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[b][color=orange]T H E   B O N E W A Y[/color][/b][/h1][/sup][/center]

[color=khaki][i][h3]More than a Fortnight Ago…[/h3][/i][/color]
	“How is Rana doing, Lord Juron?” The prince asked his Lord of the Treasury about his wife, a woman from House Qorgyle.
	“She is ill, my prince,” Lord Juron responded dryly
	“I am saddened to hear this. What is her prognosis?”
	“Maester Sands believes she has an infection in her chest. He has given her milk of the poppy to help her rest. He believes she needs rest to cure her.”
	“Well, let’s pray it works. Good health to your wife, ser!” The Prince exclaimed.
A loud noise erupted from the entryway as Archmaester Blackmont entered the room. “A Raven has arrived from Starfall, my prince,” Archmaester Dontin Blackmont hunched slightly, more from poor posture than poor health. He walked with a decidedly quick gait for a man of sixty and three years. Possibly able to jump a tipped-over sack of potatoes if necessary. The man had retained most of his raven black hair with streaks of grey north of the temples. Crow’s feet decorated lines at either side of his steel grey eyes. The distinguishing feature of his face was his large, pointed nose, which formed more like a beak than what most men call a nose. But his appearance was not his strong suit. It was his mind. Some called it a steel trap. He forgot nothing. There was a reason he was Archmaester of Sunspear.
	“Lady Ysabel?” The prince sat in a very comfortable chair at the head of a rectangular oaken table used by his council members. Ser Jami Dayne and Ser Juron Santagar sat on either side of the Prince of Dorne.
	“Yes, my prince,” Archmaester Dontin handed the missive over and stood by awaiting instructions.
	After a few seconds of reading, “It appears the King’s wayward brother, Ser Daemon has been minting his own coinage, and these coins are believed to be in the Boneway.”
	“I guess the day has arrived,” Ser Juron spat in disgust. “The pretender can’t leave well enough alone. What sort of response should we send to dig them out?”
	“Just a few regiments from the Red Mountains. They are closest. The Yronwoods, Wyls, and the Lady of Kingsgrave should be able to handle it. I will take a hundred knights and race for the Boneway to join them. I want you gentlemen to assemble the remaining banners and have them ready to move at a moment’s notice.
	The prince turned to his Castellan, Ser Jami Dayne, “Secure Sunspear. You are charged with defending the city while I am away. We will maintain communications through Raven.”
	“Yes, my prince,” Jami responded.
	“Maester Dontin, send ravens to the Lord of Yronwood, Lady Glorina and the [i]Blackadder[/i]. Tell them to meet me at Yronwood. Expect my arrival in five or six days.” Ser Trystane Wyl, is also known as the Blackadder named for his house sigil—apparently a name passed down through generations.
	“Yes, my prince,” the Archmaester responded and hurriedly made his way to the roost.

[color=khaki][i][h3]Five days later…[/h3][/i][/color]

	Prince Maron wore banded mail armor over a mail surcoat. He preferred to wear no headgear, claiming it blocked his vision. A small piece of metal was attached to both pauldrons, referred to as Brechrand, armor used to block a weapon from reaching the head of an armed warrior. He wore high, hard leather boots on horseback and leather breeches. Trained in the martial arts of spear fighting, Maron had no fewer than three spears strapped to his all black destrier named, [i]“Divine”[/i]. He also kept a Roynish Scimitar at his left hip. The blade was adorned with gold and jewels. His squire Rolan Vaith, youngest son of Lady Elna Vaith, Lady of the Red Dunes whose family lived at the castle named for them. The boy was not quite fourteen. He was a sturdy lad, and the Prince kept his eye on him, knowing he would one day grow into a sturdy Dornish man. 
	“Rendal, see to my tent. I’m going to meet with Lords Yronwood and Wyl. When I see you next, I’ll assume our sleeping arrangement is set.”
	“Yes, my Prince.” The boy ran off to the baggage train. He knew he could get soldiers to help him with the tent. Everyone knew who he was.
	“How was your ride, my prince?” Lord of Yronwood approached with his two sons, Daltis and Herrin in trail. 
	“Nothing of note,” The prince responded. “How many troops do you have assembled? How does our approach north look?”
	“I brought a regiment of spear and a cavalry squadron. So did Lady Manwoody. The Blackadder brought a regiment.”
	“I brought a hundred knights. That makes about four thousand, including a thousand horse. We should be in decent shape. We’ll lead with Cavalry.” The Prince looked at Ser Daltis Yronwood. “Lord Daltis, how do you feel about leading a squadron of cavalry up the Boneway?”
	The young man stood firm behind his father who turned to look at his expression. All three Yronwood men stood around seventy to seventy-two inches. The young man was excited for this responsibility. Daltis looked the Prince in his eye, “M-m-m-m-yyy Prince…, really?” he was more a man than a boy now and the Prince new it. “I am honored.”
	“Well?” his father asked.
	“Yes, my prince! Hells yes!” His brother and father both had big smiles reflecting pride.
	“I want you on the road before dawn. You’re looking for anything suspicious on the road between here and Summerhall. If you find anything, do not get in over your head. Send a rider back. I’d rather send infantry in to root them out. Keep your eyes on them until we catch up. Understood?” The Prince was very deliberate in his instructions.
	“Yes, My prince!”
	“Go coordinate with Jorge Sands. He will help you.” His father knew his son could manage this but also knew he would be very nervous. Fortunately, Jorge had a calming effect on people and should put Daltis at ease. At age 45, Jorge Sands was one of the more experienced horsemen in House Yronwood.
 	“Lord Trevas, I need to send ravens out to all the houses. Can you assist?”
	“Yes, my prince.” The meeting broke up with Lord of the Stoneway and Prince Maron heading into the keep to take care of the messages. Ser Herrin followed his brother knowing he would need his help on the Reconnaissance mission he was leading.

[color=khaki][i][h3]Present day at Summerhall…[/h3][/i][/color]

[sub]collaboration with [@Vanq][/sub]
            Prince Maron took twelve knights with him to the gates of Summerhall. His host was encamped six miles to the south. A wagon with the confiscated coin followed closely behind the Dornish knights. The Martell banner fluttered rapidly in the wind as they rode into Summerhall. The Dornish men dismounted and strode inside to see Dyanna Dayne, wife of Prince Maekar Targaryen. The following lords accompanied the Prince of Dorne: Trevas Yronwood, Daltis Yronwood, Harrin Yronwood, Trystane Wyl, Rendal Vaith, Justan Vaith, Dorrin Uller, Rohar Blackmont, Richard Blackmont, Branton Toland, Lawsen Qorgyle, and Jaran Fowler. Upon finding Lady Dyanna seated, the Prince of Dorne motioned for the others to remain near the entrance of the room.
        	“Lady Dyanna, it is a pleasure to see you grace this hall,” the prince smiled. “I have passed through the Boneway and would like to give a report on our findings."
	Dyanna’s cousin had begrudgingly left with a small number of riders in search of the prince. She would have a list of jests ready for his return at how much he had failed for the prince to arrive himself, no need of Ulrick. She had not had much notice and had had little time to make proper preparations. She wore an embroidered linen robe of black over pale lilac, the needlework fine enough to suggest care without announcing an occasion. It was not what she would have chosen had this been one of her planned parlays, and yet it felt right to her. The women attending her had disagreed, Sylva Jordayne had managed to convince Dyanna to allow her to nestle in the thin circlet of silver set with ruby stars and black swords. It had been a gift from Maekar earlier in their marriage, made for court, though she had found more use of it these last few months than in all the years before.
	The Lady of Summerhall looked at those assembled before her; her Prince had assembled a good representation of his loyalists. She noted that her good brother was absent and wasn’t sure if that’s because he had never joined the party or if Prince Maron had not seen fit to bring him here. 
	Sylva remained to her left alongside of Alys Wylde, Dyanna took pride in those two having formed a closeness. To her right were the ladies Jeyne Rosby and the girl from House Caron. Summerhall's men were ranged behind her in silence, some of them more than likely nervous with the majority being Stormlanders and unaccustomed to so many Dornish faces watching them. Yet Maekar's hand was still felt in the way they held themselves, shoulders squared and steady. 
	She gave a welcoming smile. “My prince, I am grateful to host you. I apologize we’re not better prepared to do so, though,” she paused knowingly, “I imagine you will forgive us given the circumstances. My husband will be sore to know he’s been unable to welcome you himself.” That was most certainly a lie, probably. Myriah Martell was a lovely woman and dear mother, but Maekar was not one for pleasantries, even if it was his uncle. 
Dyanna’s head tilted to either side of her, her gaze catching her ladies’ eyes. “You may leave us for now.” Returning her attention to the prince, she nodded in acceptance. “Shall we get the business of it done now and then have you shown to the rooms we’ve readied for you?” Were still readying most likely, but their servants would be quick about it. 
	“I’ve always been one to get to the point, Lady Dyanna,” Prince Maron admitted. So, let’s be done with it. “Your sister, Lady Ysabel alerted me to the existence of counterfeit coins someone had printed somewhere in the Boneway. I took about four thousand troops into that pass and discovered the coins. They are in a wagon outside. It appears Daemon Blackfyre began printing currency to fund his rebellion against our Grace, King Daeron II. You can have them and do as you wish. I’m sure this information will be of use to your husband and King Daeron.” Prince Maron recognized the dirt that had stuck to his armor from spending more than a fortnight in the dust and sands of Dorne. He enjoyed being on campaign. It always suited him well. “I am unsure as to the supposed value of that cart of fake coins outside, I’m sure the King’s small council can have their way with it.”
	Dyanna had sucked in a breath, her brow furrowed in a way her husband would have been proud of. It smoothed away far more quickly, returning to placid interest in what was otherwise a bizarre tale yet one she had no doubts to the veracity of. Seven above, this was more than she had expected and she silently prayed that the increased heartbeats didn’t show across her face, no matter how hard she felt it pulsed at her neck. 
	“It will, your grace, be news we share delicately with our king.” It would perhaps even be best to keep any further news of this quiet rather than public acknowledgement. “Whatever we do with it, it is good that we’ve removed it from the pretender and his supporters’ hands.” 
Without turning to look, she waved forward one of her men and gave him the brief instructions to see that he and another make haste to aid the Prince’s men in securing the coinage. “It is to be guarded day and night. Set up a proper rotation until Ser Ulrick returns.” The man pressed hand to heart and left to carry out her orders without a look back at any of the Dornish host. 
            “When I reached Yronwood, I realized this Rebellion by Blackfyre is much larger than anticipated. Before leaving Sunspear I put the entirety of Dorne on alert and sent ravens from Yronwood. Ser Tyland Fowler took less than 7500 soldiers through the Prince’s Pass to conduct reconnaissance on the Reach. Meanwhile the bulk of the Dornish host reached us at Wyl and are encamped six miles south of here. The Main body numbers 16,000 spearmen, 2000 light cavalry, a thousand men-at-arms and six hundred mounted knights. All told, I have approximately 27,000 Dornish soldiers spread between the Red Marches and the Stormlands. Unfortunately, I have not heard from Ser Fowler who went through Prince’s Pass. I fear the Peakes may have sortied out to harass his host. I was hoping Lord Fowler could give us an understanding of what strength Lord Gorman may be in possession and if there are any other Rebellious Lords in the Reach. Lords Russell Yronwood, Darris Uller, Dorrin’s son, Rohar Blackmont, Lord of Blackmont, his son, Richard and your cousin Tavion are all accompanying Lord Fowler into the Marches.”
	It was an exceedingly impressive number of men that her prince had gathered on his journey. She bristled at mention of the Yronwoods, their open declaration had created more than just an awkward situation, near enough to open rebellion to their liege-lord no matter how they tried to argue it. It, of course, had never taken much for that house to find cause to be in dispute with house Martell. No matter that Russell was attached to the campaign, it meant they knew of something even if not everything. That did not sit well with Dyanna, but there was little chance of having avoided Yronwood on the march, no more than they could have thrown up resistance to the force’s approach. 
	“Rest here as long as you need, your grace. At the very least, rest here for the night before returning to your host. We should talk in the morning, and I can arrange for any other missives you need to have sent, of course. We have friends we can call on as well.” Friends, begrudgingly more often than not, especially with Maekar gone. Dyanna offered a tight smile, a waning glow of warmth. “With the little clarity my sister sent ahead of you, I had been preparing to contact houses Caron and Florent both, along with a small number of others who had romised their aid and support when my husband rode north.” Promises no doubt she would need to delicately press them on. 
	“Thank you, Lady Dyanna,” The prince nodded in response. “We shall take our leave and retire.” The Dornish men left the hall with servants guiding them to their rooms.