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]
Alright, I'll finally close this. Samira will seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens.
This is probably the better choice for now, and we'll see where it leads her in her next part. Firstly though, I'd just like to apologise for my absence of the past month, I've been really busy with my studies and exams, and have just found little time to write. Of course, the workload never ended when exams finished, so that has had me pretty busy for the last three weeks. However, I'm finally on holidays and I plan to get out a new part as often as I can
So speak of which, I've finally finished writing my most recent part! It focuses on a new PoV, whose name is Warrick Westerling. So without further ado, here it is!
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]
The Sunset Sea glinted and glimmered as the sun slowly descended in the western horizon. Fishing vessels could be seen pulling in their nets, packing away their catch and returning to the western shores. In the far distance, a pod of dolphins could be seen dancing in the light rippling swell. The occasional whale fin emersed from the mass of blue, which would be as quick to disappear as it was to appear.
Warrick rode his black destrier beside his brother, Lord Mericus Westerling. Ahead and behind of them were a dozen escort guards, holding the banners of the Crag: six white shells on a sandy shore. Warrick stared out to the luscious sea, embedded with its beauty. With them was his eldest son, Willem, a boy of five years. Willem had taken much after his father, being an intuitive and respectable person. Warrick had taught him their words: Honour, not honours, and it had clearly left its mark on the boy ever since.
Warrick was slightly glad that his son had not been exactly like him, however. Warrick was proud to see his son replicating the same honourable traits, it was one of the few things which warmed Warrick’s heart. However, over the years Warrick had become much more sinister in appearance, never smiling and always appearing angered. Despite this not being entirely the case, Warrick still held no respect for himself as an honorable man. He had given his all to his overlord, his king. He was a brute for King Tybolt Lannister, an enforcer. He was not a father.
Mericus was a different man entirely, being the eldest of Warrick’s brothers. Mericus had seemingly been born with the honourable trait of House Westerling. However he had not seen combat like Warrick had, he had not experienced death like Warrick had. They may have been brothers, but the men were two entirely different people, only inseparable from their traits.
Mericus was a tall man, lean and slim. His greying black hair fell down to his shoulders, light and shining. His face was cleanly shaved, apart from the trimmed black mustache which reached down to his jaw. His dark brown eyes were oddly vibrant, filled with life yet almost encouraging when given a certain look.
However, where Warrick was a tall man he was certainly not lean or slim. Warrick was a larger man, bulked with broad shoulders. His greying black hair was a medium length, pulled back from his face, which better revealed his formidably cold dark brown eyes which nearly verged on black. Warrick wore a loose white shirt, as well as some tight leather leggings and boots. Above this, Warrick wore a bronze hauberk, which made him feel lighter and more uncomfortable than usual. Warrick had been a man with tastes for heavy plated armour, yet the long distance travelling and overall destination had not required Warrick’s gear. Nonetheless, Warrick still brought Honor with him, his bronze greatsword.
The small group had been riding for the past day for a small keep known as Silentport, the seat of House Lantell. Lord Bryce Lantell had sent an invitation to all the common lords of the Westerlands to attend his wedding, yet Warrick knew that few would actually attend. House Lantell was a small house, a bastard cadet branch of House Lannister. Yet Lord Bryce was closer a brother to Warrick than Mericus or any other of Warrick’s natural brothers.
The two had grown up together, and formed a great friendship. Before House Lantell had been formed, Bryce had been the bastard of Maxwell Lannister, the younger brother of King Tybolt Lannister. Warrick had been a ward for Maxwell, to which he and Bryce had formed an everlasting bond of friendship. It had been years since Warrick had seen Bryce, and even longer since Warrick had seen Maxwell. He wondered if he would attend the wedding, or whether matters at Casterly Rock would prove too straining for him to attend the wedding of a bastard son.
The sound of Mericus clearing his throat caused Warrick to turn his attention toward him. Mericus had been a man for his words, and he had found silence to be awkward and supposedly unhealthy. Warrick looked his brother up and down, before sighing.
“What?” Warrick asked, his voice was monotone. Mericus shrugged, staring out to sea.
“Not often you get to see a view like this, is it?” He stated, avoiding eye contact. Warrick was tired and irritated, eager to get some rest when arriving to Silentport. This had caused his mood to be seemingly hostile, or at the very least aggravated.
“Aye, it’s something else.” Warrick quietly said, making sure to conceal his irritability. The Crag was on the shores of the Westerlands, looking out to the Sunset Sea. This view was regular. Mericus nodded and turned his eyes to the vanguard of their escort.
“Willem is growing bigger each day, he’ll be a man soon enough. When do you plan to build on the land I’ve given you?” Warrick stared at his son, riding with the young soldiers that carried their banners. He shrugged, readjusting his grip on the reins.
“Eager to get rid of me, brother?” Mericus chuckled and shook his head.
“Warrick, the Crag is just as much your home as it is mine. You’ve made a name for yourself, made triumphs which are sung throughout the Westerlands.” Mericus sighed, turning his gaze to Warrick. “I gave you land because I believed that such a renowned man would likely not want to live under the same roof of his boring brothers for the rest of his life.” Warrick could see the discomfort in Mericus’ eyes, it was clear he had more to say yet was unsure how to communicate it. Warrick sighed and nodded in genuine gratitude.
“When the time is right, I’ll build a keep on the land you have given me. My son will be a better man than me, a man fit to rule such a keep.” Warrick felt an overwhelming feeling of discourage surge through him, though he remained calm towards his brother.
“Perhaps it would be wise to send Willem to squire for one of our allies. The Crakehall’s or the Yarwyck’s…” Warrick shook his head, bothered by the mention.
“My son won’t be a ward for petty houses. He would be trained by the best, under the house of Lannister. Just as I was.” Mericus sighed, stroking the main of his brown destrier.
“Times change, brother. Unless you want Willem to be led under the guidance of the Cowardly Lion.” Warrick’s loathing eyes glared at Mericus with disappointment and distrust.
“Loras is a Lannister, and the son of King Tybolt. You call the boy a coward, yet it is you who sat behind the walls of the Crag when we were forced to take up arms and protect our borders from the Riverlands.” Warrick watched as the fiery hatred built up in Mericus’ eyes.
“You’re as deluded as the boy prince himself. Willem would do better to learn how to lead from a brothel whore rather than a Lannister.” Warrick halted his destrier in front of Mericus’ and stared him in his dull eyes.
“If you continue to speak treason of our king then I will-” Mericus shut him off, passing Warrick with his agitated steed.
“Will what? Strike me and all of your house down like you did the Tully’s? It wouldn’t be beneath you, after butchering three boys who weren’t even of age to hold a sword. All in the name of our king.” Mericus spurred his destrier and rode off to meet the vanguard, leaving Warrick on his own.
The sea breeze rolled in from the west, coursing through Warrick’s hair and beard, yet giving no assistance in cooling down Warrick’s temper. His brothers words were an act of treason, punishable by death. Yet Warrick was no executioner, nor a murderer. He was an enforcer, yet now he felt discouraged, his pride was wounded yet his honour did not stutter. He served House Lannister, that much he knew.
-
The sun had set by the time the Westerling convoy had arrived at Silentport. The city was small, self-sustainable with vessels that came in to trade, yet overall it was a calm and reasonably quiet city. It was entirely walled off, with the previous encounters of bandits and Ironborn raid attempts. The stone walls stood fifteen feet high, and were manned by two Lantell sentinels at all times.
Warrick rode ahead of the convoy, his son Willem riding by his side. The boy wore his riding leathers, as well as a white cotton shirt beneath his leather vest. On his belt was a bronze dagger that Warrick had issued him with on the off chance that their convoy would reach any trouble, which Mericus was highly opposing of.
Warrick found himself filled with pride when he saw the banners of House Lantell flapping in the wind that blew from the west. The crowned silver trout being feasted on by a red and gold lion on a blue field was more symbolic than it seemed. The golden crown with polished emeralds, as well as the silver trout, represented Lord Bryce Lantell’s triumph when defeating House Tully and Mudd at the border of the Westerlands and Riverlands. The red and gold lions symbolised his origins, being the son of a Lannister and Reyne, and the blue field represented the ocean that he had settled by.
Memories of the battles Warrick and Bryce had participated in left a variety of mixed emotions. Where Bryce had received a number of honours and titles for his efforts in the previous war, Warrick had received a title of his own. The Enforcer.
Bryce had outsmarted the Tully forces, which stood four thousand strong when Bryce’s battalion stood only a mere fifteen hundred, yet through his strategic mind and excellent battle tactics he had prevailed a great victory for House Lannister. However, Warrick had taken it a step further to enforce the rule of House Lannister on the petty houses of the Riverlands.
He had been ordered to cripple the houses, and that was what he had done. Warrick had slaughtered the children of both House Tully and Mudd, and felt no remorse until much later on when he had a son of his own.
Now Warrick bared witness to that victory, that victory was imprinted on the banners of his friend’s triumph. War had taught Warrick a great deal of things, yet all had meant nothing up until that leading moment. The moment where Warrick had learnt that war was nothing but a cruel way to punish others for another’s selfish greed. Yet still, Warrick served his kingdom with honour, as they had done the same for him.
The bronze portcullis rose once the Westerling escort had come to a halt outside. Warrick stared onward to the man that stood on the other side. He was tall, slim and muscular, with short hair and a groomed beard that was tainted in the golden colour of House Lannister. However, his eyes were a bright blue, representing his mother’s side. He wore a casual buttoned white shirt, with loose black pants and leather boots.
Even from the distance that Warrick could see the man, he knew it was Bryce. He could see the wide, genuinely jovial grin on the man’s face. His general posture, his laughing eyes. He may have not been his brother by blood, though he was by far the only man Warrick considered as an actual brother.
Warrick remained seated on the back of his halted destrier, despite his eagerness to join Bryce’s side. Once Lord Mericus and the remaining of the convoy had reached Warrick and Willem’s location, the escort entered the city of Silentport.
Warrick dismounted his destrier in an orderly fashion, maintaining a stern and guarding expression. Mericus dismounted his own steed, and walked to the smiling Lion of Lantell. Willem had already dismounted, and stood in front of Warrick with his hands crossed over-one-another. Warrick rested his large hands on Willem’s shoulders, watching as Mericus shook Bryce’s hand. Bryce’s expression had turned serious, and respectful.
“Lord Mericus, I am honoured that you could make it to my wedding. It’s always an honour to have a Westerling within the walls of Silentport.” Mericus nodded in genuine thanks, placing another hand on top of Bryce’s.
“Well I couldn’t miss the wedding of the Youngstones!” Mericus said cheerfully, though Warrick could hear the sarcasm deep within his tone of voice. “I apologise to cut our conversation short, Lord Bryce. However, we have been riding day in and day out to get here, you must forgive me for being so exhausted.” Bryce raised his eyebrows, as if in a sudden realisation, then nodded.
“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. Please, allow my guard to lead you and your men to your accommodation.” Bryce turned and beckoned for the two men behind him. One would lead the escort to the barracks, and the other would lead Mericus to Silentport’s keep.
“Go along with your uncle, Willem. I assure you that you may speak with Bryce soon.” Warrick whispered, nudging his son forward to follow Mericus. The boy turned back and smiled, before joining his uncle.
Soon there was only Lord Bryce and Warrick remaining in the courtyard behind the main gate, and the men silently stood until they were assured that all was quiet. When convinced, the two grasped arms and pulled each other into an embracement. After a short moment, they pulled away from each other.
“You haven’t gotten any shorter, Westerling. Yet are those grey strands I’m seeing?” Warrick rolled his eyes and allowed himself a grin.
“Mind what you say, Youngstones. I’m still a better fighter than you.” There was an odd silence that corroded the air after Warrick finished his sentence, until Bryce finally sniggered and then the men joined each other in laughter.
“Come, Warrick. Let us walk to my keep and speak of the years that we have been so absent from.” Bryce started, taking few steps. “Your son is growing up fast.” Bryce mentioned, a few metres ahead of Warrick now. Warrick quickened his pace to catch up with the only slightly younger man.
“Aye, he’ll be a man before I know it.” Bryce nodded in agreeance, resting his hands on his hips as he walked.
“Have you thought of who he will ward for?” Bryce asked with an oddly nervous tone. Warrick sighed, remembering how this conversation ended with his brother.
“Are you offering to take him?” Warrick asked, half astounded by the proposal. Bryce shrugged his shoulders, looking just as surprised.
“I’m honoured that you’d think that, Warrick. Though that is not what I meant. Lord Yew is a good man, and I’m sure he’d be happy to take on your son, I could speak with him if you like.” Warrick shrugged his shoulders, the conversation seemed to bother him for reasons he did not understand.
“Speaking of which, how did House Yew agree to marry their daughter to the newly founded House Lantell?” Bryce seemed to be amused with this change of topic, grinning in response.
“Father arranged the marriage.” Warrick raised his eyebrows.
“Maxwell managed to arrange this? How much did he have to pay him?” Warrick asked, making reference that Maxwell Lannister was the Master of Coin to Casterly Rock. Bryce smiled and shook his head.
“Not a single piece of gold. Turns out Lord Yew asked a favour of father, to have his son, Lawsen, squire for the best. Father made Lawsen a squire for King Tybolt’s eldest son, Tylar, and in return I am to marry the eldest daughter. Lady Emilee.” Warrick nodded in congratulations, Maxwell had always been the man to give every chance he could to Bryce and Warrick, which was half the reason they were the men they had grown up to be.
“Will Maxwell be attending your wedding? It’s been just as long, if not longer, since I’ve seen that old lion.” Bryce nodded, a warm smile on his face.
“He said he would come, supposedly Prince Tylar and Prince Loras are accompanying him as well. I never thought a bastard could attract so many large names to his small wedding.” Warrick smiled and shook his head.
“Yet a bastard, you are no more. You are the Lion of Lantell, Protector of the Westerlands and Lord of Silentport. That gives you a good name in the eyes of the Lannister’s.” Bryce shrugged, clasping his hands together.
“I’m still a bastard, no matter the names or titles I receive. I’m just a more fortunate bastard.” Before Warrick could attempt to argue, a Lantell guard approached Bryce with weary eyes. The man seemed exhausted, as if he had not slept for days on end.
“M’lord.” The guard greeted, taking in a deep breath. It was clear this man had been running. “M’lord, the sigil of House Banefort comes toward Silentport. What’re your orders?” Bryce raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Banefort? I never invited a Banefort…” Bryce turned to Warrick, confusion in his eyes. “My apologies for cutting this short, Warrick. I must go see what these schannagons of Banefort’s are.” Warrick felt his hand gravitating towards Honour, his bronze greatsword.
“Allow me to accompany you, the Banefort’s arrival brings darkness. It may not be safe.” Bryce’s warm laughing eyes returned, attempting to reassure Warrick.
“I’ll be fine, Warrick. I presume you remember your way back to my keep?” Bryce asked with a hint of mockery in his grin. “I’ll be back soon, and then we will talk more. I look forward to hearing all the tales you have had since we last met.” Bryce was already walking back towards the gate when he had concluded his sentence, leaving Warrick alone. What tales? Warrick miserably thought, his past five years had been too quiet.
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, though Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two buildings stood a short boy. The boy was young and stooped over, hooded and cloaked with a bloody scaling knife in his hand. Warrick wanted to give the boy the benefit of doubt, yet the way he stealthily crept and the way he held his sharp tool sent shivers to Warrick’s spine.
Warrick was about to take a step closer to observe the boy further, when he felt his shoulder being gripped. Warrick swung around, reaching for Honour, only to find his brother Mericus standing behind him with his hands slightly raised in the air. Warrick’s hands loosened their grip from Honour’s handle, leaving it sheathed in it’s scabbard. Mericus lowered his hands.
“Apologies brother, I should have said something.” Warrick shook his head and turned back to the boy, who as a consequence was nowhere to be seen.
“What do you want, Mericus?” Warrick asked irritably, avoiding eye contact. Mericus sighed, clasping his hands behind his back.
“I…” He started, though cut himself short. “Lady Emilee Yew would wish to speak with you. She’s here, in the markets.” Warrick felt an uneasy feeling, and when his eyes had finally found the hooded boy, he did not break the contact.
“I’m a little busy right now.” Warrick muttered, as he stared at the boy stealthily creeping through the stalls. He heard Mericus grunt in frustration.
“We need to talk, Warrick.” Mericus said, his tone clearly tired and easily frustrated. “Look at me when I speak to you.” He finally said, grabbing Warrick’s arm.
Warrick’s eyes turned to Mericus’ with a quick motionless gaze, yet there was a fire in Warrick’s eyes that burned with anger. Warrick knew that the boy was up to something, and he may not have had another chance to stop him, yet his brother continued to persist in halting him. Warrick stared into his brother’s pleading brown eyes, which seemed to be screaming another pain.
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy] [Speak with Mericus]
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy]
I must say, this is a very interesting new PoV! For now, I like Warrick and the other characters in his storyline, it'll be nice to read more about them. As for the choice, while I think speaking with Mericus might be important, or at least important in Mericus' opinion, there is something seriously wrong with this boy, it seems he's either trying to kill someone or already succeeded in doing so. If Warrick manages to stop any crime from happening, I'm sure Mericus will understand. His talk can wait, but if the boy is about to kill someone, then preventing that has to be Warrick's priority for now.
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, tho… moreugh Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two build… [view original content]
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy] A tough choice right of the gate! I want to speak with Mericus but this wedding is a huge thing for Bryce so I believe it would be best for Warrick to hopefully stop this boy before anything bad can happen. Great part!
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, tho… moreugh Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two build… [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]
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]
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, tho… moreugh Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two build… [view original content]
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy]
I don't believe that this "small-talk" (not really, it seems important, but still) can't wait - obviously the boy won't. We don't know his purpose, but it looks very suspicious - better to act in advance.
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, tho… moreugh Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two build… [view original content]
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, tho… moreugh Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two build… [view original content]
Would like to ask: Isn't House Casterly still in power at this point? Or did Lann the Clever already take Casterly Rock?
I noticed a few Lannisters on the waiting list to get introduced as I wondered if I should submit a character or two. Is House Manderly still in the Reach? Can the story and player characters change the outcome, change history for Westeros from the original known timeline?
Firstly, welcome to The Invasion, glad to have you onboard As for House Casterly, they were out of power and gone by the end of the Age of Heroes if I remember correctly, to which the Andal invasion occurred roughly four to five thousand years later. So the Lannister's are in power of Casterly Rock during this time period, which also means House Manderly is still in the Reach. How Manderly were exiled from the Reach roughly over a thousand years from the events of ASOIAF if I have read the wiki correctly.
Now, where I like to stick mainly to canon, I've never had a problem playing around with non-canon storylines (which is indeed in this story and my other one). It really depends what you mean by that, because I'll likely try and play out the story so that it roughly lives with GRRM's stated timeline. However, it was the Maester's who began to scribe all this information long after the events of the Pact, Long Night and Andal Invasion, so it's highly likely they simply missed a bit of information which is an excellent way to enter non-canon relations
Would like to ask: Isn't House Casterly still in power at this point? Or did Lann the Clever already take Casterly Rock?
I noticed a few … moreLannisters on the waiting list to get introduced as I wondered if I should submit a character or two. Is House Manderly still in the Reach? Can the story and player characters change the outcome, change history for Westeros from the original known timeline?
I see, thanks for the reply. This still seems fun but it just means the Andals will mostly win and there is no way to... let's say, allow the Manderly's unite the Reach under their rule, if I understand your reply right (am bit tired)
Hello JorianDrake!
Firstly, welcome to The Invasion, glad to have you onboard As for House Casterly, they were out of power and gone by … morethe end of the Age of Heroes if I remember correctly, to which the Andal invasion occurred roughly four to five thousand years later. So the Lannister's are in power of Casterly Rock during this time period, which also means House Manderly is still in the Reach. How Manderly were exiled from the Reach roughly over a thousand years from the events of ASOIAF if I have read the wiki correctly.
Now, where I like to stick mainly to canon, I've never had a problem playing around with non-canon storylines (which is indeed in this story and my other one). It really depends what you mean by that, because I'll likely try and play out the story so that it roughly lives with GRRM's stated timeline. However, it was the Maester's who began to scribe all this information long after the events of the Pact, Long Night … [view original content]
When it came to the Reach, the First Men mostly opened up and lived with the Andal's. So, the Manderly's may still try this arc if you wish, it would surely be a fun storyline
I see, thanks for the reply. This still seems fun but it just means the Andals will mostly win and there is no way to... let's say, allow the Manderly's unite the Reach under their rule, if I understand your reply right (am bit tired)
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, tho… moreugh Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two build… [view original content]
When it came to the Reach, the First Men mostly opened up and lived with the Andal's. So, the Manderly's may still try this arc if you wish, it would surely be a fun storyline
Alright, well this vote seems pretty clear. Warrick will break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy.
This choice, like all choices, will of course have it's own pros and cons. However, in the short term this choice serves to be the best, as will be seen in the next part. At any rate, I apologise for my writing being so slow. My enthusiasm levels have just dropped these holidays, and I've done nothing but be a couch potato for the whole week. However I plan to try and write a new part by the end of this upcoming weekend, as I have a novel to finish writing for my English project by the end of today. So the next part will be a Wyllam part, and here's a short recap:
Last we saw Wyllam, he had been forced to agree to a deal to pass over the Belmore navy to House Corbray in the battle to come. As he was being held in the dungeons beneath Heart's Home, Wyllam made a steady friendship with the jailor, Garvy, and ended up collecting useful information out of him. However, when King Qyle Corbray found out about this, he left Wyllam with the choice to execute Garvy, or allow the entirety of Gulltown's smallfolk to starve to death. Wyllam ultimately made the difficult decision to execute Garvy, which is where the last part was left off.
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, tho… moreugh Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two build… [view original content]
Alright, well this vote seems pretty clear. Warrick will break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy.
This choice, like all choices… more, will of course have it's own pros and cons. However, in the short term this choice serves to be the best, as will be seen in the next part. At any rate, I apologise for my writing being so slow. My enthusiasm levels have just dropped these holidays, and I've done nothing but be a couch potato for the whole week. However I plan to try and write a new part by the end of this upcoming weekend, as I have a novel to finish writing for my English project by the end of today. So the next part will be a Wyllam part, and here's a short recap:
Last we saw Wyllam, he had been forced to agree to a deal to pass over the Belmore navy to House Corbray in the battle to come. As he was being held in the dungeons beneath Heart's Home, Wyllam made a steady friendship with the jailor, Garvy, and ended up collecting usef… [view original content]
The rope bounds around Wyllam’s wrist chafed into his skin, leaving burns and grazes whenever the guard tugged on his lead. They were leading him out into the courtyard, to witness the execution of the Garvy the jailer. Wyllam’s choice to save the women, children and elderly of Gulltown had come at a price, and that price had been Garvy, and it was Wyllam’s fault.
The city guard known as Aidin tugged on Wyllam’s lead once more before reaching the main doors to the courtyard. Wyllam was lunged forward with the sudden force, and his lack of balance threw him off his feet. He landed against the cold marble floor with a thud, skidding against the shiny tiles. He received an angered glare from the city guard, who stormed towards him with his bashing stick.
Wyllam had been fed little to none the past few days since Garvy’s sentencing, and hence he was weak and deprived as a consequence. His awareness was limited, and his judgement was faulty. However, he saw clearly with his eyes, and could spot no falters.
Aidin brought down his stick with a thundering strike, hitting Wyllam on the waist. The next was on his arm as it shot down to nurse the newly sore spot, and got hit in the process. The spoilt guard had a furious look in his eyes, his cheeks bright red with anger.
“You will not stain the great floors of Heart’s Home with your filth! Get up, barbarian. Get up!” He yelled, thrusting his boot into Wyllam’s side as he attempted to stand, only to be knocked over again.
Wyllam heard the frustrated footsteps approaching towards him, more pain to be inflicted onto Wyllam’s already broken body. However, when the footsteps halted and there was no punishment, Wyllam turned and looked at the sudden change with curiosity.
There stood the commander of the city guard, and seemingly the only friendly person Wyllam had come across in Heart’s Home. Warne Spyre had caught the upraised forearm of Aidin, and twisted his wrist to the point of pain that it caused his to release his baton. There was anger in his eyes, though of another kind, pitiful almost.
“You’re a disgrace, Aidin. A disgrace to our vow, our city and kingdom. Get out of my sight before I teach you a lesson you will never forget.” He grunted, his tone intimidating and confident. He released the wincing boy’s wrist, and the boy retreated nursing his wrist with a sullen expression riddled on his face.
Warne knelt down beside Wyllam, his grim expression seemed genuine. He extended his open hand to Wyllam, to which his dirty hand received with a clenching grip. In a quick, swift motion, Wyllam was pulled to his feet.
His thick whitebeard ran down to his upper chest, tied into a knot. His hair was hidden under his capped steel helm, though his silver eyes looked at Wyllam openly. His grim and pitiful expression and turned slightly warmer, yet there was no sympathy.
“You ready to go, Wyllam?” He asked, catching Wyllam off guard. He had called him by his name, a rare expression that rarely any Andal’s had shown.
Wyllam shrugged and nodded his head clumsily, tired and exhausted from their walk to the courtyard. Warne nodded in return, and then led him outside the large reinforced frame doors, into the courtyard.
The sudden brightness of the sun beaming down on the courtyard left Wyllam blinded momentarily, however when his eyes adjusted he saw an entire crowd of peasants, soldiers and knights alike. On the courtyard, however, stood King Qyle and his sons. His knights stood beside him, hands on the hilts of their sheathed swords once Wyllam came into view. Wyllam felt as if it were he who was to be executed, perhaps he would be.
Then Wyllam saw him, on his knees before a wooden stool. He wore dirty rags, same as Wyllam, however it was clear he had suffered far worse than Wyllam had. His face was covered in dry blood and muck from the ground, his left eye black and bruised. His arms were shaking uncontrollably, fear coursed through him and displayed itself on his already cursed face.
Wyllam was stopped, standing still beside Warne Spyre at the far left corner of the courtyard, yet not too far from the rest of the knights and princes that they shared it with. King Qyle Corbray stood forth once all were in their positions, his hands by his side. He paced from one side of the court to the other, repeating the new routine, before saying anything.
“Good people of Heart’s Home!” He yelled with a jovial tone, and received a cheering uproar in reply. “Today is a grim day, a dark day in fact. We have been betrayed by one of our own, conspiring with the First Men I have held captive in my cells. This man is Garvy, one of the trusted jailers until just a few days ago.” Qyle proclaimed, a hushed silence fell among the crowd, except for the weeping of a woman and two children.
Qyle unsheathed his sword from his scabbard, lifting his arms into the air, captivating the crowd with his false glory. He turned to Warne, beckoning to bring Wyllam forward. Warne guided Wyllam to Qyle, stopping only a few feet away from him. Qyle spoke again.
“With their time in Heart’s Home, the First Men have taught me a lot about their customs! How the man who deals the sentence must be the one to fulfil it.” His voice hushed down to a whisper. “Though it was not I, who sentenced Garvy to death.” He said quietly, turning to Wyllam.
He pointed his sword to Wyllam, the steel was unlike any Andal sword he had ever seen. The point of the blade hovered at Wyllam’s neck, yet Wyllam remained placid and seemingly fearless, however on the inside a rush of emotions battled to escape. The blade then descended, until reaching his binds, to which he cut loose with a single stroke.
The severed ropes fell to the ground, a gasped audience rose up with awe. Qyle grinned, holding his sword in such a way as if he were to present it to someone.
“You were the man to pass the sentence.” He proclaimed, making sure all the audience could hear. “You will pass on the deed.” He concluded, offering his blade to Wyllam.
A hush fell upon the crowd, all eyes fell upon Wyllam and what he would do. Wyllam hesitantly took the sword, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. Kill him, kill them all! Run! Do it, you coward. Wyllam stood before Qyle, the man’s eyes almost pleading for him to try. Wyllam gulped and looked over to Garvy, who stared back at him with fear in his eyes.
Wyllam took in a deep breath and sighed. Qyle was correct, Wyllam had passed the sentence. It was he who had to kill the man if he were to follow the old way. He took one last glance at Qyle before committing the deed. I will kill you. He thought, before leaving his dreadful gaze.
Wyllam limped towards Garvy, who had now had his head forced down onto the wooden block. His muscles were tensed, he struggled and squirmed. It would not be a clean cut if he continued to persist. Wyllam stopped in front of him, planting the sword into the ground.
“Garvy.” Wyllam muttered, his voice quiet so that only he and Garvy could hear. “In sights of gods and men I sentence you to die. Would you speak any final words.” Wyllam’s tone was grim and deeply saddened, he watched as his friend’s eyes welled up in tears.
“Please Wyllam. Please, I’ll be good. Just let me live!” He cried, receiving a negative attraction from the crowd.
Wyllam lowered his head, fearful that tears would escape from his eyes. When he looked back up, Garvy still stared at him with his pleading eyes. Wyllam grabbed the hilt of the longword with both of his hands. I’m sorry, Garvy. Wyllam raised the blade above his head.
Thoughts and emotions battled for Wyllam to stay his hand, holding him back. A moment passed, his arms lingering in the air longer, a hushed crowd staring on with confusion and disappointment. Wyllam turned his gaze back to Qyle, who stared at him with a sickening look. Wyllam felt the hatred for Qyle build up inside him, he turned back to Garvy, who had lowered his head to weep.
Wyllam brought down the blade in one quick stroke, cutting cleanly through the skin and bone. The headless corpse slid off of the wooden block, and the head toppled and rolled off of the court, stopping in front of the weeping woman and children who screamed and cried in an agony which Wyllam would never forget.
Wyllam dropped the sword and took a step back, almost instantly landing in the arms of the knights and city guards. He was in a state of shock, and the blood was all quickly rushing through his body. His vision was clouded in darkness, the only thing clear was the sick grin on Qyle’s face. That was the last Wyllam saw.
-
Wyllam awoke in a confined cell, with stone walls and one lit lantern. Wyllam awoke vertically, on a slightly back slanted wooden bench. His wrists and ankles were tied down to the board with leather straps, a bench across from him displayed a variety of small sharp tools. Where am I? Wyllam thought, worried and concerned.
Wyllam tried to free himself from the table, though with no success. Finally, he resorted in yelling for help, until he could yell no more. After a long moment of waiting, the sound of a door opening from behind him.
The man who entered was tall, his eyes droopy and black, though the rest of him was muscular and lean. He wore a leather coat, as well as leather pants and boots. He was bald, however, and looked to me in his mid forties.
He walked over to the table, picking up a large iron nail, as well as a hammer. He walked over to Wyllam and smiled, his droopy eyes beaming with excitement.
“Do you know who I am?” He asked, and Wyllam shook his head tiredly. “I am Rylan, my son is Aidin. He’s told me a lot about you.” Rylan said with a worrying grin.
He took a step closer to Wyllam, standing on a stool so that he was at the same height as Wyllam. He put the iron nail to Wyllam’s cheek, and sliced downward. A trickle of blood stained the iron, the cut caused Wyllam to wince.
“If you haven’t already gathered, I am the king’s torturer. Now, as much as he has gotten from torturing and slaughtering the smallfolk you brought with you, he’s received little information about Robar and his plans. I want that information from you.” He said, a calm and soft smile on his face. “So, we can do this the easy way. You tell me all I need to know, you can get away with this lightly. Or, you can suffer greatly until I get what I want. What’s your choice?” He asked, and Wyllam shook his head confused.
“I don’t know anything about Robar now.” Wyllam said miserably, though it was clear it did not satisfy Rylan.
“Wrong answer.” He simply said, then placed the iron nail on the palm of Wyllam’s hand.
Wyllam felt the panic surge through him, the fear. His hand squirmed, desperately trying to escape this sudden threat. He turned and looked at Rylan, fear in his eyes. Rylan stared back with a dreading smile, then tapped on the nail with his hammer.
A jolt of pain ran through his arm, making him want to scream. Yet the first was nothing compared to the second, which sent the nail through his hand entirely. Wyllam’s scream filled the room, his bloody hand tingly and in pain.
Rylan jumped down from the stool and walked over to the table, looking at his variety of tools. Wyllam screamed in agony, desperately trying to free himself from this pain. Rylan turned to him, his eyes staring Wyllam in his own.
“Welcome home.” He said with a sickly smile, grabbing for another iron nail.
Wyllam
The rope bounds around Wyllam’s wrist chafed into his skin, leaving burns and grazes whenever the guard tugged on his lead. They w… moreere leading him out into the courtyard, to witness the execution of the Garvy the jailer. Wyllam’s choice to save the women, children and elderly of Gulltown had come at a price, and that price had been Garvy, and it was Wyllam’s fault.
The city guard known as Aidin tugged on Wyllam’s lead once more before reaching the main doors to the courtyard. Wyllam was lunged forward with the sudden force, and his lack of balance threw him off his feet. He landed against the cold marble floor with a thud, skidding against the shiny tiles. He received an angered glare from the city guard, who stormed towards him with his bashing stick.
Wyllam had been fed little to none the past few days since Garvy’s sentencing, and hence he was weak and deprived as a consequence. His awareness was limited, and his judgement w… [view original content]
Okay, the decision to save the smallfolk seriously backfired. I should have seen it coming that sacrificing the friendly jailer is going to be bad for Wyllam, as his new jailer seems like the complete opposite of Garvy. Fuck that king. Fuck that torturer. I hope Wyllam gets out of there, but it looks really grim.
Wyllam
The rope bounds around Wyllam’s wrist chafed into his skin, leaving burns and grazes whenever the guard tugged on his lead. They w… moreere leading him out into the courtyard, to witness the execution of the Garvy the jailer. Wyllam’s choice to save the women, children and elderly of Gulltown had come at a price, and that price had been Garvy, and it was Wyllam’s fault.
The city guard known as Aidin tugged on Wyllam’s lead once more before reaching the main doors to the courtyard. Wyllam was lunged forward with the sudden force, and his lack of balance threw him off his feet. He landed against the cold marble floor with a thud, skidding against the shiny tiles. He received an angered glare from the city guard, who stormed towards him with his bashing stick.
Wyllam had been fed little to none the past few days since Garvy’s sentencing, and hence he was weak and deprived as a consequence. His awareness was limited, and his judgement w… [view original content]
Wyllam
The rope bounds around Wyllam’s wrist chafed into his skin, leaving burns and grazes whenever the guard tugged on his lead. They w… moreere leading him out into the courtyard, to witness the execution of the Garvy the jailer. Wyllam’s choice to save the women, children and elderly of Gulltown had come at a price, and that price had been Garvy, and it was Wyllam’s fault.
The city guard known as Aidin tugged on Wyllam’s lead once more before reaching the main doors to the courtyard. Wyllam was lunged forward with the sudden force, and his lack of balance threw him off his feet. He landed against the cold marble floor with a thud, skidding against the shiny tiles. He received an angered glare from the city guard, who stormed towards him with his bashing stick.
Wyllam had been fed little to none the past few days since Garvy’s sentencing, and hence he was weak and deprived as a consequence. His awareness was limited, and his judgement w… [view original content]
Alright, so there's no voting to close but I'd like to thank you guys for commenting on it anyway. Always help with the motivation to start writing the next part! Speaking of which, the next part is going back to Darren Tyrner, the unlikely knight in service of King Qyle Corbray. Here's a recap:
We first met Darren in a local bar, alone with his thoughts. However, this is quickly to be interrupted (as always) by a spoiled brat known as Jorrhen, and his large brutish companion. Jorrhen demands that Darren fight his brute guard, though despite Darren's dismissal it occurs anyway. Darren puts the man to the ground with one kick to the groin, and leaves the bar. Later on he ends up meeting with his old pal, King Qyle, who basically informs Darren that King Robar Royce's army is coming for Heart's Home and the people need to be evacuated. Qyle has his son, Jaime, lead the people back to Artys Arryn, and requests that Darren would accompany him. Darren accepts Qyle's deal, and that's where the last part left off.
Wyllam
The rope bounds around Wyllam’s wrist chafed into his skin, leaving burns and grazes whenever the guard tugged on his lead. They w… moreere leading him out into the courtyard, to witness the execution of the Garvy the jailer. Wyllam’s choice to save the women, children and elderly of Gulltown had come at a price, and that price had been Garvy, and it was Wyllam’s fault.
The city guard known as Aidin tugged on Wyllam’s lead once more before reaching the main doors to the courtyard. Wyllam was lunged forward with the sudden force, and his lack of balance threw him off his feet. He landed against the cold marble floor with a thud, skidding against the shiny tiles. He received an angered glare from the city guard, who stormed towards him with his bashing stick.
Wyllam had been fed little to none the past few days since Garvy’s sentencing, and hence he was weak and deprived as a consequence. His awareness was limited, and his judgement w… [view original content]
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood beside Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few that cared for the jailer. The guards had quickly ushered the crowds out of the courtyard, disposing of the headless corpse and the bodiless head.
Darren turned his attention to Qyle, his warm smile landed on Darren like the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. Darren bent down on one knee, presenting the Valyrian steel blade.
“My king.” Darren stated, offering Lady Forlorn to Qyle. The king accepted the blade in one hand, staring at it’s magnificence and beauty.
“I remember when I dubbed you with this blade, named you a knight in my service.” He said wondrously staring at the bends in the steel, then turned his attention to Darren as if he had forgotten his presence. “Rise, Ser Darren.” Darren stood himself up, however when he was about to speak words with the king, he found himself staring to the back of the man who was walking away.
Darren sighed, turning his attention back to the knights on the block. Ser Hardrick and Bennett had began to carry the First Man back to his cell, being led by Warne Spyre. Marvion Corbray had passed Darren and joined his father, leaving only Ser Luceon Templeton and Ser Jaime Corbray remaining in the quickly emptying court.
Darren approached the men, who spoke silently as he arrived. Their conversation came to a conclusion, introducing Darren had become Jaime’s newest priority.
“Ser Luceon, allow me to introduce you to Ser Darren Tyrner. He saved my father when he was visiting one of our settlements, which happened to come under attack by the savages who once ruled there.” Jaime proclaimed proudly, his eyes gleaming.
Ser Luceon extended an open hand, a smirk on his face. As Darren went to accept the man’s hand, it quickly removed itself from Darren’s reach, unbuckling and removing a strap from his plated armour.
“I’m Ser Luceon of House Templeton.” He proclaimed, avoiding eye contact. “I will be escorting Ser Jaime and the residents of this city to the Gates of the Moon.” He stated, his attention clearly too enriched on other matters to spare for Darren. Darren smirked, looking the man in his eyes.
“We’ll be glad to have you aboard, Lucy. Now why don’t you run along while I speak words with the prince.” Darren watched as the anger flared up in Luceon’s cheeks, his hands clenched and reaching for his sword. Jaime halted him, giving him a warm reassuring smile.
“It’s alright, Ser Luceon. I’ll meet you in Heart’s Hall once I’m finished speaking with Ser Darren.” He said, his words as sweet as honey. Darren had achieved his goal in gaining Luceon’s attention, who gave him a menacing glare.
“As you say, Ser Jaime.” He said, not breaking eye contact with Darren.
Darren’s expression was smug, his grin growing wider and wider until the fearless knight backed down and cowered away. Ser Luceon entered Heart’s Home in shame, leaving Darren victorious. Darren placed his hands on his hips, feeling somewhat achieved. Ser Jaime, on the other hand, seemed less satisfied.
“Impressed with yourself, Darren?” He asked, his tone had turned sour and cold. Darren shrugged turning his gaze back to Jaime.
“A victory is a victory. The lady-knight should know who he messes with.” Jaime sighed, rolling his eyes. His eyebrows narrowed, showing concern and curiosity.
“What did you mean earlier? Are you actually coming with us to the Gates of the Moon?” Darren could hear a touch of excitement in his surprised tone. Darren nodded.
“On request of your father, you are to be my squire. I denounce you of your titles, and order you to remove my armour.” Darren spoke with confidence, showing no sign to deceive. Jaime stared at him as if his world crumbled around him, causing Darren to grin. “If only you knew how.” Darren japed, causing Jaime’s cheeks to go red.
“You were lying?” Jaime asked, half with bitterness and half with relief. Darren’s grin lowered to a smile.
“Come, let us get a drink and talk.” Darren suggested, and received no complaints from Jaime’s part.
-
The tavern was oddly filled at this time in the evening, with families who could afford meals gathering around their tables, and soldiers coming out to drink until dawn the next day. Darren and Jaime secluded themselves a table off into the far corner of the tavern, away from most of the prying ears.
Darren took a drink from his pint, the lightly golden liquid was strong in the back of his throat. He had observed that Jaime had barely drank or said a thing since entering the tavern. He sat with his arms crossed, staring elsewhere, like a child after a tantrum. Darren sighed and placed his beverage on the table.
“What is it?” He asked, and received nothing but a quick glare. “Jaime.” Darren’s tone was firm, perhaps a little too intimidating. The young knight gave Darren his attention, disgust riddled on his face.
“This is where peasants eat, drink, sleep. Why did we not drink in my father’s hall? It is free of this dreadful noise and of all these dirty people.” Jaime grudged, looking around at the men and women with a revolted look. Darren chuckled and rolled his eyes.
“Then how do you see me, Ser Jaime?” Jaime turned his eyes to Darren, confusion tainted in them. He shrugged his shoulders.
“You’re a knight. Knights are respectful, honourable, noble…” Darren laughed, taking another drink from his pint.
“Do I look like any of those to you?” Darren asked, placing his pint down on the table. “How about I tell you a tale, about dirty little peasants. Perhaps you will be too naive to see past the birthright of those in the story.” Darren knew he had gained Jaime’s attention by challenging him, his eyes stared at him with determination and wit.
“Go on then, Ser Darren.” He said, an inquisitiveness in his tone. Darren smirked, taking a final drink out of his tankard, then he began.
“A farmer and his wife hold a bit of land with a few sheep and aurochs and enough to make a fine living. However, they have children. Lots of children. One day, a great plague comes along, taking the farmer and his wife, and nearly all the children. All but two, a brother and a sister. Out of the struggle from now trying to manage this seemingly larger bit of land they live on, they are forced to move into the city. There the brother finds a dirty line of work, which later takes him to Westeros to save a king and be knighted and so on.” Darren concluded, appearing bored of the story, but there was truly more to that.
He thought back to his sister in Andalos, Kira. She was a seamstress by trade, and that was barely enough for her to live off. Darren would send gold to her just to try and lend a hand, and they would always keep in contact through letters.
Darren’s intentions of coming to Westeros were not that of an average sellsword. Darren did not fight for coin and wealth, yet that was what he received, but for retirement. He wanted to earn enough coin to buy land for he and his sister to live on. That dream would one day come true, yet for now Kira would be stuck in Andalos.
Darren thought back on the letter from his sister, it lied on his desk untouched. He had not had a chance to read through it since his meeting with Qyle the night before, to which they had spent the whole night drinking and then Darren had slept in Heart’s Hall. Darren needed to read the letter.
He turned his eyes back to Jaime, who stared at him as if he had realised the whole plot of the story. His eyes were widened and his jaw opened. Darren smirked and stood up, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m retiring to bed. I trust you do not need a royal escort back to your home?” Jaime’s look changed almost immediately, his cheeks blushing a bright red. He stood up, wiping the palms of his hands on his coat.
“I guess I will see you tomorrow then. Not too long until we set out for the Gates of the Moon.” Jaime proclaimed, and Darren simply nodded in answer. Darren had not been highly thrilled on his mission, however he knew it was his king’s wish, and he had not yet let down the old man.
The two men exited the tavern, leaving a back of silver coins on the bench top. A generous donation, which Darren had always humbly left when staying at the tavern. The two stopped outside and exchanged hands, grasping each other's forearms.
“Tomorrow, Corbray.” Darren said in monotone, and received a small smile from Jaime.
“Tomorrow, Tyrner.” He remarked, before disconnecting and going their separate ways.
The sun had fallen to the west, and last light was upon them. Soon it would be dark, and the night would be thick and cloudless. It may have been the end of winter, yet the nights were still bitterly cold. It had not been that long ago since Darren had found snow outside his doorstep.
Yet oddly enough, Darren felt heat lingering in the air. He had first shrugged it off to his current state in mind, however now he felt as if it were growing warmer as he got closer to his home. The air smelt of smoke and burning wood. Darren lifted his eyes from the ground, an orange light glowed in the darkening sky. A fire.
Darren broke into a sprint, running for his home, hoping and praying it was not his home that was alight. He ran through the alleyways, taking shortcuts only pickpockets and commoner children knew. By the time he reached his home, the fire had fully caught alight. His home was surrounded by the neighbouring families, trying desperately to extinguish the fire with the buckets of water they had.
Darren stared with disbelief, his life belongings in that house. All of his coin he had earned, all of his clothing. His armour and weaponry. His sister’s letter. The sudden thought of it caused Darren to run towards the burning establishment, breaking down the door with his sheer weight alone. He had to get the letter, no matter the cost.
The entire house looked nothing like how it used to, the light burned on and blinded him. The smoke rose, growing thicker by the second. Darren tried desperately to coordinate himself through the house, using landmarks in his home to figure out where to go next. When he finally made it to his desk, the table was already alight. However, Darren did not see the ashes of the letter.
He felt his heart crumple in his chest, the one thing that truly mattered had been lost. Now Darren found himself in his once safe and humble home, now fighting to keep alive. He fell to his knees, trying to avoid the thick smoke. The floorboards were like liquid fire, as if oil had been spread across the floor before being lit.
Darren dragged himself into the hallway, and into his small armament. His armour was beginning to melt in the scorching heat, being a bright red and scolding hot. Darren spotted his longsword, a fine an elegant weapon, as well as his shield lying on the ground. It was clear they had fallen off of their mantle, which was now alight.
Darren quickly crawled towards it, grabbing the burning hot steel shield, and exiting the blazing room. Darren was at the far end of his home now, and the path he had come from looked non-existent. Darren turned and looked for another escape route, his backdoor blocked by the wooden beams that held up the roof.
Darren looked at the melting windows, grabbing the handle on his shield. His sword was held to the shield by the leather straps. Darren pulled himself onto his knees, crawling for the window. When he had finally reached it, he threw his shield threw it. The glass smashed, disfigured shards landing on the burning floor.
Darren climbed onto his knees, pulling himself through the small exit. His arms getting sliced from the hot glass, his hands burning on the blazing wooden frames. Darren fell out of the home and landed in the warm wet grass next to his home.
Breathless and exhausted, he dragged himself away, reaching his shield and sword. He planted his hands against the cold wet ground, trying to cool down the burns. His face rested in the muddy soil.
After a short moment, Darren pulled himself up, lifting his shield. He pulled his sword free of the leather straps, and removed it from its scabbard. As Darren inspected the steel blade for damage, he barely noticed the piece of paper the fell out of the scabbard with it.
Darren placed down his sword and scabbard, picking up the singed piece of paper. The note was small, written in black ink which had began to melt from the heat trapped inside the scabbard. Darren read the disfigured melting letters to the best of his abilities.
We have your sister, Tyrner. You may yet be able to save her if you collaborate. We will meet you in the tavern at dusk tomorrow. You will ask for a room, and you will bring no one. If you do, the meeting will be cancelled and your sister will die.
The note was not signed, and Darren did not recognise the handwriting to anyone he knew. He placed the letter down, tucking his knees close to his chest.
“Kira.” He whispered gently, all of this being very surreal for him.
His house had been burnt down, a letter being left for him claiming that someone had his sister as a hostage, and now the suspected culprits wanted to meet him alone in the tavern. Darren was in dismissal, yet completely unaware of what to do.
He could inform the king, if he did not already know, and have all of Heart’s Home go on lockdown for him until they found the culprits. Darren could agree to cooperate with this letter, and enter alone and hope for the best. Or, Darren could speak with Marvion Corbray, and try to set a perimeter outside of the tavern for when he enters. It was a shady decision, and one he could not take lightly. If whoever wrote this truly had his sister, he would be playing with some risky fire. Would he be prepared to risk that?
[Request help from Qyle] [Request help from Marvion] [Proceed alone]
Darren
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood besid… moree Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few … [view original content]
This is not an easy choice. On the one hand, Qyle is Darren's friend and I doubt he would refuse to help the man who saved his life. On the other hand, while I'm pretty sure Kira is not in that tavern, there is no guarantee that she isn't being held captive somewhere else. Aside from that, Darren is quite a fighter. I'm sure he has good chances to survive this situation on his own, even if it is an ambush. The way the message is written makes me doubt it is an ambush though. I mean, these people would probably just attack him instead if their goal was to kill him. So they want something and it can't hurt to at least find out what it is.
Darren
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood besid… moree Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few … [view original content]
I don't think they're gonna give his sister back without asking anything in return (obviously) ,
and whatever that may be , i don't think it'll be easy for Darren to do . Either be dangerous or against his personnal feelings .
However If Marvion sets up something , they'll be able to refuse and take his sister back with force .
Darren
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood besid… moree Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few … [view original content]
[Proceed alone] Wow, what a great part! I have no idea what to go with here but I suppose I will vote for Darren to proceed alone since we don't know the situation of his sister so I do not want him to take the risk.
Darren
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood besid… moree Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few … [view original content]
Hey guys, so I won't yet close this vote as I'm still waiting on a couple of others. However, I'm planning on starting to write the next part tonight, and trying to release it tomorrow. However, I will warn you! The weather where I live has been absolutely amazing and dreadful, with hectic storms and snow (which rarely happens where I live). As much as this unique weather is great and interesting, the power outages that come with it are not. Now I only got a power outage last night, but it may indeed be possible it happens again tonight and therefore I won't be able to release the part on time! Speaking of which, I better make mention that this new part is introducing a new character: Tylar Lannister.
Darren
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood besid… moree Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few … [view original content]
The hills were lit with a blood red from the rising sun in the east, their blades glinting with variations of pink and orange as the sun slowly rose higher into the morning sky. Arrows were drawn, spears ready to soar through the sky and pierce the beast. However Tylar knew this animal would not stand down without a fight.
The lioness fed on the carcass of a dead boar, it’s cublings nibbling off the edges of the exposed raw meat that their mother had mauled through. The proud animals were calm and peaceful, unexpecting of a sudden ambush.
Tylar was prone in the green grass, the wooden shaft of his hunting spear in his right hand, and his left arm propping him up. Beside him was his squire, Lawsen Yew, his bowstrings fastened and an arrow nocked into place. The boy was young, only fourteen and littlemore but a cupbearer, however on the occasional hunts he proved his worth.
His build was slim, expected for his young age, and face was cleanly shaved. His brown hair was a medium length, with a straight cut fringe above his hazel eyes. He wore his light leather gear, which was both practical for his archery, and lack of strength to wear anything else and maneuver at a steady rate.
The two exchanged eye contact, Tylar could see the excitement in his eyes. It was a rare thing Tylar would see, as Lawsen had often been very arrogant and easily angered with his short temper. However this sudden change in behaviour was something of a delight for Tylar.
They slowly advanced closer to the lioness and her cubs, each slight movement was calculated and precise. They knew that one sudden jolt of movement that was out of place could very well be the end of them both.
Across the hilltops, Tylar’s younger brother: Loras, stood and overlooked the hunt. Tylar had designated for him to keep an eye out, incase the lioness were to suddenly have a change in her behaviour and surprise Tylar and Lawsen with an unexpected attack.
Opposite of Tylar and Lawsen, and also stealthily sneaking towards them, was Sedrick Sarsfield, the man born of First Men and Andal. He held his long bow in hand, yet his arrows remained in his quiver. Beside him were Baiden Hill and Tavion Greenfield, both armed with short bows from the Lannister armory.
Their plan of action was for Lawsen to let loose the first arrow, drawing the lioness’ attention. Tylar would then distract the outraged animal, until Sedrick and his men would shoot the beast down. Loras acted as a scout for them, however when Tylar looked up to the hills to find him, he saw nothing but the glare of the rising sun.
Tylar shook his head, half in disbelief and the rest in bitterness. Where the hell is he? Tylar asked himself, trying to keep himself calm. However his mind was rushing with dreadful thoughts of how this hunt could result thanks to the sudden disappearance of his brother.
All of it meant nothing now, it was time. Tylar turned his gaze to Lawsen, who stared down at the ground, whispering to himself. He was praying, Tylar finally realised. Tylar placed his hand on his shoulder, the boy turning his impatient eyes towards him. Tylar nodded to him, implicating for him to draw an arrow.
As he did this, Tylar turned his gaze over to Sedrick, the sun had risen to a point where he was nothing more but a shadow in a land of orange light. However, Tylar noticed something distorted in his rampantly acting figure. Or more importantly, he noticed that the figure was rampant.
Tylar lifted his hand, blocking out the sun in hopes to see the man better. It worked, and Tylar saw Sedrick waving his arms frantically with panic ridden all over his face, signalling something was wrong. Baiden pointed back towards the lioness, who had turned and was slowly approaching Tylar and Lawsen.
Tylar caught Lawsen in the back of his vision, drawing the bowstring. Tylar caught his arm just before he could let the arrow loose, and quietly ushered for him to lower his arm. The two silently knelt before the proud beast in front of them, whose eyes made contact with Tylar’s and did not break.
Tylar stood up, and without breaking eye contact with the lioness, he beckoned for Lawsen to do the same. The two took a step backwards, and for every step they took, the lioness took one forward. Her back was arched, her legs ready to spring. She was in a pouncing position, and one move out of place could mean the difference of life and death.
Tylar observed Sedrick and his companions pointing their loaded bows towards the lioness’ hind, sweat was running down Tavion’s brow. Tylar came to a halt, holding his open palmed hand out to signal for Sedrick and his men to lay down their weapons. With reluctance and confusion, they did so. Tylar knew the beast would turn on them if they were to aggravate it, and he knew that their bows would not stand a chance against her razor sharp claws.
He came to a halt, and signified for Lawsen to continue backing away. Tylar’s sudden thinking had worked, bringing the lioness to a halt. There they stood in a locked gaze, a devilish stand off between them. Tylar adjusted his grip on his spear, and he could see the sharp claws revealing themselves from her innocent looking paws.
Once Tylar was convinced that Lawsen was a safe distance away, Tylar brought his spear into a defensive stance. The lioness arched back on her hind legs, releasing a low grumble as she stared into Tylar’s green gem eyes.
Tylar felt the sweat building up around his brow, his heart beating faster in his chest. He took a step forward, and the lioness lunged herself towards him.
He darted to the right, sheerly avoiding the lioness’ first strike. A ferocious and intimidating roar passed his ears as she soared passed him, landing and regathering her footwork in a matter of seconds. Tylar had already regained his balance, and now ran on the offensive.
He lunged the bronze tip spear into her shoulder, another roar accompanied the sudden turn of events, this time Tylar could hear her pain and feel her rage. She backed away, knowing that Tylar was now left unarmed. If this were a one-on-one battle, this may have ended badly for Tylar, though the first arrow to pierce her neck was Lawsen’s.
The second was no surprise to her, and hit her in the belly. The third pierced her in the neck, beside Lawsen’s brilliant shot. Tylar knew the marksman to match Lawsen’s skill was Sedrick, he had grown up in a home of archers. The fourth arrow never came, and Tylar suspected that it was the arrow of Baiden Hill that remained nocked in its bow.
The lioness tumbled to the ground, landing on its belly and further impaling herself with the arrow implanted there. A short roar of pain which ended in a tired groan followed her fall, before she lowered her head in shame and defeat. Her eyes stared at her cubs, who still silently ate away at the carcass.
Despite her being an animal, Tylar felt as if he could relate with the lioness. He knew her pain, he knew her final struggle. He walked towards her, kneeling down beside her, yet far enough to react if she were to suddenly strike. He was glad she did not. Instead, her eyes drifted from her cubs and back to Tylar’s green eyes.
They were pleading, hurting and almost saddening. She was asking him to end her suffering, whether she wanted it or not. She had failed her children, all because she had allowed five men to surround her and strike her down, she had let down her guard. Tylar pulled out his hunting knife, used mostly to skin animals he had caught. This animal he would not skin, or dare to defile her corpse in any means. She was a beast, but a proud and honourable beast at that. Tylar respected that.
He rested his open hand on her bloody belly, which struggled to rise with each final breath. Tylar genuinely frowned, and thrusted the bronze knife into her neck. She jerked, though gave little more, until her body finally went limp. Her eyes stared ahead of her, at nothing in particular. Tylar released the knife, as well as his spear and the arrows. Her body would be fed on by ravens and crows alike, untouched by the stain of man.
Tylar stood up, wiping the bloody bronze tool on his red cloak. He had not expected to have seen as much action as he had today, and his clothing had shown his efforts, being sprayed with dirt and blood, as well as covered in grass. He stared down at the deceased animal, his thoughts and prayers going to the gods for her guidance.
Lawsen had met Tylar’s side and stared down at the dead animal, yet his eyes showed something else. Excitement, pride or jovialness. He pulled his dagger from it’s leather scabbard on his waist, leaning down to begin skinning the lioness.
“No.” Tylar stated clearly, his voice firm and confident. Lawsen’s confused and slightly irritated eyes looked back at Tylar. “We’re done for the day.” Tylar concluded, turning his attention to the three men over by the boar carcass.
Tylar and Lawsen joined them, and he found three lion cubs staring at their mother with terror. Their quiet mews and attempts at a roar showed their distress of the situation. Sedrick turned his eyes to Tylar, they showed pity and remorse.
“What should we do with them, my prince?” He asked, his voice shaky and croaky. Tylar sighed and looked at the desperate and helpless cubs, in clear panic.
He saw three lions, or three Lannister’s. Himself, Loras and Byran. Three brothers, all different in their looks and behaviours. One braver than others, a clear leader to their small pride. One cowardly and in constant fear, and the other showing a vengeful hatred.
Tylar knelt down, reaching out his closed hand to the litter of cubs. To his surprise, the leading cub with light brown fur met his hand first, rubbing his head against Tylar’s warm hand. Tylar knew he could not kill the cubs, as much as he knew he had to. His father would not allow them back at Casterly Rock, though Tylar could not spare the words to have them executed.
He opened his hand, and the young cub climbed onto him. Using his other hand to hold him, Tylar stood up and cleared his throat.
“We’ll bring them back to the camp, I’ll speak with my uncle and see what he would have done with them.” Tylar observed a weak and small nod from Sedrick, to which he passed the young cub to him.
Tylar walked off, leaving his squire and the three men behind to deal with the cubs. Other troubling matters were on his mind. The resemblence of his brothers in the cubs was no coincidence, it was a sign which oddly troubled Tylar. He thought of his brothers, which only brought him sadness and disappointment. More annoyance and slight hatred for Loras, to which he now had to find.
-
Tylar was the first to arrive at the camp of the Lannister escort, which were heading for Silentport to attend the wedding of Lord Bryce Lantell - Tylar’s half brother - and Lady Emilee Yew. The camp was large, consisting of a couple of dozen tents, half of those slept four soldiers each. His father had insisted that their guard had been doubled, for reasons Tylar could not agree with.
The largest pavilion belonged to Tylar’s uncle, Maxwell Lannister, the Master of Coin at Casterly Rock and father of Bryce Lantell. Somewhere among the camp would be Tylar’s brother, Loras, to which Tylar would have to confront at one stage or another.
However, the first familiar face Tylar ran into was neither Maxwell or Loras, but his wife: Princess Gwynovire Lannister, in their tent. Gwyn was once of House Greenfield, until she married Tylar at her young age of nineteen. Tylar was twenty at the time, and they had now been married for a year.
Gwyn was considered one of the most beautiful women in the Kingdom of the Rock, and it was her beauty and name which attracted his father’s eye towards her. Not wasting a chance, King Tybolt had the wonderful specimen marry with his eldest and most favorable son. It was the one day that Tylar could remember his father smiling, though Tylar had not had a genuine smile on the day.
Despite her beauty, they were together out of marriage for their two houses, and despite how much they tried the love never clicked. Nonetheless, Tylar treated her well and never disrespected her, though he simply did not love her.
Now he stood before her beauty once again, tired and irritable. She however, was a contradiction of himself. Her eyes stared at him, wakeful and light brown. Her yellow hair fell down to her midst back, wavy like the ripples on top of waves. Her face was clear of any burdens, and radiated pure beauty, with her smooth jawline and button nose. She wore a long red dress, with tight sleeves and a golden necklace with a golden lion on an emerald shield.
Her smile was warm and loving as he entered their tent, but Tylar could return little more than a quick and meaningless glare. Her smile was quick to fade, and instead replaced with concern and worry. Tylar stumped down on their bed, resting his head in his trembling hands.
He felt her soft hands wrap around his waist, her warmth touch his right side. He welcomed it, but did not lust for it. He gave her little attention, and she was as understanding as always. The two sat in silence, until her soft and beautiful tone touched his ears.
“What is wrong, my lion?” She asked, her words caressing his ears and calming his temper. He shook her away and stood up.
“I’m no lion, mylady.” He plainly stated, referring to his brown hair which clearly distinguished him from his family.
She stood up and met him, she was smaller than him, but there was more strength and courage in her than any woman he had ever faced. Her eyes pleaded to disagree with him, however she quickly accepted that Tylar would not tolerate an argument. She placed her hand on his chest, his breathing reminding him of the lioness he had slain.
“Then what is wrong?” She finally asked, her tone touched him with worry. He backed away from her hand and turned around, leaning his head on the post that held their tent up.
He was reluctant to speak of their hunt, though her soft attempts at persuasion finally made him give in. He told her of the hunt, how his brother simply abandoned him and put their lives in danger. How what really bothered him were the similarities between the cubs and his brothers. His fear for how the gods may punish him.
She listened quietly, taking in his words with a calm acceptance. Once Tylar had finished, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in close. Reluctant, Tylar accepted the embracement, pulling her in close. Though as his hands ran through her hair, he remembered the feeling of the lioness’ fur beneath his hands. He pulled himself away, unable to control his thoughts.
“I have to find my uncle, speak to him.” Tylar finally said, making his way to the exit of the tent. He felt his arm being gently grasped, he turned to meet Gwyn’s eyes.
“Come back to me.” She whispered, almost pleadingly. Tylar nodded to her, and exited the tent.
The sky had turned grey with the cloud cover since the hunt, leaving the mood somewhat dark and depressing. Tylar pulled his cloak closer to him, the warmth of the sun had faded as the day had gone on.
Tylar made his way towards his uncle’s pavilion, where he had hoped Sedrick had delivered the lion cubs by now. The pavilion stood taller than any other tent in the campsite, being entirely red with the golden lion of House Lannister imprinted on the sides.
Tylar stared with disgust and anger, though not at the tent, but at the young man standing outside it. He stood staring at the golden sigil, his long golden hair fell down to his shoulders. He wore extravagantly expensive clothing, which most only wore at special events like the wedding they were to attend. He was taller than Tylar, which he had always cruelly teased him about, however he was not stronger.
Tylar approached Loras, his steps heavy and leaving a fiery trail of anger in it’s wake. By the time Loras had turned around, it was too late, Tylar grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and threw him to the ground. The wimpy scream of his younger brother filled the air, though Tylar did not care.
Tylar crawled on top of him, clenching his shirt tightly in his hands. He stared into the fearful eyes of his brother, though Tylar felt no sympathy for the boy.
“Where were you!?” Tylar yelled, shaking him like a doll. “We nearly died because of your sudden absence!” Tylar released his shirt, and if it were not for the sudden crowd than Tylar feared he would have beaten the boy.
Tylar looked up, surrounded by confused Lannister soldiers, unaware of whether to intervene or not. Nobles and lords stared at Tylar with shock or disgust, Tylar felt the shame rain down on him. He turned to the entrance of his uncle’s pavilion. There stood his uncle, as well as Lord Gerwint Greenfield and Lord Brodos Broom, the father of Baiden Hill.
Maxwell’s dark green eyes stared down at Tylar, droopy and tired from his sleepless nights. His face was rigid and gaunt, giving him a weak appearance. His greying blonde hair was short and combed over, and his mustache was finely trimmed which gave him a sense of elegancy. He wore his royal garments, displaying his status as the Master of Coin.
“Tylar.” Maxwell he said with caution, slowly approaching him.
Without another word, Tylar released Loras, who squirmed away from under him. Gaining his feet and fixing his shirt and hair. He stared at Tylar with bitterness.
“You wait until father hears of this. He’ll have your head!” He screamed, clearly disorientated and still slightly affected from the shaking.
He turned and stormed off, turning the attention of the crowd to him. Maxwell knelt beside Tylar, his eyes showing concern. His hand rested on Tylar’s back, and he lowered himself so he could see Tylar’s eyes.
“Nephew, are you hurt?” He asked, almost a touch of fear in his tone. Tylar snorted and shook his head.
“No.” He muttered. His brother could never hurt him, despite his height. It was only his words which did Tylar any harm. Maxwell turned his attention back to the lords who were in his pavilion.
“Gentlemen, I think we can call off this meeting for another time.” The men seemed to nod in agreement, leaving Maxwell and Tylar in peace.
Tylar stood up, with the weak aid of Maxwell by his side, and was led into the pavilion. The crowd left pondering on what had just happened.
The pavilion was dim, with only a few candle lights keeping the tent lit. In the centre was a large table with a map, and strangely enough looked to be a strategic battle plan in the centre of it. Maxwell quickly ushered Tylar to a seat, and rolled away the map.
Tylar sighed, rubbing his head with his tired hands. He was tired, and needed rest. Yet there was so much on his mind, he knew his sleep would be poor unless he were to get everything off of his chest. Maxwell put the map away and grabbed a flask, inside Tylar hoped there was ale.
“Water?” Maxwell asked, and Tylar miserably shook his head. Tylar quickly spoke up, to shut away the awkward tension.
“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, and Maxwell smiled and shook his head.
“No, just speaking with Lord’s Broom and Greenfield. They are apparently having a dispute over land, which I am trying to settle through a matter of finance.” Maxwell said, giving Tylar a sly wink. Tylar smiled, knowing that it meant it was in Maxwell’s best interest.
“I’m gathering you know of the lion cubs?” Tylar asked, and received a small nod from Maxwell, as well as a curious look in his eyes.
“I am curious, why did you bring them back here for my judgement?” Tylar shrugged, he had told the entire story to Gwyn, and lacked the mood to tell it again.
“I saw something in them, something that was no coincidence.” He began, trying to think of the right words. “The three cubs, they resembled my brothers and I with an accurate perspective. When I slayed their mother, I saw something in them. I don’t know what it was, but I just couldn’t bring myself to slaughter them.” Tylar watched as Maxwell nodded, pouring himself a drink and sitting down beside him.
“You think it is, what? Fated by the gods?” He asked, Tylar could not spot any mockery in his uncle’s words, not that he expected any. Tylar shrugged, staring down at the floor, he clasped his hands together and sighed.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to kill them, or give the order. Perhaps that is destiny, perhaps it’s weakness. I do not know, which is why I’m leaving the decision up to you.” Maxwell smiled, taking a drink from his wooden cup.
“The decision has already been made, as far as I am aware. You’re attached to them, perhaps your brothers will be too.” He started, though clearly hesitation and reluctance haunted his words. “Well, one of them…” Tylar nodded, urging him to continue no further.
“Where are they?” Tylar asked, and Maxwell placed his cup down.
“With your squire, Lawsen was it? Good lad.” Tylar nodded in agreement, growing bored of the conversation.
“I’ll go see them.” Tylar said, standing up. Maxwell remained seated, staring at Tylar.
“Don’t you think you should seek out your brother? Perhaps apologise?” Maxwell asked, almost pleading that he did so. Tylar shrugged, not wanting to think of his brother.
“Perhaps.” Tylar said, as if he were considering it. Thoughts of Gwyn arose in his head. Come back to me. She whispered, he knew he would have to spare some time for her as well.
Tylar walked to the flap door, only stopping for a brief moment to look back at his uncle. The cubs were still on his mind. He took a step back, so he was facing Maxwell.
“Do you think that father will accept the young lions?” He asked, and received only a shrug from Maxwell.
“Your father is a difficult man, but I’m sure he will understand. Perhaps they will come of use to you, if not then they will end up with the beasts in the caves below Casterly Rock.” Maxwell sighed, and Tylar thought about the horrid lions beneath Casterly Rock. He dreaded the thought of having any innocent living thing go down there.
“Thank you, uncle.” Tylar finally concluded, and the man gave him a nod.
[Seek out Loras] [Return to Gwyn] [Find Lawsen and the cubs]
Well, there are a couple of people missing but I'll close the votes now as it looks like their return will not affect the voting. Darren will proceed alone to the tavern, to meet with the shady people who claim they hold his sister captive.
This choice will have it's consequences, though the decision was a hard one to make, and in the end all of them had their pro's and con's. At any rate, the next part is out, and it's pretty long so I do apologise if you get bored. The ending is a bit rushed because I was starting to get tired, but I hope you guys enjoy Tylar's first part!
Darren
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood besid… moree Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few … [view original content]
Another interesting new PoV! Seems like the Rock is getting really big This lion cub thing was quite interesting, it strongly reminded me of the direwolf scene in the books.
[Seek out Loras]
I actually saw good reasons for all three options here. With Gwyn, there might be a chance to improve their rather loveless marriage. She seems to harbour some feelings for him, or else she wouldn't have told him to come back. The cubs meanwhile are very young animals who just lost their mother, they could need some care, especially in such a crucial phase. Though, Loras is his brother and he should try and make amends as quick as possible, which is why I chose to seek him out first.
The pavilion was dim, with only a few candle lights keeping the tent lit. In the centre was a large table with a map, and strangely enough l… moreooked to be a strategic battle plan in the centre of it. Maxwell quickly ushered Tylar to a seat, and rolled away the map.
Tylar sighed, rubbing his head with his tired hands. He was tired, and needed rest. Yet there was so much on his mind, he knew his sleep would be poor unless he were to get everything off of his chest. Maxwell put the map away and grabbed a flask, inside Tylar hoped there was ale.
“Water?” Maxwell asked, and Tylar miserably shook his head. Tylar quickly spoke up, to shut away the awkward tension.
“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, and Maxwell smiled and shook his head.
“No, just speaking with Lord’s Broom and Greenfield. They are apparently having a dispute over land, which I am trying to settle through a matter of finance.” Maxwell said, giving Tylar a sly wink. Tyl… [view original content]
Hey! Well firstly I'd like to point out that the cub scene was a pretty important one in terms of hidden meanings and the likes (very similar to the direwolves, a lot of inspiration there of course). This part was a really fun one to write, and the funniest part was it was planned to be much longer, though I ultimately ended up ending it at that point. I'm glad you found his first part interesting, I really enjoyed writing him
Another interesting new PoV! Seems like the Rock is getting really big This lion cub thing was quite interesting, it strongly reminded me o… moref the direwolf scene in the books.
[Seek out Loras]
I actually saw good reasons for all three options here. With Gwyn, there might be a chance to improve their rather loveless marriage. She seems to harbour some feelings for him, or else she wouldn't have told him to come back. The cubs meanwhile are very young animals who just lost their mother, they could need some care, especially in such a crucial phase. Though, Loras is his brother and he should try and make amends as quick as possible, which is why I chose to seek him out first.
The pavilion was dim, with only a few candle lights keeping the tent lit. In the centre was a large table with a map, and strangely enough l… moreooked to be a strategic battle plan in the centre of it. Maxwell quickly ushered Tylar to a seat, and rolled away the map.
Tylar sighed, rubbing his head with his tired hands. He was tired, and needed rest. Yet there was so much on his mind, he knew his sleep would be poor unless he were to get everything off of his chest. Maxwell put the map away and grabbed a flask, inside Tylar hoped there was ale.
“Water?” Maxwell asked, and Tylar miserably shook his head. Tylar quickly spoke up, to shut away the awkward tension.
“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, and Maxwell smiled and shook his head.
“No, just speaking with Lord’s Broom and Greenfield. They are apparently having a dispute over land, which I am trying to settle through a matter of finance.” Maxwell said, giving Tylar a sly wink. Tyl… [view original content]
[Seek out Loras] Excellent part! I want Tylar to find Lawsen and the cubs but he probably should go find Loras and try to calm him down or intimidate him to where he won't cause anymore of a scene.
The pavilion was dim, with only a few candle lights keeping the tent lit. In the centre was a large table with a map, and strangely enough l… moreooked to be a strategic battle plan in the centre of it. Maxwell quickly ushered Tylar to a seat, and rolled away the map.
Tylar sighed, rubbing his head with his tired hands. He was tired, and needed rest. Yet there was so much on his mind, he knew his sleep would be poor unless he were to get everything off of his chest. Maxwell put the map away and grabbed a flask, inside Tylar hoped there was ale.
“Water?” Maxwell asked, and Tylar miserably shook his head. Tylar quickly spoke up, to shut away the awkward tension.
“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, and Maxwell smiled and shook his head.
“No, just speaking with Lord’s Broom and Greenfield. They are apparently having a dispute over land, which I am trying to settle through a matter of finance.” Maxwell said, giving Tylar a sly wink. Tyl… [view original content]
Comments
[Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens]
[Seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens] Whoa, almost forgot to vote
Anyway, great part! Samira is one of my favorite characters for sure!
Alright, I'll finally close this. Samira will seek out Dalia at the Japing Kitchens.
This is probably the better choice for now, and we'll see where it leads her in her next part. Firstly though, I'd just like to apologise for my absence of the past month, I've been really busy with my studies and exams, and have just found little time to write. Of course, the workload never ended when exams finished, so that has had me pretty busy for the last three weeks. However, I'm finally on holidays and I plan to get out a new part as often as I can
So speak of which, I've finally finished writing my most recent part! It focuses on a new PoV, whose name is Warrick Westerling. So without further ado, here it is!
Warrick
The Sunset Sea glinted and glimmered as the sun slowly descended in the western horizon. Fishing vessels could be seen pulling in their nets, packing away their catch and returning to the western shores. In the far distance, a pod of dolphins could be seen dancing in the light rippling swell. The occasional whale fin emersed from the mass of blue, which would be as quick to disappear as it was to appear.
Warrick rode his black destrier beside his brother, Lord Mericus Westerling. Ahead and behind of them were a dozen escort guards, holding the banners of the Crag: six white shells on a sandy shore. Warrick stared out to the luscious sea, embedded with its beauty. With them was his eldest son, Willem, a boy of five years. Willem had taken much after his father, being an intuitive and respectable person. Warrick had taught him their words: Honour, not honours, and it had clearly left its mark on the boy ever since.
Warrick was slightly glad that his son had not been exactly like him, however. Warrick was proud to see his son replicating the same honourable traits, it was one of the few things which warmed Warrick’s heart. However, over the years Warrick had become much more sinister in appearance, never smiling and always appearing angered. Despite this not being entirely the case, Warrick still held no respect for himself as an honorable man. He had given his all to his overlord, his king. He was a brute for King Tybolt Lannister, an enforcer. He was not a father.
Mericus was a different man entirely, being the eldest of Warrick’s brothers. Mericus had seemingly been born with the honourable trait of House Westerling. However he had not seen combat like Warrick had, he had not experienced death like Warrick had. They may have been brothers, but the men were two entirely different people, only inseparable from their traits.
Mericus was a tall man, lean and slim. His greying black hair fell down to his shoulders, light and shining. His face was cleanly shaved, apart from the trimmed black mustache which reached down to his jaw. His dark brown eyes were oddly vibrant, filled with life yet almost encouraging when given a certain look.
However, where Warrick was a tall man he was certainly not lean or slim. Warrick was a larger man, bulked with broad shoulders. His greying black hair was a medium length, pulled back from his face, which better revealed his formidably cold dark brown eyes which nearly verged on black. Warrick wore a loose white shirt, as well as some tight leather leggings and boots. Above this, Warrick wore a bronze hauberk, which made him feel lighter and more uncomfortable than usual. Warrick had been a man with tastes for heavy plated armour, yet the long distance travelling and overall destination had not required Warrick’s gear. Nonetheless, Warrick still brought Honor with him, his bronze greatsword.
The small group had been riding for the past day for a small keep known as Silentport, the seat of House Lantell. Lord Bryce Lantell had sent an invitation to all the common lords of the Westerlands to attend his wedding, yet Warrick knew that few would actually attend. House Lantell was a small house, a bastard cadet branch of House Lannister. Yet Lord Bryce was closer a brother to Warrick than Mericus or any other of Warrick’s natural brothers.
The two had grown up together, and formed a great friendship. Before House Lantell had been formed, Bryce had been the bastard of Maxwell Lannister, the younger brother of King Tybolt Lannister. Warrick had been a ward for Maxwell, to which he and Bryce had formed an everlasting bond of friendship. It had been years since Warrick had seen Bryce, and even longer since Warrick had seen Maxwell. He wondered if he would attend the wedding, or whether matters at Casterly Rock would prove too straining for him to attend the wedding of a bastard son.
The sound of Mericus clearing his throat caused Warrick to turn his attention toward him. Mericus had been a man for his words, and he had found silence to be awkward and supposedly unhealthy. Warrick looked his brother up and down, before sighing.
“What?” Warrick asked, his voice was monotone. Mericus shrugged, staring out to sea.
“Not often you get to see a view like this, is it?” He stated, avoiding eye contact. Warrick was tired and irritated, eager to get some rest when arriving to Silentport. This had caused his mood to be seemingly hostile, or at the very least aggravated.
“Aye, it’s something else.” Warrick quietly said, making sure to conceal his irritability. The Crag was on the shores of the Westerlands, looking out to the Sunset Sea. This view was regular. Mericus nodded and turned his eyes to the vanguard of their escort.
“Willem is growing bigger each day, he’ll be a man soon enough. When do you plan to build on the land I’ve given you?” Warrick stared at his son, riding with the young soldiers that carried their banners. He shrugged, readjusting his grip on the reins.
“Eager to get rid of me, brother?” Mericus chuckled and shook his head.
“Warrick, the Crag is just as much your home as it is mine. You’ve made a name for yourself, made triumphs which are sung throughout the Westerlands.” Mericus sighed, turning his gaze to Warrick. “I gave you land because I believed that such a renowned man would likely not want to live under the same roof of his boring brothers for the rest of his life.” Warrick could see the discomfort in Mericus’ eyes, it was clear he had more to say yet was unsure how to communicate it. Warrick sighed and nodded in genuine gratitude.
“When the time is right, I’ll build a keep on the land you have given me. My son will be a better man than me, a man fit to rule such a keep.” Warrick felt an overwhelming feeling of discourage surge through him, though he remained calm towards his brother.
“Perhaps it would be wise to send Willem to squire for one of our allies. The Crakehall’s or the Yarwyck’s…” Warrick shook his head, bothered by the mention.
“My son won’t be a ward for petty houses. He would be trained by the best, under the house of Lannister. Just as I was.” Mericus sighed, stroking the main of his brown destrier.
“Times change, brother. Unless you want Willem to be led under the guidance of the Cowardly Lion.” Warrick’s loathing eyes glared at Mericus with disappointment and distrust.
“Loras is a Lannister, and the son of King Tybolt. You call the boy a coward, yet it is you who sat behind the walls of the Crag when we were forced to take up arms and protect our borders from the Riverlands.” Warrick watched as the fiery hatred built up in Mericus’ eyes.
“You’re as deluded as the boy prince himself. Willem would do better to learn how to lead from a brothel whore rather than a Lannister.” Warrick halted his destrier in front of Mericus’ and stared him in his dull eyes.
“If you continue to speak treason of our king then I will-” Mericus shut him off, passing Warrick with his agitated steed.
“Will what? Strike me and all of your house down like you did the Tully’s? It wouldn’t be beneath you, after butchering three boys who weren’t even of age to hold a sword. All in the name of our king.” Mericus spurred his destrier and rode off to meet the vanguard, leaving Warrick on his own.
The sea breeze rolled in from the west, coursing through Warrick’s hair and beard, yet giving no assistance in cooling down Warrick’s temper. His brothers words were an act of treason, punishable by death. Yet Warrick was no executioner, nor a murderer. He was an enforcer, yet now he felt discouraged, his pride was wounded yet his honour did not stutter. He served House Lannister, that much he knew.
-
The sun had set by the time the Westerling convoy had arrived at Silentport. The city was small, self-sustainable with vessels that came in to trade, yet overall it was a calm and reasonably quiet city. It was entirely walled off, with the previous encounters of bandits and Ironborn raid attempts. The stone walls stood fifteen feet high, and were manned by two Lantell sentinels at all times.
Warrick rode ahead of the convoy, his son Willem riding by his side. The boy wore his riding leathers, as well as a white cotton shirt beneath his leather vest. On his belt was a bronze dagger that Warrick had issued him with on the off chance that their convoy would reach any trouble, which Mericus was highly opposing of.
Warrick found himself filled with pride when he saw the banners of House Lantell flapping in the wind that blew from the west. The crowned silver trout being feasted on by a red and gold lion on a blue field was more symbolic than it seemed. The golden crown with polished emeralds, as well as the silver trout, represented Lord Bryce Lantell’s triumph when defeating House Tully and Mudd at the border of the Westerlands and Riverlands. The red and gold lions symbolised his origins, being the son of a Lannister and Reyne, and the blue field represented the ocean that he had settled by.
Memories of the battles Warrick and Bryce had participated in left a variety of mixed emotions. Where Bryce had received a number of honours and titles for his efforts in the previous war, Warrick had received a title of his own. The Enforcer.
Bryce had outsmarted the Tully forces, which stood four thousand strong when Bryce’s battalion stood only a mere fifteen hundred, yet through his strategic mind and excellent battle tactics he had prevailed a great victory for House Lannister. However, Warrick had taken it a step further to enforce the rule of House Lannister on the petty houses of the Riverlands.
He had been ordered to cripple the houses, and that was what he had done. Warrick had slaughtered the children of both House Tully and Mudd, and felt no remorse until much later on when he had a son of his own.
Now Warrick bared witness to that victory, that victory was imprinted on the banners of his friend’s triumph. War had taught Warrick a great deal of things, yet all had meant nothing up until that leading moment. The moment where Warrick had learnt that war was nothing but a cruel way to punish others for another’s selfish greed. Yet still, Warrick served his kingdom with honour, as they had done the same for him.
The bronze portcullis rose once the Westerling escort had come to a halt outside. Warrick stared onward to the man that stood on the other side. He was tall, slim and muscular, with short hair and a groomed beard that was tainted in the golden colour of House Lannister. However, his eyes were a bright blue, representing his mother’s side. He wore a casual buttoned white shirt, with loose black pants and leather boots.
Even from the distance that Warrick could see the man, he knew it was Bryce. He could see the wide, genuinely jovial grin on the man’s face. His general posture, his laughing eyes. He may have not been his brother by blood, though he was by far the only man Warrick considered as an actual brother.
Warrick remained seated on the back of his halted destrier, despite his eagerness to join Bryce’s side. Once Lord Mericus and the remaining of the convoy had reached Warrick and Willem’s location, the escort entered the city of Silentport.
Warrick dismounted his destrier in an orderly fashion, maintaining a stern and guarding expression. Mericus dismounted his own steed, and walked to the smiling Lion of Lantell. Willem had already dismounted, and stood in front of Warrick with his hands crossed over-one-another. Warrick rested his large hands on Willem’s shoulders, watching as Mericus shook Bryce’s hand. Bryce’s expression had turned serious, and respectful.
“Lord Mericus, I am honoured that you could make it to my wedding. It’s always an honour to have a Westerling within the walls of Silentport.” Mericus nodded in genuine thanks, placing another hand on top of Bryce’s.
“Well I couldn’t miss the wedding of the Youngstones!” Mericus said cheerfully, though Warrick could hear the sarcasm deep within his tone of voice. “I apologise to cut our conversation short, Lord Bryce. However, we have been riding day in and day out to get here, you must forgive me for being so exhausted.” Bryce raised his eyebrows, as if in a sudden realisation, then nodded.
“There is nothing to forgive, my lord. Please, allow my guard to lead you and your men to your accommodation.” Bryce turned and beckoned for the two men behind him. One would lead the escort to the barracks, and the other would lead Mericus to Silentport’s keep.
“Go along with your uncle, Willem. I assure you that you may speak with Bryce soon.” Warrick whispered, nudging his son forward to follow Mericus. The boy turned back and smiled, before joining his uncle.
Soon there was only Lord Bryce and Warrick remaining in the courtyard behind the main gate, and the men silently stood until they were assured that all was quiet. When convinced, the two grasped arms and pulled each other into an embracement. After a short moment, they pulled away from each other.
“You haven’t gotten any shorter, Westerling. Yet are those grey strands I’m seeing?” Warrick rolled his eyes and allowed himself a grin.
“Mind what you say, Youngstones. I’m still a better fighter than you.” There was an odd silence that corroded the air after Warrick finished his sentence, until Bryce finally sniggered and then the men joined each other in laughter.
“Come, Warrick. Let us walk to my keep and speak of the years that we have been so absent from.” Bryce started, taking few steps. “Your son is growing up fast.” Bryce mentioned, a few metres ahead of Warrick now. Warrick quickened his pace to catch up with the only slightly younger man.
“Aye, he’ll be a man before I know it.” Bryce nodded in agreeance, resting his hands on his hips as he walked.
“Have you thought of who he will ward for?” Bryce asked with an oddly nervous tone. Warrick sighed, remembering how this conversation ended with his brother.
“Are you offering to take him?” Warrick asked, half astounded by the proposal. Bryce shrugged his shoulders, looking just as surprised.
“I’m honoured that you’d think that, Warrick. Though that is not what I meant. Lord Yew is a good man, and I’m sure he’d be happy to take on your son, I could speak with him if you like.” Warrick shrugged his shoulders, the conversation seemed to bother him for reasons he did not understand.
“Speaking of which, how did House Yew agree to marry their daughter to the newly founded House Lantell?” Bryce seemed to be amused with this change of topic, grinning in response.
“Father arranged the marriage.” Warrick raised his eyebrows.
“Maxwell managed to arrange this? How much did he have to pay him?” Warrick asked, making reference that Maxwell Lannister was the Master of Coin to Casterly Rock. Bryce smiled and shook his head.
“Not a single piece of gold. Turns out Lord Yew asked a favour of father, to have his son, Lawsen, squire for the best. Father made Lawsen a squire for King Tybolt’s eldest son, Tylar, and in return I am to marry the eldest daughter. Lady Emilee.” Warrick nodded in congratulations, Maxwell had always been the man to give every chance he could to Bryce and Warrick, which was half the reason they were the men they had grown up to be.
“Will Maxwell be attending your wedding? It’s been just as long, if not longer, since I’ve seen that old lion.” Bryce nodded, a warm smile on his face.
“He said he would come, supposedly Prince Tylar and Prince Loras are accompanying him as well. I never thought a bastard could attract so many large names to his small wedding.” Warrick smiled and shook his head.
“Yet a bastard, you are no more. You are the Lion of Lantell, Protector of the Westerlands and Lord of Silentport. That gives you a good name in the eyes of the Lannister’s.” Bryce shrugged, clasping his hands together.
“I’m still a bastard, no matter the names or titles I receive. I’m just a more fortunate bastard.” Before Warrick could attempt to argue, a Lantell guard approached Bryce with weary eyes. The man seemed exhausted, as if he had not slept for days on end.
“M’lord.” The guard greeted, taking in a deep breath. It was clear this man had been running. “M’lord, the sigil of House Banefort comes toward Silentport. What’re your orders?” Bryce raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Banefort? I never invited a Banefort…” Bryce turned to Warrick, confusion in his eyes. “My apologies for cutting this short, Warrick. I must go see what these schannagons of Banefort’s are.” Warrick felt his hand gravitating towards Honour, his bronze greatsword.
“Allow me to accompany you, the Banefort’s arrival brings darkness. It may not be safe.” Bryce’s warm laughing eyes returned, attempting to reassure Warrick.
“I’ll be fine, Warrick. I presume you remember your way back to my keep?” Bryce asked with a hint of mockery in his grin. “I’ll be back soon, and then we will talk more. I look forward to hearing all the tales you have had since we last met.” Bryce was already walking back towards the gate when he had concluded his sentence, leaving Warrick alone. What tales? Warrick miserably thought, his past five years had been too quiet.
Warrick entered the city market, which to his surprise was still buzzing with activity even after sunset. The market had minimal guards, though Warrick did not imagine there would be much need for security in a city like this one. The city was small, and nearly everyone knew each other which made crime and secrecy almost non-existent in Silentport.
The market was filled with a variety of different trinkets and merchandise. Mostly fishing requirements and fillets from the fisheries, however there were also weapons for hunting and even jewelry and potions. Even produce and exports from Essos had reached the small city of Silentport, and what Warrick saw laying on the stalls made him question how civil the Essosi were.
As Warrick walked through the market, staring at all the luxurial goods, he could not help but notice something in the corner of his eye. Between two leather crafting stores, and off to the left in an alley between two buildings stood a short boy. The boy was young and stooped over, hooded and cloaked with a bloody scaling knife in his hand. Warrick wanted to give the boy the benefit of doubt, yet the way he stealthily crept and the way he held his sharp tool sent shivers to Warrick’s spine.
Warrick was about to take a step closer to observe the boy further, when he felt his shoulder being gripped. Warrick swung around, reaching for Honour, only to find his brother Mericus standing behind him with his hands slightly raised in the air. Warrick’s hands loosened their grip from Honour’s handle, leaving it sheathed in it’s scabbard. Mericus lowered his hands.
“Apologies brother, I should have said something.” Warrick shook his head and turned back to the boy, who as a consequence was nowhere to be seen.
“What do you want, Mericus?” Warrick asked irritably, avoiding eye contact. Mericus sighed, clasping his hands behind his back.
“I…” He started, though cut himself short. “Lady Emilee Yew would wish to speak with you. She’s here, in the markets.” Warrick felt an uneasy feeling, and when his eyes had finally found the hooded boy, he did not break the contact.
“I’m a little busy right now.” Warrick muttered, as he stared at the boy stealthily creeping through the stalls. He heard Mericus grunt in frustration.
“We need to talk, Warrick.” Mericus said, his tone clearly tired and easily frustrated. “Look at me when I speak to you.” He finally said, grabbing Warrick’s arm.
Warrick’s eyes turned to Mericus’ with a quick motionless gaze, yet there was a fire in Warrick’s eyes that burned with anger. Warrick knew that the boy was up to something, and he may not have had another chance to stop him, yet his brother continued to persist in halting him. Warrick stared into his brother’s pleading brown eyes, which seemed to be screaming another pain.
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy] [Speak with Mericus]
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy]
I must say, this is a very interesting new PoV! For now, I like Warrick and the other characters in his storyline, it'll be nice to read more about them. As for the choice, while I think speaking with Mericus might be important, or at least important in Mericus' opinion, there is something seriously wrong with this boy, it seems he's either trying to kill someone or already succeeded in doing so. If Warrick manages to stop any crime from happening, I'm sure Mericus will understand. His talk can wait, but if the boy is about to kill someone, then preventing that has to be Warrick's priority for now.
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy] A tough choice right of the gate! I want to speak with Mericus but this wedding is a huge thing for Bryce so I believe it would be best for Warrick to hopefully stop this boy before anything bad can happen. Great part!
That moment you forget to close votes. Better close them all now as I am updating the recap! XD Jaycen will send him to Blackhaven.
Vote closed, Alara will tell him to stay.
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy] Better prevent anything bad happening
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy]
I don't believe that this "small-talk" (not really, it seems important, but still) can't wait - obviously the boy won't. We don't know his purpose, but it looks very suspicious - better to act in advance.
Finally made some time to read this long part, and I wasn't disappointed
Great part!
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy] As others have said, the talk can wait, this boy seems suspicious.
Would like to ask: Isn't House Casterly still in power at this point? Or did Lann the Clever already take Casterly Rock?
I noticed a few Lannisters on the waiting list to get introduced as I wondered if I should submit a character or two. Is House Manderly still in the Reach? Can the story and player characters change the outcome, change history for Westeros from the original known timeline?
Hello JorianDrake!
Firstly, welcome to The Invasion, glad to have you onboard
As for House Casterly, they were out of power and gone by the end of the Age of Heroes if I remember correctly, to which the Andal invasion occurred roughly four to five thousand years later. So the Lannister's are in power of Casterly Rock during this time period, which also means House Manderly is still in the Reach. How Manderly were exiled from the Reach roughly over a thousand years from the events of ASOIAF if I have read the wiki correctly.
Now, where I like to stick mainly to canon, I've never had a problem playing around with non-canon storylines (which is indeed in this story and my other one). It really depends what you mean by that, because I'll likely try and play out the story so that it roughly lives with GRRM's stated timeline. However, it was the Maester's who began to scribe all this information long after the events of the Pact, Long Night and Andal Invasion, so it's highly likely they simply missed a bit of information which is an excellent way to enter non-canon relations
I see, thanks for the reply. This still seems fun but it just means the Andals will mostly win and there is no way to... let's say, allow the Manderly's unite the Reach under their rule, if I understand your reply right (am bit tired)
When it came to the Reach, the First Men mostly opened up and lived with the Andal's. So, the Manderly's may still try this arc if you wish, it would surely be a fun storyline
[Break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy]
okay, will consider it
Alright, well this vote seems pretty clear. Warrick will break away from Mericus and pursue the hooded boy.
This choice, like all choices, will of course have it's own pros and cons. However, in the short term this choice serves to be the best, as will be seen in the next part. At any rate, I apologise for my writing being so slow. My enthusiasm levels have just dropped these holidays, and I've done nothing but be a couch potato for the whole week. However I plan to try and write a new part by the end of this upcoming weekend, as I have a novel to finish writing for my English project by the end of today. So the next part will be a Wyllam part, and here's a short recap:
Last we saw Wyllam, he had been forced to agree to a deal to pass over the Belmore navy to House Corbray in the battle to come. As he was being held in the dungeons beneath Heart's Home, Wyllam made a steady friendship with the jailor, Garvy, and ended up collecting useful information out of him. However, when King Qyle Corbray found out about this, he left Wyllam with the choice to execute Garvy, or allow the entirety of Gulltown's smallfolk to starve to death. Wyllam ultimately made the difficult decision to execute Garvy, which is where the last part was left off.
I know the feeling
Anyway, good luck for the English project!
Wyllam
The rope bounds around Wyllam’s wrist chafed into his skin, leaving burns and grazes whenever the guard tugged on his lead. They were leading him out into the courtyard, to witness the execution of the Garvy the jailer. Wyllam’s choice to save the women, children and elderly of Gulltown had come at a price, and that price had been Garvy, and it was Wyllam’s fault.
The city guard known as Aidin tugged on Wyllam’s lead once more before reaching the main doors to the courtyard. Wyllam was lunged forward with the sudden force, and his lack of balance threw him off his feet. He landed against the cold marble floor with a thud, skidding against the shiny tiles. He received an angered glare from the city guard, who stormed towards him with his bashing stick.
Wyllam had been fed little to none the past few days since Garvy’s sentencing, and hence he was weak and deprived as a consequence. His awareness was limited, and his judgement was faulty. However, he saw clearly with his eyes, and could spot no falters.
Aidin brought down his stick with a thundering strike, hitting Wyllam on the waist. The next was on his arm as it shot down to nurse the newly sore spot, and got hit in the process. The spoilt guard had a furious look in his eyes, his cheeks bright red with anger.
“You will not stain the great floors of Heart’s Home with your filth! Get up, barbarian. Get up!” He yelled, thrusting his boot into Wyllam’s side as he attempted to stand, only to be knocked over again.
Wyllam heard the frustrated footsteps approaching towards him, more pain to be inflicted onto Wyllam’s already broken body. However, when the footsteps halted and there was no punishment, Wyllam turned and looked at the sudden change with curiosity.
There stood the commander of the city guard, and seemingly the only friendly person Wyllam had come across in Heart’s Home. Warne Spyre had caught the upraised forearm of Aidin, and twisted his wrist to the point of pain that it caused his to release his baton. There was anger in his eyes, though of another kind, pitiful almost.
“You’re a disgrace, Aidin. A disgrace to our vow, our city and kingdom. Get out of my sight before I teach you a lesson you will never forget.” He grunted, his tone intimidating and confident. He released the wincing boy’s wrist, and the boy retreated nursing his wrist with a sullen expression riddled on his face.
Warne knelt down beside Wyllam, his grim expression seemed genuine. He extended his open hand to Wyllam, to which his dirty hand received with a clenching grip. In a quick, swift motion, Wyllam was pulled to his feet.
His thick whitebeard ran down to his upper chest, tied into a knot. His hair was hidden under his capped steel helm, though his silver eyes looked at Wyllam openly. His grim and pitiful expression and turned slightly warmer, yet there was no sympathy.
“You ready to go, Wyllam?” He asked, catching Wyllam off guard. He had called him by his name, a rare expression that rarely any Andal’s had shown.
Wyllam shrugged and nodded his head clumsily, tired and exhausted from their walk to the courtyard. Warne nodded in return, and then led him outside the large reinforced frame doors, into the courtyard.
The sudden brightness of the sun beaming down on the courtyard left Wyllam blinded momentarily, however when his eyes adjusted he saw an entire crowd of peasants, soldiers and knights alike. On the courtyard, however, stood King Qyle and his sons. His knights stood beside him, hands on the hilts of their sheathed swords once Wyllam came into view. Wyllam felt as if it were he who was to be executed, perhaps he would be.
Then Wyllam saw him, on his knees before a wooden stool. He wore dirty rags, same as Wyllam, however it was clear he had suffered far worse than Wyllam had. His face was covered in dry blood and muck from the ground, his left eye black and bruised. His arms were shaking uncontrollably, fear coursed through him and displayed itself on his already cursed face.
Wyllam was stopped, standing still beside Warne Spyre at the far left corner of the courtyard, yet not too far from the rest of the knights and princes that they shared it with. King Qyle Corbray stood forth once all were in their positions, his hands by his side. He paced from one side of the court to the other, repeating the new routine, before saying anything.
“Good people of Heart’s Home!” He yelled with a jovial tone, and received a cheering uproar in reply. “Today is a grim day, a dark day in fact. We have been betrayed by one of our own, conspiring with the First Men I have held captive in my cells. This man is Garvy, one of the trusted jailers until just a few days ago.” Qyle proclaimed, a hushed silence fell among the crowd, except for the weeping of a woman and two children.
Qyle unsheathed his sword from his scabbard, lifting his arms into the air, captivating the crowd with his false glory. He turned to Warne, beckoning to bring Wyllam forward. Warne guided Wyllam to Qyle, stopping only a few feet away from him. Qyle spoke again.
“With their time in Heart’s Home, the First Men have taught me a lot about their customs! How the man who deals the sentence must be the one to fulfil it.” His voice hushed down to a whisper. “Though it was not I, who sentenced Garvy to death.” He said quietly, turning to Wyllam.
He pointed his sword to Wyllam, the steel was unlike any Andal sword he had ever seen. The point of the blade hovered at Wyllam’s neck, yet Wyllam remained placid and seemingly fearless, however on the inside a rush of emotions battled to escape. The blade then descended, until reaching his binds, to which he cut loose with a single stroke.
The severed ropes fell to the ground, a gasped audience rose up with awe. Qyle grinned, holding his sword in such a way as if he were to present it to someone.
“You were the man to pass the sentence.” He proclaimed, making sure all the audience could hear. “You will pass on the deed.” He concluded, offering his blade to Wyllam.
A hush fell upon the crowd, all eyes fell upon Wyllam and what he would do. Wyllam hesitantly took the sword, a thousand thoughts rushing through his mind. Kill him, kill them all! Run! Do it, you coward. Wyllam stood before Qyle, the man’s eyes almost pleading for him to try. Wyllam gulped and looked over to Garvy, who stared back at him with fear in his eyes.
Wyllam took in a deep breath and sighed. Qyle was correct, Wyllam had passed the sentence. It was he who had to kill the man if he were to follow the old way. He took one last glance at Qyle before committing the deed. I will kill you. He thought, before leaving his dreadful gaze.
Wyllam limped towards Garvy, who had now had his head forced down onto the wooden block. His muscles were tensed, he struggled and squirmed. It would not be a clean cut if he continued to persist. Wyllam stopped in front of him, planting the sword into the ground.
“Garvy.” Wyllam muttered, his voice quiet so that only he and Garvy could hear. “In sights of gods and men I sentence you to die. Would you speak any final words.” Wyllam’s tone was grim and deeply saddened, he watched as his friend’s eyes welled up in tears.
“Please Wyllam. Please, I’ll be good. Just let me live!” He cried, receiving a negative attraction from the crowd.
Wyllam lowered his head, fearful that tears would escape from his eyes. When he looked back up, Garvy still stared at him with his pleading eyes. Wyllam grabbed the hilt of the longword with both of his hands. I’m sorry, Garvy. Wyllam raised the blade above his head.
Thoughts and emotions battled for Wyllam to stay his hand, holding him back. A moment passed, his arms lingering in the air longer, a hushed crowd staring on with confusion and disappointment. Wyllam turned his gaze back to Qyle, who stared at him with a sickening look. Wyllam felt the hatred for Qyle build up inside him, he turned back to Garvy, who had lowered his head to weep.
Wyllam brought down the blade in one quick stroke, cutting cleanly through the skin and bone. The headless corpse slid off of the wooden block, and the head toppled and rolled off of the court, stopping in front of the weeping woman and children who screamed and cried in an agony which Wyllam would never forget.
Wyllam dropped the sword and took a step back, almost instantly landing in the arms of the knights and city guards. He was in a state of shock, and the blood was all quickly rushing through his body. His vision was clouded in darkness, the only thing clear was the sick grin on Qyle’s face. That was the last Wyllam saw.
-
Wyllam awoke in a confined cell, with stone walls and one lit lantern. Wyllam awoke vertically, on a slightly back slanted wooden bench. His wrists and ankles were tied down to the board with leather straps, a bench across from him displayed a variety of small sharp tools. Where am I? Wyllam thought, worried and concerned.
Wyllam tried to free himself from the table, though with no success. Finally, he resorted in yelling for help, until he could yell no more. After a long moment of waiting, the sound of a door opening from behind him.
The man who entered was tall, his eyes droopy and black, though the rest of him was muscular and lean. He wore a leather coat, as well as leather pants and boots. He was bald, however, and looked to me in his mid forties.
He walked over to the table, picking up a large iron nail, as well as a hammer. He walked over to Wyllam and smiled, his droopy eyes beaming with excitement.
“Do you know who I am?” He asked, and Wyllam shook his head tiredly. “I am Rylan, my son is Aidin. He’s told me a lot about you.” Rylan said with a worrying grin.
He took a step closer to Wyllam, standing on a stool so that he was at the same height as Wyllam. He put the iron nail to Wyllam’s cheek, and sliced downward. A trickle of blood stained the iron, the cut caused Wyllam to wince.
“If you haven’t already gathered, I am the king’s torturer. Now, as much as he has gotten from torturing and slaughtering the smallfolk you brought with you, he’s received little information about Robar and his plans. I want that information from you.” He said, a calm and soft smile on his face. “So, we can do this the easy way. You tell me all I need to know, you can get away with this lightly. Or, you can suffer greatly until I get what I want. What’s your choice?” He asked, and Wyllam shook his head confused.
“I don’t know anything about Robar now.” Wyllam said miserably, though it was clear it did not satisfy Rylan.
“Wrong answer.” He simply said, then placed the iron nail on the palm of Wyllam’s hand.
Wyllam felt the panic surge through him, the fear. His hand squirmed, desperately trying to escape this sudden threat. He turned and looked at Rylan, fear in his eyes. Rylan stared back with a dreading smile, then tapped on the nail with his hammer.
A jolt of pain ran through his arm, making him want to scream. Yet the first was nothing compared to the second, which sent the nail through his hand entirely. Wyllam’s scream filled the room, his bloody hand tingly and in pain.
Rylan jumped down from the stool and walked over to the table, looking at his variety of tools. Wyllam screamed in agony, desperately trying to free himself from this pain. Rylan turned to him, his eyes staring Wyllam in his own.
“Welcome home.” He said with a sickly smile, grabbing for another iron nail.
No decision this time.
Ugh, wonder in what mental and physical state Wyllam will be after Rylan will be done with him. Anyway, great, dark and filled with emotions part.
Okay, the decision to save the smallfolk seriously backfired. I should have seen it coming that sacrificing the friendly jailer is going to be bad for Wyllam, as his new jailer seems like the complete opposite of Garvy. Fuck that king. Fuck that torturer. I hope Wyllam gets out of there, but it looks really grim.
Ramsay-based character, you bought me, thank you.
Alright, so there's no voting to close but I'd like to thank you guys for commenting on it anyway. Always help with the motivation to start writing the next part! Speaking of which, the next part is going back to Darren Tyrner, the unlikely knight in service of King Qyle Corbray. Here's a recap:
We first met Darren in a local bar, alone with his thoughts. However, this is quickly to be interrupted (as always) by a spoiled brat known as Jorrhen, and his large brutish companion. Jorrhen demands that Darren fight his brute guard, though despite Darren's dismissal it occurs anyway. Darren puts the man to the ground with one kick to the groin, and leaves the bar. Later on he ends up meeting with his old pal, King Qyle, who basically informs Darren that King Robar Royce's army is coming for Heart's Home and the people need to be evacuated. Qyle has his son, Jaime, lead the people back to Artys Arryn, and requests that Darren would accompany him. Darren accepts Qyle's deal, and that's where the last part left off.
Darren
The First Man stood back after he had executed the jailor, his arms shaking and his legs stumbling beneath him. Darren stood beside Ser Bennett Grafton, the youngest son of King Gerold Grafton, and Ser Hardrick Ruthermont, the only son of Lord Harlock Ruthermont. Opposite Darren was Ser Jaime Corbray, standing with his brother Marvion and Ser Luceon Templeton.
Darren watched as the men around him ran to the First Man’s aid, Ser Bennett catching the man, with Ser Hardrick close by his side. Ser Darren too had accompanied them, only to return Lady Forlorn back to Qyle.
The blade was unique, being forged from Valyrian steel. The pommel was shaped into a heart, made from pure steel. The crossbar was upcurved, with two sharp needles pointing out, with the actual blade in the centre. Darren picked up the sword, dealing with it carefully.
The crowds turned and left, the sound of boredom outweighed the weeping and tears of the few that cared for the jailer. The guards had quickly ushered the crowds out of the courtyard, disposing of the headless corpse and the bodiless head.
Darren turned his attention to Qyle, his warm smile landed on Darren like the heat of the sun on the back of his neck. Darren bent down on one knee, presenting the Valyrian steel blade.
“My king.” Darren stated, offering Lady Forlorn to Qyle. The king accepted the blade in one hand, staring at it’s magnificence and beauty.
“I remember when I dubbed you with this blade, named you a knight in my service.” He said wondrously staring at the bends in the steel, then turned his attention to Darren as if he had forgotten his presence. “Rise, Ser Darren.” Darren stood himself up, however when he was about to speak words with the king, he found himself staring to the back of the man who was walking away.
Darren sighed, turning his attention back to the knights on the block. Ser Hardrick and Bennett had began to carry the First Man back to his cell, being led by Warne Spyre. Marvion Corbray had passed Darren and joined his father, leaving only Ser Luceon Templeton and Ser Jaime Corbray remaining in the quickly emptying court.
Darren approached the men, who spoke silently as he arrived. Their conversation came to a conclusion, introducing Darren had become Jaime’s newest priority.
“Ser Luceon, allow me to introduce you to Ser Darren Tyrner. He saved my father when he was visiting one of our settlements, which happened to come under attack by the savages who once ruled there.” Jaime proclaimed proudly, his eyes gleaming.
Ser Luceon extended an open hand, a smirk on his face. As Darren went to accept the man’s hand, it quickly removed itself from Darren’s reach, unbuckling and removing a strap from his plated armour.
“I’m Ser Luceon of House Templeton.” He proclaimed, avoiding eye contact. “I will be escorting Ser Jaime and the residents of this city to the Gates of the Moon.” He stated, his attention clearly too enriched on other matters to spare for Darren. Darren smirked, looking the man in his eyes.
“We’ll be glad to have you aboard, Lucy. Now why don’t you run along while I speak words with the prince.” Darren watched as the anger flared up in Luceon’s cheeks, his hands clenched and reaching for his sword. Jaime halted him, giving him a warm reassuring smile.
“It’s alright, Ser Luceon. I’ll meet you in Heart’s Hall once I’m finished speaking with Ser Darren.” He said, his words as sweet as honey. Darren had achieved his goal in gaining Luceon’s attention, who gave him a menacing glare.
“As you say, Ser Jaime.” He said, not breaking eye contact with Darren.
Darren’s expression was smug, his grin growing wider and wider until the fearless knight backed down and cowered away. Ser Luceon entered Heart’s Home in shame, leaving Darren victorious. Darren placed his hands on his hips, feeling somewhat achieved. Ser Jaime, on the other hand, seemed less satisfied.
“Impressed with yourself, Darren?” He asked, his tone had turned sour and cold. Darren shrugged turning his gaze back to Jaime.
“A victory is a victory. The lady-knight should know who he messes with.” Jaime sighed, rolling his eyes. His eyebrows narrowed, showing concern and curiosity.
“What did you mean earlier? Are you actually coming with us to the Gates of the Moon?” Darren could hear a touch of excitement in his surprised tone. Darren nodded.
“On request of your father, you are to be my squire. I denounce you of your titles, and order you to remove my armour.” Darren spoke with confidence, showing no sign to deceive. Jaime stared at him as if his world crumbled around him, causing Darren to grin. “If only you knew how.” Darren japed, causing Jaime’s cheeks to go red.
“You were lying?” Jaime asked, half with bitterness and half with relief. Darren’s grin lowered to a smile.
“Come, let us get a drink and talk.” Darren suggested, and received no complaints from Jaime’s part.
-
The tavern was oddly filled at this time in the evening, with families who could afford meals gathering around their tables, and soldiers coming out to drink until dawn the next day. Darren and Jaime secluded themselves a table off into the far corner of the tavern, away from most of the prying ears.
Darren took a drink from his pint, the lightly golden liquid was strong in the back of his throat. He had observed that Jaime had barely drank or said a thing since entering the tavern. He sat with his arms crossed, staring elsewhere, like a child after a tantrum. Darren sighed and placed his beverage on the table.
“What is it?” He asked, and received nothing but a quick glare. “Jaime.” Darren’s tone was firm, perhaps a little too intimidating. The young knight gave Darren his attention, disgust riddled on his face.
“This is where peasants eat, drink, sleep. Why did we not drink in my father’s hall? It is free of this dreadful noise and of all these dirty people.” Jaime grudged, looking around at the men and women with a revolted look. Darren chuckled and rolled his eyes.
“Then how do you see me, Ser Jaime?” Jaime turned his eyes to Darren, confusion tainted in them. He shrugged his shoulders.
“You’re a knight. Knights are respectful, honourable, noble…” Darren laughed, taking another drink from his pint.
“Do I look like any of those to you?” Darren asked, placing his pint down on the table. “How about I tell you a tale, about dirty little peasants. Perhaps you will be too naive to see past the birthright of those in the story.” Darren knew he had gained Jaime’s attention by challenging him, his eyes stared at him with determination and wit.
“Go on then, Ser Darren.” He said, an inquisitiveness in his tone. Darren smirked, taking a final drink out of his tankard, then he began.
“A farmer and his wife hold a bit of land with a few sheep and aurochs and enough to make a fine living. However, they have children. Lots of children. One day, a great plague comes along, taking the farmer and his wife, and nearly all the children. All but two, a brother and a sister. Out of the struggle from now trying to manage this seemingly larger bit of land they live on, they are forced to move into the city. There the brother finds a dirty line of work, which later takes him to Westeros to save a king and be knighted and so on.” Darren concluded, appearing bored of the story, but there was truly more to that.
He thought back to his sister in Andalos, Kira. She was a seamstress by trade, and that was barely enough for her to live off. Darren would send gold to her just to try and lend a hand, and they would always keep in contact through letters.
Darren’s intentions of coming to Westeros were not that of an average sellsword. Darren did not fight for coin and wealth, yet that was what he received, but for retirement. He wanted to earn enough coin to buy land for he and his sister to live on. That dream would one day come true, yet for now Kira would be stuck in Andalos.
Darren thought back on the letter from his sister, it lied on his desk untouched. He had not had a chance to read through it since his meeting with Qyle the night before, to which they had spent the whole night drinking and then Darren had slept in Heart’s Hall. Darren needed to read the letter.
He turned his eyes back to Jaime, who stared at him as if he had realised the whole plot of the story. His eyes were widened and his jaw opened. Darren smirked and stood up, resting a hand on his shoulder.
“I’m retiring to bed. I trust you do not need a royal escort back to your home?” Jaime’s look changed almost immediately, his cheeks blushing a bright red. He stood up, wiping the palms of his hands on his coat.
“I guess I will see you tomorrow then. Not too long until we set out for the Gates of the Moon.” Jaime proclaimed, and Darren simply nodded in answer. Darren had not been highly thrilled on his mission, however he knew it was his king’s wish, and he had not yet let down the old man.
The two men exited the tavern, leaving a back of silver coins on the bench top. A generous donation, which Darren had always humbly left when staying at the tavern. The two stopped outside and exchanged hands, grasping each other's forearms.
“Tomorrow, Corbray.” Darren said in monotone, and received a small smile from Jaime.
“Tomorrow, Tyrner.” He remarked, before disconnecting and going their separate ways.
The sun had fallen to the west, and last light was upon them. Soon it would be dark, and the night would be thick and cloudless. It may have been the end of winter, yet the nights were still bitterly cold. It had not been that long ago since Darren had found snow outside his doorstep.
Yet oddly enough, Darren felt heat lingering in the air. He had first shrugged it off to his current state in mind, however now he felt as if it were growing warmer as he got closer to his home. The air smelt of smoke and burning wood. Darren lifted his eyes from the ground, an orange light glowed in the darkening sky. A fire.
Darren broke into a sprint, running for his home, hoping and praying it was not his home that was alight. He ran through the alleyways, taking shortcuts only pickpockets and commoner children knew. By the time he reached his home, the fire had fully caught alight. His home was surrounded by the neighbouring families, trying desperately to extinguish the fire with the buckets of water they had.
Darren stared with disbelief, his life belongings in that house. All of his coin he had earned, all of his clothing. His armour and weaponry. His sister’s letter. The sudden thought of it caused Darren to run towards the burning establishment, breaking down the door with his sheer weight alone. He had to get the letter, no matter the cost.
The entire house looked nothing like how it used to, the light burned on and blinded him. The smoke rose, growing thicker by the second. Darren tried desperately to coordinate himself through the house, using landmarks in his home to figure out where to go next. When he finally made it to his desk, the table was already alight. However, Darren did not see the ashes of the letter.
He felt his heart crumple in his chest, the one thing that truly mattered had been lost. Now Darren found himself in his once safe and humble home, now fighting to keep alive. He fell to his knees, trying to avoid the thick smoke. The floorboards were like liquid fire, as if oil had been spread across the floor before being lit.
Darren dragged himself into the hallway, and into his small armament. His armour was beginning to melt in the scorching heat, being a bright red and scolding hot. Darren spotted his longsword, a fine an elegant weapon, as well as his shield lying on the ground. It was clear they had fallen off of their mantle, which was now alight.
Darren quickly crawled towards it, grabbing the burning hot steel shield, and exiting the blazing room. Darren was at the far end of his home now, and the path he had come from looked non-existent. Darren turned and looked for another escape route, his backdoor blocked by the wooden beams that held up the roof.
Darren looked at the melting windows, grabbing the handle on his shield. His sword was held to the shield by the leather straps. Darren pulled himself onto his knees, crawling for the window. When he had finally reached it, he threw his shield threw it. The glass smashed, disfigured shards landing on the burning floor.
Darren climbed onto his knees, pulling himself through the small exit. His arms getting sliced from the hot glass, his hands burning on the blazing wooden frames. Darren fell out of the home and landed in the warm wet grass next to his home.
Breathless and exhausted, he dragged himself away, reaching his shield and sword. He planted his hands against the cold wet ground, trying to cool down the burns. His face rested in the muddy soil.
After a short moment, Darren pulled himself up, lifting his shield. He pulled his sword free of the leather straps, and removed it from its scabbard. As Darren inspected the steel blade for damage, he barely noticed the piece of paper the fell out of the scabbard with it.
Darren placed down his sword and scabbard, picking up the singed piece of paper. The note was small, written in black ink which had began to melt from the heat trapped inside the scabbard. Darren read the disfigured melting letters to the best of his abilities.
We have your sister, Tyrner. You may yet be able to save her if you collaborate. We will meet you in the tavern at dusk tomorrow. You will ask for a room, and you will bring no one. If you do, the meeting will be cancelled and your sister will die.
The note was not signed, and Darren did not recognise the handwriting to anyone he knew. He placed the letter down, tucking his knees close to his chest.
“Kira.” He whispered gently, all of this being very surreal for him.
His house had been burnt down, a letter being left for him claiming that someone had his sister as a hostage, and now the suspected culprits wanted to meet him alone in the tavern. Darren was in dismissal, yet completely unaware of what to do.
He could inform the king, if he did not already know, and have all of Heart’s Home go on lockdown for him until they found the culprits. Darren could agree to cooperate with this letter, and enter alone and hope for the best. Or, Darren could speak with Marvion Corbray, and try to set a perimeter outside of the tavern for when he enters. It was a shady decision, and one he could not take lightly. If whoever wrote this truly had his sister, he would be playing with some risky fire. Would he be prepared to risk that?
[Request help from Qyle] [Request help from Marvion] [Proceed alone]
[Proceed alone]
[Proceed alone]
This is not an easy choice. On the one hand, Qyle is Darren's friend and I doubt he would refuse to help the man who saved his life. On the other hand, while I'm pretty sure Kira is not in that tavern, there is no guarantee that she isn't being held captive somewhere else. Aside from that, Darren is quite a fighter. I'm sure he has good chances to survive this situation on his own, even if it is an ambush. The way the message is written makes me doubt it is an ambush though. I mean, these people would probably just attack him instead if their goal was to kill him. So they want something and it can't hurt to at least find out what it is.
[Request help from Marvion]
I don't think they're gonna give his sister back without asking anything in return (obviously) ,
and whatever that may be , i don't think it'll be easy for Darren to do . Either be dangerous or against his personnal feelings .
However If Marvion sets up something , they'll be able to refuse and take his sister back with force .
Well ...If they succeed .
[Proceed alone] Wow, what a great part! I have no idea what to go with here but I suppose I will vote for Darren to proceed alone since we don't know the situation of his sister so I do not want him to take the risk.
Hey guys, so I won't yet close this vote as I'm still waiting on a couple of others. However, I'm planning on starting to write the next part tonight, and trying to release it tomorrow. However, I will warn you! The weather where I live has been absolutely amazing and dreadful, with hectic storms and snow (which rarely happens where I live). As much as this unique weather is great and interesting, the power outages that come with it are not. Now I only got a power outage last night, but it may indeed be possible it happens again tonight and therefore I won't be able to release the part on time! Speaking of which, I better make mention that this new part is introducing a new character: Tylar Lannister.
[Proceed alone]
Tylar
The hills were lit with a blood red from the rising sun in the east, their blades glinting with variations of pink and orange as the sun slowly rose higher into the morning sky. Arrows were drawn, spears ready to soar through the sky and pierce the beast. However Tylar knew this animal would not stand down without a fight.
The lioness fed on the carcass of a dead boar, it’s cublings nibbling off the edges of the exposed raw meat that their mother had mauled through. The proud animals were calm and peaceful, unexpecting of a sudden ambush.
Tylar was prone in the green grass, the wooden shaft of his hunting spear in his right hand, and his left arm propping him up. Beside him was his squire, Lawsen Yew, his bowstrings fastened and an arrow nocked into place. The boy was young, only fourteen and littlemore but a cupbearer, however on the occasional hunts he proved his worth.
His build was slim, expected for his young age, and face was cleanly shaved. His brown hair was a medium length, with a straight cut fringe above his hazel eyes. He wore his light leather gear, which was both practical for his archery, and lack of strength to wear anything else and maneuver at a steady rate.
The two exchanged eye contact, Tylar could see the excitement in his eyes. It was a rare thing Tylar would see, as Lawsen had often been very arrogant and easily angered with his short temper. However this sudden change in behaviour was something of a delight for Tylar.
They slowly advanced closer to the lioness and her cubs, each slight movement was calculated and precise. They knew that one sudden jolt of movement that was out of place could very well be the end of them both.
Across the hilltops, Tylar’s younger brother: Loras, stood and overlooked the hunt. Tylar had designated for him to keep an eye out, incase the lioness were to suddenly have a change in her behaviour and surprise Tylar and Lawsen with an unexpected attack.
Opposite of Tylar and Lawsen, and also stealthily sneaking towards them, was Sedrick Sarsfield, the man born of First Men and Andal. He held his long bow in hand, yet his arrows remained in his quiver. Beside him were Baiden Hill and Tavion Greenfield, both armed with short bows from the Lannister armory.
Their plan of action was for Lawsen to let loose the first arrow, drawing the lioness’ attention. Tylar would then distract the outraged animal, until Sedrick and his men would shoot the beast down. Loras acted as a scout for them, however when Tylar looked up to the hills to find him, he saw nothing but the glare of the rising sun.
Tylar shook his head, half in disbelief and the rest in bitterness. Where the hell is he? Tylar asked himself, trying to keep himself calm. However his mind was rushing with dreadful thoughts of how this hunt could result thanks to the sudden disappearance of his brother.
All of it meant nothing now, it was time. Tylar turned his gaze to Lawsen, who stared down at the ground, whispering to himself. He was praying, Tylar finally realised. Tylar placed his hand on his shoulder, the boy turning his impatient eyes towards him. Tylar nodded to him, implicating for him to draw an arrow.
As he did this, Tylar turned his gaze over to Sedrick, the sun had risen to a point where he was nothing more but a shadow in a land of orange light. However, Tylar noticed something distorted in his rampantly acting figure. Or more importantly, he noticed that the figure was rampant.
Tylar lifted his hand, blocking out the sun in hopes to see the man better. It worked, and Tylar saw Sedrick waving his arms frantically with panic ridden all over his face, signalling something was wrong. Baiden pointed back towards the lioness, who had turned and was slowly approaching Tylar and Lawsen.
Tylar caught Lawsen in the back of his vision, drawing the bowstring. Tylar caught his arm just before he could let the arrow loose, and quietly ushered for him to lower his arm. The two silently knelt before the proud beast in front of them, whose eyes made contact with Tylar’s and did not break.
Tylar stood up, and without breaking eye contact with the lioness, he beckoned for Lawsen to do the same. The two took a step backwards, and for every step they took, the lioness took one forward. Her back was arched, her legs ready to spring. She was in a pouncing position, and one move out of place could mean the difference of life and death.
Tylar observed Sedrick and his companions pointing their loaded bows towards the lioness’ hind, sweat was running down Tavion’s brow. Tylar came to a halt, holding his open palmed hand out to signal for Sedrick and his men to lay down their weapons. With reluctance and confusion, they did so. Tylar knew the beast would turn on them if they were to aggravate it, and he knew that their bows would not stand a chance against her razor sharp claws.
He came to a halt, and signified for Lawsen to continue backing away. Tylar’s sudden thinking had worked, bringing the lioness to a halt. There they stood in a locked gaze, a devilish stand off between them. Tylar adjusted his grip on his spear, and he could see the sharp claws revealing themselves from her innocent looking paws.
Once Tylar was convinced that Lawsen was a safe distance away, Tylar brought his spear into a defensive stance. The lioness arched back on her hind legs, releasing a low grumble as she stared into Tylar’s green gem eyes.
Tylar felt the sweat building up around his brow, his heart beating faster in his chest. He took a step forward, and the lioness lunged herself towards him.
He darted to the right, sheerly avoiding the lioness’ first strike. A ferocious and intimidating roar passed his ears as she soared passed him, landing and regathering her footwork in a matter of seconds. Tylar had already regained his balance, and now ran on the offensive.
He lunged the bronze tip spear into her shoulder, another roar accompanied the sudden turn of events, this time Tylar could hear her pain and feel her rage. She backed away, knowing that Tylar was now left unarmed. If this were a one-on-one battle, this may have ended badly for Tylar, though the first arrow to pierce her neck was Lawsen’s.
The second was no surprise to her, and hit her in the belly. The third pierced her in the neck, beside Lawsen’s brilliant shot. Tylar knew the marksman to match Lawsen’s skill was Sedrick, he had grown up in a home of archers. The fourth arrow never came, and Tylar suspected that it was the arrow of Baiden Hill that remained nocked in its bow.
The lioness tumbled to the ground, landing on its belly and further impaling herself with the arrow implanted there. A short roar of pain which ended in a tired groan followed her fall, before she lowered her head in shame and defeat. Her eyes stared at her cubs, who still silently ate away at the carcass.
Despite her being an animal, Tylar felt as if he could relate with the lioness. He knew her pain, he knew her final struggle. He walked towards her, kneeling down beside her, yet far enough to react if she were to suddenly strike. He was glad she did not. Instead, her eyes drifted from her cubs and back to Tylar’s green eyes.
They were pleading, hurting and almost saddening. She was asking him to end her suffering, whether she wanted it or not. She had failed her children, all because she had allowed five men to surround her and strike her down, she had let down her guard. Tylar pulled out his hunting knife, used mostly to skin animals he had caught. This animal he would not skin, or dare to defile her corpse in any means. She was a beast, but a proud and honourable beast at that. Tylar respected that.
He rested his open hand on her bloody belly, which struggled to rise with each final breath. Tylar genuinely frowned, and thrusted the bronze knife into her neck. She jerked, though gave little more, until her body finally went limp. Her eyes stared ahead of her, at nothing in particular. Tylar released the knife, as well as his spear and the arrows. Her body would be fed on by ravens and crows alike, untouched by the stain of man.
Tylar stood up, wiping the bloody bronze tool on his red cloak. He had not expected to have seen as much action as he had today, and his clothing had shown his efforts, being sprayed with dirt and blood, as well as covered in grass. He stared down at the deceased animal, his thoughts and prayers going to the gods for her guidance.
Lawsen had met Tylar’s side and stared down at the dead animal, yet his eyes showed something else. Excitement, pride or jovialness. He pulled his dagger from it’s leather scabbard on his waist, leaning down to begin skinning the lioness.
“No.” Tylar stated clearly, his voice firm and confident. Lawsen’s confused and slightly irritated eyes looked back at Tylar. “We’re done for the day.” Tylar concluded, turning his attention to the three men over by the boar carcass.
Tylar and Lawsen joined them, and he found three lion cubs staring at their mother with terror. Their quiet mews and attempts at a roar showed their distress of the situation. Sedrick turned his eyes to Tylar, they showed pity and remorse.
“What should we do with them, my prince?” He asked, his voice shaky and croaky. Tylar sighed and looked at the desperate and helpless cubs, in clear panic.
He saw three lions, or three Lannister’s. Himself, Loras and Byran. Three brothers, all different in their looks and behaviours. One braver than others, a clear leader to their small pride. One cowardly and in constant fear, and the other showing a vengeful hatred.
Tylar knelt down, reaching out his closed hand to the litter of cubs. To his surprise, the leading cub with light brown fur met his hand first, rubbing his head against Tylar’s warm hand. Tylar knew he could not kill the cubs, as much as he knew he had to. His father would not allow them back at Casterly Rock, though Tylar could not spare the words to have them executed.
He opened his hand, and the young cub climbed onto him. Using his other hand to hold him, Tylar stood up and cleared his throat.
“We’ll bring them back to the camp, I’ll speak with my uncle and see what he would have done with them.” Tylar observed a weak and small nod from Sedrick, to which he passed the young cub to him.
Tylar walked off, leaving his squire and the three men behind to deal with the cubs. Other troubling matters were on his mind. The resemblence of his brothers in the cubs was no coincidence, it was a sign which oddly troubled Tylar. He thought of his brothers, which only brought him sadness and disappointment. More annoyance and slight hatred for Loras, to which he now had to find.
-
Tylar was the first to arrive at the camp of the Lannister escort, which were heading for Silentport to attend the wedding of Lord Bryce Lantell - Tylar’s half brother - and Lady Emilee Yew. The camp was large, consisting of a couple of dozen tents, half of those slept four soldiers each. His father had insisted that their guard had been doubled, for reasons Tylar could not agree with.
The largest pavilion belonged to Tylar’s uncle, Maxwell Lannister, the Master of Coin at Casterly Rock and father of Bryce Lantell. Somewhere among the camp would be Tylar’s brother, Loras, to which Tylar would have to confront at one stage or another.
However, the first familiar face Tylar ran into was neither Maxwell or Loras, but his wife: Princess Gwynovire Lannister, in their tent. Gwyn was once of House Greenfield, until she married Tylar at her young age of nineteen. Tylar was twenty at the time, and they had now been married for a year.
Gwyn was considered one of the most beautiful women in the Kingdom of the Rock, and it was her beauty and name which attracted his father’s eye towards her. Not wasting a chance, King Tybolt had the wonderful specimen marry with his eldest and most favorable son. It was the one day that Tylar could remember his father smiling, though Tylar had not had a genuine smile on the day.
Despite her beauty, they were together out of marriage for their two houses, and despite how much they tried the love never clicked. Nonetheless, Tylar treated her well and never disrespected her, though he simply did not love her.
Now he stood before her beauty once again, tired and irritable. She however, was a contradiction of himself. Her eyes stared at him, wakeful and light brown. Her yellow hair fell down to her midst back, wavy like the ripples on top of waves. Her face was clear of any burdens, and radiated pure beauty, with her smooth jawline and button nose. She wore a long red dress, with tight sleeves and a golden necklace with a golden lion on an emerald shield.
Her smile was warm and loving as he entered their tent, but Tylar could return little more than a quick and meaningless glare. Her smile was quick to fade, and instead replaced with concern and worry. Tylar stumped down on their bed, resting his head in his trembling hands.
He felt her soft hands wrap around his waist, her warmth touch his right side. He welcomed it, but did not lust for it. He gave her little attention, and she was as understanding as always. The two sat in silence, until her soft and beautiful tone touched his ears.
“What is wrong, my lion?” She asked, her words caressing his ears and calming his temper. He shook her away and stood up.
“I’m no lion, mylady.” He plainly stated, referring to his brown hair which clearly distinguished him from his family.
She stood up and met him, she was smaller than him, but there was more strength and courage in her than any woman he had ever faced. Her eyes pleaded to disagree with him, however she quickly accepted that Tylar would not tolerate an argument. She placed her hand on his chest, his breathing reminding him of the lioness he had slain.
“Then what is wrong?” She finally asked, her tone touched him with worry. He backed away from her hand and turned around, leaning his head on the post that held their tent up.
He was reluctant to speak of their hunt, though her soft attempts at persuasion finally made him give in. He told her of the hunt, how his brother simply abandoned him and put their lives in danger. How what really bothered him were the similarities between the cubs and his brothers. His fear for how the gods may punish him.
She listened quietly, taking in his words with a calm acceptance. Once Tylar had finished, she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in close. Reluctant, Tylar accepted the embracement, pulling her in close. Though as his hands ran through her hair, he remembered the feeling of the lioness’ fur beneath his hands. He pulled himself away, unable to control his thoughts.
“I have to find my uncle, speak to him.” Tylar finally said, making his way to the exit of the tent. He felt his arm being gently grasped, he turned to meet Gwyn’s eyes.
“Come back to me.” She whispered, almost pleadingly. Tylar nodded to her, and exited the tent.
The sky had turned grey with the cloud cover since the hunt, leaving the mood somewhat dark and depressing. Tylar pulled his cloak closer to him, the warmth of the sun had faded as the day had gone on.
Tylar made his way towards his uncle’s pavilion, where he had hoped Sedrick had delivered the lion cubs by now. The pavilion stood taller than any other tent in the campsite, being entirely red with the golden lion of House Lannister imprinted on the sides.
Tylar stared with disgust and anger, though not at the tent, but at the young man standing outside it. He stood staring at the golden sigil, his long golden hair fell down to his shoulders. He wore extravagantly expensive clothing, which most only wore at special events like the wedding they were to attend. He was taller than Tylar, which he had always cruelly teased him about, however he was not stronger.
Tylar approached Loras, his steps heavy and leaving a fiery trail of anger in it’s wake. By the time Loras had turned around, it was too late, Tylar grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and threw him to the ground. The wimpy scream of his younger brother filled the air, though Tylar did not care.
Tylar crawled on top of him, clenching his shirt tightly in his hands. He stared into the fearful eyes of his brother, though Tylar felt no sympathy for the boy.
“Where were you!?” Tylar yelled, shaking him like a doll. “We nearly died because of your sudden absence!” Tylar released his shirt, and if it were not for the sudden crowd than Tylar feared he would have beaten the boy.
Tylar looked up, surrounded by confused Lannister soldiers, unaware of whether to intervene or not. Nobles and lords stared at Tylar with shock or disgust, Tylar felt the shame rain down on him. He turned to the entrance of his uncle’s pavilion. There stood his uncle, as well as Lord Gerwint Greenfield and Lord Brodos Broom, the father of Baiden Hill.
Maxwell’s dark green eyes stared down at Tylar, droopy and tired from his sleepless nights. His face was rigid and gaunt, giving him a weak appearance. His greying blonde hair was short and combed over, and his mustache was finely trimmed which gave him a sense of elegancy. He wore his royal garments, displaying his status as the Master of Coin.
“Tylar.” Maxwell he said with caution, slowly approaching him.
Without another word, Tylar released Loras, who squirmed away from under him. Gaining his feet and fixing his shirt and hair. He stared at Tylar with bitterness.
“You wait until father hears of this. He’ll have your head!” He screamed, clearly disorientated and still slightly affected from the shaking.
He turned and stormed off, turning the attention of the crowd to him. Maxwell knelt beside Tylar, his eyes showing concern. His hand rested on Tylar’s back, and he lowered himself so he could see Tylar’s eyes.
“Nephew, are you hurt?” He asked, almost a touch of fear in his tone. Tylar snorted and shook his head.
“No.” He muttered. His brother could never hurt him, despite his height. It was only his words which did Tylar any harm. Maxwell turned his attention back to the lords who were in his pavilion.
“Gentlemen, I think we can call off this meeting for another time.” The men seemed to nod in agreement, leaving Maxwell and Tylar in peace.
Tylar stood up, with the weak aid of Maxwell by his side, and was led into the pavilion. The crowd left pondering on what had just happened.
The pavilion was dim, with only a few candle lights keeping the tent lit. In the centre was a large table with a map, and strangely enough looked to be a strategic battle plan in the centre of it. Maxwell quickly ushered Tylar to a seat, and rolled away the map.
Tylar sighed, rubbing his head with his tired hands. He was tired, and needed rest. Yet there was so much on his mind, he knew his sleep would be poor unless he were to get everything off of his chest. Maxwell put the map away and grabbed a flask, inside Tylar hoped there was ale.
“Water?” Maxwell asked, and Tylar miserably shook his head. Tylar quickly spoke up, to shut away the awkward tension.
“Am I interrupting something?” He asked, and Maxwell smiled and shook his head.
“No, just speaking with Lord’s Broom and Greenfield. They are apparently having a dispute over land, which I am trying to settle through a matter of finance.” Maxwell said, giving Tylar a sly wink. Tylar smiled, knowing that it meant it was in Maxwell’s best interest.
“I’m gathering you know of the lion cubs?” Tylar asked, and received a small nod from Maxwell, as well as a curious look in his eyes.
“I am curious, why did you bring them back here for my judgement?” Tylar shrugged, he had told the entire story to Gwyn, and lacked the mood to tell it again.
“I saw something in them, something that was no coincidence.” He began, trying to think of the right words. “The three cubs, they resembled my brothers and I with an accurate perspective. When I slayed their mother, I saw something in them. I don’t know what it was, but I just couldn’t bring myself to slaughter them.” Tylar watched as Maxwell nodded, pouring himself a drink and sitting down beside him.
“You think it is, what? Fated by the gods?” He asked, Tylar could not spot any mockery in his uncle’s words, not that he expected any. Tylar shrugged, staring down at the floor, he clasped his hands together and sighed.
“I just couldn’t bring myself to kill them, or give the order. Perhaps that is destiny, perhaps it’s weakness. I do not know, which is why I’m leaving the decision up to you.” Maxwell smiled, taking a drink from his wooden cup.
“The decision has already been made, as far as I am aware. You’re attached to them, perhaps your brothers will be too.” He started, though clearly hesitation and reluctance haunted his words. “Well, one of them…” Tylar nodded, urging him to continue no further.
“Where are they?” Tylar asked, and Maxwell placed his cup down.
“With your squire, Lawsen was it? Good lad.” Tylar nodded in agreement, growing bored of the conversation.
“I’ll go see them.” Tylar said, standing up. Maxwell remained seated, staring at Tylar.
“Don’t you think you should seek out your brother? Perhaps apologise?” Maxwell asked, almost pleading that he did so. Tylar shrugged, not wanting to think of his brother.
“Perhaps.” Tylar said, as if he were considering it. Thoughts of Gwyn arose in his head. Come back to me. She whispered, he knew he would have to spare some time for her as well.
Tylar walked to the flap door, only stopping for a brief moment to look back at his uncle. The cubs were still on his mind. He took a step back, so he was facing Maxwell.
“Do you think that father will accept the young lions?” He asked, and received only a shrug from Maxwell.
“Your father is a difficult man, but I’m sure he will understand. Perhaps they will come of use to you, if not then they will end up with the beasts in the caves below Casterly Rock.” Maxwell sighed, and Tylar thought about the horrid lions beneath Casterly Rock. He dreaded the thought of having any innocent living thing go down there.
“Thank you, uncle.” Tylar finally concluded, and the man gave him a nod.
[Seek out Loras] [Return to Gwyn] [Find Lawsen and the cubs]
Well, there are a couple of people missing but I'll close the votes now as it looks like their return will not affect the voting. Darren will proceed alone to the tavern, to meet with the shady people who claim they hold his sister captive.
This choice will have it's consequences, though the decision was a hard one to make, and in the end all of them had their pro's and con's. At any rate, the next part is out, and it's pretty long so I do apologise if you get bored. The ending is a bit rushed because I was starting to get tired, but I hope you guys enjoy Tylar's first part!
Another interesting new PoV! Seems like the Rock is getting really big
This lion cub thing was quite interesting, it strongly reminded me of the direwolf scene in the books.
[Seek out Loras]
I actually saw good reasons for all three options here. With Gwyn, there might be a chance to improve their rather loveless marriage. She seems to harbour some feelings for him, or else she wouldn't have told him to come back. The cubs meanwhile are very young animals who just lost their mother, they could need some care, especially in such a crucial phase. Though, Loras is his brother and he should try and make amends as quick as possible, which is why I chose to seek him out first.
Hey! Well firstly I'd like to point out that the cub scene was a pretty important one in terms of hidden meanings and the likes (very similar to the direwolves, a lot of inspiration there of course). This part was a really fun one to write, and the funniest part was it was planned to be much longer, though I ultimately ended up ending it at that point. I'm glad you found his first part interesting, I really enjoyed writing him
[Find Lawsen and the cubs]
[Seek out Loras] Excellent part! I want Tylar to find Lawsen and the cubs but he probably should go find Loras and try to calm him down or intimidate him to where he won't cause anymore of a scene.
All hail House Manderly
Motto: "Our Flood Devours" Unofficial Motto: "We Devour"
Dynasty Theme
and all hail King Waldemar the First of His Name, King of the Seas, Mander and Sunset Bay!
Background Music (use speed 1.25): The King of the Seas! The King of the Seas!