A warm breeze flew through the opened shutters into Jaycen’s chambers. He laid under the light sheets of his bed, his body sunken into the comfortable mattress beneath him. Beside him lay his wife, Lady Meghan.
He rolled himself over, observing the features of his wife. Her placid calm face had few wrinkles, and was barely affected from her age. Her light brown hair covered her pillow, the greying strands visible among the gathering of brown and orange.
Jaycen pulled himself up, resting on his elbow. He stared at her closed smooth eyelids, hiding beneath were the most beautiful eyes he had ever laid witness on. Her eyes were amber, much like that of a kitten. Jaycen found himself smiling, even as she slept she still displayed a dignified expression.
This warm feeling was as quick to come as it was to leave. Jaycen sighed and sat up, the sun beamed through the open window. Beyond that was a view of dry marchlands, nothing but rocks and grass with minimal trees. The land which his eldest son, Ryman, had been slain on. Jaycen felt his grip of the silk sheets tighten, his heart beat quicker.
He removed the sheets, exposing his bare skin to the warm air. His manhood hung loose, and his legs worked tiredly as he stood himself up. Activities which a man wouldn’t bat an eye on in his youth had now added onto the daily struggles in Jaycen’s older age. He may have only been in his mid-fifties, but he felt old nonetheless.
Jaycen grabbed the black trousers which rested on the cool stone floor, which had been left there since the previous night’s frenzy. Lazily slipping on his trousers, Jaycen heard the sound of chatter outside his chambers and down the hall. No doubt the guard. He thought with an unconvinced tone. Every morning he had heard their chatter, and every morning he had gone to reassure himself that they were indeed who he thought.
The bronze knob released the locks holding the acacian door shut. It opened inwards, without any creaks. Jaycen popped his head out the door, peering down the hall. Sure enough there stood the two household guards, Jorik and Kaleb.
Jorik was an older man compared to Kaleb, however much younger than Jaycen. He stood tall, with a bronze-tipped spear in one hand and a wooden shield in the other. Resting in his scabbard was a bronze longsword. Kaleb’s attire matched Jorik’s, a padded coat dotted with black nightingales on a yellow field.
Jaycen sighed in relief, pulling his head back into the safety of his room before quietly shutting the door. He was not in a presentable form, with only trousers on and a bare chest. A red stubble had grown as well, which would be needed to shave off. Jaycen decided this would be his current task.
He turned around with quiet footsteps, though his mission of silence had not prevailed. Sitting upright and stretching her arms, Lady Meghan let out a soft yawn. Jaycen’s tense shoulders slacked off, his body relaxed yet his heart still beat like a thunderous storm. He loved the woman that sat in front of him, yet he could not find it in his heart to forgive her for what she did to him.
Jaycen walked towards the wooden basin without saying a word. On the stone wall was a small mirror with wooden frames, Jaycen stared at himself in the reflection. His age had taken its toll on his face, leaving it thin with fine wrinkles visible. His skin was slightly tanned from the many years spent in the sunlight. His head was shaven bald, and his intentions to remove the light stubble would leave only his graying eyebrows as the remaining hair on his face.
Though it was not how much his age had caught up to him which gave him shame, though it was that he was only with one eye. His green eye stared at himself with such cold hostility that it sent shivers down his spine. The other was the remnants of a stabbing wound, a closed scar, which further reminded him off the death of his son.
Jaycen reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the black leather eyepatch, his hands clenched tightly around it. Veins exposed themselves to the surface of Jaycen’s light brown forearm, his anger seemed to fume and evaporate once he felt the warm hands course over his hairy shoulders. Jaycen looked back into the mirror, his tired-looking wife stood behind him, laying kisses from his shoulders up to his neck.
“You treated me good last night. It’s been a long time.” Jaycen felt his grip around the eyepatch release, he lifted it to his head and placed it over his scarred socket.
“I’m sorry.” Jaycen spoke quietly, his words were unconfident when he was around his wife. Jaycen felt his neck turn, his eye meet with Meghan’s amber eyes. They showed sympathy, and also something else. Love.
“You don’t need to be. I understand.” Her words spoke directly to his heart, which beated with a furious rage. Jaycen wanted to forgive her, yet his heart did not.
He shook his head, turning his muscled body towards hers. Her physique had stayed almost perfect since her youth, though five pregnancies has slightly ruined her perfect figure. Jaycen grabbed both her hands and managed to form a fake smile, a sympathetic smile. He would have kissed her if he had found the courage, though all that lingered was something depressed and pitiful.
Her hands left his first, as they always seemingly had. Her smile had faded, and her dignity had reappeared. She stared at Jaycen with a dutiful and professional expression, adding onto Jaycen’s uncomfort.
“Will you leave with the rider?” Her question sounded more of a demand, yet Jaycen remained calm and nodded his head sternly.
“Qarlton wants to me to see him, so I’ll go see him.” Jaycen’s words set a cold atmosphere around the two, separating them from each other.
Meghan turned and made her way back to the bed, where she bent over and picked up her dress. She held it to her breasts, covering her sensitive parts. Jaycen already felt the tensity in the room, though he wished to take it no further.
He turned back to the mirror, staring back at the broken man with the saddened face. The stubbled face. Jaycen picked up the bronze razor and brought it to his upper cheek, where he began.
-
Jaycen exited the room in his regular attire: black trousers, polished black leather boots and a black silk coat with grey nightingales patterned on it. Finally, he wore a yellow sash with a field of nightingales as well. He held the pride of his house on his shoulders, and it brought him a great sense of honour.
Walking down the hallway towards the stone staircase, both Jorik and caleb bowed in Jaycen’s presence. Jaycen nodded to the men in return, and got a short glimpse of both of them before passing and descending the staircase.
Jorik was a humble and jovial man, with a well-kept black beard which was clearly groomed. His slicked hair rested under the bronze morion helm. He wore a simple yellow padded coat with black nightingales patterned over it. It was the attire of the household guard, the soldiers would wear scaled bronze armour with a tabard of House Caron instead. Kaleb wore identical clothing, however his face was cleanly shaved like Jaycen’s, and he was only a young man.
The stairs led down to the Tweeting Hall, a large and open room which allowed most of the fresh air to enter as it pleased. The room was mostly empty, spare the household guard and the familiar face at the bottom of the staircase.
Bethany greatly resembled the beauty of her mother, which both disturbed and pleased Jaycen. However, Jaycen found his daughter to be the most accepting of him, and he was able to get along with her well enough.
She stood wearing a boring plain yellow dress, however her hair screamed to differ in her bland appearance. Bethany wore her auburn hair in long locks, which she often styled in numerous different ways. This day she had simply tied it into a loose pony tail, however it was highly attracting and beautiful. Her amber eyes with green specks stared at the floor, her melodic voice filled the hall with a soothing calmness.
Jaycen smiled and met her eyes once he reached her level, her grin was warm and wide. The two embraced, which it had been a long time since they had done so. Jaycen harnessed the feeling, he knew it was something he rarely received. Her hair scented of wildflowers out in the large meadows north of Nightsong.
“I feared you would leave without saying goodbye.” She said, her words were muffled in Jaycen’s shoulder. He held her tightly and rested his head against hers.
“Never, my sweet daughter. How long have you been waiting here?” She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.
“A while.” She finally admitted, and Jaycen felt a sense of regret hang over him. He pulled himself away and looked her in the eyes.
“Well I’m glad I could see you. Where is Gareth?” Jaycen watched as her smile faded and formed a look of disapproval.
“Outside, with the horses.” She muttered, lowering her gaze to the floor. Jaycen ignored the thoughts of his son, focussing on the matter at hand. He lifted his daughter’s chin, staring into her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Bethany’s eyes met Jaycen’s, and it broke him when he saw them flooded with tears. Without a thought, Jaycen pulled her back into their tight embrace, her sobs were muffled in his coat.
“Everyone’s leaving, father.” She finally managed. “Briala, Ryman, Alara, now you and Gareth.” Jaycen felt a mixture of emotions: confusion, regret, despair. The list went on, though eventually faded in the back of Jaycen’s mind.
“I miss them too, Beth. Though Gareth is not going anywhere, he’s the lord of Nightsong while I’m gone.” Jaycen felt Bethany free herself from his grip, her eyes showed a lack of empathy, she shook her head.
“He’s saddling his horse.” She sobbed. “He claims he’s going with you, and no one can stop him.” Jaycen felt his face go red with anger, disappointment flushed through him.
“I’ll show him who can stop him.” Jaycen retorted, grabbing Bethany’s forearm. “Come on.” He growled unintentionally, his order and the pulling of her wrist. He instantly regretted it and released her, storming for the main doors.
The guards bowed and open the doors for Jaycen as he approached, a blinding sun reaching his only eye. Jaycen lifted his hand and obscured the sunlight from his face, descending the steps down to the main courtyard.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the new and sudden lighting, Jaycen identified two men on horseback. One of those men was Keat Musgood, the Dornish Andal. His brown hair blew in the wind, his bronze armour shined in the glistening hot sun. He wore his Connington tabard, which was repulsive from the dust that had stained it.
Beside him sat the charming man he called his son: Gareth. He was a resemblance of Lord Jaycen in his younger years, with short red hair and green eyes. He was tall and muscular, handsome. He wore bronze scaled armour, with a longsword in his scabbard.
Jaycen stopped a few metres from Gareth, who stared down at him with a stern face - replicating his father’s expression. Their eyes met and locked, fighting for authority. Shame and disappointment haunted Jaycen’s expression, where duty and recklessness coursed Gareth’s.
It was Bethany’s silent sobs which finally convinced Gareth to pull his gaze away. He dismounted his horse and ran to his sister, who fell into his arms as he arrived. The two held each other in a tight lock, Gareth turned and sent a scowl in Jaycen’s direction.
“What have you done to her!” Gareth’s words attempt to pierce Jaycen like daggers would any other man, though they were easily deflected.
“You did this to her, boy. Claiming you were leaving for war.” Jaycen watched as his son’s face redenned, his eyes showed a fury which Jaycen had never seen before. He stood straight and tall, walking over to Jaycen.
“My place is out there, with you. Who is to lead our army when your old bones crumple in the battlefield?” Jaycen could identify the mockery through his thick charisma. Jaycen shook his head.
“You’re place is here, with my family. What if the skirmishers return? Do you expect me to stand for my wife and daughter being slaughtered, all become my son was too pigheaded to stay and do his duty.” Jaycen watched his son’s anger boil up, though to his surprise it was not released.
“There are more experienced men which would take over, whether I was here or not. I’ve already sent riders to Blackhaven. Mother and Bethany will be staying in the safety of grandfather, Lord Edric. In return he is sending his men and my cousins to protect Nightsong while we’re gone.” Gareth shifted his weight from one leg to another. “I won’t be left to die here like Ryman, and I won’t be sent away like Alara. I’m coming with you, where I am truly needed.” Jaycen started into his son’s eyes with pure disbelief.
Gareth had grown into a man, though not the man that would be the future lord of House Caron. Jaycen felt his emotions coursing through him, yelling at him to shout at his son. Though perhaps that was not the strongest approach. Jaycen feared for his family out of the most, and was somewhat impressed from the drastic measures that Gareth had taken to secure their safety, he wanted to send Gareth with them. However he knew that his place was at Nightsong, though he also knew that Gareth would hate him if he were to leave him there. Jaycen sighed and turned to Keat Musgood, who nodded in accordance.
[Bring Gareth with you] [Leave him at Nightsong] [Send him to Blackhaven]
Believe me, submitted characters so so much easier to work with than my own custom created crap. I really enjoyed writing this part, as it is shown through the detail in this part, I'm really happy to hear you enjoyed it as well!
Believe me, submitted characters so so much easier to work with than my own custom created crap. I really enjoyed writing this part, as it is shown through the detail in this part, I'm really happy to hear you enjoyed it as well!
Great part! I'm loving the Nightsong parts and how the Carons interact with each other. They are a broken, enjoyable mess of a family. Sadly, I got the feeling this will be the last interaction between them for a very long time, perhaps even forever if anything happens to Jaycen or his family while they are separated.
[Send him to Blackhaven]
This is a hard decision for me. However, in the end I took a look at Jaycen's family relationships and that helped me decide. There is Meghan and complicated doesn't even begin to describe their relationship. There is Gareth, who shows nothing but open disdain. There is Alara, whose relationship to him is even worse. And there is Bethany, his last truly positive family contact. I don't want to risk this relationship by risking Gareth's life, especially as she previously begged him to stay with her. What if Gareth dies on the battlefield? Bethany would never forgive Jaycen for that. Meanwhile, even if Gareth is allowed to come, it is unlikely his opinion of Jaycen is going to change, not unless Jaycen himself changes, which is equally unlikely. Another argument in favour of sending him to Blackhaven is his position as Jaycen's last living son. He is the heir to Nightsong and risking him sounds foolish, considering that the survival of the House depends on him. As the heir, he has responsibilities and as much as he'd probably love to march to war, these responsibilities require of him to secure the future of his house, by staying alive.
Jaycen
A warm breeze flew through the opened shutters into Jaycen’s chambers. He laid under the light sheets of his bed, his body sunken … moreinto the comfortable mattress beneath him. Beside him lay his wife, Lady Meghan.
He rolled himself over, observing the features of his wife. Her placid calm face had few wrinkles, and was barely affected from her age. Her light brown hair covered her pillow, the greying strands visible among the gathering of brown and orange.
Jaycen pulled himself up, resting on his elbow. He stared at her closed smooth eyelids, hiding beneath were the most beautiful eyes he had ever laid witness on. Her eyes were amber, much like that of a kitten. Jaycen found himself smiling, even as she slept she still displayed a dignified expression.
This warm feeling was as quick to come as it was to leave. Jaycen sighed and sat up, the sun beamed through the open window. Beyond that was a view of dry marchlands, nothing bu… [view original content]
Jaycen
A warm breeze flew through the opened shutters into Jaycen’s chambers. He laid under the light sheets of his bed, his body sunken … moreinto the comfortable mattress beneath him. Beside him lay his wife, Lady Meghan.
He rolled himself over, observing the features of his wife. Her placid calm face had few wrinkles, and was barely affected from her age. Her light brown hair covered her pillow, the greying strands visible among the gathering of brown and orange.
Jaycen pulled himself up, resting on his elbow. He stared at her closed smooth eyelids, hiding beneath were the most beautiful eyes he had ever laid witness on. Her eyes were amber, much like that of a kitten. Jaycen found himself smiling, even as she slept she still displayed a dignified expression.
This warm feeling was as quick to come as it was to leave. Jaycen sighed and sat up, the sun beamed through the open window. Beyond that was a view of dry marchlands, nothing bu… [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]
Jaycen
A warm breeze flew through the opened shutters into Jaycen’s chambers. He laid under the light sheets of his bed, his body sunken … moreinto the comfortable mattress beneath him. Beside him lay his wife, Lady Meghan.
He rolled himself over, observing the features of his wife. Her placid calm face had few wrinkles, and was barely affected from her age. Her light brown hair covered her pillow, the greying strands visible among the gathering of brown and orange.
Jaycen pulled himself up, resting on his elbow. He stared at her closed smooth eyelids, hiding beneath were the most beautiful eyes he had ever laid witness on. Her eyes were amber, much like that of a kitten. Jaycen found himself smiling, even as she slept she still displayed a dignified expression.
This warm feeling was as quick to come as it was to leave. Jaycen sighed and sat up, the sun beamed through the open window. Beyond that was a view of dry marchlands, nothing bu… [view original content]
Jaycen
A warm breeze flew through the opened shutters into Jaycen’s chambers. He laid under the light sheets of his bed, his body sunken … moreinto the comfortable mattress beneath him. Beside him lay his wife, Lady Meghan.
He rolled himself over, observing the features of his wife. Her placid calm face had few wrinkles, and was barely affected from her age. Her light brown hair covered her pillow, the greying strands visible among the gathering of brown and orange.
Jaycen pulled himself up, resting on his elbow. He stared at her closed smooth eyelids, hiding beneath were the most beautiful eyes he had ever laid witness on. Her eyes were amber, much like that of a kitten. Jaycen found himself smiling, even as she slept she still displayed a dignified expression.
This warm feeling was as quick to come as it was to leave. Jaycen sighed and sat up, the sun beamed through the open window. Beyond that was a view of dry marchlands, nothing bu… [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]
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]
The tent was humid and insulated with the air trapped inside, though Alara felt like she was boiling under the thick fur rugs she had laid out in preparation for the cool night. Alara opened her eyes tiredly, there were a number of reasons why she awoke from her deep slumber, and the fact that she felt she was in a furnace was one of them.
The tent was alight with the sun that beat down on it and made its way through the patches, adding onto the unbearable heat. Beside Alara was Athena, on all fours rolling her mattress away. Alara had offered for Athena to spend the night in her tent, out of pity that she had lost everyone she had ever held close. Athena had accepted Alara’s offer, though she had never appeared in the tent in the entire duration of the night, or at least Alara did not think she had.
Alara sat up and let out a deep and long yawn, stretching her arms in the air. This was enough to grab Athena’s attention, whose apologetic eyes shot at Alara. Shock and fear seemed to haunt her face.
“Did I wake you?” She asked, her voice shaking as if she were cold. Alara shook her head.
“It’s Dorne in here, throw open the flaps will you?” Alara’s voice was tired and monotone, she felt unalert and prone to danger. Athena followed her order without hesitation, throwing open the tent flap.
A cool breeze flowed in, nipping at Alara’s bear skin. She had not dared strip entirely, knowing she was in a camp filled with a majority of men, though she had relaxed enough to remove her light armour.
Alara felt herself pulling the rugs closer to her body to consume their warmth, which surprised her. Her intentions were to wake, though she felt happy to stay relaxed and in comfort. She turned her gaze to Athena, to which she noticed was staring right back at her. Her non matching eyes scoured over Alara with some odd fashion.
“Your hair looks good down.” She commented, before turning her attention back to her mattress which she was now tying onto her pack.
Alara felt her hand twirling her long pitch black hair around her fingers. This was the reason she was hated by her father, because of her hair and eye colour. Her feeling of insecurity made her reach for her hair tie, to which she tied her hair into a strict bun. She received a disappointed glance from Athena, though nothing else.
Alara forced herself to leave the warmth of the fur rugs, which she found far more difficult than it should have been. Completing her task, she then reached for her armour, which she began to put on. While doing so, she heard the sounds of neighing horses and loud chatter outside their tent. She turned her eyes to Athena, who had placed her full pack in front of her.
“What time is it?” Alara asked. Her tone was bored and not really searching for an answer, she had a rough idea though was only trying to start a conversation with Athena. The girl shrugged, her expression seemed as bored as how Alara felt.
“Midday. Steffon and the others have already left if that’s what you’re really asking.” Alara felt guilt in her chest, though it did not show.
She had never really gotten to know Steffon, nor his daughter. She had found Brodin kind enough, as much as Kailan and Athena. Though she could not figure why she felt regret for not waking sooner.
“And where were you? I never heard you come into the tent last night.” Athena sighed and rested her pack against her lap.
“Scattering Nalia’s ashes. Drinking. Remembering. Hating.” Athena spoke the words as if she were reading them from a list, with little emotion and a scaringly plain tone.
Alara finished adjusting her breastplate, and found herself crawling over to Athena. Their eyes met and locked for a moment that felt to have been a few minutes. There was recognition, yet distance. Sympathy yet disappointment, and overall there was fear. These were the traits that Alara saw.
She placed her hand over Athena’s thigh, in an attempt to calm her down. Though all it gained was a brush away. Alara gently pulled back, aware her presence was unneeded, yet she had already set her off.
Athena’s eyes welled up with tears, though her face was red with anger. She stared at the floor like it had committed a crime against her. Her hands clenched tightly, her face boiled up and the tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I will kill them all.” She muttered, before she entirely broke down.
Alara longed to help, though she did not know what else to do. She would have broken down in tears with her to sympathise, though it would have been misplaced and wasted. Instead, Alara thought it to be best if she gave Athena some space. She finished fastening the straps on her armour, and exited the tent.
Sheathing Steel Breaker into her bronze scabbard, Alara set out for a walk. No particular destination, just anywhere which would take her mind off of the stressful recurring events. She walked in between the tents which were slowing being disassembled by the Stark soldiers and bannermen.
Alara was surprised that there were not many mercenaries and sellswords choosing to sail to Andalos, and that many had either resigned their contracts or headed west to fight the Ironborn. Though there had been much talk of death to all the Andal’s, which was unsurprisingly off-putting to most sellswords.
There were few houses outside of the Dreadfort, only some farming homes, stables and the Flayed Drunk - an inn outside the main gates of the Dreadfort. Many of the Stark soldiers had spent their nights at the Flayed Drunk, until they started disappearing and Theon placed the inn off-limits to all of the Stark army. All but the mercenaries and sellswords, bards and storytellers.
Alara made her way to the Flayed Drunk, a two-story stone building with an arched wooden roof. There were few windows, though the few that were there were tinted and barred. Outside the inn were the early morning drinkers, or hungover wakers, which consisted of Boton’s and hired swords.
The front doors were made of dark wood, and creaked as they opened. Alara entered with her wits about her, on full alert. The room was dim, spare the few lanterns that hung from the black beams. Apart from that, the shutters were closed and darkness invaded the room.
Men and women silently drank from their horns, though the silence felt deafening when Alara entered. Some Bolton soldiers stood from their table and pranced around Alara, clearly all drunk. Alara felt her hand move to the hilt of Steel Breaker. One of the men grinned.
“That the blade which killed the Andal Warlord?” He asked, seeming genuinely interested, however his expression screamed otherwise. “Not much, is it.” He mocked, and his grin formed a smirk.
His comrades backed his comment with laughter and support, making Alara feel highly unwelcome. Ignoring the man, she attempted to pass through, though a strong grip tightened around her forearm and pulled her to a halt. She turned her head to the drunken soldier, her deep blue eyes menacing.
“Hands off, Bolton.” She grumbled, causing the man to chuckle.
Alara felt disgust and bile at the back of her throat. She recognised the man, he was the one who tortured a ‘supposed’ Andal spy in the woods. Rechar Greenwood. His boring brown eyes stared into hers, his smirk was unbearing.
“Or what?” His words challenged hers, and he made it known, turning to the rest of the inn. “What could a woman do to me?” Alara found herself grinning now. This.
With her freehand, Alara thrusted her clenched fist into the Bolton’s groin. The man winced and fell to his knees, his drunk counterparts unsheathed their blades. Alara found Steel Breaker already in her hand, she awaited for one of the men to strike.
To her surprise, one of the men had already fallen to the ground unconscious. The other was quick to follow, when the hilt of a bastard sword bashed into his skull. The wielder was a large man, and his appearance was intimidating.
He stood a foot taller than the average man, and his armour added onto his fearsome look. He wore bronze chainmail with rectangular bronze plating clinked into it. His leggings and arms were plated, except for the joints which were protected with more chainmail. However, what was most terrifying about him was his intimidating half helm’s visor. A bronze dragon acted as the masking visor for his helm, and chainmail protected his neck.
Alara backed up, getting prepared the fend an attack from the large brute that approached her. When she realised that she was not his target, she quickly jumped out of the way when the brute lunged his metal boot into Rechar’s ribs.
Rechar’s expression grimaced in pain. He was picked up by the ankle and dragged out the door of the Flayed Drunk. Alara sighed in relief when the man returned with a blood free blade. He stopped in front of Alara and nodded his head.
“Nightingale.” Alara realised she was still holding Steel Breaker. She quickly sheathed the blade back into its scabbard and nodded in return.
“Thank you ser, though I had it under control.” The man chuckled and moved his hands to his bronze helm, pulling it from his head.
The revealing was a stern faced man with a sad smile. His hair was was messy and oiled, falling down to his neck. It matched the colour of straw, and his eyes were like sapphires. Where his angular jaw and dimpled chin made him look his age, his freckled cheeks eschewed a needed look of maturity.
Alara raised an eyebrow, feeling as if she had met the man before though she could not place her finger on where. The man’s sad smile remained, though his eyes seemed to brighten and glimmer.
“Can I buy you a drink, Nightingale?” Alara shrugged and accepted, and the man turned and led her to a quiet table in the corner of the inn while signalling to a barmaid to bring them two drinks.
With one arm around his helm, the other pulled a chair out for Alara. She sat down, appreciating the gesture. He sat down opposite of her and placed his helmet on table. Alara stared at the scratches and dents within the bronze helm, yet it still held a certain fearing look. It was then that she recognised who he was. The First Dragon. Or at least that was his alias, as Nightingale was hers.
“Apologies that you had to witness that, my lady. These Bolton’s aren’t the best representatives of manhood.” Alara smiled, tapping her fingers on the wooden table.
“That’s because they think with their manhood, First Dragon.” Alara received a warm and genuine smile, a rare sight during these troubling times.
“You remember?” Alara nodded, thinking back to her times in the Freehold.
“Valyria, The Bronze Dragons. We might have been a variety of different sellswords, but boy did we achieve a lot. All except learning each other’s names.” The First Dragon smirked, clearly thinking back on old memories.
“Aye, managing to crumble an entire lockstep legion. Those were the times to be alive, and now we sit here defending our lands from invaders. Where did we go wrong?” He grinned, though a depressed look lingered in his eyes.
Two pints of ale were served on the table when the conversation went silent, to which they gave their thanks and the barmaid left them in peace. Alara raised the horn mug in the air.
“To the Bronze Dragons.” She said, proposing a toast.
“Aye, the Bronze Dragons.” The First Dragon remarked, and bashed his mug into Alara’s, sending half the ale into the air.
Before it had splashed down on the table, the First Dragon had already downed his horn and was licking his lips. Alara was playing it sensible, she knew how easily ale could knock her off guard. Instead of making it awkward for herself, she started a conversation.
“So what is your name?” The First Dragon placed his horn on the table, next to his helm.
“I’m Dromon Tarth, brother to the Evenstar: Lord Damon.” He proclaimed, though there seemed to be little pride or achievement in his words. “And you?” Alara shrugged.
“Alara Caron.” Dromon eyed Alara up and down, frowning.
“Forgive me for saying, Alara Caron, but you don’t look like a Caron.” Alara sighed and nodded. My father made that highly apparent to me. Dromon shrugged. “Not that I care. I can’t say I had the lordly typed childhood that everyone proclaims me to have had.” Alara raised her eyebrows, yet smirked as well.
“Oh really?” She smirked, as if to challenge him. The man nodded in return.
“Aye, my father despised me. Disowned me and sent me into exile.” Alara shrugged, taking another drink from her mug.
“My father beat me and treated me like a bastard.” Dromon sighed, flipping his mug upside down.
“And my bastard brother tried to strangle me to death, so I took a ship to Myr.” Alara chuckled and took another sip of her ale.
“You took a ship.” Dromon nodded.
“Aye, and when I got to Myr I fell in love with a woman by the name of Cera Molaire. Daughter of Magister Erakeyes Molaire.” Alara felt unaware where to go with this, so she continued to listen. “I took a job for Erakeyes, in hopes that it would tie me closer to Cera. That job led me to kill the old Magister of Myr, who just happened to have arranged a meeting with the Dragonlords of Valyria. In turn for my life, I had to give them the name of who gave the contract.” He stopped when the barmaid returned.
“Would you like anymore drinks?” She asked, her voice was high pitched and squeaky. Dromon nodded.
“Aye, a gallon for the both of us.” Alara felt her internal dialogue scream to disagree, yet she remained silent. The lady nodded and turned away, Dromon remained silent.
“You were saying, Dromon of Tarth?” Alara said, mocking his highborn title. Dromon smirked, though the smile quickly died.
“I gave them the name, and they burned Erakeyes alive. They took me to the Freehold, as well as Cera. I thought it was love that she and I had, but I was easily mislead. I fought their battles against the Ghiscari, I did my duty. Turns out that I was no longer any use to them, so they paid Cera a large bag of gold dragons and she tried to kill me in the night.” He stopped, placing his armoured hand above his heart. “She missed my heart, but broke it nonetheless. I had to kill her that night, she left me little choice. Turns out she was being paid to keep me happy, and she’d been getting paid to keep others happy too… They used me.” His words were dark and full of hatred, his hand was tightly gripped around the horn mug. Alara felt a deep sense of pity, though she was lost for words.
“I’m sorry to hear it.” She managed to say, though wanted to punch herself for not being so sympathetic. Dromon shrugged.
“So I took a ship back to Westeros. Initially to Tarth, though then I was informed that Tarth was invaded by these Andal forces. So I went to the Riverlands, fought for the Tully’s against the Ironborn. Then knew that I needed to help regain the land that the Andal’s had taken from us. So I came here. I’m glad to see a familiar beautiful face did the same.” Alara felt herself blush, his gaze felt heavy on her.
“I’m glad that you came North, I never thought I’d see any of you lot again.” Dromon nodded and gave the sad smile he had shown when they sat down.
“As am I.” He stated. “As am I.” He repeated. Alara finished her mug of ale, and saw that the gallon was on the way. She turned back to Dromon, who had his eyes fixed on the wooden barrel.
“So, do you plan to head east or west?” Dromon turned his attention back to Alara and shook his head.
“Neither. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve cleansed the North from the Andal grip, Theon is just spilling extra blood for no reason. As for the west, the Ironborn aren’t why I’m up this far north. No, I plan to head south, where the Andal’s are still a threat.” Dromon rested his right hand on his helm. “Of course, I could stay if there were reason to.” He said, smiling. Alara took hint and rolled her eyes.
Alara felt her blood rush through her veins, her heart beat quicken. He informing her she could be the reason for him to stay in the North, which both honoured and worried her. Where she highly despised him leaving without her, and recalling how good a fighter he was, she did not want to pull him from his personal agendas.
The gallon arrived and was placed beside the table. Dromon nodded to the men who carried it, and then poured himself another ale. Alara did the same. After taking a mouthful and swallowing, he placed down his mug and looked Alara in the eyes. His sapphire eyes were pretty to look at… Alara internally shook her head. Stop that, I would never get that kind of relationship from anyone. She had hated giving herself away to another man, as she feared they would only use her and leave her broken. Yet everything Dromon did made Alara think otherwise.
“So, Alara Caron. Do I have a reason to stay?” He asked, his smile was charming and his eyes were somewhat comforting.
Alara crossed her legs, taking a drink from her newly filled mug. When she put it down, she looked him in the eyes. Ready to answer.
Alright, this was a clear vote. Jarden will agree to Lord Ethon's deal.
This was kind of a lose-lose situation. If we hadn't agreed with him then we wouldn't have had the deal in the first place, however now that we have agreed with him, if he ever finds out that his son is missing then he won't be that happy. Anyway, you guys made a good choice for the meanwhile
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]
Alara
The tent was humid and insulated with the air trapped inside, though Alara felt like she was boiling under the thick fur rugs she h… moread laid out in preparation for the cool night. Alara opened her eyes tiredly, there were a number of reasons why she awoke from her deep slumber, and the fact that she felt she was in a furnace was one of them.
The tent was alight with the sun that beat down on it and made its way through the patches, adding onto the unbearable heat. Beside Alara was Athena, on all fours rolling her mattress away. Alara had offered for Athena to spend the night in her tent, out of pity that she had lost everyone she had ever held close. Athena had accepted Alara’s offer, though she had never appeared in the tent in the entire duration of the night, or at least Alara did not think she had.
Alara sat up and let out a deep and long yawn, stretching her arms in the air. This was enough to grab Athena’s attention, whose … [view original content]
Alara
The tent was humid and insulated with the air trapped inside, though Alara felt like she was boiling under the thick fur rugs she h… moread laid out in preparation for the cool night. Alara opened her eyes tiredly, there were a number of reasons why she awoke from her deep slumber, and the fact that she felt she was in a furnace was one of them.
The tent was alight with the sun that beat down on it and made its way through the patches, adding onto the unbearable heat. Beside Alara was Athena, on all fours rolling her mattress away. Alara had offered for Athena to spend the night in her tent, out of pity that she had lost everyone she had ever held close. Athena had accepted Alara’s offer, though she had never appeared in the tent in the entire duration of the night, or at least Alara did not think she had.
Alara sat up and let out a deep and long yawn, stretching her arms in the air. This was enough to grab Athena’s attention, whose … [view original content]
Now, I'm loving this. Alara can surely use someone like Dromon in her life, be it as a friend or a potential romantic interest. Having someone to rely on for once surely sounds like a welcome change. And he did help her against the Bolton men after all, even if he didn't have to. That means, I'm more in favour of trusting him than not. He seems nice enough and Alara surely took a liking to him, so she should keep him close. It's also interesting how they have quite some similarities in terms of backstory, as both Stormlanders with quite the severe problem with their father (or alleged father in Alara's case). This is going to be interesting and I'm curious what might develop out of it As for the rest of the part, man, I feel so sorry for Athena The deaths of Nalia and Kaden shook her at least as bad as they shook Steffon.
Alara
The tent was humid and insulated with the air trapped inside, though Alara felt like she was boiling under the thick fur rugs she h… moread laid out in preparation for the cool night. Alara opened her eyes tiredly, there were a number of reasons why she awoke from her deep slumber, and the fact that she felt she was in a furnace was one of them.
The tent was alight with the sun that beat down on it and made its way through the patches, adding onto the unbearable heat. Beside Alara was Athena, on all fours rolling her mattress away. Alara had offered for Athena to spend the night in her tent, out of pity that she had lost everyone she had ever held close. Athena had accepted Alara’s offer, though she had never appeared in the tent in the entire duration of the night, or at least Alara did not think she had.
Alara sat up and let out a deep and long yawn, stretching her arms in the air. This was enough to grab Athena’s attention, whose … [view original content]
Alara
The tent was humid and insulated with the air trapped inside, though Alara felt like she was boiling under the thick fur rugs she h… moread laid out in preparation for the cool night. Alara opened her eyes tiredly, there were a number of reasons why she awoke from her deep slumber, and the fact that she felt she was in a furnace was one of them.
The tent was alight with the sun that beat down on it and made its way through the patches, adding onto the unbearable heat. Beside Alara was Athena, on all fours rolling her mattress away. Alara had offered for Athena to spend the night in her tent, out of pity that she had lost everyone she had ever held close. Athena had accepted Alara’s offer, though she had never appeared in the tent in the entire duration of the night, or at least Alara did not think she had.
Alara sat up and let out a deep and long yawn, stretching her arms in the air. This was enough to grab Athena’s attention, whose … [view original content]
Alara
The tent was humid and insulated with the air trapped inside, though Alara felt like she was boiling under the thick fur rugs she h… moread laid out in preparation for the cool night. Alara opened her eyes tiredly, there were a number of reasons why she awoke from her deep slumber, and the fact that she felt she was in a furnace was one of them.
The tent was alight with the sun that beat down on it and made its way through the patches, adding onto the unbearable heat. Beside Alara was Athena, on all fours rolling her mattress away. Alara had offered for Athena to spend the night in her tent, out of pity that she had lost everyone she had ever held close. Athena had accepted Alara’s offer, though she had never appeared in the tent in the entire duration of the night, or at least Alara did not think she had.
Alara sat up and let out a deep and long yawn, stretching her arms in the air. This was enough to grab Athena’s attention, whose … [view original content]
Heyyy guys, sorry I haven't posted anything in a while. Things have been pretty hectic lately, with overdue assignments and trying to find time to study for the exams I have in two weeks on top of that. The story hasn't been very high on the priority list, and I apologise. I plan to bring her back in a couple of weeks, three at the most as I may be going on a short holiday after the exams are over. Though I'm super excited to get back! Look forward to seeing those who remain when I return
Heyyy guys, sorry I haven't posted anything in a while. Things have been pretty hectic lately, with overdue assignments and trying to find t… moreime to study for the exams I have in two weeks on top of that. The story hasn't been very high on the priority list, and I apologise. I plan to bring her back in a couple of weeks, three at the most as I may be going on a short holiday after the exams are over. Though I'm super excited to get back! Look forward to seeing those who remain when I return
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal rode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitation. They left the squadron behind to intercept the small Stark battalion that had been pursuing Torv and Rose.
Torrhen’s Square was a sturdy keep, with stone walls standing thirty feet tall and four towers at each corner of the castle. As their destrier was quickly racing to the castle, Torv observed that archers were taking their position atop of the walls. Torv had heard the tales of the square keep being strong and unbroken, this day would test those tales.
The bronze portcullis had already risen by the time Torv and his company had arrived at the gates. They were met by a court full of soldiers, and Lord Samwick Tallhart. Samwick was a burly man, standing over six feet tall, and wearing the heaviest of armour. His bronze plating was also naturally green, and in his hand was his large bronze greatsword - forged and reinforced with other metals to make it stronger than average bronze.
Rose pulled the destrier’s reins, causing the horse to come to a halt. Torv turned back to see Jesse had already dismounted and fallen onto one knee. The fuming lord stormed passed Torv and Rose, to through the main entrance, and stopped once he stood over Jesse. The soldier stared up to the man with pleading eyes, and was quick to receive an armoured backhand. The boy fell to the ground, his hands gravitating towards his bleeding cheek. The impact had been so hard that it had left a dint in Lord Samwick’s gauntlet. The man turned and watched as the squadron they had left behind were cut down by the Stark mass. He turned back to his men, who stared at him eagerly.
Torv got a better look at the man this time, observing his facial features. His brown hair fell down to his mid back, his beard was large and unruly. A scar ran down his left brow, bending around his eye and concluded at his lower cheek. Another ran down his right eye, curving outward than meeting his upper lip. His eyes were a light blue, yet they were menacing and dark. His pale face was fuming red, his teeth were gritted.
“Shut the gates!” He ordered, his tone was a deep growl. He flickered his daring eyes over the impatient men, all looking at him for an answer. “Lock down the keep, we’re under attack.” His last words were silent, and he turned his focus towards Torv.
Without warning, Samwick grabbed hold of Torv’s leg and dragged him off his horse with ease. Torv remained raised in the air for a short moment, before being slammed onto the muddy ground. Torv winced, landing on his gnawed left arm. Before he knew it, Samwick was on top of Torv and had his hands around Torv’s throat.
The gauntlets were cold around his neck, like treading on snow with no footwear. Torv stared up at the portcullis, which slowly descended down towards his head. The sounds of shouting drained from Torv’s thoughts, his vision started to fade as the grip tightened and the air failed to enter. Torv’s eyes met with Rose’s panicked icy blue eyes, which were the last he saw.
No decision this time.
-
Nathan
The trident flowed steadily out towards the sea with the current, however the Dark Current flowed it’s own way. The ship gently battled against the outflowing stream, showing little effort as the winds aided its journey. The ship was dark in every aspect. The wooden was dark, the crew were dark, the sails were black. However among all this darkness, there was a light. The Red Woman: Rayvani of Asshai.
She was a beautiful young woman, her hair was dark red and waved like the light ripples that bounced against the ship. Her eyes were unnaturally white, with orange specs, yet there was an odd beauty that was hidden behind them. Her beautiful physique was tanned from the hot lands of Essos, yet spoiled and hidden under a red dress, patterned with red velvet flames. Around her neck was a metal amulet with a red gem in the centre. Her naturally beautiful breasts were hidden under a thick red scarf, to Nathan’s displeasure.
Her smile was seductive, charming and confident, making Nathan’s feel somewhat brighter. He stared at her with his one good eye, ruffling his black leather gloved hand through his scruffy short dark red hair. Before he could say a word, she had already wrapped one arm around his waist and the other met the back of his shoulder.
Nathan leant in to meet her lips, yet was surprised when he felt her pulling away, his sword along with her. Nathan backed up as Rayvani held the Valyrian Steel blade in her hands, observing the explicit features. Half of the sword was a work of art, forged by the Valyrian Freehold and kissed by the Lord of Light. The other half, however, was a dull handle and crossbar. Nathan found himself smirking.
“Careful with that, love. Wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.” Nathan took a step forward, though was quickly stopped when the sharp foreign steel pointed in his direction. The red girl grinned in turn.
“Then you’d better watch yourself, my flame.” With her final words, she rested her sword arm and met Nathan’s open arms.
Their embracement was warm and somewhat casual, despite all being very far from casual in the past few months. Nathan accepted the embracement with ease, soaking in the warmth from the fire that burned inside her. This cold land would try to extinguish that flame, but she was far stronger than the cold winds realised.
Rayvani broke away, sheathing the valyrian longsword back into Nathan’s scabbard. Nathan observed the strange orange radiance of the steel before it disappeared into his dull scabbard. Nathan’s eye met back with Rayvani’s, who was grinning at him.
“You truly are the one who was promised. R’hllor blessed us when bringing us Lightbringer, and now you will bring Westeros into his light.” Nathan felt his warm feeling extinguish in the cool winds. He turned and leant on the dark wooden balustrade of the ship, staring out to the land he once called home.
“What if you’re wrong about me? Westeros is a vile and cruel place, a land with many different gods.” Nathan felt Rayvani’s soft warm hands through the light red cloth he wore. The warmth brought him both ease and discomfort, he was unsure how to feel about his current position in the grand scheme of his situation.
“There is no need to doubt, my flame. You are R’hllor’s ember, the first flame of Westeros. You will be the one to unite the First Men and Andal’s alike. All under the Lord of Light.” Nathan sighed, still feeling in a state of constant doubt.
“I was banished from my home, red woman. I committed with sacrilege, I should be dead. How do you think my father will fair when he hears of my return.” Nathan spoke more to himself than he did to Rayvani, he weighed the positives with the negatives and only saw a dark conclusion.
“I’ve seen our mission in the flames, I’ve seen us convert the Westerosi from their false gods to the true God. I saw this, and then I watched you get cut down right before my eyes. If it were all a lie, why would he have brought you back? There was a reason, ember.” Nathan felt less discouraged, and slightly more confident than earlier. Regardless, there was still a darkness which haunted his heart.
He turned his eyes to Rayvani, who stared at him with intent and curiosity. Nathan could not help but laugh, it had not been the first time he had caught her looking at him with such a nature.
“Keep staring and you’ll find something you won’t like.” Nathan reassured her, though as expected she shook her head, placing her hand over his beating heart.
“Nothing you can say will sway me from knowing the truth, Nathaniel of House Fisher.” Nathan mockingly raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so?” Nathan smirked, however his eyes lowered as she lifted her long draping dress.
The smooth tanned skin on her legs exposed themselves to Nathan’s view, slowly ascending until reaching her upper thigh. Then as quick as it was to occur, the dress dropped back to the floorboard. Nathan looked back into her eyes and grinned, her seductive smile had won him over.
-
Saltpans was a small fishers town belonging to the Andal house of Cox. The Dark Current had stopped there to restock on supplies, such as food and fresh water, as well as trading foreign items in exchange for gold. Meanwhile, Nathan and Rayvani had disembarked the ship and progressed to the inner market.
The market was filled with activity, ranging from salesmen trying to sell their products, thieves pocketing the rich, whores exchanging their bodies for what few coin they could get, and bards filling the air with such beauty that the average eye would not see any of the negativities.
Nathan and Ryvani strolled through the market, arms linked. The people flowed around them like a running river would flow around a stone. No one paid them much notice, which did not bother Nathan in the slightest. Ryvani, however, had another agenda in mind. She tugged at his arm, leading him towards a wooden sept. Once Nathan noticed where he was being lead he felt his legs entrench themselves firmly into the dirt. Rayvani turned and shot him a menacing glare, which actually surprised him.
“We’re not here to start trouble, Ryv.” Nathan said calmly, though the red woman shook her head irritably.
“How many times must I say that we are here to save them! Their false gods will lead them into a dark life, this is your destiny to save them. We must start small, then grow larger.” Nathan laughed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“Save them? By burning down a sept with people in it?” Ryvani lowered her gaze, clasping Nathan’s hands in her own.
“Our mission will lead to a lot of death, though it is the will of R’hllor. He is the true God, and all who follow the false gods must either convert or burn in their old world.” Nathan stared into Ryvani’s pleading eyes, feeling a variety of different emotions. He finally sighed and nodded, releasing himself from her arms and approaching the sept alone.
The sept was a small building, made entirely out of willow oaks. Nathan chuckled to himself quietly. R’hllor truly wants this one gone. He thought to himself as he entered through the wooden door.
The interior was dim, only lit by a few candles. A few benches sat side by side of each other, on them was a septa and another young woman in travelling clothes. At the far end of the sept was a septon, who bowed in Nathan’s presence.
“Seven blessings, traveller. How might the faith assist you during these troubled mornings?” Nathan took slow footsteps, stopping next to a candle. The flame danced in the reflection of his eye, though there was more to it than just that. He turned back to the septon, who stared at him with eager brown eyes.
“Your gods can do nothing for me, old man. You would be wise to usher these one’s out of here, unless you wish for them to die as well.” The septon stared at Nathan with such disbelief that Nathan almost believed he was about to burst up with laugher.
Nathan turned his gaze to the two women quietly whispering on the bench. One of the women looked to be in her early twenties, with fair skin and wavy blonde hair. Her eyes were aqua, and she wore thick travelling cloaks.
Nathan unsheathed Lightbringer, the orange glow emitting from the magical steel. He turned and hovered the blade over the candle flame, which ignited the entirety of the blade. He turned to the blonde lady, feeling somewhat pitiful.
“Leave.” He grumbled, and the girl quickly rose and left. The septa attempted to do the same, though Nathan blocked her off before she could reach the door.
He pushed the young woman back towards the old septon, who now appeared to be soiling himself in defecate. Nathan took a step towards them, and watched them stumble a few steps back. The girl fell to her knees, and starting repeating a prayer to the mother. The septon stared at Nathan with hatred in his eyes.
“May the stranger take you, old god fanatic.” The septon cursed, spitting on the floor beneath him. Nathan glared at the man with a menace gaze.
“I’m no follower of the old gods, old man. Nor the Seven or any other false gods. I am Nathaniel Fisher, R’hllor’s Ember and the Last Flame. Warrior to a true god.” The Septon shook his head miserably.
“First Men filth.” He managed to say, his voice breaking as tears began to stream down his eyes. He lifted his gaze, his eyes red from the tears. “Do what you have to do, pyromancer. Know you will burn in all the Seven Hells for the crime you are about to commit.” Nathan could not help but grin.
“Nothing would please me more.” Before the old man could say another word, Nathan swung Lightbringer down on him.
The blade entered through the man’s shoulder, and exited through his lower waist. His robes caught alight, and soon the tapestries along the walls after that. The septa beside him wailed and clasped her hands together, as Nathan prepared to strike her down. Tears streamed down her eyes, though this was Nathan’s destiny. He lifted the blade into the air, preparing to cut her down.
“R’hllor have mercy! Please! I beg you, I’ll serve you!” Nathan found himself hesitating, the words caught him off guard. We are here to convert the people, not slaughter them. He thought, though he wondered how Ryvani would respond to him sparing her life. He presumed she would not take it well, as he had been informed to burn down the sept and those in it. R’hllor have mercy. Nathan remarked, staring at the pleading woman in front of him.
Torv
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal … morerode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitati… [view original content]
I am so happy that this story is back at last It was a great part as well, an interesting new PoV. As for my reasoning behind this choice, I agree with Wildling. With a manipulative Red Priestess around, it is for the best to do things she does not expect and does not approve of. Stannis would have probably lasted a lot longer without Melisandre's poisonous advice and I believe this will be good for Nathan as well. And oh, Torv This does not look good for him.
Torv
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal … morerode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitati… [view original content]
Well, I have heard that this story was great all around and now that I finally decided to start on it, it is safe to say that is correct. This story is excellent and now I need to catch up completely! On the choice though, I will have to agree with the others on this one and [Spare her]. I won't go into the reasons too much on this one since my reasons align with what has been said, but overall awesome part!
Torv
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal … morerode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitati… [view original content]
[Spare her] Great comeback and great parts! I'm satisfied with the way you decided to go with Nathan character - exactly how I would have done that - Faithful R'hllor follower, vulnerable to Priestress influence, but also with his own mind and own personality. Lookin' forward to next part, super excited with that.
Torv
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal … morerode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitati… [view original content]
Well, I have heard that this story was great all around and now that I finally decided to start on it, it is safe to say that is correct. Th… moreis story is excellent and now I need to catch up completely! On the choice though, I will have to agree with the others on this one and [Spare her]. I won't go into the reasons too much on this one since my reasons align with what has been said, but overall awesome part!
Thank you! I have an idea for an character I am wanting to contribute for your story but I am not sure how it fits in with this time period. So I will send you a pm and you can judge for yourself!
Torv
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal … morerode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitati… [view original content]
I think I'll make it the next part :P I've actually been tasked to write a short novel in my English class, which I'm basing on an escape attempt from Alcatraz prison. It's due in three weeks, so I'm going to have to put some attention into that, though I'll try and split the time evenly so that I can still get the rhythm of this story going again. So Samira's next part should be in a couple of days
I think I'll make it the next part :P I've actually been tasked to write a short novel in my English class, which I'm basing on an escape at… moretempt from Alcatraz prison. It's due in three weeks, so I'm going to have to put some attention into that, though I'll try and split the time evenly so that I can still get the rhythm of this story going again. So Samira's next part should be in a couple of days
Anyway, so maybe it might be a good idea to close this voting? Sorry, kinda forgot about it with this busy week of buying a new phone XD So I think it's pretty clear that Nathan is going to spare her.
This choice wasn't so much important in the big scheme of things, however it is definitely a huge part to Nathan's development. We've now introduced mercy, and with that there is sympathy and doubt, which perhaps is not that good for a follower of R'hllor. However, we will see where this leads to in the future, as it will not have so much of an impact in these earlier stages :P
Anyway, I'm planning on getting two parts out by the end of this weekend (let's hope that's not just a dream). I'm going to start writing the Samira part that I promised earlier, and then I'll be introducing another new character: Warrick Westerling. However, it's been a long time since we last saw Samira so I think I should give you lot a recap.
Samira is an Andal spy who is working under cover in a very Andal hated land, also known as our lovable Westeros! Recently, we watched as she plotted to kill the Barrow King Dustin of the North, which ultimately led to her fleeing the North for her own safety. She chose to make her way to the Vale, and is currently on her way there as I boringly type out this recap! Best I get to it then XD
Torv
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal … morerode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitati… [view original content]
The Trident flowed outward to the Bay of Crabs when Samira had made haste to the ferry that would take her to Maidenpool. She had been lucky, very lucky. Samira had sat in the Sept of Saltpans, speaking with Septa Talia, the sister of one of Samira’s colleagues: Dalia. When the fanatic charged in with his flaming sword, the Seven had acted kindly on sparing her life. However, she feared the worst for Septa Talia, and dreaded what she would have to tell her sister when arriving at Maidenpool.
The small wooden rowing boat was manned by a young teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He was a dirty young man, covered in grime and filth, however it did not bother Samira in the slightest. Her line of work had entitled her to do beneath average jobs, and she was easy to grow accustomed to what was given to her.
Samira eyed the boy over, his scruffy short black hair which he continued to itch was persuading enough for her to distance herself. His stretched shirt and tattered shorts were filthy, and his skin was as pale as white sand. However he had a grand smile, and seemed to appreciate the small chatter that Samira put forward, despite his teeth being stained a dark yellow.
His small arms rowed with a quick and hard stroke in the calm outflowing river, only resting when his head required itching. It had been a little while since their last small talk, and Samira had been taking in the sights. The land was green and rich with soil, fresh and unlike the dirty cities of Andalos. She had only been to Andalos a few times, though she knew well enough that she was better off behind the enemy lines.
The clearing of the boy’s throat grasped Samira’s attention, her eyes flickering towards him. His dull brown eyes met hers, along with his jovial smile.
“So were you born in the Riverlands, m’lady?” He asked, his eyes staring at her with intent, and his smile still gleaming.
Samira felt the same old lie come to the tip of her tongue, however she halted herself before speaking it. Do I really need to be afraid of a ferryboy? She wondered, searching his eyes for discretion. She had a knack for knowing who to trust, and this boy seemed harmless, or good at what he did. She decided it would be best to avoid the question.
“No, but I grew up in the Fingers.” Samira observed the boy’s eyebrow lift.
“The Fingers? I’m sorry, m’lady. I’m sure the Andal’s have caused your family a great grief.” His tone seemed genuinely upset, though Samira still felt unsure about where to place her finger on him. Not likely. She thought, her mind drifting off to her past.
She had been born in Andalos, though at a young age she had moved to Westeros with her parents: Alma and Yerik. Her father had put all his attention into working with the new lands, as he was a farmer at heart. Her mother had worked as a seamstress, so she did what she could to earn some coin for the family. Though it was Samira’s younger sister, Aselle, who Samira was the closest with. She was the kindest and brightest girl Samira had ever known, and they were all taken away from her by the First Men.
Samira tapped her fingers along the edge of the wooden framing, their conversation had gone quiet. She broke the silence with a long sigh, her travelling clothes were uncomfortable and she longed to strip out of them. She would have done it now, and bathed in the freezing stream, if the rower were older than he was. She respected innocence, as hers had been broken at such a young age. She now felt condemned to speak, for his sake.
“How about you? Where were you born?” The boy shrugged, his arms growing tired from rowing. He took a break and scratched his head, clearly finding some satisfaction in doing so.
“Born and raised in Maidenpool, m’lady.” Samira nodded.
“And how long have you been rowing people from one side of the Trident to the other?” Samira asked, giving a genuine smile. The boy seemed to replicate the smile and add more, which Samira found oddly sweet.
“Since I was old enough to reach the oars, I’ve been rowing. Just like my father, and his father before him. My father always says that there is more to life than just rowing, something more expensive than coins. He says I’m not old enough to understand yet.” Samira found herself smiling, once again looking him up and down. He seemed old enough.
“Would you like to know what that special something is?” Samira asked, her tone of voice had lowered to a whisper, almost coming off as seductive. She watched as the boy gulped, and nodded. Samira smirked.
“Secrets.” She finally said. “Gossip, rumours and anything which gives knowledge to the current stasis of the land.” Samira observed the confusion build up on the boy’s face.
“What good are gossip and rumours, I thought that was just women’s talk.” He quickly lowered his head and grabbed the oars again, starting to row. “No disrespect, m’lady. Father says you should never disrespect a woman.” Samira allowed herself to giggle, which she could see the red build up in the boy’s cheeks.
“What’s your name, boy?” The boy looked up, his brown eyes looking directly into hers.
“Dallop, m’lady.” Samira raised her eyebrow, though was not going to judge.
“I’m Samira. I think your father is a very wise and respectful man, you take after him very closely.” She complimented, and saw the smile return to his lips. Samira decided to take their conversation a little further.
“So what do you think rumours are good for?” Dallop looked up, his eyes showed concentration. He had stopped rowing as a consequence.
“Learning things?” He asked, almost as if he was directing it at himself. Samira smiled.
“Better yet, understanding things. People and society, you learn a lot by the way people talk. How the society works, how the people feel about it.” Samira couldn’t help but grin and cross her arms, covering her seemingly larger breasts, as she saw where his eyes were looking. His face blushed and his eyes lowered. He began to row again.
“Sorry, m’lady.” He began, seemingly lost for words. “I…” Samira shook her head, placing her hand on his. She felt his the muscles tense up in his hand due to the rowing.
“How old are you?” She finally asked, removing her hand. The boy looked up and shrugged.
“Sixteen and a bit. Don’t know the exact day.” Samira raised her eyebrows, she had guessed wrong. He was older than she had thought.
“Have you been with a woman before?” She asked, feeling slightly nervous for asking, which was something she was surprised about. Dallop shook his head.
“No one sleeps with a ferry boy.” He stated, as if he was retelling himself. Samira felt pretty certain she knew the answer to her next question, so she did not bother to pose it. Instead she changed the topic.
“So are you the only ferry boy in Maidenpool?” Dallop quickly shook his head.
“No, m’lady. There are over a dozen of us, though no one tends to notice us. We don’t get attention from girls or many who want to cross the Trident. Only those who seek a quick and silent escape. We barely make a living on it though, we all pitch in to get food and fresh water.” Samira nodded, understanding the harsh conditions.
“Then perhaps you would like to work for me.” She proclaimed, and watched as the boy lifted his eyes with curiosity. “Collect gossip and rumours and bring them to me, and I’ll reward each one who tells me something new with a gold coin.” Samira watched as Dallop’s eyes came to life, gleaming in the sunlight.
“A gold coin, m’lady?” He asked with disbelief, and she nodded. However she now felt her seductive charm kicking in as she rested her hand on his thigh.
“Maybe something more for you.” She added, watching as his eyebrows lifted. “Do you accept?” Dallop’s head nodded with such intensity that she wondered if it would fling off of his neck and into the river. She smiled in response. Good.
-
Dallop jumped onto the wooden pier, a line in one hand and a bag of copper pennies in the other. He tied the line around a corroding wooden post, which Samira pondered on whether it would snap if anything heavier were to rely on it. Dallop extended his hand to Samira, to which she accepted it graciously, and helped her onto the pier.
She stood a head taller than him, however it did not bother her. He had proven himself as a gentleman, and an asset to her, which was all that mattered. Her eyes looked down at his, which seemed to be praising her every movement.
“Would you recommend a place for a woman to rest?” She asked, smiling as her honeyed words clearly left a good impact on him.
“The Stinking Goose. It’s hidden to most, though locals know how to find it. Would you like me to take you there?” Samira shook her head, though smiled all the same.
“I’m sure I’ll find it.” She said while tapping her forehead, with another implication. “Go seek out your friends, tell them of my offer. Those who meet me at this Stinking Goose by the end of the week will get their pay. Understood?” Dallop nodded once again, this time it was calmer and more convincing.
“See you soon, m’lady.” Samira smiled.
“I look forward to it, and please. Call me Samira.” The boy nodded, though Samira was already walking before he could say anymore.
The ferry trip had taken up most of the day, and the sun was starting to set in the west. From her talk with Septa Talia, Samira had learnt that Dalia worked in the Japing Kitchens, below the Great Hall of Maidenpool’s Great Hall. However, Samira was tired and fearing that she may come across as rough if she were to barge in and find Dalia. However she feared she had no time to waste, and wished to find this corrupted colleague as soon as possible.
[Rest at the Stinking Goose] [Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens]
Samira
The Trident flowed outward to the Bay of Crabs when Samira had made haste to the ferry that would take her to Maidenpool. She had … morebeen lucky, very lucky. Samira had sat in the Sept of Saltpans, speaking with Septa Talia, the sister of one of Samira’s colleagues: Dalia. When the fanatic charged in with his flaming sword, the Seven had acted kindly on sparing her life. However, she feared the worst for Septa Talia, and dreaded what she would have to tell her sister when arriving at Maidenpool.
The small wooden rowing boat was manned by a young teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He was a dirty young man, covered in grime and filth, however it did not bother Samira in the slightest. Her line of work had entitled her to do beneath average jobs, and she was easy to grow accustomed to what was given to her.
Samira eyed the boy over, his scruffy short black hair which he continued to itch was persuading enough for her to distance … [view original content]
[Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens] From what I have read in the recap, I really like Samira's character and am pretty excited to see her mission unfold. I would say searching for Dalia is probably the best choice at this point, she will have time to rest later!
Samira
The Trident flowed outward to the Bay of Crabs when Samira had made haste to the ferry that would take her to Maidenpool. She had … morebeen lucky, very lucky. Samira had sat in the Sept of Saltpans, speaking with Septa Talia, the sister of one of Samira’s colleagues: Dalia. When the fanatic charged in with his flaming sword, the Seven had acted kindly on sparing her life. However, she feared the worst for Septa Talia, and dreaded what she would have to tell her sister when arriving at Maidenpool.
The small wooden rowing boat was manned by a young teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He was a dirty young man, covered in grime and filth, however it did not bother Samira in the slightest. Her line of work had entitled her to do beneath average jobs, and she was easy to grow accustomed to what was given to her.
Samira eyed the boy over, his scruffy short black hair which he continued to itch was persuading enough for her to distance … [view original content]
There's no rest for the wicked and no rest for Samira either. Her thoughts in the final sentence of this part make me believe there might indeed be no time to waste and from everything we've seen of her so far, I am sure her social skills are good enough to function even if she is tired. There'll be time to rest later, I hope.
Samira
The Trident flowed outward to the Bay of Crabs when Samira had made haste to the ferry that would take her to Maidenpool. She had … morebeen lucky, very lucky. Samira had sat in the Sept of Saltpans, speaking with Septa Talia, the sister of one of Samira’s colleagues: Dalia. When the fanatic charged in with his flaming sword, the Seven had acted kindly on sparing her life. However, she feared the worst for Septa Talia, and dreaded what she would have to tell her sister when arriving at Maidenpool.
The small wooden rowing boat was manned by a young teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He was a dirty young man, covered in grime and filth, however it did not bother Samira in the slightest. Her line of work had entitled her to do beneath average jobs, and she was easy to grow accustomed to what was given to her.
Samira eyed the boy over, his scruffy short black hair which he continued to itch was persuading enough for her to distance … [view original content]
Samira
The Trident flowed outward to the Bay of Crabs when Samira had made haste to the ferry that would take her to Maidenpool. She had … morebeen lucky, very lucky. Samira had sat in the Sept of Saltpans, speaking with Septa Talia, the sister of one of Samira’s colleagues: Dalia. When the fanatic charged in with his flaming sword, the Seven had acted kindly on sparing her life. However, she feared the worst for Septa Talia, and dreaded what she would have to tell her sister when arriving at Maidenpool.
The small wooden rowing boat was manned by a young teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He was a dirty young man, covered in grime and filth, however it did not bother Samira in the slightest. Her line of work had entitled her to do beneath average jobs, and she was easy to grow accustomed to what was given to her.
Samira eyed the boy over, his scruffy short black hair which he continued to itch was persuading enough for her to distance … [view original content]
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Jaycen
A warm breeze flew through the opened shutters into Jaycen’s chambers. He laid under the light sheets of his bed, his body sunken into the comfortable mattress beneath him. Beside him lay his wife, Lady Meghan.
He rolled himself over, observing the features of his wife. Her placid calm face had few wrinkles, and was barely affected from her age. Her light brown hair covered her pillow, the greying strands visible among the gathering of brown and orange.
Jaycen pulled himself up, resting on his elbow. He stared at her closed smooth eyelids, hiding beneath were the most beautiful eyes he had ever laid witness on. Her eyes were amber, much like that of a kitten. Jaycen found himself smiling, even as she slept she still displayed a dignified expression.
This warm feeling was as quick to come as it was to leave. Jaycen sighed and sat up, the sun beamed through the open window. Beyond that was a view of dry marchlands, nothing but rocks and grass with minimal trees. The land which his eldest son, Ryman, had been slain on. Jaycen felt his grip of the silk sheets tighten, his heart beat quicker.
He removed the sheets, exposing his bare skin to the warm air. His manhood hung loose, and his legs worked tiredly as he stood himself up. Activities which a man wouldn’t bat an eye on in his youth had now added onto the daily struggles in Jaycen’s older age. He may have only been in his mid-fifties, but he felt old nonetheless.
Jaycen grabbed the black trousers which rested on the cool stone floor, which had been left there since the previous night’s frenzy. Lazily slipping on his trousers, Jaycen heard the sound of chatter outside his chambers and down the hall. No doubt the guard. He thought with an unconvinced tone. Every morning he had heard their chatter, and every morning he had gone to reassure himself that they were indeed who he thought.
The bronze knob released the locks holding the acacian door shut. It opened inwards, without any creaks. Jaycen popped his head out the door, peering down the hall. Sure enough there stood the two household guards, Jorik and Kaleb.
Jorik was an older man compared to Kaleb, however much younger than Jaycen. He stood tall, with a bronze-tipped spear in one hand and a wooden shield in the other. Resting in his scabbard was a bronze longsword. Kaleb’s attire matched Jorik’s, a padded coat dotted with black nightingales on a yellow field.
Jaycen sighed in relief, pulling his head back into the safety of his room before quietly shutting the door. He was not in a presentable form, with only trousers on and a bare chest. A red stubble had grown as well, which would be needed to shave off. Jaycen decided this would be his current task.
He turned around with quiet footsteps, though his mission of silence had not prevailed. Sitting upright and stretching her arms, Lady Meghan let out a soft yawn. Jaycen’s tense shoulders slacked off, his body relaxed yet his heart still beat like a thunderous storm. He loved the woman that sat in front of him, yet he could not find it in his heart to forgive her for what she did to him.
Jaycen walked towards the wooden basin without saying a word. On the stone wall was a small mirror with wooden frames, Jaycen stared at himself in the reflection. His age had taken its toll on his face, leaving it thin with fine wrinkles visible. His skin was slightly tanned from the many years spent in the sunlight. His head was shaven bald, and his intentions to remove the light stubble would leave only his graying eyebrows as the remaining hair on his face.
Though it was not how much his age had caught up to him which gave him shame, though it was that he was only with one eye. His green eye stared at himself with such cold hostility that it sent shivers down his spine. The other was the remnants of a stabbing wound, a closed scar, which further reminded him off the death of his son.
Jaycen reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the black leather eyepatch, his hands clenched tightly around it. Veins exposed themselves to the surface of Jaycen’s light brown forearm, his anger seemed to fume and evaporate once he felt the warm hands course over his hairy shoulders. Jaycen looked back into the mirror, his tired-looking wife stood behind him, laying kisses from his shoulders up to his neck.
“You treated me good last night. It’s been a long time.” Jaycen felt his grip around the eyepatch release, he lifted it to his head and placed it over his scarred socket.
“I’m sorry.” Jaycen spoke quietly, his words were unconfident when he was around his wife. Jaycen felt his neck turn, his eye meet with Meghan’s amber eyes. They showed sympathy, and also something else. Love.
“You don’t need to be. I understand.” Her words spoke directly to his heart, which beated with a furious rage. Jaycen wanted to forgive her, yet his heart did not.
He shook his head, turning his muscled body towards hers. Her physique had stayed almost perfect since her youth, though five pregnancies has slightly ruined her perfect figure. Jaycen grabbed both her hands and managed to form a fake smile, a sympathetic smile. He would have kissed her if he had found the courage, though all that lingered was something depressed and pitiful.
Her hands left his first, as they always seemingly had. Her smile had faded, and her dignity had reappeared. She stared at Jaycen with a dutiful and professional expression, adding onto Jaycen’s uncomfort.
“Will you leave with the rider?” Her question sounded more of a demand, yet Jaycen remained calm and nodded his head sternly.
“Qarlton wants to me to see him, so I’ll go see him.” Jaycen’s words set a cold atmosphere around the two, separating them from each other.
Meghan turned and made her way back to the bed, where she bent over and picked up her dress. She held it to her breasts, covering her sensitive parts. Jaycen already felt the tensity in the room, though he wished to take it no further.
He turned back to the mirror, staring back at the broken man with the saddened face. The stubbled face. Jaycen picked up the bronze razor and brought it to his upper cheek, where he began.
-
Jaycen exited the room in his regular attire: black trousers, polished black leather boots and a black silk coat with grey nightingales patterned on it. Finally, he wore a yellow sash with a field of nightingales as well. He held the pride of his house on his shoulders, and it brought him a great sense of honour.
Walking down the hallway towards the stone staircase, both Jorik and caleb bowed in Jaycen’s presence. Jaycen nodded to the men in return, and got a short glimpse of both of them before passing and descending the staircase.
Jorik was a humble and jovial man, with a well-kept black beard which was clearly groomed. His slicked hair rested under the bronze morion helm. He wore a simple yellow padded coat with black nightingales patterned over it. It was the attire of the household guard, the soldiers would wear scaled bronze armour with a tabard of House Caron instead. Kaleb wore identical clothing, however his face was cleanly shaved like Jaycen’s, and he was only a young man.
The stairs led down to the Tweeting Hall, a large and open room which allowed most of the fresh air to enter as it pleased. The room was mostly empty, spare the household guard and the familiar face at the bottom of the staircase.
Bethany greatly resembled the beauty of her mother, which both disturbed and pleased Jaycen. However, Jaycen found his daughter to be the most accepting of him, and he was able to get along with her well enough.
She stood wearing a boring plain yellow dress, however her hair screamed to differ in her bland appearance. Bethany wore her auburn hair in long locks, which she often styled in numerous different ways. This day she had simply tied it into a loose pony tail, however it was highly attracting and beautiful. Her amber eyes with green specks stared at the floor, her melodic voice filled the hall with a soothing calmness.
Jaycen smiled and met her eyes once he reached her level, her grin was warm and wide. The two embraced, which it had been a long time since they had done so. Jaycen harnessed the feeling, he knew it was something he rarely received. Her hair scented of wildflowers out in the large meadows north of Nightsong.
“I feared you would leave without saying goodbye.” She said, her words were muffled in Jaycen’s shoulder. He held her tightly and rested his head against hers.
“Never, my sweet daughter. How long have you been waiting here?” She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders.
“A while.” She finally admitted, and Jaycen felt a sense of regret hang over him. He pulled himself away and looked her in the eyes.
“Well I’m glad I could see you. Where is Gareth?” Jaycen watched as her smile faded and formed a look of disapproval.
“Outside, with the horses.” She muttered, lowering her gaze to the floor. Jaycen ignored the thoughts of his son, focussing on the matter at hand. He lifted his daughter’s chin, staring into her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Bethany’s eyes met Jaycen’s, and it broke him when he saw them flooded with tears. Without a thought, Jaycen pulled her back into their tight embrace, her sobs were muffled in his coat.
“Everyone’s leaving, father.” She finally managed. “Briala, Ryman, Alara, now you and Gareth.” Jaycen felt a mixture of emotions: confusion, regret, despair. The list went on, though eventually faded in the back of Jaycen’s mind.
“I miss them too, Beth. Though Gareth is not going anywhere, he’s the lord of Nightsong while I’m gone.” Jaycen felt Bethany free herself from his grip, her eyes showed a lack of empathy, she shook her head.
“He’s saddling his horse.” She sobbed. “He claims he’s going with you, and no one can stop him.” Jaycen felt his face go red with anger, disappointment flushed through him.
“I’ll show him who can stop him.” Jaycen retorted, grabbing Bethany’s forearm. “Come on.” He growled unintentionally, his order and the pulling of her wrist. He instantly regretted it and released her, storming for the main doors.
The guards bowed and open the doors for Jaycen as he approached, a blinding sun reaching his only eye. Jaycen lifted his hand and obscured the sunlight from his face, descending the steps down to the main courtyard.
Once his eyes had adjusted to the new and sudden lighting, Jaycen identified two men on horseback. One of those men was Keat Musgood, the Dornish Andal. His brown hair blew in the wind, his bronze armour shined in the glistening hot sun. He wore his Connington tabard, which was repulsive from the dust that had stained it.
Beside him sat the charming man he called his son: Gareth. He was a resemblance of Lord Jaycen in his younger years, with short red hair and green eyes. He was tall and muscular, handsome. He wore bronze scaled armour, with a longsword in his scabbard.
Jaycen stopped a few metres from Gareth, who stared down at him with a stern face - replicating his father’s expression. Their eyes met and locked, fighting for authority. Shame and disappointment haunted Jaycen’s expression, where duty and recklessness coursed Gareth’s.
It was Bethany’s silent sobs which finally convinced Gareth to pull his gaze away. He dismounted his horse and ran to his sister, who fell into his arms as he arrived. The two held each other in a tight lock, Gareth turned and sent a scowl in Jaycen’s direction.
“What have you done to her!” Gareth’s words attempt to pierce Jaycen like daggers would any other man, though they were easily deflected.
“You did this to her, boy. Claiming you were leaving for war.” Jaycen watched as his son’s face redenned, his eyes showed a fury which Jaycen had never seen before. He stood straight and tall, walking over to Jaycen.
“My place is out there, with you. Who is to lead our army when your old bones crumple in the battlefield?” Jaycen could identify the mockery through his thick charisma. Jaycen shook his head.
“You’re place is here, with my family. What if the skirmishers return? Do you expect me to stand for my wife and daughter being slaughtered, all become my son was too pigheaded to stay and do his duty.” Jaycen watched his son’s anger boil up, though to his surprise it was not released.
“There are more experienced men which would take over, whether I was here or not. I’ve already sent riders to Blackhaven. Mother and Bethany will be staying in the safety of grandfather, Lord Edric. In return he is sending his men and my cousins to protect Nightsong while we’re gone.” Gareth shifted his weight from one leg to another. “I won’t be left to die here like Ryman, and I won’t be sent away like Alara. I’m coming with you, where I am truly needed.” Jaycen started into his son’s eyes with pure disbelief.
Gareth had grown into a man, though not the man that would be the future lord of House Caron. Jaycen felt his emotions coursing through him, yelling at him to shout at his son. Though perhaps that was not the strongest approach. Jaycen feared for his family out of the most, and was somewhat impressed from the drastic measures that Gareth had taken to secure their safety, he wanted to send Gareth with them. However he knew that his place was at Nightsong, though he also knew that Gareth would hate him if he were to leave him there. Jaycen sighed and turned to Keat Musgood, who nodded in accordance.
[Bring Gareth with you] [Leave him at Nightsong] [Send him to Blackhaven]
[Bring Gareth with you]
Enjoyed this part a lot, because of the details you put in descriptions. Was nice to read!
Believe me, submitted characters so so much easier to work with than my own custom created crap. I really enjoyed writing this part, as it is shown through the detail in this part, I'm really happy to hear you enjoyed it as well!
Sure I did - can't wait for another part! And you even submitted 2 parts in 2 days - so cool, I guess because of the weekend? :-D
Great part! I'm loving the Nightsong parts and how the Carons interact with each other. They are a broken, enjoyable mess of a family. Sadly, I got the feeling this will be the last interaction between them for a very long time, perhaps even forever if anything happens to Jaycen or his family while they are separated.
[Send him to Blackhaven]
This is a hard decision for me. However, in the end I took a look at Jaycen's family relationships and that helped me decide. There is Meghan and complicated doesn't even begin to describe their relationship. There is Gareth, who shows nothing but open disdain. There is Alara, whose relationship to him is even worse. And there is Bethany, his last truly positive family contact. I don't want to risk this relationship by risking Gareth's life, especially as she previously begged him to stay with her. What if Gareth dies on the battlefield? Bethany would never forgive Jaycen for that. Meanwhile, even if Gareth is allowed to come, it is unlikely his opinion of Jaycen is going to change, not unless Jaycen himself changes, which is equally unlikely. Another argument in favour of sending him to Blackhaven is his position as Jaycen's last living son. He is the heir to Nightsong and risking him sounds foolish, considering that the survival of the House depends on him. As the heir, he has responsibilities and as much as he'd probably love to march to war, these responsibilities require of him to secure the future of his house, by staying alive.
Indeedly so, that seems to be the only time I have for it at the moment
[Send him to Blackhaven]
Good part!
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal]
[Send him to Blackhaven]
[Bring Gareth with you]
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal]
[Agree with Lord Ethon’s deal]
Alara
The tent was humid and insulated with the air trapped inside, though Alara felt like she was boiling under the thick fur rugs she had laid out in preparation for the cool night. Alara opened her eyes tiredly, there were a number of reasons why she awoke from her deep slumber, and the fact that she felt she was in a furnace was one of them.
The tent was alight with the sun that beat down on it and made its way through the patches, adding onto the unbearable heat. Beside Alara was Athena, on all fours rolling her mattress away. Alara had offered for Athena to spend the night in her tent, out of pity that she had lost everyone she had ever held close. Athena had accepted Alara’s offer, though she had never appeared in the tent in the entire duration of the night, or at least Alara did not think she had.
Alara sat up and let out a deep and long yawn, stretching her arms in the air. This was enough to grab Athena’s attention, whose apologetic eyes shot at Alara. Shock and fear seemed to haunt her face.
“Did I wake you?” She asked, her voice shaking as if she were cold. Alara shook her head.
“It’s Dorne in here, throw open the flaps will you?” Alara’s voice was tired and monotone, she felt unalert and prone to danger. Athena followed her order without hesitation, throwing open the tent flap.
A cool breeze flowed in, nipping at Alara’s bear skin. She had not dared strip entirely, knowing she was in a camp filled with a majority of men, though she had relaxed enough to remove her light armour.
Alara felt herself pulling the rugs closer to her body to consume their warmth, which surprised her. Her intentions were to wake, though she felt happy to stay relaxed and in comfort. She turned her gaze to Athena, to which she noticed was staring right back at her. Her non matching eyes scoured over Alara with some odd fashion.
“Your hair looks good down.” She commented, before turning her attention back to her mattress which she was now tying onto her pack.
Alara felt her hand twirling her long pitch black hair around her fingers. This was the reason she was hated by her father, because of her hair and eye colour. Her feeling of insecurity made her reach for her hair tie, to which she tied her hair into a strict bun. She received a disappointed glance from Athena, though nothing else.
Alara forced herself to leave the warmth of the fur rugs, which she found far more difficult than it should have been. Completing her task, she then reached for her armour, which she began to put on. While doing so, she heard the sounds of neighing horses and loud chatter outside their tent. She turned her eyes to Athena, who had placed her full pack in front of her.
“What time is it?” Alara asked. Her tone was bored and not really searching for an answer, she had a rough idea though was only trying to start a conversation with Athena. The girl shrugged, her expression seemed as bored as how Alara felt.
“Midday. Steffon and the others have already left if that’s what you’re really asking.” Alara felt guilt in her chest, though it did not show.
She had never really gotten to know Steffon, nor his daughter. She had found Brodin kind enough, as much as Kailan and Athena. Though she could not figure why she felt regret for not waking sooner.
“And where were you? I never heard you come into the tent last night.” Athena sighed and rested her pack against her lap.
“Scattering Nalia’s ashes. Drinking. Remembering. Hating.” Athena spoke the words as if she were reading them from a list, with little emotion and a scaringly plain tone.
Alara finished adjusting her breastplate, and found herself crawling over to Athena. Their eyes met and locked for a moment that felt to have been a few minutes. There was recognition, yet distance. Sympathy yet disappointment, and overall there was fear. These were the traits that Alara saw.
She placed her hand over Athena’s thigh, in an attempt to calm her down. Though all it gained was a brush away. Alara gently pulled back, aware her presence was unneeded, yet she had already set her off.
Athena’s eyes welled up with tears, though her face was red with anger. She stared at the floor like it had committed a crime against her. Her hands clenched tightly, her face boiled up and the tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I will kill them all.” She muttered, before she entirely broke down.
Alara longed to help, though she did not know what else to do. She would have broken down in tears with her to sympathise, though it would have been misplaced and wasted. Instead, Alara thought it to be best if she gave Athena some space. She finished fastening the straps on her armour, and exited the tent.
Sheathing Steel Breaker into her bronze scabbard, Alara set out for a walk. No particular destination, just anywhere which would take her mind off of the stressful recurring events. She walked in between the tents which were slowing being disassembled by the Stark soldiers and bannermen.
Alara was surprised that there were not many mercenaries and sellswords choosing to sail to Andalos, and that many had either resigned their contracts or headed west to fight the Ironborn. Though there had been much talk of death to all the Andal’s, which was unsurprisingly off-putting to most sellswords.
There were few houses outside of the Dreadfort, only some farming homes, stables and the Flayed Drunk - an inn outside the main gates of the Dreadfort. Many of the Stark soldiers had spent their nights at the Flayed Drunk, until they started disappearing and Theon placed the inn off-limits to all of the Stark army. All but the mercenaries and sellswords, bards and storytellers.
Alara made her way to the Flayed Drunk, a two-story stone building with an arched wooden roof. There were few windows, though the few that were there were tinted and barred. Outside the inn were the early morning drinkers, or hungover wakers, which consisted of Boton’s and hired swords.
The front doors were made of dark wood, and creaked as they opened. Alara entered with her wits about her, on full alert. The room was dim, spare the few lanterns that hung from the black beams. Apart from that, the shutters were closed and darkness invaded the room.
Men and women silently drank from their horns, though the silence felt deafening when Alara entered. Some Bolton soldiers stood from their table and pranced around Alara, clearly all drunk. Alara felt her hand move to the hilt of Steel Breaker. One of the men grinned.
“That the blade which killed the Andal Warlord?” He asked, seeming genuinely interested, however his expression screamed otherwise. “Not much, is it.” He mocked, and his grin formed a smirk.
His comrades backed his comment with laughter and support, making Alara feel highly unwelcome. Ignoring the man, she attempted to pass through, though a strong grip tightened around her forearm and pulled her to a halt. She turned her head to the drunken soldier, her deep blue eyes menacing.
“Hands off, Bolton.” She grumbled, causing the man to chuckle.
Alara felt disgust and bile at the back of her throat. She recognised the man, he was the one who tortured a ‘supposed’ Andal spy in the woods. Rechar Greenwood. His boring brown eyes stared into hers, his smirk was unbearing.
“Or what?” His words challenged hers, and he made it known, turning to the rest of the inn. “What could a woman do to me?” Alara found herself grinning now. This.
With her freehand, Alara thrusted her clenched fist into the Bolton’s groin. The man winced and fell to his knees, his drunk counterparts unsheathed their blades. Alara found Steel Breaker already in her hand, she awaited for one of the men to strike.
To her surprise, one of the men had already fallen to the ground unconscious. The other was quick to follow, when the hilt of a bastard sword bashed into his skull. The wielder was a large man, and his appearance was intimidating.
He stood a foot taller than the average man, and his armour added onto his fearsome look. He wore bronze chainmail with rectangular bronze plating clinked into it. His leggings and arms were plated, except for the joints which were protected with more chainmail. However, what was most terrifying about him was his intimidating half helm’s visor. A bronze dragon acted as the masking visor for his helm, and chainmail protected his neck.
Alara backed up, getting prepared the fend an attack from the large brute that approached her. When she realised that she was not his target, she quickly jumped out of the way when the brute lunged his metal boot into Rechar’s ribs.
Rechar’s expression grimaced in pain. He was picked up by the ankle and dragged out the door of the Flayed Drunk. Alara sighed in relief when the man returned with a blood free blade. He stopped in front of Alara and nodded his head.
“Nightingale.” Alara realised she was still holding Steel Breaker. She quickly sheathed the blade back into its scabbard and nodded in return.
“Thank you ser, though I had it under control.” The man chuckled and moved his hands to his bronze helm, pulling it from his head.
The revealing was a stern faced man with a sad smile. His hair was was messy and oiled, falling down to his neck. It matched the colour of straw, and his eyes were like sapphires. Where his angular jaw and dimpled chin made him look his age, his freckled cheeks eschewed a needed look of maturity.
Alara raised an eyebrow, feeling as if she had met the man before though she could not place her finger on where. The man’s sad smile remained, though his eyes seemed to brighten and glimmer.
“Can I buy you a drink, Nightingale?” Alara shrugged and accepted, and the man turned and led her to a quiet table in the corner of the inn while signalling to a barmaid to bring them two drinks.
With one arm around his helm, the other pulled a chair out for Alara. She sat down, appreciating the gesture. He sat down opposite of her and placed his helmet on table. Alara stared at the scratches and dents within the bronze helm, yet it still held a certain fearing look. It was then that she recognised who he was. The First Dragon. Or at least that was his alias, as Nightingale was hers.
“Apologies that you had to witness that, my lady. These Bolton’s aren’t the best representatives of manhood.” Alara smiled, tapping her fingers on the wooden table.
“That’s because they think with their manhood, First Dragon.” Alara received a warm and genuine smile, a rare sight during these troubling times.
“You remember?” Alara nodded, thinking back to her times in the Freehold.
“Valyria, The Bronze Dragons. We might have been a variety of different sellswords, but boy did we achieve a lot. All except learning each other’s names.” The First Dragon smirked, clearly thinking back on old memories.
“Aye, managing to crumble an entire lockstep legion. Those were the times to be alive, and now we sit here defending our lands from invaders. Where did we go wrong?” He grinned, though a depressed look lingered in his eyes.
Two pints of ale were served on the table when the conversation went silent, to which they gave their thanks and the barmaid left them in peace. Alara raised the horn mug in the air.
“To the Bronze Dragons.” She said, proposing a toast.
“Aye, the Bronze Dragons.” The First Dragon remarked, and bashed his mug into Alara’s, sending half the ale into the air.
Before it had splashed down on the table, the First Dragon had already downed his horn and was licking his lips. Alara was playing it sensible, she knew how easily ale could knock her off guard. Instead of making it awkward for herself, she started a conversation.
“So what is your name?” The First Dragon placed his horn on the table, next to his helm.
“I’m Dromon Tarth, brother to the Evenstar: Lord Damon.” He proclaimed, though there seemed to be little pride or achievement in his words. “And you?” Alara shrugged.
“Alara Caron.” Dromon eyed Alara up and down, frowning.
“Forgive me for saying, Alara Caron, but you don’t look like a Caron.” Alara sighed and nodded. My father made that highly apparent to me. Dromon shrugged. “Not that I care. I can’t say I had the lordly typed childhood that everyone proclaims me to have had.” Alara raised her eyebrows, yet smirked as well.
“Oh really?” She smirked, as if to challenge him. The man nodded in return.
“Aye, my father despised me. Disowned me and sent me into exile.” Alara shrugged, taking another drink from her mug.
“My father beat me and treated me like a bastard.” Dromon sighed, flipping his mug upside down.
“And my bastard brother tried to strangle me to death, so I took a ship to Myr.” Alara chuckled and took another sip of her ale.
“You took a ship.” Dromon nodded.
“Aye, and when I got to Myr I fell in love with a woman by the name of Cera Molaire. Daughter of Magister Erakeyes Molaire.” Alara felt unaware where to go with this, so she continued to listen. “I took a job for Erakeyes, in hopes that it would tie me closer to Cera. That job led me to kill the old Magister of Myr, who just happened to have arranged a meeting with the Dragonlords of Valyria. In turn for my life, I had to give them the name of who gave the contract.” He stopped when the barmaid returned.
“Would you like anymore drinks?” She asked, her voice was high pitched and squeaky. Dromon nodded.
“Aye, a gallon for the both of us.” Alara felt her internal dialogue scream to disagree, yet she remained silent. The lady nodded and turned away, Dromon remained silent.
“You were saying, Dromon of Tarth?” Alara said, mocking his highborn title. Dromon smirked, though the smile quickly died.
“I gave them the name, and they burned Erakeyes alive. They took me to the Freehold, as well as Cera. I thought it was love that she and I had, but I was easily mislead. I fought their battles against the Ghiscari, I did my duty. Turns out that I was no longer any use to them, so they paid Cera a large bag of gold dragons and she tried to kill me in the night.” He stopped, placing his armoured hand above his heart. “She missed my heart, but broke it nonetheless. I had to kill her that night, she left me little choice. Turns out she was being paid to keep me happy, and she’d been getting paid to keep others happy too… They used me.” His words were dark and full of hatred, his hand was tightly gripped around the horn mug. Alara felt a deep sense of pity, though she was lost for words.
“I’m sorry to hear it.” She managed to say, though wanted to punch herself for not being so sympathetic. Dromon shrugged.
“So I took a ship back to Westeros. Initially to Tarth, though then I was informed that Tarth was invaded by these Andal forces. So I went to the Riverlands, fought for the Tully’s against the Ironborn. Then knew that I needed to help regain the land that the Andal’s had taken from us. So I came here. I’m glad to see a familiar beautiful face did the same.” Alara felt herself blush, his gaze felt heavy on her.
“I’m glad that you came North, I never thought I’d see any of you lot again.” Dromon nodded and gave the sad smile he had shown when they sat down.
“As am I.” He stated. “As am I.” He repeated. Alara finished her mug of ale, and saw that the gallon was on the way. She turned back to Dromon, who had his eyes fixed on the wooden barrel.
“So, do you plan to head east or west?” Dromon turned his attention back to Alara and shook his head.
“Neither. As far as I’m concerned, we’ve cleansed the North from the Andal grip, Theon is just spilling extra blood for no reason. As for the west, the Ironborn aren’t why I’m up this far north. No, I plan to head south, where the Andal’s are still a threat.” Dromon rested his right hand on his helm. “Of course, I could stay if there were reason to.” He said, smiling. Alara took hint and rolled her eyes.
Alara felt her blood rush through her veins, her heart beat quicken. He informing her she could be the reason for him to stay in the North, which both honoured and worried her. Where she highly despised him leaving without her, and recalling how good a fighter he was, she did not want to pull him from his personal agendas.
The gallon arrived and was placed beside the table. Dromon nodded to the men who carried it, and then poured himself another ale. Alara did the same. After taking a mouthful and swallowing, he placed down his mug and looked Alara in the eyes. His sapphire eyes were pretty to look at… Alara internally shook her head. Stop that, I would never get that kind of relationship from anyone. She had hated giving herself away to another man, as she feared they would only use her and leave her broken. Yet everything Dromon did made Alara think otherwise.
“So, Alara Caron. Do I have a reason to stay?” He asked, his smile was charming and his eyes were somewhat comforting.
Alara crossed her legs, taking a drink from her newly filled mug. When she put it down, she looked him in the eyes. Ready to answer.
[Tell him to stay] [Let him go]
Alright, this was a clear vote. Jarden will agree to Lord Ethon's deal.
This was kind of a lose-lose situation. If we hadn't agreed with him then we wouldn't have had the deal in the first place, however now that we have agreed with him, if he ever finds out that his son is missing then he won't be that happy. Anyway, you guys made a good choice for the meanwhile
[Tell him to stay] I think it would do good for her to have a friend (or something more). Both story-wise and for Alara's own sake.
I'm interested to see where she'll go next.
[Tell him to stay] I am curious how far it will go. He seem not the type of guy to use her, especially after being used by other woman in his past.
[Tell him to stay]
Now, I'm loving this. Alara can surely use someone like Dromon in her life, be it as a friend or a potential romantic interest. Having someone to rely on for once surely sounds like a welcome change. And he did help her against the Bolton men after all, even if he didn't have to. That means, I'm more in favour of trusting him than not. He seems nice enough and Alara surely took a liking to him, so she should keep him close. It's also interesting how they have quite some similarities in terms of backstory, as both Stormlanders with quite the severe problem with their father (or alleged father in Alara's case). This is going to be interesting and I'm curious what might develop out of it
As for the rest of the part, man, I feel so sorry for Athena 
The deaths of Nalia and Kaden shook her at least as bad as they shook Steffon.
[Tell him to stay]
[Tell him to stay]
Heyyy guys, sorry I haven't posted anything in a while. Things have been pretty hectic lately, with overdue assignments and trying to find time to study for the exams I have in two weeks on top of that. The story hasn't been very high on the priority list, and I apologise. I plan to bring her back in a couple of weeks, three at the most as I may be going on a short holiday after the exams are over. Though I'm super excited to get back! Look forward to seeing those who remain when I return
Good luck with studies and on exams later on :-)
Torv
The Stark army rode with full force from the Wolfswood, a loud battle cry filled the cool air. A sea of red, green and orange metal rode to clash with the small squadron that had stopped Torv and Rose in their tracks. Torv looked at the Tallhart soldiers that had surrounded Torv and Rose. Their tabards blazoned three sentinel trees on a green and brown field, under that was their green tinged armour. The Tallhart men unsheathed their weapons, some being swords and others being one handed combat axes. Torv felt Rose spur their destrier forwards, the sound of her soft voice at her vicious tone sent chills down his spine. Before long, the soldier that had identified himself as Jesse had spun his horse back to Torrhen’s Square.
Rose jabbed the destrier in the ribs with the heel of her boot, causing the horse to stand on it’s rear legs, then break into a gallop back towards Torrhen’s Square. The soldier, Jesse, followed on with hesitation. They left the squadron behind to intercept the small Stark battalion that had been pursuing Torv and Rose.
Torrhen’s Square was a sturdy keep, with stone walls standing thirty feet tall and four towers at each corner of the castle. As their destrier was quickly racing to the castle, Torv observed that archers were taking their position atop of the walls. Torv had heard the tales of the square keep being strong and unbroken, this day would test those tales.
The bronze portcullis had already risen by the time Torv and his company had arrived at the gates. They were met by a court full of soldiers, and Lord Samwick Tallhart. Samwick was a burly man, standing over six feet tall, and wearing the heaviest of armour. His bronze plating was also naturally green, and in his hand was his large bronze greatsword - forged and reinforced with other metals to make it stronger than average bronze.
Rose pulled the destrier’s reins, causing the horse to come to a halt. Torv turned back to see Jesse had already dismounted and fallen onto one knee. The fuming lord stormed passed Torv and Rose, to through the main entrance, and stopped once he stood over Jesse. The soldier stared up to the man with pleading eyes, and was quick to receive an armoured backhand. The boy fell to the ground, his hands gravitating towards his bleeding cheek. The impact had been so hard that it had left a dint in Lord Samwick’s gauntlet. The man turned and watched as the squadron they had left behind were cut down by the Stark mass. He turned back to his men, who stared at him eagerly.
Torv got a better look at the man this time, observing his facial features. His brown hair fell down to his mid back, his beard was large and unruly. A scar ran down his left brow, bending around his eye and concluded at his lower cheek. Another ran down his right eye, curving outward than meeting his upper lip. His eyes were a light blue, yet they were menacing and dark. His pale face was fuming red, his teeth were gritted.
“Shut the gates!” He ordered, his tone was a deep growl. He flickered his daring eyes over the impatient men, all looking at him for an answer. “Lock down the keep, we’re under attack.” His last words were silent, and he turned his focus towards Torv.
Without warning, Samwick grabbed hold of Torv’s leg and dragged him off his horse with ease. Torv remained raised in the air for a short moment, before being slammed onto the muddy ground. Torv winced, landing on his gnawed left arm. Before he knew it, Samwick was on top of Torv and had his hands around Torv’s throat.
The gauntlets were cold around his neck, like treading on snow with no footwear. Torv stared up at the portcullis, which slowly descended down towards his head. The sounds of shouting drained from Torv’s thoughts, his vision started to fade as the grip tightened and the air failed to enter. Torv’s eyes met with Rose’s panicked icy blue eyes, which were the last he saw.
No decision this time.
-
Nathan
The trident flowed steadily out towards the sea with the current, however the Dark Current flowed it’s own way. The ship gently battled against the outflowing stream, showing little effort as the winds aided its journey. The ship was dark in every aspect. The wooden was dark, the crew were dark, the sails were black. However among all this darkness, there was a light. The Red Woman: Rayvani of Asshai.
She was a beautiful young woman, her hair was dark red and waved like the light ripples that bounced against the ship. Her eyes were unnaturally white, with orange specs, yet there was an odd beauty that was hidden behind them. Her beautiful physique was tanned from the hot lands of Essos, yet spoiled and hidden under a red dress, patterned with red velvet flames. Around her neck was a metal amulet with a red gem in the centre. Her naturally beautiful breasts were hidden under a thick red scarf, to Nathan’s displeasure.
Her smile was seductive, charming and confident, making Nathan’s feel somewhat brighter. He stared at her with his one good eye, ruffling his black leather gloved hand through his scruffy short dark red hair. Before he could say a word, she had already wrapped one arm around his waist and the other met the back of his shoulder.
Nathan leant in to meet her lips, yet was surprised when he felt her pulling away, his sword along with her. Nathan backed up as Rayvani held the Valyrian Steel blade in her hands, observing the explicit features. Half of the sword was a work of art, forged by the Valyrian Freehold and kissed by the Lord of Light. The other half, however, was a dull handle and crossbar. Nathan found himself smirking.
“Careful with that, love. Wouldn’t want you to cut yourself.” Nathan took a step forward, though was quickly stopped when the sharp foreign steel pointed in his direction. The red girl grinned in turn.
“Then you’d better watch yourself, my flame.” With her final words, she rested her sword arm and met Nathan’s open arms.
Their embracement was warm and somewhat casual, despite all being very far from casual in the past few months. Nathan accepted the embracement with ease, soaking in the warmth from the fire that burned inside her. This cold land would try to extinguish that flame, but she was far stronger than the cold winds realised.
Rayvani broke away, sheathing the valyrian longsword back into Nathan’s scabbard. Nathan observed the strange orange radiance of the steel before it disappeared into his dull scabbard. Nathan’s eye met back with Rayvani’s, who was grinning at him.
“You truly are the one who was promised. R’hllor blessed us when bringing us Lightbringer, and now you will bring Westeros into his light.” Nathan felt his warm feeling extinguish in the cool winds. He turned and leant on the dark wooden balustrade of the ship, staring out to the land he once called home.
“What if you’re wrong about me? Westeros is a vile and cruel place, a land with many different gods.” Nathan felt Rayvani’s soft warm hands through the light red cloth he wore. The warmth brought him both ease and discomfort, he was unsure how to feel about his current position in the grand scheme of his situation.
“There is no need to doubt, my flame. You are R’hllor’s ember, the first flame of Westeros. You will be the one to unite the First Men and Andal’s alike. All under the Lord of Light.” Nathan sighed, still feeling in a state of constant doubt.
“I was banished from my home, red woman. I committed with sacrilege, I should be dead. How do you think my father will fair when he hears of my return.” Nathan spoke more to himself than he did to Rayvani, he weighed the positives with the negatives and only saw a dark conclusion.
“I’ve seen our mission in the flames, I’ve seen us convert the Westerosi from their false gods to the true God. I saw this, and then I watched you get cut down right before my eyes. If it were all a lie, why would he have brought you back? There was a reason, ember.” Nathan felt less discouraged, and slightly more confident than earlier. Regardless, there was still a darkness which haunted his heart.
He turned his eyes to Rayvani, who stared at him with intent and curiosity. Nathan could not help but laugh, it had not been the first time he had caught her looking at him with such a nature.
“Keep staring and you’ll find something you won’t like.” Nathan reassured her, though as expected she shook her head, placing her hand over his beating heart.
“Nothing you can say will sway me from knowing the truth, Nathaniel of House Fisher.” Nathan mockingly raised an eyebrow.
“Is that so?” Nathan smirked, however his eyes lowered as she lifted her long draping dress.
The smooth tanned skin on her legs exposed themselves to Nathan’s view, slowly ascending until reaching her upper thigh. Then as quick as it was to occur, the dress dropped back to the floorboard. Nathan looked back into her eyes and grinned, her seductive smile had won him over.
-
Saltpans was a small fishers town belonging to the Andal house of Cox. The Dark Current had stopped there to restock on supplies, such as food and fresh water, as well as trading foreign items in exchange for gold. Meanwhile, Nathan and Rayvani had disembarked the ship and progressed to the inner market.
The market was filled with activity, ranging from salesmen trying to sell their products, thieves pocketing the rich, whores exchanging their bodies for what few coin they could get, and bards filling the air with such beauty that the average eye would not see any of the negativities.
Nathan and Ryvani strolled through the market, arms linked. The people flowed around them like a running river would flow around a stone. No one paid them much notice, which did not bother Nathan in the slightest. Ryvani, however, had another agenda in mind. She tugged at his arm, leading him towards a wooden sept. Once Nathan noticed where he was being lead he felt his legs entrench themselves firmly into the dirt. Rayvani turned and shot him a menacing glare, which actually surprised him.
“We’re not here to start trouble, Ryv.” Nathan said calmly, though the red woman shook her head irritably.
“How many times must I say that we are here to save them! Their false gods will lead them into a dark life, this is your destiny to save them. We must start small, then grow larger.” Nathan laughed sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“Save them? By burning down a sept with people in it?” Ryvani lowered her gaze, clasping Nathan’s hands in her own.
“Our mission will lead to a lot of death, though it is the will of R’hllor. He is the true God, and all who follow the false gods must either convert or burn in their old world.” Nathan stared into Ryvani’s pleading eyes, feeling a variety of different emotions. He finally sighed and nodded, releasing himself from her arms and approaching the sept alone.
The sept was a small building, made entirely out of willow oaks. Nathan chuckled to himself quietly. R’hllor truly wants this one gone. He thought to himself as he entered through the wooden door.
The interior was dim, only lit by a few candles. A few benches sat side by side of each other, on them was a septa and another young woman in travelling clothes. At the far end of the sept was a septon, who bowed in Nathan’s presence.
“Seven blessings, traveller. How might the faith assist you during these troubled mornings?” Nathan took slow footsteps, stopping next to a candle. The flame danced in the reflection of his eye, though there was more to it than just that. He turned back to the septon, who stared at him with eager brown eyes.
“Your gods can do nothing for me, old man. You would be wise to usher these one’s out of here, unless you wish for them to die as well.” The septon stared at Nathan with such disbelief that Nathan almost believed he was about to burst up with laugher.
Nathan turned his gaze to the two women quietly whispering on the bench. One of the women looked to be in her early twenties, with fair skin and wavy blonde hair. Her eyes were aqua, and she wore thick travelling cloaks.
Nathan unsheathed Lightbringer, the orange glow emitting from the magical steel. He turned and hovered the blade over the candle flame, which ignited the entirety of the blade. He turned to the blonde lady, feeling somewhat pitiful.
“Leave.” He grumbled, and the girl quickly rose and left. The septa attempted to do the same, though Nathan blocked her off before she could reach the door.
He pushed the young woman back towards the old septon, who now appeared to be soiling himself in defecate. Nathan took a step towards them, and watched them stumble a few steps back. The girl fell to her knees, and starting repeating a prayer to the mother. The septon stared at Nathan with hatred in his eyes.
“May the stranger take you, old god fanatic.” The septon cursed, spitting on the floor beneath him. Nathan glared at the man with a menace gaze.
“I’m no follower of the old gods, old man. Nor the Seven or any other false gods. I am Nathaniel Fisher, R’hllor’s Ember and the Last Flame. Warrior to a true god.” The Septon shook his head miserably.
“First Men filth.” He managed to say, his voice breaking as tears began to stream down his eyes. He lifted his gaze, his eyes red from the tears. “Do what you have to do, pyromancer. Know you will burn in all the Seven Hells for the crime you are about to commit.” Nathan could not help but grin.
“Nothing would please me more.” Before the old man could say another word, Nathan swung Lightbringer down on him.
The blade entered through the man’s shoulder, and exited through his lower waist. His robes caught alight, and soon the tapestries along the walls after that. The septa beside him wailed and clasped her hands together, as Nathan prepared to strike her down. Tears streamed down her eyes, though this was Nathan’s destiny. He lifted the blade into the air, preparing to cut her down.
“R’hllor have mercy! Please! I beg you, I’ll serve you!” Nathan found himself hesitating, the words caught him off guard. We are here to convert the people, not slaughter them. He thought, though he wondered how Ryvani would respond to him sparing her life. He presumed she would not take it well, as he had been informed to burn down the sept and those in it. R’hllor have mercy. Nathan remarked, staring at the pleading woman in front of him.
[Spare her] [Execute her]
[Spare her] These are the kind of choices we should make when we have a red priestess as an advisor - refuse to be manipulated.
[Spare her]
Was the blond traveller girl Samira? :-D
[Spare her]
I am so happy that this story is back at last
It was a great part as well, an interesting new PoV. As for my reasoning behind this choice, I agree with Wildling. With a manipulative Red Priestess around, it is for the best to do things she does not expect and does not approve of. Stannis would have probably lasted a lot longer without Melisandre's poisonous advice and I believe this will be good for Nathan as well. And oh, Torv 
This does not look good for him.
Well, I have heard that this story was great all around and now that I finally decided to start on it, it is safe to say that is correct. This story is excellent and now I need to catch up completely! On the choice though, I will have to agree with the others on this one and [Spare her]. I won't go into the reasons too much on this one since my reasons align with what has been said, but overall awesome part!
[Spare her] Great comeback and great parts! I'm satisfied with the way you decided to go with Nathan character - exactly how I would have done that - Faithful R'hllor follower, vulnerable to Priestress influence, but also with his own mind and own personality. Lookin' forward to next part, super excited with that.
Wow, I did not expect to get any new readers for this story, so welcome! Warms me to see a new reader, especially after my long disappearance XD
That's for us to find out in the next part :P
Thank you! I have an idea for an character I am wanting to contribute for your story but I am not sure how it fits in with this time period. So I will send you a pm and you can judge for yourself!
[Spare her] Great to see you again !
And when it ill be? :-D
I think I'll make it the next part :P I've actually been tasked to write a short novel in my English class, which I'm basing on an escape attempt from Alcatraz prison. It's due in three weeks, so I'm going to have to put some attention into that, though I'll try and split the time evenly so that I can still get the rhythm of this story going again. So Samira's next part should be in a couple of days
Good luck with novel and dont stress yourself with the story ☺
Anyway, so maybe it might be a good idea to close this voting? Sorry, kinda forgot about it with this busy week of buying a new phone XD So I think it's pretty clear that Nathan is going to spare her.
This choice wasn't so much important in the big scheme of things, however it is definitely a huge part to Nathan's development. We've now introduced mercy, and with that there is sympathy and doubt, which perhaps is not that good for a follower of R'hllor. However, we will see where this leads to in the future, as it will not have so much of an impact in these earlier stages :P
Anyway, I'm planning on getting two parts out by the end of this weekend (let's hope that's not just a dream). I'm going to start writing the Samira part that I promised earlier, and then I'll be introducing another new character: Warrick Westerling. However, it's been a long time since we last saw Samira so I think I should give you lot a recap.
Samira is an Andal spy who is working under cover in a very Andal hated land, also known as our lovable Westeros!
Recently, we watched as she plotted to kill the Barrow King Dustin of the North, which ultimately led to her fleeing the North for her own safety. She chose to make her way to the Vale, and is currently on her way there as I boringly type out this recap! Best I get to it then XD
Samira
The Trident flowed outward to the Bay of Crabs when Samira had made haste to the ferry that would take her to Maidenpool. She had been lucky, very lucky. Samira had sat in the Sept of Saltpans, speaking with Septa Talia, the sister of one of Samira’s colleagues: Dalia. When the fanatic charged in with his flaming sword, the Seven had acted kindly on sparing her life. However, she feared the worst for Septa Talia, and dreaded what she would have to tell her sister when arriving at Maidenpool.
The small wooden rowing boat was manned by a young teenager, perhaps fourteen or fifteen. He was a dirty young man, covered in grime and filth, however it did not bother Samira in the slightest. Her line of work had entitled her to do beneath average jobs, and she was easy to grow accustomed to what was given to her.
Samira eyed the boy over, his scruffy short black hair which he continued to itch was persuading enough for her to distance herself. His stretched shirt and tattered shorts were filthy, and his skin was as pale as white sand. However he had a grand smile, and seemed to appreciate the small chatter that Samira put forward, despite his teeth being stained a dark yellow.
His small arms rowed with a quick and hard stroke in the calm outflowing river, only resting when his head required itching. It had been a little while since their last small talk, and Samira had been taking in the sights. The land was green and rich with soil, fresh and unlike the dirty cities of Andalos. She had only been to Andalos a few times, though she knew well enough that she was better off behind the enemy lines.
The clearing of the boy’s throat grasped Samira’s attention, her eyes flickering towards him. His dull brown eyes met hers, along with his jovial smile.
“So were you born in the Riverlands, m’lady?” He asked, his eyes staring at her with intent, and his smile still gleaming.
Samira felt the same old lie come to the tip of her tongue, however she halted herself before speaking it. Do I really need to be afraid of a ferryboy? She wondered, searching his eyes for discretion. She had a knack for knowing who to trust, and this boy seemed harmless, or good at what he did. She decided it would be best to avoid the question.
“No, but I grew up in the Fingers.” Samira observed the boy’s eyebrow lift.
“The Fingers? I’m sorry, m’lady. I’m sure the Andal’s have caused your family a great grief.” His tone seemed genuinely upset, though Samira still felt unsure about where to place her finger on him. Not likely. She thought, her mind drifting off to her past.
She had been born in Andalos, though at a young age she had moved to Westeros with her parents: Alma and Yerik. Her father had put all his attention into working with the new lands, as he was a farmer at heart. Her mother had worked as a seamstress, so she did what she could to earn some coin for the family. Though it was Samira’s younger sister, Aselle, who Samira was the closest with. She was the kindest and brightest girl Samira had ever known, and they were all taken away from her by the First Men.
Samira tapped her fingers along the edge of the wooden framing, their conversation had gone quiet. She broke the silence with a long sigh, her travelling clothes were uncomfortable and she longed to strip out of them. She would have done it now, and bathed in the freezing stream, if the rower were older than he was. She respected innocence, as hers had been broken at such a young age. She now felt condemned to speak, for his sake.
“How about you? Where were you born?” The boy shrugged, his arms growing tired from rowing. He took a break and scratched his head, clearly finding some satisfaction in doing so.
“Born and raised in Maidenpool, m’lady.” Samira nodded.
“And how long have you been rowing people from one side of the Trident to the other?” Samira asked, giving a genuine smile. The boy seemed to replicate the smile and add more, which Samira found oddly sweet.
“Since I was old enough to reach the oars, I’ve been rowing. Just like my father, and his father before him. My father always says that there is more to life than just rowing, something more expensive than coins. He says I’m not old enough to understand yet.” Samira found herself smiling, once again looking him up and down. He seemed old enough.
“Would you like to know what that special something is?” Samira asked, her tone of voice had lowered to a whisper, almost coming off as seductive. She watched as the boy gulped, and nodded. Samira smirked.
“Secrets.” She finally said. “Gossip, rumours and anything which gives knowledge to the current stasis of the land.” Samira observed the confusion build up on the boy’s face.
“What good are gossip and rumours, I thought that was just women’s talk.” He quickly lowered his head and grabbed the oars again, starting to row. “No disrespect, m’lady. Father says you should never disrespect a woman.” Samira allowed herself to giggle, which she could see the red build up in the boy’s cheeks.
“What’s your name, boy?” The boy looked up, his brown eyes looking directly into hers.
“Dallop, m’lady.” Samira raised her eyebrow, though was not going to judge.
“I’m Samira. I think your father is a very wise and respectful man, you take after him very closely.” She complimented, and saw the smile return to his lips. Samira decided to take their conversation a little further.
“So what do you think rumours are good for?” Dallop looked up, his eyes showed concentration. He had stopped rowing as a consequence.
“Learning things?” He asked, almost as if he was directing it at himself. Samira smiled.
“Better yet, understanding things. People and society, you learn a lot by the way people talk. How the society works, how the people feel about it.” Samira couldn’t help but grin and cross her arms, covering her seemingly larger breasts, as she saw where his eyes were looking. His face blushed and his eyes lowered. He began to row again.
“Sorry, m’lady.” He began, seemingly lost for words. “I…” Samira shook her head, placing her hand on his. She felt his the muscles tense up in his hand due to the rowing.
“How old are you?” She finally asked, removing her hand. The boy looked up and shrugged.
“Sixteen and a bit. Don’t know the exact day.” Samira raised her eyebrows, she had guessed wrong. He was older than she had thought.
“Have you been with a woman before?” She asked, feeling slightly nervous for asking, which was something she was surprised about. Dallop shook his head.
“No one sleeps with a ferry boy.” He stated, as if he was retelling himself. Samira felt pretty certain she knew the answer to her next question, so she did not bother to pose it. Instead she changed the topic.
“So are you the only ferry boy in Maidenpool?” Dallop quickly shook his head.
“No, m’lady. There are over a dozen of us, though no one tends to notice us. We don’t get attention from girls or many who want to cross the Trident. Only those who seek a quick and silent escape. We barely make a living on it though, we all pitch in to get food and fresh water.” Samira nodded, understanding the harsh conditions.
“Then perhaps you would like to work for me.” She proclaimed, and watched as the boy lifted his eyes with curiosity. “Collect gossip and rumours and bring them to me, and I’ll reward each one who tells me something new with a gold coin.” Samira watched as Dallop’s eyes came to life, gleaming in the sunlight.
“A gold coin, m’lady?” He asked with disbelief, and she nodded. However she now felt her seductive charm kicking in as she rested her hand on his thigh.
“Maybe something more for you.” She added, watching as his eyebrows lifted. “Do you accept?” Dallop’s head nodded with such intensity that she wondered if it would fling off of his neck and into the river. She smiled in response. Good.
-
Dallop jumped onto the wooden pier, a line in one hand and a bag of copper pennies in the other. He tied the line around a corroding wooden post, which Samira pondered on whether it would snap if anything heavier were to rely on it. Dallop extended his hand to Samira, to which she accepted it graciously, and helped her onto the pier.
She stood a head taller than him, however it did not bother her. He had proven himself as a gentleman, and an asset to her, which was all that mattered. Her eyes looked down at his, which seemed to be praising her every movement.
“Would you recommend a place for a woman to rest?” She asked, smiling as her honeyed words clearly left a good impact on him.
“The Stinking Goose. It’s hidden to most, though locals know how to find it. Would you like me to take you there?” Samira shook her head, though smiled all the same.
“I’m sure I’ll find it.” She said while tapping her forehead, with another implication. “Go seek out your friends, tell them of my offer. Those who meet me at this Stinking Goose by the end of the week will get their pay. Understood?” Dallop nodded once again, this time it was calmer and more convincing.
“See you soon, m’lady.” Samira smiled.
“I look forward to it, and please. Call me Samira.” The boy nodded, though Samira was already walking before he could say anymore.
The ferry trip had taken up most of the day, and the sun was starting to set in the west. From her talk with Septa Talia, Samira had learnt that Dalia worked in the Japing Kitchens, below the Great Hall of Maidenpool’s Great Hall. However, Samira was tired and fearing that she may come across as rough if she were to barge in and find Dalia. However she feared she had no time to waste, and wished to find this corrupted colleague as soon as possible.
[Rest at the Stinking Goose] [Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens]
[Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens] She can do it, even if tired... i hope!
Great part, Samira gathering her little birds :-D
[Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens] From what I have read in the recap, I really like Samira's character and am pretty excited to see her mission unfold. I would say searching for Dalia is probably the best choice at this point, she will have time to rest later!
[Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens]
There's no rest for the wicked and no rest for Samira either. Her thoughts in the final sentence of this part make me believe there might indeed be no time to waste and from everything we've seen of her so far, I am sure her social skills are good enough to function even if she is tired. There'll be time to rest later, I hope.
[Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens] ,she still have a lot of time to rest , she has to do that now