[right][h2]South of the Wendwater[/h2]
[img]https://i.imgur.com/TvBubmW.png[/img]

[B][sup]Lady Ellyn Dayne and the Poor Fellows[/sup][/b][/right]

The village on the outskirts of the ancient forest could barely be called a village. It was the first settlement of any sort the group had come across since first entering the woodlands. Hunters and fishers, there was little land cleared away for proper farming. The people here said they were sworn to House Fell, they spoke of how their forest had been burned when the dragons had started their conquest. An old man who had been a young man at the time, recounted how Lord Fell had fought to turn back the bastard dragon only to be repaid in fire. Tragedy had not ended there for his son too had been murdered by the savage Dornish because of the dragons’ avarice. 

Lady Ellyn’s Poor Fellows were welcomed, though they found Lady Ellyn herself to be a true oddity. Clad in armor with the rainbow cloak of a Warrior’s Son, carrying a pale sword that seemed to glow in the light of the sun. They shared a meal. The people here knew that King’s Landing lay north of them, but to reach it would be an arduous journey if they opted to travel through the forest. It was not a forest to be traversed but to be circumvented. All sorts of unsavory characters used it to hide from the laws of man and gods. 

As her people bedded down for the night, in tents for those who had them or on beds of foliage beneath the pure night sky, the Sword of the Morning found no peace. Vice and sin had found her, yet again, no matter how much she prayed to the crone and the maiden. Her armor had been carefully laid out in the corner of the tent, she sat up on the pallet bed atop old, ratty furs. She stared at the man before her, guilt and remorse replaced fleeting lust and desire. Her eyes, deep violet, narrowed in anger. [i]He[/i] had tempted her, [i]he[/i] had not said no to her invitation, [i]he[/i] had encouraged her in sin again and again. 

“Get out.” She needed to atone. 

“Now? Surely you’ve not had your fill of me yet.” The man was daft, thinking the anger in her voice a continuation of the games they had played. He approached her, dropped to his knees before her and over her. He leaned in as if to again nestle his face to the bend of her neck. 

Ellyn was unrestrained in her response, her backhand across his face sent him rolling off her. He landed on his back, staring up with a dazed look in his eyes. 

“I will not say it again, get out.” Some men would have grown angry, some had in the past to the point of violence. Ellyn had learned to keep a dagger close for when commands did not suffice. “Pray for forgiveness…for yourself and for me.” 

When the man had finally roused himself, he dressed in near silence. He muttered, perhaps thinking she could not hear the slurs lobbed against her, but she would not correct him, he was not wrong in his assessment. [i]Hypocrite. Whore. Bitch.[/i] She was all those things and more. A thief, a usurper, a pretender. To cleanse the land of the Targaryens would be her path to redemption. 

She dressed herself, tunic and leggings, a long vest, a tattered coat. She would find no sleep tonight but perhaps the septon would absolve her of her worst guilt. Ellyn found him, awake as well, at one of the few fires still burning this many hours into the night. It was not the first time they had talked under these circumstances. The wandering septon had joined them back near Highgarden and had quickly become her closest confidant. It was better to travel with protection, and Lady Ellyn was more than pleased to stop at small villages for him to minister to the faithful. He motioned for her to join him.

As dawn broke, the pair departed. The worst of the guilt and shame had passed, the remainder would serve as a reminder that she knew would fade too quickly. She could resist only for so long. Around her, her people worked to break their camp, tents packed, food stuffs sorted. They had some small bits to trade with the village for dried goods and to refill aleskins. The Lady avoided the village, avoided the possibility of seeing the man who had shared her tent. She packed her own tent. One of the Ashford ladies helped her into her armor. 

They set off while the morning was still young, heeding the village’s advice, they did not venture further into the forest and had to turn south first before they could resume their travels north. 

They were not alone in a journey, a young man made his way south, past Felwood and to Storm's End. He brought news to his lord of traitors in the land who spoke of treason and threatened violence. He bore proof of the madness, his face marred for speaking out in favor of the Lord Baratheon and his support for their cousins, the rightful ruler, on the Iron Throne.