The high road through the Mountains of the Moon were a dangerous way to approach the Bloody Gate. Nestled between foothills and cliff faces, the road was little more than a wide dirt path that wound it's way through the chaos and snake charms of the Mountains. It could be hard for sunlight to creep into the road if the brush and trees weren't cleared from time and time--a job that fell to the suicidal, if Allyria listened to the smallfolk who lived in the small village with high stone walls where the high road begun.

There was no guesswork needed to decipher the reason for the smallfolk's fears: the Clans of the Mountain of the Moon. Allyria knew each by name and reputation, if only because her father and mother's Maesters had done their damnedest to learn her on the odds and ins of Westeros. When Ser Drayton voiced his misgivings about the high road, Allyria shrugged, despite the fact that their newest addition seemed to be all agreements with the Knight on the issue of the high road. It only made the young Dornish woman smirk. 

It was half a day before their newest addition and Ser Drayton came to the core of the issue: "She's [i]looking[/i] for a fight!?" Not even Allyria could blame this mysterious 'Byron.' Not that it kept her from laughing, and loudly, at the incredulous shock in which Byron accepted the fact that their small party of three were on the dangerous, long, high road to the Bloody Gate simply because the young Dornish woman wasn't just unafraid of a brush up with the Clans of the Mountain, but was [i]ACTIVELY[/i] looking to, as the Ser described it, "bloody the noses of the Clans as much as they bloody her own." 

It wasn't enough for the girl to simply go looking for a fight, to want to put an arrow into some poor Clan's fool--what the Dornish woman Byron found himself sharing road and conversation and meals with [i]really[/i] wanted was a fight that left her just as bloody as she left her opponent. In short, the Ser informed Byron, he'd found himself in the company of a mad Dornishwoman and the madder still Knight that'd sworn his sword to the mad woman's defense. If they weren't already on the high road when the revelation came about, Allyria was sure they'd seen this Byrion turn and run back to the village that'd imprisoned him for no good reason--doubtlessly figuring he'd be safer in their jail than traveling with such a mad, wild, woman. 

When the inevitable came, Ser Drayton gave a shout for Byron to pull his steel and ready himself. When Byron turned to steal a look at the mad young Dornish woman, he'd see exactly why Drayton shouted at Byron and not at her: that strange looking bow that appeared too large for the girl to use was already in her hands, ash shaft and steel tipped arrow notched and poised to fly by the time Byron turned to look at her. Whatever shouts and stirrings of the Clans Byron saw and heard at the edges of vision on the high road, it was clear the mad Dornish woman had seen and heard them long before the current moment. 

“About time.” Byron stated blankly as his hand which was upon the hilt of his sword prepared to draw the blade itself.

"How long have they been on us?" The Knight asked the girl with the bow, his horse turning this way and that, his glowing sword out of it's scabbard and high in the air to give Byron, and the Clans, something to truly stare in wonder at. 

The girl with the bow twitched, switching her aim once, twice, then thrice more to chase the barest suggestions of movement and sound at the edges of the high road. After what even to Allyria felt like an eternity, her voice rose calm and quiet as the tone of a huntress nearing in on the kill to answer the Knight. "They've been tracking us for at least an hour. NOT NEARLY AS QUIET OR SNEAKY AS THEY THINK THEY ARE!"

The Princess screamed the last bit, not for the ears of the Knight or Byron, but so that the Clans would know she was onto them. A grin set as certain as stone the only decoration upon her pretty, lush, pink lips. Without warning, the first arrow from her bow was loosed--an arrow that quickly disappeared behind overgrown trees and brush, a pained cry immediately cutting through the tense and chilled mountain air behind the overgrowth the arrow had disappeared into.

"Got ya," she said in pure gratisfaction, her grin only growing as she left her saddle and hit the ground, shoving arrows into the ground just before her as she readied for the rush of men and women just as bloodthirsty and mad as she was. At least, so she thought--ignoring the idea of Ser Drayton that no one in all of Westeros was as bloodthirsty and mad as she was. "Get ready, here they come."

A heartbeat later, chaos errupted out of the overgrowth, wielding unholy howls, gnarled clubs, and cheap steel stolen from countless corpses that had dared to travel the high road of the Vale without enough strength to ward off the Clansmen before they could get the idea in their mad driven minds to attack. Three were on Ser Drayton in the blink of an eye; another blink, and Allyria's bow had reduced the number of Clansmen trying to kill the Ser to two. It was hard to believe the Dornishwoman had time to see what she was shooting at, let alone believing she had time to properly aim and loose. The ash shafted arrows came like grumpkins from a bad dream; heartbeat after heartbeat after heartbeat another was loosed before another heartbeat for another notch, then another heartbeat for another arrow loosed. It wasn't long before the archer with the strange black bow stole the ire and attention of the attacking clans, until they were trying to ignore the Knight and Byron's blades in favor of attempting to get at the girl with the bow. 

One got close enough to get a handful of the archer's collar, before an arrow was loosed at pont blank range into his right eye socket, spraying bits of blood and brain onto everyone in the area behind the Clansmen still clutching onto her riding leathers even in death. 

Byron stifled a chuckle, how they were into the fire once again. Though contrary to Ser Drayton’s own thoughts he did not wish to flee back to the jail that he had previously been imprisoned in. The tribes of the Mountain of the Moon were honestly to Byron nothing more than “the wildlings south of the wall” and proved nothing but an annoyance in their existence. The disinherited Sarwyck didn’t underestimate them, though, and kept his wits about him. The nerve of the dornish girl however was something inspiring, he had to wonder more and more about her as they traveled further and further on this tattered highway.
 
“They die like anyone else!” Byron exclaimed in the midst of combat as his thoughts moved forward.

There was a flash of steel that followed his words as the westerlands soldier moved to the aid of the archer as he attempted to cut down the savage tribesmen trying to get a piece of her. If anything, Allyria was the perfect distraction with her talent in archery drawing the fools in by the number making it much easy to flank them which Byron did rather quickly and in his mind easily as well. There was no question of the disinherited Sarwyck’s skill as he had very much caught the realm’s eye when he became knighted at a very young age—a knighthood he had done absolutely nothing with as he had envious dreams of the rule of Riverspring rather than living an honorable life. Byron wasn’t cocky, but he knew he was no run-of-the-mill sword. He wondered if the knight Allyria traveled with would be making assumptions or observations once this battle came to a close; assuming they lived through it, of course.

The sheer cutting power of Dawn was on full display against enemies so lightly armored. Butter stood a better chance against Dawn than did the Mountain clans, it looked to Allyria. Drayton seemed to get no pleasure from the killing, running only on loyalty and automation. That was impressive, when one considered not a single enemy came within a foot of hitting him with any significant blow. No swordsman alive, Allyria was certain, could do more with one or two steps. And they were usually mere steps to the left or the right, always, it seemed, at just the right second. 

When the last attacker came, it came from the overgrowth, screaming in the shaky foundations of a boy's voice. When Drayton saw him, he let Dawn fall down to his side. When the boy charged with a club of moderate heft, all the Sword of the Morning unleashed was another of those side steps. The boy wounded up going right past the knight, and if it weren't for Allyria he might've gone off the drop of the high road's opposite side. In thanks of stopping his momentum, the club came crashing down upon her, slowed only by her natural reaction to raise her hands--allowing the Dragonbone bow to get between she and the worst of the blow. 

Not that she'd of known it then. All Allyria felt was death come crashing down on her like a boulder from the sky. Her vision narrowed to no more than a peek hazed in blacks and reds. At first she thought it odd she would be sweating given the cool air of the high road, until she realized it was blood rolling down her cheek and not sweat. The sand steed reeled and kicked, sending the boy to the ground, and Allyria along with him. 

When she awoke, it wasn't the brain splitting pain in her head that surprised her. It was that the boy was still alive, if tied up and gagged. 

"You're an idiot."

The heiress of Dorne made a face. "Slog off. Wine."

He gave it grudgingly, his eyes moving over to Byron, after a short pause on the overgrowth around them. "And don't you go encouraging her."

"It's not his fault my sworn sword moved out of the way so a charging mountain troll could whack me with his club."

“A lovers quarrel, is it?” Byron commented his brow raised as he looked on at the [i]still living[/i] boy. In their position he probably would’ve killed the child just as he would the rest of them but it was out of his hands now. The former Sarwyck noble's eyes moved from his allies to the environment around them—checking for any sign of more of their enemies. 

“I am going to assume she’s the one who asserts dominance since she’s the only one who’s taken charge in the entire time I’ve known both of you. But just a hunch.” The comment was definitely not polite and most certainly not one that he was taught to state. Being disinherited had made Byron sort of bitter and perhaps a bit too apathetic towards how his companions would react. Perhaps he assumed since they were hardly “proper” individuals themselves he wouldn’t need to act as he was taught by his father and his second wife.

"I like Byron."

Ally didn't beam about it, but likely only because of that little mountain troll, a fact Ser Drayton was very aware of. But he didn't take her bait; instead taking Byron's. A large man naturally, but in his armor, especially with his jaw set in anger, Drayton Dayne became even bigger. Nevermind the glowing sword he wielded like an extension of what her father would call 'the spirit of self.' Not that Ally had ever admitted it, but it was a scary thing to have a Knight like Drayton stare at you, like he could stare into you. If anything, she was glad he was staring at Byron at this moment, and not her.

"You can't tell a Princess of Dorne what to do."

It came so quickly, it was as if her anger was always there. "Not even a Sword of the Morning." [i]I can expose you, too.[/i] It was petty, and childish, and she knew that as soon as the words came out of her mouth.

Byron’s ears perked and he turned. “So she’s a princess, huh? That’s a pretty dangerous thing to admit to a person you barely even know, but maybe common sense isn’t taught to a ‘Sword of the Morning’.” Byron’s face did not show fear or even caution as the Sarwyck’s eyes hit the knights own—it was like blades clashing in the night. Byron clearly had nerves of steel to even show such apathy in the face of confrontation. Both of Allyria and Drayton’s big reveals brought a sense of wonder and intrigue to the damned Sarwyck. With his arms crossed he began to ponder his thoughts; he had wondered why they had been this capable as they traveled mysteriously alone on the road. Byron was devious and he began to think if he could use it as a benefit later on, but for now they were the people keeping him alive so he need not scheme.

“You also reveal this in front of a damned witness.” Byron added with a groan as he pointed to their ‘hostage’.

Ser Drayton chuckled, his eyes giving a quick glance this way and that--to the corpses on the ground. "Aye, 'pretty dangerous' sounds about right to me. You may be off on dangerous to just who, though."

Allyria felt her mood darken even more than the sky above. Finally she ceased touching and rubbing and picking at the dried blood on her brow, or the painful cut just above her right eyebrow. It wasn't very deep, thankfully, saving her from another scar. At the objection of a witness, Princess Allyria Martell simply stood, removed one of the daggers from her belt, and walked over to the boy. He had to be four or five years younger than she was. No doubt going off to raid to prove himself. 

Even Drayton seemed afraid of what she was about to do, turning to face the unfolding scene and even taking a step in her direction--until the blade went down to the boy, and cut away the gag, before cutting away the rope that binded him, her left hand grabbing his arm and pulling him up to his feet. "C'mon, here you go. And just so you don't go back unscathed."

She gave the boy the dagger, right into his left shoulder, a good three inches deep. He yelled and clutched at the shoulder, but it didn't seem to phase Allyria. Her tone was calm, even soothing. "Now, see? You'll have a castle forged dagger all your own, and the honor of surviving despite injury to tell the tale. But just so we're not taking TOO many chances..."

The poor kid never saw the Knight come up behind him, nor did he see the blow coming that left him unconcious and crumpled upon the high road. There was no joy in the Knight's tone as he looked down at the boy, and it was clear from her appearance alone that the Princess was in a black mood. "Shall we?" 

But Allyria gave no response, instead walking past all of them to Lightning, and hopping up onto his back, her eyes on the boy until she turned the horse to leave. "I hope wolves don't get him."

"Still some daylight left. He'll wake up or they'll find him before dark."

“I would’ve [i]killed[/i] him.” Byron stated as he decided not to shield his own views on the matter as he too mounted his horse. “But tis your choice, I just hope it doesn’t come back to us in any form.”

"He's a child," was all Ally said on the matter before heading down the high road on Lightning. It took longer than she would've thought to make it the rest of the way along the high road, but finally dots of torch fires announced to her they were nearing the Bloody Gate. Once at the gate she waited for the two men to catch up. The Knight of the Bloody Gate recognized Ser Drayton, making their entrance into the Valley of Arryn a much easier experience. 

Traveling with a famous knight wasn't all bad times. Once at Gulltown, 'hiding' wasn't even an option. There'd be no use. Not with a stupid famous knight with them. Give, and take, was the mixed blessing of Ser Drayton. Barely a word was spoken from the Bloody Gate to the gates of Gulltown. And at the gates of Gulltown, near the middle of the night when the trio arrived, they were met with resistance. "Towns all filled up," said a guardsman.

When Ser Drayton got them nowhere, and Byron little help in this situation, it fell on Allyria. Only after telling them she was Princess Allyria of House Martell did their attitudes change, and only after proving her Martell birth with a signet ring. Hoping to encourage a greater interaction with the other regions of Westeros, Ally's mother bought manses for House Martell from White Harbor to Oldtown to Lannisport. 

The Gulltown manse was modest in size, but it's servants, led by a woman named Marta that had served her mother during Daenerys Targaryen's youth in King's Landing, were immaculate--much like the inside of the house. It was like a bad representation of her parents: the modesty of her father in the size of the manse, the royalty of her mother in the manse's equisite staff and rich trappings.

Though it could've been difficult to tell Allyria was more than the hedge rat she appeared at times. She gave a high whistle as she entered the entrance hall of the mid-sized Manse, impressed by how rich it looked. As if she'd been living in hovels her entire life. Instead of heading straight to the kitchens, she was straight to bed. Waking shortly after dawn, even Ally was surprised to find Drayton and Byron still very much in the thick of a hard, deep, sleep. 

Despite pleas from Marta, Allyria declined the offer of a bath, instead pulling her well road worn garb back on and heading for Tent City. Upon finding the Master of Ceremonies, Allyria entered herself into the Archery competition. A woman in competition was one thing, and would have caused gossip...but the Princess of Dorne? Allyria knew the talkers would start, knew word would get around fast.

But now, as the morning sun rose higher and squires and pages and people all rushed here and there, the sheer chaos and commotion of the Tourney's tent city was more than enough amusement and distraction for her. So she smiled, folded her hands together behind the small of her back, and started wandering the Tourney grounds--to see just what she could see. 

To see what trouble she could find.

[i](A Gowi and Ruby collaboration.)[/i]