"Understood." Ellion replied, as he nodded, knowing he would have to assemble a host of Reachmen, and it would be a difficult landing. Anything could go wrong, but they could fight their way through it. He looked across to Taria Snow, the brave Greyjoy another pretty girl, and one that he knew had gone against the wind in that fight too. She seemed underarmed, and armoured, and he knew a person like that, if she was better equipped, could be a mean fighter, from the reports he'd personally received. Listening to what was left to be said, eventually, Ellion knew they would leave their room, and have time to prepare for dawn. 

He seemed confident, brushing his hair a little, looking to Merebelle, as they left the room, taking her hand, wearing his plate and still a little uncomfortable under it, though he felt a little better now than he had before.
"I suppose we need armaments. Your plate is lovely, though I would suggest that if you wish to visit the armouries that the Reach have brought on display, they can offer you the finest plate. It's the best in the Seven Kingdoms. I wonder...if they'd be able to make you something as pretty as mine. I mean, for you, I might just have to bribe them!" Ellion giggled, kissing her on the forehead, knowing she was in a bit of a sweetspot for him right now, though even inside, he did feel this was strange. 

This didn't normally happen. By now, he'd have probably gone back to matters more important, not this. It was strange. Perhaps not lust, but a little love. No, that couldn't be right. Even so, he knew he'd chase other women, somehow even Merebelle didn't entirely beat that to him. There were some women he'd laid with that were amazing. There were men he'd laid with that were amazing. And he hadn't even seen Lys or Myr yet....Seven Hells, that would be something.

Heading out of the hall, Ellion led Merebelle back to the Reachman camp, and knew he wouldn't be getting much sleep. He wasn't going back to the festivities. He had a war to prepare for, and already, had headed in to round up a few men. The best of the Knights of the Green Hand, not the old men of it's order, but the fighters, from high and lowborn alike, and he'd gathered about fifteen or so, men he could trust, each wearing a suit of armour a little different to one another. From here, Ellion had let Merebelle head to the armoury, and make any alterations she needed, or obtain any weapons she required, while he was already good to go. His travelling pack was readied, he needed little, he was used to a lack of comfort when it demanded it, and he'd already gotten a wash before seeing the King. A sword, rather than a polearm, as well as a heater shield wrapped around his back, his sword at his hilt and his face shaved a little made Ellion readied and waiting. The men were arming, and slowly but surely, Ellion knew his contingent would be readied. They were nervous, but prepared to fight, and Ellion knew they looked up to their young commander to get the job done, milling around the Reachman tent and speaking with soldiers, Knights and Duncan. He wasn't going to need sleep now, not while he was getting shit done. 

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Neither did Willas, and this was given the fact that the Tyrell banners were still there. He was still busy, and the Lame Lord was running on something beyond the wine he'd been drinking. Tyrells took a large quantity of wine to get drunk, Greenhands were a little strange, but it literally meant that they found the earth's sweetest nectar less impacting, and recently more strongly in Willas and his decendants, perhaps it had a different effect. Of all of the things you'd think the return of dragons would yield, stronger alcohol tolerance was not one that you would expect, but Willas was still a little groggy, albeit on the mend. He wasn't too sure how he was awake, but there was other matters to attend to. Tyrion would want him in the capital, and no doubt, he knew his friend had diplomacy to attend to in the Vale. That left him, and the few other Small Council members that weren't headed to war in King's Landing, and he knew the poltiics would intensify. He was a kind, and nice spirited man, but Willas Tyrell knew that even within his own family, making sure the Rose remained as standing as ever was priority. 

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The cawing of ravens left the tower at Highgarden, spread north, south, east, west. The war to come demanded fighters, and the Reach did not skimp on numbers. The North's distance put it at a disadvantage to provide soldiers. The Reach was close to both theatres of conflict, and men such as Lord Willas Tyrell understood that was respected. The Reach's armies were diverse, like a good flowerbed, but were not to be underestimated. They were not hardy men, but they had plate, they had training, and they were well fed. An army marched on it's stomach when it had to, and a campaign in the Stepstones or Dorne would not be underfunded. It was not a mere adventure. It was a well-oiled, carefully operated machine that had lines of logistics that would begin from the moment the Ravens arrived, and that would not underestimate either campaign. There came strength in numbers, for every man that would be felled, there would be another ten to surround their slayer...and the noise of a Kingdom came from the beating of distant birds.