritted his teeth.
“He’s a traitor.” Barrock reminded him, and Robar raised an eyebrow. “Is he? If I’m not mistaken, he was exiled for planting the foundations against the Andal invasion. Foundations which we are building upon, Lord Redfort.” Barrock’s expression was filled with ire, yet the projection of his anger was uncalculated and without aim. He seethed as he stared at York.
“I will not talk in his presence.” Barrock stated with defiance, excusing himself to the exit. Robar let out a heavy sigh, lowering his eyes back to the map on the table. “This council meeting is over.” He mumbled quietly. Ursula nodded, following after Barrock’s exit. Celesse reluctantly followed, leaving only Robar and York alone in the room.
“All I have received is disapproval and dispraise by allowing you freely into the Redfort. Why did you come back, Uncle?” Robar asked, a sound of defeat in his tone. York sighed, approaching the table. “I came back to finish what I started.” He assured him, and received a weak smile from his nephew.
“Honourable, but somehow I feel like that won’t be the case.” Robar regretfully informed him, causing York to raise an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” Robar sighed, picking up the rune that sat at the Redfort. “When we laid siege on Gulltown, King Gerold Grafton abandoned his seat, abducting my sister and sailing east.” He informed him, and York clenching his fists.
“Coward.” York muttered, and Robar nodded in agreeance. “I can’t keep you here, the men won’t stand for it. I want you to go to Andalos, and find Andrea. You will leave for Runestone in the morning. Ramses is acting lord there, he’ll give you the men and ships you need.” Robar notified him, and York found himself taken back.
“My place is here.” York stubbornly claimed, and Robar stood from the table, placing the rune back on the Redfort. “Prove that to me then. Go to Andalos, find Andrea and bring her back to Runestone.” He ordered, and York frowned. Robar turned and walked to the window, staring out at the Royce encampment. “I know this isn’t easy for you, but right now this is what I need from you. Will you do this for me?” York let out a small sigh and nodded. “I will.”
“Good.” Robar smiled, staring at York through the window’s reflection. “I’ve missed you, Uncle.” He finally said, and York allowed himself a small smile. “It’s been too long.” York admitted, but Robar shrugged. “Perhaps not long enough.” He poorly jested. York smirked, turning to the exit.
“Uncle.” Robar called, and York stopped for a moment, turning back to his nephew. “What would you do?” He asked, staring at the map intently. He was referring to the issue that had been brought up earlier, with the option of the Royce’s army’s mobility. Passing through the Ironoak’s was the ideal choice, yet perhaps unrealistic. A negotiation would be necessary, though that would take precious time. Going around would also take time, and they would be stooping into Andal territory. First Men land, York corrected himself. Perhaps the Melcolm’s of Old Anchor were not allied with the Andal king, the Hammer of the Hills.
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood] [Suggest going around]
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood]
I believe this is worth a try. It's always worth a try in my opinion. Of course, if Waynwood is truly not open for any negotiations, then this will be time wasted, but I found Barrock's argument that the Melcolm's are allied with the Hammer of the Hills to be a very strong argument, because well, even if it's not a formal alliance, I'm sure they are allied when it comes to their fight against the First Men. This one is almost guaranteed to not work out, whereas negotiating with Lord Waynwood has at least some chance of success. And if it doesn't work out, then the only thing wasted will be time. If they go around and walk into a trap, then there will be more lost than just this bit of time.
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood]
I agree with Liquid's argument, on this one.
Suggest going around
Hey guys, so I'm obviously not going to close the voting for York just yet, but I have the next part ready. It's a Jarden part. The last we saw Jarden, he had agreed to Lord Ethon Belmore's terms and gained an alliance with him. When preparing to begin their journey of return to the Redfort, Lord Ethon informed Jarden that his daughter: Lexia, would be accompanying them back to the Redfort. In turn, Jarden needed to leave one of his men at Strongsong to honour their deal. You chose to leave Paytan Hunter, the kingsguard. This part takes place a couple of days after then, being a day's ride from the Redfort.
Jarden
Dew coursed down their bronze blades, Cedrick stood opposite of Jarden, positioned on a rock in a defensive form. He grinned, readjusting his grip on his longsword. “Come on, Northerner.” He taunted, preparing himself for an attack. Jarden studied his arm, then his face.
Taking a step, Jarden clumsily lunged his blade towards Cedrick’s leg, easily being parried. “Pathetic.” Cedrick scoffed, jumping down from his rock and swinging his blade at Jarden’s head. Jarden managed to block the attempt at his life, the full force of the attack surging through his arms as it clashed with his blade. A solid clang rang through the air.
Jarden brought his sword back, before thrusting it at Cedrick’s chest. Cedrick smirked, dodging the attack with ease and spinning around him. Jarden felt the pommel of Cedrick’s sword bash against his back, pushing him forward. Jarden spun around, lifting his sword for another attack. Cedrick grinned.
“Why do you persist, Frost? You’re hopeless.” He chuckled, spinning his blade in his hands. Jarden gritted his teeth, then charged with what little might remained in him. Bashing his sword against Cedrick’s with all the power he had, managing to make him stumble under the pressure. Unsure what to do next, Jarden continued smashing his sword against Cedrick’s, until the man lost his footing and fell into the shrub.
“Yield?” Jarden mocked him, and Cedrick smirked. “Not bad, for a studier.” Jarden rolled his eyes, extending his hand to the Redfort. Cedrick accepted his arm, and was pulled from the wet ground. “I’m not a studier.” Jarden mumbled, and Cedrick grinned.
“Of course not.” Cedrick jeered, hitting his arm. He bent down and picked up his longsword from the shrubs, before joining Lexia Belmore by the fire. They had camped overnight by a small rock pool, sheltered by the sharp boulders atop the Mountains of the Moon. They were a day’s ride away from the Redfort.
Lexia reached flipped the searing rabbits in the burning coals, revealing a crispy blackened side to their eyes. “My turn?” Lexia suggested, smirking at Cedrick, to which he rolled his eyes in reply. “All due respect, Lady Belmore, but I’m not going to fight you.” Cedrick claimed decisively, to which Lexia frowned.
“Afraid you’ll be beaten?” She taunted, and Cedrick simply shook his head, sitting himself against a boulder. “Afraid I’ll hurt you.” Cedrick corrected, and Lexia rolled her eyes, then turning her gaze to Jarden. “How about you?” She offered. Jarden bent down, catching his breath by the fire. Smoke entering his nostrils. He shook his head.
“Cowards.” She muttered, and Cedrick could not help by laugh. “How’s that hare cooking?” He teased, and Lexia shrugged. “Check it yourself, if you’re going to be such a gentleman.” Cedrick rolled his eyes, resting his back against the rock. Jarden dropped to his knees, absorbing the warmth of the fire in his skin.
“We’ll have to get moving soon.” Jarden stated, staring at the blackened meat. Cedrick sighed, pulling a rag from his pocket and rubbing it over his blade. “The horses need the rest, and to drink.” Jarden groaned, sheathing his sword. “Then make them drink.” He complained, grabbing one of the sticks of meat.
“Jarden, you can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force them to drink.” Cedrick remarked, chuckling at the philosophy. Jarden rolled his eyes. “What’s the rush, anyway?” Cedrick asked nonchalantly, it was clear he didn’t really care. Jarden let out a heavy sigh.
“There’s no rush.” Jarden assured him. “I just want to get off these mountains.” He explained, and Lexia smirked. “Afraid of the peaks?” She teased, and Jarden shook his head. “No.” He spoke in defiance, but Lexia giggled regardless. “You are.” She persisted stubbornly.
“Gods, Cedrick, I can’t believe it. I think I preferred Paytan’s wit over Lexia’s cruel remarks.” Jarden said bitterly, causing Cedrick to chuckle. Lexia stuck out her tongue, climbing a boulder. “Fighting words.” She shouted, her words getting caught in the wind. Jarden flicked the burnt crisps off the hare, revealing the golden tender meat. He took a bite out of it, the meat softly breaking apart in his mouth, juices running down his throat.
Cedrick joined him, grabbing one of the other hare’s. His dark brown hair covered his brown eyes, falling down to his shoulders. He had grown a thick brown stubble during their travels, which gave some texture to his otherwise plain face.
“Do you think it was the wisest decision to agree to the deal? You told me Wyllam Belmore remained in Gulltown.” Cedrick stated with monitored words, watching as Lexia scaled the rock. Jarden sighed, shaking his head. “It was the only way.” Jarden admitted, thinking back to old Ethon Belmore’s terms.
“Still.” Cedrick persisted, seeming unsure. “Lexia won’t be happy when she finds out.” He assured, and Jarden shrugged. “That’s another problem for another time. Robar wanted the Belmore alliance, we have that. Robar can arrange Wyllam and Lexia’s reunion himself.” Jarden justified, tired and stressed with the matter.
“Will you return to the North after this is all over?” Cedrick asked, and Jarden could only shrug, he hadn’t really thought about it. “Maybe.” He replied, unsure. “There’s still a lot more to Westeros than the Fingers and the North.” Jarden added, hoping it was a bit more of a sturdier answer. Cedrick frowned.
“You said that you were going to join the Night’s Watch, a little while back.” Cedrick suddenly brought up, and Jarden raised an eyebrow before nodding. “Yes, why?” Jarden asked, and Cedrick shrugged. “I don’t know. What was it like?” He asked, seeming somewhat fascinated. Jarden sighed, scratching his head as he took another bite.
“Cold.” Jarden answered, and Cedrick rolled his eyes. “It’s cold up here too, smart-arse.” Cedrick countered, and Jarden frowned. “It’s different.” Jarden admitted. “Yes, the majority of the men are those looking to serve, from all around Westeros. Some, like myself, were simply looking for purpose. Some were looking for safety, and the Watch gave that, or simply a better lifestyle than others. I would have joined, but…” Jarden stumbled on his words a moment, thinking back to the Wall. “But what?” Cedrick persisted.
“I befriended a steward there, a man called Teddy Estermont. He had been a victim of a framing for the Lord of Estermont’s life, and had fled to the Night’s Watch. Yet when I saw how his ‘brothers’ treated him. These honourable men of the Night’s Watch. I knew I couldn’t stay.” Jarden revealed, and Cedrick seemed a little disappointed with the answer, but did not bother to pursue the matter any further. Jarden sighed.
“Why? Are you interesting in joining the legendary Night’s Watch?” Jarden taunted, and Cedrick awkwardly chucked, shaking his head. “I couldn’t. I’m the heir to the Redfort.” Cedrick muttered, almost some disappointment in his quiet tone.
Lexia leaped down from the rock, stumbling on the ground before joining them by the fire. She eyed them both, noticing their sullen expressions. “What?” She asked, and Cedrick shook his head. “Nothing.” He assured her, grabbing the other bit of meat and offering it to her. “Eat up.” He ordered. “We leave when you’re finished. The horses have had their time.” Cedrick decided, and Jarden gave him a small nod in thanks. Cedrick simply lowered his eyes, brooding as he slowly nibbled at his meal.
-
The black wood portcullis rose as they approached the red walls of the Redfort, passing through the Royce encampment with ease. The three rode into the courtyard, welcomed by the stable boys, who attended to their horses when they dismounted. The three looked at each other awkwardly as the courtyard emptied momentarily. Then the doors of the Great Hall swung open, and three figures entered the courtyard.
Cedrick’s eyes widened as he noticed the girl beside his father. “Celesse!” He called, running to his sister and entering a loving embracement. Jarden and Lexia remained together awkwardly, as King Robar and Lord Barrock approached them.
“Jarden!” Robar greeted, raising his arms in welcome. Barrock showed no similar gesture. “It is good to see you have returned to us safely.” Robar said warmly, stopping before them. His eyes flickered to Lexia, who he briefly studied. “And who is this?” He asked. Jarden bowed.
“This is Lexia Belmore, daughter to Lord Ethon, Your Grace.” Jarden informed him, and Lexia gave a small bow. “It is a pleasure, my Lady.” Robar smiled, clasping his hands. “And where is Paytan?” He asked, his eyes searching the courtyard. Jarden took a moment, giving Lexia the chance to interrupt.
“Paytan Hunter has remained in Strongsong, as part of our arrangement.” Lexia informed him, and Robar raised an eyebrow. “Arrangement?” He asked, and Lexia nodded. “Jarden here gave his word to my father. In return for our alliance, once we have taken Heart’s Home, you will garrison a proportion of your men there to protect our people while we rebuild our homes.” Lexia notified him, and Robar raised his eyebrows, but did not complain. “We also want to see Wyllam.” She added, and a sorrowful look haunted Robar’s gaze.
“I had Wyllam remain in Gulltown with King Andru after the siege. My scouts have reported to me that Gulltown has been levelled.” Robar regretfully informed, and Lexia furrowed her eyebrows. “Levelled?” She asked, and Robar grievously nodded.
“It’s believed that the attack was conducted by the Hammer of the Hills, but with such destruction, we cannot be sure.” Robar frowned, running a hand through his hair. “For now, we must look ahead. Heart’s Home will give us the north Fingers, and a large advantage over our enemies.” Robar stated, but Lexia shook her head, tears streaming down her eyes.
“We will not march into war until we see Wyllam.” Lexia informed him decisively, and Robar’s frown grew heavier. “I’m sorry, my men are searching through the rubble as we speak. He’ll be given over to you when found.” Robar promised her, but Lexia simply shook her head, excusing herself.
Jarden stood awkwardly, watching as she entered the hall, quickly followed by Cedrick and Celesse. He frowned, feeling remorse for not telling her about Wyllam’s fate. He had not had the chance to have known the man all that well, but he had fought beside him, and knew him to be a good fighter. Lord Barrock let out a low grumble.
“So, Lord Ethon joins the fight then.” He announced, and Robar nodded. “Let us head inside.” Robar decided. “They days may be growing warmer, but gods know it’s still bloody cold.” Robar acknowledged, rubbing his arms. The three turned and entered the Great Hall, the doors closing behind them.
-
The King’s chambers were nothing to fancy, but it was the best Lord Barrock had to offer, and Robar certainly was not one to complain. Not from what Jarden knew of him, anyway. Jarden sat awkwardly in his wooden chair, a mug of ale on the table in front of him. Robar stared out the window at the mountain ridge.
“I received a raven from my brother, Ramses Stone, at Runestone a few days ago. An emissary from the Merling Stones had arrived with word from the ‘Short Merman,’ his name is Wyatt Manderly.” Robar stated, and Jarden furrowed his eyebrows. “What did he say?” Robar frowned.
“Lord Wyatt wishes to aid our cause, yet with compensation. He wants control of Witch Isle, and fealty sworn from the Upcliff’s, as well as official recognition of the Three Sisters being vassals to the Kingdom of the Seas.” Robar informed him, resting his head against his palm as he stared out the window. Jarden stared at him.
“So what’s the issue?” Jarden asked, and Robar let out a heavy sigh. “I do not know if Ursula will simply hand over her home to Wyatt. She has had some... history, with the Manderly’s. Yet an alliance would provide us with a furthering income through trade, and their fleet could prevent any further Andal invaders from settling on our shores.” Jarden nodded.
“So, what do you want me to do?” Jarden asked, and Robar chuckled, straightening himself and turning his gaze to Jarden. “Nothing.” He smiled, walking to the table and taking a seat opposite him. “Just your opinion. Lord Barrock is concerned that this is a First Men affair, and that Mermen should not get involved. Ramses made it quite clear in his message that we should accept these terms, and Ursula had been quite avoiding of the subject all together. So I want to know, what would you do?”
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms] [Deny the Wyatt’s offer]
Hehe, this was a brilliant part. I must say, I honestly like Lexia. I wasn't too sure about her in the beginning, but she's been growing on me a lot, especially in this part. And I must admit that my weird imagination gave me a chuckle out of the name Ramses Stone. I know, I know, it does kinda sound like Ramsay, but the first thing that came to mind was an egyptian guy standing in the halls of Runestone
Way to make me look forward for that guy if we're ever going to see him, even if he's not a pharaoh. Though, on a more serious part, I got a bad feeling that this whole Belmore situation could lead to problems if Wyllam doesn't return in time. Lexia took it as expected, yet still relatively well, all things considered, but there's no telling how Ethon is going to react, especially with one of Robar's kingsguards as his hostage.
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
I think it's easy for Jarden to say that he agrees. From his position, there are few actual downsides to this. Ursula is the one who gets the short end of the stick and she's the one whose opinion Robar should ask for. But Jarden himself, I don't see why he shouldn't agree. From his position, this is a good deal and an alliance with the Manderly's is going to advance their cause quite tremendously. Ursula's opinion and reaction should be interesting though.
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood]
Well, I'm happy to see that you're liking her! She's not your typical first born daughter in Westeros, I think that much is clear
I have a feeling she'd get along quite well with a couple of Caron's baring similar traits 
My goodness, this isn't the first time you've linked my inspiration into a character without even having me mention it
Indeed, Ramses is named after Ramses the pharaoh during the time of Moses. I've been watching a fair few of the Disney biblical story as of late, and in comparison to the Bible's depiction and Disney's depiction of Ramses, I instantly fell in love with Disney's portrayal 
So yeah, well done! 
And yes, there is a little Ramsay Bolton reference in there too 
We will indeed be seeing some more of him very soon, through York actually. However he will build up into a big character in Robar's retaliation against the Andal's, as we'll see later on 
Well I'm getting the feeling it may be a little cruel for me to hold back the next Wyllam part until all of the characters have had a passing, so considering that I'm on a Vale roll, I might write that one out next. Indeed, there will be quite a lot of distrust from Lexia now, especially towards Jarden, who had arranged the deal in the first place. It really does put Robar's cause in quite a vulnerable position, being that if Ethon kills Paytan Hunter, then the Royce's will not stand for it. The Corbray's would potentially have a large chance in winning over the Belmore alliance in that case, which would truly change the tides of the war for Robar.
Well, once again, I have written up a very short part for Wyllam. It shows the consequence of the last voting for his part, so I'll won't say anymore. I'll actually put it in this post, considering its length
-
Wyllam
He turned his gaze to the rapid flowing river, a soft sheet of ice still formed by the edge of the water. Wyllam gritted his teeth, taking one small step into the rushing river, the icy water spraying onto his leg, stinging him like shards of frozen glass. He turned his gaze back to the riders, who were almost amongst him. Fuck!
Wyllam took another few steps into the river, the water rising up his legs as he descended into the depths, flooding his boots and freezing his flesh. A violent shiver took him, and before long he felt his movement in his legs restricted. The river took him, pulling him from his feet. He was adrift, and picking up speed too.
The riders chased after him with bows and spears in hands, shouting curses as they tried to catch him. Wyllam could barely understand them, the uncontrollable trembling was one factor against his hearing, but the rapid flowing river was another. Trying to pull him down, his flooded boots slowed him until they slid off, engulfed by the riverbed.
Trying to keep himself above the surface, Wyllam could feel the icy water nipping at him, making his body numb. Wyllam’s teeth jittered when he was not gasping for air when being pulled under. Spears were hurled towards him, arrows shot at him, yet all seemed to disappear into the rushing abyss. Wyllam laughed in his frozen madness. His plan was working.
A fork split ahead in the river, presenting Wyllam’s escape. The riders chased him from his left, but their horses would not be able to cross the river. He had to take the right junction, it was his only chance. Wyllam tried to swim, kicking with what little strength he had, trying to direct himself to the right edge of the river. It was no use, the current was too strong.
The fork closed in on him, and the current pulled him to the left, forbidding him from an escape. No! He wanted to scream, furious and terrified, yet he could barely utter the word. The current dragged him down the diverted river, the horsemen riding after him. The cold started to take its effect on him. He could not feel his hands, the pain in his legs was numbed and he was no longer shivering.
He started kicking, trying to fight against the power of the river. I have… to get out… His legs lazily wavered beneath the water, his lifeless feet like stumps on the bottom of his stick legs. They faltered in movement, freezing stiff in the cold and flowing with the river, until one did not.
Wyllam’s body thrusted forward into the water, his foot catching onto something, hooking him down. He stared down at the smooth stone floor, water rushing by him in every direction. He screamed, the air from his lungs escaping is lungs quickly.
His gaze shifted to his leg, trapped between two rocks. He tried to free himself, but the power of the current was too strong. He tried to shout, to call for help, barely managing to pull his stiff arms behind him and above the surface. His lungs ran out of hair. He tried to breathe. Only the icy water met his lungs, suffocating him. His eyes widened, the stone floor staring back at his shock, his fear. What wasn’t numb was now senseless. His stiff arms stuck out from the river, pale and locked. Darkness had clouded his vision, darkness had clouded everything.
No decision this time.
Deny the Wyatt's offer
I don't trust this decision mates.
He dead? I knew my choice was better but I was the only one thinking this way.
Indeed, this was a choice with a big consequence which would not unfold well for Wyllam later on. Had he have fled into the trees, the bush and shrubs would have proved difficult for his perpetrators to follow on horseback, and he would have stood a stronger chance of survival in that case.
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood]
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
Wait a moment, did we just get Wyllam killed? Aw, hell no! That is... well, it's safe to say that this truly came as a shock. At the same time, something doesn't feel right. This felt so... I don't know, sudden. Maybe that was what you're going for, but for now, until someone actually sees his corpse, I will maintain the believe that he simply fell unconscious here and that someone else, likely the riders, have pulled him out again. I mean, he's not outright confirmed dead now, right? That said, I am curious how this will affect the other storylines. I keep thinking that, if Lorrhen truly had anything to do with his escape, he surely didn't want him dead, or else he would have outright killed him. It's a bit of a stretch, just like his possible survival, but maybe this has somehow harmed his plans, which is a good thing.
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood]
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
[Agree to Wyatt's terms]
From Jarden's perspective, there isn't a real reason not too. Plus, we know from the wiki that Ursula stays with them to fight the Andals. Although, I'm not sure if Robar is too keen to listen to his advice, considering the predicament he put them all in.
That is what I thought myself, choosing this option.
The voting is closed! York will suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood. This choice will give high influence to Robar and his council, so we'll likely see Robar heading off to the Ironoaks very soon. York however, will begin his new mission, to Andalos.
[Suggest negotiating with Lord Waynwood]
[Agree to Wyatt’s terms]
Damn , i tought it was gonna go like what happened with sansa and theon , but i totally didnt think one sec that he could die of hypothermia .
Vote closed. Jarden will choose to agree to Wyatt's terms.
Hey guys! So I realise it's been over week since I've done any writing, and I do apologise about that. I've hit a batch of characters which I need a lot of energy for considering their situation in the story so far, and I've also been super busy with school at the moment. I'm sure buying Overwatch on the PC also probably doesn't help either
Well I'm regretful to inform you guys that I'll be absent for the next few days as well, so any PM's I haven't responded to won't be answered until Sunday most likely. However, with all this grim news I do have something that'll hopefully brighten your days up. I've skipped ahead a little and written out Alara's next part, which is... Well it is what it is 
I'll let you guys suss it out for yourselves 
Anyway, the last time we saw Miss Alara Caron, she was settling an argument over religion, before King Theon came and stole her from that mess. The two strolled to the shoreline where Theon revealed the ships that would take them to Andalos. Theon also took things a step further by making his move on her, to which you guys decided it was best not to take things any further, as plans were set with Dromon Tarth, The First Dragon. This part picks up where her last concluded. Enjoy
Alara
His hands held hers by their side, his light grey eyes gently stared into her own. There was a small hopeful smile on his lips, and Alara’s heart sunk with the answer she was going to give him. She softly freed her hands from his, her expression saying all that needed to be said. A heavy frowned plagued his expression, exposing his wrinkles and age.
“I’m sorry.” Alara mumbled quietly, lowering her gaze. Theon took a moment before shaking his head, his hands clasping together, his gaze fell heavy on her. “The apology should be mine.” He added, but nothing else followed, other than a silence that pierced at their hearts. After a long moment that felt like hours of waiting, Alara finally spoke up.
“I think I should go.” She awkwardly suggested, and Theon remained silent, nodding. Alara took a few steps back, staring at the crushed twigs and bones that were scattered over the stony beach. She turned and headed for the tree line, back to what was left of the Stark camp.
She turned her gaze back only once, for only the slightest moment. Yet it was enough for a chill to crawl over her skin. A Hungry Wolf, preying at the waters, his fangs exposed in a bloodthirsty snarl. Only for a moment. Then only a man stood, closed fists by his side, and a maddened gaze staring over the lapping waters to the distant land. Andalos.
-
The fire reflected over the rushing Weeping Water, the night sky cloudless and covered with stars. Alara hid in the trees, staring at the pitched tent and small camp fire, a strong man kneeling beside the fire, spinning the roast he delicately cooked. His straw blonde hair fell over his face, blanketing his eyes from her view. He wore a simple blue shirt and black trousers, and Alara immediately felt stupid in her attire.
She looked down at the dress she had been gifted by one of the Valyrian silk workers during her time in the Freehold. She had carted it around with her ever since, and never even thought on wearing it, yet now she found herself in the night blue dress with silver linings. It was soft on her skin, and surprisingly insulating despite the fabric. The Valyrian’s had their ways, there was no doubt about that.
Alara gritted her teeth, looking at Dromon again before returning her gaze back to her dress. It was too late to change, and making him wait any longer would likely skewer their night. She took in a deep breath, adjusting the tie on her bun. Her hair was looser than it usually was, yet it suited the occasion, even if she now felt her whole look did not. She could not help but think of her sister, and her compliments on how beautiful she was. Alara rolled her eyes, knowing full well that Bethany was always the prettier one, and she knew it.
Exhaling, she revealed herself from the trees. She moved swiftly with silent steps, and before long she was a metre away from the First Dragon without him even noticing. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to turn back and change. Perhaps it wasn’t, yet her change in thought led to her demise, as she stepped on a twig. Dromon flung around, his gaze meeting hers with shock for a number of reasons. First fear, then pure awe at her beauty.
“Wow.” He marvelled, his eyes coursing up her dress to her face. He looked her in her deep blue eyes, now grinning, almost in disbelief. Alara blushed, feeling extremely embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure what to wear, and I…” Her words stumbled and Dromon began to laugh. He stood from his wooden stool, looking down at her with adoring sapphire-like eyes.
“You’re perfect.” He stated simply, and for a moment the two just stared at each other, smiling, until Dromon finally came to his senses. “Please, take a seat, my Lady.” He added, winking at her as he beckoned her to the stool. Alara rolled her eyes, taking the seat while Dromon attended to serving the meal. Alara’s eyes widened. “You’ve gone through a lot of effort.” She noticed, observing the searing pheasant and steamed vegetables. Dromon gritted his teeth.
“I hope it’s alright. I seldom cook for others.” He admitted, passing her a wooden plate and imported iron cutlery. Alara smiled, looking at the meal before her. “Nor do I.” She stated, and Dromon chuckled, serving himself now. Alara placed the plate on her lap, taking hand on the cutlery. Dromon’s eyebrows raised in a sudden realisation.
“Oh!” He suddenly mumbled, and Alara raised an eyebrow. Dromon lifted his finger, as if asking her to wait a moment, before disappearing into his pitched tent. Alara eyed the food suspiciously, before letting out a warm sigh. Her mouth was beginning to water. Dromon returned with two cups in one hand and a bottle of golden wine in the other.
“The Arbor’s finest, I’m told.” Dromon informed her with a grin, and Alara raised her eyebrows at him. “You’d best crack it open then.” She advised him with a flirtatious tone, and Dromon smirked. “Yes ma’am.” He obeyed.
Pouring the drinks, the two set into their meal with a toast. She sunk her teeth into the pheasant, the meet tender and sating her appetite. It was perfectly refreshed with the sparkling golden wine. The meal was over quickly, and their conversation topics flew with ease, it was comforting. Alara finished her first cup of the wine as Dromon was pouring his second.
“So tell me, Nightingale, what are your plans after Andalos? Will you stay in the North, or come south with me?” Dromon toyed, and Alara shrugged, taking a sip of her refilled wine cup. “Well actually I was thinking of cutting off all this hair and joining the Watch.” She suggested, coyly winking at the chuckling Tarth.
“Don’t go doing that.” He laughed, downing his cup in one gulp. Alara smirked, following his example. “Why not?” She challenged him, and Dromon grinned, reclining against the wooden stump as he sat on the ground. “Because then you’d be a total sociopath.” He chuckled, pouring another cup before offering the bottle. Alara raised an eyebrow.
“How do you mean?” She investigated, and Dromon smirked. “Don’t think I haven’t been watching you, and those habits of yours.” He stated with a booming voice, and Alara gave him a smirk in return. “Oh?” She eyed him with something unlike her usual self, something promiscuous. So he’s been watching me. It aroused some thoughts she had not endured in a long time.
“Your hair, it’s always tied up and away. No one’s business. Yet, in a sense, so are you.” Dromon theorised in his merry state. “Yet now, you’re all loosened up. So I’d say you’re somewhat comfortable with me.” Dromon grinned, placing his cup down. “Just not comfortable enough.” He mumbled, eying her loose bun. Alara smirked.
“You don’t think?” She challenged him, reaching the tie around her bun and freeing it. Her long, raven black locks of hair fell by her side, blanketing her shoulders and upper back. Dromon raised his eyebrows, letting out long drawn whistle. For a moment, he was at a loss with words, his eyes just staring at what he must have thought was pure beauty. Alara ceased the moment.
She left her stool, crawling over to him until she was on top of him. He was at her mercy now, and Alara took full control of her awestruck counterpart. Brushing her hands over his stubbled cheek, she leant forward and their lips met each other for the first time, and entered a passionate embracement. His eyes widened, but there was no complaint on his end. When they finally came to a conclusion, Dromon placed a hand around her waist, and Alara swore she could feel something moving beneath her.
“Shall we take this inside?” He suggested, nodding to the tent. Alara bit her tongue for a moment, shifting her gaze from him to the rushing water. Do I want this? She lowered her gaze down to Dromon’s admiring and passionate sapphire eyes. His hand ran up her back smoothly.
[Take it further] [Leave it at that]