[center][color=cornsilk][h3]Oldtown - Brendan Waxley [/h3][/color][/center]

Surely there would have been a number of people aware of his presence here, in Old Town. Every city had their share of spies, lookouts. Hurrying through the alleyway, having gotten this new pair of boots back on, these gold and green clothes of the Reach was a lot lighter…thinner, which was probably for the best, with regard to this warmer weather. There was…wonder, as to what sort of mention would have been attached to his name, at this point. First night in the Reach, bedded two tavern wenches, and woke up tied up with no clothes, no coin…and the falcon, the bloody falcon gone! Had half a mind to leave and return to the Vale, having failed dishonourably and all that. Sorry lord paramount Ellion Arryn, but someone else wanted your bloody bird and my britches, and happened to get lucky. Why doesn’t he just sit on a fucking egg for a month and see if he can’t hatch another. Fuck all that.

But his job wasn’t done at just that. No…it wasn’t. Making his way around again, the directions were just as vague as this quest, but he was going to find the bloody place. His uncle, Maester Sringer, had wanted him to check in with some of the trade hereto carry over the case of candles to a certain maester…the same maester he was supposed to bring the bird to. The bird, if Arryn was right, might have very well been a lost cause. But, during part of the explanation of his task, he had become certain that the man had bloody well lost it.  This escort mission of a sky rat, to him, seemed nothing short of alleviate the man’s fears and paranoi—and more than half way to the Reach, this debacle over a throne that was allegedly painful to sit on. Should chucked these, hidden himself in the hills, wait for a good amount of time for all this to blow over, and then return to with the ‘robbed by mountain clansmen’ ‘barely escaped with my life’. Of course, that wouldn’t be possible, either…

Coming out from an alleyway, just after catching right of a funny looking man stood off to the side as if acting sentinel, Brendan grimaced at this nth turn around before making his way back to the other half of this adventuring party. The man in his armour and furs, jogging back over impressively. By the seven kingdoms, how did the man not burn alive in his plates?! This not-hedge knight, who claimed to be of a dead noble house of the north…it felt like a death mission, he didn’t particularly feel like he could trust the man, and he didn’t seem smart enough to lessen his armour. Sure, he didn’t lose a portion of his coin, or the clothes on his back…

“W-well m-m…et, g-g-g-good to s-s…ee you ha-hav…en’t run off, Ser Fo-Fo-Forrrrrrrrra…sterrr. Forrester.” Nodding at the other grown man, giving the man a rather sarcastic thumbs up, grinned at Ser Illifer Forrester when he noticed the slight look of impatience. Taking the yellowed map he had borrowed from the man, and holding it up for his companion to see, “Th-the mmmmmap is wr-wrr…ong.”

The armoured man motioned at the map, “Maybe you have it upside down…sideways, again?”	

Narrowing his eyes at with scrutiny, then carefully unfolding the map…then turning it…

“W-well, shit.”



[center][color=steelblue][h3]Ellion Arryn - The Eyrie[/h3][/color]
[img]http://awoiaf.westeros.org/images/thumb/5/59/The_Eyrie.jpg/625px-The_Eyrie.jpg[/img][/center]

Letting out a low whistle, the various birds of prey swopped down from the high perches of the high hall, out through the moon door. One by one, till only the one on his arm remained. Gesturing, he lifted himself off of the throne. Descending the stairs, the Moon door shut soundly to his left…he felt it shut, the fresh breeze choked off in an instant, and the air of the room staling instead. The smaller windows didn’t let as much draftiness through, but there was much of a difference to him. It was already beginning to darken dramatically outside, night fall crept up on him. All the matters of the Vale had been attended to hours before the small feast, and now, to the matter of this unopened letter. Turning his head down, his gaze flicked to the bird on his arm, before rising to his sister whose presence had always been. Arecel stood in the shadows at the end of the hall, her arms crossed over her chest as she spoke privately with the Maester. Noticing his approach to the door, her voice lowered to a hush, though she did nod curtly at him as he passed through. The door creaked heavily on its hinges behind him, before they were shut. She would speak to him later.

Without further delay, Ellion continued on. Instead of his room, or even the rookery, down the hall down a flight of stairs, and making his way around, candles were being lit as he made his way to the garden. It was cool enough, nothing had frosted or frozen over yet, there was a peculiarity, though. The weir wood tree sat in the middle of the garden, and sitting beside it was yet another valley pumpkin, a face carved in it's orange skin and flesh. The person who carved this face wasn't any good, from the jagged mouth and stiffly shaped eyes. This odd bit of interest was enough to amuse him, though this too passed. Making his way cross to sit on the cool, stone bench, still towering over the child lighting the candle of the lantern beside him, he waited for the servant to finish the job and leave, before reaching for the letter attached to the peregrine’s leg.

After a moment of reading and mulling over the contents, he released the bird to go off on its own, felt the bird push off of his arm with an admirable amount of power and weight. The Young Rose was not being unreasonable…though much seemed like plain flattery, it was not mindless. Tyrell’s interest in falconry was well enough known, genuine. Turning and finding a servant where he had been expecting one to wait on him, he beckoned them forward with two fingers. Crossing the stone of the garden and coming to stand before him, the girl had to be in her midteens, waifish in a dress that seemed to have more color in it that the person who wore it. Before she could ask, “Go to the rookery. Bring me parchment, ink, and a quill. Go.”

[hider= Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach]
Your understanding in the matter of neutrality is promising. It is with this that the burden of thought on war has been taken off of my shoulders, but only just. As for your invitation, I will accept your offer for when matters of the realm have been resolved, and I trust you will have your share of matters resolved before the stronger signs of winter’s return.

In honesty, I myself would like to observe the Falconry of the Reach, first hand, as well as the effect a warmer climate has on birds of prey. My bird’s hunt while in the Reach is more a sign of how plentiful the region had been kept, rather than any training on my part, so much so that I must add; I believe my bird came back fat. Consider me amused for the time being.
[/hider]