[h1][b][color=FFD700][center]Highgarden[/center][/color][/b][/h1] [img]http://vignette3.wikia.nocookie.net/gotascent/images/7/7e/World_Highgarden.jpg/revision/latest?cb=20140130065517[/img] Alerie looked on, smiling at Jehrilla, agreeing fully. She had that point, indeed. "Oh, I know. Golden Dragons can buy a man's loyalty, his everything...and if I were you, I would do exactly the same. If you wished to, you could serve the North, they require a navy for fighting the Ironborn...but I would assume your men like these climes. " Alerie nodded. She knew deep down, Jehrilla was a freelancer, and if she wanted to, she could offer her services, even tell the Crakehalls of their plans. If it was mercenaries Crakehall wanted, then he could have them, from Jehrilla or some other Essosi. But Alerie was smarter than that, mercenaries were useful, it was how they were used. And Alerie wanted that raiding to occur because...well, it would be a sharp prick where the Westerlands did not expect it. The Yunkish slavers and their galleys would put up a fight against the Yunkish, but ultimately, the numbers and intermittent of the raiding for slaves was something that Alerie had calculated for. It would work, to the extent that it was required to take eyes away from King's Landing and the Oceanroad, that linked Highgarden to Casterly Rock. "They do not know of our presence here, not even Garland, he's still hung over. Tell me, how did you find my brother? I know it must strange to talk about these things in front of his sister, but I am very relaxed about it. In fact, I would like to think that he can enjoy himself for the moment. I can imagine you as good at a tumble, Jehrilla. Women as cunning as you, they always are." Alerie said, smiling, aware that she could read Jehrilla. She was just as cunning, and there was no more denying that they both did not know what happened in that bedchamber, Alerie also somewhat guessing that from her every excess, she was good at sex, in some strange way. It felt..weird to say it, but somehow, she could detect it, sense it almost. Like she could with men who were good at it, Alerie was trying to use that strange radar to detect Jehrilla's. "But yes, that seems agreeable." She said, exhaling, adjusting her dress a little, tightening the string that was around her hip, as she looked around, beyond the tower. Looking over, she stood up, looking out the huge window, out on the blue day. "The peasants are taking the harvest in as we speak, the grape season is over, and many of the fruits are off the trees, being picked, made into cider or being stored in cellars. There was going to be a Harvest Festival, to make the peasants happy, but what with this war going on, no doubt there will be some that will be called up before it happens. They may not like it, but they always organize their own little shows anyway." She added, looking out on the wider plains, with a few hills in the distance. To the south, west and north, it was particularly flat, with a couple of rolling hills, whilst on the east, the hills rose a little taller, with the Rosewood, or a large coniferous hunting ground planted by Jamie Tyrell, in this direction. It was no Kingswood, but it was an attempt by Jamie Tyrell to replicate it's mass, for not just wood, but for hunting and artisans to find pine and fir in a land where mostly oaks and other non-coniferous trees grew. It was an interesting addition, and depending how you approached Highgarden, you could entirely miss the sight, or have it filling your view. It was a thick and an almost Northern forest, unlike the regular oaks and willows of the Reach, the firs having some tracks leading through with deer and boars within it. It's expanse was enormous, given it had been planted barely a few generations ago, the thickly clustered firs growing fast and tall, to offer a blanket over the eastern hills of Highgarden. Beyond the Mander, it was a sight to behold, and it seemed to be a feature that broke up the regular Mediterranean pale greenery, the firs able to cope with the summer, interlaced with other pines and other trees. Jamie Tyrell was a woodsman, some said, and the "Green" Tyrell did earn his name this way, now his legacy was that wood, Alerie thought to herself. Too much thought on trees, Alerie made a mental thought, as she focussed back on her guest. "These sunny days will pass, it is Autumn, after all. We become rain soaked, our shrubbery returns to greenery, and the roses begin to be picked and die, as they spread their seeds, to begin the cycle all over when winter passes." Alerie said, brushing her red hair. "So, it is agreed. Garland knows I can handle finances, and so I will have it invoiced that you will be paid your figure to undertake this for us, a mutual benefit. If you get them sail tomorrow, the better, but there is no rush. So long as they sail within a week." She asked, her young face catching the light, brushing across her figure. Alerie was not even wearing her most beautiful dress, yet in this tower, did look very beautiful indeed. She looked at Jehrilla again, her huge gluttony spread across the pillows, sweat running down her body, her huge mass clearly still warm. Garland had defnitely seen something in her, Alerie thought to herself, that enormous chest, or her sheer size was something that could be found in the Reach, albeit with none of the exotic features, and a face like a horse. Jehrilla looked beautiful, young, like Alerie, like despite her gluttony, she looked like she could charm a man like a snake, with the drop of her dress. She made no effort to hide her excess, and that was something that Alerie did like, that she was a woman who stood proud and honest in her own conventions of back home. "Garland can more specifically organize the numbers of mercenaries he wants, no doubt, he'll like at least 5,000 to bolster his forces as a minimum precaution, and potentially 25,000 if the other banners have to be raised for total war. I'll give that to him to confirm. As for yourself, would you like to see some more of the Reach? I can organize some more wine tasting, or you can sample our ciders...there is many a culinary delight to be had, Jehrilla. The Reach is the breadbasket of the Reach. We are healthy, beautiful for a reason, don't you know? Why don't you find that for yourself....and have an excess of that Reachness." She added, giggling a little as she knew that Jehrilla would take it playfully...or at least, so she hoped before she was thrown out of the window to her certain death. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Garland recieved one more letter as the robed man came back from the rookery, Maester Garth leaving it on the table. It had the Martells' seal on it, and the contents of this message in particular were quite interesting. In fact, it was of an unknown quantity. Garland knew that his ancestors had gone through nothing but problems with Dorne, but as he read the letter, he knew that it was probably more of the same. Relations had improved with Dorne, considerably. So much so that trading was viable, that Dornish and Reach wines were traded interchangeably, their tastes and appeal different to whoever you asked. There were problems- the Dornish Marches were still a squabbling area, and often, Garland recieved letters from Lord Tarly to demand that House Dayne stopped it's raids, though he knew the Tarlys still did it back. There was no control, and Garland had let that slide; while it created weathered commanders, Belgrave Tarly being the Reach's greatest general and a mastermind at war, a veteran fighter, it had come at a price. The Tarlys were in petty squabbles with the Blackmonts, across the mountains in regards to, and such a similar thing existed on the other end. Garland had a nightmare in stopping it- and knew that it had been going on for centuries, without stop. It never escalated, remarkably, it was tit for tat, sometimes a Tarly victory, sometimes a Blackmont victory, with a lot of lives spilled, and a lot of weathered, hardened men coming from the mountains and marches. It was something that would never change, it was an inevitability of having vassals that happened to both really like fighting, and when there was no war on, they played games with each other, Garland could only interpret such action as that. [hider=Elaina Martell, Princess of Dorne] I am glad to hear of it; I can make certain that he will be looked after in King's Landing; and that once the situation calms down, that a Small Council can be formed with his involvement as a worthy representative for Dorne's interests in the running of these Seven Kingdoms. My current representative in King's Landing, Ser Willas Tyrell, will likely meet him soon, and offer his services to protect your Husband, as well as secure the capital with a representative from your Kingdom. It is good to hear that you support this legitimacy, and that I wish not to seize the throne, but to preserve it for the Targaryens, rather than allow for squabbles to arise from the various Great Houses of the Kingdoms. Both our Houses welcomed the Targaryens back to Westeros generations ago; so now we continue our loyal services. We helped to destroy House Lannister alongside the Targaryen armies, and ever since, I am aware that despite our differences, Dorne and The Reach are imperative to maintain peace in the Seven Kingdoms, and that our continued co-operation will stop any feuds in the Dornish Marches. Our friendship will continue, and whilst I cannot currently muster a Lord to send to Sunspear, once the capital is secure and a heir is on the throne, I will likely send Lord Brightwater (Tyrell) to continue to foster our friendship in Dorne. I am glad to hear of your support for the Targaryen dynasty, and I expect that once the right heir is identified, this being currently likely to be Rheynara Targaryen of the Northern Crownlands, we will re-establish a stable system of rulership that brings the Reach and Dorne into the running of our Seven Kingdoms. In regards to Ser Tristam Dayne, I am unaware of his current whereabouts, but I am certain that it was not a Reachman's blade that killed him. Ser Willas may be the Knight you wish to speak to regarding his disappearance, and I am confident that he can be found in the future. It is reported that none of the Kingsguard, apart from Willas, have been publicly seen since Aegon X's death, so it is difficult to assume what has occured; though rest assured, once we begin our work in running these Seven Kingdoms once more, we can find the answers that we are all looking for. I should also note that I will be writing to Lord Lewes of Torrentpeak and Lord Belgrave of House Tarly regarding the situation of the defence of the Reach's frontier in the Dornish Marches, and to reinforce, as my uncle had done in past, that they do not become focussed on petty squabbles, as I assume House Dayne will respect as Lords of Starpike and Blackmont. As both our prosperous Kingdoms understand, such events bode badly if raiding does occur, and does not benefit any party, as the mountains begin to become less and less accessible in colder weather. While we are both in the simular position of being far from our disobedient vassals, I want to make catagorically clear that the Kingdom of the Reach does not seek war with Dorne, as I expect you shall agree. I hope that the Torrentpass and The Prince's Pass remain accessible over the winter, and that the snowdrifts are cleared so as to allow for our continued co-operation; and that their chaos does not unfold in the background of events occurring throughout the Seven Kingdoms. This will have to be dealt with by the Tyrell Retinues based in Torrentpeak, alongside your men, and I hope co-operation can be reached on this issue by our vassals, despite any border conflicts. In conclusion, I wish you well, Princess, and hope we can continue our improving relationships. Signed, Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach [/hider] Finishing the letter, he gave it to Garth. "Send this one quickly. Sunspear is a few days from now, Elaina will want to know of our response." Garland said, as Garth nodded, looking across. "The faith of the Red God may be something you ought to watch out for, Lord Tyrell. Perhaps these little raids could be a meaning, for something more." He said, as Garland shook his head. "House Tarly have told me different. It is a petty war, a war I do not concern myself with. If I see no Martell banners involved, then I will assume it is not an attack on us. The Red God may wish to cross mountains, but once he enters The Reach, Dornish forces would be a fish out of water. That is why I don't attack them either. It is a child's play...and Elaina knows precisely the same. Vassal houses of the Marches have nothing better to do than fight when they have gold exchanged for their charcoal and young men who are bored." He said, chuckling. "Besides, no King or Queen has ever conquered Dorne. They are hardy peoples. Many have disrupted the Lords of the Reach, Aegon I did so by war and let us grow to our standard. But never by marriage. Let that stand as our testament." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- By the next evening of the day, the council had not been called, not just yet. Garland had decided to opt for a small family meal, that was, himself, Alerie and Rickard, all gathered in their quarters, around a table. It was a nice alternative, and Alerie had kept Jehrilla occupied in a way she had devised, a way that she was acertain would work to at least allow her to sample some Reach customs, while Garland had finished much of his administrative work, Rickard his reading. "I haven't seen Maester Garth around today, he was meant to come earlier, Garland!" Rickard asked, as Garland shook his head. "I don't know where he went...actually, I haven't seen him much either." "We shall have to send for another...perhaps he has run away?" Rickard added, questioning, wondering why on earth that would even happen. "He taught me for the last two years of my tutoring, up to the age of ten and five. And you too, Alerie. It seems wrong. I do not want to assume he has been abducted yet...but if this is a ploy to get into my court, I will not allow it. We shall send for a new Maester, and if he reappears, in enemy or any other hands, we will deal with that problem when it comes to it." Garland simply said, exhaling, shaking his head. It didn't seem right to him, but he had to do it, and Garland guessed that it would be the answer. "Seven Hells...it seems everyone is going mad apart from us. Never a good sign, is it?" Lord Tyrell said, his cynicism biting a little, as he chuckled, Alerie shaking her head as she smiled. "Relax, brother. We are sorting this out, one step at a time. Any good word from Willas?" She asked, eating a little bread, a filler before the main course. "Well...I know he also was written to by Rheynara, and he recently let us know that the Tumbletons arrived safely, setting up encampment within the city. So it seems the path is secure. The retinue is ready to hold the city against siege, and while there's been unrest, Willas says it is nothing he cannot deal with. He could use more men, but I have told him that he cannot receive any more until Rheynara arrives and it is suitable for me to travel." He added, drinking some Arbor, though significantly less than last night. It was to wet his tongue, to make him receptive to the grand meal they would have. "But what after that, Garland? Surely, we should strike against the Crakehalls now, if we know the real Queen has emerged?" "Yes...but at the same time, try being the Lord that orders for full scale war between two houses, when we haven't even seen that Queen take her throne yet. If she sits there, and I, as Lord Hand hear her say the words, then we put them to the sword. They are going to offer a hard fight, and if I call all the banners, it will be a war that has to end before Winter, with nothing more than just a symbolic victory, we can let them live. Thousands could die, and the peasants are going to want to ready for winter, not fight a war, just like Tyget's men will. We would win before that Tyget could muster any support from the other Kingdoms, and by this point, the rest will fall behind the Queen that sits on the chair. Yes, this is true. But it is one that I want to avoid, if I can." Garland said, his voice reduced compared to what it would normally be, as he brushed his long hair aside a little, dusting off his arms from his tunic. "But we know this "King" Tyget, he has no allies, nothing! Seven Hells, he is weaker than ever! All you need to do is send the men up the Oceanroad to Crakehall Keep, seize the damn castle and his family, and he'll throw down any claim!" Alerie exclaimed, just a little frustrated with Garland at this point, perhaps a little short sighted. Garland had four years on her, and it did show- he knew a little more that it wasn't just that easy, but then again, he wasn't wily enough to pull it of, he just didn't believe it so even if it were. "He will be at his weakest when the High Septon crowns Rheynara, Alerie. Not then. I am a young man against a calculating, ruthless Lord Paramount of the Westerlands. Who has decades of experience....he knows that option already, so I suppose we are playing this game to his rules as long as it keeps him scared." Garland replied, Alerie nodding, half agreeing but wanting to put something into doubt. "Indeed, but it still does not stand. We have the obvious advantages." She replied, drinkinga little water to interupt, as Alerie continued. "And that is perhaps for now, we shall play to what he expects. It is a deception we can hold, while you let me deal with any other advantages he has...." She said, as Rickard sat up a little, looking across to the two. It was not often that he was authoritative, but he could raise his voice when he could, the 15 year old clear when he said what he said. "Brother, sister, enough! They're serving pork tonight, my favourite!" -------------------- [h1][b][color=FFD700][center]King's Landing[/center][/color][/b][/h1] [img]http://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/thumb/6/64/Tomasz_Jedruszek_Kings_Landing.jpg/400px-Tomasz_Jedruszek_Kings_Landing.jpg[/img] The dragonpit of King's Landing had been one that had been partially destroyed, but ever since the Targaryen Restoration, it had been maintained, and it had hosted dragons...albeit none this day. It had taken a few hours, but the pit had been prepared, and it had been cleared of anything that was not needed, and with chains put in, that could hold dragons restored, they were prepared. Willas found it strange, he had seen dragons, but never ridden, never by a Targaryen, just wild and hunting, so far. It was a sight to see, an amazing one, no less. It was an exiting one, as he made his way back to his barrack. He had to write to Rhaeynara, and it would start here. Looking on out the window, Willas didn't even need to begin drafting his response, as he heard the distant calls, the men exclaiming. He stood up, walking out, seeing a small encampment of Tyrell Retinuemen, alongside Owain Tumbleton's own personal guard. Looking across to Owain, he nodded, the distant sight on the horizon, in the clouds. The sight of dragons could never stop being an amazement, as Willas smirked. "Open the Northern gate. There will be men following, they are Crownlander. They are joining us. As are those dragons. Relay it down, Ser Maxwell." Willas said to the fellow Retinue Knight, as he moved down the hill, Owain nodding. "With dragons? Well then...perhaps there is no siege!" Owain did not sound particularly reasoned when he made the statement, potentially because it was the first time he had seen them in the flesh, Willas aware that the dragons that the Targaryens had were exceptionally dangerous. They were beasts without equals, they could burn, kill whatever they wished, with it's fiery breath. Armies could be reduced to pieces, though Willas knew that they could be slain, and indeed, "I will write to Garland later. He needs to come down...this is his speciality, not mine, to guide the young princesses. Owain, I will take 100 men out of your retinue and welcome her at the Dragon Pit. We have a royal arrival, and this is our future Queen that we could be talking about here. Give Maxwell command of the Gold Cloaks in my absence, he is my deputy, after all. Aegon's body is still unburied, as well as there being business to deal with in the Red Keep. We may still have a fight on our hands...so hold the line as we have." Willas simply said to Owain, as the other Lord nodded, to Willas, who did not even wear a gold cloak, still wearing the same armour as he had conducted the purge in. He had at least opted for a gold shawl over it, but had not opted for a cloak, simply knowing it was not something that he would currently require, not when he had to present himself to Princess Rhaynara. Looking over, he looked to his horse, and with a dozen men that Owain gave the order to, they set off, leaving the Barrack to go back to The Red Keep. There was a gentle rain, and the Red Keep, it's great red sandstone construction standing tall, was mostly vacated, apart from a few Tyrell men. They had infested any corner of the city worth infesting. "Ser Willas, we've got a Lady Yronwood at the gate, she says she has a command from Princess Elaina to leave the city!" A guard approached Willas, as he saddled his horse, running from the bottom of hill, out of breath. "Let her leave, Lady Yronwood is nobility, neutral in all this conflict. Tell her that I show my condolences for her delay, and that she will be allowed her way immediately. Let her through with her retinue, but nobody else. Make it clear that I apologise." Willas simply said, as the man nodded, beginning to run back down. The city's gates on lockdown, it meant that Willas had to be careful of who entered....though it had already proved a problem for people leaving. He hoped that it wasn't too large a diplomatic blunder, but none the less, Lady Yronwood would be left to head across to wherever it was she was going to, on this drizzly autumn day. ----------------------------------------------------- A kingkonrad and [@Apoalo] collab [h1][b][color=FFD700][center]The Torrentine Range[/center][/color][/b][/h1] [img]http://cdn2.landscapehdwalls.com/wallpapers/1/snowy-mountains-205-2560x1600.jpg[/img] Beyond the safe walls of Highgarden, the Dornish Marches were a place that at this time of year, were changing once more. The Marches were everything, from a Plateau, a desert, to sheer, sharp and high mountains, with cold. The mountains that seemed to seperate Horn Hill, the residency of House Tarly, with the adjacent House Blackmont in Dorne, seemed to have nothing in them, apart from a sheer verticality, some greenery and snow at this time of year, yet on the Dornish side of the pass, where a horse track ran up through the pass, there was an outpost, one with Tarly men holding the pass for their own reasons. The Torrentine Range of mountains were temperate but snow covered, and still did have hardy mountain goat herders, and cedars growing where they could, among the raging rivers that made their way down. But there was a presence here. So that House Tarly could claim the mountains for themselves, and whatever mines, or trade routes went through them. It was a typical conflict that Garland despised, but it was one that House Tarly was engaged within anyway. The patrol was watching the defenses, the wooden ramparts set up on the southern side, embedded into rock, providing an overwatch. It was a snowy pass, and in these mountains, getting through would be difficult, but still possible at this time of year, with a winding horse cart track going up to . In the summer, it would offer the greatest view of Horn Hill, and the plains and relatively small hills that surrounded the south-eastern banks of the Mander, but here, they were in the cold, and looking southward. On the battlements, the Tarly men looked out, freezing cold. Many wore mail, no plate in sight, the pass defended and held by the Reach's forces, though of course, that was an asumption. This was in Dornish terroitory, it was across the line that a map would mark, and most definitely, was at least half a day's ride through the deep snowy mountains to where this battlement was, like a border post. It did not matter that this was the case, but behind it, the mountains themselves were practically the Reach's territory, by the Tarly's opinion. They were looking over the Torrent's source, and the deep valleys below, with even the sight of Blackmont Keep in the distance was something that did indeed remind the commander that they were truly claiming the stake for the Reach. "Keep vigilant. Belgrave said that we'd get replaced soon. Couple more days now." The commander of the men said, adjusting his quarter-helm a little, as he looked down. The occasional greenery of this lush mountainside, greenery in and among the snow drifts,. The encampment itself perhaps had 20 men, but for the pass, one of a handful that managed to cross this mountainous region into north-western Dorne, it was a significant outpost for the Tarly's control of trade and the disputed Marches. The wooden ramparts, sitting over the rock, commanded a strong position, and it would be difficult to enter the Reach from any trader's perspective, nor would it be. But it was a blantant transgression, not that any of the men even knew that. They were just occupying these mountains, and that would surely piss off the Blackmonts down below. because they had the control of the pass. The commander did not question it at all. They were here, they were a paid retinue, and they were staying till Belgrave said they could go home and take their grain in. Armed with swords, wooden shields and a couple of archers, it was a simple setup, and it was a patrol post. Below them the snowline ended, with trees and some greenery, where mountain goats were kept. At Blackmont Keep, things were seeming to heat up, a change to the somewhat cold weather and and snow that plagued the pass during this time of year. Usually all the soldiers attached to the House had to deal with was some traders or possible smugglers that hid in the expansive Mountain seperation of Dorne and the Reach, but it didn't seem like the Tarly men currently occupying the palisade got the memo. Instead they had so unintelligently occupied Dornish Land and with the way Dorne defended itself in recent centuries wasn't a very good idea. In fact, Lord Blackmont sent riders to a Training Camp located a bit farther down the Torentine where General Dickon Manwoody himself held camp. The General wasn't a very large man or even imposing though the scout felt he was talking to a wraith, he was shaking so much. That was because Dickon Manwoody commanded the Marches with a steel iron grip and his forces were some of the best that Dorne could field, which was natural as the buffer of not only the Reach but Baratheon Lord's from the Stormlands. As it was the General seemed amused more than angry that Tarly men would occupy his mountain and gave the Blackmont's recruits so that they might drive the Reachmen away. The Dornish soldiers were led off through the mountain passes each with eyes ablaze over the occupied land that the Roses sat upon. Dornish soldiers at the pass wore a camaflouge white and grey uniform, and carried tall shield with well made shields. They marched two by two an archers always beside of a Spearman. In fact that was the basis of all the Military fighting in Dorne, groups of two forming their own independent teams and eviscerating chasing soldiers by using a combination of spear, shield, and recurve bow. But, with the high passes the Dornish couldn't reveal their true and secret weapon, the Cavarly that they had been training with since the Free cities introduced them to Dothraki tactics at the Fire Temple in Sunspear. The Dornish people had adopted the style and now while not matching the Dothraki in horsemanship were coming close. But that wouldn't help them in this battle and as such the Dornish took to another strategy. This one age old, which was letting the enviroment help them. Blackmont sent one of his better Knights to command the hundred something Dornishmen and the approached the location quietly. The Knight, Ser Alastair of the Prince's Pass was a seasoned fighter of the Marches though with the peace between the two Kingdom's even a seasoned fighter had maybe seen two or three skirmishes since Dorne exiled itself from Westeros and began building up defenses at the passes and around their coastline. They had spent the last 200 years worshipping a new god, adopting an entirely new military doctrine and restructed how they fought all the while making a draft to ensure that each and every Dornish citizen be it male or female was able to fight. Most Kingdom's estimated them at 50,000 which the Princess let them believe. The White clad men set up on a rocky incline and set to watching the Tarly soldiers. They had only just spotted them a day or so ago and as such it was probable more Roses were on the way. With that in mind, Ser Alastair started the slow process of placing his men in position. The 100 men split with two men following each other. They slowly, ever so slowly got into a position around the small fort and layed still in the snow, the 50 pairs ready to retake this land for Dorne and their Princess. Suddenly the Horn was sounded and Alastair screamed and Blackmont banners joined Dornish and the first arrows from the 50 pairs were let loose the Dornish forming a crescent in front of and to the side of the base, each archer backed up with the Spearmen. Arrows flooded in, as the Reachmen took cover, at least four getting killed in the initial volley, the pairs rushing in as the archers on the ramparts responded, sending arrows back. They had the advantage in cover, but they were outnumbered, flanked, and were getting screwed over. They yelled across, as the Dornishmen were moving in. The commander yelled out across to his men, as weapons were taken, and they held their line, waiting for them to tire out, taking cover as the barrages of arrows rained down. A couple of men drew swords and shields, using them to cover as best as they could from the arrows, as the spears were going to flood. They had to hold the line, the Commander thought to himself, as he yelled across to his men. Ser Alastair let his Archers continue to pin the Reachmen down and pressed towards the battlements ever so slowly, the Methodical Legion tactics the Ghiscari has brought to them. It was a Tactic the Dornish ran with their Cavarly letting theInfantry clump them together and then the Horse Archers would form a circle and ride around the trapped enemy while the infantry formed a circular wall to prevent them from escaping. Outside of that circle the Heavy Cavarly would form hammerhead squads which would pelt the enemy with groups of 10 Horses hitting and then retreating letting another 10 hit, the result was that the enemy was unable to defend their trapped soldiers and after the clump was destroyed the battle resumed, the Cavarly racing off to another section and the Infantry reforming or pairing up as needed. But again for this battle all Ser Alastair had was his infantry. The Spearmen pushed forward in a never ceasing forward motion until they began clambering up while the Archers drew swords and took off small buckler shields from their backs and also began the climb. As they reached the top they would throw themselves upon the Reachmen the pairs continuing to fight together as the Spearman would attempt to push the enemy off balance and the Archer with his scimatar would swoop in for the killing blow. The Tarly men were going to fight hard, as they saw infantry clambering, some of the men kicking them off the ramparts, but some being cut down, speared and impaled on the Dornish spears, as others used the Poleaxes that they were armed with to disarm and batter the Dornishmen. The Tarlys had superior armour, it would have appeared, and while they did not use plate, their opting for hard leather and mail was working in these climes, not comprimising their defensive position whilst offering a little protection to glancing hits from arrows, though spears tended to go straight through. The commander, a man perhaps aged thirty and five, moved through the snow, pushing a Dornishman onto his knees, and sending his sword through his throat, gruesomely impaling him, as another two appeared, flanking him. He raised his sword and managed to block one of their spears, splintering it, as the other stabbed him square in the shoulder, the commander backing away as another Tarly stabbed the Dornishman, and in turn, the commander managed to kick back, walking away with a limp. His vision went blurry as blood streamed, the spear kicking into his chest a little, parts of it still impaled, as he collapsed onto the snow. He felt a massive stab through his back, as the spear was rammed through him, tearing through his heart and lungs, then being pulled out as he was kicked onto the floor, blood pissing as the Tarly men continued to keep their valiant defense. They were well trained, and hardy, but the Dornishmen had the numerical advantage, and the element of suprise. 20 against 100 was never going to alst long, as the men fought hard, taking at least 40 Dornishmen with them, the set of Tarlys finding themselves at the top of the rampart, completely surrounded. "We surrender!" One yelled, knowing full that it would probably be the best way to live. "You fucking fool!" The other man turned on him for a second, as the other stabbed him in the neck, a Reachman killing a Reachman in that moment. He fell to the floor dead, with his spine visible, so deep was the sword cutting into his neck. The other two looked on, looking around. They were a tenth of the force left, and while they had held the line bravely, they did not want to die in this snow-filled hellhole. They had fought with honour and dignity, at least, as much as they could have in an encampment on the wrong side of the Dornish marches from The Reach. The Battle ended as it began with the Dornish Archers taking aim and firing arrows into the Tarly men like they were pincushions. It was a systematic slaughter at that point with Archers all around them and Spearmen blocking any retreat. And so passed the skirmish. Ser Alastair had been wounded by a Tarly sword taking him in the shoulder and he left what remained of the force from Blackmont at the Palisade while the recruits returned to report to General Manwoody. It seemed that Ser Alastair had a lot to answer to for storming a wall with men that had no armor. He was supposed to continue to rain down arrows but wanted his glory. As such it costed Dorne many more men than need be. The General sent 20 more units where a unit consisted of a spearman and archer to reinforce that Palisade and would slaughter the new Tarly's when they expected to be greeted by the men they were to replace... ---------------------- A kingkonrad and [@bluetommy2] collab [h1][b][color=FFD700][center]Highgarden[/center][/color][/b][/h1] [img]http://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/thumb/2/27/Highgarden_by_feliche.jpg/400px-Highgarden_by_feliche.jpg[/img] (Painted from an eastern view over Highgarden, near the coniferous Rosewood.) The next day came with a distinct shade of grey, the Indian Summer that had gripped Highgarden and most of the Reach now dying down, as the real shades of autumn were taking hold. The white castle still shone and reflected light, but it could already be seen, that the gloriously sunny days were beginning to fade, and with it, inside, Garland was in thought. Looking over the groups of fighting men once more, he was alone, and knew he was on that staircase, the same one that he had talked to Alerie with. At the gate, a guard moved up, headed to Garland. "Lord Tyrell, we have recieved the Maester at our gate." "Let him in." Garland simply replied, looking over as he headed down the wooden stairs, making his way to the gate. The metal moved up, as he remembered it was where he had been told that there was a box for him. With the Queen Dowager's head in it, no less. As the gate slid open, Garland looked at the figure, taking him in. He would not be as good as Garth, he already had that predisposition about him. Garland saw in front of him a man with ebony skin, wearing a sleeveless black tunic, tied at the front with dirty white string. Upon his back, he wore a bow, a white bow of some very well polished wood, tied in the middle by flax, but decorated on both of the ends by luminescant flowers of red and yellow, like the parrots of the south. That wasn't maester's robes, that was smallfolk's clothes, Garland recognized that, so what was this man doing here? The man lifted a corner of his mouth, his square jaw rounding upwards as it seemed to struggle against itself, that was unusual, and it made Garland uneasy. "Lord Tyrell." He spoke, in a voice deep and strong, like the booming call of a horn. "It has been too long since I've been here, Highgarden is beautiful, you should be complemented on your gardening." Garland wasn't sure where he was taking this, but he still felt uneasy. The man rode forwards, before gripping the reins of his horse tightly and thumping off. He pulled it to the side, making a walkway for whoever would follow. And someone did in fact follow, the maester, wearing a torn black cloak, browned and covered in holes. He wore a green hood over his face, but it did little to hide his purple eyes. He had his right arm in a tightly bound white sling, going over both shoulders. A spot of blood was visible underneath the tight bandaging. The man surveyed his surroundings slowly, his head turning at the speed of... not something Garland could explain with words, an odd movement, almost inhuman. His head then shot around, and he was looking directly at Garland, with piercing purple eyes. "You must be Lord Tyrell." His voice was like cracking bark, a sound of rocks hitting the earth, unnaturally overenunciating every word. Garland looked on, his purple eyes locking in. He did not like this at all. A bowman, and a Maester who looked like something perverse, something strange, something...terrifying. He did not like the man at all, but made no attempt to stop himself. He felt shyed away, but he had to say something. Break the tension. "I am Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach, Warden of the South, Hand to the deceased King Aegon, Tenth of his Name. You're my new Maester, then. You came fast." Garland said with a responding confidence in his voice, as he walked out, in front of the other two, two guards still by the gate, as he looked over both, knowing something was not right. "Did you get injured on the way here?" He asked, looking at the other man, the Maester looking like he had indeed hurt himself, and something was not right about it. He didn't know what in Seven Hells to make of any of this, but he did not like people who asserted themselves. The maester gripped the reins with his good hand, stepping over the horse with his left foot, and then falling to the ground. He walked forwards, and the bowman followed suit. He came next to Garland, their shoulders near-touching, he spoke again then, his voice still confusing and not at all how a normal Westerosi would talk. "I did in fact, bandits trying to steal my supplies, my friend took care of them, we feasted on bandit soup that night." He laughed then, a noise of someone strangled, a dying man. "I'm kidding of course, if I were to serve man, I would much prefer a Lord." He turned to the bowman, beckoning him forth with a simple tilt of his head. The large man came forth, his broad shoulders twisting with every motion. "This man saved me more than a few times, I believe he'd serve you well." The maester spoke well of the man, but his odd face and... overall atmosphere seemed not too appealing. The maester didn't even answer his question about how he arrived so early, instead walking past Garland, and heading for the castle, the bowman following behind. Garland looked on in suspicion, looking at the two of them. "That's not how you greet a Lord, Maester. What is your name?" Garland asked, looking over, his voice carrying weight to it, interrogative in the best sense, as he walked over, stopping them before they continued walking across the courtyard. He looked to the bowman, the larger figure clearly like some sort of guard. It did not seem right...Garland could tell chivalry apart from a lie, and this seemed too good to be true. The archer seemed not appealing, not like he could have done such a thing. "And I never gave you the command either. Now, why is it I feel distrustful of you already, and you've barely stepped within my castle?" Garland asked, looking over at the two, and in particular, the Maester. "And did you say, serve man?" Garland asked, thinking it over. He didn't even realize what he said, not until now, as he looked him in the eye. "Seven Hells, are you telling me you would rather eat a Lord? What kind of fucking savage are you?" He said, his voice coming through hard and fast, his youth giving him a real capacity to project from the bottom of his lungs, almost shocked. Was this man mad, or...well, what in Seven Hells was it? He didn't know, but he couldn't add this up, this man couldn't be a Maester, and all too quickly, Garland felt like from first sight, this had gone from bad to worse. The archer turned around, he towered over Garland, and he seemed to be using that as an intimidation tool, standing damn near an inch away. He chuckled, a near musical noise. "My only lord is coin, Lord Tyrell, and this maester is offering more than you, so, unless you have a better offer, don't give me orders." He said, crossing his arms, the noise created sounding like a man beating his chest. The maester chuckled, again a horrible sound. "A savage who knows enough to become a maester, it was a simple jape m'lord, if it offends you, I won't do it again." He placed a hand on his chest, and even though he couldn't see his face, Garland knew he was smiling. "I don't plan to ask why you are distrustful of us, I seem to exude that atmosphere, but I assure you, I earned this." He pulled on the maester's chain on his neck. Garland looked into the eyes of the archer, before looking back at the Maester. "If you have heard the news, then you would understand when a pair of men enter my castle like yourself in such a manner. Now then, I suggest you settle in, if your version of comedy is the way it is." Garland said, his cynical side coming out a little. He had a deep distrust, and definitely did not like this, especially not the archer. In a straight fight, Garland knew he would be challenged, but he had a longsword, and the archer did not...his size would be a problem, but Garland could take a guess that it was height and his confidence to confront the Lord that was going for him. The intimidation worked to some extent, but Garland did not let him get put off by it, as he looked on, exhaling. "Maester Garth went missing, and so, we need you in our service. I hope your introduction was the last I will hear of it." He said to the maester, looking in. It was as if he recognized him, but he did not understand why the hell he did. Something seemed very wrong about it all, and even though he knew of plenty of stories of perverse Maesters, with strange sexual fantasies, this felt weirder and different. Like under that cloak, something far darker was brooding. The maester whistled, and the archer backed away from Garland, not taking his eyes off of him. "I'll have to thank you for your hospitality M'lord, you've been very... well, less distrustful than many I've met." He turned away from Garland, looking back only a second. but as he did, a gust of wind blew by, the maester made a small sound, like a kitten being startled, before gripping the hood up in a ball and holding it tightly over his head. Garland saw then, the white strands of hair leaving it, and the sheen of dragonsfire in his purple eyes. The maester quickly gathered the hood, throwing it back over his head, he then walked towards the castle, without another word. Garland noted it, and saw that sight, those white strands of hair, those purple eyes. He felt like something was connecting in his head, something was seriously wrong. Either he was too paranoid right now, or he was seeing someone who looked too much like Daenys Targaryen. Something was wrong about that. Maybe a Velaryon, his Valyrian features were distinct, but he didn't know what the hell was wrong with this man. He didn't answer his name, and the archer was making moves. A Reachman standing up to his Lord? Paid or unpaid, Garland felt fuming underneath, but had to keep his resolve, his composure kept on his face. Something was seriously wrong with this, as he looked around at the overcast sky, the guards shutting the steel gate. ----------------------------- Later that night, Garland sat in his study, writing letters as usual, the state of the realm meant that he was consistantly writing letters just to keep his realm together, one lord felt a little too angry at another, if that happened, it could tear his powerbase apart. Finally he finished, and he stood up to call for Garth, but stopped cold, realizing that he would have to meet with that maester again, he'd rather bring the letters himself, but it was a long ride to the castles of his bannermen, and the maesters were the only ones with access to the ravens. So, he gritted his teeth, and moved to call for the maester. He opened the door, and to his surprise, the maester was right in front of him, his good hand up as if he had been about to knock. The maester moved his hand down and kneeled, odd, considering he hadn't shown any courtesy before. "M'lord, I had planned to ask your guards to let me in, but they don't appear to be present, I was hoping to have a word." Garland looked over, looking at the man kneeling on the floor. "What is it, Maester?" Garland simply asked, as he let him through the door, into his quarter. There were still letters to be written to vassal houses, among other things. It was strange, how this was continuously happening. He said to himself he had to move on, but things did not feel right at all. The maester entered the chamber, looking around slowly, as he did when they first met, like a snake preparing to strike. He then looked to the floor, sighing to himself, as he did, the door behind Garland slammed shut, startled, Garland moved to his sword with his right hand, only to feel something cold press up against his neck. "Hello, Garland." The voice of Daenys Targaryen, a traitor's voice, much less composed than how he remembered, more cold, and like a snake striking with every word. "It has been too long, much too long. This couldn't have gone any better, you really need to improve your guards, distracted by a simple bow shot to the head! Hah! The others ran after, but my man is a lot faster than his frame lets on, and now, you're mine Garland, mine to do as I please with." He laughed, as if he'd been waiting on this for too long. Then the blade pushed more into his neck, and Garland tensed. "Struggle and I slit you like a pig, for now, I'd rather hear how you betrayed me, for my brother." He looked over Garland's shoulder, his face one of white rage. Garland didn't even know what to do, he didn't even know what words to say. But he was thinking, and every thought was coming to a dead end. He had a knife against his throat, and Daenys was prepared to kill him. He knew precisely that it would happen, the man was insane enough. Choosing his words, he could only guess that it would try and give him a little time. But he knew to himself, if he died here, then so be it. He was not going to give Daenys the benefit of knowing he would succumb to him, right here. He would die knowing what he did, but for now, he could try and stop that altogether. "I followed his will...." Garland simply said, looking over, clasped tight. He could fight his way out of it, and knew that he was far stronger than Daenys, but he had his knife straight against his artery. If he pushed an inch, he'd be a mess on the floor, and Garland could only guess the man was insane. He had to buy time. If he wanted to hear, then he would. "He gave it to me a week ago, he told me that he had disinherrited you, and he made it his mission to find out what you did with Aerys. I swear, I have no idea where that boy is, all that matters now, the fucking realm is without a ruler!" He said, just waiting for his moment, perhaps assuming that he could do something. He had him tight, and while his right arm was screwed, taking him from that would have a fifty fifty chance of working. Part of him could grab it and force him away in pain, then gut him like a fish, but at the same time, if Daenys did react faster, it would be Garland's blood pouring across the chamber. He didn't think about if for now, waiting, just stalling. Daenys growled quietly, spitting to his right. "My brother... he never trusted me, I understand that, but to deinherit me? Why, that seems like something a tyrant would do, and yet everyone fucking loved him!" He yelled, shoving Garland around in his grip. "They hate me, all of them! I was the second son, I was born a few seconds late and that makes me less worthy? I envy you Garland! I really do, you had everything handed to you, I had to earn it, everything I have, I built for myself! But it's not enough, I am a worthy man, the Others take anyone who doesn't believe me! I am perfect! I deserve respect!" He pushed himself into Garland, near knocking him onto the knife. "Why, what is it that makes them hate me? Explain it to me Garland! Explain it to me!" He grew more and more enraged with each word. Garland looked over, looking at the purple-eyed Targaryen, the fires of madness in his eyes, as Garland could barely crack into saying words. But he had courage, and courage in a moment like this was what the Young Rose could have. With a knife still against his throat, he knew that Daenys had moved him into a position where he was far more exposed, and that now, he had a better chance. It would take a bluff, just a moment. He didn't know how, or what it would take. Something, but he had to carry on. The man was breaking down right here, and he didn't "They...they think you're mad, Daenys. That you have no taste of rulership, or any knowledge that makes you a King! That you have homosexual tendencies and that you aren't worthy of the throne..... Listen to me, Daenys. Loras Tyrell, first of his name was gay, and he was liked. So perhaps Aegon didn't want you because he didn't see you being able to rule Seven Kingdoms." Garland said, looking at his eyes, distinctly, glancing at his arm. It was possible, it was, and it was. But he didn't want to chance it. He had to wait for a moment. "I was born to the brother to the Lord of the Reach, Daenys...I was never expected to have anything. You're the second born son to the King! You have everything, power, money, Seven Hells, you're going to inherit land and were going to still be on my Small Council!" Garland said, looking at him. "Don't tell me you have nothing now. You have not got Seven Kingdoms, but you had a power to change things, and you chose to throw everyone you loved into war, killing everyone. That's why people don't like you, because you do this to people, you don't love back when people give you chance." The Lord said, looking up at Daenys. "Now...let the knife go. Just think. This doesn't have to end this way. Even if you slit my throat, you've got three layers of walls to go through, and your one archer couldn't kill the hundreds of guards of Highgarden without being seen. You'll die too...so just drop the knife go, and I will treat you as a Knight of the Reach would." He said, looking deep into his eyes, his charisma coming through. Under his hair, he was sweating, and he was holding back. He should have stood and thrown him down, took his knife on him and slit his throat himself, but he hadn't. He had seen something else in Daenys's eyes, he had seen perhaps terror of his own, shock. It was the thought that he might of done it, but he couldn't know why, perhaps. Daenys' eyes tremored in place, two small dragons, shivering in the cold, they shut, and tears ran down his face. "I loved you once, Garland... I thought you would love me back, but you never showed me anything!" He screamed, his voice cracking as he did. "I wanted it all Garland! I wanted the love that my brother recieved! I wanted to feel..." The knife left his hand, and he fell to his knees, sobbing into his hand. He sniffed, pulling himself back to his feet, and shuffled away from Garland, resting on the window on the other side of the room. "Why Garland!? Why would you!? I hate you! I... I..." Garland looked across, watching him sob, walking across the room. Madness was total, and the knife away from his throat allowed him to breathe. Garland did not know what to do. A simple part of him wanted him to take his sword out and slice through Daenys's back, throw him out the window with a wound the size of his fist through his internal organs. He seemed completely possessed, totally insane, like he was ranting mad. He had some point...but Garland knew Aegon loved his brother very much, from what he saw, he tried his best, and Daenys never took that love back. Garland could see into his reality, but somehow, it was wrong. It was perverse, but not something he could kill him for. He always knew that Daenys was obsessed with him, and why not, after all. Garland was the best looking man in the Reach, and his long hair, his lion's mane of a beard that wrapped round his face, his swordsmanship, women were dying for his touch. But so was Daenys, and somehow, Garland half understood. The looks were truly because he lusted for him, and he didn't know how to react to that. He remembered the stories of Loras Tyrell. The Knight of the Flowers. He was hidden, loved, but gay. Almost killed for it, and he lived his life with it over his shoulders, though the family still loved him no matter what. In some ways, he could tell, Daenys was sick, twisted, perverse and problematic. But he wanted to kill Garland for that reason, the Lord Paramount had to assume. He was obssessed, in the most sick and perverse manner availible. But Garland knew that even despite that, the fact that he had killed men, he had almost taken his life, that he could not just stab him in the back and murder him outright. No. That wouldn't be his way. It would be one that they would criticize. He didn't even draw his sword, as he walked up to the window, and with a firm move, exhaled as he took Daenys's head. Smashing it against the window ledge, he knocked him out cold, concussing him for definite, but taking the daylight out of him, as he cried, sobbing, completely deluded. Garland had been fast enough, and Daenys would perhaps understand this later, when he was brought in front of him later again, without a knife to Garland's throat. He would awake in chains, Garland said to himself, as he took Daenys's limp body dragging it to the door. He yelled in the corridors, dragging him through the limestone floor, out of his quarter. "GUARDS!" He yelled, looking around. There were dead bodies strewn around, as he yelled once more. "GUARDS!" Finally, what could be heard as the noise of a pair of guards moving from outside could be heard, running in, as they screamed in horror. Garland had blood running a little along his collarbone, and Daenys was on the floor, his full form revealed, no hood, no disguise, nothing. "My Lord!" One of the guards exclaimed. "This is Daenys Targaryen, suspected murderer of Aegon Targaryen, Tenth of his Name, the Queen Dowager, Lady Dalla Baratheon, and an attempted murderer of myself. He is the secondborn son of Aegon Targaryen, Ninth of his Name. And he shall recieve a trial before the Seven and a jury." Garland said, exhaling, the guards looking on in total shock, as he saw more guards emerge in the courtyard, running over. "He is a murdering, lunatic, crazed Targaryen. He almost took my life. But I shall give him the mercy of a trial, for it is the only thing that shall let us know why he did so." Lord Tyrell added, as he saw the guards run in, past the bodies, swearing, yelling, panicked, horrified. It would come to the morrow, as they dragged his unconcious body out of Garland's sight, many staying close by his side. For a moment, Garland didn't know what in Seven Hells he had just done. He had shown restraint, he could have murdered him. But so could have Daenys. He hated him, and his words said so. Yet inside, he had seen something in the fire of his eyes, the madness had come from somewhere. He did not deserve to die and fade from his sword alone, he deserved to see the reality of what he had done, and take it in his stead. If he was to be a better Lord, he would put him in front of the world and show who Daenys Targaryen had become, why he had done what he did, and for everything, Garland knew he had acted as chivalrously as he could. Some acted with no honour, no courage. Yet at this moment in time, for all that he hated the man and wished to cut his head off, remembering the time he saw the Queen Dowager's head sent in a box to him, placing it on the highest pike in his training yard, he had stopped short. He wanted to see the man bare himself.