Vanq

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

G U L L T O W N
G U L L T O W N

^{The Vale}

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— R H A E G E L —

Arrangements had been agreed upon before he had ever set foot on the Sea Dragon that carried him to Gulltown. Lord Donnel Arryn could not greet them, of course, busy as he was with gathering support for the king. Rhaegel understood that a lesser branch of the Vale's Arryns kept residence in the port city and would host him for a night or two before they carried on through the lowlands of the Vale towards the Kingsroad and up to the Twins.

He also understood it was likely not meant to be just about hospitality. His own marriage had never been seen as heavily needed after his younger brother wed. Yet he knew a marriage pact would be sought in time and House Arryn had some drops of dragon's blood already. Whatever was left of dragon in the blood, anyways. He'd made his peace with it, doing as he was instructed as he often did until he couldn't.

In any event, he had not minded the arrangement, it was easier to go along with the plans others made around him than it was to dispute them. Dark-haired like Baelor, and, while not as silver-tongued, much more so than either of the other brothers. Like Aerys he had little talent for swordplay or tactics, things best left to both the eldest and youngest of them. But neither was he to be so enamored with all types of knowledge as Aerys was. He was ever in the middle, ever the lesser even, of the others, even if they did nothing to make him feel so. He was glad that this thing he had to do, would be done with Maekar.

He would have rather not have matters go so wrong so quickly though, particularly when he had been having so many good days at sea before they disembarked at Gulltown's bustling harbor.

They were met, as had been planned, by a dozen household staff and guard. The deep blue and falcon was perhaps less grand than what those high in the Eyrie would have worn, but they were a welcome sight regardless. That was short-lived. The bustle of the harbour was not the standard trade and fare of the docks. They were meant to have joined up with Lord Arryn's grand-nephews once away from the docks, but the crowds quickly turned violent.

Banners rose around them, red greatly outnumbered in a sea of black. Shouts too rang out, chants for King Daemon, first of his name. Cries erupted, calling for the false king's death. Men did not long leave their disputes to words and too quickly, the prince's men and Arryn's men were separated.

In the chaos of everything, the group of men on horseback were not directly targeted. Rhaegel was pulled from his horse with a yelp only to find it was one of his own men, Ser Willem. "Blend in better down here my lord." Better to not tempt fate longer than necessary, the safety and danger of their mounts was a gamble they were unwilling to take in the increasingly violent crowd.

The prince had simply nodded, and followed as much as he could, pressed on all sides by four of his men. If they had a plan, it was challenged at every turn. One moment rushing back towards the docks and the next forced up one alley and then another. Quickly enough, Rhaegel had lost any sense of direction.

They found a quick reprieve, pressed against the entry of an alehouse that smelled of stale sick. "We should separate and make our own ways back to the ship." Rhaegel's men did not hide their shock at the command. He did not often make demands and it took him off-guard as well. "We're no good clumped up together and soon enough someone will look long enough to see our attire." Red dragon on black, finery unlike those around them. Unhappily or not, they came to agreement quickly and at the end of the alley separated. Rhaegel had charged them again, that this was his command, and gave a silent plea that the gods would spare them all.

— A L Y S —

"Absolutely not." Her brother said, for a third time, hoping that repetition would finally convince her.

"Jon." Alys busied herself checking her saddle, a steady hand against the horse's underside, ensuring it was secure. "Uncle was clear that I was to join you in meeting our Prince. First impressions and all. I see no reason why that should change."

"He said that before we had reason to believe things would be so dire here." Jon stood behind her, arms firmly crossed, willing her to stop her preparations. "The city is on the brink of boiling over. We will get to the Prince and bring him back here immediately, we cannot risk -" He was cut off abruptly.

"I will not believe that you fret I would slow you down." Alys spoke as sharply as she turned, her head needing to tilt back to meet her brother's eyes.

He relented, with a sigh. "No, not that, but it will be enough that we need to protect him, nevermind having to worry for you."

"Brother…" She gripped both of his arms beneath gloved hands. "Perhaps they will be swayed from doing any harm so as to not hurt me."

In any other situation, perhaps her presence could have helped, she was not an uncommon sight in the city nor along the harbour. And she was well-liked enough. "This mob of men that threatens to form is not the same as the one that does from unhappiness over the rising cost of grain." He shook his head but his shoulders dropped all the same. "Wait for us with our cousins, I will seek him out with the rest of the guards. Please."

Alys bit her lip and nodded.

As soon as Jon had left, she too mounted her horse. "You may come with me, or wait here as he bid, the choice is yours."

As she expected, she heard the men scramble to their horses and ride off after her, down the long winding road towards the heart of the city, and beyond it, the harbor.

Bells rang out.

— R H A E G E L —

If he had known which way he was meant to go, he was definitely no longer going that way. He thought he'd made it through the worst of it, turning a corner to something nearly quiet.

Then he looked the other way down the road. There were four of them, and one, presumably dead man on the ground between them. Before Rhaegel had turned that corner, he thought they must have been searching the man's pockets for anything valuable, for they now they were standing, very keenly eyeing him up.

"Wrong street, I think." The one nearest to him said, already full standing, wiping his hands - no, a blade - against a dirtied rag.

"I think you're right, I'll be on my way. Please do…carry on with your…work." The prince stumbled out while stumbling backwards a step.

The rest of the men were standing now, taking slow steps towards him, the distance closing. They glanced between each other, to the buildings that surrounded them, one at a time to the street behind them. Rhaegel would have told them there was no one there. He was very aware that there was no one there to save him or distract them.

"No need for any of that." He gulped, gesturing behind the men at the dead one on the ground. "Here!" He pulled out his coin purse, not overly heavy with gold, but more than tempting enough he hoped.

He lobbed it towards them, meeting them just over halfway, not with a thud but with the sudden clinking of the many coins split from the bag.

It was enough, they stopped long enough to look again between Rhaegel and the glint of gold before them, and dove instead on the gold. Seven, it worked. And then another thought followed, that Maekar would have hated this. 'Just fucking cut them down,' he'd say. Always a man of brevity, his brother's voice was loud in his head as he remembered he did carry a dagger. His hand flexed towards the weapon, a consideration only requiring another small moment of bravery and an immense amount of luck.

Accepting that his brother would be disappointed, he found his original plan more to his liking. The prince took off with newfound speed, away from them, away from the direction he thought was meant to be going again, down more quiet streets, but now ones that began to open up from the pressing buildings into wider, independent ones.

— A L Y S —

They were still a good distance from the roads that would take them to the docks when at last her cousin's pleas forced her to stop. The people in this part of the city had overwhelmingly barred themselves in their houses, no banners flew from their windows. These were the ones who would wait to pick a side then. She turned her horse to face her three cousins, all younger than her, only one having been properly knighted.

As they again admonished her that they should now turn back and await Jon's return, Alys urged her horse forward and around them, ignoring them and her own counterarguments that had been on the tip of her tongue.

A man had just come out of one of the narrow side streets, hunched over and breathing heavy. He was alone, but even at this distance she could see he was far better dressed than anyone coming from that direction should have been.

He looked up, either at the sound of her approach, or at the ongoing raised voices from her cousins. For a moment, she thought he would take off running again. It would have been a stupid decision, if they were not who they were. Dark hair, a shock of silver, though he was covered with a sheen of sweat and his hair clumped together. Quickly enough she had the confirmation of who she thought he might be.

"You were not meant to be greeted here like this, yet I bid you welcome to our city, my Prince." She knelt her head quickly, perfunctory. "Normally the city is more welcoming than this, I can promise you that our manse will offer a much better greeting." There was no humour in her voice, just an edge of concern at the bizarre situation that placed them here.

Alys did not dismount, though her cousins had finally come to join her, realising their unnatural luck at stumbling upon the royal. They formed around her, every vigilant, scanning the streets around them for any sign that the mob would continue to spill out to their street.

She held out her arm towards the Prince, not waiting for his response as he seemed still be catching his breath. She wondered just how horrible the city had been to him, but she saw no sign of blood and was satisfied enough at that, for now. "I'm afraid we have no spare horse for you, and it would be best if we made a hasty retreat with you, together." If her cousins thought it improper they did not speak up.

She watched as the Prince blinked once, twice, and a third time before approaching her, gripping her arm in his hand and hoisting himself behind her.

"I am Alys Arryn, my prince. Perhaps we can save the rest of introductions for the manse."

She nudged her horse back towards where they had come from. "Ser Derryk, go find my brother and our men and urge them home."

With no other words, she took off at a canter, the other two men again having to give chase to catch up.

---

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

@Emma

If you're interested feel free to message me or @Ezekiel, or to pop into the discord to chat about your ideas or any questions!

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

T H E R I V E R L A N D S
T H E R I V E R L A N D S

^{The Twins}

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The Twins had a way of making anyone feel unwelcome, even more so when its many inhabitants decidedly wished to make a guest feel unwelcome. House Frey was an odd sort, an upstart by any measure against most other houses of the kingdom, in a land that had been contested for too many centuries to count before the Conqueror deigned to raise a high lord over mud and rivers. Elaena ascribed much of the flaws she found at the Twins to this fact. The rest, she decided, was due to poor breeding.

She had been there just shy of a fortnight, the respite from the long journey short-lived. The Freys, it seemed, had decided not to trust the aging Targaryen princess, a reminder of the most sorrowful king, of a bright flame extinguished too soon, of a zealot followed by the type of decadence the realm still recovered from. It was a shame how much she was defined by these men she had mostly known so little of, even now. Doors closed quickly when she passed, conversations dulled to quiet whispers. Though she dined with them, there was no effort made to ingratiate her ahead of the Princes' arrival. Those attentions, misplaced as they were, seemed saved for the Seastar.

It left her with hours to herself, which was not the worst that could have happened. In the quiet hours of the morning when she stirred before Shiera, she would write. Nothing of great importance that she would risk the Freys reading, at least one or two of them surely had the ability, but notes of her journey and a soft reminder that she did look forward to seeing the recipient again upon her return. Rather out of character for herself, she pressed her lips to the parchment before sealing that set of missives.

By the third day she accepted that she again was avoiding writing the letter that most needed to be sent. Again she had started it half a dozen times, yet the words never formed and her quill was left dripping ink across the parchment. It was better to do something rather than nothing though, and eventually she scrawled out a meager entreaty to her sister.

Rhaena -
I have delayed this letter longer than I should have. I expect you will not have lost sleep over that anymore than I have in finally writing it. I am at the Twins and I am sure you will understand there is little more to share of why, though it has left me time for reflection.

That reflection leaves me recognizing the long silence since our sister's death and wondering at where the fault for the silence could be found. I doubt we would agree on the source and I would find it preferable to have disagreements in person, with wine, than by raven.

When our duties permit it, and the roads safe enough for you to travel - I of course have found suitable enough ways should it be needed - we should dine together again. Our past inclines me to believe little good could come of it, and yet, I still entreat you to accept my request.

Send word when you're able. Whatever else you may say or think of me, I am not difficult to find these days.

Elaena

By the fifth day, Elaena was certain that Shiera had fully regretted her decision again and would attempt to find passage back to the capital. The attention the girl drew seemed to grow new Freys from the riverbanks. Sons, grandsons and greatnephews, distant cousins, occasionally an old, bloated, but bold uncle - they all found reason to be where Shiera went. They offered escorts she did not have need of, seats at tables she would never have requested, and all rather too blatantly done to even pretend that they knew the words tactful or subtlety. The girl handled it well, Elaena was surprised to find, and grateful that some of the more scandalous rumors about her standards were very much overstated. Shiera was adept at slipping away, not always graciously.

"I've yet to have anyone ask me if the King would give his blessing for your hand." Elaena said that night, when the girl returned to their rooms looking more distressed than expected.

Shiera gave a startled look before remembering herself and setting to the task of undoing her hair. "One of them will grow bold enough soon, to think that it was a possibility." Though she doubted most of them would not also accept a quick tumble with her. "There doesn't seem to be a Frey, unwed or not, who has not found some ridiculous reason to attend to me."

"They are an ambitious lot. It's worked for them more than they've had any right to expect." Elaena hadn't looked up until Shiera let out a sharp cry, having poked one of her fingers against a hairpin. "Not one of the various sons or cousins pulls your attention?" One brow pulled upward at the scowl she received for asking that.

Removing the pricked finger from her mouth, the wound barely more than a scratch, Shiera retorted bluntly. "Endless relations have not increased their odds that I could find one of them suitable." The girl's heart might have ached for a specific man, or two, but that had not always prevented her attentions from being distracted elsewhere. Yet not here, the Twins seemed a chilling effect on her desires.

By the end of the first week, Elaena finally grew annoyed that neither the Princes nor the Starks had arrived. Boredom did not suit her, and though her hosts were ever reluctant to engage in anything beyond what could barely be called pleasantries, she set her sights on the house steward. Not a Frey, not surprisingly, the man still had the same weaselly look to him, yet the princess could recognize the similar shrewdness she herself carried when it came to coin.

Coin was often the truest measure, it could be followed and traced, used yet never disappeared, and it would not lie - as long as one knew how to extract the meaning behind its movements. She did not wait for an invite but simply appeared in the steward's office the morning of the eighth day as if she had indeed been summoned. Elaena had already known his name, he had attended at dinner most nights since their arrival and for some reason, they'd had no chance to speak before now.

It took some time before he would accept that the silver-haired woman with the sharp look to her was not in fact lost and would not be bored by his work. She placated him, reminding him of her lord husband's position as Master of Coin, of her interest in his work. Elaena was doubly surprised by the steward, both that he understood who actually held the realm's pursestrings and that he managed to relay that with tact.

A standoff of sorts ensued between the two. Elaena's persevering interest in his work wore away at the man who steadfastly - for two days at least - ignored her questions, pointed statements, and overt judgements. The third day was the poor man's breaking point. No matter what he had been instructed or personally felt about the woman, he could hold against her no longer.

"Fine, yes, show me how you would sort through the mangled manner I am given reports of collections. Even in the best of times, they're poorly done. Now with this war..." Steward Hostyn trailed off, defeated. The various bits of reports he had been sifting through fell from his hands to the table between them.

Elaena broke too, for just a moment, a satisfying smirk across her face before she wiped it away. She spent the rest of the day and the next working alongside the steward. As much as she aided his efforts, she gleaned interesting bits of this and that from the villages and castles that dotted the Frey's domain, from the way in which Lord Waltyr fielded his men to process the collections. Late into the second night, though it couldn't be said the books were in order, there was at last an order to them. The steward too, had become more grateful as the hours wore on, and it was no longer just the notes and amounts that told a tale of Frey lands. Hostyn provided tidbits, unwittingly or not, and Elaena was satisfied that the Freys were as she had assumed. Conniving assuredly, not to be trusted, but she felt satisfied they were not actively conspiring against this meeting. It was possible, she thought as she finally made her way to bed, that they hid something more nefarious that she could not uncover in such a short time, but they did not seem the type to succeed in carefully hiding the trail of coin that would require. The Freys were, unsurprisingly, embezzling no small amount from their liege-lords, but that was a fact she would hold for use if ever the need arose.

The next morning, after too few hours of sleep, Shiera woke her with the news that a rider brought news of the Princes' approach. At last. Rumors coursed through the castle, and by the time that Prince Maekar had finally arrived, Shiera had shared no fewer than a dozen rumors of who was or was not accompanying him. Elaena chose to watch his entrance from a distance.

The brash young man was much as he was the last time she had seen him. A scowl and air of youthful ignorance, it was no wonder that some found it uncomfortable to stay long in his presence. Shiera peeked around Elaena's side, successfully having avoiding accompanying one of Lord Waltyr's sons or nephews to greet the prince and his men. Odd, Elaena thought, that the Prince Rhaegel was not at his side. If that rumor proved to be true, it was a dark shadow across these plans.

"He always avoided me." Shiera spoke, absentmindedly running fingers through delicate curls. Elaena stopped herself from rolling her eyes to see that the girl had taken great care in her dress today. Fine cloth-of-silver and lace and bejeweled with sapphires and emeralds, she was ethereal until her lips turned to the vapid pout she wore too often.

After the girl offered no further commentary, Elaena sighed deeply. "Not an unwise decision on his part, though I think even Brynden would have paused before challenging him over your attentions if he had sought them." Shiera scoffed lightly, but kept any rebuttals to herself.

"Come, I'd rather he know I'm here sooner rather than later. I doubt he'll be any happier at my presence than with yours." Of what she knew of the man, she doubted there were few more than his Dornish wife or brothers who he was happy to share space with.

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

S U M M E R H A L L

It had been one set of bad news after another of late. And still no word from that frustratingly quiet husband of hers. Restless nights had turned to fitful mornings; her children, young as they were, remained impressionable, shaped by the palace's mood. Little Aerion, only recently walking, used anything vaguely sword-shaped to swash at the air and yell in his tiny voice. Daeron's moods had been sour since before Maekar left, a constant sadness in the boy's eyes that Dyanna often found difficult to hold for long. It was unsettling to see such darkness on one so young.

It was no surprise, then, when Dyanna heard the riders before anyone had come to roust her to meet them. It was impossible to hide the fatigue and worry that had become daily things for her. Ulrick met her as she descended the stairs towards the east entrance. His face matched hers, maybe worse for the grimness he wore. Not good news, then, not that she'd expected otherwise. She didn't know whether to ask what or who, but Ulrick saved her from having to decide.

"Three villages, more farmsteads beyond that, burned. Men and boys killed." He relayed the news bluntly, his voice tinged with anger. Dyanna's face flickered with sadness before her head dropped in acknowledgement as they reached the bottom of the stairs. Ulrick took her elbow gently as he continued. "They moved fast and rode west after, at least by most accounts."

A question she probably didn't need to ask. "Whose banners?"

Ulrick's hand flexed involuntarily. "The bastards had enough thought to wear black, no sigils. And I don't think we need to fear that the Night's Watch has decided to join the fray." He paused, then added with a dark, sharp laugh, "though I suppose at this point, it's not worth ruling out the possibility."

Dyanna's look chided him. "So we assume it's the pretender's men...faithful or opportunistic hardly matters here." She sucked in a breath. "How many dead?"

It might matter whether they were true believers in the pretender or simple opportunists, but he would not argue that now. "Too many, but we've not had an exact count of it. Enough women and girls are making their way here that it seems none of their men were left behind."
That should have been obvious to her. She rubbed her face in a way she had often seen Maekar do. Another deep breath and she was settled on her course. "Have the riders and horses fed and rested before sending them out with new orders. Have the men gather in Maekar's solar. You'll gather a force tonight, whoever you can raise and spare from Summerhall... but we won't have need of a full garrison soon anyway."

Ulrick gave her a questioning look, which she silenced with one of her own. "You'll ride with them, hard for the last village hit, if it can be determined. I need you there; I trust that you can tell the difference between a raiding party and something more concerning. I must know this." Their eyes met and held for a long moment before Ulrick stiffly nodded his agreement.

"It won't undo what's been done, no matter the strength we show up with."

She shook her head. "I will not let my people think we stay hidden away while they suffer for our disputes." The smallfolk may not have trusted their Dornish lady from the start, but she had done as much as she could to remind them of her other role, a dragon's wife.

Ulrick was too busy to attend much of the discussions that carried on through the rest of the morning and afternoon. Half the men she had called to council believed it nothing more than a raiding party - a bold one - but nothing to concern themselves with. They pleaded that Dyanna ignore it and withdraw her command to ride for the villages. Others, too few, she thought, supported the possibility of it being the edge of something more, a test to see how Summerhall would respond in the absence of its prince. She ended the debate only after acknowledging the ambiguity. "I will not wait here, guessing that it is just another raiding band, to wake one morning and find that I was right after all, far too late, with none of you able to tell me how right I was."

They debated whether it was Reachmen or disgruntled Stormlanders. Only one man made the mistake of suggesting that their Dornish allies had perhaps turned traitor. Dyanna would need to keep a closer watch on him.

The discussion ended at last with her standing firmly from the table, her height over the seated men had its purpose. Ulrick had returned by then from his initial preparations. "My children will leave for Griffin's Roost within the week." She raised her hands to forestall any response. "Our wards will go with them, and all of the household that can be spared. Ulrick will map a route through known welcoming castles along the way." East into the Stormlands was safer than cutting further through the Marches — a trade-off worth making, even if it meant passing closer to the Crownlands. Ulrick and a select few would know the full route. She could not think about what would happen if they were set upon.

The men looking back at her seemed prepared to argue, muttering to one another in the silence that followed. Finally one turned his attention to her. "And you, my lady?"

All the men now focused on her again. "I stay." The whispers returned immediately. "Summerhall is mine. I will not abandon it any more than your prince would have. Duty called him elsewhere, and duty demands me here. We all answer our calls, do we not?" Not a gentle reminder, nor a subtle one, of their own duties.

"Our prince will hold us responsible if you are harmed while meeting your duty, my lady." Ser Aldric was the one who spoke what many others surely thought.

"I will ride for Griffin's Roost myself, if this is indeed an army and not a simple raiding party at our doorstep. Being slain or taken hostage does not help our cause, but I will not run and hide while our smallfolk suffer and our men respond to this threat."

By the time dusk had finally given way to night, plans had been settled, if not happily. Ulrick was to ride out before first light with the men he had while the household prepared to leave.

She stopped him before he left for his chambers. "One more thing — the others cannot know of it." The look in his eyes told her he knew he wasn't going to like what she was about to require of him. "I need a light escort to go to the Martell encampment."

Ulrick groaned, his voice kept low to match hers. "And why not just send a rider with the information?"

She smiled grimly. "Because I do not wish to just relay information, cousin, as you must realize."

He understood, and just as he'd expected, he did not like it.

"Will you call them up, breaking any facade of what their presence means?"

Dyanna didn't answer directly. If the war was truly upon them, then maybe the Seven had blessed them with an unexpected force to answer back. If not, and she called upon the Dornish to fully march, she risked turning those still weighing where their loyalties lay fully against her.

"I will have that answer the moment I need it, and I suspect not a moment sooner." She patted his arm as they climbed the staircase. "Rest, cousin, and arrange my escort in the morning before you leave." She parted from him at the landing, turning toward her own chambers.

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

S E P T A C E R E N N A

^{"I only thought it would help."}

P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S _________________________________________________________ Age: Twenty-four _________________________________________________________ Allegiance: The Faith of the Seven A P P E A R A N C E _________________________________________________________ Septa Cerenna is the sort of woman who is immediately and instinctively trusted, which is arguably the most dangerous thing about her. She is fair in the Reach fashion, with the light blonde hair, not the Westerlands gold or like beaten silver, but of pale straw. Her green eyes are warm rather than sharp. Her face is open and expressive in a way that grey septa's robes do nothing to dampen. She has never quite mastered the serene and composed look favored by her mentors, and tends instead toward an animated attentiveness that makes everyone she speaks to feel they are the most interesting person in the room. She is of middling height and carries herself with the comfortable confidence of someone who has never doubted her welcome anywhere. K E Y A S S E T S _________________________________________________________ Click to View Equipment & Skills ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Notable Skills: An extraordinary memory for names, faces, and personal details shared in confidence. A genuine gift for making people feel heard and cared for. An extensive web of connections accumulated across noble households throughout the Reach and beyond, built entirely through pastoral care and deployed entirely without strategic intent. _________________________________________________________ ◼ Valuables: A well-worn copy of The Seven-Pointed Star with extensive personal annotations in the margins. A small collection of letters from noblewomen across the Reach who consider her their most trusted confidante. _________________________________________________________ ◼ Retinue: A young novice of fourteen who follows her everywhere and has already developed the haunted look of someone who has seen too many of her superior's plans reach their natural conclusions. -

P E R S O N A L B A C K G R O U N D ___________________________________________________________________________________ Cerenna Peake was born the youngest daughter of a second cousin to Starpike, which is to say she was born into the comfortable outer ring of a proud house that had little to spare and much to protect. While her branch of the family kept a modest hall near enough to Starpike to attend feast days, it was far enough to be largely ignored by the main line in matters of inheritance and marriage. She grew up knowing she was a Peake and all that it meant while understanding clearly that the name would not do a great deal of practical work on her behalf. She was sent to the Faith at thirteen, which suited everyone including her. She had already by that point demonstrated a talent for being present in conversations she had not been invited to, for passing along information she had not been asked to, and for arranging meetings between people based on her sense that they should know each other but with no grounding in the actual circumstances of their lives. The sept gave this energy a home and she thrived. She was warm and attentive and genuinely devout in the way that comes from feeling rather than performance, and the noble ladies who came to her for counsel left feeling cared for and understood. She was not focused enough to serve as a governess, one attempt at that ended in disaster not spoken of, but her cloister could not deny the effect her charm had, especially on funding. She has spent the years since moving between the septs and households of the Reach, gathering connections the way other women gather embroidery. She knows the wives and sisters and mothers of men on both sides of the rebellion, because she has ministered to all of them without once noticing that this might be complicated. When Lord Gormon declared for the Blackfyres and marched northwest, Cerenna felt a quiet and private pride she would never voice aloud. She is a Peake. She has written to Starpike once since the rebellion began, a warm letter to Lady Antonie expressing her prayers for the safety of the family and mentioning in passing that she had recently met a most interesting young woman of Dornish descent who reminded her somehow of the Lady of Starpike in her cleverness. It seems that Lady Antonie has not yet had time to respond, perhaps the letter sits on her table still. C U R R E N T M O T I V A T I O N S __________________________________________________________________________________ Cerenna is currently traveling through the Reach in the company of a certain woman of Dornish descent after meeting her under circumstances that Cerenna has decided were not accidental. The Seven work in ways that are mysterious to others and perfectly legible to Cerenna, and it is clear to her that this young woman of uncertain standing and vibrant purple eyes has been placed in her path for a reason. She has appointed herself Rella's guide and protector with the wholehearted warmth of someone who has never once been wrong about this kind of thing, because she has never stayed in one place long enough to observe the consequences. She does not think of what she does as political. She thinks of it as her duty of care. She just wants everyone to be alright. She believes, with the deep and unshakeable conviction of the genuinely well-meaning, that most conflicts can be resolved with the right conversation between the right people. She is going to arrange that conversation. Worse, she has already begun to think of who ought to be in the room.

_{__________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________}

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

E L A E N A T A R G A R Y E N

^{Princess of House Targaryen}

P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S _________________________________________________________ Age: 46 (b. 150AC) _________________________________________________________ Allegiance: House Targaryen | House Penrose A P P E A R A N C E _________________________________________________________ Elaena was never the beauty her sisters were, and she has long since made her peace with that. What she has instead is something harder to quantify and more difficult to dismiss. At forty-six she carries herself with the particular authority of a woman who has outlived every expectation placed upon her and declined to be grateful for it. Her platinum hair, once her most remarked-upon feature, still carries that singular gold streak down the middle, still worn short in a style practical enough to suggest she has little patience for ornament and elegant enough to suggest she has not forgotten how to wield it. Her eyes are soft lilac, her mouth thin-lipped; both have a tendency toward expressions the court has learned to read carefully. K E Y A S S E T S _________________________________________________________ ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Notable Skills: Finance | Administration ◼ Valuables: Considerable political influence -

P E R S O N A L B A C K G R O U N D ___________________________________________________________________________________ She has been keeping accounts since before most men at court learned to read them. Elaena Targaryen was born the youngest daughter of Aegon III, and grew up in a Red Keep that was by turns a gilded cage and something considerably less gilded. She remembers Baelor's reign with the particular clarity of someone who was locked away for eleven years and has declined to forgive it, even now, even with him long dead and canonised in the sept. She remembers Viserys II with the warmth she reserves for very little else, a beloved uncle, the only king of her lifetime who looked at her and saw the mind rather than the bloodline. She watched Aegon the Unworthy spend the realm's treasury on his appetites and smiled at none of his jokes, and she has watched Daeron II work patiently to repair what his father broke, and thought that this, at least, is something worth preserving. Her relationship with her sisters has never been simple. Daena and Rhaena are complicated loves, ones forged in the Maidenvault, tested by everything that came after, and never entirely resolved. She will not speak against them. She will defend them with a ferocity that surprises people who have only seen her across a ledger. But closeness is not the same as ease, and ease is something the three of them have never quite managed. She has been married twice now by a king's decree. Ronnel Penrose is a good man and a poor mathematician, the arrangement suits them both well enough. He lends his name and seal to letters she writes; she lends the marriage a legitimacy that benefits them both. It is, she understands, a more honest arrangement than most. When the dispute arose recently over taking the Master of Coin seat in her own right, she said nothing she did not mean and left for the Twins with her head high and a trusted man quietly in place behind her. The others know and will not admit they do. She will not require them to. That Daemon Blackfyre's cause has found purchase, that her sister's son takes up a pretender's banner, she finds reprehensible in a way that has settled somewhere beneath anger into something colder and more permanent. She has buried too many people to feel surprise. She has not yet stopped feeling contempt. C U R R E N T M O T I V A T I O N S __________________________________________________________________________________ She brought Shiera to the Twins because someone ought to, and because the girl has a mind that deserves more than the Red Keep's intrigues to sharpen itself on. Elaena has her own reasons for attending, she always does. The north's loyalty to Daeron is not a thing to be assumed, and she has spent forty-six years learning that nothing worth having is. She attends the summit without a title to her name in the room, without a seat at the table she has more right to than half the men occupying it, and she intends to be the most useful person there regardless. She has done more with less.

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My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

S H I E R A S E A S T A R

^{Star of the Sea}

P E R S O N A L D E T A I L S _________________________________________________________ Age: 17 (b. 179AC) _________________________________________________________ Allegiance: House Targaryen A P P E A R A N C E _________________________________________________________ Even at seventeen, Shiera Seastar carries herself with the ease of someone long accustomed to being looked at. Her hair is thick and curling, silver-gold as one of Valyrian blood, worn longer perhaps than is entirely practical. Her face is heart-shaped, her lips full, and large mismatched eyes; one dark blue, one bright green, both of them watchful. Those who find reason to disapprove of her call it a defect though, those who have spent any time in her company tend to stop saying so. She favours ivory, lace, and cloth-of-silver, and considers cloth-of-gold too vulgar. At her throat she wears a heavy silver necklace set with alternating star sapphires and emeralds. K E Y A S S E T S _________________________________________________________ ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Notable Skills: Multi-lingual ◼ Valuables: library collection -

P E R S O N A L B A C K G R O U N D ___________________________________________________________________________________ Lady Serenei of Lys died giving birth to her, and so Shiera came into the world already defined by absence. Serenei had belonged to an ancient but impoverished Valyrian noble family, the last of Aegon the Unworthy's mistresses, and rumours spread quickly that she had practised dark arts, that she was far older than she appeared. Whether Shiera inherited those gifts or simply the suspicion of them, the effect has been much the same. Of the Great Bastards, she has always stood apart. Daemon was the warrior made flesh, Aegor a man sharpened by grievance, and Brynden something stranger still, pale and quiet and watchful, trusted by few. Shiera was closest to him, having grown up alongside him in the Red Keep when so many of the others were kept away or were too much her elder for any real closeness. They grew to share a love of reading even as their interests diverged, and it was enough, for a long time, to make the Red Keep feel less like a cage. She was thirteen, perhaps fourteen, the first time she encountered Aegor. He was fully a man grown, with a cold hunger already evident at that age. She had barely exchanged words with him before, and yet the way he regarded her was different, different from Brynden, different from the way other men had begun to look at her, though she could not yet say how. She had not expected him to speak to her, but in the brief conversation that followed she found him less repulsive than the stories Brynden had told, even if she could not deny the darkness in him either. Over the years, her closeness with Brynden deepened, and many assumed that the two oddities would eventually wed. He proposed it himself for the first time when she was fifteen and she laughed, not unkindly. While he accepted it at the time, he was clear that she would one day change her mind and accept her offer. He has asked more times than she cares to count since. She gives him her bed, although not exclusively, but not her hand, and he has never made peace with the distinction. She did not expect to see Aegor Rivers again, though she did once more, in early 196 AC. Brynden may have warned her to avoid him, but if nothing else, the refusal to be told what she should or should not do drove her to seek him out and see again what the fuss was all about. Her memories of him held true, for the most part. Whatever passed between them while the kingdom's unity hung in the balance, she did not speak of to anyone, not even to Brynden, though in her youthful petulance she still took pleasure in stirring his jealousies. Neither did Brynden say anything when she returned. The look in his eyes and the tightness of his lips suggested he had much he would have wished to say, though. Many things would likely be easier had she accepted any of Brynden's offers, particularly now that war has come again to the Seven Kingdoms. But she wants more from life than that, even with a man as singular as Brynden Rivers. She can see clearly what it would require of her, to become smaller than she is. Her aunt Elaena's words return to her often, the counsel of a woman who chose duty over love twice and has not stopped regretting it. At court Shiera is admired, circled, written about in verse she finds largely unimpressive. Duels have been fought over the right to sit beside her. None of it satisfies her. She is restless in a way that jewels and songs and even Brynden's careful devotion do nothing to ease, and she suspects, though she would not yet say so aloud, that her place, if she has one, lies somewhere the court cannot see from its windows. C U R R E N T M O T I V A T I O N S __________________________________________________________________________________ Few would have approved of Shiera attending the summit at the Twins, yet her aunt Elaena Targaryen found means to circumvent it all in bringing along the pretty young woman. Shiera had wanted to see what she could do away from the capital and intrigue of the Red Keep, wanted to prove that the hours she spent with her nose in books was not for naught. Now she would be given the chance. She attends the summit ostensibly as an observer, possibly as a distraction, but mostly, she attends it in the hopes of finding a path forward and of her own choosing.

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My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

House Magnar

H O U S E M A G N A R

^{"Strike us, feed us"}

H O U S E D E T A I L S _________________________________________________________ House Seat: Kingshouse _________________________________________________________ Region: Skagos | The North K E Y M E M B E R S _________________________________________________________ Click to Expand Family Tree ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Name: Lord Magnar ◼ Age: 62 (b. 134 AC) ◼ Appearance: ◼ Biography: The current Lord of Skagos, though illness has robbed him of active governance. He understood and sanctioned his sons' scheme during the Skagosi rebellion. A capable warlord in his time, he is now dependent on Torvin for the management of his own household, a dependence he both needs and resents. His death is anticipated by every faction on and off the island. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Name: Torvin Magnar ◼ Age: 28 (b. 168 AC) ◼ Appearance: ◼ Biography: The firstborn twin, Torvin chose to remain on Skagos while his twin went to Winterfell. It was a decision made by cold assessment of aptitude, not sentiment. He governs the island in all but name, framing every decision as his father's will while quietly making it his own. Patient, hard to read, and acutely aware that the plan he is holding together was designed for two men who may no longer both exist. ▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔▔ ◼ Name: Aldric Magnar ◼ Age: 28 (b. 168 AC) ◼ Appearance: ◼ Biography: Torvin's twin, currently residing as an honoured guest of House Stark. Yet from the Magnars' perspective, he is a potential blade close to the heart of their overlords. More socially fluent than most Skagosi, he was the natural choice for Winterfell. That has done little to change the fact that he is viewed as barbaric and uncivilized by those on the mainland.

H I S T O R Y ___________________________________________________________________________________ House Magnar is among the oldest families of Skagos, their name itself said to mean "lord" in the ancient tongue of the island. They have a claim to precedence older than the Stark dominion over the North. They ruled as petty kings in the age before the Starks extended their reach across the Bay of Ice. The island of Skagos is a hard place, it is remote, difficult to supply, and populated by people who feel little kinship with the mainland lords who nominally rule them. Unicorns roam its highlands. Its people are regarded by the rest of the North as savage and unknowable. C U R R E N T S I T U A T I O N __________________________________________________________________________________ The Skagosi rebellion against House Stark has ended, crushed two years past at no small cost. House Magnar emerged from the conflict as the only Skagosi house Winterfell believes it can trust. What the North does not know is the shape of what House Magnar actually did. They aided Stark selectively, timing their support to let their rival houses Stane and Crowl bleed themselves weaker first. The architect of this scheme was the current lord's twin heirs, Torvin and Aldric. Lord Magnar, sharp enough to understand the full shape of the gamble, agreed. He has since been too ill to govern, leaving Torvin to hold the island together in all but name while Aldric sits at Winterfell as a guest.

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My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

T H E K I N G S R O A D

Their train had been making good time, even with the heavier guard and that a litter had been necessary for transporting two women, one of whom had flatly refused to ride the many weeks’ journey to House Frey’s castles.

All good things needed to come to an end, it was more surprising they had covered more than half the distance than it was that they finally suffered a difficulty. Though they had seen signs of the war along the Kingsroad, they had largely been left unmolested. They could see smoke in the distance some days, heard tales of it when they stopped at inns and small keeps, the knights and men who escorted them had become dashing accessories, boredom threatened to consume them.

That day though, the litter had listed for the better part of the morning before its axle gave entirely and it sounded like the crack of green wood in a fire. The guards were woken from their boredom and reached for steel before they understood what had actually happened. Shiera pushed the curtain aside to see men with steel turning to look at her descent from the now cockeyed litter. They quickly returned swords to scabbards, some managing a sheepish look of apology for the overreaction.

Shiera stepped out onto the road with an expression of someone who had decided that composure itself was a form of protest. She found that Elaena was already out and making her way around. The older woman had felt it coming through the sway and creak that had begun hours earlier. The guards were already looking past Shiera to the aging princess for their instructions. They were given without raising her voice and the men moved.

There were spare horses in the train, two were swiftly brought up the column, prepared for the ladies to ride in their traveling gowns. Shiera looked at hers the way she looked at difficult people at court, a long and assessing silence that contained an entire argument she ultimately decided she would not have as she had already won but would do the thing anyways. She allowed one of the men to help her mount, her hand holding on to him more tightly than needed and longer than necessary. The young woman said nothing to him, nor spared him a second glance once it was done. She arranged herself and soon found themselves making way again, this time in far less comfort.

It was a good road, as roads went. They were on flat ground, the Green Fork ran somewhere to the est of them through the trees, the land broad and pale in early summer heat. It was pleasant, or should have been. It was the kind of day that flattered the idea of travel, that made the journey feel more important than the destination.

Elaena had settled her horse into an easy pace and let the guards pull ahead of them. One of them glanced back and was met with a look of stillness that contained all the instruction he needed. The gap widened again after just a moment and soon enough it was just the sound of hooves on the packed earth, birdsong, and the occasional creak of the remaining wagons behind them. There was nothing else, and little likelihood of anyone to hear the two women’s conversation.

Elaena looked over her charge and decided she was riding better than she’d led them to believe at the start of their journey. Of course she was, the cunning girl.

“You can be angry about it.” Elaena said, after a while.

“I’m not.”

“I didn’t say that, just that you could be.”

Shiera looked at her sideways. Her eyes were striking, sapphire and emerald, vibrant and full of life. She used them the way her mother never had a chance to teach her to but would have; lessons learned early that beauty could be an armour, if she practiced it. “Would that change things?”

“No, but maybe you’d feel better.”

“I feel fine.”

Elaena said nothing to that. Their road turned slightly, following a curve in the land. The guards were ahead of them, dark smears. Though they could not see the river, the smell of it hung in the air. Blessedly that was all, they were again shielded from the battles that carried on around them.

“I hate horses.” Shiera offered, breaking the silence.

“No you don’t.”

“No. But I do hate this horse.” Beneath the complaint, it nearly sounded like Shiera attempted a joke, something to laugh at if only to avoid crying.

Elaena could understand that, though not for whatever trivial reasons the girl held. She had seen forty-six namedays when Daena died. She would be forty-seven by the time they reached the Twins. Daena had been just fifty-one. Should see the next few years out, she would finally be better at something than her sister.

The distance that had grown between them had always been there. Some part of her always thought that there would be time to mend things between them, between all of them. Yet now Daena was dead five months and she still had not sent a single letter to Rhaena. There was time still, she would correct it soon. There was always time until there wasn’t, she wouldn’t do that again she resolved to herself one more time.

Whatever had happened in those last days were unknown. Daena was dead and Daeron tried to quell the rebellion’s embers before they could fully take hold only to throw kindle to the smolder and ignite it fully. The princess could not accept that Daena’s death was natural and could not accept that someone could have caused it directly. Look as she might, she had yet to find a third option.

Is this what Daena would have wanted, her boy, her only child, in revolt against their cousin? If Daeron wasn’t who he was, perhaps Elaena could have supported it. But he was and she was tired of the messes men kept making of her life. She was angry at the mess her sister had created when she escaped the Maidenvault. Her companion now seemed determined to make the same mistakes. Stupid girls entangled with stupider men.

She realised she had been quiet too long when Shiera spoke.

“You don’t have to look at me like that.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, and you have, four times in the last mile.”

“I’m thinking.”

“About me.”

Elaena considered denying it outright, but had no desire to explain the full context of her mind. “Partly.” She agreed.

Shiera straightened in the saddle, bracing herself. “If you’re going to tell me again that I should return to Kings Landing…”

“I’m not.”

“...or that Brynden will wonder…”

“Shiera.”

She stopped speaking, her name landed differently when Elaena used it without a half-beat of patience around it. Shiera heard that because not actually foolish, no matter how much she chose to behave like someone who was.

“I know you spoke with Aegor,” Elaena said, finally deciding to bring up this particular topic. “Before they began this nonsense.”

A heavy silence hung between them. Shiera looked straight ahead, as if the road would open up to swallow them both and free her from this conversation for good.

“You told me yourself.” Elaena continued, her voice quiet and low. “I know you didn’t mean to. When we rode through Rosby. You said ‘the night before he rode out’ and then you stopped. I didn’t press then, I could see you didn’t want to be.” She paused. “I can see you still don’t want to be.”

Shiera’s voice was shrill. “Then why do you now?”

“Because we have days ahead of us on this road and you are too young to be carrying whatever it is you are carrying. You are young enough to correct it so that you do not carry it your entire life.” She pressed her thin lips together. “I would rather we speak about it now, on the road in summer rather than…” Her tongue flicked out over dry lips. “Rather than not have the chance at all.” It was quiet and safe and it had been, but that could change in an instant.

Shiera’s jaw as set, delicate features made harsh in the expression. She had a quality when she worked at not showing something of a kind of a terrible stillness, a person waiting for the pain to peak and pass. She used it, and then it broke, a glimpse beneath the exterior.

“I don’t think it was my fault.” She said at last, carefully but not measured, as though she only sought to protect herself from hearing the truth spoken aloud rather than obfuscate it any more. “He had already made his decision, I know that. Nothing I said could have…” She stopped and looked down at her horse’s neck. Her head hung so that hair and veil obscured her face and Elaena wouldn’t be able to see if the tears fell or not. “But I did say something, something that he knew but didn’t want to know and hoped that I wouldn’t.” Her explanation said everything hidden beneath its vagaries. “And then he left.” Shiera could see the look in those deep violet eyes, in the hardness of his face somehow hardened further when she uttered the last word. Maybe if she had reached for him, or told him to stop, or hadn't sought him out at all.

Elaena offered nothing in response.

“I know what you think.” Shiera said, her voice shifting, cracking. “You think I didn’t understand what I was doing.”

“I think you understood part of it.”

“I thought…” Now her lips pressed together, the threat of tears dissipated and she lifted her head again. “He was going to go regardless. I thought maybe I could show I cared, that that would matter even if…” She shook her head and her silver hair moved with it, even slick from sweat under the afternoon sun. “I thought it was kind thing to do.”

“It was.” Elaena agreed.

Shiera could not hide her surprise as she turned her head to face Elaena.

“It was a kindness.” Elaena reiterated, and meant it. “It also may have consequences that have nothing to do with your kindness. Both can be true. They usually are.”

“Brynden doesn’t see it that way.”

“No.” Elaena agreed again. “I imagine he sees it as a ledger.”

“And Aegor, he thinks -”

“I imagine I know what Aegor thinks too.” Elaena said, this time carefully neutral. Brynden was elegant in all the ways his half-brother Aegor was not. Truly, Aegor was his mother’s son, and he had little in common with the rest of the bastards Aegon had sired. She wondered how Shiera could somehow see something in two men so different from one another save their love for her. Perhaps, that was all that it was, their grasping attempts at what they would offer up as devotion. The girl was a vain creature, though she hoped to break that and mold it into something more, into the promise that was not far beneath the surface.

The road straightened again. The guards ahead had lost track of themselves and slowed. Elaena noted the reduced gap with irritation.

“I want to go to the Twins.” Sheria said with a sudden clarity, the complaint stripped out of it. “I want to be somewhere that isn’t…Somewhere I can be useful and can do something that is mine.” She paused and bit her lip, a faint line marring her porcelain skin. “Not because of them.”

“I know that too.” Elaena less charitably thought that at this point the girl really had no choice but to go. It was a long stretch of nothing between their last stop at the Crossroads Inn and the Twins. She wouldn’t share that information, it was better for the girl to make a decision than feel there was no other choice. She did not look forward to the first night that they would need to sleep on the ground rather than a bed, even one of straw.

“Then why does it feel like everyone believes that’s the only reason?”

“You are your father’s daughter.” Elaena said bluntly, “and people are lazy.” She said it with a tonal shrug, no heat behind the words. “They see a Valyrian woman and think they know everything that comes after it. They did the same with your mother, they do it with all of us.” As she said it, she felt the weight of Daena somewhere underneath the words. Daena who shared their imprisonment and dealt with it as she did, and whose son was currently burning the Reach. Elaena had dealt with it differently, yet her own choices or lack thereof, had set her on her own path. Different but the same. “It’s infuriating, you can acknowledge that, but also know that it’s not going to stop.”

Shiera was looking at her with an expression that was trying not to be grateful. That would feel like a concession and that would feel like losing.

“I’m never going back.” Shiera said.

“I’m not telling you to.”

“Not even after the Twins?”

“Perhaps I would have before. But what’s happened has happened and maybe there is some other way I can assist in keeping you away from the Red Keep even if I must return to it.” Before her husband has a thought that he should take more direct action as Master of Coin. The man occasionally misunderstood his role in things, maliciously or not.

Something moved across Shiera’s face that was not quite a smile but could have been if youthful petulance had not won out in the end.

Elaena looked ahead to the guards and gave the look. They quickened their pace without turning around again.

The Green Fork ran west of them. Somewhere behind them the broken litter would be stripped for parts or left at the roadside, she didn’t particularly care which. Ahead of them, the Twins sat across the river. With Freys who would be eager to capitalise on their hosting of what they hoped would be a pivotal moment, and House Stark eager to gain some advantage to send their strength south in support of the throne.

They had not been invited as such. They rode to the Twins with their own reasons, not unlike those that Elaena now silently judged for their opportunistic natures. She rode and ignored the hypocrisy, she tucked away her grief once more, and said nothing else for a while. It had been enough, for now.

My Brother's Keeper - A Song Of Ice and Fire Blackfyre Rebellion RP

S U M M E R H A L L

“Your husband is going to kill me.”

Dyanna rolled her eyes at the dramatic man beside her. Her head shook with a chuckle, sandy hair rustled by the pleasant summer breeze. “Most likely, regardless of what you do. Better to enjoy the time you have left.” She shifted atop her horse, a proper Dornish sandsteed, pale brown with white socks and a bright blaze down her nose. The mare nickered softly beneath her, irritable at being made to stand still.

“Dyanna…” Ser Ulrick started, his tone soft but pointed. “What exactly is enjoyable about testing the Stranger? Wouldn’t it be better to be inside the gardens with wine and women?” He was displeased that she had chosen to ride out alone except that he had been allowed to follow, and he had made it known the entire way out. He did not think she had heard most of it, the speed of their travel sending his protestations as just noise on the wind.

She huffed. “I’d share the wine but the women are all yours. If you manage to fill the castle with sand, you will be the one sweeping up before he returns.” Purple eyes winced, a momentary lapse of bravado. When he returns. Always when, not if, always. Her heart ached with a familiar pressure behind her ribs but the smile returned as she gave a pointed stare. “You know there are too many ears, even in the gardens.” Her pause was brief, just to catch her breath, “I received word from my sister, though the letter seems to have been delayed. I expect we’ll hear of Prince Maron’s arrival any day now.”

The sandsteed felt the tension through the saddle and kicked at the ground, snorting her shared displeasure. Dyanna pat the creature's neck without thinking, soothing both of them.

“I know that look. You cannot join them.” Ulrick reached across to grip his cousin’s hand. “That would be foolish and your dragon will blame me.” His eyes pleaded even as his voice remained firm.

“You do not allow it?” One eyebrow shot up though she turned her hand beneath his and held it. “I think that would make him angrier.” A sigh slipped past her lips regardless. “I don’t seek to ride off to war, cousin, but I cannot sit idle and do nothing. Something is going to happen, something…” Her voice trailed off, her jaw setting firm.

Her gaze drifted ahead of them. The green and brown fields hid a land that wide and flat under the bleached summer sky. Hints of mountains were in the distance, smudged by a heat haze. The Dayne woman breathed deeply in the silence, dry grass and warm stone, not the scented pleasures of Starfall or of what they had managed to build within Summerhall. She held it for a moment of shared understanding between them, where no words were needed.

Ulrick did not prod her further. He had been privy to all manner of correspondence and discussions to not know and agree with what she thought gathered around them. The threat drew closer day by day it seemed, like the heavy gray stormclouds that lurked in a distance. Always possible that they move on in another direction and yet somehow always instead striking when you least wanted it. Her good-brother was nearer than her husband, but not close enough. “Do you wish you had returned to the capital?” He asked at last though he knew the answer.

Dyanna let out a sharp sound, shaken from her reverie. “I will take men with swords over that stinking nest of snakes any day.” The childhood romance that King’s Landing had once been to her was long dead and buried. Maekar had come of it, but nothing had made her happier than when he promised her that they would reside in Summerhall. And here, at least, their children would be spared the treatment their Dornish blood would earn them. Or at least they could be better protected. Few dared it when Maekar was there, even those who had been raised as marchers.

“Do you think they’ve made it to the Twins yet?” She didn’t have to say who she meant. His last letter had been short and terse, and she could feel his annoyance through the way the quill had dug into the paper, the tears and weeping ink it had left behind. Dyanna could picture him writing it, a soothing daydream even if in it his lips were pressed in a thin line, and a vein along his forehead pulsed.

Ulrick scratched at his chin in thought. “Could have. If mud and blood hasn’t delayed them.” It was a bleak statement, but honest. The Riverlands offered misery in the best of times. “They sound an ugly place, I hear the Freys aren’t much better.” The knight chose his next words carefully, lips pressed between teeth in thought. “Suppose there won’t be too many temptations for your husband, at least.”

She groaned. “Can you imagine? I pity a woman who thinks to throw herself at him, out of all of them.” Baelor would surely be firm but kind in his rejection, Aerys wouldn’t have known the woman was there. Her husband would roar for the fucking cunt to be removed from his presence before she’d finished her approach. Dyanna might not have tried hard to smooth away that specific lack of tact. She might even find it enjoyable to watch from behind a goblet so that she could hide her grin. That particular concern many women had when their men rode off was not one she shared.

Ulrick’s arm swivelled suddenly, his mount stomping to turn to whatever had grabbed his attention. Dyanna stiffened, ears sharpening to the sound of hoofbeats, rhythmic and growing from the distance. Her stomach rose into her throat. Perhaps this has been a foolish decision.

He shifted his horse in front of her, a wall of muscle and readiness. But all that approached was the single rider and even at a distance, both Daynes could see the colors marking him as one of theirs. The rider’s horse was lathered and the rider himself caked in dust from a hard ride. His face was creased and darkened from having spent too many days under the sun.

“My lady, Ser.” He hailed some distance out. His voice carried an urgency even through the wheeze of a hard ride. Dyanna did not recognize him though Ulrick did and he rode forward to meet the man. Dyanna pulled up quickly before he could think to leave her out of the news.

“Lord Maron has been sighted, just a day out, maybe two.” He was a Stormlander and before he could continue, Dyanna corrected him.

“Prince Maron.” She did not offer the correction harshly, but she would not allow poor manners to take root.

The man straightened and cleared his throat, his sunburned cheeks reddening. “Of course, Prince Maron, forgive me, my lady. He and his men, they’ve come up through the Boneway.”

Dyanna and Ulrick shared a look. The Prince of Dorne riding north into the marches. That was unheard of, no matter the long history of animosity. Dornish raided, House Martell was alleged to support any number of campaigns against the border houses, yet House Martell had never once seen fit to send their own north in a warband.

“There was more, ser.” He hesitated, his eyes sliding to Ulrick, instinctive but uncertain. “The tin mines have been set upon. Some burn from within, workers are fleeing while they can.”

The mines were just south of them, the edge of the Red Mountains that gave way to the flat plains they now stood upon. They were contested grounds and always had been. At least half a dozen lords had half a dozen claims and disputes that never fully resolved. Who would they each blame? Who would decide to act first and clarify later? Dyanna turned the pieces over in her mind. The prince’s arrival was timed with a sudden attack on the mines, but she was still missing something. It didn’t fully fit and the shape of it was not clear to her. Not yet, anyways.

Before Ulrick could speak, Dyanna urged her mount forward.

“Return to Summerhall. Rinse the road off and eat something hearty. She gave a soft, affirming smile. “Speak to no one else of what you’ve told us.” She watched him go until the dust closed behind him.

“I need you to ride to our prince,” she said quietly. “I need to call upon the friends we’ve made.”