[right][sub]Espada Emi, [@Ruby].[/sub][/right]
[center][img]https://cdn.mos.cms.futurecdn.net/rrx2M6BJuVeDUd7wzPm7GW-320-80.jpg[/img][/center]

The last note of the war table was that those who stayed to bury the brigands had returned, while those who went to the nearest village to bury the escort of Lord Elmo had not. Camp was mostly packed up while they dealt with Lord Elmo, while those men who had proven to require the least amount of sleep would carry the last sentry posts before morning. Vittoria thanked Garin once more, gave Ren a gentle shove that he laughed at, and finally, she was alone.

She took the chance to pour herself a pewter cup of Arbor gold. She heard Ser Therry Oldflowers and his lute as she drifted out of the small pavilion atop the highest hill where the pavilion had been set. Brown eyes examined the beyond; the thirty or so camp fires around as the spring chill of the northern Reach settled upon them for the night. The tents, the loaded wagons and the horselines. She saw shadows of roving sentries along the perimeter.

Ser Therry’s lute was low, melodical, his voice just above a husky whisper among the night’s breeze and the crackle of the fire:

[center]“Cinder and smoke, so whispers around the trees.
The juniper bends, as if you were listening…”[/center]

Black sausage, roast squirrel, and a bean and bacon soup with a tear of brown bread had been the evening’s feast. A few stumps and a fallen log had been dragged to her campsite for her, an unusual move doubtlessly made by the Knights of the Order. Most nights, men congregated around her campfire, but with her siblings, a certain space was allowed her. The sentry outside her pavilion was young Ryam Redwyne, their cousin, and she saw him finishing at a bit of bread as she passed him, and smiled.

Vittoria sat herself on the log, next to Mina, as Therry and Garrett took the stumps. She placed the pewter cup of wine by her feet, and cradled the warm plate and picked at roast squirrel and sausage and bread. Her eyes stayed on the fire before them, or at times, wandered to the brilliant blanket of moonlight and starlight above them.

“When we get to Oldtown, you and I are due at the Hightower. Lord Manfred wants to hold a little feast for us.” After a swallow of squirrel, she added, as she reached for the cup of Arbor Gold, “We will have to be on our very best behavior, Mina. Oldtown is the hornet’s nest right now. And we will have to find gowns. No cutting them,” she said, as she took a long drink through a grin and side-look to her little sister. 

Mina rolled her eyes and stabbed her eating knife into a chunk of roast squirrel, stuffing it into her mouth and deliberately speaking between angry chews. “As if I’ve ever been known to kick a hornet’s nest, Vitta.” She swallowed and sighed, grimacing “Fine. If you really want to sit us down in binding silk deathtraps in the Hightower, I s’pose I can sit pretty and play the delicate flower. But do we really have to? I can’t move at all in those things, let alone protect myself!”

Vittoria actually chuckled at that, as she took another drink, seeming to prefer the wine to the food as let the dance of campfire flame entertain her, the sting of smoke threatening her eyes until the wind shifted back the way it had been moments before. Her shoulders rose, and slowly dropped in half a shrug.

“I have returned the Reach’s oldest Knightly Order to service. I have won every battle I’ve led men into. I’ve won every campaign I’ve ever been part of. I have been celebrated in the last city of the Freehold of Valyria. Showered with gold, favors, and flatterers. Do you know?” She asked, turning her head to look her sister in the eye, her lips settling somewhere between grin and smile, reserved and resigned as it was, “…I still must wed and have children. It’s my duty for our House, Mina, as it is yours. It’s important. House Tyrell tries to survive, wolves at our Highgarden door that would love to take our place.”

She sighed, a return to her favorite vintage of Arbor Gold, and moved her eyes from Mina, to the knight playing the lute in the background, the young Lord Garrett half asleep staring into the campfire, and back to her sister. “Our best defense is to propagate; we cannot deny that. Should our eldest brother and heir fail, it is on us; you and I. The boys aren’t ready, yet.”

She exchanged wine for plate once more, picking at more bread, and some sausage. “To say nothing of, there is power in those gowns. Learn the beauty given to us. Learn to wield it as you would any weapon. In the end, it can do far more good for your life, and those you love, than any blade.”

Mina’s mouth twisted up like she’d just been fed something sour, but for once she didn’t protest or fight. She glanced at Garrett near drowsing on the stump, tensed and stared hard into the flickering flames, as if casting her own thoughts into the fire. She took a long sip of watered down wine, and when she looked back at her elder sister the tension was gone and there was only determination on her face. “I’ve seen it too, you know. How some of the other bratty little lordlings treat Garrett when they think they can get away with it. Bullying him and telling him that it will be their fathers that are Lord Paramount when they’re grown.” Her mouth quirked into a hard little slash, eyes steely. “So, if this is part of how we fight them, then I want to fight. Even if I hate it. For our family.”

She watched Garrett, and smiled, “He’ll be okay. Only he can defend him, but I think the Gods gifted him all he needs to be alright. Our position isn’t great. After our grandsire lost the host in Dorne, the voices were very loud that we were stewards, not lords. We knew nothing of lordly duties. Aegon’s biggest mistake, they called us…Bertrand may turn out, but right now, he is no boon to our family’s struggle. May King’s Landing be good for him.”

Given the reports she got from the Flame of Lys, however, she was less than hopeful…but this was not a fact she let slip from her lips. If Mina had trouble accepting what Bertrand was, if she had trouble seeing the power in silks and laces, then informing her they owned a brothel and the woman who operated it was a whisperer of more skill than anyone seemed to realize would have been no help to the girl.

“I do what I do to help our family. The Reach needed to see us lead. I am lucky, the Gods have been kind to the men under my banner and to me. I cannot do this forever, I know that. I will lose. My army will be taken. My titles will be taken…I will need a good husband and healthy children. Let them jape at Garrett, or laugh at you, or talk behind my back and the backs of the Knights who believe in me. They’re not talking about how we’re stewards, they’re not talking about a ‘lost host’ anymore. That’s a victory.”

Mina just did her best to listen carefully. She’d rarely seen Vittoria in such a somber, almost defeated mood before. For all her usual stubborn wildness, the importance of the situation and the trust she was being given stuck with her. Here she was, sitting around a campfire among a host of knights with her sister the Lord Commander just as she’d always wanted. It was a dizzying truth, but this was its own kind of battle, with its own kind of war council. Her sister was asking her to fight, even if she didn’t like the battlefield. She gave Vittoria a more genuine smile and half-jokingly lifted her drink in a toast. “To more victories, then.” 

Vittoria decided she was done trying to force her appetite any further, setting the plate down just in time to take up the cup of wine once more, and grin as she gave Mina’s toast a clank and a firm nod, “to House Tyrell’s survival. And to my sister, who I’m very glad is here with me now.”

After the longest drink of the night, long enough to finish her cup, Vittoria was left with a smile still, watching Garrett fade. “Let’s get us all to bed. Early rise on days of travel, and I still have to go talk to our newest guest.”