Collab with [@Vanq]

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[center] [h2][color=yellow]The Thunder Of Hooves[/color][/h2][/center]

Shiera had not explicitly had any dresses in the garish colors of House Bracken, yet, her maids had been rather resourceful in getting her what she desired while on their journey to Summerhall. Few would deny her her desires. It had started as an errant thought, as if having spent weeks with Aegor was not enough of a slight to her Brynden. Certainly the Bloodraven had heard by now where she had gone and who she had taken to bed in his place. Or whose bed she had been taken to; in the quiet moments by herself, she struggled to decide if it was her or Aegor who truly had the upper hand in the game they played. 

“It’s finished, my lady.” Her maid disturbed her from her musings. Jeyne held the surcoat delicately in her outstretched hands. 

“Very good, girl. Leave it there, I’ll need you to deliver a message to Aegor. Tell him I will ride with him as we enter Summerhall. And find your tongue to remind him I’ll not take no for an answer.” 

The maid’s reluctance to deliver these messages had never faded, but she had at least stopped protesting. Shiera had already been dressed for this final stretch of their journey, and while they were not riding clothes, as surely Aegor would be quick to point out, they were at least slightly more practical than her normal attire. She picked up the surcoat that Jeyne had left for her. It was heavier than she would normally wear, not the delicate fabrics she favored. Yet she sought to make a statement, and the large red stallion of House Bracken embroidered across the back was the garish display she sought.

Shiera joined Bittersteel at the front of the train as Summerhall came into view. It was one of the few times on their journey she had moved herself to ride instead of travel in the wheelhouse, but she would not ruin her entry by looking road-weary. Especially not with so many eyes to be upon her. 

In contrast to the sight of Aegor that Shiera had no doubt come to expect, neither he, nor the men with him, were garbed in simple riding leathers. Instead, the bold yellow of House Bracken adorned them, cloaks and tabards over finely polished, if still functional, armour.The red charger, rampant, stood out on the flowing cloaks which draped back over their steeds, that is except for Bittersteel himself. His own personal heraldry, a more recent creation, bore the scaled wings of the Targaryen dragon upon the horse’s back, and its mouth spewed a stylised fire. It was an unusually aesthetic decision for the man, but certainly stood out as a statement of his unique heritage.

In their time traveling the Riverlands and Northern  Reach the infamous rumour about Aegor’s lack of ability to show good humour had proven wrong on many occasions, but it had still been largely concealed from the party as a whole. The small smile, that rose to his features as he turned in the saddle to regard her arrival was not, a rare glimmer upon his iron visage.

“I am surprised you can bear it.” His amusement rumbled forth, his steed keeping stride with her own. It was a large steed for her, they did not travel with steeds not bred for use in their campaigns, but that perhaps only added to the display of her arrival. Whether he spoke of the material, or the mount, as unclear, but he shortly continued. “I’d be careful, I might start expecting it of you, maybe a few weeks on the road really have shown you something.”

“A few weeks on the road, [i]with you[/i], have shown me several things.” She spared a small glance to him, her lips turned upwards in a knowing smile. “I’d prefer to think you had learned that there are more pleasurable ways to travel than on horseback, but you may be impossible to teach.” Shiera, for all her confidence, did struggle to ride a steed quite like the beasts that Aegor and his men rode with. The man who had prepared her ride had tried and failed to hide the judgemental look when she asked for the most gentle of the creatures. 

“We can’t all live in wheelhouses.” He murmured, riding closely enough that he could have pulled his arm around her if he so wished, but if the woman complained at the scratchiness of his gambeson from before, she’d certainly have words about plate and mail. “Someone has to hunt the duck you and your ladies munch away on all day.” His tone came close to a lightly teasing, no doubt he would have, were they alone, but his voice never quite lost all of the authoritative command he used before his men.

Shiera caught the tone that she had struggled to parse when they first set off from Stone Hedge. She had come to tease him about that more often than not, though she held her tongue when his men were nearby. It seemed a small price to pay for when he had finally agreed to abandon his duties for brief moments. 

Yet, Summerhall now loomed ahead of them and a pit of reticence grew in her stomach. Their company  on the road had seemed eternal and ephemeral, for a time. Now reality stared back at her. Westeros gathered, and with it, that which she had fled. Shiera sought a few more moments of the easiness they had found with one another. A pout pulled at her lips. “Though I wish you had shared your plans for your new heraldry. It is you who holds my allegiance.” [i]Not Bracken[/i]. A thought left unsaid, and one perhaps that could prove only too fleeting if also completely true for the moment.

The pout was enough for him to lean over, despite the need to retain his sense of purpose and command, placing a kiss to the softness of her cheek, the coarse hairs of his newly trimmed beard running along her pale skin. “No, but I do enjoy the sight of it on you. Perhaps allow me one first revelation to the nobility of the realm before I share it, then I am sure your ladies can get to work. They seem to jump enough at the sight of me still.” His eyes settled on the distant sight of Summerhall. The palace built for a rival, no doubt soon a foe, and steel returned to his visage. The thought had crossed his mind on several occasions on the ride, to simply not go, take Shiera away somewhere else they could lose all the disappointments that everyone else brought. Daemon had summoned him, however, and he could not quite abandon the work of decades for her. Not when her whims could change on the morrow.

“They find you to be rather…imposing. I cannot say why with any certainty.” She stared straight ahead at the comment though there she knew full well how little her ladies trusted him and why. “But fine, I shall wait with as much patience as I can muster before setting them off to correct this design.” If only he had perhaps selected less garish colors, but it seemed unlikely he’d appreciate such feedback. She allowed them to ride on in silence for a few minutes, her lip caught between her teeth. “Does Daemon expect me?” 

“I didn’t expect you.” Aegor’s response was short, but it put words to the lingering sense of mystery around Shiera’s presence at his side. Still, there was none of the bitterness that had so often tainted his words towards her when they had first reunited at Stone Hedge. “And I do not keep ravens in my pockets.” There again was the ghost of good humour, a jest with her that was not meant harshly, and a slight upturn of his lips as he turned to study her again. Even in an outfit her, admittedly skilled, ladies had put together on the road she was stunning, and there was certainly something to seeing her in the heraldry of the house he had been born to. “I always thought you enjoyed making an entrance.”

As if timed to perfection, and perhaps it truly was, one of Aegor’s men pressed his lips to a horn and blared a short cascade of notes. The horn was a spoil of war from the Hill Tribes, a loud haunting noise, even when played in the rhythm of an Andal refrain, announcing their arrival. The horses spurred into a faster canter, moving in formation with enough pace as to not be challenged by any on the foot as they prepared to move into the tent city surrounding the palace, yellow cloaks cast behind them by wind and speed, but not so fast as to be perceived as an onrushing threat. The horn sounded again, one further time, rebounding around the camp.

Bittersteel had arrived.

[hider=TLDR]
Aegor shows off his new drip to Shiera and they arrive at Summerhall
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