[center][color=DarkOrchid][h1]
House Lothston
[/h1][/color]
[/center]
[center][h2][color=DarkOrchid] Danelle Lothston[/color][/h2][/center]

Danelle sat her dark mare, the creak of the carriage’s wheels echoing through the singing of songbirds that fluttered through the King’s Wood. It was idyllic and the time was better spent riding than letting Elayne prattle about how lovely a day it was. The girl’s head was flying higher than even the Targaryen dragons had only a century ago. She could hear the muffled voices of Septa Bessa and Elayne from the carriage, the former patient and well used to the latter’s frivolous chatter. Glancing with a practiced eye over the train of soldiers that escorted them with her father sitting on his bay at the head dressed in white and yellow with slashes of black that did nothing to compliment his appearance. Elayne, bless the girl, did have a head for fashion and given a chance she would have him out of the buffoonery and into something that would not draw shame to the family. She suspected that particular tunic had been acquired while she was still just a shadow beside Benjicot. Her face tightened with hatred as she remembered her bastard brother.

Heeling the mare, Danelle Lothston sent the horse trotting up the line. Uncaring of the fact it was not what a proper lady would do. A ‘proper lady’ would be in the carriage and have the same dreams as Elayne. Dreams far from what Danelle had in mind. Hers involved Elayne and a husband, but one that would produce heirs for their House. Heirs she could tutor once they were of the age that they would no longer leave messes about and were competent, before then she would see that Elayne had all the wondrous joys of motherhood that Septa Bessa droned on about when teaching them their letters and needlepoint. The mere thought of babes sent Danelle to wanting retch over a privy. She had seen the small folk with their squalling brats. Taking a breath of the clean forest air, she steadied herself and checked that her face was in that cold impassive mask. As heir to Harrenhal, it was her father’s precognitive that she has an heir and spare for their house if he did not produce one himself before the Stranger took him.

[i]"You do not have any choice but to attend. A tournament housed by a son, even the fourth son, of a Targaryen King? If you keep looking for power there are those who will be interested in bargaining there." The woman leaning in the crooked window looked out over the rolling fields of Harrenhal, her red-gold hair streaked with strands of silver and curled about a delicately pale neck. Still a beauty despite the years that gently touched her, Jeyne Lothston lounged against the cold stone in a gown of thick wool. Once she would have worn silk, her husband had always clothed her in it. Danelle could remember her mother sometimes slipping away with her youngest child to talk to the woman. Years later, after her mother's death, she had learned they were talking of herbs and men.

Draped across the chair that was lined with furs and silks and not at all feeling like a lady, Danelle stared at the chess board before her. Pieces scattered about in disarray as she shoved her curling red hair from her face. "The Blackwoods are hardly any help. They are solidly behind Daeron. Father still whispers with the other Riverlords and sulks. The old whisper that the Good King is nothing more than the Dragon Knight's bastard with Queen Naerys." Setting a pawn of black on a map of the Riverlands, Danelle studied the white pawn that hung over the Brackens. She still was unsure of what that particular House believed. The grand niece of a Blackwood Lord she saw little reason to risk sticking her hand into that bramble patch. "Elayne's marriage must be to the advantage."

Jeyne looked away from the fields she would never walk in. Her Lord brother had forbidden her from leaving Harrenhal, since the day she had been shipped back after her husband's death. Trading silks for wool and her subtle arts for those in the darkest of shadows. Of course, there had been some benefits. With three daughters and a commoner wife, the children would learn little of Court or how a woman of station was to be. So she had taught them. Danelle had been an apt pupil, just as much as her elder sister. The Heir to Harrenhal stamped on the thought of Alysanne. The wretched child she had been was little more than a nuisance and her disappearance had been advantageous. Being second in line, Danelle had no doubt her father would have had her promised off to a lord and Alysanne would be with her first child already. Spying her aunt's concerned look, Danelle forced her rage-filled face to the usual mask of blankness again.

A hand still free of time and graceful, though looking worn for having to take the task of a ladies' maid, ran over Danelle's shoulders. "Do not fret. My brother is not in the best of health and his eyesight is poor. Stir the tides correctly, let his anger ride the currents, and win or lose you might find yourself with what you want if you are not foolish."

"If." The word tasted vile on her tongue. "I do not play the game of battering my eyelashes."

"You are a woman, like it or no." Danelle's head jerked back as she felt the sharp nails of Jeyne, a self-proclaimed Targaryen bastard among certain circles, prick the back of her neck. The other’s voice was as cold as ice. "I taught you how to appeal to both men and women. We are women in a world where men get to weigh the gold and decide what is balanced. We play the Great Game."

Her husky voice snarled back in equal threat. "You lost your round, and Grandmother Falena as well." Jeyne glared at her niece and gave her a sweet smile that bared teeth.

"We lost, but we still live."[/i]

"Valar Morghulis." Danelle sighed the words more to herself, consciously stopping her hand from rubbing the back of her neck. Jeyne had been correct. Alliances had to be formed never mind what her father intended. Manfryd had never cared for his sister and Danelle could understand why. The scorn and shame, the further blackening of the name when they sat as owners of the land that was rich but well thought of as cursed. Sometimes she even had to wander it herself. Leaning back in the saddle she let the horse choose its own pace. There were plans to lay if she was going to hasten her Lord Father's meeting with the Stranger.

[center][h2][color=DarkOrchid] Elayne Lothston[/color][/h2][/center]

“Oh, I do hope to meet a lord of some note.” The wistful voice belonged to a woman young and in love with the idea of romance. A novice to the realities of the world and on her way to the first of the tournaments and gatherings where she would be presented a prize. A broodmare for sale, Elayne thought critically. Though she quickly swept the nonsense aside. There was not a thing she could do in brooding about a future she had no chance to control. Already she was silently copying Septa Bessa, a wisened old woman, for the reply she knew by rote.

“You will marry a man of standing and to the advantage of your father and sister so that she might marry to continue the legacy of House Lothston. It would do you well to remember that child.” Child, she was a woman newly grown. The whole world was full of delights she was sure, the beauty of the Vale with its towering mountains, the fields of golden harvest that was spoken of the Reach, and even the icy chill of the North had to have some beauty. Privately she hoped her father would not send her to a Dornish husband, a place of sand and dust and savages with strange customs and not a faithful man among them. Leaning against the side of the carriage she watched Danelle, dark and fearsome Danelle, heel her horse after their father. She was free to ride, the heir. If Elayne had been free to do the same she would be pleading with her father to change his choice of outfit for the trip. White and yellow were their house colors, but let them be against the black, subtle. Not the overwhelming scheme that made the eyes water and him look ill!

[i]” A faithful man!” Danelle laughed harshly as Elayne looked over at her sister at the worn desk she had taken from the small library. “There is no such thing and you would do well to remember that. Brother, father, or son. All a man wants is the most he can get out of a woman.” Danelle has been wearing a dark silk dress that set her eyes alight with the hatred that constantly burned there. For as long as Elayne could remember Danelle had only a handful of ways to react to things and this suited the scorn she so often wore with servants and the smallfolk.

Elayne gathered her skirts and shifted in the seat next to the window, adjusting the book she had been reading. “Surely all men are not the same, some must be faithful.” Though she had no misgivings that men were, for the most part, unfaithful. Her father had taken a commoner, and most likely his mistress, for his wife. The Harlot, as her stepchildren had proclaimed her, had nearly ruined them financially. For all that Elayne felt pity for the woman’s death only days after Lucas had died, she could not give herself the proper grief for the woman herself. Let alone her half-brother. The boy had been a right terror, breaking things and getting nothing but a ‘he is the heir and should be strong-willed’ from their father.

“Men, dearest sister, are pigs who act as though they are wolves.” That tone filled with patience was a warning for her to drop it. Elayne had only not dropped it once when they were children and she kept pressing Danelle to agree that Alysanne would be a good heir for Harrenhal. Looking down at her book, she stifled a sigh. Recalling it was the only time Danelle had raised a hand to slap her rather than pinch her.[/i]

Septa Bessa was prattling on still about her duties to House Lothston and Harrenhal. Elayne let the woman chatter on as she nodded meekly and tried to smile politely. At least she could recall this lecture as well as any other she had been given by Father and Danelle. Each contradicted the other with how she was to attract a man’s interest and whom would be fitting. For Father, he wanted a son of a noble house of note. One that would give a strong alliance to Harrenhal and bring them up in the world while Danelle took a third or fourth son who could take the Lothston name. Even a bastard son would do for Danelle, her father had proclaimed within the woman’s hearing. Elayne could still picture the slight jerk of fury that hand curled Danelle’s hands at that. With Danelle? It was Elayne who would collect the admiration meant for her. Those third or fourth or bastard sons would fall at Elayne’s feet and of her pick, she could have any. So long as they agreed to take House Lothston’s name. That had been delivered each night since the tournament had been announced. “Girl, are you listening?!” 

The youngest of the Lothston daughters paused as she looked at the Septa with a sheepish smile. “Yes.” Any more acknowledgment was plowed over as the Septa continued with her lecture. There went her attention slipping away, and the result of it! Now the woman would repeat herself, and this time with comparisons to Danelle and poor Alysanne who must be at the bottom of the God’s Eye!

Alysanne, it had been a while since Elayne had remembered her eldest sister. Her blue eyes burned with slight tears, she missed the kind, willful sister who would gently explain things and teach her small games. Such memories were further away as the years passed, but against Danelle’s firm hand and Father’s gruff approval of her meekness. It would be nice to have someone to laugh with. Letting herself lean back against the seat as the carriage rocked along the road, she recalled that it had been Jaehaerys Targaryen who had carved these grand things into the land. Wistfully she let her gaze wander out to the realm's woods and smiled at the sight of a rabbit watching the procession pass. Such innocence in a world where it was just another piece of meat.

[h2][center][color=DarkOrchid]Manfryd Lothston, Lord of Harrenhal[/color][/center][/h2]

Staring at the road that wound through the Kingswood, the Lord of Harrenhal pointedly ignored his third child, second daughter, and heir to his seat lest he acquires a wife and produce another son. It was something of a sore point of the Lord. He longed for a proper heir for Harrenhal leaving him able to wed off his two remaining children to Houses that would increase their standing and weight. Then perhaps he could more fully secure the future of House Lothston and restore some of the respect his sister and fool mother had lost. Never mind that Harrenhal had been gifted them by King Viserys. Gloved fingers tightened on the reins as his stallion champed at the bit. A land with a wealth of gold to soothe the wound of pride caused by his son, surely Viserys had no idea that his son would take mother and daughter both when they returned to court or the scorn that would follow from those whispers! It had been thus and the Lordship of Harrenhal had fallen to him far too soon when his father had been taken by the Stranger. Burdened with a good wife, a good lordship, and those whispers he had been content til Cerena had died and then his heir. A joke of the Seven that when he had looked for a second wife no other lord had a daughter to spare. “Father,” Danelle’s voice always cold and as hollow as Harrenhal interrupted his thoughts. “Perhaps we should think of camp if we wish Elayne in comfort.”

There was nothing more to be said past that. For his comfort, it was well known that Manfryd cared nothing, but his youngest daughter had been the last child of his beloved wife. Elayne was the jewel of House Lothston though seldom seen outside of the ruins of Harrenhal. Raising a hand, the train of carriages, a few carts, soldiers, and horses turned into a suitable clearing. The ruckus of camping being put up and comforts laid out for their Lord and Lady scaring away any possible game, which was well enough. Manfryd had no wish to hunt. He was a fit man but stress weighed on him and he could feel the soreness that crept into his bones from being in a saddle day in and day out for weeks. Soon, the smell of cooking was filling the clearing and the Lord of Harrenhal was satisfied enough with the arrangement that he retired to his tent.

What he found made him stiffen in insult. Danelle sat behind his writing table, her eyes cold as she looked over documents meant for him. The girl had always been full of herself, of course, she took the responsibility of taking over the Lordship someday seriously. With a pang, he wished she was a son, then there would no longer be hang-ups about marriage, her cold demeanor would be of no matter to any wife who would only look at the riches of Harrenhal. “You will flirt and charm when we reach the Tournament.” The order fell into the stony silence and Danelle’s pale green eyes flickered to meet his own icy blue ones. “You will do this, Danelle. Even if their fathers argue, I shall have a son married to you and taking the Lothston bat for his House before the Tournament is over or I shall find a distant cousin.”


The woman rose from the seat and gave a stiff curtsy that was low and just a hair too deep for sincerity. “As you wish, Father.” Her voice was still that hollow coldness that would send any suitor running rather than fall into her arms. Gritting his teeth, Manfryd gripped the woman’s shoulder. She stood of the same height as him. Tall, how she would make a good son. His grip tightened and still, Danelle showed no sign of discomfort though he could see the hatred in her eyes, or could he? She always seemed so empty.

“I know you whisper with Jeyne, the old bat.” He snarled in an undertone lest a servant or soldier hear him admit to relation to the bastard who posed as a Lothston. “I know she sank her claws into you. Trust me, Danelle. There is nothing that Jeyne will not say to get what she wants. There is nothing she will not do. We must act and improve the standing of our House against the folly she committed.  If it were not for that I would-!”

Her own words cut in and Manfryd felt fury boil in him. “You would have a son? No, what house would have ties with a man who thought he whispered so softly yet all the Riverlands can hear his discontent? You are a fool.”

“I am your father and Lord of Harrenhal, when I say toad you jump girl!” His reply was a strangled snarl as he stopped himself from shouting. He wanted to roar at the imputent wench, Jeyne had sunk her claws deep and he thought perhaps too deep. “Look at Elayne, you shall behave as you ought. A lady to charm and wed or I shall find a husband to name my heir and you to marry them. That is my will.”

“As you have said.” Her tone was ever as empty and her eyes bleak. Did the woman have no emotion whatsoever? Releasing her, he hear her walk from the tent and leaned over the writing desk. A blacksmith with a stout build would do her nicely. Someone she could not shove around, he thought. If it came to that. He would prefer a noble husband and a son within the year of their marriage. A grandson to name his heir with Danelle to be the regent for the Lordship.

But there were other reasons to go to the gathering as well. A tournament held by a Prince of the Realm would attract more than suitors and things best kept off of letters could be discussed. Urging that could not be put on paper without it being called treason and that evidence found by Bloodraven. Manfryd sat heavily in a canvas chair, drawing a goblet of wine left poured by some servant for his return to him. A bastard sat on the throne while the rightful heir was called such. King Aegon IV, may he rest in peace, had given Daemon Blackfyre the sword of kings and thus made his will known. That the throne had passed the bastard of his brother and wife? It was appalling enough, made worse by the man marrying a Dornish whore. The Young Dragon had things right, Dorne would need to be conquered and made to kneel, not this business of marrying them into the realm and allowing them to keep their ‘Princes’ and ‘Princesses’ of Dorne. Taking a long drink from the cup, the man studied the surface of the Harrenhal vintage. It was no arbor red, but the drink was good enough for him and it was no Dorne poison that circulated on the roads now!

Snarling to himself, he thought of how perhaps a nice arrow in the right spot would solve the problem of having a Dornish ‘Prince’ and ‘Princess’. Urging Daemon Blackfyre to declare for himself and take his rightful place? The Prince would be grateful for the support, and a position at court might open up to House Lothston once again. Not as Hand, no that position had its own problems. No as Master of Whispers he could depose Bloodraven and make the realm tremble of him instead. Taking another drink, Manfryd smiled at the thought. Lord Manfryd of House Loshston, Lord of Harrenhal, Master of Whisper, and all the realm would be eager to please him as he bowed before King Daemon Blackfyre. Yes, he liked the thought very much.


[hider=TLDR]
Danelle contemplates how to secure power for her own ends with her aunt Jeyne. Elayne considers what she wants in a husband and how her father and sister are vying for different suitors for her. Manfryd is growling about Targaryen, his whore sister and how he wants to place a Blackfyre on the throne for some proper consideration.
[/hider]