[h1][b]OLDTOWN[/b][/h1]



[b]It had been years since he last felt cold, truly cold, and even now as they lit a fire to drive away the cold he had to fight back a biting laugh. [color=0054a6]“Ha. Cold. You milk drinkers don’t know what Cold really is.”[/color] he said as he drank from his mug. [color=0054a6]“Cold, real Cold that is, drives the heat from your body the moment you step into it. It sucks the very heat from your blood, it slows you, your heart begins to struggle to pump the blood through your veins.”[/color] he said as the fire licked at the air. The yellow and red flames looking like tongues baying for food. The memory of ‘Cold’ surged within his mind.

True Cold came from the mountains, carried on the winds as the gods sought to bathe the world in Frozen White. It was a curse that claimed the lives of the weak, and the stupid, sending them to early graves where they might rise up one day to prey upon the warmblooded survivors. It was a tale told within the people, spoken to children to educate them on the dangers of the Cold. You needed to survive, and to survive you needed to be smart. 

[color=0054a6]“True Cold. It will freeze your balls off.”[/color] Tytan spoke heavily, as another man chuckled. [color=8dc73f]“Aye, and how do you keep your balls from freezing off then Tytan?”[/color] one of the men said as he was getting deeper into his cups leaning on the massive man, before one large hand palmed his face and sent him sprawling with a ‘light’ push. [color=0054a6]“Easy. You move. You keep moving, keep the blood flowing, keep yourself warm. Walking is Good, Fighting is better.”[/color] he said as he sipped his drink. [color=0054a6]“And Fucking is best. Not that any of you sods could get deep enough into a woman for any meaningful heat.”[/color] he let out before letting out a roar of laughter. Many a man took offense to it, barking out how they were experts in the art of pleasing a woman, insisting they had more maids than the man next to them. 

[color=0054a6]“A bunch of soft meat like you, you don’t know what it means to lay with a woman. Your dogs, the lot of you.”[/color] head said while picking up a rucksack and humping it like an animal before tossing it aside and sitting back down. [color=0054a6]“Rutting without a care in the world, your only desire to get your satisfaction and be done with it. But that is what the whores are for I guess, to dip your little peckers into.”[/color] he said, holding up his pinky and wiggling it around. [color=0054a6]“But we are getting away from the point. True Cold, you wouldn’t know what True cold was until your fingers and toes turned black, having to be cut off with a hot knife before it kills you. That is what True cold is.”[/color] he said as another more sober member of the Order sighed. [color=39b54a]“Yes Yes, Tytan, we know. You're a Bastard of the North, I am sure we wouldn’t last a moment in your backwater homeland. Might die from boredom first.”[/color] he said as others chuckled and laughed. [color=0054a6]“That or a knife to the back, or a sword to the gullet, or even preyed upon by a great wolf. There are many ways to die in those lands but I will admit you lot are handy enough with a blade.”[/color] he said as the night continued on. Laughter and merriment continuing, even a song or two was had when enough of the men were drunk enough. As Tytan sat on the bench staring into the fire, reminding himself that he was no longer home, and no longer among his people. He would have to make better efforts to get along with the Kneelers.

Time whittled by, more and more men retiring for the evening or being dragged away by their less drunk brothers, or even escorting a barmaid or whore to their room for a more entertaining night. But not Tytan, he sat there, and stared into the flames before looking at the few runs he had on his armor. Each one telling him of his trip, of his choices, reminding him of what he gave up to be here. To be a true son of the First Men, and to set out upon the world. 

The sky was caught between night and day, the hour so late, or so early. Even the largest, oldest, city in Westeros seemed asleep. The only movement came from the Watch stationed around their strip of Port Market Street, and they, themselves, seemed half-asleep as they stood in small groups. Throughout her youth, she knew there was life to find: the fishermen down at the ports, the bakers rising early.
But here, there was little more than darkness and the chill of Spring’s pre-dawn. Mina had only gone to bed after talking to her about Ceryse, about the Hightower, and more than anything, about Godric. To Vittoria’s big brown eyes, her younger sister’s excitement came as little surprise. The conversation with Dennet after Mina retired was short, but meaningful. She reported some of what Mina had said, and Dennet had reported some of what Godric had said.

And, together, the two shared a quiet laugh at the sweetness of the two youth. She wished him a good sleep, short as their sleep would be, if either of them were to get sleep. She was still in the thin silk gown with its lace and deep cutting neckline, the green that shined and darkened as she passed before fires. Now she found herself outside the Chandler’s home, staring up at star and sky, her ears drinking in the pure silence of the moment.

Her body begged her for bed, but her mind stubbornly refused. It replayed the words of the High Septon. The threats of Lord Oakheart and Rowan. The relief of getting to put her arms around Ceryse and tell her how sorry she was. The excitement of seeing him. The gratification that came with how his eyes looked when he saw her. And then, sighing, rubbing at the back of her neck, her body began to move on its own as she thought of Garin. His daughter. His wife. The squire. The squire would live, and seemingly recover well. If there was a miracle in the night, that would be it.

There was relief, there was rage, there was sadness, joy…there was a maelstrom of every emotion she had felt through the night, descending on her poor mind in a torrent of emotion and realization. In the face of such an onslaught, she did what she always did: she reverted to the escape of thoughts far, and safe, from the madness of emotion. She checked one inn, and found only a Knight asleep at a table and a Maester reading a book. She checked the other and found a Squire going through sword strikes and footwork. He never saw her, and she slipped out without notice.

The only other place close by was the Nameless Tavern. She rounded the corner between the street and the alley, finding the windowless building with its single door not far behind the back of the Chandler’s house. She entered with barely a noise, and found only one soul in the place, nursing a mug and a dying fire. Vittoria took up sentry beside and just behind him, her own eyes letting go into the flames as her mind wandered through the night she had just had once more.

[color=007236][i]My life began as a Lady of Highgarden, all pins and needles and prayers. It would end with swords and daggers.[/i][/color]
It was a thought she had thought so many times before, it had become part prayer to her. A thought she never, not once, doubted the prophetic certainty of.

He lifted the mug to his lips, but he stopped when he finally felt it, the presence behind him. At first he wanted to go for one of his hidden knives, but it felt familiar. So he turned his head, the red hair parting as he gave her a look through one eye and then a soft smile. [color=0054a6]“My little Lady, little rose.”[/color] he said before inclining his head once in a nod. [color=0054a6]“What brings you out here this fair morning.”[/color] he said, as he finished his mug. Putting the cup down, he gestured to the bench where he sat and she would see there was room for her next to him. [color=0054a6]“Join me, tell me your mind.”[/color]

[color=007236]“…are visions and dreams not but lies, Ser? Are we really so often consistently fooled by the present that we must mystify the past?”[/color]

Her voice was like nothing the Knight had heard from her before. There was no sign of the Lord Commander, no ease of command, no righteous confidence, no hint of the High Marshall of the Reach now. Just a girl who sounded as far away as she could ever been for standing just feet from him, arms crossed over her chest, eyes a thousand yards into the fire before them.
When the voice and tone he recognized her for returned, when her eyes drifted to him, there was no comfort in it—for either of them. [color=007236]“Where are you from, Ser? Truly?”[/color] 

He chewed on the words she gave him, where normally he would be dismissive of those digging into his past, he felt the little rose was far more than he gave her credit for. She had, at least to this point, earned a fair bit of his trust. [color=0054a6]“Visions and Dreams, should not be discarded so easily.”[/color] he stated as he looked into the flames. [color=0054a6]“They come in many forms, provided by the Gods both new and old or by drink and memory, but they always have meaning.”[/color] he said as he tapped a rune on his left gauntlet. [color=0054a6]“This means ‘Remember Yourself’ but it can hold many meanings. Remember who you are, remember where you came from, remember why you chose a path.”[/color] he said as he stood up and turned to face her. [color=0054a6]“I dream of my old home, of the frozen ice that would choke the rivers. I remember the storms that could cover entire villages and freeze a man solid standing up. That is what life was like in the North, the greatest enemy we faced was not man but nature and the gods. I chose a path that led me away from all that, and brought me down here beyond the wall.”[/color] he said to her.

[color=0054a6]“I am Thenn, one of the Free Folk but your kind called us Wildlings. Barbarians. Savages. We of the Thenn however were the only ones that participated in Trade with you Southerners, we gave you wares and goods only found in the True North and you provided furs and foods and various other things.”[/color] he said as he revealed himself to her. [color=0054a6]“I have fought at your side, and I know you to be a logical and strong willed woman. You decide for yourself, you make the choice. Be your Dreams or Visions that trouble you, have heart little Rose, and decide what you think is best.”[/color] he said as he looked into the fire. [color=0054a6]“If the fire shows you things, they have meaning, but don’t be consumed by it. Decide your own fate.”
[/color]
Lady Vittoria of House Tyrell…just stared in silence at the man. She never moved to respond, she never came close to cutting in; she just let him talk. When he motioned to the runes of his armor, she didn’t look. She didn’t have to; she could have sketched them out on parchment from memory. Her mind hoarded details like Maesters hoarded books. But the man, himself? This was cut from a different sort of cloth.

Vittoria liked to think she could read men, but the truth was far less certain. She could, usually, gain a reading. Sometimes the narrative she crafted was accurate, usually it was close enough, but sometimes? Sometimes she felt as if she were blind to the obvious, or too trusting of those from her past. [color=007236][i]I’m still angry at the High Septon. At Oakheart. At Rowan.[/i][/color] She thought she should be, on some level, angry at the deception of the man before her when they met. He took vows.
…yet, something inside Vittoria told her that this man, this Wildling, would hold truer to a vow taken compared to nearly any man of the Reach. It was enough. In the end, her only response was, [color=0054a6]“This will not end well, Ser. We are between the Faith and the Crown, and neither side trusts us…I hope it even matters, at all. Any of it.”[/color]

She said, sniffing, her eyes dropping down to the ground as her crossed arms seemed to hug herself all the more. 
He looked at her, before he felt himself moving, his hand coming out to be placed on her shoulder in a small measure of comfort. He knew she was strong, she was like steel when she needed to be. [color=0054a6]“I knew my presence in this land would draw the wrong eyes, aye. It is why I decided to tell my tale as I did, because I did not want to encourage any men to cut me open from groin to neck and make me hold my guts.”[/color] he said with a laugh. [color=0054a6]“Do understand little one, I did not hide myself out of spite, but for the need to survive so that I could experience this world. And does it matter where I am from truly? What about what kind of man I choose to be? Am I not a Knight of your own laws? Did I ever stop being that man simply because my land of Origin is a bit further North?”[/color] he said as he raised an eyebrow at her. [color=0054a6]“I will still eviscerate a man the same, whether I am from Beyond the Wall or beneath it, all at your command my little lady.”[/color] he said as he sat back down.

[color=0054a6]“The only trust I need is yours, damned be anyone else. It is only your friends and those you love that matter. Hold onto those, because they are all you have.”[/color] he said as he tossed a log into the fire, watching the embers kick up and burn away.

Vittoria blinked. Some of her men had complained of the man before. How he talked to them. How he boasted. But, mostly, how he talked to her. She had decided long ago it didn’t matter. Tytan knew how to communicate with her. How he talked to her around a campfire was different than how he talked to her on a field, armored and ahorse, true enough, but he proved his ability and his loyalty.
The benefit of the doubt was won, as far as she had been concerned. [color=007236]“If I didn’t understand, Ser, we wouldn’t still be talking.”[/color] Though the tone was firm as the High Marshall often sounded, the words, themselves, were soft as the silk hugging Vittoria’s body. [color=007236]“Be ready. I fear this place is not as welcoming to us as it would have been years ago. The realm is lost in a madness, and I won’t let us be swallowed up by it. And…get some sleep, Tytan. You will need it to be at your best for all that ‘eviscerating’, you know.”[/color]

Her brows flickered like the flame before them, a gentle tease for the giant man, and a layered amusement, as they could both be certain that Vittoria Tyrell wouldn’t possibly allow herself the recuperative rest she insisted her own men took. 
He stood up and walked towards her, patting her back once heartily. [color=0054a6]“Of course, I will be fine but I can see that you need some sleep as well little Rose. How about this, you get some rest, and then you can bark at us full of vigor tomorrow. I feel the men might need it after how deep into their cups they swam, it will be amusing to see them fighting off the herd of mammoths that shall be stampeding in their skulls.” [/color]he said with a grin that looked almost shark like. He enjoyed seeing the suffering of the men, it was character building to have such a thing.

Despite the joviality of his tone, he took her words very seriously, because it was one thing for a normal person to feel ill at ease. But when his Little Lady felt it, she was typically always right, there would be something happening and he would make sure to keep the Brass Axes sharp just in case he had to send some poor stupid fools to the Warrior early. [color=0054a6]“Where will you be resting Milady, just to put my mind at ease. After all a proper nights rest for my little lady is very important. A rose does not shine its best out of a proper garden.”[/color] he teased before he spotted a couch, and decided to lay down upon it and stare into the ceiling. He had no desire to return to the room he shared with another, because he knew it would reek of vomit and cheap women and given his propensity for the ‘fairer and more firm’ of women, he had no desire to see a man in rut with a lesser one. He blamed his lady, for raising his ‘standards’ as the men called them. 

There was something about a strong willed woman, that made him hope to find one on the night the Red Wanderer met the Moonmaid.[/b]