Collab with [@Vanq]

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[img]https://i.pinimg.com/736x/36/4b/7b/364b7b691b085ea5e6439000c88c261d--biomes-night-time.jpg[/img]
[h2]A Pleasant Jaunt[/h2]
[h3][i]The Kingswood[/i][/h3]

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A few days of travel with the Baratheon host had done little to quell the Stars. For most of them it was shown in quiet glares, or the way they accepted rations only to seclude themselves in small whispering groups. Ellyn spent much of the day riding with Rogar, though she found his manners irksome. He owed his position, his power, everything, to the same people who had caused her to lose everything. And he had no idea, surely would dispute it if pointed out. She remained quiet unless direct questions were asked of her. And most of the time, even that seemed to be done to raise a round of laughs. But as each morning broke, she still found herself riding up to join him. Punishment for her sins, she told herself to submit to it again each day. 

They had stopped for the day again, the forest pressing against them. Night fell quickly and yet she laid on her cot, having refused any offers of more suitable tents, wide awake. She stared blankly, wishing for sleep that would not return to her. Her heart beat too loudly, too quickly, her hands clenched and released as she tried to ground herself again in reality. It had seemed too real just moments ago. The knights that had led them not to allies in the Reach but to enemies in Dorne. How had she not recognized the Marches, or the Boneway? Men draped in the purple and cream of House Dayne who ambushed them only to have Rogar pull her from her horse, with that smug smile and laughter as he tossed her to her family’s knights. Dawn, ripped from her hands, smashed into a million pieces that glittered and glowed one last time before dying in the sand, scattered to the winds. 

Her senses returned but unable to close her eyes without seeing it play out again, she dressed and left her tent to try and find peace in the coolness of a spring night. Ellyn knew that Baratheon men would be on guard, but at least they kept their distance from her tent. To her right, she knew she could find Septon Mal, but this night she couldn’t bear to wake and burden him again. She walked past him, few others out in the night beyond the few armsmen she passed. Her steps held no purpose, no known path, just one in front of the other until she found herself at the outskirts of their camp. There was something dreadful about this forest. The way it loomed and imposed itself all around them, the same sense of being unwelcome, unwanted, that had followed her her entire life. A chill ran down her back and she hugged her arms around her body though the warmth did little to quiet it. 

One of his men drew near, perhaps it was the natural path of his patrol or perhaps he sought to disturb her quiet reflection. Regardless, Ellyn broke the silence first. “A quiet night.” She didn’t turn to look at the man. “Where is Ser Rogar, does he sleep unperturbed or is he somewhere out here, keeping watch with you?” She wasn’t sure why she had asked, perhaps nothing more than to get the image from her dream out of her head. When the answer came that he could be found on the opposite side of camp, her feet seemed to again move her on their own accord.

The cool night air was as refreshing as any drink that could be provided on the march like this, and whenever either was available, Rogar had little struggle staying awake. While he often remained awake to spend time more socially with his men, for now Ellyn’s later suggestion was correct, the young noble standing watch alongside a small gathering of sentries, keeping an eye on the forest line behind them. Unbeknownst to the men of the faith they shepherd, Rogar and some of his more keen eyed men-at-arms had found some of those who had fled rather than be taken into Baratheon custody. Far from a successful escape, they had instead been discovered shot through with arrows, slain by someone far less forgiving than either Lord Baratheon or his son, it would seem. The small Baratheon host now erred on the side of caution, that this may be someone hostile to both groups, such as a new bandit lord who had little love for either the faith or nobility. Either way, it gave them an outward threat to keep sharp again, and helped maintain discipline. 

“Sorry, mi’lord, that’s all threes,” A voice that had all the enjoyment of not being sorry at all carried across to Ellyn as she approached, followed shortly by an overacted sigh of exasperation from Rogar.

“I am quite sure you’ve weighted these, you know.” It was the kind of accusation made in jest though, and with a laugh and shake of his head, the Baratheon heir handed a few coins over to one of his men, who stooped low towards the ground evidently rolling a set of dice in a space cleared among the long grass. The sound of someone approaching from within the camp didn’t stir the man with the dice, nor the other two official sentires who’s eyes didn’t waiver from their task, but Rogar did turn, a smile of amusement crossing his features.

“Ah, my lady of many colours, how do you fare this evening? Put in a good word with the Seven for us yet?”

Her brow creased as she glanced from the man rolling dice and back up to Rogar. Exactly where she was told he would be, doing his duty and still finding a way for the first words out of his mouth to rankle. [i]Seven.[/i] Still, much to her own surprise, a soft noise close to a chuckle escaped her. “You’d be better asking Septon Mal for that favor, he believes redemption is possible for all.” Her hands ran along the edges of her bodice, sturdy fabric, if worn and faded. “It’s lady of prisms,” Ellyn’s voice was quiet in embarrassment over the vanity of needing to correct him, “that my people call me.” Her eyes snapped to one of the nearby men who had either coughed or stifled a laugh. Her cheeks reddened, though she prayed that in the darkness it wasn’t noticeable. 

“I’ll leave you to your games.” Ellyn pulled her hands away from fidgeting and clasped them in front of her. “Unless you’d like to join me in walking the rest of the perimeter?” [i]Foolish woman.[/i] She chided herself instantly at the suggestion and willed herself to walk away before he could answer. But even she could grow tired of only hearing passages from the Seven Pointed Star in answer to her loneliness and fears.

"Ah well, my lady, you have quite taken the suggestion out of my own mouth, I was about to leave these miscreants to themselves and see about the rest of the camp." Rogar smiled, sharp but mostly kind eyes catching the blush on the woman's cheeks even if the other men present were a little too focused on their duty or their games to do the same. The young noble lent down to smack the shoulder of the arms man knelt beside him, "That means you have to start doing your job, Hanald." Which after only a brief grumble, was an order otherwise followed swiftly.

"Come along then, Lady of Prisms, let us make sure there are no demons or grumpkins nestling in the shadows." With a smile Rogar drew closer, before denoting with a sweep of his hand the direction they should take, before setting off himself, pausing only to allow her to fall in step with him, taking a path only just within the flickering sentry lights of the camp.

"I don't think I have much hope with your Septon, he doesn't seem to like me." Rogar spoke in a hushed tone as they walked so as to not startle any of the sentries they passed near, but it hardly seemed to check the easy confidence with which he spoke. "So you may have to start believing in my redemption for me to have a chance."

There was something pleasing in the way he so easily managed his men, how quickly they responded. Her family name had done little to endear people to her; she led in spite of it. She assumed that his men followed him because of his name. Perhaps she had been hasty in her assumption. “I wouldn’t say that, he just finds you unnecessarily sure of yourself.” Mal had not exactly shared that with her, but he had not disagreed with her assessment when she had complained to the septon. Ellyn turned her head enough to watch for his reaction. 

“And I think you underestimate us - me.” Her eyes were somber again, her voice hushed. “You wouldn’t be the first. Maybe you can start to redeem yourself by changing that.” Her lips flicked upwards, barely. “Is it that I’m a woman, or that I’m Dornish that bothers you more?” 

“My grandfather had great respect for the Dornish, even when he hated you. My mother was the last Storm Queen, she might even have lasted a while, had her own men had more mettle. Believe me, my Lady, if I underestimate anything about your merry band it is not on account of yourself.” Rogar’s tone did not change even as his words were serious, ever leaving it open if he was being truthful, as they continued to walk the perimeter. He had not been lying to his Marshall when he spoke positively of her appearance, but much as he would rather be watching her than the rather more tiresome expanses of dark treeline, he did his duty all the same. Rogar hadn’t been able to shake the idea the party was being stalked, and while he doubted the Faithful knew either, he couldn’t entirely discount they were aligned with whoever it might be.

“What is there to be unsure of, my lady? My grandfather was a bastard born, he died the lord of a Kingdom. My father’s lords expected him to be weak, and in his first month as Lord of the Stormlands, he crushed a Dornish and rebel host more than three times larger than that which he commanded. Neither men let their doubts hold them back from changing the world. I don’t plan on being the exception.” It was a legacy that many would feel great pressure for, perhaps even chafe against, or crumble beneath. Rogar seemed to wear it with ease, and despite keeping his eyes on the treeline, he still smiled with an expression no doubt meant for her. “What more proof of the Seven’s Blessings do I need?”

She shook her head, a hard, crisp movement that nevertheless sent some strands of raven locks tumbling. One day she’d take shears to it, but for now she combed her fingers through her hair, pulling and pushing them back into place. “Your grandmother should have, could have, ruled in her own right as her ancestors had done for countless generations.” Ellyn stopped herself from fully verbalizing what was still whispered in some places. “My home did not bend the knee and yet I still carry my father’s shame in a way few others can understand.” What a burden it had been for him, fleeting moments of happiness upended by reminders everywhere the dragonfire that had destroyed their home and place in the world. “You are lucky so far, Ser Rogar. With age and battles of your own, maybe you will see if it is the Seven’s Blessings...or just that luck.” She spoke with a dry wryness, an attempt at lifting the weight from her words through the bitterness she felt. 

It was better to not dwell on things that only raised her ire or that would threaten the uneasy peace between them. “This forest is like none I’ve ever seen.” Ellyn stared ahead, into the darkness of the forest, barely able to see beyond the initial treeline. It was spooky, unsettling, though she had refused to admit that to any but Septon Mal. “Some of my scouts had found bodies further into the forest, when we first made our way through here. Villagers refused to discuss it when we asked. Grumpkins, or bandits I wonder?”  
 
“She could not, something many devout in the Faith would argue, but not for those reasons. None can lead without loyalty, for then you are master of nothing but yourself.” Rogar mused, an element of severity to his tone as there was movement among the trees, his hand drifting to the hand axe strapped to his waist with no sudden movement. Then the foliage rustled again, and he was convinced it was nothing but the activity of nocturnal creatures of the wilds. “These are mystical woods they say, where the royal stags of old first blessed the Stormlands with the majesty of the White Hart.” His tone did not rise as he discussed these matters of the past, clearly a man, for all his jovial nature, took his studies and history seriously. Even then, before he spoke again, a smirk turned his lips, and his vision flickered to her in full, “Although now I suppose the only Crowned Stag in these woods is me, and I do so hope you’re not planning to mount me on a wall.”

The north’s feelings about women leading was an unending annoyance. Ellyn had little love remaining for her homeland, but at least her sex wasn’t the reason she could never return. The sting of rejection still hurt, all this time later, and now she would return to them and surely they would justify themselves with her failure. Her companion’s jest landed while she wallowed in self-pity and doubt. The damnable smirk across his lips that she stared at with sad eyes a second too long before turning away from him, from the mystical forest, from whatever stories that had filled her head. This had done nothing to quiet her mind for sleep. 

“No, not yet. Perhaps when you’ve matured more, you’d be worthy to mount.” She left him behind to finish his watch on his own. The sun would rise soon enough, another day too long spent in the saddle, and only foolish words to ring in her head.