[h2][center]Drogon's Lair, The Stepstones[/center][/h2]

Lord Commander Harys Royce looked over the small island he had been stuck on, it was mostly beach, with a cave of yellow rock in the middle upon a hill, where Drogon's lair was. He'd been here for almost a week now, though he certainly wasn't keeping count... actually... He turned to his right, and yelled into the cave.
"Footly, it's been a week hasn't it!?" He yelled in his commanding tone.
"Yes Ser Royce!" The man yelled back, his thick chest allowing his voice to boom out of the cave, scaring a few birds down the hill. Harys laughed, chuckling as a babe would, though he soon turned cold, he still had no news of Mallister, he was probably dead, pirates or something, only the gods know now. Mallister was like a son to him, he had been Harys' squire, Harys knighted him himself, the proudest day of his life, the two were near inseparable, and Mallister gave up his home, and his abusive father, to join the kingsguard. Mallister had been one of their best, not as good as Footly, but better than Snow. He smiled, remembering their time under Aegon, it had been nothing more than fun times and rebellions then, it was better times. Harys thought of Mallister one more time, than turned back over the island, losing himself in thought about the next thing.

The wind picked up, and he felt his white cloak being pushed to the left, he turned to fix it, grappling with it and pushing against the wind, eventually he managed to hold it down, he smiled to himself, wondering how foolish he looked, before looking up, where the cape had gone, to see a ship sailing for the island. Harys frowned, letting go of the cape, and running back into the cave.

He skidded to a stop, the rest of the kingsguard sitting around a fire, behind them, Drogon and Aerys, the boy shared a bond with his father's Dragon, and the Dragon was known to roar at the kingsguard when they got too close to the boy, that didn't stop him from being dissident however, and it took Aerys re-training him in order for the dragon to finally come to heel. The guards looked at him, their white armor shining a shade of yellow in the fire.
"Someone's landing on the island." Dayne threw himself to his feet, purple eyes glaring at Harys.
"No! There's no way!" Harys looked down and shook his head.
"I'm afraid so, Ser Dayne, looks like we're having guests." Snow chuckled, the noise of a madman coming from one of the softest men in the Seven.
"Then, I guess we'll offer them asylum." He looked up from playing with his knife, smiling at Harys. His square jaw contrasting with his thin frame. Harys looked at Aerys, the young lad had already began to look like his father, handsome, but with haunting eyes that Harys couldn't look too hard at, though the lad had started to bulk up heavily, the Baratheon blood ran in his veins.
"Stay with Drogon, he's the best guard you have, if we fall, he's our last chance." Drogon growled softly, almost in agreement. Aerys nodded, a look of worry on his face.
"Be safe Ser Harys, you promised to knight me when this was done." Harys smiled, and walked over to the lad, messing up his white hair.
"Don't worry lad, we'll be home before you know it." Aerys grinned up at the man, though his worry was visible in his face, his smile near pained no matter how sincere it looked. 

The rest of the guard stood up, the last to stand was Florent, who handed Aerys a chunk of his cloak.
"If I don't make it, remember me by it." Florent was the second youngest of the guard after Mallister, and definitely the most emotional, his heart as big as his ears. He was the most attached to Aerys out of all of them, often handing the young king flowers and the such, he was an honorable man, a Florian-type in his youth, he claimed that he made the eight at fifteen, though no one believed him. 

Harys met with the full group at the entrance to the cave, and began to descend the hill, as they walked, Dayne began to sing of the War of Five Kings, the love of Petyr Baelish for Catelyn Tully, and how it was shattered. It was a sad song, normally accompanied by [url=https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c1CcGKhZdpI]lute[/url], but could be sung just as well. Harys didn't know the words, he knew around half, the line about Brandon Stark nearly killing Baelish always broke his heart, no matter the man's morals, he didn't deserve to have his love torn away like that.

Eventually, after a bit of walking, and a bit of singing from the rest of the group, quiet went over the walk, and Dayne finally settled, say what you will, he's greedy, he's prideful, but no matter what, Dayne had a heart, and that heart was filled with song.

The men reached a small lip of rock which led to beach, and stood upon it, swords drawn. The beach was very nice, calm waters, yellow sand, if it wasn't for the smell of feces coming from the ship, it'd be damn near beautiful. Looking out onto the beach, Harys saw seven men in black cloaks climbing out of the ship.

"Crows?" Queried Snow.
"No, Daenys' men."

[hr]

Daenys awoke with a start, bumping his head on the stone wall behind him, it certainly didn't help the immense headache and sense of dizziness he awoke with. 

It was dark, incredibly dark, he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, not that he didn't try. 

Daenys attempted to push himself to his feet, but instead thumped right back down, he was unable to balance himself for some reason, and every time he tried to think, immense pain racked his head, so, he lay down, and fell to sleep.

When he awoke, his head, while aching, was nowhere near as bad, and he was finally able to think. Where was he first of all? He thought for a moment, deciding to try something, he shook his right foot, the sound of chains echoed around the room. Small enough for an echo, so this was a small room, a shack of some kind? He shook his foot again, and again the noise of chains, this time, he aimed to kick at the wall. It made a soft thumping, stone. He continued to think, where could he be? This time, he tried to move his left arm, only for it to not move. He tried again. Why wasn't this working? He moved his hand in front of his face didn't he? And why did his legs make the noise of chain every time he kicked? He tried again, and again.

Eventually after a few hours of trying, he realized that this wouldn't work, and tried to think of another option, except this time, all he could think of was Garland, he hated Garland now. The bastard, why did he say those things? Why did he black out just after Garland grabbed his head? He thought he was finally going to get that showing of affection he so desired from the man, but all he got was blackness and pain, had Garland drugged him? Given him too much wine as to make him forget? The bastard! Daenys hated wine! Daenys moved to angrily punch the ground as he usually did when he was mad, only to realize, yet again, that he was chained to the wal- CHAINED TO THE WALL?! He was in a cell! Garland had done this! The bastard had kidnapped him! He was a diplomat damnit! It was a peaceful mission! Well maybe not, but he was doing right by him! He was foolish, a moron! He would bring house Tyrell to it's knees! He had to stop him, he had to!

Daenys again tried to move, but turned to screaming.
"GARLAND!" He yelled, drying his throat as he did.
"I AM DOING THE RIGHT THING GARLAND! FREE ME!" 
"I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME GARLAND!" 
"I HATE YOU! YOU INFRINGER OF GUEST RIGHT! YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN A FREY!"

And like that he screamed, for hours and hours, up until his voice gave out, and then long after.

[hr]

"We are diplomats Ser Royce." The thin one said, bald and skeletal, like a snake.
"Like hell you are, you're the ones who killed Mallister!"
"Daenys killed Mallister, we were only there to protect.
"So you admit you watched my brother die?"
"I wasn't asked, I didn't have a choi-"
"You did nothing while my brother died! And now, you will pay your debts to him, you will pay your debts to The Stranger!" Royce crouched into a fighting stance.
"There's only five of you, Royce, there's seven of us!" Said the largest one, In a tone of pity. Fat and with a red beard, he looked like he could eat the rest of 'em and still have room for more. The thin one turned to him;
"Calm Seaworth, if they want a fight, a fight's what they'll get, Paterick! Seaworth! Take Dayne! Massey! Take Florent! Umber! Farwynd! Take Snow! Westerling! Take Footly! I'll handle Royce." 

The rest of the black kingsguard yelled 'Aye!' and ran past Royce, sounds of swords ringing out behind him. The thin man circled Harys, his sword in one hand, pointed towards the sand. Near instantly, Florent drove his sword through Massey, pulling it loose and swinging towards Seaworth. The thin man looked towards this. Immediately Harys capitalized, swinging towards his left while stepping forwards on his right foot. The thin man parried easily, driving the sword up into the air, and following up with a speedy thrust. The man was thin, but he was stronger than any of Harys' own men. Harys threw himself to the right, slipping in the sand and landing on his back. He quickly rolled through, his cape going over his head, but then being cut in half, one portion of the cape falling away to reveal the thin man preparing for a backhand swing. Royce threw himself into a kneel, catching the rightwards blade, and pushing it away. The thin man continued advancing, an infuriated assault, horizontal swings and thrusts, Harys was driven further and further back, with each blow getting closer and closer to breaking his guard. He felt his movement stop, and his back collided with something hard, he glimpsed to the side, to see rock. It was now or never. Harys entered low guard, the opponent swinging high, a highly telegraphed swing. Harys capitalized, leaping forth, and swinging with all his might. He fell to a kneel, his sword in his right hand touching the sand. He heard the thump which signified that it had worked.

Harys took many deep breaths, no noise seemed to enter his ears, the pure speed of battle overcoming any thought he might have had. Before he looked up, to see three white cloaks standing tall, over a pile of black, with a single white cloak laying bloodied on the sand. 

Harys gasped, dropping his blade and running to where the man laid, rolling him off of his back, and cradling his head in his hands. It was Snow, his throat still with a dagger stuck in it, his eyes gazing off somewhere he didn't know, his mouth open but eyebrows lowered, how he looked when they were just talking. Harys' hand shook, as it did, so did the body. He grasped it tightly, embracing it as a mother would an infant. Harys wept then, his adopted brother laying dead in his arms.