Ted
Beams of red and white light shone through the paned glass into Ted’s bedroom, it was early morning but the light always seemed to ma… moreke it’s way through the tinted windows during this time. Ted grunted and pulled the smooth red silk sheets over his face, trying to hide himself from the new day. He was tired, he had been for a long time, and now was one of the few chances that he got to sleep without disruption. Ted yawned and rested his head on the soft - supposedly griffin feathered - pillow. Before his awakening, he was in a dream which had taken him to Estermont. He saw his family, his parents, and all was well. Even his backstabbing cousin was respectable, and his uncle still lived. All was swell, though there was something different. Something still haunted Ted in his dream, a certain darkness - a crow. Whenever something bad would happen to him, a crow would be there. When the dream unfolded to actual life events, the crow was th… [view original content]
Clear enough vote. Teddy will choose to go to Storm's End and hopefully speak with the king about the arranged terms that were supposedly made. Next part goes to Wyllam
Wyllam sat himself down on the soft woolen mattress in his new quarters. He observed around the room, noticing all the windows were barred and all doors were locked from the outside. This is still as much of a cell as the dungeons. Garvy stood by the main door, his arms were crossed. The two had formed a decent relationship over the past few days, realising they had more in common than they thought. The brutish man seemed concerned or disappointed, Wyllam could not pick it. It was clear to him that the Andal king did not have any plans for a strong alliance between the Belmore’s, as the way he was being locked in another cell was already a hint. Wyllam focussed his attention to Garvy, whose long blonde hair fell over his eyes and made it hard to see his expressions - though from what Wyllam could tell, the man was not in his happier stage.
“Everything okay Garvy?” The tall man jumped when his name was called, seemingly being pulled out of some dream he was having. He silently nodded.
“Aye, I’m fine.” Garvy sighed when finishing his sentence, leaving curiosity in the silent absence.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Wyllam stared at the man, trying to find his eyes under the thick blonde hair that covered it. He could not see his eyes, though he did observe the man’s face beginning to blush. After a long hesitation and long stares, Garvy finally spoke.
“It’s the King… He’s given orders to execute the smallfolk that lived under protection of King Andru Shett. He is to have them slaughtered in the courts for all to see.” Garvy’s tone was saddened and distressed, Wyllam had no reason to think that the man was lying to him.
“That fucking bastard, we had a deal!” Wyllam felt enraged, though inside he truly thought this would happen. He knew deep down that no Andal could be held to their word. Garvy stood up.
“You can do something. He needs you, if you just say you won’t contribute…” Wyllam shook his head.
“If I don’t contribute then he will simply kill me, my family and destroy our fleet. Those were his words. As much as I want to help the smallfolk, there is nothing I can do for them.” Garvy shook his head, now angry.
“You have to try! These are your people Wyllam, they are the First Men. If you’re so easily going to let them go, then you’re cause has already ended.” With that, Garvy quickly stormed out of the room leaving Wyllam to think on his words.
Wyllam rested his head down on the soft silk pillows and sighed. He’s right, if I betray these people then I am betraying everything Robar stands for - everything I stand for. Wyllam stared at the barred window, the sky was filled with dark clouds and rain could be spotted in the distance. It was only now that Wyllam could feel a cold chill crawl over him, it may have been the ending of a long winter but it was still bloody cold. Wyllam pulled the woolen blankets over him, instantly feeling the warmth that insulated through. It was the first time that Wyllam had felt at comfort and ease ever since he had spent the night with Ursula in that tent. He thought back to the beautiful sorceress, wondering of her whereabouts now. Likely not trapped in a prison like myself. He shook out the thought and closed his eyes. Darkness clouded everything, and soon he fell into a calm slumber.
-
Wyllam awoke to the sound of the main door being opened. He opened his eyes and watched as two guards entered, their tabards displaying that of House Corbray. What did I expect? I’m not getting any type of rescue. Wyllam sighed and sat himself up so he was facing the two men.
“Wyllam Belmore, we are here to escort you to the King.” Said the man on the left. He was a tall man, had a brown beard. He spoke with a calm and placid voice, though Wyllam held no respect for him.
“You going to hold my hand the entire way?” The man next to him was not so calm, and was quick to unsheath his sword.
“I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget, First Man filth!” He was quickly stopped by his partner, whose face had gone red.
“Calm yourself Aidin!” The angry boy pulled his arm free and rushed to the door.
“Take him yourself, Warne. Just you wait till I tell father that you put a finger on me.” Before Warne could say another word, the spoilt brat was out the door and pacing down the corridor. The man sighed and shook his head.
“Forgive him, he’s not quite used to the role of castle guard. He expects that because his father is the general of the King’s army, he has some sort of authority.” Wyllam glared at the Andal guard. “Apologies, where are my manners? I am Warne Spyre, head of the City Guard. I already know who you are, so I suppose we should get going.” Warne turned and exited the room, Wyllam slowing got up and followed.
The hallway was paved with shining white marble, the windows were - once again - tinted with the sigil of House Corbray. Warne Spyre wore chainmail with steel shoulder pads and bracers, a long white tabard with House Corbray’s sigil covered his back and chest. He wore a helmet and carried a steel longsword by his side. Wyllam did not have much to say to the man, but saw this as an opportunity to find out as much as he could about Heart’s Home’s defenses.
“What is this City Guard?” Warne turned his head as he led Wyllam down the hall.
“The City Guard are pretty much just that. We patrol the city of Heart’s Home, deal with crime and bring order.” Wyllam raised an eyebrow, the First Men had no requirements for these kinds of guards.
“Why don’t the soldiers protect your castles and cities?” The man chuckled and kept walking.
“The soldiers do shit all, mostly just get themselves drunk until they are called for battle. If anything, they mostly patrol the castle, though it’s the Kingsguard that protect the king.” Wyllam nodded, though he had not learnt much of the defense.
“Would Heart’s Home be defendable without the soldiers?” Warne shrugged, seeming tired of the conversation.
“Well, let’s put it this way. The Corbray army is larger than the Arryn army, and they are all stationed here. Though half are going to be moved to the Gates of the Moon to side with the Falcon Knight. Anyway, enough chatting. We’re basically there.” Warne quickened his pace, leading Wyllam up a set of stairs and through a number of halls until they finally reached Heart’s Hall.
The large arch hallway was empty, to Wyllam’s surprise, except for the two soldiers that stood guard at the door. Warne gave them a wave and they opened the door, letting the both of them through. The two men entered the large throne room, the doors behind them closing with a thud. Ahead of them sat the king, surrounded by his kingsguard - consisting of seven men. Warne and Wyllam walked towards the throne, though stopped when the met the final column that held the roof up. Warne knelt down, though Wyllam stayed stationary. I’ll be damned if I kneel for this Andal shit. Qyle gestured for Warne to rise. King Qyle wore a large smile, though it seemed out of fashion for the coming events.
“Ah, Wyllam! It is a great pleasure to see you, I trust you have been well acquainted with your new room?” Wyllam could tell what Qyle was trying to do, sweeten him out so he could convince his father to give Qyle their fleet. I won’t let that happen.
“Your grace, if you wanted me to be in a cell you should have just left me in the dungeons. I enjoyed the company of the smallfolk that you have now decided to execute.” Wyllam watched as the joy faded from Qyle’s face, and was replaced with an irritated look.
“I have called you and Warne here to inform you that you will be riding to Strongsong in the morn. Warne, you will take a dozen of your best men. Do not hesitate to restrain our friend here if it comes to that. Wyllam will hold up his end of the deal and persuade his family to give their fleet to me.” Wyllam shook his head, now serious.
“That is if you hold your end of the deal. You said these people would be under protection if I cooperated with you, you have already decided to break that.” The king yawned and sighed.
“Aye, and you were not supposed to know of that. I knew that jailor was telling you to much, which has made me come to a new decision. I’ll let your pathetic smallfolk free, though that jailor will have to be executed by your hand. Or, we can exile him and kill off your sorry people. Choice is yours Belmore, but make it quick.”
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy] [Save Garvy - allow the smallfolk to die]
Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. I've been really busy with meeting up with people and doing a whole bunch of stuff. As for this part, this will determine whether Wyllam will stick by what he and Robar believes in, or if he will follow his morals and not let a friend die. Either way, it's more a choice on what people will think of him at the end of all this.
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy] This is very hard choice, I'm not sure if Qyle will really stay true to his words, but lets try to save the smallfolk.
Wyllam
Wyllam sat himself down on the soft woolen mattress in his new quarters. He observed around the room, noticing all the windows wer… moree barred and all doors were locked from the outside. This is still as much of a cell as the dungeons. Garvy stood by the main door, his arms were crossed. The two had formed a decent relationship over the past few days, realising they had more in common than they thought. The brutish man seemed concerned or disappointed, Wyllam could not pick it. It was clear to him that the Andal king did not have any plans for a strong alliance between the Belmore’s, as the way he was being locked in another cell was already a hint. Wyllam focussed his attention to Garvy, whose long blonde hair fell over his eyes and made it hard to see his expressions - though from what Wyllam could tell, the man was not in his happier stage.
“Everything okay Garvy?” The tall man jumped when his name was called, seemingly being pull… [view original content]
It's one life against many. I feel bad for executing Garvy, but in the end, saving him would mean the death of many more. However, part of me thinks this might be a trick, that the king wants to test him and simply wants to find out what kind of man he is. I'm probably wrong here, but it is possible.
Wyllam
Wyllam sat himself down on the soft woolen mattress in his new quarters. He observed around the room, noticing all the windows wer… moree barred and all doors were locked from the outside. This is still as much of a cell as the dungeons. Garvy stood by the main door, his arms were crossed. The two had formed a decent relationship over the past few days, realising they had more in common than they thought. The brutish man seemed concerned or disappointed, Wyllam could not pick it. It was clear to him that the Andal king did not have any plans for a strong alliance between the Belmore’s, as the way he was being locked in another cell was already a hint. Wyllam focussed his attention to Garvy, whose long blonde hair fell over his eyes and made it hard to see his expressions - though from what Wyllam could tell, the man was not in his happier stage.
“Everything okay Garvy?” The tall man jumped when his name was called, seemingly being pull… [view original content]
Wyllam
Wyllam sat himself down on the soft woolen mattress in his new quarters. He observed around the room, noticing all the windows wer… moree barred and all doors were locked from the outside. This is still as much of a cell as the dungeons. Garvy stood by the main door, his arms were crossed. The two had formed a decent relationship over the past few days, realising they had more in common than they thought. The brutish man seemed concerned or disappointed, Wyllam could not pick it. It was clear to him that the Andal king did not have any plans for a strong alliance between the Belmore’s, as the way he was being locked in another cell was already a hint. Wyllam focussed his attention to Garvy, whose long blonde hair fell over his eyes and made it hard to see his expressions - though from what Wyllam could tell, the man was not in his happier stage.
“Everything okay Garvy?” The tall man jumped when his name was called, seemingly being pull… [view original content]
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy]
It's one life against many. I feel bad for executing Garvy, but in the end, saving him would mean th… moree death of many more. However, part of me thinks this might be a trick, that the king wants to test him and simply wants to find out what kind of man he is. I'm probably wrong here, but it is possible.
Wyllam
Wyllam sat himself down on the soft woolen mattress in his new quarters. He observed around the room, noticing all the windows wer… moree barred and all doors were locked from the outside. This is still as much of a cell as the dungeons. Garvy stood by the main door, his arms were crossed. The two had formed a decent relationship over the past few days, realising they had more in common than they thought. The brutish man seemed concerned or disappointed, Wyllam could not pick it. It was clear to him that the Andal king did not have any plans for a strong alliance between the Belmore’s, as the way he was being locked in another cell was already a hint. Wyllam focussed his attention to Garvy, whose long blonde hair fell over his eyes and made it hard to see his expressions - though from what Wyllam could tell, the man was not in his happier stage.
“Everything okay Garvy?” The tall man jumped when his name was called, seemingly being pull… [view original content]
Wyllam
Wyllam sat himself down on the soft woolen mattress in his new quarters. He observed around the room, noticing all the windows wer… moree barred and all doors were locked from the outside. This is still as much of a cell as the dungeons. Garvy stood by the main door, his arms were crossed. The two had formed a decent relationship over the past few days, realising they had more in common than they thought. The brutish man seemed concerned or disappointed, Wyllam could not pick it. It was clear to him that the Andal king did not have any plans for a strong alliance between the Belmore’s, as the way he was being locked in another cell was already a hint. Wyllam focussed his attention to Garvy, whose long blonde hair fell over his eyes and made it hard to see his expressions - though from what Wyllam could tell, the man was not in his happier stage.
“Everything okay Garvy?” The tall man jumped when his name was called, seemingly being pull… [view original content]
Well this was a clear vote. Wyllam will choose to save the smallfolk, which will result in him having to execute his only friend in Heart's Home - Garvy.
Next part will focus on Torv. Now if you don't remember what was happening with Torv last, here's a recap... Torv decided to bring Rose (a famous thief) along with him to Barrowton to deliver the Weeping Stone. On their travels they ran into a pack of wolves to where Torv was injured badly in his arm. His two most visible options were to run back to the campfire where there would hopefully be more protection, or climb the tree that Rose was hiding in previously. You lot chose to have Torv and Rose make a run for the campfire.
The small campfire finally began to die as the sun rose in the east. Torv stared out to the tinged red sky, his eyes blinking rapidly. He had found little sleep during the long night, and the pain in his arm was unbearable. When the two had made it back to the campfire, the wolves had backed off and left them be. Rose had lazily bandaged Torv’s arm and put it into a sling, which had relieved the pain a little but he would need medicine to soothe the pain. Torv gently sat himself up, desperately trying not to awake Rose - who had fallen asleep on his lap. Despite his efforts, the young and beautiful woman arose with blinking eyes and soft yawns. Torv sighed and slowly stood himself up, doing his best to avoid moving his arm into any uncomfortable positions.
“How’s your arm?” Rose asked quietly with her smooth and sleek voice. Torv turned and look the girl in her icy blue eyes. She was beautiful, but mysterious and somewhat shady as well. Guess that’s your typical thief.
“Yeah fine, we should get going before those wolves come back.” Rose nodded, stretching her arms out and making Torv stare for perhaps too long.
He shook his head, trying to clear the seemingly random thoughts that were appearing there. I should probably check on the stone. Torv checked his arm quickly to see if everything seemed alright. A gnawed bite mark was hidden under the thick layer of bandages which were tinted red from the blood. The pain had seemed to have settled down a little since he had stood himself upright, likely because the blood needed a chance to circulate to his arm. Torv walked over to their steed, a well built destrier. The horse was shaded dark brown, with a coal black mane and tail. Its saddle was boiled black leather, a perfect horse to blend into the night. Torv checked the left saddlebag, it was still heavy which meant that the stone was obviously still in there. Still, to soothe his curiosity Torv unbuckled the pouch just to be sure. Torv opened the the bag and pulled out the large rectangular stone, taking a long look at its engravings. The rune lived up to its name, as it did appear that the stone had runnings going down it as if it were left in a flowing river. Though the engravings on it were something else. It was indeed the wrote in the language of the First Men, known as the Old Tongue, though Torv had never been taught how to read it - not many have. Only the kings and those that gods chose were fortunate to read these runes, though perhaps that was another lie from Arnold Dint - Torv’s old master. Torv gently smiled and placed the stone back into the pouch, feeling satisfied that it was still intact. The next thing Torv saw in front of him was a map and pale white hands. Rose had placed the map of the North on the side of the horse, the pointed out their location.
“We’re currently here, as south of the Wolfswood as we can get. A mile or so south and we will be crossing into the lands of the Tallhart’s. We could stop there and resupply, or we can ride straight to Barrowton, though it will only take us a few hours to make it to Torrhen’s Square if we leave now.” Torv studied the map, Torrhen’s Square was a few days ride north of Barrowton though there was a river which led through the hills and down to the Saltspear.
“If we requested aid from the Tallhart’s, they could sail us down the river to Saltspear. From there we could track our way back to Barrowton. It would only take a couple of days, and we would be in the safety of the Dustin’s.” Rose nodded.
“That’s where we’ll go then. Climb on, I’ll take the reins.” Torv would usually argue, though with the state of his arm he was not complaining. The two got onto the horse and began to ride south, to Torrhen’s Square.
-
Rose guided the destrier out of the Wolfswood, revealing a barren greenland. A stone castle stood in the distance. Torrhen’s Square. The castle was not as large as Winterfell or Barrowton, though it appeared to be well fortified. The layout was square, having four towers at each corner. The walls looked to be at least thirty feet tall. Torv stared at the castle, not with awe but just as if it were as regular a sight as anything else. He had been to many castles in the past few weeks: The Dreadfort, Greywater Watch, Winterfell and now soon to be Torrhen’s Square. Torv turned to Rose, who seemed to hold a different expression - like fear or worry. Torv turned around, and saw why. A dozen or so riders leaving the gates of Torrhen’s Square and heading towards them. Torv took in a deep breath and rested his hand on his bronze shortsword. The two of them kept stationary as they watched the massive horde approach them, Torv could now make out the sigils on their tabards. Three sentinel tree’s on a brown background. Definitely Tallhart men. The small garrison stopped ten metres ahead of them, supposedly their leader rode forward.
“You’re trespassing onto Tallhart lands, state your business.” Torv gulped but quickly responded, his voice shaking.
“I am Torv, this here is Rose. We’re heading to Barrowton to deliver the Weeping Stone.” The leading soldier looked at Torv with a confused face.
“Weeping Stone?” Torv watched as the man seemed to grow more and more confused. “The hell is a Weeping Stone? That’s enough games. You have one last chance to get off our lands before we remove you with force.” The soldiers behind him rallied to his side, drawing his sword. All but one.
“Uh, Captain. He’s wearing the same clothing as the Reed that passed through he a few days back.” Torv moved his attention to the soldier. “What was his name again? Roy, Ross-”
“Rolland?” Torv quickly asked, to which the soldier nodded and grinned.
“Aye, that’d be his name.” Torv felt the joy build inside of him, his friend was still alive. Before he could say anything, Rose began to speak.
“We were under command of Rolland in a secret operation for King Dustin. We have to deliver this package to him immediately, before it’s too late.” Rose spoke with a smooth and convincing voice. Torv watched as the men seemed to look gloomy and down when Rose mentioned King Dustin’s name. The captain took off his helmet, releasing his long brown hair.
“King Dustin was assassinated over a week ago…” Torv felt his heart sink, this entire mission was a failure. Though thoughts of Rolland now came to mind.
“Well… What of Rolland. Where is he? Back at Torrhen’s Square?” The captain shook his head and the soldier who mentioned him spoke up.
“No, he left the day he came. He was injured, our doctors did the best they could for him and then he left. Think he said he was heading back to Greywater Watch.” Torv sighed, unsure of what to do.
“We’ll take you to our lord, then we can arrange transport for you back to Barrowton.” Torv nodded graciously.
The captain ordered two men to escort Torv and Rose to Torrhen’s Square, one being the man who saw Rolland. Presumably the rest of the garrison were staying out on patrol. The escort rode them back towards the castle, Torv was trying to build up the courage to say something to the soldier but he could not think of anything. Torrhen’s Square grew bigger as they started getting closer to it, the banners of the House could be seen on the walls. Torv finally thought of something to say, and conveniently the soldier turned and looked at him. Though his looked seemed to go right through him, his eyes widened and his jaw fell. Before Torv could turn to see what he saw, shouts started occurring where they had just left.Torv turned and looked at the army of Starks riding out of the Wolfswood. They've tracked us! The soldier opposite of the one who knew of Rolland drew his sword.
“Jesse come on! They need our help.” With that, the soldier was quick to ride back to the aid of his brothers.
“Lurs wait! What about the Reeds?” Lurs yelled something back but none of them could hear it. Jesse unsheathed his sword. “Shit.” Torv shook his head.
“You have to get us back to Torrhen’s Square!” Torv knew they were more than capable of making it there on their own, but he needed information from this Jesse. There was no doubt that he would die if he stayed out here.
“No, I must help. It is my duty. If I don’t then I will be exiled.” Torv shook his head and quickly looked to Rose. She could convince him.
[Ask Rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them] [Ride back without Jesse]
Torv
The small campfire finally began to die as the sun rose in the east. Torv stared out to the tinged red sky, his eyes blinking rapidl… morey. He had found little sleep during the long night, and the pain in his arm was unbearable. When the two had made it back to the campfire, the wolves had backed off and left them be. Rose had lazily bandaged Torv’s arm and put it into a sling, which had relieved the pain a little but he would need medicine to soothe the pain. Torv gently sat himself up, desperately trying not to awake Rose - who had fallen asleep on his lap. Despite his efforts, the young and beautiful woman arose with blinking eyes and soft yawns. Torv sighed and slowly stood himself up, doing his best to avoid moving his arm into any uncomfortable positions.
“How’s your arm?” Rose asked quietly with her smooth and sleek voice. Torv turned and look the girl in her icy blue eyes. She was beautiful, but mysterious and somewhat shady as … [view original content]
Torv
The small campfire finally began to die as the sun rose in the east. Torv stared out to the tinged red sky, his eyes blinking rapidl… morey. He had found little sleep during the long night, and the pain in his arm was unbearable. When the two had made it back to the campfire, the wolves had backed off and left them be. Rose had lazily bandaged Torv’s arm and put it into a sling, which had relieved the pain a little but he would need medicine to soothe the pain. Torv gently sat himself up, desperately trying not to awake Rose - who had fallen asleep on his lap. Despite his efforts, the young and beautiful woman arose with blinking eyes and soft yawns. Torv sighed and slowly stood himself up, doing his best to avoid moving his arm into any uncomfortable positions.
“How’s your arm?” Rose asked quietly with her smooth and sleek voice. Torv turned and look the girl in her icy blue eyes. She was beautiful, but mysterious and somewhat shady as … [view original content]
Torv
The small campfire finally began to die as the sun rose in the east. Torv stared out to the tinged red sky, his eyes blinking rapidl… morey. He had found little sleep during the long night, and the pain in his arm was unbearable. When the two had made it back to the campfire, the wolves had backed off and left them be. Rose had lazily bandaged Torv’s arm and put it into a sling, which had relieved the pain a little but he would need medicine to soothe the pain. Torv gently sat himself up, desperately trying not to awake Rose - who had fallen asleep on his lap. Despite his efforts, the young and beautiful woman arose with blinking eyes and soft yawns. Torv sighed and slowly stood himself up, doing his best to avoid moving his arm into any uncomfortable positions.
“How’s your arm?” Rose asked quietly with her smooth and sleek voice. Torv turned and look the girl in her icy blue eyes. She was beautiful, but mysterious and somewhat shady as … [view original content]
Torv
The small campfire finally began to die as the sun rose in the east. Torv stared out to the tinged red sky, his eyes blinking rapidl… morey. He had found little sleep during the long night, and the pain in his arm was unbearable. When the two had made it back to the campfire, the wolves had backed off and left them be. Rose had lazily bandaged Torv’s arm and put it into a sling, which had relieved the pain a little but he would need medicine to soothe the pain. Torv gently sat himself up, desperately trying not to awake Rose - who had fallen asleep on his lap. Despite his efforts, the young and beautiful woman arose with blinking eyes and soft yawns. Torv sighed and slowly stood himself up, doing his best to avoid moving his arm into any uncomfortable positions.
“How’s your arm?” Rose asked quietly with her smooth and sleek voice. Torv turned and look the girl in her icy blue eyes. She was beautiful, but mysterious and somewhat shady as … [view original content]
Torv
The small campfire finally began to die as the sun rose in the east. Torv stared out to the tinged red sky, his eyes blinking rapidl… morey. He had found little sleep during the long night, and the pain in his arm was unbearable. When the two had made it back to the campfire, the wolves had backed off and left them be. Rose had lazily bandaged Torv’s arm and put it into a sling, which had relieved the pain a little but he would need medicine to soothe the pain. Torv gently sat himself up, desperately trying not to awake Rose - who had fallen asleep on his lap. Despite his efforts, the young and beautiful woman arose with blinking eyes and soft yawns. Torv sighed and slowly stood himself up, doing his best to avoid moving his arm into any uncomfortable positions.
“How’s your arm?” Rose asked quietly with her smooth and sleek voice. Torv turned and look the girl in her icy blue eyes. She was beautiful, but mysterious and somewhat shady as … [view original content]
Alright, vote closed! Torv will ask rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them.
My apologies for the long wait, I've actually been out on a cruise for the past 10 days (which was great). During then I have had a lot of thoughts and ideas for The Northern Chill, which now nothing is holding me back from starting it. It is likely I will start it up soon, and try to continue this with the little insipiration/motivation I have. Not to worry though, I will not abandon this story (too much planning to throw away now XD). I apologise for the long wait, and there may be a couple days more waiting as I have to write the next part. Either for The Invasion, The Northern Chill or both.
Hey guys, sorry it's been so long since I've mentioned anything here. So I mainly just wanted to say, The Invasion is back! I am releasing a part right away, now that I have finished the chapter on TNC. There is a recap you guys can find here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XfYhu1yYjVwl5bohbh2Sngg5VbIzH97zRCkGnDwYtPA/edit?usp=sharing which will be a quicker way to catch up or remember what you may have forgotten! It is to my deepest and sincerest apologies that I left this story so long ago, though it's back now and I plan to make it long!
Also, currently my studies a long and tiring, and exams are quickly on the approach. This basically means that I won't have a consistent writing pattern for each part, so it may be very likely that I may only release one part a week. I'll try my best to keep everything balanced and keep you entertained as well! Speaking of that, it's time to introduce the first part, which goes to our old friend Steffon!
Now, if you don't remember Steffon Cale, here's a short recap: Steffon is the father of Nalia Cale, the PoV that was murdered by Rechar Greenwood last chapter. Steffon is deeply effected by this of course, but does not know who actually killed his daughter, so he blames it on the Andals. He is has been named General of the Third Infantry Battalion, and his tasked with defending the North from the Ironborn raiders in the west!
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. Steffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands together, which she rubbed anxiously as she stared out to the distance.
Her suffering gave Steffon an awareness that he was not alone in his pain. The battle had taken his beloved brother, and his beautiful daughter. He was alone, and so was Athena. Steffon’s shaking hands made their way to the bronze buckle clasp on the strongbox, which removed the lid when it was released. He digged his hand inside, clenching the ash that stained his hand, and pulled it back out. The grey substance started to leave his hands without his release, and the rest followed when he unclenched his tightly formed fist. Steffon heard the light sobs from beside him, which filled him with more grief and distress than ever before. This is all my fault, Nalia. I let you into this cruel world, in hope that you would grow old and happy. Steffon felt the strongbox slip from his trembling fingers and fall to the sharp edged ground. By the time he had fallen to his knees, the box had tumbled off the side of the cliff. Steffon clenched his hands into a fist, bashing them against the rough rocks that knelt upon. By the time his hands were bloody from the grazes, he felt the soft hands rest on his shoulders. He felt the rage burn in his chest, and released it in a large booming scream. His voice was taken with the wind, to the lands of those who were responsible for his daughter’s death.
“I will avenge you, my love.” He whispered to himself, his voice was trembling and shaky. He felt the hands leave him, and saw the footsteps approach closer to the cliff.
Steffon moved his gaze up towards Athena, who stared at him with such grief that he felt his heart would split in two. Her arms were crossed, she shook with such intensity that Steffon thought she would freeze to death right in front of him. He had seen it happen. Steffon wanted to stand, though the pressure of his guilt held him down. Athena peered down to the crashing waves against the cliff face.
“I need to join her, Steffon. My life is meaningless now.” Her words were quiet, only just heard before the winds blew them away. Steffon found his hand crawl towards her padded leg, forming a tight grip around her ankle.
“No.” Was the only word Steffon was able to muster at the time, he felt Athena’s heavy gaze fall upon him.
“No? She was one of my only friends! She and Kailan, and those Andal bastards took them away from me! They took everything I ever wanted… I’m nothing now.” Steffon’s tired legs slowly started working, pulling him back to the surface. His hand had moved from her ankle to her shoulder, swinging her around and pulling her in a close embracement. Their minimal warmth collided, and Steffon almost felt safer in result.
“She was my world, Athena. I don’t know who took her from me, but I swear I will kill the bastard who did it. If he is dead, then I’ll kill all of his pathetic friends and family.” Steffon pulled out of the hug, keeping his hands tightly gripped on her shoulders. “Though I can’t do it alone. I must stay here, lead Theon’s army west to the Ironborn. You must go to Andalos in my place, you must avenge Nalia by killing everyone of those fuckers. Men, women, children, I don’t care. Make them know what it means to fuck with the North.” Steffon felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, the dark gaze he gave to Athena almost made his words seeming threatening rather than redeeming.
Steffon pulled away, letting the girl ponder on his words. He left her on the cliff, unaware whether he would ever see her again. He did not care, his thirst was for blood.
-
The cold surged through Steffon like it did on any day, though this coldness was different. Steffon was a changed man, his life had been meddled and played with by an invading force, which would meet a cruel end if he had it his way. Though beneath this cold hatred rested a stone furnace, which was now heated and burning for vengeance.
Steffon sat upon a brown destrier that he had been given to ride back to Winterfell with. His sore and bruised hands clenched the reins, his cool bronze shortsword rested against his leg. Steffon felt goosebumps crawl up his thigh and into his groin, though he was convinced it was not the sword which caused it. Steffon stared at the Red King, the Bolton who had murdered his son in a fury outrage: King Rogar Bolton. I know his pain. Steffon would have been surprised that he was able to sympathise with such a cruel and vile creature, yet there he sat with no shock whatsoever. Before Steffon knew it, he found himself walking his destrier towards the Red King, who held fake solemnity on his expression. Steffon stopped before the king, beside him stood one of his kingsguard and a man with bored brown eyes and a smirk on his face. Steffon nodded.
“Your grace.” Steffon dismounted his horse, standing at eye level with the Red King. Rogar nodded in return.
“General Cale, I congratulate you on your promotion. I hear you will be protecting the North from the Ironborn, how honourable of you.” Steffon smirked, though his eyes gave a dreading stare. The man beside Rogar sniggered.
“Oh yes, a total honour indeed. A shame though, I hear your daughter was slain by the Andals. It must be detrimental for you, not to be able to join King Theon in his great sail to Andalos.” Steffon turned his gaze to the young man, who was fairly tall yet short in comparison to Steffon. Rogar shot the man a glare, then turned his focus back to Steffon.
“Apologies, General. Rechar lacks a sense of honour and integrity.” Steffon shook his head, taking a step closer to Rechar. He noticed the young man’s hand gravitate towards his dagger.
“I don’t like you, boy.” Steffon had already turned and mounted his horse, not bothering to feed on the expressions that Rechar may have shown.
The rain from the previous night had left the ground muddy and painful to ride through. It was clear to Steffon that his steed did not enjoy it either, as it shook its head in an irritable notion. Steffon found himself a sympathetic smile. I know, friend. I know. Steffon stroked the destrier’s mane, seemingly calming it down. When Steffon spotted King Theon in the distance, he sent the destrier into a gallop, spraying mud onto the Bolton soldiers that were moving iron and steel weapons back to the Dreadfort. Steffon dismounted the horse, nodding to his king.
“Steffon, how are you?” Theon asked with a genuine tone, which Steffon was appreciative of. Beside Theon stood Edmund the Beast and another man which Steffon did not recognise. He shrugged in reply.
“I scattered her ashes last night, on the cliff.” Theon nodded, his gaze had lowered.
“I’m sorry, my friend. What of your brother, the cliff as well?” Steffon felt a pang of guilt hit his chest, clenching his heart. He had barely thought on his brother, and his expression showed this.
Theon rested his hand on Steffon’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging and reassuring smile. However, Steffon saw past the smile, and stared into the man’s eyes. They were distinct in their meaning: menacing and vengeful. Steffon knew that the man in front of him had just as much hatred for the Andal’s as he did, if not more. That gaze soon turned into a sympathetic acknowledgement.
“I will take his ashes to the foreign lands, and spread them over the corpse of the Andal king once I take off his head.” Theon’s words were definite, and not to be argued with. Steffon felt a certain pride and sense of acknowledgement, though only nodded in return.
“It would honour him well, my king.” Theon nodded in agreement, removing his hand from Steffon’s shoulder. He beckoned for the unknown man to come forward.
“This is Gareth, he’s a sellsword. I’ve decided that he will be of use to you in the west.” Steffon nodded, and looked at the man that stood in front of him.
He stood tall and muscled, his brown hair was long and swept back. He wore a dark cloak, and had a bronze longsword sheathed in a scabbard on his waist. He bowed respectably, which Steffon nodded in return.
“It will be an honour to fight by your side, General.” Gareth spoke with quiet and serious words, his expression matched them. Theon grinned, then beckoned to Edmund.
“No doubt you remember the Beast, he too will be accompanying you west.” The tall brute of a man stood forward, he wore as much bronze protection as he could, and his face was always covered with a visored helmet. He grunted in reply, lifting his fist to his chest.
“For the North.” His words were harsh and slightly formidable. Steffon replicated the man’s actions. Theon appeared gratified with the introductions.
“Get to your horse's, brothers. You leave directly.” Theon spoke with confident and direct words. The men bowed and went their separate ways, Theon gripped Steffon’s shoulder. “Walk with me.” Steffon nodded, and joined his king.
They passed the remaining tents, which were in the process of being dismantled, in complete silence. Only the sounds of chatter and thunder in the distance filled Steffon’s ears. Once they were away from the campsite, Theon led Steffon up a steep green hill. The view was worth the walk, they saw the entirety of the Narrow Sea, which was covered in a light mist. Theon turned to Steffon, his expression seemed to carry a heavy burden which Steffon could not see.
“Steffon… I know that your wishes would have been to go to Andalos and get the vengeance you deserve. I understand that this burden I have placed on you as been highly assumptious and in-justifying. I want to apologise now, while I still have the chance.” Steffon found himself looking into Theon’s aimlessly gazing grey eyes with shock. He shook his head.
“Theon, I know what I want, and I know what you need of me. They may not coincide, though so be it. I serve you and the North, if sacrificing my vengeance comes to that then so be it. For the honour of House-” Theon shook his head, his gaze was bitter. He stared out to the sea.
“Fuck honour. My father may have taught me it, though never have I met an old living man that has served his life with honour. When it comes to war, no one fights with honour. The Andal’s don’t, the Bolton’s sure as hell won’t. So watch your back, and cut the shit. I need you to be ruthless, feed on your pain and take it out on the Ironborn.” Steffon barely believed he was hearing the words correctly, thinking that it was all some figure of his imagination.
“My king…” Theon shook his head and cut him off, unsheathing Ice from his back. The mysterious Valyrian steel blade glinted in the light. He stared down at the two handed blade.
“Valyrian steel. Gods, we don’t even know how to forge iron or steel, yet somehow my father manages to buy this blade from a Valyrian merchant.” Theon shook his head and presented it to Steffon. “If I die, I won’t let the Andal’s have it. Keep it with you, keep it safe.” Theon made sure that Steffon took the blade, much against his own will.
“As you wish, my king.” The man nodded, his gracious noble mood was slowly beginning to return.
“I might ask one more favour of you, though I know I have already asked much of you.” Steffon nodded.
“What is it?” Theon sighed, clearly trying to think of the right words to say.
“My son, Harmund, is at Winterfell with my wife Helia. He is a boy of fourteen, and is ready to see battle despite what my wife says. It would do me a great honour if you would take him with you when you crush the Ironborn beneath your feet.” Steffon felt his chest grow heavy, his breaths harder to consume.
“I couldn’t. I lost my daughter, and my brother. If your son fell in battle because of me…” Theon shook his head.
“He will learn to become a man, or will never be known. He will give the Ironborn a name to fear, a name that will support your own.” Steffon felt his heart beat in irregular patterns. Harmund is a mere boy. Theon’s bastard brother Wulfgar would be of more use to me, and would definitely be the man I would want by my side in battle.
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. S… moreteffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands … [view original content]
Great part! I have really missed the Invasion and I'm happy that it is finally back
[Suggest taking Wulfgar instead]
As Steffon said, Wulfgar will be of more use and he's also the guy he wants to fight alongside with. This is not a fun little game for Theon's son to prove himself, this is a war against the Ironborn. They need the best for that. If Theon wants his son to become a man, he can always take him with the bulk of his army to Andalos, but Steffon needs the better fighter for his task. That said, there's always the chance that Theon will insist on it, in such a case Steffon has no other way. It's worth a try though.
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. S… moreteffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands … [view original content]
It is worse choice in current scenario, but I'm very curious of this son of the King. Also, accepting this offer can strenghten the bond between Stark and Cale, and maybe lead to some more interesting storyline for Steffon - at this moment his target is to avenge Nalia, but what's next? Well, I highly doubt that this choice will win, but it would be nice to know alternative paths of his story.
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. S… moreteffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands … [view original content]
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. S… moreteffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands … [view original content]
First of all, a very well-written part! This definitely has me hyped for this story again, and I'm looking forward to both the sail to Andalos and the war against the Ironborn that Steffon is heading towards.
What comes to the choice, I think Steffon is in good enough terms with the King to say out loud if he thinks this is a better option. If the King doesn't like the idea I'm sure he will say it and that's it.
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. S… moreteffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands … [view original content]
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. S… moreteffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands … [view original content]
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room, which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, his expression seemed fearful at first, though oddly changed to a satisfied grin once Piggy had left.
Jorio sat beside Davios, his grin had formed into a mocking smirk. His eyes pierced through Davios’, staring out the otherside. Davios’ face contorted as another throb attacked his arm, he wanted to fling his arm into the air yet Jorio’s force held it down.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Jorio said, staring at the blood stained stump at the end of Davios arm. Davios felt weak and powerless, his throat was dry and croaking.
“I… Water.” Was all Davios managed to say, and Jorio gave him that sick grin of his.
“Oh don’t worry Davios, that water is coming soon. Though there is something I want from you first.” Davios raised his eyebrow, which seemingly took a lot more effort than usual. Jorio nodded. “Oh yes. I’ll need something from you indeed.” Jorio pulled out a small water tin, or at least Davios hoped it was water.
“What is that?” Davios’ words were soft and weak, quiet among the sounds of sickness. Jorio smiled, though it was not a genuinely kind smile, though something twisted and as sickening as the room they were in.
“Milk of the poppy. It’s all yours if you swear you will do something for me when the time comes.” Davios wanted to shake his head, though he felt his entire body start to work against him. He soon worried that his mouth would no longer form any words.
“I swear on the Seven. Whatever you want, just give the milk!” Davios’ words were definite, and seemingly desperate. Jorio smiled and pulled down Davios’ stubble jaw, opening his mouth.
“Of course you will.” Before Davios could tell, a white liquid was poured down his throat. His consciousness started to fade, until all was calm and black.
-
When he awoke, there was no Jorio or Piggy. Davios’ left arm was elevated, and a clean new bandage had replaced the last. Davios felt mildly improved since his rest, though he was hesitant to move anything out of fear he would be as weak as his previous sorry-state. Davios lay in silence, listening to his surroundings. Soft murmurs from nurse to nurse. Chest agonising coughs, groans from sickened men. Davios was in a house of weakness, and he longed to be free of it. As if his wish were coming true, he heard the sounds of footsteps approach his bed. When he arched his back up and leant on his free arm, he saw a man in steel plated armour. Beside him stood Piggy, who wore loose cotton garments which showed a lot of his belly. Davios cleared his throat.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Piggy shook his head, he seemed almost apologetic.
“I tried to explain to him that you need all the rest you can get, but he wouldn’t listen.” The man beside him, wearing plated armour and a helm which only his red eyes could be seen, took a step forward.
“His grace requests your presence in the Great Sept of the Seven. I am here to escort you.” Davios turned his gaze to Piggy, who shrugged in response. The King? Davios thought, confused and honoured at the same time. Piggy shook his head.
“My apologies, Ser. Davios needs-” Davios cut Piggy off with a groan.
“No, if the king wills it then I will meet with him.” Davios observed the knight nod, his red eyes seemed appeased. Davios turned to Piggy. “Help me out of this thing.” Davios referred to the sling that held his arm in the air.
Piggy hesitantly walked over to the bed and unhooked the sling from the upper arm of the bed. Instead of removing the sling entirely, he placed it over Davios’ neck, keeping his arm close and raised. Davios sighed, and then was helped out of his bed.
Davios was surprised by the weakness that haunted his legs once they met the ground. Piggy held him upwards, and nodded to the knight who led the way. Davios felt uncomfortably close to the man, so close that his body odors reached Davios’ nostrils and made him want to barf. Davios shook his head, knowing this would not work.
“Piggy, fetch me a cane of any sorts. I would arrive before the King with some dignity.” Piggy frowned at Davios, yet nodded all the same.
Davios felt as if he would have fallen to the ground if it weren’t for the wooden railings of his bed. He gripped them tightly, his hand began to sweat. He looked the knight, who in turn looked back to him.
“So, you are the man who led the forces back to Andalos once Argos fell in battle.” The knight spoke with dark and cold words, yet there seemed to be some admiration amongst them. Davios nodded.
“That I did, Ser…” The knight bowed, his chainmail rubbing against his steel plating.
“Ser Kristor Darklyn, Knight of the Kingsguard.” Davios nodded in return, he had heard of the all-faithful Darklyn’s.
Piggy returned with a wooden cane, to which Davios gladly accepted. Piggy sighed, he seemed clearly exhausted from all the work at recent. Davios would have rested his hand on the man’s shoulder if he had one to spare, so he instead gave a weak and hopefully encouraging smile.
“Thank you, friend.” Davios found it inappropriate to refer to the man as his nickname during such times, beside the fact he had never actually learnt his real name. The man nodded in return.
“Best of luck with your meeting with the King. I’ll be here if you choose to return.” Davios nodded and turned to Ser Kristor, who rested his hand on his sheathed blade.
“To the Great Sept of the Seven.” He announced, and Davios followed.
-
The Great Sept of the Seven was a colossal sized building, surrounded by men of the faith. Ser Kristor led Davios through the pearly gates, and the Doorway to the Heavens. The inside of the Great Sept was even greater than the exterior. The walls were plated in silver, coursed with gems like diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Septon’s and Septa’s did their duties around the Sept, while commonfolk and nobles came in to worship or pray. Ser Kristor led Davios passed the large masses, into a secluded room. There stood King Noriphos of the Seven, his seven-pointed star robes draping to the marbled floor. He stared out a multi-tinted window, out to the kingdom of Andalos. Ser Kristor knelt, and pronounced his duty.
“Your grace, I have brought you Davios Tallman.” The King turned, his robes taking flight then landing in a dance with the sudden wind.
Noriphos was a skinny and lean man. He stood tall and noble, though behind that there was fear and cowardice that stopped him from leading his armies to Westeros. His face was gaunt, yet his beard was elegant and black, yet starting to grey. His black wavy hair was slicked back, and a seven-pointed crown sat atop his head.
“Thank you, Ser Kristor. You may leave us.” The King spoke with placid and charming words, and the knight obeyed them without hesitation.
When the sound of steel boots meeting the marble surfaced floors faded into the distance behind the shut glass framed doors, King Noriphos smiled and clasped his hands. They were soft hands, without the bearing of marriage oaths or battle scars. Davios might have pitied him once, though now he only admired that the man had two hands.
“Davios Tallman. That name rings across the streets and docks, from sailor to merchant and merchant to noblemen. These names reach my ears very quickly, and the news flies with it soon after.” The man paused, taking a few steps closer. “You called the men into a retreat, when the battle commenced at the Weeping Water. Why?” Davios felt the urge to back away, though he held his ground.
“The battle was lost, your grace. Argos Sevenstar had fallen.” Noriphos nodded, turning and reaching for a goblet filled with red wine. He took a sip, then placed the goblet down.
“Argos was a full, failing to listen to his king. I needed the North and he failed the give it to me. Others kings, such as Artys Arryn and Qyle Corbray have succeeded in taking the Fingers, yet Argos failed to give me the North.” His pace quickened as he moved towards Davios. “Though you would not fail me, would you?” Davios raised an eyebrow, mildly confused about what he was being asked.
“No, your grace?” Davios replied with confusion. Noriphos gave a warm smile, looking up to Davios who stood a head or two taller.
“Good, good. That is why I have come to the decision that you will become the new Warlord of my army. You will give me the North, and in turn I will marry you to my daughter. You would become the prince, and my son.” Davios was completely baffled by what he was hearing, yet memories of the battle started flooding his mind.
“Your grace, we attempted to take the North already. The First Men ruled us out before we could even land.” Noriphos nodded, yet his eyes looked elsewhere.
“Do you know why we are in such a great hurry to escape to Westeros?” Davios listened to the King’s words carefully. Escape? Davios shook his head.
“The Ghiscari Empire?” Davios asked, taking a long shot estimate. To his surprise, the King nodded.
“Very close. The Valyrian Freehold. The wars between the Ghiscari and Valyrians are drawing closer to our lands, and we are taking drastic measures to make sure we are no longer here when they arrive. Already have there been three sightings of dragons, three sightings!” Noriphos seemed more astonished rather than worried. Davios shrugged his shoulders.
“Then where will we go if we cannot take the North?” Noriphos turned his gaze back to Davios, his expression filled with wonder and excitement.
“Who says we cannot take the North? Argos surely made it look that way, yet I know otherwise. He failed to listen to his king, and failed to bring me the North. You won’t make that mistake.” Davios shook his head, yet he was still curious.
“No, your grace. What do you have in mind?” Davios saw a wolfish grin build on the man’s face, as if here were waiting for Davios to ask the question.
“My spies inform me that there are some potential allies to be made. The North is split in half by an enormous frozen wall, which beyond that there are a rallying of wild folk who plan to cross the Wall. What stands in their way is a wall manned by men in black. I say, sail to these lands beyond the Wall and get them to fight for us. We will give them land in my kingdom in return.” Davios nodded in agreement.
“This is a good idea, your grace.” Noriphos nodded in agreement.
“And it would have worked the first time, if only Argos had listened. The North is split into three kingdoms, perhaps you could rally one of those kings to our side. Promise them the North and then stab them in the back once the other kingdoms are destroyed.” Noriphos walked back to his goblet. “Or we could call on the Arryn’s, though I don’t know what we could repay them with.” He sighed, and took a drink of his red wine. Davios nodded.
“Perhaps that is a choice for another time, your grace.” Davios felt himself growing weak, he needed to sit and rest. Noriphos nodded in agreement.
“For another time. You are dismissed, Lord Davios.” The title caught Davios off guard, yet he bowed nonetheless.
Once Davios was safely out of view from the King, he sunk the ground. His legs gave way beneath him before he even allowed it. Davios rested on the marble floor, resisting the urge to throw up in such a holy place. He dreaded the thought. His talk with the King had left him many questions, towards the east and west. The Arryn’s would be of use, and I do know an Arryn. Davios thought, yet perhaps it would have been best to leave the Arryn’s out of the equation, as he would not know how to pay them back for their assistance. There was also Vysela, the Valyrian woman who was very suspicious. Davios had longed to talk with her, and even more so since this talk of the Valyrian Freehold. Perhaps she knows more than she says. Davios sat up, deciding where he would go.
Another great part! I enjoy Davios' storyline and the direction it is heading to. Though I greatly sympathize with the First Men in this story, so I see the Andals as kind of the villains here. Not the Andal smallfolk of course, but their warlords. They are the invaders after all.
[Seek out Vysela]
If I remember correctly, and it has been a long time, I considered Vysela to be the more interesting character. She is also Valyrian, so that makes it intriguing for me to find out more about her. Hughie is not a bad character, but some Valyrian exposition could be nice.
Davios
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room,… more which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, h… [view original content]
Davios
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room,… more which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, h… [view original content]
Davios
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room,… more which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, h… [view original content]
Davios
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room,… more which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, h… [view original content]
Davios
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room,… more which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, h… [view original content]
Davios
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room,… more which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, h… [view original content]
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. S… moreteffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands … [view original content]
4-2 again! XD. Davios will choose to seek out Vysela.
This is an interesting choice, and I'm glad you guys made it. Vysela is indeed going to prove to he an interesting and mysterious character (I hope) which you guys should like. Any rate, hope you guys are excited for Davios' storyline to come, it's going to be pretty action-packed!
The sun started to set behind the mountains that coursed the Fingers. Jarden stood in front of the rubble of what was once the Chanting Hall. His eyes looked into the polished silver eyes of the mysterious woman standing in front of him. She wore tight dark leather, a face mask reaching only as high as her nose, to protect herself from all the dust and smoke. Finally, she wore a large circular visored hat. Jarden stood fidgeting his hands. The woman had offered to take him to Lord Ethon Belmore, though he had organised to rendezvous with his companions: Paytan Hunter and Cedrick Redfort, by sundown. Jarden eventually sighed, giving in to the girl’s persuasion.
“I will go with you.” Jarden stated, “Though I want to see your face.” Jarden observed the girl’s silver eyes glimmered in the descending sunlight.
“Night gathers, Jarden Frost. You’re running out of time.” Jarden could have sworn the woman was smirking at him before she turned and ran.
Jarden chased after her, his left hand resting on the hilt of his longsword and his other hand fending off anyone that got in his way. The girl was fast, and shady, yet Jarden still managed to keep up with her.
They ran through alleyways, circled destroyed markets and ran through the damaged stone buildings until Jarden was completely disorientated. Nonetheless, he could not stop, out of fear that he would lose her.
By the time the sun was just setting behind the mountains, Jarden had ran to the front of the gates of the Melodic Tower. In front of him stood his mysterious girl, on the other side of the gate. In between them stood a locked wooden gate, and half a dozen guards with bronze-tipped spears pointing his way. Jarden came to a halt with only a metre to spare between him and the guards, he bent over from his exhaustion and caught his breath.
Staring at the puddle of water that he stood in, Jarden was shocked by how much he had changed over the years. He was highly unlike his brothers, as he kept his dark brown hair short and messy, whereas his brothers kept it long. Jarden had a gaunt face, accompanied with a particularly long nose. His icy blue eyes were the best distinction his face could give, the only beauty he had in his opinion.
Jarden took in deep breaths, then stood up. The spears had drawn closer, and were now up in his face. Jarden released his hand from the hilt of his sword, and raised his hands in the air.
“State your business, stranger.” The voice was deep and well-fashioned. Jarden kept his eyes lowered and his hands raised high.
“I request an audience with Lord Ethon. I am here on behalf of-” Jarden was cut off mid-sentence by the same guard.
“The Melodic Tower is off-limits. Move along.” Jarden felt his heart sunk. He lowered his arms and took a step back, only to hear the beautiful voice of the woman he had accompanied.
“Let him in, Captain. He’s with me.” Jarden flickered his gaze towards the men in front of him, who lifted their spears. The captain, a tall and robust man, seemed highly unconvinced.
“My lady, Lord Ethon’s orders are to…” The woman descended the steps from the tower, walking through the opened wooden gates. She stopped beside the guard, who stood a head taller than herself.
“Let him in, or I’ll personally have you discharged from service.” She spoke with soft and cold words. The captain stood tall, glaring the woman in her beautiful eyes. Finally, he gave way and stood aside.
“Apologies, my lady.” The captain muttered, his eyes lifted no higher than Jarden’s feet. The woman turned her gaze to Jarden, which Jarden met with awe.
“Come with me, Frost.” She spoke playfully, her words sounded lusting yet also intimidating. Jarden bowed his head respectfully, then walked passed the skeptical guards.
The Melodic Tower stood two hundred feet in the air, with a diametre of fifty feet. It was made of solid stone, with barred windows and reinforced shutters. Banners displaying bronze bells on a purple background hung on the tower, gently dancing with the wind.
Jarden ascended the stone steps to the main doors with caution, knowing just how easily this could turn on him. The mysterious woman was already through the door when Jarden was only half way up the stairs, he could hear a light giggle which echoed through the open tower.
By the time Jarden reached the top of the steps, he stood before a beautiful woman with alluring light brown hair which has soft waves running down to her mid-back. Her silver eyes were shining like he had never seen before, and her lopsided grin showed her perfect white teeth. She was beautiful.
Jarden found himself starting to daydream before her fingers clicked in front of his eyes. He snapped out of his wishful thoughts, bowing his head almost immediately. That same giggle could be heard once again, except this time it was closer and louder.
“You’re an interesting one, Frost. Follow me.” Her final words were a soft whisper, and Jarden was starting to doubt he was really being led to the lord.
As the attracting beauty turned towards the wooden spiral staircase that led to the multiple floors of the tower, Jarden secured his hand around her forearm and spun her around. She met his eyes with a promiscuous gaze, biting her lip.
“Going to take me here, Jarden Frost?” Jarden felt his cheeks redden, and his manhood start to speak for him. He released her arm and shook his head defiantly.
“No my lady, I only want your name.” Jarden’s eyes stared at the cold stone floor beneath their feet, the girl sighed.
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Jarden remained silent, his palms starting to sweat. Jarden felt a soft hand lift Jarden’s bony face to her eye level, her bright smile shot through him. “Lexia.” Her words were as soft as the hand that rested against his face.
Jarden pulled the hand away, his expression now serious and tired of her games. His mind roamed with doubt and stress. Paytan and Cedrick would be waiting for him, and he would not return to see them because of his expedition with Lexia. He wanted to know if it was worth the risk.
“And why would you have any relation to Lord Ethon?” Lexia’s eyes were cold and unnerving, her sense of kinky behaviour had fled with the wind. What remained was matching of Jarden’s feelings, which worried him.
“Because I am his daughter.” Her soft tone had left her as well, leaving something vile and poisonous in its wake.
Jarden shivered as a breeze flowed through the doorway, though to his fortune Lexia had not noticed. She climbed the steps, her pace quick and her steps loud. This was the sight of an angry woman, this was the sight of Jarden’s mistake.
-
The view from atop of the Melodic Tower might have been rewarding, if Jarden did not feel this sense of idiocy and embarrassment - perhaps even shame. Nevertheless, the view was jaw-dropping. The peaks of the Mountains of the Moon stood tall and firm above a layer of thick fog. The top two floors were only just high enough to see over the cloud cover, though the view would soon be non-existent as the sun had already set below the clouds.
The cool breeze rushed through the open window, and in front of that window sat a broken old man. His legs were crippled, a clear deformity from a young age. However Jarden felt like that was his better side. His hair was short and gray, messy with angry curls. His beard replicated the state of his hair, with kinks and knots running through the ale stained hair. His nose was heavily disfigured, appearing to have been broken multiple times. His eyes were nothing in comparison to his daughter’s shining gems, instead they were a dead grey with a saddened look.
Lord Ethon stared out the window with a dark and dooming look, his eyes were condemning or demoralised. His old wrinkled face turned when Lexia rested her soft hands on his frail shoulders. His eyes flickered to Lexia, his dry lips formed a weak smile. Lexia’s eyes had dulled, showing sympathy and sadness.
“We have a visitor, father.” Her words were as quiet as a whisper, yet as bitter as raw hops. The old man’s eyes slowly turned to Jarden, which was the first time Jarden felt the full overwhelming force of sadden land on his shoulders.
Jarden instantly fell to his knee, bowing his head in respect. The old man’s voice croaked and winced, his breathing was weak yet still rampant.
“Rise boy.” His voice sounded tired and his words lingered in Jarden’s ears. Jarden’s legs acted on behalf of his dead thoughts, pulling him up into the air.
“Apologies for disturbing you, my lord. I come to you on behalf of King Robar Royce.” Lord Ethon nodded, his expression had grown solemn.
“And what is it that the ‘Boy King’ wants?” Lord Ethon’s words showed boredom, and a touch of mockery. His eyes stared lazily into Jarden’s, making him feel uneasy. Jarden gulped and continued.
“He calls for your aid. His aim is to remove the Andal’s from our shores.” Jarden spoke without confidence, his voice shook with nervousness. “And he needs your help to do it.” Lord Ethon’s croaking air gasping chuckle sent shivers down Jarden’s spine.
“Yes… I’ve heard of this Boy King’s aim. Somehow managed to outshoot Lord Hunter in that stupid archery contest. Now he wants to unite the First Men, putting all our lives in danger, just to get rid of some newcomers? Why should I support him? I supported his grandfather, Yorwyck, in his goals to free the Fingers of the fucking Andals. That didn’t work, why should this Boy King have any better a chance?” Lord Ethon’s mockery had turned to bitterness, his words spat fire yet it was not meant to be harmful. Jarden knew the man was genuinely worried, though he knew his mission.
“My lord, forgive me for being a prude though who has left your city in the sorry-state it is in?” Lexia stood in for her weakening father, her expression cold and menacing.
“The Andal invaders, though that’s different. The Corbray’s have offered their support to help us rebuild, it was their fuck up!” Jarden feared that the girl might have flared at him if her father hadn’t gripped her arm. Jarden felt his heart start to race, his joy of the argument started to begin.
“An accident? Pardon me, my lady, though I can assure you this is no accident. Explain to me why some Andal invaders would choose to attack your city, when Andal’s already possess around three quarters of all the land.” Jarden observed as Lexia hesitated, she bit her lip, causing Jarden to grin. “They want your navy, and we do too. The question is, are you going to help the enemy or your own people? You already know the answer, you sent your son to side with Robar.” Jarden’s heart was beating out of his chest by the time he had concluded his argument. Lord Ethon’s gaze had fallen to the ground, his expression as depressed as it had been when Jarden entered.
“Wyllam.” Lord Ethon whispered to himself, his weak hands caressing each other. He lifted his head and started directly into Jarden’s icy blue eyes. “If I give you my forces, my boats, my allegiance…” He began. “Will you give my citizens protection. They are not safe here, not so close to Heart’s Home.” Jarden felt himself powerless in this situation, though he nodded nonetheless.
“I’ll have one of my men inform King Robar of your proposal. I have no doubts that he will accept your proposal.” Lord Ethon sighed, shaking his head with sorrow.
“And I want to see my son. Then and only then will I agree to your alliance.” Jarden felt sweat trickle down his brow, his hands were fidgety and his breaths were quick and short.
Jarden’s last encounter with Wyllam Belmore had been at the siege of Gulltown, and as far as Jarden knew that was where he still was. Miles away from the rest of the Bronze Army at the Redfort. Jarden sighed, he knew if he denied Lord Ethon his privileges then the deal would be cut off. However, he knew if he lied to him then the ties between House Belmore and House Royce would be severed, and perhaps they would even lose their support in the larger war to come.
Lexia’s gaze on Jarden was heavy, and Lord Ethon’s stare was cold and unruly. Jarden had to say something.
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal] [Inform Lord Ethon of Wyllam’s whereabouts]
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal] Nice to see Jarden again As for the choice, it's kind of a lose-lose situation, but I think this option is more useful for now.
Jarden
The sun started to set behind the mountains that coursed the Fingers. Jarden stood in front of the rubble of what was once the Cha… morenting Hall. His eyes looked into the polished silver eyes of the mysterious woman standing in front of him. She wore tight dark leather, a face mask reaching only as high as her nose, to protect herself from all the dust and smoke. Finally, she wore a large circular visored hat. Jarden stood fidgeting his hands. The woman had offered to take him to Lord Ethon Belmore, though he had organised to rendezvous with his companions: Paytan Hunter and Cedrick Redfort, by sundown. Jarden eventually sighed, giving in to the girl’s persuasion.
“I will go with you.” Jarden stated, “Though I want to see your face.” Jarden observed the girl’s silver eyes glimmered in the descending sunlight.
“Night gathers, Jarden Frost. You’re running out of time.” Jarden could have sworn the woman was smirking at him before she… [view original content]
I don't want to endanger the deal by telling Ethon the truth about Wyllam's whereabouts here. Might not be the morally good thing and let us hope he's never going to find out about it, but for now it sounds like the better option.
Jarden
The sun started to set behind the mountains that coursed the Fingers. Jarden stood in front of the rubble of what was once the Cha… morenting Hall. His eyes looked into the polished silver eyes of the mysterious woman standing in front of him. She wore tight dark leather, a face mask reaching only as high as her nose, to protect herself from all the dust and smoke. Finally, she wore a large circular visored hat. Jarden stood fidgeting his hands. The woman had offered to take him to Lord Ethon Belmore, though he had organised to rendezvous with his companions: Paytan Hunter and Cedrick Redfort, by sundown. Jarden eventually sighed, giving in to the girl’s persuasion.
“I will go with you.” Jarden stated, “Though I want to see your face.” Jarden observed the girl’s silver eyes glimmered in the descending sunlight.
“Night gathers, Jarden Frost. You’re running out of time.” Jarden could have sworn the woman was smirking at him before she… [view original content]
Jarden
The sun started to set behind the mountains that coursed the Fingers. Jarden stood in front of the rubble of what was once the Cha… morenting Hall. His eyes looked into the polished silver eyes of the mysterious woman standing in front of him. She wore tight dark leather, a face mask reaching only as high as her nose, to protect herself from all the dust and smoke. Finally, she wore a large circular visored hat. Jarden stood fidgeting his hands. The woman had offered to take him to Lord Ethon Belmore, though he had organised to rendezvous with his companions: Paytan Hunter and Cedrick Redfort, by sundown. Jarden eventually sighed, giving in to the girl’s persuasion.
“I will go with you.” Jarden stated, “Though I want to see your face.” Jarden observed the girl’s silver eyes glimmered in the descending sunlight.
“Night gathers, Jarden Frost. You’re running out of time.” Jarden could have sworn the woman was smirking at him before she… [view original content]
Comments
[Go to Storm's End]
Clear enough vote. Teddy will choose to go to Storm's End and hopefully speak with the king about the arranged terms that were supposedly made. Next part goes to Wyllam
Wyllam
Wyllam sat himself down on the soft woolen mattress in his new quarters. He observed around the room, noticing all the windows were barred and all doors were locked from the outside. This is still as much of a cell as the dungeons. Garvy stood by the main door, his arms were crossed. The two had formed a decent relationship over the past few days, realising they had more in common than they thought. The brutish man seemed concerned or disappointed, Wyllam could not pick it. It was clear to him that the Andal king did not have any plans for a strong alliance between the Belmore’s, as the way he was being locked in another cell was already a hint. Wyllam focussed his attention to Garvy, whose long blonde hair fell over his eyes and made it hard to see his expressions - though from what Wyllam could tell, the man was not in his happier stage.
“Everything okay Garvy?” The tall man jumped when his name was called, seemingly being pulled out of some dream he was having. He silently nodded.
“Aye, I’m fine.” Garvy sighed when finishing his sentence, leaving curiosity in the silent absence.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Wyllam stared at the man, trying to find his eyes under the thick blonde hair that covered it. He could not see his eyes, though he did observe the man’s face beginning to blush. After a long hesitation and long stares, Garvy finally spoke.
“It’s the King… He’s given orders to execute the smallfolk that lived under protection of King Andru Shett. He is to have them slaughtered in the courts for all to see.” Garvy’s tone was saddened and distressed, Wyllam had no reason to think that the man was lying to him.
“That fucking bastard, we had a deal!” Wyllam felt enraged, though inside he truly thought this would happen. He knew deep down that no Andal could be held to their word. Garvy stood up.
“You can do something. He needs you, if you just say you won’t contribute…” Wyllam shook his head.
“If I don’t contribute then he will simply kill me, my family and destroy our fleet. Those were his words. As much as I want to help the smallfolk, there is nothing I can do for them.” Garvy shook his head, now angry.
“You have to try! These are your people Wyllam, they are the First Men. If you’re so easily going to let them go, then you’re cause has already ended.” With that, Garvy quickly stormed out of the room leaving Wyllam to think on his words.
Wyllam rested his head down on the soft silk pillows and sighed. He’s right, if I betray these people then I am betraying everything Robar stands for - everything I stand for. Wyllam stared at the barred window, the sky was filled with dark clouds and rain could be spotted in the distance. It was only now that Wyllam could feel a cold chill crawl over him, it may have been the ending of a long winter but it was still bloody cold. Wyllam pulled the woolen blankets over him, instantly feeling the warmth that insulated through. It was the first time that Wyllam had felt at comfort and ease ever since he had spent the night with Ursula in that tent. He thought back to the beautiful sorceress, wondering of her whereabouts now. Likely not trapped in a prison like myself. He shook out the thought and closed his eyes. Darkness clouded everything, and soon he fell into a calm slumber.
-
Wyllam awoke to the sound of the main door being opened. He opened his eyes and watched as two guards entered, their tabards displaying that of House Corbray. What did I expect? I’m not getting any type of rescue. Wyllam sighed and sat himself up so he was facing the two men.
“Wyllam Belmore, we are here to escort you to the King.” Said the man on the left. He was a tall man, had a brown beard. He spoke with a calm and placid voice, though Wyllam held no respect for him.
“You going to hold my hand the entire way?” The man next to him was not so calm, and was quick to unsheath his sword.
“I’ll teach you a lesson you won’t forget, First Man filth!” He was quickly stopped by his partner, whose face had gone red.
“Calm yourself Aidin!” The angry boy pulled his arm free and rushed to the door.
“Take him yourself, Warne. Just you wait till I tell father that you put a finger on me.” Before Warne could say another word, the spoilt brat was out the door and pacing down the corridor. The man sighed and shook his head.
“Forgive him, he’s not quite used to the role of castle guard. He expects that because his father is the general of the King’s army, he has some sort of authority.” Wyllam glared at the Andal guard. “Apologies, where are my manners? I am Warne Spyre, head of the City Guard. I already know who you are, so I suppose we should get going.” Warne turned and exited the room, Wyllam slowing got up and followed.
The hallway was paved with shining white marble, the windows were - once again - tinted with the sigil of House Corbray. Warne Spyre wore chainmail with steel shoulder pads and bracers, a long white tabard with House Corbray’s sigil covered his back and chest. He wore a helmet and carried a steel longsword by his side. Wyllam did not have much to say to the man, but saw this as an opportunity to find out as much as he could about Heart’s Home’s defenses.
“What is this City Guard?” Warne turned his head as he led Wyllam down the hall.
“The City Guard are pretty much just that. We patrol the city of Heart’s Home, deal with crime and bring order.” Wyllam raised an eyebrow, the First Men had no requirements for these kinds of guards.
“Why don’t the soldiers protect your castles and cities?” The man chuckled and kept walking.
“The soldiers do shit all, mostly just get themselves drunk until they are called for battle. If anything, they mostly patrol the castle, though it’s the Kingsguard that protect the king.” Wyllam nodded, though he had not learnt much of the defense.
“Would Heart’s Home be defendable without the soldiers?” Warne shrugged, seeming tired of the conversation.
“Well, let’s put it this way. The Corbray army is larger than the Arryn army, and they are all stationed here. Though half are going to be moved to the Gates of the Moon to side with the Falcon Knight. Anyway, enough chatting. We’re basically there.” Warne quickened his pace, leading Wyllam up a set of stairs and through a number of halls until they finally reached Heart’s Hall.
The large arch hallway was empty, to Wyllam’s surprise, except for the two soldiers that stood guard at the door. Warne gave them a wave and they opened the door, letting the both of them through. The two men entered the large throne room, the doors behind them closing with a thud. Ahead of them sat the king, surrounded by his kingsguard - consisting of seven men. Warne and Wyllam walked towards the throne, though stopped when the met the final column that held the roof up. Warne knelt down, though Wyllam stayed stationary. I’ll be damned if I kneel for this Andal shit. Qyle gestured for Warne to rise. King Qyle wore a large smile, though it seemed out of fashion for the coming events.
“Ah, Wyllam! It is a great pleasure to see you, I trust you have been well acquainted with your new room?” Wyllam could tell what Qyle was trying to do, sweeten him out so he could convince his father to give Qyle their fleet. I won’t let that happen.
“Your grace, if you wanted me to be in a cell you should have just left me in the dungeons. I enjoyed the company of the smallfolk that you have now decided to execute.” Wyllam watched as the joy faded from Qyle’s face, and was replaced with an irritated look.
“I have called you and Warne here to inform you that you will be riding to Strongsong in the morn. Warne, you will take a dozen of your best men. Do not hesitate to restrain our friend here if it comes to that. Wyllam will hold up his end of the deal and persuade his family to give their fleet to me.” Wyllam shook his head, now serious.
“That is if you hold your end of the deal. You said these people would be under protection if I cooperated with you, you have already decided to break that.” The king yawned and sighed.
“Aye, and you were not supposed to know of that. I knew that jailor was telling you to much, which has made me come to a new decision. I’ll let your pathetic smallfolk free, though that jailor will have to be executed by your hand. Or, we can exile him and kill off your sorry people. Choice is yours Belmore, but make it quick.”
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy] [Save Garvy - allow the smallfolk to die]
Hey guys, sorry for the long wait. I've been really busy with meeting up with people and doing a whole bunch of stuff. As for this part, this will determine whether Wyllam will stick by what he and Robar believes in, or if he will follow his morals and not let a friend die. Either way, it's more a choice on what people will think of him at the end of all this.
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy] This is very hard choice, I'm not sure if Qyle will really stay true to his words, but lets try to save the smallfolk.
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy]
It's one life against many. I feel bad for executing Garvy, but in the end, saving him would mean the death of many more. However, part of me thinks this might be a trick, that the king wants to test him and simply wants to find out what kind of man he is. I'm probably wrong here, but it is possible.
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy] Seems like a hard choice to make, but considering all things saving smallfolk is just right thing to do.
You're onto something. :P
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy]
[Save the smallfolk - execute Garvy]
Well this was a clear vote. Wyllam will choose to save the smallfolk, which will result in him having to execute his only friend in Heart's Home - Garvy.
Next part will focus on Torv. Now if you don't remember what was happening with Torv last, here's a recap... Torv decided to bring Rose (a famous thief) along with him to Barrowton to deliver the Weeping Stone. On their travels they ran into a pack of wolves to where Torv was injured badly in his arm. His two most visible options were to run back to the campfire where there would hopefully be more protection, or climb the tree that Rose was hiding in previously. You lot chose to have Torv and Rose make a run for the campfire.
Torv
The small campfire finally began to die as the sun rose in the east. Torv stared out to the tinged red sky, his eyes blinking rapidly. He had found little sleep during the long night, and the pain in his arm was unbearable. When the two had made it back to the campfire, the wolves had backed off and left them be. Rose had lazily bandaged Torv’s arm and put it into a sling, which had relieved the pain a little but he would need medicine to soothe the pain. Torv gently sat himself up, desperately trying not to awake Rose - who had fallen asleep on his lap. Despite his efforts, the young and beautiful woman arose with blinking eyes and soft yawns. Torv sighed and slowly stood himself up, doing his best to avoid moving his arm into any uncomfortable positions.
“How’s your arm?” Rose asked quietly with her smooth and sleek voice. Torv turned and look the girl in her icy blue eyes. She was beautiful, but mysterious and somewhat shady as well. Guess that’s your typical thief.
“Yeah fine, we should get going before those wolves come back.” Rose nodded, stretching her arms out and making Torv stare for perhaps too long.
He shook his head, trying to clear the seemingly random thoughts that were appearing there. I should probably check on the stone. Torv checked his arm quickly to see if everything seemed alright. A gnawed bite mark was hidden under the thick layer of bandages which were tinted red from the blood. The pain had seemed to have settled down a little since he had stood himself upright, likely because the blood needed a chance to circulate to his arm. Torv walked over to their steed, a well built destrier. The horse was shaded dark brown, with a coal black mane and tail. Its saddle was boiled black leather, a perfect horse to blend into the night. Torv checked the left saddlebag, it was still heavy which meant that the stone was obviously still in there. Still, to soothe his curiosity Torv unbuckled the pouch just to be sure. Torv opened the the bag and pulled out the large rectangular stone, taking a long look at its engravings. The rune lived up to its name, as it did appear that the stone had runnings going down it as if it were left in a flowing river. Though the engravings on it were something else. It was indeed the wrote in the language of the First Men, known as the Old Tongue, though Torv had never been taught how to read it - not many have. Only the kings and those that gods chose were fortunate to read these runes, though perhaps that was another lie from Arnold Dint - Torv’s old master. Torv gently smiled and placed the stone back into the pouch, feeling satisfied that it was still intact. The next thing Torv saw in front of him was a map and pale white hands. Rose had placed the map of the North on the side of the horse, the pointed out their location.
“We’re currently here, as south of the Wolfswood as we can get. A mile or so south and we will be crossing into the lands of the Tallhart’s. We could stop there and resupply, or we can ride straight to Barrowton, though it will only take us a few hours to make it to Torrhen’s Square if we leave now.” Torv studied the map, Torrhen’s Square was a few days ride north of Barrowton though there was a river which led through the hills and down to the Saltspear.
“If we requested aid from the Tallhart’s, they could sail us down the river to Saltspear. From there we could track our way back to Barrowton. It would only take a couple of days, and we would be in the safety of the Dustin’s.” Rose nodded.
“That’s where we’ll go then. Climb on, I’ll take the reins.” Torv would usually argue, though with the state of his arm he was not complaining. The two got onto the horse and began to ride south, to Torrhen’s Square.
-
Rose guided the destrier out of the Wolfswood, revealing a barren greenland. A stone castle stood in the distance. Torrhen’s Square. The castle was not as large as Winterfell or Barrowton, though it appeared to be well fortified. The layout was square, having four towers at each corner. The walls looked to be at least thirty feet tall. Torv stared at the castle, not with awe but just as if it were as regular a sight as anything else. He had been to many castles in the past few weeks: The Dreadfort, Greywater Watch, Winterfell and now soon to be Torrhen’s Square. Torv turned to Rose, who seemed to hold a different expression - like fear or worry. Torv turned around, and saw why. A dozen or so riders leaving the gates of Torrhen’s Square and heading towards them. Torv took in a deep breath and rested his hand on his bronze shortsword. The two of them kept stationary as they watched the massive horde approach them, Torv could now make out the sigils on their tabards. Three sentinel tree’s on a brown background. Definitely Tallhart men. The small garrison stopped ten metres ahead of them, supposedly their leader rode forward.
“You’re trespassing onto Tallhart lands, state your business.” Torv gulped but quickly responded, his voice shaking.
“I am Torv, this here is Rose. We’re heading to Barrowton to deliver the Weeping Stone.” The leading soldier looked at Torv with a confused face.
“Weeping Stone?” Torv watched as the man seemed to grow more and more confused. “The hell is a Weeping Stone? That’s enough games. You have one last chance to get off our lands before we remove you with force.” The soldiers behind him rallied to his side, drawing his sword. All but one.
“Uh, Captain. He’s wearing the same clothing as the Reed that passed through he a few days back.” Torv moved his attention to the soldier. “What was his name again? Roy, Ross-”
“Rolland?” Torv quickly asked, to which the soldier nodded and grinned.
“Aye, that’d be his name.” Torv felt the joy build inside of him, his friend was still alive. Before he could say anything, Rose began to speak.
“We were under command of Rolland in a secret operation for King Dustin. We have to deliver this package to him immediately, before it’s too late.” Rose spoke with a smooth and convincing voice. Torv watched as the men seemed to look gloomy and down when Rose mentioned King Dustin’s name. The captain took off his helmet, releasing his long brown hair.
“King Dustin was assassinated over a week ago…” Torv felt his heart sink, this entire mission was a failure. Though thoughts of Rolland now came to mind.
“Well… What of Rolland. Where is he? Back at Torrhen’s Square?” The captain shook his head and the soldier who mentioned him spoke up.
“No, he left the day he came. He was injured, our doctors did the best they could for him and then he left. Think he said he was heading back to Greywater Watch.” Torv sighed, unsure of what to do.
“We’ll take you to our lord, then we can arrange transport for you back to Barrowton.” Torv nodded graciously.
The captain ordered two men to escort Torv and Rose to Torrhen’s Square, one being the man who saw Rolland. Presumably the rest of the garrison were staying out on patrol. The escort rode them back towards the castle, Torv was trying to build up the courage to say something to the soldier but he could not think of anything. Torrhen’s Square grew bigger as they started getting closer to it, the banners of the House could be seen on the walls. Torv finally thought of something to say, and conveniently the soldier turned and looked at him. Though his looked seemed to go right through him, his eyes widened and his jaw fell. Before Torv could turn to see what he saw, shouts started occurring where they had just left.Torv turned and looked at the army of Starks riding out of the Wolfswood. They've tracked us! The soldier opposite of the one who knew of Rolland drew his sword.
“Jesse come on! They need our help.” With that, the soldier was quick to ride back to the aid of his brothers.
“Lurs wait! What about the Reeds?” Lurs yelled something back but none of them could hear it. Jesse unsheathed his sword. “Shit.” Torv shook his head.
“You have to get us back to Torrhen’s Square!” Torv knew they were more than capable of making it there on their own, but he needed information from this Jesse. There was no doubt that he would die if he stayed out here.
“No, I must help. It is my duty. If I don’t then I will be exiled.” Torv shook his head and quickly looked to Rose. She could convince him.
[Ask Rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them] [Ride back without Jesse]
[Ride back without Jesse]
[Ask Rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them]
[Ask Rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them]
[Ask Rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them]
[Ask Rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them]
Alright, vote closed! Torv will ask rose to convince Jesse to ride back with them.
My apologies for the long wait, I've actually been out on a cruise for the past 10 days (which was great). During then I have had a lot of thoughts and ideas for The Northern Chill, which now nothing is holding me back from starting it. It is likely I will start it up soon, and try to continue this with the little insipiration/motivation I have. Not to worry though, I will not abandon this story (too much planning to throw away now XD). I apologise for the long wait, and there may be a couple days more waiting as I have to write the next part. Either for The Invasion, The Northern Chill or both.
Hey guys, I have started up TNC again. Here is the link >> https://www.telltalegames.com/community/discussion/100228/got-interactive-fanfic-story-the-northern-chill/p5 >> for those who perhaps haven't been keeping tabs on it
Hey guys, sorry it's been so long since I've mentioned anything here. So I mainly just wanted to say, The Invasion is back! I am releasing a part right away, now that I have finished the chapter on TNC. There is a recap you guys can find here: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1XfYhu1yYjVwl5bohbh2Sngg5VbIzH97zRCkGnDwYtPA/edit?usp=sharing which will be a quicker way to catch up or remember what you may have forgotten! It is to my deepest and sincerest apologies that I left this story so long ago, though it's back now and I plan to make it long!
Also, currently my studies a long and tiring, and exams are quickly on the approach. This basically means that I won't have a consistent writing pattern for each part, so it may be very likely that I may only release one part a week. I'll try my best to keep everything balanced and keep you entertained as well! Speaking of that, it's time to introduce the first part, which goes to our old friend Steffon!
Now, if you don't remember Steffon Cale, here's a short recap: Steffon is the father of Nalia Cale, the PoV that was murdered by Rechar Greenwood last chapter. Steffon is deeply effected by this of course, but does not know who actually killed his daughter, so he blames it on the Andals. He is has been named General of the Third Infantry Battalion, and his tasked with defending the North from the Ironborn raiders in the west!
Steffon
The night was young yet the sky was filled with darkness, the air was moist with droplets of rain falling from the clouded sky. Steffon stood on the very cliff that his daughter, Nalia, had taken her post on at the beginning of the Battle at the Weeping Water. In his hands was a small wooden strongbox, inside were carved runes and the ashes of his daughter. The howling winds blew his long brown hair into his face, which was wet from the tears and rain. His hands trembled, either from the cold or the devastation of his loss, and the strongbox with them. Beside Steffon stood the young warrioress, the Lone Wolf: Athena.
Athena stood straight with tears welled up in her mismatched eyes, her brown eye showed the sadness she possessed and her red showed a dark menacing glare which shot out to the rough seas below them. Her short dark brown hair was saturated from the rain, giving it a blackish colour. She had clasped her frozen hands together, which she rubbed anxiously as she stared out to the distance.
Her suffering gave Steffon an awareness that he was not alone in his pain. The battle had taken his beloved brother, and his beautiful daughter. He was alone, and so was Athena. Steffon’s shaking hands made their way to the bronze buckle clasp on the strongbox, which removed the lid when it was released. He digged his hand inside, clenching the ash that stained his hand, and pulled it back out. The grey substance started to leave his hands without his release, and the rest followed when he unclenched his tightly formed fist. Steffon heard the light sobs from beside him, which filled him with more grief and distress than ever before. This is all my fault, Nalia. I let you into this cruel world, in hope that you would grow old and happy. Steffon felt the strongbox slip from his trembling fingers and fall to the sharp edged ground. By the time he had fallen to his knees, the box had tumbled off the side of the cliff. Steffon clenched his hands into a fist, bashing them against the rough rocks that knelt upon. By the time his hands were bloody from the grazes, he felt the soft hands rest on his shoulders. He felt the rage burn in his chest, and released it in a large booming scream. His voice was taken with the wind, to the lands of those who were responsible for his daughter’s death.
“I will avenge you, my love.” He whispered to himself, his voice was trembling and shaky. He felt the hands leave him, and saw the footsteps approach closer to the cliff.
Steffon moved his gaze up towards Athena, who stared at him with such grief that he felt his heart would split in two. Her arms were crossed, she shook with such intensity that Steffon thought she would freeze to death right in front of him. He had seen it happen. Steffon wanted to stand, though the pressure of his guilt held him down. Athena peered down to the crashing waves against the cliff face.
“I need to join her, Steffon. My life is meaningless now.” Her words were quiet, only just heard before the winds blew them away. Steffon found his hand crawl towards her padded leg, forming a tight grip around her ankle.
“No.” Was the only word Steffon was able to muster at the time, he felt Athena’s heavy gaze fall upon him.
“No? She was one of my only friends! She and Kailan, and those Andal bastards took them away from me! They took everything I ever wanted… I’m nothing now.” Steffon’s tired legs slowly started working, pulling him back to the surface. His hand had moved from her ankle to her shoulder, swinging her around and pulling her in a close embracement. Their minimal warmth collided, and Steffon almost felt safer in result.
“She was my world, Athena. I don’t know who took her from me, but I swear I will kill the bastard who did it. If he is dead, then I’ll kill all of his pathetic friends and family.” Steffon pulled out of the hug, keeping his hands tightly gripped on her shoulders. “Though I can’t do it alone. I must stay here, lead Theon’s army west to the Ironborn. You must go to Andalos in my place, you must avenge Nalia by killing everyone of those fuckers. Men, women, children, I don’t care. Make them know what it means to fuck with the North.” Steffon felt his heart pounding hard in his chest, the dark gaze he gave to Athena almost made his words seeming threatening rather than redeeming.
Steffon pulled away, letting the girl ponder on his words. He left her on the cliff, unaware whether he would ever see her again. He did not care, his thirst was for blood.
-
The cold surged through Steffon like it did on any day, though this coldness was different. Steffon was a changed man, his life had been meddled and played with by an invading force, which would meet a cruel end if he had it his way. Though beneath this cold hatred rested a stone furnace, which was now heated and burning for vengeance.
Steffon sat upon a brown destrier that he had been given to ride back to Winterfell with. His sore and bruised hands clenched the reins, his cool bronze shortsword rested against his leg. Steffon felt goosebumps crawl up his thigh and into his groin, though he was convinced it was not the sword which caused it. Steffon stared at the Red King, the Bolton who had murdered his son in a fury outrage: King Rogar Bolton. I know his pain. Steffon would have been surprised that he was able to sympathise with such a cruel and vile creature, yet there he sat with no shock whatsoever. Before Steffon knew it, he found himself walking his destrier towards the Red King, who held fake solemnity on his expression. Steffon stopped before the king, beside him stood one of his kingsguard and a man with bored brown eyes and a smirk on his face. Steffon nodded.
“Your grace.” Steffon dismounted his horse, standing at eye level with the Red King. Rogar nodded in return.
“General Cale, I congratulate you on your promotion. I hear you will be protecting the North from the Ironborn, how honourable of you.” Steffon smirked, though his eyes gave a dreading stare. The man beside Rogar sniggered.
“Oh yes, a total honour indeed. A shame though, I hear your daughter was slain by the Andals. It must be detrimental for you, not to be able to join King Theon in his great sail to Andalos.” Steffon turned his gaze to the young man, who was fairly tall yet short in comparison to Steffon. Rogar shot the man a glare, then turned his focus back to Steffon.
“Apologies, General. Rechar lacks a sense of honour and integrity.” Steffon shook his head, taking a step closer to Rechar. He noticed the young man’s hand gravitate towards his dagger.
“I don’t like you, boy.” Steffon had already turned and mounted his horse, not bothering to feed on the expressions that Rechar may have shown.
The rain from the previous night had left the ground muddy and painful to ride through. It was clear to Steffon that his steed did not enjoy it either, as it shook its head in an irritable notion. Steffon found himself a sympathetic smile. I know, friend. I know. Steffon stroked the destrier’s mane, seemingly calming it down. When Steffon spotted King Theon in the distance, he sent the destrier into a gallop, spraying mud onto the Bolton soldiers that were moving iron and steel weapons back to the Dreadfort. Steffon dismounted the horse, nodding to his king.
“Steffon, how are you?” Theon asked with a genuine tone, which Steffon was appreciative of. Beside Theon stood Edmund the Beast and another man which Steffon did not recognise. He shrugged in reply.
“I scattered her ashes last night, on the cliff.” Theon nodded, his gaze had lowered.
“I’m sorry, my friend. What of your brother, the cliff as well?” Steffon felt a pang of guilt hit his chest, clenching his heart. He had barely thought on his brother, and his expression showed this.
Theon rested his hand on Steffon’s shoulder, giving him an encouraging and reassuring smile. However, Steffon saw past the smile, and stared into the man’s eyes. They were distinct in their meaning: menacing and vengeful. Steffon knew that the man in front of him had just as much hatred for the Andal’s as he did, if not more. That gaze soon turned into a sympathetic acknowledgement.
“I will take his ashes to the foreign lands, and spread them over the corpse of the Andal king once I take off his head.” Theon’s words were definite, and not to be argued with. Steffon felt a certain pride and sense of acknowledgement, though only nodded in return.
“It would honour him well, my king.” Theon nodded in agreement, removing his hand from Steffon’s shoulder. He beckoned for the unknown man to come forward.
“This is Gareth, he’s a sellsword. I’ve decided that he will be of use to you in the west.” Steffon nodded, and looked at the man that stood in front of him.
He stood tall and muscled, his brown hair was long and swept back. He wore a dark cloak, and had a bronze longsword sheathed in a scabbard on his waist. He bowed respectably, which Steffon nodded in return.
“It will be an honour to fight by your side, General.” Gareth spoke with quiet and serious words, his expression matched them. Theon grinned, then beckoned to Edmund.
“No doubt you remember the Beast, he too will be accompanying you west.” The tall brute of a man stood forward, he wore as much bronze protection as he could, and his face was always covered with a visored helmet. He grunted in reply, lifting his fist to his chest.
“For the North.” His words were harsh and slightly formidable. Steffon replicated the man’s actions. Theon appeared gratified with the introductions.
“Get to your horse's, brothers. You leave directly.” Theon spoke with confident and direct words. The men bowed and went their separate ways, Theon gripped Steffon’s shoulder. “Walk with me.” Steffon nodded, and joined his king.
They passed the remaining tents, which were in the process of being dismantled, in complete silence. Only the sounds of chatter and thunder in the distance filled Steffon’s ears. Once they were away from the campsite, Theon led Steffon up a steep green hill. The view was worth the walk, they saw the entirety of the Narrow Sea, which was covered in a light mist. Theon turned to Steffon, his expression seemed to carry a heavy burden which Steffon could not see.
“Steffon… I know that your wishes would have been to go to Andalos and get the vengeance you deserve. I understand that this burden I have placed on you as been highly assumptious and in-justifying. I want to apologise now, while I still have the chance.” Steffon found himself looking into Theon’s aimlessly gazing grey eyes with shock. He shook his head.
“Theon, I know what I want, and I know what you need of me. They may not coincide, though so be it. I serve you and the North, if sacrificing my vengeance comes to that then so be it. For the honour of House-” Theon shook his head, his gaze was bitter. He stared out to the sea.
“Fuck honour. My father may have taught me it, though never have I met an old living man that has served his life with honour. When it comes to war, no one fights with honour. The Andal’s don’t, the Bolton’s sure as hell won’t. So watch your back, and cut the shit. I need you to be ruthless, feed on your pain and take it out on the Ironborn.” Steffon barely believed he was hearing the words correctly, thinking that it was all some figure of his imagination.
“My king…” Theon shook his head and cut him off, unsheathing Ice from his back. The mysterious Valyrian steel blade glinted in the light. He stared down at the two handed blade.
“Valyrian steel. Gods, we don’t even know how to forge iron or steel, yet somehow my father manages to buy this blade from a Valyrian merchant.” Theon shook his head and presented it to Steffon. “If I die, I won’t let the Andal’s have it. Keep it with you, keep it safe.” Theon made sure that Steffon took the blade, much against his own will.
“As you wish, my king.” The man nodded, his gracious noble mood was slowly beginning to return.
“I might ask one more favour of you, though I know I have already asked much of you.” Steffon nodded.
“What is it?” Theon sighed, clearly trying to think of the right words to say.
“My son, Harmund, is at Winterfell with my wife Helia. He is a boy of fourteen, and is ready to see battle despite what my wife says. It would do me a great honour if you would take him with you when you crush the Ironborn beneath your feet.” Steffon felt his chest grow heavy, his breaths harder to consume.
“I couldn’t. I lost my daughter, and my brother. If your son fell in battle because of me…” Theon shook his head.
“He will learn to become a man, or will never be known. He will give the Ironborn a name to fear, a name that will support your own.” Steffon felt his heart beat in irregular patterns. Harmund is a mere boy. Theon’s bastard brother Wulfgar would be of more use to me, and would definitely be the man I would want by my side in battle.
[Suggest taking Wulfgar instead] [Obey Theon’s wish]
[Suggest taking Wulfgar instead]
Glad to see the story back. Recap was totally helpful, since I did not remember almost anything.
Great part! I have really missed the Invasion and I'm happy that it is finally back
[Suggest taking Wulfgar instead]
As Steffon said, Wulfgar will be of more use and he's also the guy he wants to fight alongside with. This is not a fun little game for Theon's son to prove himself, this is a war against the Ironborn. They need the best for that. If Theon wants his son to become a man, he can always take him with the bulk of his army to Andalos, but Steffon needs the better fighter for his task. That said, there's always the chance that Theon will insist on it, in such a case Steffon has no other way. It's worth a try though.
Glad to hear it! Also glad that you're happy to see it is back!
[Obey Theon’s wish]
It is worse choice in current scenario, but I'm very curious of this son of the King. Also, accepting this offer can strenghten the bond between Stark and Cale, and maybe lead to some more interesting storyline for Steffon - at this moment his target is to avenge Nalia, but what's next? Well, I highly doubt that this choice will win, but it would be nice to know alternative paths of his story.
[Obey Theon’s wish]
[Suggest taking Wulfgar instead]
First of all, a very well-written part! This definitely has me hyped for this story again, and I'm looking forward to both the sail to Andalos and the war against the Ironborn that Steffon is heading towards.
What comes to the choice, I think Steffon is in good enough terms with the King to say out loud if he thinks this is a better option. If the King doesn't like the idea I'm sure he will say it and that's it.
[Suggest taking Wulfgar instead]
Davios
The irregular sounds of coughing and groans pulled Davios from his deep slumber. He opened his eyes to find himself in a dim room, which to his surprise was not rocking side to side. He looked around, vaguely seeing a large room filled with beds inhabited by wounded soldiers. Davios sat himself up, using his hands… A sharp pain shot through his arm and made him send out an agonising scream. He felt arms hold him down, stopping him from rolling off the bed. The pain was unbearable, continuous and furious jolts of pain coursed his arm and made his head shudder. He felt his wrist throb, blood oozing out of the already red-stained bandage. Davios clenched his right hand, he looked above him at the men who were holding him down. Piggy and Jorio. Piggy looked to Jorio with a worrying expression, then released Davios.
“Keep him calm, and don’t let him do that again! I’m going to go find a nurse or someone that can help.” Jorio nodded, his expression seemed fearful at first, though oddly changed to a satisfied grin once Piggy had left.
Jorio sat beside Davios, his grin had formed into a mocking smirk. His eyes pierced through Davios’, staring out the otherside. Davios’ face contorted as another throb attacked his arm, he wanted to fling his arm into the air yet Jorio’s force held it down.
“Looks good, doesn’t it?” Jorio said, staring at the blood stained stump at the end of Davios arm. Davios felt weak and powerless, his throat was dry and croaking.
“I… Water.” Was all Davios managed to say, and Jorio gave him that sick grin of his.
“Oh don’t worry Davios, that water is coming soon. Though there is something I want from you first.” Davios raised his eyebrow, which seemingly took a lot more effort than usual. Jorio nodded. “Oh yes. I’ll need something from you indeed.” Jorio pulled out a small water tin, or at least Davios hoped it was water.
“What is that?” Davios’ words were soft and weak, quiet among the sounds of sickness. Jorio smiled, though it was not a genuinely kind smile, though something twisted and as sickening as the room they were in.
“Milk of the poppy. It’s all yours if you swear you will do something for me when the time comes.” Davios wanted to shake his head, though he felt his entire body start to work against him. He soon worried that his mouth would no longer form any words.
“I swear on the Seven. Whatever you want, just give the milk!” Davios’ words were definite, and seemingly desperate. Jorio smiled and pulled down Davios’ stubble jaw, opening his mouth.
“Of course you will.” Before Davios could tell, a white liquid was poured down his throat. His consciousness started to fade, until all was calm and black.
-
When he awoke, there was no Jorio or Piggy. Davios’ left arm was elevated, and a clean new bandage had replaced the last. Davios felt mildly improved since his rest, though he was hesitant to move anything out of fear he would be as weak as his previous sorry-state. Davios lay in silence, listening to his surroundings. Soft murmurs from nurse to nurse. Chest agonising coughs, groans from sickened men. Davios was in a house of weakness, and he longed to be free of it. As if his wish were coming true, he heard the sounds of footsteps approach his bed. When he arched his back up and leant on his free arm, he saw a man in steel plated armour. Beside him stood Piggy, who wore loose cotton garments which showed a lot of his belly. Davios cleared his throat.
“Can I help you, gentlemen?” Piggy shook his head, he seemed almost apologetic.
“I tried to explain to him that you need all the rest you can get, but he wouldn’t listen.” The man beside him, wearing plated armour and a helm which only his red eyes could be seen, took a step forward.
“His grace requests your presence in the Great Sept of the Seven. I am here to escort you.” Davios turned his gaze to Piggy, who shrugged in response. The King? Davios thought, confused and honoured at the same time. Piggy shook his head.
“My apologies, Ser. Davios needs-” Davios cut Piggy off with a groan.
“No, if the king wills it then I will meet with him.” Davios observed the knight nod, his red eyes seemed appeased. Davios turned to Piggy. “Help me out of this thing.” Davios referred to the sling that held his arm in the air.
Piggy hesitantly walked over to the bed and unhooked the sling from the upper arm of the bed. Instead of removing the sling entirely, he placed it over Davios’ neck, keeping his arm close and raised. Davios sighed, and then was helped out of his bed.
Davios was surprised by the weakness that haunted his legs once they met the ground. Piggy held him upwards, and nodded to the knight who led the way. Davios felt uncomfortably close to the man, so close that his body odors reached Davios’ nostrils and made him want to barf. Davios shook his head, knowing this would not work.
“Piggy, fetch me a cane of any sorts. I would arrive before the King with some dignity.” Piggy frowned at Davios, yet nodded all the same.
Davios felt as if he would have fallen to the ground if it weren’t for the wooden railings of his bed. He gripped them tightly, his hand began to sweat. He looked the knight, who in turn looked back to him.
“So, you are the man who led the forces back to Andalos once Argos fell in battle.” The knight spoke with dark and cold words, yet there seemed to be some admiration amongst them. Davios nodded.
“That I did, Ser…” The knight bowed, his chainmail rubbing against his steel plating.
“Ser Kristor Darklyn, Knight of the Kingsguard.” Davios nodded in return, he had heard of the all-faithful Darklyn’s.
Piggy returned with a wooden cane, to which Davios gladly accepted. Piggy sighed, he seemed clearly exhausted from all the work at recent. Davios would have rested his hand on the man’s shoulder if he had one to spare, so he instead gave a weak and hopefully encouraging smile.
“Thank you, friend.” Davios found it inappropriate to refer to the man as his nickname during such times, beside the fact he had never actually learnt his real name. The man nodded in return.
“Best of luck with your meeting with the King. I’ll be here if you choose to return.” Davios nodded and turned to Ser Kristor, who rested his hand on his sheathed blade.
“To the Great Sept of the Seven.” He announced, and Davios followed.
-
The Great Sept of the Seven was a colossal sized building, surrounded by men of the faith. Ser Kristor led Davios through the pearly gates, and the Doorway to the Heavens. The inside of the Great Sept was even greater than the exterior. The walls were plated in silver, coursed with gems like diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds. Septon’s and Septa’s did their duties around the Sept, while commonfolk and nobles came in to worship or pray. Ser Kristor led Davios passed the large masses, into a secluded room. There stood King Noriphos of the Seven, his seven-pointed star robes draping to the marbled floor. He stared out a multi-tinted window, out to the kingdom of Andalos. Ser Kristor knelt, and pronounced his duty.
“Your grace, I have brought you Davios Tallman.” The King turned, his robes taking flight then landing in a dance with the sudden wind.
Noriphos was a skinny and lean man. He stood tall and noble, though behind that there was fear and cowardice that stopped him from leading his armies to Westeros. His face was gaunt, yet his beard was elegant and black, yet starting to grey. His black wavy hair was slicked back, and a seven-pointed crown sat atop his head.
“Thank you, Ser Kristor. You may leave us.” The King spoke with placid and charming words, and the knight obeyed them without hesitation.
When the sound of steel boots meeting the marble surfaced floors faded into the distance behind the shut glass framed doors, King Noriphos smiled and clasped his hands. They were soft hands, without the bearing of marriage oaths or battle scars. Davios might have pitied him once, though now he only admired that the man had two hands.
“Davios Tallman. That name rings across the streets and docks, from sailor to merchant and merchant to noblemen. These names reach my ears very quickly, and the news flies with it soon after.” The man paused, taking a few steps closer. “You called the men into a retreat, when the battle commenced at the Weeping Water. Why?” Davios felt the urge to back away, though he held his ground.
“The battle was lost, your grace. Argos Sevenstar had fallen.” Noriphos nodded, turning and reaching for a goblet filled with red wine. He took a sip, then placed the goblet down.
“Argos was a full, failing to listen to his king. I needed the North and he failed the give it to me. Others kings, such as Artys Arryn and Qyle Corbray have succeeded in taking the Fingers, yet Argos failed to give me the North.” His pace quickened as he moved towards Davios. “Though you would not fail me, would you?” Davios raised an eyebrow, mildly confused about what he was being asked.
“No, your grace?” Davios replied with confusion. Noriphos gave a warm smile, looking up to Davios who stood a head or two taller.
“Good, good. That is why I have come to the decision that you will become the new Warlord of my army. You will give me the North, and in turn I will marry you to my daughter. You would become the prince, and my son.” Davios was completely baffled by what he was hearing, yet memories of the battle started flooding his mind.
“Your grace, we attempted to take the North already. The First Men ruled us out before we could even land.” Noriphos nodded, yet his eyes looked elsewhere.
“Do you know why we are in such a great hurry to escape to Westeros?” Davios listened to the King’s words carefully. Escape? Davios shook his head.
“The Ghiscari Empire?” Davios asked, taking a long shot estimate. To his surprise, the King nodded.
“Very close. The Valyrian Freehold. The wars between the Ghiscari and Valyrians are drawing closer to our lands, and we are taking drastic measures to make sure we are no longer here when they arrive. Already have there been three sightings of dragons, three sightings!” Noriphos seemed more astonished rather than worried. Davios shrugged his shoulders.
“Then where will we go if we cannot take the North?” Noriphos turned his gaze back to Davios, his expression filled with wonder and excitement.
“Who says we cannot take the North? Argos surely made it look that way, yet I know otherwise. He failed to listen to his king, and failed to bring me the North. You won’t make that mistake.” Davios shook his head, yet he was still curious.
“No, your grace. What do you have in mind?” Davios saw a wolfish grin build on the man’s face, as if here were waiting for Davios to ask the question.
“My spies inform me that there are some potential allies to be made. The North is split in half by an enormous frozen wall, which beyond that there are a rallying of wild folk who plan to cross the Wall. What stands in their way is a wall manned by men in black. I say, sail to these lands beyond the Wall and get them to fight for us. We will give them land in my kingdom in return.” Davios nodded in agreement.
“This is a good idea, your grace.” Noriphos nodded in agreement.
“And it would have worked the first time, if only Argos had listened. The North is split into three kingdoms, perhaps you could rally one of those kings to our side. Promise them the North and then stab them in the back once the other kingdoms are destroyed.” Noriphos walked back to his goblet. “Or we could call on the Arryn’s, though I don’t know what we could repay them with.” He sighed, and took a drink of his red wine. Davios nodded.
“Perhaps that is a choice for another time, your grace.” Davios felt himself growing weak, he needed to sit and rest. Noriphos nodded in agreement.
“For another time. You are dismissed, Lord Davios.” The title caught Davios off guard, yet he bowed nonetheless.
Once Davios was safely out of view from the King, he sunk the ground. His legs gave way beneath him before he even allowed it. Davios rested on the marble floor, resisting the urge to throw up in such a holy place. He dreaded the thought. His talk with the King had left him many questions, towards the east and west. The Arryn’s would be of use, and I do know an Arryn. Davios thought, yet perhaps it would have been best to leave the Arryn’s out of the equation, as he would not know how to pay them back for their assistance. There was also Vysela, the Valyrian woman who was very suspicious. Davios had longed to talk with her, and even more so since this talk of the Valyrian Freehold. Perhaps she knows more than she says. Davios sat up, deciding where he would go.
[Seek out Hughie Arryn] [Seek out Vysela]
Another great part! I enjoy Davios' storyline and the direction it is heading to. Though I greatly sympathize with the First Men in this story, so I see the Andals as kind of the villains here. Not the Andal smallfolk of course, but their warlords. They are the invaders after all.
[Seek out Vysela]
If I remember correctly, and it has been a long time, I considered Vysela to be the more interesting character. She is also Valyrian, so that makes it intriguing for me to find out more about her. Hughie is not a bad character, but some Valyrian exposition could be nice.
[Seek out Hughie Arryn]
Uh, another part! How splendid!
[Seek out Hughie Arryn]
[Seek out Vysela] I agree with Liquid, Vysela seems very interesting.
And this was great part, again! Looking forward to whatever direction Davios takes from here
[Seek out Vysela]
[Seek out Vysela]
Well, my first vote closing for this story in a long time! 4-2. Steffon will decide to suggest taking Wulfgar instead.
4-2 again! XD. Davios will choose to seek out Vysela.
This is an interesting choice, and I'm glad you guys made it. Vysela is indeed going to prove to he an interesting and mysterious character (I hope) which you guys should like. Any rate, hope you guys are excited for Davios' storyline to come, it's going to be pretty action-packed!
Jarden
The sun started to set behind the mountains that coursed the Fingers. Jarden stood in front of the rubble of what was once the Chanting Hall. His eyes looked into the polished silver eyes of the mysterious woman standing in front of him. She wore tight dark leather, a face mask reaching only as high as her nose, to protect herself from all the dust and smoke. Finally, she wore a large circular visored hat. Jarden stood fidgeting his hands. The woman had offered to take him to Lord Ethon Belmore, though he had organised to rendezvous with his companions: Paytan Hunter and Cedrick Redfort, by sundown. Jarden eventually sighed, giving in to the girl’s persuasion.
“I will go with you.” Jarden stated, “Though I want to see your face.” Jarden observed the girl’s silver eyes glimmered in the descending sunlight.
“Night gathers, Jarden Frost. You’re running out of time.” Jarden could have sworn the woman was smirking at him before she turned and ran.
Jarden chased after her, his left hand resting on the hilt of his longsword and his other hand fending off anyone that got in his way. The girl was fast, and shady, yet Jarden still managed to keep up with her.
They ran through alleyways, circled destroyed markets and ran through the damaged stone buildings until Jarden was completely disorientated. Nonetheless, he could not stop, out of fear that he would lose her.
By the time the sun was just setting behind the mountains, Jarden had ran to the front of the gates of the Melodic Tower. In front of him stood his mysterious girl, on the other side of the gate. In between them stood a locked wooden gate, and half a dozen guards with bronze-tipped spears pointing his way. Jarden came to a halt with only a metre to spare between him and the guards, he bent over from his exhaustion and caught his breath.
Staring at the puddle of water that he stood in, Jarden was shocked by how much he had changed over the years. He was highly unlike his brothers, as he kept his dark brown hair short and messy, whereas his brothers kept it long. Jarden had a gaunt face, accompanied with a particularly long nose. His icy blue eyes were the best distinction his face could give, the only beauty he had in his opinion.
Jarden took in deep breaths, then stood up. The spears had drawn closer, and were now up in his face. Jarden released his hand from the hilt of his sword, and raised his hands in the air.
“State your business, stranger.” The voice was deep and well-fashioned. Jarden kept his eyes lowered and his hands raised high.
“I request an audience with Lord Ethon. I am here on behalf of-” Jarden was cut off mid-sentence by the same guard.
“The Melodic Tower is off-limits. Move along.” Jarden felt his heart sunk. He lowered his arms and took a step back, only to hear the beautiful voice of the woman he had accompanied.
“Let him in, Captain. He’s with me.” Jarden flickered his gaze towards the men in front of him, who lifted their spears. The captain, a tall and robust man, seemed highly unconvinced.
“My lady, Lord Ethon’s orders are to…” The woman descended the steps from the tower, walking through the opened wooden gates. She stopped beside the guard, who stood a head taller than herself.
“Let him in, or I’ll personally have you discharged from service.” She spoke with soft and cold words. The captain stood tall, glaring the woman in her beautiful eyes. Finally, he gave way and stood aside.
“Apologies, my lady.” The captain muttered, his eyes lifted no higher than Jarden’s feet. The woman turned her gaze to Jarden, which Jarden met with awe.
“Come with me, Frost.” She spoke playfully, her words sounded lusting yet also intimidating. Jarden bowed his head respectfully, then walked passed the skeptical guards.
The Melodic Tower stood two hundred feet in the air, with a diametre of fifty feet. It was made of solid stone, with barred windows and reinforced shutters. Banners displaying bronze bells on a purple background hung on the tower, gently dancing with the wind.
Jarden ascended the stone steps to the main doors with caution, knowing just how easily this could turn on him. The mysterious woman was already through the door when Jarden was only half way up the stairs, he could hear a light giggle which echoed through the open tower.
By the time Jarden reached the top of the steps, he stood before a beautiful woman with alluring light brown hair which has soft waves running down to her mid-back. Her silver eyes were shining like he had never seen before, and her lopsided grin showed her perfect white teeth. She was beautiful.
Jarden found himself starting to daydream before her fingers clicked in front of his eyes. He snapped out of his wishful thoughts, bowing his head almost immediately. That same giggle could be heard once again, except this time it was closer and louder.
“You’re an interesting one, Frost. Follow me.” Her final words were a soft whisper, and Jarden was starting to doubt he was really being led to the lord.
As the attracting beauty turned towards the wooden spiral staircase that led to the multiple floors of the tower, Jarden secured his hand around her forearm and spun her around. She met his eyes with a promiscuous gaze, biting her lip.
“Going to take me here, Jarden Frost?” Jarden felt his cheeks redden, and his manhood start to speak for him. He released her arm and shook his head defiantly.
“No my lady, I only want your name.” Jarden’s eyes stared at the cold stone floor beneath their feet, the girl sighed.
“You don’t ask for much, do you?” Jarden remained silent, his palms starting to sweat. Jarden felt a soft hand lift Jarden’s bony face to her eye level, her bright smile shot through him. “Lexia.” Her words were as soft as the hand that rested against his face.
Jarden pulled the hand away, his expression now serious and tired of her games. His mind roamed with doubt and stress. Paytan and Cedrick would be waiting for him, and he would not return to see them because of his expedition with Lexia. He wanted to know if it was worth the risk.
“And why would you have any relation to Lord Ethon?” Lexia’s eyes were cold and unnerving, her sense of kinky behaviour had fled with the wind. What remained was matching of Jarden’s feelings, which worried him.
“Because I am his daughter.” Her soft tone had left her as well, leaving something vile and poisonous in its wake.
Jarden shivered as a breeze flowed through the doorway, though to his fortune Lexia had not noticed. She climbed the steps, her pace quick and her steps loud. This was the sight of an angry woman, this was the sight of Jarden’s mistake.
-
The view from atop of the Melodic Tower might have been rewarding, if Jarden did not feel this sense of idiocy and embarrassment - perhaps even shame. Nevertheless, the view was jaw-dropping. The peaks of the Mountains of the Moon stood tall and firm above a layer of thick fog. The top two floors were only just high enough to see over the cloud cover, though the view would soon be non-existent as the sun had already set below the clouds.
The cool breeze rushed through the open window, and in front of that window sat a broken old man. His legs were crippled, a clear deformity from a young age. However Jarden felt like that was his better side. His hair was short and gray, messy with angry curls. His beard replicated the state of his hair, with kinks and knots running through the ale stained hair. His nose was heavily disfigured, appearing to have been broken multiple times. His eyes were nothing in comparison to his daughter’s shining gems, instead they were a dead grey with a saddened look.
Lord Ethon stared out the window with a dark and dooming look, his eyes were condemning or demoralised. His old wrinkled face turned when Lexia rested her soft hands on his frail shoulders. His eyes flickered to Lexia, his dry lips formed a weak smile. Lexia’s eyes had dulled, showing sympathy and sadness.
“We have a visitor, father.” Her words were as quiet as a whisper, yet as bitter as raw hops. The old man’s eyes slowly turned to Jarden, which was the first time Jarden felt the full overwhelming force of sadden land on his shoulders.
Jarden instantly fell to his knee, bowing his head in respect. The old man’s voice croaked and winced, his breathing was weak yet still rampant.
“Rise boy.” His voice sounded tired and his words lingered in Jarden’s ears. Jarden’s legs acted on behalf of his dead thoughts, pulling him up into the air.
“Apologies for disturbing you, my lord. I come to you on behalf of King Robar Royce.” Lord Ethon nodded, his expression had grown solemn.
“And what is it that the ‘Boy King’ wants?” Lord Ethon’s words showed boredom, and a touch of mockery. His eyes stared lazily into Jarden’s, making him feel uneasy. Jarden gulped and continued.
“He calls for your aid. His aim is to remove the Andal’s from our shores.” Jarden spoke without confidence, his voice shook with nervousness. “And he needs your help to do it.” Lord Ethon’s croaking air gasping chuckle sent shivers down Jarden’s spine.
“Yes… I’ve heard of this Boy King’s aim. Somehow managed to outshoot Lord Hunter in that stupid archery contest. Now he wants to unite the First Men, putting all our lives in danger, just to get rid of some newcomers? Why should I support him? I supported his grandfather, Yorwyck, in his goals to free the Fingers of the fucking Andals. That didn’t work, why should this Boy King have any better a chance?” Lord Ethon’s mockery had turned to bitterness, his words spat fire yet it was not meant to be harmful. Jarden knew the man was genuinely worried, though he knew his mission.
“My lord, forgive me for being a prude though who has left your city in the sorry-state it is in?” Lexia stood in for her weakening father, her expression cold and menacing.
“The Andal invaders, though that’s different. The Corbray’s have offered their support to help us rebuild, it was their fuck up!” Jarden feared that the girl might have flared at him if her father hadn’t gripped her arm. Jarden felt his heart start to race, his joy of the argument started to begin.
“An accident? Pardon me, my lady, though I can assure you this is no accident. Explain to me why some Andal invaders would choose to attack your city, when Andal’s already possess around three quarters of all the land.” Jarden observed as Lexia hesitated, she bit her lip, causing Jarden to grin. “They want your navy, and we do too. The question is, are you going to help the enemy or your own people? You already know the answer, you sent your son to side with Robar.” Jarden’s heart was beating out of his chest by the time he had concluded his argument. Lord Ethon’s gaze had fallen to the ground, his expression as depressed as it had been when Jarden entered.
“Wyllam.” Lord Ethon whispered to himself, his weak hands caressing each other. He lifted his head and started directly into Jarden’s icy blue eyes. “If I give you my forces, my boats, my allegiance…” He began. “Will you give my citizens protection. They are not safe here, not so close to Heart’s Home.” Jarden felt himself powerless in this situation, though he nodded nonetheless.
“I’ll have one of my men inform King Robar of your proposal. I have no doubts that he will accept your proposal.” Lord Ethon sighed, shaking his head with sorrow.
“And I want to see my son. Then and only then will I agree to your alliance.” Jarden felt sweat trickle down his brow, his hands were fidgety and his breaths were quick and short.
Jarden’s last encounter with Wyllam Belmore had been at the siege of Gulltown, and as far as Jarden knew that was where he still was. Miles away from the rest of the Bronze Army at the Redfort. Jarden sighed, he knew if he denied Lord Ethon his privileges then the deal would be cut off. However, he knew if he lied to him then the ties between House Belmore and House Royce would be severed, and perhaps they would even lose their support in the larger war to come.
Lexia’s gaze on Jarden was heavy, and Lord Ethon’s stare was cold and unruly. Jarden had to say something.
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal] [Inform Lord Ethon of Wyllam’s whereabouts]
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal] Nice to see Jarden again
As for the choice, it's kind of a lose-lose situation, but I think this option is more useful for now.
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal]
I don't want to endanger the deal by telling Ethon the truth about Wyllam's whereabouts here. Might not be the morally good thing and let us hope he's never going to find out about it, but for now it sounds like the better option.
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal]