[color=7ea7d8][center][h3]The Eyrie[/h3]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/oSVK5u0.jpg[/img][/center]
“Where is my son?”

Lady Ryella’s words were softly spoken, her voice full of grief that threatened to spill out into sobs. The Crone studied her sister-in-law silently. The woman had been a good wife and mother, blessed by the Seven with six healthy sons, but still the gods sought to test the faithful. 

The women were not alone in the solar, Lord Hubert sat next to his lady wife, across from Elys. Maester Tybald had woken his lord in the middle of the night, he had woken Ryella out of duty once hearing it concerned their son and word was sent to his sister, his closest advisor. Instantly the Lord had felt regret at not heeding her original counsel to have his son return home immediately from Storm’s End. He needed her now, there was no doubt. 

Maester Tybald was a man of indeterminate age, his hair was white and his face creased, but his voice was solid, his gait steady. He had been sent to the Eyrie when Ronnel ruled as Lord Paramount, but not as King. He had seen much death in his time serving House Arryn, but Hubert and his sprawling family were still new to the man, their religious fervor required he change his tact from how he had advised Lord Ronnel. Lady Elys was an obstacle, much as he was to her, he suspected. 

The solar had barely warmed from the fire that blazed to life, the thick Myrish carpet softened the chill slightly, but to be called on at such a time indicated nothing favorable. Lady Ryella’s lips quivered no matter her resolve to hold herself together. 

The maester shifted in the heavy oaken chair and cleared his throat. “We’ve received word. Lord Artys and Lady Sharra boarded the Silver Sphynx as arranged. However, there were some…difficulties encountered.” He flattened the missive before him. The Eyrie’s rookery had received a raven from Gulltown who had received the message from Pentos by way of trade ship. It had been months since the young Arryns had been expected back with no word at all. 

“Maester, please.” The lady was nearly begging, Lord Hubert covered his wife’s hand gently beneath his but hushed her sternly. The crone’s gaze passed from brother to sister-in-law, her arms folded across her chest. Her sister-in-law was a good woman, a good wife, a good mother. She had been blessed by the Seven, even as the gods tested her. Lady Elys would need to guide her through this. 

“There was a spring storm in the Narrow Sea, the cog was forced into Tyrosh.” Maester Tybald paused again, his head raising to meet Lord Hubert’s gaze. “The information we received is not clear on what exactly happened in Tyrosh. There have been other reports of a man declaring himself King of the Basilisk Isles and attacking any ships making their way further east.” He shook his head. “Bad for trade, the Cities cannot abide by it.” 

Hubert grew impatient, Elys could see it in her brother’s eyes. “They are not in Tyrosh then?” The crone spoke at last, leaning forward towards the maester. 

“No, no. They joined an escort of ships that sailed further south; we believe they’ve landed in Volantis. There are men on their way, this missive was sent to Pentos when they landed in Lys. We should know more within the next few weeks.” The man cleared his throat again. “It is not complete news, but I did not think you would want to wait for the morning to hear it regardless.” 

[i]Volantis.[/i] Lady Elys closed her eyes and leaned back in the chair, she could hear her brother’s wife sobbing. So far from where they had been meant to go. It was a test, but for whom? She could not discern anything now, though the image of a single falcon in flight with vicious creatures clawing to the sky below it, set a crease deeply across her brow. . 

[hr]
[center][h3]Volantis Docks[/h3]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/MaRCDj6.jpg[/img][/center]

The red-haired beauty paced across the captain’s office. Her dress had long ago been stained through with sweat and salt. Her hair clung to her scalp and neck, oiled and damp. She had thought their time at sea had been terrifying but the docks were pure torture. Her nephew had proven useless for days now. When he had at least stirred from his sickbed, their continued presence only barely tolerated, it was only to complain of the heat, of the smell, of the great misfortune that had found them. He insisted they could board a small ship and take their chances. 

“I will not set foot on another ship without an escort.” Most of their men had gone into the city to try and arrange temporary lodgings until the Volantene leaders could provide ships to guarantee their safety through the Stepstones.. “It will be a month, or so the captain said yesterday. Please nephew, we have outstayed our welcome here, we must go into the city.” She was begging, desperate and exhausted. 

Lord Artys, heir to the Vale, rolled over. He had lost weight, his face was gaunt but slick with sweat. He no longer felt as though his innards sought to escape his body, but nor did he feel any hunger. “Fine.” He was tired of arguing, he would deal with her insolence later. Two years of travel with the woman and he still didn’t understand why his father had sent her along. Ostensibly she was to find a husband and yet she had spent most of the journey and time spent in court in complete silence. Any potential matches shriveled and ravens from his father had continued to urge him on to their next destination. Their peers must have thought her mute. Now though she had found her voice to criticize every decision he had made since they set off from Storm’s End. 

Sharra sighed, anger and annoyance boiling in the oppressive humidity. She was not certain that she was even breathing air, and though there was barely a breeze outside of the chambers, it was better than being stuck in the room any longer with Artys. She left, the door slamming loudly behind her. 

Outside she found one of the men that had stayed behind with them. One of the men-at-arms from House Corbray. A tall man, lanky, but he seemed to shrink in the heat as well. They all did. “My lady?” 

“He is in agreement.” [i]At last.[/i] She spoke quietly, anger still just below the surface but it was not this man’s fault. “Has anyone managed to get word sent back home?” They had sent several missives, some to Storm’s End, others to King’s Landing, Pentos, Gulltown, but it was uncertain how quickly those messages would be received. Travel for man or word had become difficult. 

“We’ve done all that we can, Lady. There is little left to do but wait.” He grunted. “And sweat. It is like we are in the seventh hell.” He seemed to suddenly remember himself and looked ashamed.

“Perhaps only the sixth hell, ser.” The smile she attempted was incomplete. The pair stood in silence wishing for a breeze that never came.[/color]