[CENTER][sup][h1][img]https://imgs.search.brave.com/PUA4r3zAA181OZqhL5p1EGpJAITlG8Xi51IiJLgj1aE/rs:fit:860:0:0:0/g:ce/aHR0cHM6Ly9tZWRp/YS5nZXR0eWltYWdl/cy5jb20vaWQvMTg2/ODQ4MzE5MS9waG90/by9zY2VuaWMtdmll/dy1vZi1hZ3JpY3Vs/dHVyYWwtZmllbGQt/YWdhaW5zdC1za3kt/bWlubmVzb3RhLXVu/aXRlZC1zdGF0ZXMt/dXNhLmpwZz9zPTYx/Mng2MTImdz0wJms9/MjAmYz03OUJValVt/dmlYZ3RPRTluRG16/ckhSWGlvdmxPdGVW/NE9qZ0NLV0U0eWlZ/PQ[/img]
[b][color=f26522]T H E   R E A C H[/color][/b][/h1][/sup]
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	They were surrounded in a heartbeat. The four negotiators found themselves encircled by twenty horse of the Selmy household, knights, squires,and freeriders all armed and armored for battle. None of Unwin’s companions wore plated armor or helms. Unwin and Patryk dressed in blackened hauberks of ringmail suitable for outriding, but Able and Neville were armored only in fabric traveling tunics and riding trousers. For armaments they carried swords and a single lance, held by Able which was fastened the orange banner of house Peake. Unwin brought along a white cloth which he now thrust over his head in clear view. The outriders from Selmy had allowed them to approach within a mile of the army before pouncing, ensnaring the four in a well constructed trap beneath the trees. No naked steel was drawn, no arrows flew but Unwin and his would be captured or dead in a moment should word be given.

	“Halt, in the name of his honor Lord Bearmond Selmy of Harvest Hall! State your names and intentions.” One of the knights who surrounded them spoke through his closed visor, the steel muffling his voice. Unwin recognized the chief sigil, upon which the passant bear in silver strode on a field of yellow. A Tottington, Neville’s cousin no doubt.

	“Well met Ser!” He called boldly holding high his white cloth. “I am Ser Unwin Peake, the Fourth Keep. Before you ride the invincible Ser Neville Tottington, the wise Ser Patryk Pax, and my beloved nephew Able Peake heir to Starpike, Whitegrove, and Dunstonburry. We come bearing tidings of our liege Lord Gormon and a gift for your Lord Selmy. Please grant us passage and safe escort."

	“Well met indeed Ser Peake, I am Ser Henry Tottington. Your arrival is most fortuitous, my lord Selmy is expecting you.” Polite nods and greetings were given to all in turn before he addressed his kin. “Many warm welcomes to you dear cousin. How is the wife and the grandchildren?” Henry raised his visor so that Unwin could get a good view of his face. White whiskered and sunburnt, the cousins bore striking resemblances.

	“The wife is fierce as ever Ser, spitting mad I’m off on campaign again. You ought to have seen her chastising me about coming home before winter. The grandchildren are multiplying faster than an old man can keep track, some may even be married soon.” Came Neville’s reply. The knights around them visibly relaxed, and Unwin felt his own muscles loosening. The greetings were friendly, and it seemed their presence was a welcome one met only by the caution of an army on campaign, not enemies meeting under the banner of truce.

	“Come Sers,” Benard gestured them to fall in behind his riders. “Lord Selmy is awaiting you, he has news for Lord Gormon and a plan of action.” Curious now Unwin flicked his reins and drove his palfrey into a steady trot, bringing himself alongside Henry. 

	“You speak of a plan? Is this why you leave the Stormlands and follow the road west?”

	He looked uncertain and shook his head. “You will hear soon enough our reasons. I best say little, they are words for Lord Selmy to share at his discretion.”

	“How mysterious.” Unwin chuckled. “The entirety of the war must hang in the balance.”

	“Mayhaps.” The knight shrugged. “Who am I to say?”

	They rode on, continuing down the road until the forest broke for a stretch of open hills. The land brightened here, wildflowers grew in abundance and tall grasses stretched for miles. These were Ashford lands, where herds of cattle and sheep grazed and wary herdsmen watched the foreign army assembled on the road with suspicious eyes. The host from Harvest Hall were well armed, much the same as those Marcher’s from Starpike. Tall triangular shields, longbows, and pikes were in much abundance. They wore good armor, ringmail and gambesons. On their heads were shining halfhelms and even decent boots shod their feet, befitting a merchantman more than a levied spear. Up close and counting Unwin’s silent mental calculations did not bode well. If it had come to battle, he could not be sure his brother’s soldiers would vanquish these. It would be a costly and uncertain contest. Unwin breathed a small relief seeing how it seemed the two armies would pass peacefully. Still, it gave him pause to see the men milling about so casually. Unwin knew his brother would be forming up into battle order, and having his soldiers don full armor and prepare positions. These troops were busy jesting with each other, partaking in meals or even playing dice. One could chalk it up to extreme confidence that the nearby Peake force was friendly, or perhaps and more likely the Harvest Hall host was commanded by an inexperienced leader. Or both. Unwin thought back to what he knew about Lord Selmy, though it was little.

	“We are only part of the army.” Henry began explaining while they rode past the ranks of resting men. “Ser Benard Selmy, Bearmond’s uncle commands a detachment to defend Harvest Hall and its lands from incursions. He’s going to bring together a force from Blackhaven and Stonehelm if all goes well which will remain in the Stormlands.”

	“The Stormlord Marchers are gathering then.” Unwin said, impressed. If the quality and numbers from the Dondarians and Swann’s matched these together they would make a large, impressive force.

	“Indeed, we’ve cast our lots though it is not against the Dornish we march. Not yet, come Lord Selmy shall explain.” They found Bearmond near the middle of his host surrounded by senior knights and advisors including a grey robbed maester. Lord Selmy could not have been older than fifteen, though tall and strong his youthfulness remained evident from his pimpled face to the thin wisp of a starting beard on his upper lip. He raised a gloved fist in greeting when his guests arrived, shaking each of their hands in turn when they dismounted, even young Able.

	“About time you arrived Sers, my outriders were lathering at the mouth about how you were surely foemen. Keeping them so efficiently from your host, as you did. I told them though, I said there is no bloody way Gormy sides with the Dornish loving arse kisser who calls himself king.” The boy lord spat and Unwin couldn’t keep his smile from spreading. He was going to like this young lord.

	“Gormy,” Able groaned, covering his face with his palms. “Only Ser Aegor is allowed to call my lord father that. Any lesser man is liable to have his tongue ripped out.”

	“Good thing I am no lesser man laddie.” Came the bold jest, and the easy smile from Lord Selmy. Able looked thundertruck.

	“I-I meant no offense my lord my many apologies-”

	“None taken, I suppose I might be a lesser man compared to your honorable father I should think.” The young lord soothed the rattled squire. “Seeing as I wish to keep my tongue where it is I shall refrain from using the alias meant for Bittersteel’s usage alone. Though I do wish to hear the tale behind that.”

	“You’ll hear it from me if there is time enough for tale telling.” Unwin offered while giving Able a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. “It is most heartening to hear you’ve raised your banners to fight alongside King Daemon. We were concerned when we saw no black dragon flying over your host.”

	“Pfft, my late father wished to be neutral, I had no time to have one swen.” For the first time anger flashed in Selmy’s eyes, but hurt lingered where the hate flared. “He shamed us I think in his hesitation. Even if he’d chosen to ride alongside the filthy Dornish that might have been acceptable. If we could just pinch our noses against the stench.” The boy lord shrugged though Unwin recognised the moment of grief behind the harsh words. “It matters not now, I suppose, I’ve chosen my king. May the seven faces of god bless me or curse me for that choice.”

	“They shall surely bless you.” Ser Unwin said confidence in his words. “The Warrior rides alongside the man with the thickest armor and the longest lance.”

	“Cheer, cheer.” Came the murmured reply.

	The negotiators were offered wine and smoked venison of which they partook eagerly. When they had eaten and drank their fill Unwin bid Able fetch the gift they’d brought. An eight foot length of embroidered cloth, sewn by Lord Gormon’s wife herself. Bright red like blood, with a mighty black dragon stitched in great detail in the center.

	“Is this a gift or a threat?” Selmy laughed as he examined the fine workmanship of the battle banner.

	“I am gladdened it is a gift.” Unwin said without missing a beat. “May it fly before your host when the battle is hardest, and give heart when morale begins to break. May it never be captured or touch the ground.”

	“By blood and iron shall it be.” Selmy agreed, handing the folded bolt of cloth to one of his knights. “We shall raise it up as we continue our march.”

	“That’s the other thing my lord.” Unwin scratched at the stubble under his chin. “You seem to be marching the wrong direction. Summerhall and Dorne are to the east, why are you moving west? We’ve already tamed the lion.”

	“Just so,” Selmy agreed, waving for his advisors to bring forth a map. The maester hurried forward and spread a drawn depiction of the southern realms before the assembled. Weighing the edges down using nearby stones. Selmy tapped on a location on the banks of the Mander, labeled Highgarden. The seat of the lord Paramount of the Reach, and Warden of the South. “It seems Longthorn is on the move, he has not been idle since his domain erupted into chaos. Lords declaring for this king and that. He commands a company of knights and mounted men at arms and is bloodlessly scattering his bannermen whenever they assemble their armies. It is hard for men sworn directly to Longthorn himself to raise a hand against him. They do not wish to battle him, whether out of loyalty or cowardice. Especially when he arrives at their castle, thousands at his back and demanding their hospitality. Anyone who declared for Blackfyre within reach of Highgarden had their hosts sent home, their gold confiscated and become prisoners in their own castles.”

	“You move alone to challenge the lord paramount of the Reach?” Unwin asked incredulously. “That is a mighty undertaking indeed.”

	“We have not sworn anything to Longthorn.” Selmy explained as if this solved everything. “We will not hesitate to bring him to battle and hole him up in Highgarden, or even capture him in the field before he can escape behind his walls. Either way we plan to remove him from the war. I suspect the castle will prove difficult to seize, however we can keep him contained and allow our many allies in the Reach the breathing space to gather their hosts again and assemble around Ser Ball. I have reason to believe this would greatly swell our numbers.”

	“Who ordered this strategy?” Unwin asked, not wishing to insult anyone before he knew the originator of this absurd plan.

	“Myself of course.” The boy lord looked very pleased with himself.

	“My lord…” Unwin began choosing his words using the utmost care. “The Dornish are a more present threat I think. If Longthorn wishes to ride about the southern half of the Reach glaring at his bannermen I think we ought let him. He is a capable warrior, and if he is brought to battle he might wish to raise a proper host of his own and defy us directly. Meanwhile the Prince Martell crosses the red mountains bringing tens of thousands at his back. We must throw him back here and now utilizing all our combined strength.”

	“You think my plan a bad one?”

	“No my lord, I would just ask that we send ravens to Ser Ball or King Daemon and ask their opinions. I know for a fact Ser Ball wishes his army to gather in the Marches and bring the Dornish to battle. Your presence would be a welcome one indeed. The Selmy's fearsome reputation would do wonders to encourage our forces and terrify the enemy.”

	“I wished to put challenge to Longthorn…” For the first time the boyish lord looked uncertain, his past bravado fading. Unwin guessed there to be some unknown history between the Lord Paramount and this pimpled youth, something that pulled stronger than the festering hatred against the Dornish. Unwin decided to seize on this.

	“You shall my lord, if he dares show his face in the Marches. For now your lands, the lands of your father are under threat and must be defended.”

	For a long moment Unwin feared Bearmond would reject his words and insist on his initial course of action. At long last the bold glint faded and the young lord nodded. “I am torn, but you are right Ser, the present threat must be contained, nuy then Longthorn shall have his reckoning! We should send riders to Dondarrian and Swann as well. They ought to know the Dornish are crossing the red mountains. We can join forces under Ser Ball and crush them.”

	“Most wise,” Unwin said, a feeling of relief flowing through him. It seemed Bearmond could be swayed from his mission quite easily. Unwin noted that a few of the Selmy knights looked enormously relieved at Unwin’s success, while others scowled and shook their heads. At that moment a rider galloped into the gathering. The horse breathed like a forge bellows, its chest heaving from exhaustion. Even the man astride her looked sweaty and tired.

	“Dornishmen!” The outrider shouted, pointing wildly over his shoulder. “Riders to the south near Ashford. Hundreds of them!”