[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/EweODij.jpg[/img][/center]

[right][sub][b]Garin // [@Arnorian][/b][/sub][/right]

[color=darkgray]

He had bowed and left without another word.  In truth, her commands rankled.  But then what he could do?  Take his men and ride away, unpaid and not fully provisioned for the long and costly journey back home?  Strange, he’d never realized he considered Essos home now.  But apparently he did.

This land was the Lord Commander’s and it was one thing to defy a minor lord, another to spit in the face of a great house.  So he had done as she ordered.  Tarly had been obliging enough and the boy had been moved to the care of the maesters.  But the tension between Garin and all the men of westeros was deadly.  Besides which, mercenary companies that got a reputation for defying their employers tended not to last very long.

Martella hadn’t spoken to him and slept with her face turned towards the tent wall.  She’d barely acknowledge his existence when he rose.  Myrna, as young as she was, knew full well something was wrong and she had stayed next to her mother the whole time.  Rylla was even worse, her face locked in a mask of shame and regret.  And she’d avoided him, like she feared him.
Now morning rose, but with the vague trepidation that Garin still felt before any fight.  Breakfast was served but Garin and his family sat around their small table in a deadly silence.  Even little Myrna was quiet and sat in the crook of her mother’s arm.

He hadn’t done anything and yet, he felt guilty as all the hells for everything.  He forced himself to eat, ignoring the churning in his stomach and silent cursed the whole day.  His squire entered and bowed slightly.  Garin rose as Lady Vittoria entered.

Vittoria Tyrell found herself back in familiar wear. The simpler, though finely made, cotton green dress with layers of mail and leather. Like the dress, it was the result of artisans, but it was otherwise unadorned. This was not the parade plate of their procession into Oldtown, this was the everyday uniform of the Ardent Maiden.

She had left Davos at the inn he had found room at to recover his traveling companions, to gather his things, and relocate to the inns at Port Market Street, where the majority of the Order of the Golden Rose inside the city were stationed. Upon her arrival she spoke to Dennet, and swept through the Lost Alehouse, speaking with Tytan, learning more about the man than she had anticipated.

Dennet woke up riders and sent them to the Citadel. There ravens would be sent from the Citadel to most the Lordly and Knightly Houses of the Reach; Highgarden was calling it’s banners. By the time she was changed and down on the first floor tavern of the inn, the Last Cobblestone, the room wasn’t as dark as it had been. Early risers were beginning to stir. Ser Ennis Inchfield was drinking water brought by the innkeepers when she came down, asking her if it was true.

“The Hightower glows blue in the breaking dawn,” he explained, his eyes still heavy at the point between truly awake and half asleep.

She nodded, “It is. Banners are being called.”

Dennet and Thaddeous Rowan were next in. The three of them hovered near the center of the first floor tavern as squires and knights began shuffling about around them, innkeepers moving in and out, bowls of fire plums here, apples there, the smell of sausages put to flame filling the early morning air. Vittoria smiled at Ser Ryam as he pulled himself down onto a bench and began pulling on his boots.

“I bet you slept not at all,” her younger cousin remarked, sarcastic and half-conscious.

She merely grinned. She told the other two men that Thad’s father and Oakheart weren’t their concern. The heir to the Iron Throne was dead.

“What?,” came from Ser Ryam, as simply thinking he overheard that was enough to widen his eyes another smidge of awakeness as his boots were pulled on a little faster now.

The Faith Militant would be on the move, they couldn’t stay in the Westerlands in great numbers now. Vittoria bet their path would be across the Reach. She would reach out to the Lord of Casterly Rock about that. In the meantime, her more talented whisperers in King’s Landing were claiming the appearance of new dragonriders and a visible increase in Faith Militant, as well as a ‘sense of dread’ in the city.

The capital would be important. Dennet floated the idea of an advanced party, just the Order, itself, but Vittoria shook her head, “No. Now we wait for banners. Talk to our Knights, get those who can to talk to their Houses.”

Thaddeous chuckled, “I’m afraid I don’t think my House will be as receptive…”

Dropping her voice, Vittoria recounted to the two what happened in Lord Manfred’s solar. Thaddeous looked as if he might spit. “What about the squire?”

“He will recover. The Knight isn’t one of ours, but a friend of one of ours. The duel is going to happen.”

Vittoria listened to the two men speak of Garin and this knight, and she looked off to Ryam, mouthing to him something about horses as her poor cousin tried to finish a sausage and a cider. She was jealous of both. She’d eat when she got to camp, she decided, turning her eyes back to Den and Thad. “Get our people ready to move. Send word to the Rose Garden to do the same. We need to be out of this city by nightfall. My father should be arriving sometime today. I’m going to go visit Garin now, then I have to take the Harroway we found on the road to the Citadel. Then I’ll be back.”

So focused upon his sausage was Ser Ryam that he almost missed the nonverbal message from Vittoria. He gave a nod, shoved the rest of the sausage into his mouth, washed it down and then walked out of the door to prepare his and the Lord Commander's mounts. He was just about out of the doorway when Davos's form came into view. Ryam gave a respectful nod and retreated to allow the Lord to enter first and wondered if he and his cousin would have a plus one on their ride.

Heads turned when Lord Davos Baratheon shouldered his way into the first floor of the Last Cobblestone. Den and Thad simply gave smirks.

“…I don’t want to hear it from either of you…”

All three laughed and broke their conference. Dennet Tarly off to the Chandler’s house to ready his family and her younger siblings. Thaddeous Rowan to the Lord Pennifer to get those there informed and moving, then to send men to the Rose Garden to get that inn doing the same.

“Hey,” Vittoria smiled at Davos as she walked towards him, towards the door he just came in, “I’m off to our camp. Come with me?”

He was understanding and kindness. Their horses were ready, and the three of them were trotting through the early morning fog of Oldtown relatively quickly. She noticed a larger number of Blue Cloaks, but she wasn’t sure that was such a bad thing, assuming their new Commander wasn’t as bad as Manfred had feared. She did most the talking, giving Davos an idea of what was about to happen, as well as the news about the dead Prince.

While Vittoria and Davos spoke, Ryam was scouring the surrounding area for threats. It wasn't probable that the Lord Commander would be assailed right outside of Oldtown, but Ryam would take no chances. He took his role seriously, even more so after certain events. His right hand was expertly placed on the left side of his saddle, appearing crisscrossed, it allowed the Knight a rapid sword draw while keeping perfect control of his mount. Luckily, nothing wishing ill will appeared to them on the streets of the city or in the area just outside the walls.
Exiting the city, the ride wasn’t long until they saw the beginnings of their camp, wooden spiked perimeter and sentries riding, scouts and hunters, those coming back from the city after their own long night, those going into the city. It didn’t take her long to realize something was different. Not only was the banner of the Order of the Golden Rose flying, the Tyrell Golden Rose on white  field, but so was the actual House Tyrell banner.

And the camp looked…busy, swollen, very swollen. “My Father is early.”

When Davos asked her whether that was good or bad, she didn’t know what to tell him. It could be hard to tell with her father, Lord Theo, she explained. Her wits, her mind…much as she loved her mother, and no offense to House Redwyne, as surely Ser Ryam knew his aunt, these were not things Vittoria got from her mother.

She got them from Lord Theo. The only High Lord to refuse Aegon the Conqueror an army was no fool, and, looking back, had been wise to refuse Aegon the First. The Dornish Wars were folly, few knew that better than Vittoria Tyrell. She had literally written the book on the subject, though not in her own name, something she admitted, for the first time, to Davos and Ryam as they approached the camp, and made their way to the pavilion of Captain Garin. A nearby Knight of the Order took their horses for them as they dismounted, and Vittoria asked them to give her a moment. She was nearly at the entrance to Garin’s pavilion when he came around the corner, wearing black riding leathers, and a green cloak with a golden rose pin.

He smiled his customary half smile, and she threw her armored body into him, into a hug. [i]Oof[/i], he said, melodramatically, before hugging her back. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, father.”

The hug broke, but he kept a hand on the armored shoulder of her’s closest to him, “I was told you’d be here. You will have to catch me up on why camp is talking about a duel. Sounds like a minor madness. Your sister and brother?”

Lord Theo had never been much of a fighter, however able, it just never suited his style. How could she explain to him something she knew he would shake his head at? “With Lord Dennet and his wife in the city. Are you coming in with me?”

“…mm,” his darker brown eyes contemplated it, but, gently, his head shook, an undertone of humor to his voice, “Let us not scare the poor Captain and his family too much. They are worth their gold?”

“Very.”

His big hand clapped the armored shoulder he had held, “Good to hear, daughter. I have heard things about last night. We will talk soon?”

“As soon as I am done here.”

He kissed at her cheek, and took a moment to look past her, staring a moment longer than usual until he nodded to Ser Ryam from the distance of nearly twenty paces, and even to Lord Davos, that undertone of humor coming to his mouth, “I await you both. I have news for you as well.”

[i]Both[/i], he said, confirming he knew. She was, genuinely, relieved it wasn’t news she would break. Of course he knew. Vittoria had to work for informants and whispers, but being the Warden of the South and Lord of Highgarden meant people tripped over themselves to give him news. That was real power, he had taught her. Though news from him? Her father was many things, but a simple man wasn’t one of them. If he had news, on a day like today, it was meaningful. Later, though, she promised herself as she turned and asked one of Garin’s men keeping guard with one of her Knights to announce her, and see if she could enter. 

Ryam had instantly taken to a knee as the Lord of the Reach and Warden of the South appeared. He remained in that kneeled position until Vittoria released her father from the embrace. The young Redwyne smiled softly as he watched and listened to the two and wished he had a similar relationship with his own father. There was a… Rocky relation, with Ryam wishing to simply be the best Knight he could and his father wishing to use him to further alliances or to even secure new ones. 

Ryam had even been instructed to put himself forward as a potential offering to the Iron Maiden. An order that Ryam had promptly ignored, and as he glanced at Davos, Ryam felt he had many good reasons as to why he disobeyed. As the Lord Paramount addressed him and bid him forward, Ryam would do so with a slight bow of his head as a thanks for the honor that was being shown to him. He did however stop next to Vittoria, as her father may be the Lord Paramount, but it was his cousin to whom his fealty was currently pledged. He took up a position on her left as she waited to be announced.

“Lord Commander, to what do we owe this pleasure?” Garin said with an easy poise that belied the coiling tension he always felt before a fight.

Rylla and Martella both rose and bowed, Myrna for her part peeked around her mother’s skirt and waved shyly at the woman in green and leather.

The first set of eyes Vittoria Tyrell locked onto was Rylla. Vittoria’s face couldn’t hide the warmth in her expression, what with the big brown eyes, and the hint of smile on her pink lips, but there was the weight and tension of the moment that none could ignore. “Hello, I’m rather jealous of you for getting to beat a squire inside-out, but also…in my camp please don’t ever do anything like that again.”

It was gently said, but the Lord Commander’s tone was there, and there was undoubtedly the unspoken bit of if it did ever happen again, the conversation would be far less pleasant for all. But that was unspoken, hinted at only by the rigidity of her tone in the way she spoke the second half of her words, the first half nothing but one girl jealous of another getting to do something they wished they could do, too.

When she turned to Martella, there was no sign of the Lord Commander, just a radiant expression of excitement and happiness in getting to meet the woman. “Hi! I’ve heard very good things about you, I’m so glad you’re all here with Garin, Martella. I have SO many questions for you,” she admitted, laughing, “but just please, if you need for anything, have any questions about anything, I will always be here to help your family.”

If anything, it was like the Lady wife of the Lord Commander showed up to greet Garin’s family…except she was the Lord Commander, too. Vittora found herself transitioning between the facets of her own personality with ease, like a noble lady who had spent significant time in other courts, having to be charming, disarming, and approachable while still remaining genuine, and who she was, as a person.

Yet she felt no pretense. There was no act. She was genuinely excited to meet Martella, the woman was a genuine source of awe. Vittoria couldn’t imagine holding a family together with a husband busy doing things for some commander, staying back at camp. The difficulties. The frustrations.

Her biggest thrill came from the little one. Calm, but sweetly smiling, and honey toned, Vittoria lowered her body so she was as close to eye-level with Myrna as possible. Her fingertips wiggled in a child-like wave as she waved at the girl, “Hello, Myrna. I hope you don’t mind the camp too much?” 

Martella smiled brilliantly and for a moment she looked radiant.  It was easy to see why a man would have given up his whole life for her.  She bowed with an easy grace that could have come years of practice and would have done any lady of the court proud.

“You have my thanks, Lord Commander, we are honored.  I have bread and salt, if you wish.  If not, something finer is easy enough to bring.”

Looking down at Myrna, she smiled again as her youngest ducked her head.  “Can you say hello, my love?”  Martella said.

Myrna raised her eyes to meet the Lord Commander and smiled shyly.  “I’m four, father gave me a kitten, because I was very good.  She’s black and white, her name is Moon.”  She said, with a child’s casual disregard for anything resembling conversational flow.

For her part, Rylla nodded and kept her face as polite and friendly as she could.  After everything, she felt it was best that she kept her mouth shut.  Her mother had always been the more charming and well-spoken of the family.  Still she felt her father’s eye on her and so she followed mother’s suit and bowed.  Not nearly as gracefully as Martella, but a passable enough courtesy nonetheless.

 “Moon? A fine name for a kitten, thank you for being so good, Myrna,” she said, still at the child’s eye level, still smiling until she stood—then the look that washed across her face was one of exhaustion. She was hungry, but there just wasn’t time in a day that had become far busier than she originally hoped it would be. 

“I wish I could, thank you so very much, Martella. I came to offer your family a stay at Highgarden instead of our camp.” Her hands spoke with her, waving palm down as if to suppress worry and concern, as if to emphasize the innocence of the offer, “This would be as guests, it’s more than big enough to accommodate you, though if you’d prefer the Understeward has told me he could find work for you that would be fairly compensated. 

“The Septas are always happy to have another face in their sessions, should you want Myrna to take part and do some learning. Think it over? Banners have been called, and we’ll be folding into the Army of the Reach, soon. That’s…probably around thirty thousand to start with.”

Vittoria roughly estimated, her brown eyes moving side to side as she did quick numbers in her mind even as she spoke, “Just very busy, and a very different kind of experience to the small, intimate camp we’ve had so far. So, talk it over, and let me know? First, though…” Vittoria turned sharply, to Garin, to Rylla, where they stayed, instead of Garin, “you two please give me a moment outside?”

It was on her way out that she turned to Martella once more, “Thank you again, Martella, and anything you need don’t hesitate to let me know. See you soon, Myrna,” Vittoria smiled brightly, waving at the young child as she stepped out, and waited for the other two.

Martella curtsied as the Lord Commander left and favored her husband with a significant look.  The kind that people who’ve been married for a very long time can use to say a great deal without saying anything.

Her quick scan of the area revealed Davos talking to Ryam, and Tytan haunting the peripheral, as if he wanted to talk and was waiting for a moment. She turned her attention back to Garin and Rylla when they walked out. 

Again, her attention was on Rylla first, “talked it over with some people, and we’d also like you, Rylla, to enter our household as a Lady in Waiting for my little sister.” 
When she saw the confusion on the young woman’s face, she waved a hand dismissively in the air, “Not to worry, my sister Mina likes all the things you do—and that’s the thing. Put up the pretense of a Lady, like she has to, but in truth you’ll be tasked with training her, and protecting her. Gold can be exchanged for this service, just speak to the Steward or Understeward to get further information on that.”

Then, finally, she moved her eyes to Garin…and lowered her voice. “Beat this challenger. Do it convincingly. My father will be presiding over it. The Knight is the challenger, so you’ll pick the weapons used. It starts on horseback. Noon. Get Martella and Myrna to Highgarden, you’d be an idiot to pass up the opportunity. Don’t,” she gave a light push on his breastplate for emphasis with the word, and each that followed, “disappoint. me. Deal? Deal…and, Rylla, no more of this. None.”

Then Vittoria Tyrell smiled as big and bright as she had all day, “Everyone happy?”

Rylla bowed and before she could give herself a chance to hesitate, she spoke.  Doing her best to emulate her father’s manners before an employer, she smiled politely but not insincerely.
“You have done my family many honors this morning, Lord Commander.  I would be delighted to serve you in any way I may.”

From the corner of her eye she saw her father nodded approvingly and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, it felt like light had pierced the dark and she could breathe again.  In truth, she was excited, a bodyguard to the scion of a great house?  Her journey to knighthood could hardly have started with a better opportunity.

“I am of course, your humble servant, Lord Commander.”  Garin had said before Lady Vittoria departed.

Like Rylla, he was relieved.  Somehow he had fallen down a flea bottom jakes and come back up smelling like a rose.  Martella was of course delighted and smiled at him for the first time since the whole disaster with the unfortunate squire.  And Garin was happy enough to have his family behind the walls of Highgarden, surrounded by loyal soldiers and bodyguards.  Who knew?  Perhaps some of the Lord Commander’s kindness and patience would rub off on his eldest.
Stranger things had happened.

Silence fell once the Lord Commander had left.  His squire kept his mouth closed, but by then, Garin was happy for the quiet.  He donned his armor, his mind no longer churning, but now filled with a dread silence that was somehow even worse.  Martella favored with a hug and quick kiss before she set to the myriad tasks that came with moving a household.  Rylla grudgingly aided her mother and Myrna helped where she could, though Garin’s youngest seemed more occupied with throwing a ball of yarn for her cat.  

He paused for a moment at the opening the pavilion and took the in the scene with a small, slow smile that vanished almost as quickly as it had come.  One day, Martella would have others to do this sort of work.  One day, she could have a real roof over her head and the days of the field and the camp would be nothing but old memories.

. . . And his children, no matter what path they chose, would have a place to call home, something he could leave behind for them.  Honor demanded nothing less.

Garin stepped out in the brilliant sunlight and vaulted into the saddle of his waiting warhorse with practiced ease.  He wasn’t the tallest man in westeros, but neither was he small by any means.

Clad in black plate, he looked the very image of knightly prowess.  He lifted his great helm over his mailed head and took up his shield.  The thick oak was black like his armor, save for the image of an uprooted tree in white.  Under which was the word “disinherited” in Rhoynish.  He rode to the field, reins held loosely in his gauntlet, visor down the whole way.[/color]