Garland's eyes fluttered open a little, as he looked over. Garland was handsome, not just in his face, but he was well muscled, not obscenely, but like a Knight of the Reach was expected to, his brown hair past his shoulders, looking ordered, or in this rough and tumble situation, just blase as per his usual self. He felt like he couldn't move, he was entombed, trapped underneath something. What happened? His mind was awash, he had been tipsy, almost drunk, but tipsy enough to forget finer details. It was when he felt her weight roll a little onto him that he realized. Looking over, he saw Jehrilla, stepping out of bed, completely naked, her huge masses of flesh shaking, revealing everything from her enormous buttocks to her fine curves, all along her body. But they weren't as Garland remembered them. She had weight, as she broke wind, Garland turning inside. He felt ill. His stomach pulled as he turned over in the bed, retching violently onto the stone floor, away from her sight, himself still completely stark naked. Alcohol, not shock, he said to himself. But he had done it. Of all the women...he had gone and had a tumble with a Yunkish whale!? It was shock, Garland said to himself. He would come to terms with it, and he almost felt proud of himself, albeit a little embarassed. The thoughts were blurred, he didn't know. He must have played with an awful lot of flesh, and she....she was like a master in the bed. It was as if she was like some whore in King's Landing, but far more elegant, playful. Garland felt it was a method that was so wonderful, if Alerie had been there, she would have had just as well as a time. He stopped being sick, as he sat up, her dressed form looking over, as she walked out of the door. "Jehrilla..." He moaned, as he looked over, using the sheet to cover himself, lest he expose himself to a courtier that unexpectedly visit. The Young Rose didn't entirely know, but he felt that despite how shocked he was at all of this, it had been one of the best nights of his life, somehow. It was good to be the Lord of the Reach, he said to himself. -------------- Alerie turned back, seeing Jehrilla's impressive stature come round, Alerie's hair beautifully maintained into a bun, a little flowing just past her neck, by her shoulders, it's burgandy-red color. She took in Jehrilla, with a distinctive smile on her face, welcoming almost. She seemed friendly, polite, agile on the surface, her beautiful face lit up, her appearance still at this time of the morning holding true. "Lady Jehrilla, my brother has probably mentioned me already. I am Lady Alerie Tyrell, his younger sister. Wise Master, I wish to talk of matters that my brother did not." She added, as she looked over to the two guards outside the door, nodding to them, as Alerie looked over at Jehrilla. "Let us head up the tower. It is a quiet place. It is a walk upward, but I know it well enough, you always hear people coming if they wish to interrupt you. I apologize if it is an effort, but I promise, there is good reason to our ascent." She added, looking over her enormous gluttony, beginning to already start walking up the steps, the golden sunshine emerging, the sunrise peaking over the distant mountains, far, far on the horizon. Jehrilla was gargantuan, and compared to Alerie, with her petite but beautiful, slender frame, her moderate bust poking through her beautifully kept dress, suited for the climes of The Reach, she knew it was a very different thing indeed. She didn't even want to know how tight those clasps were, it seemed like if they snapped, her body would richochet out, and the thought was sick in Alerie's head. She was beautiful, however, and even Alerie wasn't too surprised that when drunk, Garland had decided to ride this foreign beauty like a Targaryen a dragon. She had a beautiful face, among the fat, and her sizable features dwarfed Alerie's, her own body one that at a fair, would make any single man of the Reach stare. Oh, men were always so easy to use, when you had to make them do anything for you. It was an impressive trait, and even at 17, Alerie was the master of making these. "My brother thinks simple, he thinks of men, politics, and letter writing. He is sharp, but he is not sharp enough, Jehrilla. I wish for you to play a far bigger role, and I have heard rumours about you." She added, walking up the last few steps, knowing her Yunkish body must have been dying, going up this gradient, as Alerie led the way, through the illuminated chamber. Opening the door, she walked in, the small room having a pair of windows, letting in the sunlight fully, being one of the outstanding towers, the small space enough to be filled by just the two of them, comfortably. Maybe four or five, if Jehrilla's mass did not occupy it, as Alerie found a seat on a cushion, placed on top of a gentle rug. "Now, Jehrilla of Zo Zaaraq. I consider that my brother's request is one we tend to avoid. He wishes to have men to bolster his forces, but even he knows, he cannot hire all of them for merely fighting a war." She said across to Jehrilla, smiling a little, as she looked out, then back at her. "I hear your family is among the great Yunkish slavers, you are of a different culture to us, but I respect that you are good at what you do. There is a place where I think we may be able to find a mutually beneficial place for your slavers to sail. The Westerlands are going to be exposed, their fleets fighting the Iron Islanders, their armies either divided or concentrated on King's Landing. I will give you gold to have men raid the coastline, starting with Castle Crakehall itself. It shall have no marks of our payment, it shall be an attack that cannot be suspected. If your men can follow the coastline, they can take any man, woman, child that they wish for their service in Yunkai. Any non-noble or minor nobles, can be seized. If they dare attack any single vassal of The Reach, I shall have it ended, and I understand, slavers are difficult to control. We both know that, but if their attention can be kept, I shall make sure they are handsomely rewarded, as shall you. As I say, you will find men to bolster your cause, gold in your coffers, and a connection in The Reach that will give you many an advantage over the other patricians of the city. I will give you priorities in trade, and that we can trade more of our Arbor for your Ghiscari." She said, Alerie's words distinct and chosen, knowing full well what she was saying. Sitting up, she walked up to Jehrilla, sitting by her side, taking in her huge girth, looking over, as she sat by her side, taking her in once more. Alerie adjusted her red hair, the sun shining over her beautiful figure, catching the gold in her dress. It shone bright, reflecting wonderfully among the green, with numerous designs of thorns emblazoned into the dress. "You amaze me, Jehrilla. I know only one woman in The Reach who looks anything like you, but she is not as beautiful. I do not blame Garland for attempting his luck, and you must forgive my brother for his...charm. But he thought with his spear after he finished his simple negotiations. Mine are the reality that you came here for, Jehrilla. If you raid the Westerland coast by either indirect or direct means through your forces, and no trace is left to House Tyrell, I will see to it that you will leave The Reach with far more gold than you came here with. Your mercenaries will still be of use in training our men, and in immediate deployment to King's Landing. But if there is any offer that Crakehall suggests, consider that we can match it. He only has wealth in his gold mines. We have it in far, far more than just gold, we have it in a chance for yourself to pick the finest Westermen to enslave. And while no King or Queen sits on the Iron Throne, there will be no response declared upon your family." ----------- Whilst Garland's sister and Jehrilla headed away, he had at least sobered up a little, and now sat with a jug of water. Maester Garth walked in, the Oldtown Maester looking barely a blemish over 50, as he looked over at Garland, who had only just gotten dressed into his tunic again, looking at the bed. He had made one hell of an effort, he thought to himself, as he slipped back into his boots, washing his face with a pale before turning to Garth again. "Maester Garth, I need more parchment. There is a lot of papers to write. Tell me, where is Rickard? Anything" He said, looking across to him, Garland clearing his throat a little, "Rickard is still reading, Lord Tyrell, he still reads as he does." "Tell me a new tale, Garth. I have heard it....he is a good lad. I am happy your friends in Oldtown looked after him." He said, as Maester Garth looked over, nodding in agreement, knowing full well Rickard did have that potential. He was deep in his scholarly studies, and it would only be a matter of time till Garland would give him up, Garth thought to himself. The youngest of the Tyrell siblings would follow in his own steps, and learn of the world, perhaps serve in a court somewhere else as their trusted . Garth was a man of Hightower, not far at all, but he was well versed, and had traveled far and wide, that Garland knew. "Well, I hear that from the Maesters of the North, the the climes are getting colder. That dare I speak the words of the Starks, Winter is Coming." "I understand Winter, Garth, it is just a cold that means the peasants need to use their grain storage for. We always have it well, the snow is never terrible, and we merely spend months in our castles, by a fire, reading. That is how we have spent our winters. Now, fetch me some partchment." He added, as the Maester walked out of the room, Garland already looking at over what he had. He began writing, already sitting down, pen in paper. He had to respond to the two Lords of the middleground, that patch of land that held between the Southern Kingdoms and the great expanse of The North, The Vale and The Riverlands. He opted to reply to the latter first, taking quill to parchment, as he began writing. There would be short letters, and longer ones, that he told himself. [hider=Lord Jullon Tully, Lord Paramount of the Riverlands] Lord Jullon, I respect this decision fully, and I expect you shall keep out of the way of any wars to come, if there are any, as you say. Your neutrality is respected, and as my Kingdom has seen in generations past, we understand non-alignment. The Riverlands need not need any more blood as we both know it has had in the past, and I wish to maintain good ties between our Houses. When this succession crisis is resolved, I hope to meet you once more, and be able to celebrate the harvests of our Kingdoms. I wish you the best. Lord Garland Tyrell, Warden of the South [/hider] Moving on, he picked up another parchment, wanting to take a little more time on this one, as he looked across the room, the falcon that sat perched in the window, watching inside rather than flying outside and hunting for rats and mice outside of the castle ground, almost expecting Garland to have something by now. The falcon's arrival had been one that didn't surprise him, yet did catch him off guard compared to the usual raven. No matter what Garland did, he had not been able to take it in his hand, it merely refused to even sit, it would hunt, and it would sit in his perch, and do nothing else, or it would scream and leave for an extended period. He didn't want to mess around with it, and Garland knew that Ellion's falcons were his by total and complete loyalty, knowing that as a fellow Falconer, he had a strong, strong connection with his birds. But enough with ornithology, Garland thought to himself, he had to write. [hider=Lord Ellion Arryn, Lord Paramount of The Vale] I do not expect to bring you to conflict, and my respect for your neutrality is utmost. As you have known, The Reach has been neutral in conflict that has raged in the Seven Kingdoms itself, and your decision is one I accept fully. If at any point you wish to visit Highgarden, I would wish you present to me your masterful art of Falconry that I have seen for myself in the delivery of this message. Your bird has been most dutiful, and I have seen it with my own eyes, that he has hunted more than any bird of the Reach. As a fellow Falconer, I do hope you take this not as a message from a Lord, but from a fellow practitioner of a noble past-time, that our interest in this field is intertwined, if not politically. Once these squabbles are resolved, I hope to meet you and perhaps learn some of your talents, if not at the very least to leave you some Arbor to take home for your wine cellar. I admire your talents, Ellion; and as a relatively young Lord, I know full well that the tales I have heard of your prowess are ones that I seek to follow in example of. Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of The Reach [/hider] With that letter, Garland got up and headed to the window, looking out at the Peregrine, it's claws dug into the vine in his window, as he slipped the small parchment. The Falcon almost seemed to bark back at Garland, as the Falcon threw itself back, and caught flight, screaching as it left. It was hostile, and while it felt to Garland like it knew of his presence, he knew full well of his own master's, days and days flight away. Garland was keen on Falconry, but knew Ellion was a master, a living legend, so to speak. Willas Tyrell, the Lame Lord, was known to be among the greatest Falconers of his time, and whilst Garland knew it was something he wished to attempt, it would not be in his lifetime. Sitting back down, he continued on, knowing he could finish writing his shorter letters now, with one to Lord Rickard Stark. Sometimes, Garland knew he wasn't the most polite in writing letters, but he felt that Rickard had that about him, that he could take Garland's edgier side in places, even if it wasn't obvious. [hider=Lord Rickard Stark, Lord Paramount of the North] By the Old Gods and the New, I respect your decision, as I do not wish to call any Kingdom to war. As Warden of the opposite end of our Seven Kingdoms, I understand that you wish to not be involved in a Southern conflict, and if such tensions arise, I hope that no Northern blood will be shed for a crown that must be placed upon the correct head. The Iron Islands still remain the greatest threat outside of our own tensions, and it is with that I wish you the best of luck in ridding our Seven Kingdoms of these Ironborn scum. Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of The Reach [/hider] [hider=Lord Tyget Crakehall, Lord Paramount of the Westerlands] Lord Crakehall, I hope that this is the last time I have to write a letter to yourself, and as you have seen in past, I do not wish for war. However, I warn you that if you do threaten it, The Reach's armies are willing to fight, and will happily meet you on the field of battle, with our banners raised. I do not believe it that you are the sole heir remaining; and that rather, there are still some that remain, as I will only assume you have received news that there are indeed, other Targaryen claimants. If you are insistent, then I shall check the records in King's Landing, but I assume you move to siege the capital, which is something that I have already thwarted your progress towards doing. I severely doubt I shall find any different, what with the existence of two princesses who stand to inherit far quicker than yourself on the line of succession as it currently stands, and I would only assume that they wish for your desistence in this matter. Our family has served the Targaryens for generations, and as you say, since the days of Aegon, First of his Name, have we ruled from Highgarden, watching the fertile lands of The Reach as the Wardens of the South, faithfully serving each passing member of the Targaryen dynasty. Do not assume we are blind, Tyget. I am merely obeying my King's command by restoring peace to the Kingdoms he ruled, and his Iron Throne could be inherited by men and women of the family alike. I ask you remember that your statement that you are a King, does not make you one, Lord Crakehall. I do not wish to plunge these Seven Kingdoms into conflict, but if you continue your assertions, it is only a matter of time before you find that you shall be burnt to a crisp, if I do not find you first to give you my mercy." [/hider] He cursed, feeling angry, wrothful throughout his whole letter. He hated doing this, but he had to do it, one way or another. The news had to be broken to this madman, and Garland could only tell that it was him who was doing it. He may have been conflicted, and perhaps, knew he was out of his depth. He had no experience of a war on this scale before, but he assumed he had to learn one way or another, or else he would never rise to be a Tyrell like his predecessors had been. And even if Tyget Crakehall was a calculating, cold and most of all, could be bold enough to follow up his threats, Garland only guessed that it would be the good of the realm that would make sure that men such as him did not succeed. From his own view, the family agreed, as would his vassal houses. As to writing to Lord Stark, he didn't need to give much- it was a shorter letter, and it had perhaps been something that he wanted to clear his mind of, just to let Rickard (Stark) know that he did not intend for anything more than what he had stated in his first declaration. It was a personal touch, and he could only guess that The North would not want a war in the south, not if it meant that thousands could die. The North could not bleed once more, Garland guessed to himself. He had to write one more, this being the latest letter to have arrived, from someone who the Reach's Lord Paramount had not met for years and years, almost forgetting she was alive. Such a woman was someone he was glad to see was still alive, and her words rang true in his head. Perhaps this was the sign to prove he was right, that he had done the right thing, to wait and not simply take the Iron Throne himself. And of course, there was always benefit to be had for the family out of this, albeit this would be in the end game of the wars to come, should the need arise. [hider=Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen II, Lady of the Crownlands] My Lady, I am glad to hear of your news, Princess. I had arrived in Highgarden for leave by the time I heard that Aegon had passed away, and my loyalty to your uncle was unquestioning. He was one of our greatest Kings, and for his suspected death, I find that the Kingdoms forget just how lucky we were. My family continues to serve yours, as it has for centuries, and in these times, we must begin to solve the crisis that could envelop our Kingdoms, as the cold winter approaches. The Reach will provide the grain that the Crownlands require, as it has for the other Kingdoms in their time of need, and your noble rule is one that shall continue with our backing. I hope to continue serving under you rule as your Lord Hand, and to help you to rule over these Seven Kingdoms, as my liege once did. As of fact, we have begun our preparations to allow for a respectable heir such as yourself to take power, with the seizure of King's Landing by Tyrell retinues, to keep the peace. I advised Aegon X Targaryen for the best part of two years, and knew him from Tourneys for far many more. I am yet to still return to King's Landing, but I have sent a sizable force of Reachmen to secure King's Landing, alongside the Goldcloaks, under the command of my uncle. For the current period, you are the most suitable heir to Aegon, and as his Hand, I would imagine that it was yourself that was intended to take seat in the Iron Throne. Any squabbles about succession shall be resolved, and as for your own heirs, this is something that will be dealt with closer to the time. The the Queen Dowager, was murdered in cold blood, and they sent her head to us, as a message, telling us that we were all to be next. I expect Daenys is to be heavily involved, and he will wish to silence any man that dares support the Throne, for it will damage his claim; the man is mad, and no doubt, his connections still remain very dangerous for anyone that may be set to inherit the throne. You must be careful, Rhaenyra, as I fear he will want any other Targaryen that lays claim could be harmed. I worry for you, and whatever I may be able to do in order to protect you, I will undertake, my Princess. I wish not to scare you with this event, but merely to warn you that Daenys is still extremely dangerous, and is not aligned to any current grouping that wishes to maintain the Throne in favor of the Targaryen dynasty. I wish to meet you, Rhaenyra, and once the situation in King's Landing is quelled, I will make my way down to our capital with a significant entourage of Reachmen to continue supporting your rule. As it currently stands, the Seven Kingdoms are on the brink of war, and Tyget Crakehall is threatening the peace of the Seven Kingdoms that I maintained, with a claim that appears to be predominantly falsified. Such claims are difficult to dispel, and I do not wish for war to engulf our Kingdoms at a time like this, but it may become a necessity. I hope to continue our friendship, and in the face of our odds, we can restore peace. Until then, I expect that you can find trust in my uncle, Ser Willas, and see through that he now commands the Goldcloaks of King's Landing. He will act as my representative in the capital, and he will be able to provide a direct support. I wish to soon hear from you, Princess, but I remind you to keep vigilant in these dark times, for Daenys is still able to plot against us, and no doubt, will wish to destroy any other Targaryen blood, as may Lord Tyget. May the Seven guide you, Rhaenyra. Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Hand of Aegon X Targaryen, Lord Paramount of the Reach, Warden of the South [/hider] Passing the letters to Garth, he let him take it to the Rookery, to be delievered by the Ravens that sat in Hightower, as he exhaled once more. It had been an interesting morning, but for now, he had matters to attend to. Rhaenyra was someone Garland remembered from youth, but he knew she was a woman of confidence and capability, and would be ideally suited for the Throne. It was the perfect excuse, and he could already tell, it could mean war against the Crakehalls. He was tempted to call a Council, to rally the banners, and perhaps mobilize on the borders, just to give the effect. Wasteful, yes, but Garland could guess it could work in order to scare Tyget back. ---------- Willas too was writing, looking at the letter from Rhaenyra himself, in his own quarters. Taking his own quill, he began writing, aware it would cover most of the bases that would be needed for her knowledge. [hider=Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen II, Lady of the Crownlands] Pricess Rhaenyra, if you have heard of the latest news, then you will have heard that Commander Celtigar was forcibly removed of his duties, following a disloyalty to the Targaryen throne, and on the Lord Hand's orders, we were forced to quell the unrest in the capital by unconventional means. I wish to address that concern. With Lord Owain Tumbleton's men in the city, we are preparing for siege, and quelling unrest in the aftermath of the blooding of the Goldcloaks, something which has died down in recent days, with my forces spreading law and order throughout the town, shipping continuing out to the Free Cities and other Kingdoms. Yet there are still issues, and the anticipated movement of Crakehall forces on the capital may mean that any action you undertake, I ask you to come quickly. I wish to have your Crownlander forces join with mine in protecting our capital, and if they are able to bolster our Retinues, this would allow us to keep the peace, and continue to keep King's Landing under friendly control. I do not ask for more than a thousand of your men, for both your safety and the capital, and they will be reimbursed if this is required; further negotiation can be made with my nephew, Lord Garland. I will personally ensure yours, and your sister's safety within the capital alongside my own guard, and as former Kingsguard to Aegon Targeryen, Tenth of his Name, I ask for forgiveness in the wake of my abandonment from the Kingsguard. Such actions, I understand, are to be punished by death, but I ask of you to understand that it was undertaken for the good of the realm, and for the protection of the Targaryen heir, which I would expect my nephew to agree, would be most likely yourself. If I am to receive punishment and revocation for this act, I ask that you leave this until the Iron Throne is secure, and then I shall face my punishment in the eyes of the Seven and your right over these Seven Kingdoms. I will make certain that you can pay your respects for the deceased Aegon, as well as continue to rule from the Red Keep, by any methods that will it. This will still require action on the part of my nephew, however, and our current retinue will not be able to attack any invaders that may attack the Reach. However, I will do whatever I can to ensure your safety, and as I served Aegon loyally to his death, I shall serve you. Ser Willas Tyrell, Lord Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing [/hider] ---------------- Later that evening of that day, Rickard was as usual, in his room, his face in a book, this time reading more on the works of Mern III Gardener. An ancient King, a man who felt like he was millenia away from the current state of affairs, and Mern's face, as it was depicted in the book, reminded him almost of Gregor, his granddad. A weary man, an old man, but still maintaining those distinct traits. House Tyrell was directly descended from House Gardener, it had been a cadet branch, after all. Just like the Brightwaters were, they were Tyrells at heart, but their symbols were different, their whole identity felt changed. Putting the book back onto the table, he stood up once more, looking across at his bed. Maester Garth had left him for a while on his own, with a candle and a book, and it was bedtime reading that he liked. The tales of Kings and Queens of The Reach and the Seven Kingdoms, brave warriors, of dragons, of the winters of past. He loved learning, almost taking a . He slipped into his bed, slipping under a quilt as he put his head to rest on the goose-filled pillow, Rickard aware that rest came well to him on a night like tonight, where it was gently breezing. The noise could be heard, as he saw the man come in, once more. It was terrifying each and every time, as he saw the man appear, the servant coming in. He spoke weird words, strange tongues, asked strange questions about Maester Garth, as Rickard sat up, looking across at the mysterious man. He had learned not to question him, it was like a bad dream, and just as he has asked, he had not told a single soul. He didn't feel it was right, even with what his brother and sister had told him, he knew it was not a Crakehall spy. It was far worse, but he knew that for that reason alone, he could not spread the news. He spoke with him, but only realized what had happened as his face suddenly shifted, Rickard looking on. "You're a....you're of the Faceless Men?" He enquired quietly, looking on in shock horror. It was his brother staring at him, but he knew it was a trick of the mind. Their faces were never real, he said to himself, they couldn't be. It was not his brother, playing some elaborate prank, this was real. His face had changed, mutated to that of Garland's, his distinctive beautiful features and hair, not that of the servant he had seen. Taking the coin into his hand, he stared. He knew what it was, but he didn't want to even dare say. The shifting once again left Rickard silent, as he watched on, quietly, not wanting to speak, or raise any sort of voice. It was mere shock, as he looked on, at the coin in his hand. He looked on at the coin, just wondering what in Seven Hells was going on. He did not sleep, he did not move out of his bed, he could only stare at the coin. That man was a Faceless Man, he said to himself...and they murdered people! He had read about it, he had heard of their mystery, and he had never seen them....no, they couldn't! Rickard didn't want to exclaim. No, they weren't here for Garland...he said his family, Rickard's mind was racing. They wouldn't hurt brother or sister, would they? He couldn't tell them, he said to himself. He knew it was a sure-fire way to die, Valar Morgulis were words that he had once seen in a book...what did it mean? He had to remember hard, as he sat up, fanning his hand over the candle, placing the coin by it, it's distinctive markings and etchings saying all. He thought, once over. It was from a book on the Free Cities of Pentos, Lys, Tyrosh and Bravvos, he remembered to himself. It was a phrase buried underneath the pages...what did it mean? He remembered to himself. Valar Dohearis, all men must serve...Valar Morghulis, all men must die. And in that coin, read the same words. They were the men of death, and for one single second, Rickard knew that even if he felt fear, he could not do anything now, not for his family. He shut his eyes, and squeezed the coin tight in his hand once more.