FourtyTwo

Task Force Echo (A Special Forces RP)

Rain- it's fine if you post, just go right on ahead. If not, I'll post on the 15th, most likely.

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

Hmm, thinking over what I said about a battle near King's Landing, an epic sequence comes to mind. Not all too rosy for the Tyrells either, but it would be interesting to see how it plays out- though I'll save it for my next post in a collab with Agent

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

Gonna heavily edit that post, it is there with most of it's core content, but there are pieces I want to edit soon.

Edit complete. Hopefully, it works out well enough, there may be bits that are fucked, and I shall resolve them at some point.

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

King's Landing

The Bakery District of Flea Bottom was partially on fire, to say the least. Reachmen were out in force, out quelling the unrest. By which, it meant disarming peasants with pickaxes and pitchforks, using swords, pikes and Poleaxes. The fighting was mostly over, and it had barely taken 20 minutes to resolve the mess, though it had been rapid.

Willas wiped the blood from his gauntlet, looking over. It had been tough, and he had taken a couple of good scrapes.
"By the Seven." He simply said, as he looked over at this mess that had been left. The rains began to extinguish the fires, the night dying down. He looked to the Red Keep, watching on as he turned his gaze back to the men running in. All hell was raising, and while it would die out tonight, at least a dozen Reachmen, and a dozen Goldcloaks had been killed. It was a 15,000 strong force that had lost that number, and it had not ceded well. The morning would come, and it would reveal this fight. It had been hard, but they had won. It was another battle, the third in three days, so it was now a daily occurrence indeed. People were confused, angry, and now aware that a besieging army had laid it's forces to it's gates. Willas was just as aware that when the Crownlanders had arrived, and Edrick Dayne, they knew that they would be the last people to get inside.

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Highgarden

The early morning had brought everyone up, including Garland, for once. Jehrilla was out enjoying The Reach, and with the arrangement of 25,000 men, to arrive in The Reach within three weeks time had been made, it was no longer something on his plate. She could do as she pleased...so long as it wasn't spreading rumors. Even so, perhaps it was worth simply laughing at it. There had been occasions that matched the severity of the Yunkish whale, though they were far, far more drunk in manner. Perhaps there was a real lust, under all of it. Garland rejected it, as he came back to his study. Gris Baratheon was writing of a "debt". A debt House Tyrell did not actually owe. It owed nothing to them- the Baratheons were a weak house, founded from the embers of a bastard, to rule a Kingdom that was in disrepair. Yet Garland was worried, the man's fall could trigger another wave of. He had heard of the followers of the Red God within the rebellion, and it did not sit well with Lord Tyrell one bit. Yet it was not a focus, so he had to write back, and somehow, make something work. A veiled threat, beneath an offer of peace and support for House Baratheon. In this fight, the Knights of the Stormlands would prove invulnrable- they were some of the most seasoned fighters that the Southern Kingdoms had, trumping even the Westerlands and The Reach, from decades of even greater border squabbles in the Dornish marches. The situation was the same as it was in the Torrentine Range, at Torrentpeak, and at The Prince's Pass, except far, far worse, that much Garland guessed.

Nonetheless, he began to write, and knew that it was an offer that would need unilateral support, or else Garland would let them rot. An issue for another day, he said to himself.

To Lord Gris Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands

Gris, I am writing back to sadly tell you that you may need to wait for your support, and while I understand your situation is dire, it is with regret that I tell you that it's currently not possible. That said, I have to ask of you a number of things, prior to the arrival of the Knights of the Reach into your Realm, that will allow me to send any forces to you in the first place.

Firstly, I ask of you to swear your allegiance to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Fourth of her Name, as Lady Protector of the Seven Kingdoms, First Men and Andals. I mean not to offend, but your rebellion that you face will seek to remove your head, if you do not lead forces against your enemies personally. Your father was a great man, and I knew him well, from numerous tourneys. You must follow in his lead, and I will reward you handsomely, if you find the courage to fight your war. The people are to be respected, and if it is a lack of grain that they crave, we can appease them with bread, if it is a need for wine, we can send it to them, but we cannot send men to destroy them right now; as this is something we do not have in spades to spare. Storm's End can hold a siege, and our grain will continue flowing to you, as it always has done, but right now, we cannot send forces to the Stormlands, as a result of the conflicts of interest in the Seven Kingdoms that have emerged. Once the capital is secured, I will send a retinue of Reachmen to help quell your rebellion if you have held on, and I hope to send Lady Alerie Tyrell, my sister, to arrange for your continued co-operation. Hold fast, Lord Gris. I am a Lord who has quelled my Kingdom, and I will assist you in doing so, as it is something that I understand well. If you hold Storm's End at all costs, your rebellion shall not win, and I will dutifully return the favour, in your "debt" that you say.

In these times, I am certain we can work together, House Tyrell, and House Baratheon, for a common good for the Southern Kingdoms, as an alliance that would yield both marriages and strategic ties between our lands, grain for wood, wine for training. In return for support in your rebellion, and a seat on the Small Council in an advisory position that I shall create for technical specialists such as yourself, I expect that the Stormlands will help us to restore peace to these shattered Seven Kingdoms, and that in particular, the several-thousand numbering forces of the High Lordship of the Straits of Tarth that remain loyal to you, in proximity to King's Landing under the current Lord Tarth, will assist us in defending the capital from any would-be aggressors. You have the word of a Reachman, that I will not leave you out of a future council, if you help us in our own hour of need, and in return, I shall allow for your law to continue in your land. If you refuse my kind words of an alliance, I hope you realize that any offer from any other Lord will not be kinder; that Dorne will continue to threaten your southern vassals and support the rebellion against your rule to undermine your role, the Westerlands will surely let you die, and the other Kingdoms are far too distant to care. I, Lord Garland Tyrell, will not let this fate happen. I expect your response to be urgent, and sent to Tumbleton within three days; time is limited, Lord Baratheon, and I am asking of change on your side too, if we are to work together.

Signed,

Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of the Reach, Warden of the South, Hand of the King to Aegon X Targaryen, Lord Regent to Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen, Lady Protector of the Seven Kingdoms

Putting the letter down, he breathed out. Now he had no Maester, this letter was being sent by a Maester "borrowed" from Oldtown that served the city of Highgarden, on the exterior of the castle. He wasn't the same man, and had been checked thoroughly. That was not happening again, Garland said to himself.

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The council was assembled once more, following the events of two nights prior. It had to, after all, things had almost turned murderous. Half a dozen of the castle guard were dead, there was a bowman nowhere to be seen, and a Targaryen in the dungeons of Highgarden.
"So, we have Daenys? The man that almost killed you? Left you with that scar" Lord Redwyne asked, looking to Garland.
"We have him in the darkest cell of Highgarden. Locked under key."
"Why haven't we killed that bastard?"

"He ought to have a trial, my Lords. I sound mad. Madder than a man who put a knife to my throat. I understand, it is not normal. But it is more than this. It is political. We need to give him to the Lady Protector. Show him to the people. That he lives, that Kinslayers are punished by the Seven. And that my word right now cannot hold. But the Lady Protector's, alongside other judges, can." He added, taking a sip of some Arbor, tasted prior. Nobody could be too cautious, and it was why cupbearers existed.
"And what if he escapes to the Crakehalls? We must plan for an eventuality, my Lord..." Ser Garrett said, as Ser Alesander chuckled, looking over.
"I'll assume he'll kill any other heir to his throne. Daenys or Tyget, whichever slits the knife first." Garland did not respond, but Ser Alesander did, intervening on his behalf, as he turned to Garland.
"And Lord Tyrell, this is madness! Just call the banners, get us to war....Belgrave is willing to lead an army and crush every bit of resistance from Crakehall Keep to Casterly Rock! The Westerlands are exposed, and you know it! We cannot be too paranoid, the next time you'll be dead, my Lord!" Alesander said, the Tarly-representative clearly offering a militaristic view, a little too bold, but misguided.
"We can't do that! We're mid way through collecting the grain, and you're suggesting we call them all?" Lord Redwyne interjected, as the Tyrell at the table shook his head, standing up.
"Enough, Lords!" Garland said, as they looked across.

"Well, I think we are agreed, even if we cannot show it here. We cannot fully deploy our men, but we cannot stand idle...nor can fucking I. Fine. I shall leave Highgarden to Lord Loras Hightower-Tyrell, and he shall run things in my absence, as he has before. There will always be a Tyrell in Highgarden, of some form. We know our commitments to the Targaryen throne. Enough thought of power, Rhaenyra is someone we know isn't mad...and offers us all a chance to be more involved in running these Seven Kingdoms. Which means it will trickle into my counsel too. The fucking Baratheons can barely instate their own stable leader, we're facing a North that is barely willing to get involved, and a man who believes himself as one of the Seven in running our fucking Seven Kingdoms...or whatever faith the rumors say the troops are taking in the Westerlands. I want the Lords of Bitterbridge and Goldengrove, as well as the immediate vassals of Highgarden called up. I wish to depart by the late afternoon, and to whatever state I find I have to enter King's Landing, I will begin the Regency with Rhaenyra. Then, we shall see just how willing this "King" Tyget Crakehall, First of his fucking Name, will go. To carve a Kingdom by blood, tyranny and war, or to take his place, as his ancestors have for centuries." Garland said, the venom almost dripping in his speech, as he looked over at each of the Lords. Garland may have been taught how to write well, but his speech was provincial, that of a lesser Lord in the position of a higher one. It put the point across, and in the North, would have been seen as a little more normal. Here, he sounded a little vicious, and while the council did not fear him or find any problem deeply with it, they knew it was how he projected, rather than a natural power of a Lord that they could carry.

"I don't see any other way, my Lords. Our only other option is to let Tyget murder a whole bunch of innocent people and never have any power in King's Landing for the next half a dozen generations. Daerys will be shown for his crimes to the people...then, we may begin again. We are not a military machine. We have political power, grain, and those two things are what half the Seven Kingdoms crave right now, if they have sense."

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The dungeons of Highgarden were probably among the nicest in the Seven Kingdoms, most could assume. They were matching in the same limestone and white-stained stone that built this mighty castle, yet this deep Oubliette of a cell was still as shit as it could get. Garland knew it was the only place Daenys could be kept, and today, he intended to visit.

The Lord Paramount was escorted by a pair of guards, armed with mail and swords, the fact that Garland had almost been murdered two nights prior running tensions on a high in here. The archer hadn't been found since, and Garland could only assume he had taken his coin and ran. As for his collarbone, where Daenys had made a small incision, he had a small cut that still remained, right below his neck. He couldn't lose face, however, and had made the decision to come down, to see Daenys again, after the events that had unfolded. He had told his guards to keep the man fed and with water, though he was to be in the deepest of darkest cells for now.

Turning the corner after stepping down the stairs, he looked over, Daenys exausted, looking like he had enjoyed screaming. He was clamped to the wall with chains, around his arms and legs, and Garland knew that even if by some miracle he undid those, he still had thick steel bars to go through, or almost a meter's worth of stone. The cell was cold, damp, and dark, and even with the relatively bright conditions down here, it was not nice at all.

Looking in, Garland peered at Daenys, as he opened the door.
"It's that bastard, m'Lord." One of the guards said, as Garland nodded.
"Good. Well, Daenys. Here we are. I kept my promise, I would treat you like a Knight of the Reach. Give you the justice you deserved, but right now, your Seven Kingdoms are about to tear themselves apart, so that's going to have to wait a little while." The Tyrell said, looking across.
"Shame I had to do that, but I suppose you were prepared to kill me. Don't worry. I won't kill you." Garland said, looking over at the Targaryen, straight into his purple eyes, knowing the dynamics had changed. Even so, he wouldn't torture the fucker, not as much as he felt like it. Take an eyeball, remove his genitals. That would be inhumane, horrid. And anyway, you were just as bad as your enemy if you did. So this cell was enough for him, and it was how he expected to be treated if he was a traitor to the realm. Taking a chair from outside, he walked back in, clearing his throat.
"That is for a jury to decide, Daenys. You know what your crimes are, correct?" Garland asked, looking into his eyes as he brushed his hair aside, looking at the Targaryen, at his sick and perverted ways. Garland felt unsure what the hell he was doing, but he had to try. At least if he could crack Daenys' mind, he could try and at least get some reason, get something out of this. But even he knew, the murder of someone like himself was instantly punishable by death. The rules of the Realm would have allowed it, for Daenys to be killed by Garland's sword, right here, right now. But that was now he wanted this to happen.

Daenys chuckled, eventually he began pulling at the chains, yanking himself forwards with as much strength as he had, before finally resting back against the wall.
"I expected being treated as a knight to mean I would at least be thrown in the normal dungeons, but I guess you're too cruel for that." He laughed again, it seemed like his sanity had recovered somewhat, but he seemed... different somehow.
"Garland the Cruel, wouldn't that be an epithet worthy of a king!" He started to laugh, pushing himself back, only to cringe and yelp.
"Tie up my broken arm why don't you? How great of you! You're a truly worthy knight." His face began turning into a disgusted frown.
"A jury for me? Hah! I'll be gelded at least, and if any of my other deeds come to light I'll never see the light of day, so... let me say what I expect." The noise of the chains filled the room as he slid up against the wall, into a fully seated position.
"I expect to be allowed a trial by combat, with a champion of my choosing, if I am denied that, I will let your smallfolk know at my trial, you will be known as a tyrant, as they thought I would be, now look who's acting the fool! You Garland! It's always you! You who ruin everything I stand for! Compromise my emotions! You are the one person who I want to feed to my dragon, boil you slowly, the rest of them will understand, fear me! Allow me the throne without contest, how fun that'd be." He thumped back into the ground, the chains sliding down the wall as he did.

Garland chuckled, shaking his head.
"Well...I will allow that, Daenys. You kept your word, I'll keep mind. Except, I won't let the trial happen here. No, that wouldn't be right of us. See, in King's Landing, Rhaenyra Targaryen is now the Lady Protector of the Realm. Does her name ring a bell?" He asked, looking beyond his rhetoric, his chained-up lunacy that was pent up against Garland.

Daenys didn't smile, instead, he snorted, his purple eyes twisted into a glare, something that wasn't at all threatening, no matter how hard he tried to make it be.
"Yes, it rings a bell, but let me tell you how foolish you are to believe I wouldn't have a backup." He adjusted his arm, grimacing as he did.
"My son, Aerys, on my order he will be killed, the true king on the Iron Throne, and I can kill him with a word, I'd suggest to be careful Garland, even if I am executed, my plans will go on, the Wall I can escape, anything you do, I will counter. You understand Garland!?" He suddenly lashed out, screaming and pulling at the chains with his good arm.

Garland looked across, eyebrows raised. He didn't suggest it. Aerys was alive? He didn't know what to think. Wheather this was the ravings of a madman or truth. He didn't actually know, and didn't want to. He had never seen Aerys, he didn't know what the boy looked like, only that his survival was a rumor. With the ways that Daenys had, he didn't know what to entirely make of it. Maybe he was bluffing, a ruse to make Garland do whatever Daenys said, which would be so easy. Yet at the same time, Garland could only tell that defiance in the face of that would be enough to just put him back a notch. And who would he tell, after all?

"Anything you can do, we can stop?" Garland asked, looking over, as he chuckled.
"No, you don't know just yet. I think you are bluffing. You have no idea where he is." The Tyrell said, standing up, leaning against the wall.
"And let us say, you kill him. Well, you actually simplify succession. You put Rhaenyra for definite, on the throne. And let me tell you. I know the girl. She is a far better ruler than you would have ever have been. For a start, she isn't being accused of murdering Aegon, Tenth of his Name, the Queen Dowager, Lady Dalla Baratheon, and attempted murder of myself. She doesn't murder people without barely thinking about it. Had you have just kept quiet, born an heir, you would have had Aegon's throne. You are smart, Daenys. You know I won't kill you, not without laying you bare." Garland said, nodding to Daenys, looking clean into his eyes.
"But you won't do that. You won't murder your own son, because you would have already done it by now, you vicious cunt. So tell me, if your backup is so good, then why is it I already question it?" Garland asked, looking on, not flinching one bit, just holding his resolve, aware he held the power in this little debate.

Daenys looked at Garland, anger written on his face, turning as purple as his eyes.
"If I were free, you would rue those words, you realize that? If my champion wins, you won't live to see the next day, but you already knew that didn't you, you just want to get all you can out of me don't you? Ha ha! Let's all laugh at the prince, he made poor decisions, decisions he realizes may not have been in his best interest, but hey, at least I can keep my worm in my pants." He leant back, smugly smiling, looking off somewhere that nobody but he could see.

"How many bastards have you fathered Garland? How many maids you deflowered? If I were you, I'd at least legitimize one, because if not, your host is looking mighty outnumbered, and from what the servant-boy tells me, Tyget Crakehall has called his brother back from the Night's Watch, a strong lad, I bet he could break you in two!" Daenys giggled, like a child after getting a new suit of armor.
"My power may waver, my resolve weaken, but how many kingsguards are you going to fight? I haven't seen Harys Royce around, maybe he's plotting something." He laughed.
"Ha! Royce? Plot? I make myself laugh sometimes, but listen well Garland, no matter how much you believe you're doing right, you're not, I believed I was doing right, now I fully accept that you have to do the unpopular thing to win, stop following your childhood heroes to the grave, your sister knows it, so why don't you?" He leant forwards, eagerly awaiting an answer.

"It takes bravery to say that in chains. I get that, Daenys. I do what I do, but it still does not excuse the fact that you murder people to get what you wish." Garland was simple in his response, only needing to stress that fact itself, as he shook his head.

"Sometimes, Daenys, you have to realize that we must hold restraint where people do not. That's how we rule Kingdoms. By holding our restraint. By offering forgiveness. Do not forget, you didn't slit my throat. You left me a nice scar, but even yourself, you know exactly what you do. So now, rather than gutting you like a fish in this dungeon, I'm going to let you live another day. Tonight, you are coming along to King's Landing. There, you're going to face justice from a jury that will hear you out, and you can make your plea for your Trial by Combat. But whoever will be fighting for you, they'll know just what you did. They'll know who you are. And I'm willing to bet that there's not many people out there, more so no fool that would be willing to take that on. I can take that risk, Daenys." He said, walking around the cell a little, before leaning against the far wall again.

"Restraint? Only fools and bloody fools show restraint, Eddard Stark showed restraint, and he ended up with his head on a pike, just as I bet you will Garland... I'd love a water right about now, my throat is a little dry from having to prove you wrong." He chuckled, before coughing a bit.
"My champion? Some people would rather see laws enforced than the right thing done, I am rightful heir, my brother's will be damned, and this champion of mine has little to lose from supporting me, what do you take from someone who has lost everything?" Daenys queried rhetorically, his arms trying to move with each word.

"Take that risk, Garland, take it like your mother did when the blacksmith took her on his anvil, or like the farmer did in his barn. No matter, even if your mother wasn't a whore you had to get it from somewhere, how many men did your father take behind the curtains? My son will grow to remember me as a hero when he inherits his rights, as soon as he returns... as soon as he returns..." He suddenly grew angry.
"But no! He had to go with the dragon didn't he? I have a dragon! What made his father's dragon better than mine! What made his father's kingsguard any less than his uncle's?
Where is he? You helped them didn't you Garland! You helped them take my son from me! Where is he? Tell me Garland!"

Garland chuckled, thinking it over. It was remarkable, he had done it. Daenys was breaking down, from the sheer statement of fact, he had broken him in. It was a dream come true. He should have had Alerie down here, he thought to himself, though perhaps he wouldn't. Alerie didn't fancy this job, and she herself had suggested Garland do the talking, knowing he was a little more...well, Alerie knew that Daenys would open up to Garland a little more, for reasons to do with the supposed attraction that Alerie took a punt on. And from his perspective, he could tell where she was coming from now. It was all coming out, and he could tell, the man was now raving insane. He wanted to rise to comments like this, his wroth boiling a little, but he couldn't. He had to stay calm, stay in control. It was all too prompting, all truths he was trying to take from his own body, to set Garland off. That wouldn't work, and the Tyrell knew full well the same had worked earlier. Because he knew he had it, and it would not take long to pick a hole in his words already.

"You just changed from saying you could murder your own son, your own fucking son, Daenys, to telling me that I took him. You are hardly making sense. You were a good man, once. You had some sanity. You actually cared about our Realm, now you'd rather let it burn. I have no idea where your son is, Daenys." Garland said, exhaling, looking over. It was a ruse he was playing, Garland guessed. He didn't want to hear it from his father, he wanted to see Aerys in the flesh before he decided against it. The man's word was as good as dust, Garland thought to himself.

"But I'm sure you'd prefer him to be dead more than I do...that is, if he is alive. Whatever the hell it is you want, I know you can't get Seven Kingdoms, and if your son deserves them, then maybe he will get them. Tyget Crakehall already claims them as his, as will have Rhaenyra Targaryen, who has a greater claim than you do. So you know already that whatever the hell it is you want, you're acting in a way that takes everything away from him." He said, looking over at the pale, as he took the bucket, dragging it across the room and in front of Daenys, by his right hand, so that he could at least partially pick it up, or dunk his head into it.
"Well...at the very least, before I leave, I'd like to hear why it was, you killed all these people. Was it worth it, Daenys? To end up in my cell, with blood on your hands?" Garland asked, as he stood back up, looking across at the Targaryen, watching him closely.

Daenys looked at the bucket, his face beet red, before moving a leg over and spilling it onto the floor.
"I don't want your poison, Tyrell! I want my son! I want my son Tyrell! Tell Royce to give him to me! I don't care what you do, just bring him to me!" He shook angrily, tears beginning to run down his face.
"I did it because I care about myself? Is that what you want to hear? I am the only good king you will have, but I do all that I do because I want my family in control! Not Aegon's or Rhaenyra's or whoever's! I don't want any of what I take because I want it all to myself, my son is the only thing that could ever come close to my perfection! And the world was going to change him! I wanted him to be the same as I am, so I made sure of it! And now, you and Royce are trying to take him away! The only thing in my life that I love! You bastard! I hope the Stranger takes your soul to whatever place is reserved for people like you!" He stopped yelling, staring at Garland as tears ran down his face.
"This is your fault! You did this! You want more centuries of incompetant rule? My family is the only branch worth a damn! The others take you!" He turned away, not even making eye contant with Garland, simply staring at a wall and trying not to cry.

Garland could only look on. Last time, he knocked him out when he did this, he had broken down, completely lost the plot, lost his mind. But he had considered it. Through that madness, maybe he was right. Harys Royce was missing, as was Dayne, as was Snow, as were most of the Kingsguards, except for Willas. It seemed strange, that such a thing could even occur, and Garland knew that Willas would never murder half his collegues. He could never pull it off, for a start, unless copious amounts of poison and persuasion were used. The Tyrell knew Willas could never try that, not even at his peak.

So it seemed to suggest that maybe through all of it, he was right. Aerys was somewhere, and Daenys hadn't perhaps accepted the gravitas of what he had done to his own fucking son, Garland thought. It put many a thing into issue. They were leaving to ride on King's Landing by evening, riding on the Roseroad as far as it could take them, Daenys taken with them. He had not answered his question, and as much as Garland felt like taking his sword out and intimidating him a little, it would do nothing. Some things he said were pure madness, other things, clarity. Such a madnan's curse was, that automatically all of it had to be assumed to be mad. And he couldn't stand here anymore. Not to let this carry on.

"You really are mad. But I know men aren't mad enough to kill their own sons. When he emerges, perhaps you will live long enough to let him see what you became. Perhaps that's what you really deserve, a justice that goes beyond your own freedom. Your own son, to tell you how sick and twisted you are." Garland said, looking at him before looking to his guards. Leaving the room, he heard sobbing behind him, as the door was shut once more, locked tight as the steel and Ironwood door was once more, sealed off.

The Tyrell Lord had heard enough. Enough to know he had to tread carefully, with whatever he was doing. Enough to know that Daenys was insane, mad, preposterous. He had his Trial by Combat owed to him, but he doubted that he would survive it, especially not after the allegations put at him after a trial. It would drag his name further, and that would be all it required for his head to be removed from his shoulders by someone else. They would be leaving soon, and Garland was quietly confident that Rhaenyra would be interested to meet another Targaryen in chains.

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The soldiers of the Reach could not assemble quickly, but they were faster than the North, and by the time the council was finished in the early morning, and the letters sent out to the local vassals, almost 12,000 men were mustered by the evening, converging on the northern extremity of the Rosewood outside Highgarden, from across the Central Reach. It was remarkable speed- but it was a combination of the fact that it was half a day's walk, and many of the men were being armed up en-route, and at the site outside the Rosewood, were finishing their touches. They were readying up to move out, and follow Lord Paramount Garland Tyrell, Lord Hand, Warden of the South, in restoring the Tyrell Hand to King's Landing, as well as bolstering the current Reach Retinues within the King's Landing.

Within Highgarden, inside the armory, Garland was looking on in the mirror, smirking as Alerie walked in. His armour was truly something that had been sculpted almost perfectly, having an edge. The Northern Kingdoms had cold pragmatism at their heart, the Westerlands, a strange mixture of Plate and mail that didn't seem to mix, that looked overbearing, cold, cynical, like the Crakehalls that Garland knew. The Dornish had light leather, and it suited them in their climes, but they did not look beautiful. Neither did the Stormlands, the tales he was told of Robert Baratheon's armour, with a stag's antlers on his helm, by the Seven he wish he could have seen it with his own two eyes. The Reach did armour in a way that never failed to turn heads. Each strike, each curve, plate, was functional, but was an artisan's work. The armour almost shone in the light, with Roses and thorns etched in, unlike Willas's, it was done across the surface, from his metal vambraces to his shoulderplate, his chestplate which in itself, had numerous vines, roses and thorns interlocking, covered in other flowers, scratched in with a metalworker's tool and an artisan's eye. It's price? You didn't ask, it would have been rude to know. But as it fit Jamie Tyrell, it fit him, albeit with a few touches. A helm that in itself, would look ornate to most, but was functional, the visor interlaced with strong steel that was in a rose-like design, though allowing for a clear vision, despite being a little blurry in places. From his pointed metal boots, to his crafted metal vambraces and gauntlets, themselves even having etching, to the chestplate, it looked like probably one of the most ornate pieces. Gold, in the shape of a rose, sat on his shoulderplate and on numerous parts of his chestplate, while under the arms and under the plate itself, was a hefty compiling of mail, something that could offer a little more movement than a solid plate would, while leaving no gaps at all. If Garland had ever seen a better suit in the Seven Kingdoms, then it would have to be of House Clegane, and their preposterous dimensions which facilitated their armour to look the way it did. Or the Vale, with someone such as Ellion Arryn. Giants needed different armour, but Garland knew for him, this was as magnificent and functional as it could come.

The Tarlys talked indefinitely about their Valyrian Sword. Garland didn't fucking care, when a suit like this could glance light blows and make any fellow Knight aware that this was The Young Rose. It was the warrior underneath that still mattered, and Garland knew that while protection afforded defense, and time to react, it did not afford that you would win a fight. Against certain fighters, it was always difficult, the most skilled and complicated ones, that said that armour merely weighed down opponents. And it was true. The only way that it could be sorted was with a point blank defensive, and a longsword and heater would be enough to allow for opponents to be cornered, and held at a distance- if they came too close, finding that they couldn't break open a blow that would pierce straight in, or again, so the theory went. The helm in his hands, he looked on, seeing a particular woman emerge from behind the door, turning his head rather than looking in the mirror. Sister.

"Oh, Garland. What I spend on beautiful dresses goes out the window when you spend money on suits of armour." She said, chuckling as she patted him on the shoulder, the plate ringing out. It had a distinctive look to it, and while he was expecting no trouble, it paid to arrive into King's Landing like you were a conquering force sometimes, given the fact that
"They say that you look an awful lot like Loras Tyrell, of old. In that armour of yours, you look like something a Reachwoman would die for. Or, gay men of other Kingdoms." She said, giggling, knowing she could always set off Garland in the right way.
"I don't fuck men, Alerie. But thanks for the compliment. It works too. Stops me getting butchered." Garland replied, as she giggled, brushing his long hair about a bit, reaching up to her older brother's gaze.
"You're never going to lose your provincial speech, are you?" She remarked, knowing Garland was not a wordsmith sometimes, a little provincial or lowly in his talk when he let himself down.
"Well, you can't take the secondborn's firstborn out of Lord Tyrell, Alerie. You might differ, but that's the way I consider it. Let us hope we don't have to fight these bastards, and this is so I can merely do what you do every time we have a fair." He simply said, as she nodded, chuckling, before getting serious again, swallowing some saliva in her throat, Garland turning back to her.
"I seriously doubt it, the Crakehalls are probably advancing, Alerie. Most likely they'll be setting up camps by the time we even catch the towers of King's Landing on the horizon."
"Our forces are in two, Garland. Don't forget that suggestion. Even if they siege, we're going to have to get through them, drag their attention away and get in somehow."
"Agreed, it works. No doubt, people will want Daenys free, so he's going to have to be guarded by my most loyal forces. But he has to come with us, if we leave him here, he's not a political tool to us any longer. Strange, how things work out." He said, as Alerie nodded, reaching up to Garland, looking him in the eye, sister to brother.
"You were a brave man to stare into the eyes of that madman...and do what you did. You should have killed him. I would have fucking slit his throat if I saw his purple eyes...or poisoned him. That would work. You aren't going to let him walk away, are you, Garland? Not after..not after this?"

"No, sister. I won't. The Seven will get what they need. As far as you want to believe that justice never prevails in Westeros...I know that Daenys is going in front of a court of people who want him dead, with testimonies that are put against him, none that can say he is innocent of all this. He wants a Trial by Combat, I will give it to him.....when the wars end and we can try him in a city that is not under threat of siege, or conflict. So...in the deepest and darkest cell he shall rot, and he won't see anyone, until I give him a chance to prove his worth. I'm a chivalrous man, Alerie. It's just...a bush full of thorns takes time to grow, and by the time one problem is solved, we can get back to him." Garland added, as he adjusted his gauntlets a little, tightening the strap around his hand, moaning a little as it went a bit too tight, before adjusting it some more.
"I knew you wouldn't let our family down. And you never cease to make references to our sigil, either." She said, hugging her brother, as he hugged back, wrapping his arm around his smaller sister, smirking.
"But oh, this is what hugging chivalry is like." She said, giggling, as Garland looked down.
"By the Seven, Aleirie. I will miss you the day you marry into another noble family. You should talk to the Peregrine, I will ask Edrick about him when I arrive....and you know how much father told us about them." Garland added, as she wrapped her arms around his cold chestplate, sneaking her hand up his head, brushing through his brown, long curled hair.
"Words are wind...swords are swords. I like those better. And I'll miss you too....you best prick them with that pointy end."
"Which one?"
"Seven Hells...now, Garland? But don't die, not now." She said, kissing him on the cheek, a sisterly kiss, as she walked out, raising her dress as Garland peered, watching Alerie leave the room, out of the armoury which she never visited, as he gave one last retort to his sister.
"I've had a shit time trying not to!" He said, chuckling, the Tyrell knowing that even in these grim times, he had to find some sort of solace. That he had almost been stabbed in the throat by a mad Targaryen. In hindsight, he knew it wouldn't have been a bad way to go. Daenys would instantly be killed, and sure, the Reach would have collapsed. But tales would have been told, of his rule. Shame he had to keep growing up, he said to himself, as he brushed his hair aside a little.

Looking over, Garland took the sword from his sheath, drawing the ornate longsword clean from the leather sheath, a Rose designed into the top, a simple Ironwood handle against the steel that blocked the serrated and sharpened steel of the blade from his armoured gauntlet. An Ironwood heater shield, roughly the size of his torso, covered with a gold and green set of quandrants, golden Roses set against green. The House sigil. Willas's was a gold rose on white, Garland had the privilege of gold on green. Jamie Tyrell had never been able to grow Ironwoods this far south, yet he had always had an interest in buying it, Jaime "The Green" buying it in a bulk that made it a part of the Elite's arsenal, and in turn, Garland's. It was a heavy shield, and it took nerve to carry a heater, but it worked well. wrapping into his left gauntleted hand, as he swung it a little, before planting it into the ground. Exhaling, he looked in the mirror once more, smirking. His long hair, curled perfectly, his fair face, his beard that followed like his hair, curling and offering a lion's mane, Garland always thinking he was always going to look like more of a lion than any Lannister he knew of. Sharp brown eyes, and a gold and green cloak around his shoulders and front with the Tyrell Rose emblazoned, around his unhelmed neck. He hated this, he had to say to himself. It was a fucking long time since he had put on plate, a long, long time. He was only 21, approaching his twenty-second birthing day, and he had to say he wasn't involved in Tourneys as much as he wished to be. The last week had proved why that hadn't happened, it had been so busy, so manic, he hadn't even the chance. Yet he knew, deep down, that somehow, armour was a place that he liked. He had slain men before, he had dehorsed Knights, fought in spars against opponents. He was no legend, but he was able to hold a respectable position, and in a Jousting List, would be seen as a tough opponent. Beatable, of course. But difficult. Even so, it made fairs fun, because it was the greatest starting line that you could have with a Reachwoman. That under such a beautiful suit of armour, was a beautiful Lord.

Alerie knew inside what would happen. Garland was good at war, and he knew tactics far greater than she did. It was just...there would be no fight that Garland could win with 12,000 men, not if the Crakehalls were serious about things. Enough was enough. Yunkish raids on the Westerlands would wear down Tyget, they would not maim his forces, at least, they would shift his gaze. But what would need to happen would be something none of the Lords were prepared to accept. Some had suggested it, she had overheard, he raised all banners and marched on King's Landing, now the news had arrived from Willas. He hadn't have done that. Well, there was always an alternative. The suggestion was simple. She knew nothing of matters, but she cared for her brother, and knew that news spread too fast in these Seven Kingdoms, it was as if everybody knew each others' moves, without barely a spy or even a slice of intrigue being undertaken. It was too clear. So that game had to be played. And she had her way, to make the Crakehalls make the move that they ought to have made. Be the aggressor against the Iron Throne. The men would be split off into two, one heading for the Western Gate that served the Roseroad, the other for the Southern gate, from the Kingswood, a longer but evidently, more unusual road. Even if it were clear that a split occurred, it would still put a force heading for the Western gate between Tyget's main forces and the other force, which could cut through the besiegers and go straight into the city...in theory. The plan seemed to work with Garland's general strategy, though it did offer more sacrifice than he would have liked, not that he actually knew it was going to happen. King's Landing could hold a siege for a few more weeks, and Garland could wait to deliver Daenys to a jury in King's Landing itself. Till then, there would be a couple thousand that would die. No matter. It was worth the bait. When everything was in the open, you gave them exactly that, you did not deceive or lie any longer. You presented facts as they were, and if they were reneged upon, they would find that, Seven Hells, there would be blood.

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The Rosewood

The host began to leave, as Garland mounted his horse, a black steed that he named "Willow". Only a name that a Reachman would give...though it was his horse since he was a teen, that much he remembered. Yet he served well, and he was a warhorse, perfect for jousting. With his green and golden quilt, the sigil of House Tyrell sprawled across it, Garland began to ride in line with his personal guard, the men armored a only a degree lower than him, though no less menacing in their armour. The convoy was long, and in between numerous Reachmen, were a number of carriages. One carried Alerie, with a number of the Lord Hand's elite guard, and the other was a prison cart, completely covered by a thick cloth, draining any light from entering inside, both pulled by two horses. It was not difficult to tell who was inside, even though he was covered.

The flag of the golden Rose was held high, as they headed across the Mander, the mighty stone bridge that held giving them the chance to cross, as the convoy rolled over, the flags of the Reach, the vassal houses of Goldengrove and Bitterbridge alongside the immediate vassals of Highgarden were already massing on the Mander, joining to the growing host. It was assembling, the carts following in the convoy, as they headed to King's Landing, aware they would arrive in four and a half days, once they set off from Highgarden. Garland kept a control of his horse, as he adjusted his helm behind him, mounted on the well-laden horse, taking in the approaching evening that was forming on the horizon, the rains passed, and the last vestiges of good Autumn weather flowing through his hair.

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

10,000 Knights? Garland is flicking his finger in what he's using in the Reach's power. Remember though...in an era like that, people starve easy. He doesn't want to deploy men needlessly. The Knights of the Reach are also fucking landholders too, they have peasants who work the wheat fields and make bread to sell in markets. He's already sent 10,000 into King's Landing. He has another 10,000 on the borderlands, and another 12,000 he's sending to KL with his own forces. That's already 32,000 men we have accounted for, just under half. If the Reach wanted to, it COULD send another 10,000 to the Stormlands, and actually, this is a viable move later on. Right now? Peasants collecting grain. But a good number of mercenaries are coming from Yunkai, not just the raiders off the Westerlands, an actual force that could be deployed immediately to King's Landing, in number, though they're weeks out. It's soft power, it's careful maneuvering of the pieces. All it would take is one provocation, and bang, there would be no excuse, there's almost 90,000 that could be deployed in retaliation, not just in one place, but spread like a fucking scourge, and then the Stormlands will be the last thing on Garland's mind.

And anyway, Garland's letter is frank as fuck, tbh. He doesn't pull all the punches, but it will be a message that says "Please, please, just pull your head out of your ass, fight these people, and I'll give you everything you ask for, in return for an alliance." So the way Gris responds decides whether he basically ends up with his head on a pike or being forced to do shit he really, really does not like doing, also involving Tarthmen, to keep in Garland's good books.

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

It isn't. Actually a drawing of GARLAN Tyrell...secondborn son of Mace, you see what I did there? There was a Reach Lord called Garland, if you must know, it's derivatives on the name Gareth, I believe. But yeah, long, beautiful brown hair, a well built figure, a beard to die for, good looks, and that's just the men! Wait...

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

Oh, and to only BEGIN to describe this armour porn that may decend in this post:



This is the effect I was aiming for, and the only fucking reason I haven't got a picture of Loras Tyrell is...actually, fuck it. Just fucking imagine Loras Tyrell in armor, there you go.

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

@bloonewb

Ah. About that. You're gonna see Garland's response. It's an interesting one, as there's lots of layers to it. Carrot and Stick is the main theme of his letter, I will say. Carrot they get the Stormlands help, or the Stick they get up the ass and throat if they don't.

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

8.2 percent cider is speaking (I have finished the bottle an hour ago..it's some fucking strong shit, and I am a lightweight). Lol. I'll add it is what I meant, I will be writing it now. Parts of it will be unfinished, as I need to sleep soon- but otherwise, it should be mostly done. Abe will know this- I am a fan of writing armor to what equates to potentially a pornographic fucking level of description :D No, but seriously, I will implement a whole host of things going on in Highgarden, which cumlates.

I should add, @agentmanatee. If you can see everything, then sleight of hand is perfect to see what you see next. Taking your eyes off one thing, to observe the other immediate threat. I am not even speaking about the Yunkish raids, that's ANOTHER sleight of hand on top of that sleight of hand. When you see it happen, it serves as a way to actually throw a few collabs between Apaolo, Blue, me and Abe. They call him The Young Rose for a reason...and it's not because he's a prick. :D

Blood Runs Over Westeros: A Game of Thrones RP

I'm working on a post, and I think I'll only need a collab with Blue. I am going to assume that Dayne was just let in- but Apoalo, I'll leave our collab to a later point, when Willas does chat to Dayne about the affairs going on.